Constance Tyrrell: or, the Half-Sister

Chapter I

It is a remark, so trite as to be almost pro verbial, that our capricious climate is but little suited to those out-door festivities which form so considerable a portion of the amusements of other nations, who, whatever they may suffer during the inclemency of the winter, or the storms of the " rainy season," may fairly cal culate, when once the summer has really set in, that any given day though yet in the far future, wUl be blessed with a due share of sunshine and serenity, and may make their arrangements accordingly, without that ever present solicitude as to the state of the barovol. i. B meter and the direction of the wind, which goes so far to mar the enjoyment of any one who in this sea-girt isle has ventured to make any plan, to the success of which fine weather is an indispensable auxiliary.

When however the elements are propitious, and have rewarded the bold confidence that has been reposed in them, it may be questioned whether anything can be more productive of out-door enjoyment than such a lovely day as is occasiahaUy vouchsafed to us in the course of an English summer, especially if the time be that early part of summer when the leaves and grass are stUl green with the bright verdure of spring ; when the birds are stiU singing with the full vigour of theh newly-recovered powers ; when the sun, as if loath to leave so fair a scene, lingers longer and longer yet on each successive day, ere he sinks to rest, and leaves behind him a lengthened twUight, which goes fer to diminish the regret occasioned by his departure. On such a day as this, and in a scene where the bright greenwood is chequered by the shadows thrown by manya noble oak and ancient elm ; where the cattle are seen standing under the trees, or lashing their sides in some shallow pool ; where, from among the thick moist fern in which they have been cowering for coolness and shelter, the startled deer bound across the path of the solitary wayfarer ; where, in fine, the most cultivated taste has aided the bounties of luxuriant nature, one would be jus tified in asserting that an Englishman might visit many distant lands and varied scenes, ere he would behold anything more lovely, more picturesque, more gratifying to the true lover of nature, than could be found in his own neglected and little-prized land.

On such a day and in such a scene, there took place on the day in which our story opens, a grand fete champetre in honour of the eighteenth birthday of the fair Constance TyrreU. There are some persons on whom, even in the most trivial matters, fortune appears to smile with most partial benignity, and Constance appeared to be one of these. Nursed in the lap of luxury, the idol of her mother, the darling of her only brother, in dulged in every whim and wish, and endowed b with youth, grace and beauty, it was but seldom that she had had an opportunity of learning the lesson of resignation to un avoidable misfortune. The elements, however, are no respecters of persons, and there had seemed to be some reason to fear that on this grand occasion of her hfe, when her whole happiness appeared to depend on their favours, they might have proved less complaisant than the mortals who were permitted the honour and pleasure of ministering to her enjoyment.

But no ! even they fell in with the prevailing fashion, and after sufficiently coquetting about the matter for the day or two previous, to make their favours doubly acceptable, they at length com bined to furnish the most beautiful, most heavenly of days, that ever gladdened the hearts of the most enthusiastic of pleasure seekers. We must, however, entreat our readers' patience and forbearance for a whUe, and ere we present them to the scene where the fair Constance was shining in aU her glory, we must take them to a more distant part of the grounds, where two gentlemen were wending their w7ay to ihe fete through the magnificent park in which Winston Hall was situated. The elder of these was apparently about forty years of age, of moderate height, but seeming shorter than he really was, from an habitual stoop that gave him the appearance of being high-shouldered.

His forehead was somewhat low ; his hair sandy, shghtly touched with grey ; his w7hiskers short, and coming across his face at right angles to his nose, so as almost to cut his cheeks in half; his nose fine and pointed; his lips thin, and generaUy tightly compressed. But the most remarkable features in his face were his eyes, which were grey, bright and twinkling, but sunk deeply under his over hanging eyebrows, inspiring one with an un easy feeling of curiosity as to what their hidden meaning might be ; for hidden meaning they always seemed to have, and moreover appeared to be always taking careful note of everything that was passing. His dress was neat and weU made, but plain ; and in fact his whole appearance gave one the idea of a highly respectable well-to-do man of the world, whose acknowledged reputation could weU permit him to neglect the extreme of the fashion.

