Forsaking All Others. A novel

Front matter

In 2 Vols. OLD TIMES REVIVED. By FRANK TROLLOPE Author of "An Old Man's Secret, "Broken Fetters," &e. In 3 Vols. 31s. 6d. EVEN BETTING. A NOVEL. " 'Even Betting' almost rivals 'Harry Lorrequer' in the bril liancy of his word painting, and in the force and incisiveness of his style." — Daily Telegraph. " A brilliant novel. — Evening Post. "A work that may be read with interest."— Liverpool Albion. "The dialogue is easy, and the incidents piquante."— Brighton Examiner. "In depicting military, fashionable, and sporting life the author is quite at home. The characters are inimitable." — John Bull. "A very clever production." — Illustrated News. In 3 Vols. 31s. 6d. THE SPANISH MOTHER. By the HONBLE. MRS. CHARLES E. PETRE. " There is a healthy tone throughout the work, with an abundance of practical good sonse.

It is a book of the world by a woman of the world." — Brighton Observer. " The merits of the work are considerable. It has the valuable qualities of unity of plot and concentration of incidents, and its in variably brisk and sparkling style will sustain its interest with every reader."— Morning Post. " One of the many charms of the book is the evident good feeling with which it is written. The characters are Use like, and the dialogues throughout spirited and clever." — Brighton Examiner. "One of the most interesting works of fiction we have met with for many a day.' — Sporting Magazine. " There is an interest attaching to the tale from the first page to the last." — Brighton Gazette. — Railways, postages— in a word, all the numerous facilities of the age— have almost annihilated distance, and, as a natural result, caused an individual trade between country customers and London establishments.

Those who do not visit town, so as to select and purchase directly, send for patterns from which they can give their orders. But as all apparent advantages on the one hand have more or less their corresponding drawbacks, so this system is not without its bane. Pushing tradesmen make a market by offering goods at lower rates than they can possibly be sold at to realise a fair profit. The bait traps the unreflective, and the result is that the receipts en masse are not equal to the tempting samples. There is no new invention in this; it has been practised in wholesale merchandise and by candidates for contracts, as the proverb hath it, since there were hills and valleys. But we grieve to add it is sometimes resorted to by those whom one would credit for more integrity. Ladies, therefore, need exercise caution, and place confidence only in houses of oldestablished fame, for rapidly-made businesses are not generally reliable.

Chapter I

" Alice, love, you have promised not to be un happy whilst I am absent, therefore I do not feel leaving you as I otherwise should. You will be carefully tended, and in three or four days we shall meet again to have no more partings." These words were spoken to the younger of two persons seated in a post-chaise, which was standing in a quiet road about four miles from Southend. The speaker had jumped out, and pressing the hand of the girl he had addressed, hastily closed VOL. I. B the door, made a sign to the postillion to drive on, crossed to a gate, over which he vaulted, and was soon lost to the sight and hearing of the lady who, putting her head out of the window of the chaise, exclaimed — " Edward ! stay one minute ! my father ! my mother ! you will see them ! What will you say?" Then seeing the distance that short interval had made between them, she sunk back on her cushion and sobbed violently.

Her companion remained silent, and when, after a brief space, she spoke, the words were not addressed to the weeping girl at her side, but ap peared a commentary on her own reflections. " Well, well, how time do change things ! My poor, dear, dead husband would not have served me ■o, nor would I have stood such behaviour. Left, and for three or four days, indeed ! I never knew the likes before; but, as I said just now, time alters all about us. Rich folks do different to the humble, and, in my opinion, are not so happy for it. Now, here's Mr. Edward, who I love as my own — 'cause I never had one of my own to love — he is doing what I don't like, and so I told him yesterday, though I promised to assist him and be true, and if I'm not true to his mother's son more shame to me ; but my mind misgives me sadly now I hear this poor thing's sobs — they go right to my heart, and seem to say ' Martha Ellis, you've done wrong to me.' I can't stand it.

Dear me, what shall I say to her?" " Nothing, Mrs. Ellis," said Alice, placing her hand on the woman's arm. " I will not cry longer. You must not blame Mr. Trevellyan for leaving me ; he could not do otherwise ; it is only for a short time, and I am not sheddiDg tears for that; but I have left my home, perhaps, for ever, and 'tis for that I am grieving, though if I had not done so I should have been parted from Edward for years — never might have seen him again. The alternative was sad, but I fear I have been weak •yielded to my love for him when, if I had b acted with firmness, I should have been the only sufferer." " I don't see that," interrupted Mrs. Ellis, rather gruffly. "I am sure Mr. Edward suffered enough when he thought he had lost you, and what would he have gone through if you had let him go to those foreign parts alone !