His companion seemed considerably his junior. Of him it may be sufficient to state that he was taU and handsome, with dark hair, dark eyes, unexceptionable moustache, and dressed with great care in the ex treme of the prevaUing mode. He walked erect, with a fine military bearing, and gazed with evident interest and admiration on the beautiful scenery through which they were passing, and to which his companion, whose eyes were bent upon the ground, appeared to be entirely indifferent. " Nay, but this is beautiful, Mason," he urged. "You did not prepare me for any thing like this. What magnificent timber; why, some of those oaks must have survived the deluge." "I told you there was some fine timber," replied Mason, without raising his eyes. " Yes, but you only spoke of it commer cially, as so much wood, at so much per cubic foot: you did not say how beautifully it was placed.

And see — what a delicious run ning stream, and how picturesque those cows look, as they stand there cooling themselves and swinging their long tails." " I told you there was good trout-fishing, and I thought that implied that there was running water ; and as the cows are not always in there swinging their tails, I could not well mention them." " And deer, too," pursued his companion, as a herd of those dainty, dappled creatures, startled by the gentlemen's approach, trotted gracefully across their path ; " I believe you did say something about the Winston venison being remarkably good, but nothing to prepare me for this. By Heaven ! it is one of the fairest scenes that my eyes have rested on since I left Italy ; and you walk on as quiet and composed as if you were stalking through the Lincoln shire fens, or across Salisbury Plain.

What ails thee, man ? Is it only because you are so accustomed to these scenes that they make so httle impression on you? Is it unnoticed because it is always beneath your eyes, and within your reach ?" " Stay, Mowbray," replied Mason, when his friend apparently paused for a reply ; " ere I answer your question, answer me this ;" and as he spoke, he turned upon him his small grey eyes, twinkling with an expression that Mowbray at once saw was not one of indifference : " you are a lover of art ; you have been in Italy ; you have feasted your eyes on the most beautiful w7orks of the old masters. Now, teU me, if you had been promised the gift of some master piece ; if, after looking forward to the possession of this treasure for many years, you had been suddenly informed that your friend had changed his mind, and had given it to some other ; if this other had been your opposite neighbour, and you had been able to see your idolized picture hanging up in his apartment, whenever he chose to open his window ; would you then, think you, continue to gaze upon it with com placency, or would not the bitterness caused by the avowal of your feelings of disappointment far more than counterbalance your pleasure at gazing on what you had once fondlyhoped would be yours ?"

" Probably it would," replied the other carelessly ; " but I do not see what that has to do with the question. No one ever promised to give you Winston Park, did he ? Surely that has been TyrreU property for many centuries." " No doubt it has ; but did you not know that I am a near relative of the TyrreU famUy ?" " I have heard you caU Mr. TyrreU your cousin, but I thought it was only by marriage." " No, no, I have TyrreU blood in my veins. My maternal grandmother was a TyrreU ; and though she made what that haughty famUy chose to consider a mesalliance, her children were alw7ays acknowledged as relations ; and had it not been for old Mr. TyrreU's second marriage, and the birth of his daughter, I should have been Edward TyrreU's nearest blood relation." " But you spoke of your grandmother's chU dren.

Had she no son, who would even then have come before you in the inheritance ?" " She had one only son, but he was drowned when stUl a young man, and on his death my mother became the sole representative of that branch of the ancient family of TyrreU ; and till old TyrreU married again, I considered myself as B the undoubted heir after his son Edward, the present proprietor." " But how did you know that Edward TyrreU would not marry ? and, even if he did not, he is younger than yourself." " No, he is my senior, though not by much. But I can teU you, what indeed is no secret, that Edward TyrreU is not long for this world. He has inherited from his mother, who herself died young, the seeds of that fearful disease which carries off so many of the young and blooming in this land, of which, indeed, it is the curse.

Edward himself is well aware of it ; and I know that on that occount it was his firm determination never to marry. ' Why should I marry ?' he has said ; ' 'twould only be to leave a young widow to mourn my loss, and too probably that of her children, to whom I should have bequeathed so deadly an inheritance. No, I wiU never marry.' And I felt convinced he never would ; and though he has hved longer than he expected, I feel very certain that ere long death wiU overtake him, and then I should have stepped in to the enjoyment of this glorious inheritance. But now, this young Constance, she is by a different mother — she has no consumption in her blood — she wUl marry, and ere long I shall have a dozen little interlopers between me and what ought to have been mine." " That is rather a bore for you, certainly," rephed Mowbray ; " and unfortunately in these days poisoning an inconvenient member of the family has gone out of fashion.

But I'U teU you what — can't you get her converted, or perverted, as they caU it now, and then induce her to take the veil, and hand the inheritance over to you ?" " Not possible," replied Mason, while a faint smUe lurked in the corners of his mouth at the bare idea of Constance TyrreU becoming the inmate of a convent: " she is not at all the kind of person to be worked upon in that way." " Well, then, I only see one other course — you must marry her yourself." " I marry her !" and here the twinkling grey eyes again fixed themselves upon Mowbray's face with a peculiar expression :" is it likely that a gay young thing like that, with her fortune and expectations, would marry a wizened old fellow like me, who might be her father ? Even if I were prepared to marry her, which I by no means allow.

It is no light thing for a man of my time of life to learn to submit to the caprices of a woman, and such a woman as Constance." " Oh, you are not so very old, after aU — you are not forty, yet ; and this young lady has been accustomed, you say, to the society of her brother, who is your senior. I don't see why she should think you too old ; and as for your objecting to it, surely the stake is worth some risk. And you need not study her caprices more than you liked once you were married ; and surely for a short courtship, it would be worth exerting some self-control to be the possessor of these broad acres. Hang it, man, if you give it up, I have a mind to try my own hand at it." " Ay, you would have a much better chance," responded Mason : " that moustache, that military bearing, those dark eyes of yours, might carry aU before them, where the poor careworn, hard-worked man of law would have no chance."

" Do you give me leave to try, then ?" " To try as much as you please," replied the other ; " but after what I have told you, you wiU not be surprised at my adopting every means in my power to prevent your success — and you remember, Reginald Mowbray, I have some power over you." A muttered curse died away between the teeth of Mow7bray, and he only replied : " Yes, yes, I do not dispute your power ; but surely, if you do not mean to marry the girl yourself, you might as well allow me as any one else. You do not expect you will be able to keep all suitors off; and even if you succeeded in that, and she lived an old maid, she would probably long outhve you ; and where would be the object of it ? You do not really mean to poison her ? I verily believe you are capable of anything," he continued, whUe a look of real alarm came over his handsome features.

" No, no, my worthy friend, do not alarm yourself. I have not the slightest wish or intention of poisoning her; nor do I expect that she will, never marry. But stUl, it is as well to be on one's guard, and do what one can to avoid so sinister an occurrence, and then trust to the chapter of accidents. However, we are talking very much beside the mark : you have never seen the young lady yet ; and when you do see her, you may not like her, and may be as little wUling' as I am mvself to take her as the perpetual partner of your life. And if you do after aU fancy her, I will not say that I may not relent from my prohibition, and make a noble sacrifice on the altar of ancient friendship." Mowbray glanced at him, as if somewhat doubting the value of the ancient friendship aUuded to ; but Mason was looking on the ground with a countenance so absolutely devoid of expression, that Mowbray gave up the attempt of further fathoming his meaning.

And as, in truth, he did not care much about the matter, he commenced whistling in a careless manner, an amusement from which he did not desist till they arrived on the lawn, where the festive party were by this time assembled.

Chapter II

" Constance, darling, you really ought not to dance any more just at present ; you will over heat yourself, and then you will catch cold, and 1 shall have you laid up aU the rest of the summer." " Never fear, mamma dear ; I never take cold : but I must go on dancing, for I am engaged to so many people." " But I dare say if you asked them they would be content to take a quiet little walk through the shrubberies with you for a quarter of an hour instead, especially if you told them it w7as my wish." " But it is not your wish, darling. You know it is never your wish to do anything that I don't like ; and I don't like walking in the shrubberies, at any rate for the present ; for I am not in the least tired with dancing : but here comes Robert Tennant, and I am going to dance with him next ; so good-bye."

And awaythe wilful little creature flew, looking over her shoulder with a look of playful defiance at her mother, who remained gazing after her, and thinking that there never was such a lovely being on the face of the earth as her fascinating little daughter. And, in truth, a less partial mother than Mrs. TyrreU might well have been proud of having given birth to so lovely a being. Rather below the middle height, she seemed taller than she actually was, on account of the perfect symmetry of her figure. Her hair, of the most beautiful golden brown, was remark able for its luxuriance. It feU in rich waves on either side of her face, and being then knotted up into the general mass at the back of her head, it just revealed a glimpse of the most bewitching of little ears, that peeped out from beneath their umbrageous covering.

Her eyes, of the most briUiant blue, sparkled with an ex pression of humour and fun the most exhilarating, aided and abetted by the saucy turn of her rosy lips, and yet chastened and subdued by the severe regularity of her nose. To crown all, her skin was of the most delicate white ; and w7hether it was seen, as at present, only on her face, or, as when in evening costume, on her hands, her arms, or her gracefully falling shoulders, it could not fail to strike the beholder with admiration. Her mother too had been very lovely, nay, she was very lovely still, though years of delicate health had done much to mar what once had been well-nigh perfect, and an air of languor now rested upon features that had once been lighted up by cheerfulness and vivacity. She was quite a brunette, with dark lustrous eyes, clear olive complexion, and black hair, and with a cast of countenance more calculated than any other to withstand the ravages of years and fading health.

Of obscure, not to say low family, she had attracted the notice of the late Mr. TyrreU entirely by her beauty ; and the fancy which the old gentleman conceived for the pretty brunette was (contrary to w;hat might have been expected) encouraged by his son Edward, already grown to man's estate. But even at that time, as has been intimated in the last chapter, Edward TyrreU had made up his mind never to marry ; and being constantly urged by his father to do so, and being, moreover, himself anxious that an heir should be found to the name of TyrreU, he wished much that his father would marry again, and raise up another generation, untainted by the fearful disease which he had inherited from his own mother. When he observed the atten tion that his father was paying to the pretty- Miss Johnson, whom he encountered when staying at a watering-place in a distant county, he occupied himself with endeavours to learn something of her character and history ; and having been made acquainted with many good and amiable traits that she had evinced, he thought her want of family and connexions of little importance, and encouraged his father to bring matters to a crisis.

It may easily be imagined that her motives in marrying an old gentleman, who might have been her grandfather, were of a mixed nature. She felt, however, that she w7as poor, a burden upon an old aunt, her nearest relative, who was but Ul able to maintain her, and she therefore de termined to do some violence to her natural feelings, and accept the hand of the w7orthy old man who offered her such large worldly advantages. Not the least among the attractions which such a union presented, was the high antiquity and acknowledged distinction of the TyrreU family. Like many other people of low extraction, Miss Johnson attached an undue value to rank and connexion ; and to become at once by her mar riage the head of so distinguished and time honoured a race as the Tyrrells, whose ancestors found a place in Domesday Book, and who were owners of Winston HaU, when the progenitors of some of the haughtiest nobles in the land were unknown serfs or herdsmen, was of greater value in her sight than aU the wealth which by such a marriage she should command.

Her children too would be TyrreUs, entitled to hold up their heads amongst the mightiest of the land. Influenced by such considerations as these, she gave up, not perhaps without a sigh, the day dreams of a young and handsome husband, with which we suppose most young ladies at some period of their lives have amused them selves, and accepted the hand thus unexpectedly offered to her ; and whUe her husband's hfe was spared, she was a good, attentive, and obedient wife to him, and ever found in her step-son, Edward, a firm and valued friend. Great indeed was her disappointment when the offspring that came into the world within the first twelvemonth of her marriage proved to be a daughter, and this disappointment was aggravated when aU further prospects of an increase to the family were cut off by the death of her husband.

She was not, then, destined to be the ances tress of a long line of Tyrrells. Even if Edward persisted in his intention of remaining unmarried, and her little daughter thus became the eventual heiress of the property, it would after her death pass into a different family, and the name of TyrreU would be no more inserted in the future annals of the county. She had hoped, that in her husband's vvUl some provision might have been made that the future husband of the young heiress might be compelled to adopt her name, but no such provision was found. Mr. TyrreU had evidently hoped that he should have lived to be the father of a second son, and the name of Constance was not even mentioned. Everything was left to Edward, in whom his father had such confidence that he trusted enthely to him to make a suitable provi sion for his sister and her mother.

The event showed that Mr. TyrreU had not miscalculated the generosity of his son's nature. Edward assured his step-mother that the melan choly event which had just occurred should make no difference in their mutual relations, but that she and her daughter should live on at the Hall, precisely as they would have done had his father's life been prolonged. The widow made some faint objections, on the score that Edward himself might marry some day ; but he only shook his head and repeated with a sad smile, " I shall never marry ;" and from that time they had continued to live together a happy and united famUy. Nor did the natural disappointment that both Mrs. TyrreU and Edward had felt at the sex of the little Constance diminish the affection they both felt for her. With regard to the former, it need hardly be said that the love of a mother for her only child speedUy swallowed up every feeling of regret that it w7as not of a different sex; and Edward's gentle and affectionate spirit yearned towards his little sister, with a love that partook almost of the parental character.

It may, therefore, weU be imagined that the idol of two such loving hearts ran a very good chance of being spoUt ; and in truth this result was not far from coming to pass, for Mrs. TyrreU, though good and amiable, was not exactly what is caUed a " strong-minded" woman, and the maternal authority that she might otherwise have exer cised, was strangely checked by the reflection that her daughter vvas a " TyrreU," and must not, therefore, be thwarted by one of so plebeian a race as herself ; while Edward, though a sensible man himself on all other points, was too fond of the pleasure of pleasing his little sister, to be a very strict mentor. Had she been motherless as well as fatherless, he might have acted differently ; but her being under the care of her mother, appeared to absolve him from all responsibility- ; and his sole aim seemed to be to take care that she should want for nothing — that every whim, every wish, should, as far as possible, be gratified.

The natural consequence was, that Constance grew up wilful, capricious and exacting, with that habit of thinking she was always the first person to be considered, and that everything was created and ordained for her special benefit, which is the cause of such deep and lasting injury to many naturally good and amiable dispositions. That Con stance's natural disposition was good and amiable may be gathered from the fact, that all the injudicious treatment to which she had been subjected, had still left her a very charming and loveable little being. She was truly attached to her mother, even when she tyrannized over her most unmercifully ; and for Edward she entertained feelings of the very deepest love that sister ever manifested for brother. His own love for her, his goodness to her, and the amiability of his own character may partly have accounted for this ; but there was something in the peculiarity of the relation in which they stood to each other, that very much increased it.

Old enough to be her father, he still was only her brother. He had not the responsibUity of her education, and was consequently spared the disagreeable necessity of correcting her. The famUiarity of sisterly feelings vvas therefore mingled with the pro soundest filial respect ; for Mrs. TyrreU, who herself leant upon and looked up to Edward in aU cases of doubt or difficulty, both because he was a TyrreU and because he was a sensible man, had taught her daughter to regard him as something more than human in wisdom and goodness, while she never forgot to impress upon her that to him they were indebted for all theh enjoyment of the many means of happi ness which he placed at theh disposal ; and thus the tie of gratitude was added to the other bonds of union. It is to be feared, it is too frequently the case that chUdren and very young people are utterly wanting in gratitude to theh parents.

They may, and generally do, love them sincerely and devotedly, and may even be wiUing to sacri fice themselves for them ; but it never occurs to them that they have anything for which to be grateful. It seems so much a matter of course, that all good things should flow to them from their parents, that they never give a thought to the source whence they are derived. They never imagine that it could be otherwise, or that they might have been treated with less kindness or consideration. They give no heed to the numerous sacrifices those parents are con stantly making for them — to the constant self denial to which they submit, that their chUdren may be thereby benefitted. It is not till the tie is broken, the parental hand withdrawn- — tUl death or absence has marked the change — that they discover how much they owed to those that are no more ; how much they miss the tender care that can no more assist them.

In the case of Constance TyrreU, aU that gratitude which is but too commonly withheld from parents, was felt for her brother; for she had learnt from her mother how nobly generous he had been in the first instance, and she was conscious that the favours which he daily showered upon her were not mere matters of course, but free gifts from one who might have withheld them, had he chosen. Her love for her brother was, then, the c VOL. I. strongest, purest and most powerful feeling of her heart, and served to redeem a multitude of errors into which her wUd, wilful and headstrong disposition was continuaUy leading her. It is not surprising that he at any rate found it easy to think so, and that he was thereby more readily blinded to the faults which a less pre judiced observer could not have faded to detect, and a brother so affectionate and right-minded as Edward could not have ne glected to reprove when detected.

As it was, however, between the weak fondness of her mother, and the blind indulgence of her brother, she started in life with a spirit unchecked by reproof, unsubdued by misfortune, of which she had never yet felt the slightest breath ; and but too much inclined to consider that she was a pattern of perfection, and a monarch of all she surveyed, and that everybodywith whom she came into contact must consider it the highest of privileges to administer to her com forts, smooth the way for the attainment of her wishes, and put her in possession of any object she might at the time happen to covet. Such was Constance TyrreU ; and thus, blooming in the fuU exuberance of her youthful beauty, did she encounter Mason and Mowbray as they w7ere crossing the lawn to pay their respects to the mistress of the mansion.