He wouldn't have forgot you, and then you would have felt sorry for your hard-heartedness, I should think." " Yes," replied Alice, " I could not be happy away from Edward. To make him so is now not only my wish, it is my duty." " Duty !" muttered the old lady; " I do not know much about duty, nor does Mr. Edward ; he wants love." " He shall have it," was the emphatic answer; and Alice relapsed into silence. Not so Mrs. Ellis, who continued her mono logue till the chaise entered the yard of a small inn, situated in the principal street of Southend, and stopped at a sort of private door. Mrs. Ellis descended first, looked keenly around the enclosure, up at each small window, and then assisted the younger lady to get out, conducting her up a long passage, at the end of which she ascended a flight of stairs, opened the door of a pretty bow-windowed room, which she entered, and then turning, bade her guest welcome in kindly yet respectful words and manner, leading her, as she spoke, to a comfortable-looking easy chair, placed beside a cheerful fire, and close to a small round table, on which was spread a tempt ing breakfast.

Had Alice been in an observant mood she would have noticed all the evident careful pre parations for her coming and her comfort ; but her thoughts were miles away, and she sat quite still whilst Mrs. Ellis removed her wrappings and lifted her bonnet, with a vehement exclamation as to the beauty of the long curls which fell in such profusion over the shoulders ; nor did she rouse from her dreamy abstraction till Mrs. Ellis stood before her, holding a cup of tea, and uttering the observation— " I know you are not very fond of coffee, or you should have had some of the very best in the kingdom. To me coffee always seems more like doctor's stuff. Tea made hot and strong is before physic any day, and does more good, so drink this, and you will feel better. Now do try and take it. I can't bear to see you thus cast down."

Alice looked into the benevolent face leaning towards her, and saw that the clear brown eyes were filled with tears. She took the offered cup, and said as she did so — " I will drink your good tea, for I am cold, and—" " Unhappy," interrupted Mrs. Ellis, " and no wonder ; but, my dear — I beg pardon for being so familiar — I hope you know I mean no offence."^ " Yes— yes," said Alice, " call me what you please in kindness. We must be as old friends." " Well," rejoined the hostess, " that was nicely spoken — as nice as your looks ; but I was just going to say that, though you are sorrowful and all that now, you will be happy soon ; things will come right and be as bright as sunshine ; so make a good breakfast, and cheer up. Eating won't cure trouble, but it gives one strength to bear it." " I will try to do as you advise," was the reply, spoken with a faint smile, followed by a deep sigh.

" But sit down and take your breakfast with me. I already feel better, and shall be very cheerful soon." " Aye — aye, my dear child — since you let me call you so — who could be anything but cheerful and happy with Mr. Edward ? I, his old nurse, bless you for going away with him ; and so, I'm sure, does his mother— if angels in Heaven can bless those on earth, and she has been a blessed angel many a long year. Now eat this egg — not laid many hours, I'll warrant — and I'll have another cup of tea and some tongue, and then I'll show you your bedroom, and leave you awhile. Do you really feel better ?" " I do, indeed," answered Alice, " thanks to your nice tea. I will have another cup, and a piece of that delicious-looking toast." How delighted Mrs. Ellis looked at her guest's improved spirits — the effect, as she imagined, of her comforting assurances and predictions ; and how much more prosperity she augured — how many tales of Mr. Edward she related, as she ate her hearty meal, to all of which the pale, gentle girl before her listened interested, because each word went to prove the superiority of him she had loved from earliest girlhood.

Nevertheless, her heart was sad, and she longed to be alone to think over and realise her present position. Mrs. Ellis at last satisfied her own appetite, and ceased to urge Alice, further, to eat, assuring her she should have an early dinner, as she had taken so little breakfast ; and, opening a door opposite, showed her into a neat bed-room, and pointing to a box holding things for her use, "left there by Edward himself," she disappeared, acd Alice was left alone. With eager haste she raised the lid of the trunk, but saw none of the contents ; she only seized a note lying at the top, and read, and re-read the few loving lines a well-known hand had traced. She would not weep, and resolutely forced back the tears that came, so readily, at the words entreating her to be as happy as possible.

She had knelt beside the trunk as she perused the note, but rose as she refolded it, and gazed around the pretty chamber. The toilet table first caught her eye, for on it she saw unmistakable proofs of Edward's care for her comfort. Mrs. Ellis could never have known so well what she required, what she liked best ; every requisite was there, of the prettiest kind, besides copies of one or two of her favourite books. After the lapse of an hour, brighter looking and resolved, Alice re-entered the sitting-room and advancing to the window, from which Mrs. b Ellis had withdrawn the blind, she caught her first view of the sea. It was high-tide. A brisk wind stirred the waves ; each billow was crested with foam, whilst above the sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, making those mighty waves sparkle like diamonds as they rolled to the shore.

Alice dropped the book she held in her hand and stood gazing on the unexpected sight before her in speechless astonishment, her face radiant with pleasure. Absorbed by a scene always entrancing, the first impression of which is never effaced, she remained at the window some time. Gradually the brightness faded from her face, and was replaced, first by a thoughtful, then by a mourn ful expression, and tears filled her eyes. We can guess the feelings of Alice as she stood there alone. She was thinking why she, only a bride that morning, was so desolate — no bevy of bridesmaids around her, no parents near, grieving to lose their child, though rejoicing in her happiness. No, they were far off, and had not blessed her ere she left them. No friend had said, " God speed you in your future journey through life."

She had forsaken all. The home she had made happy by her presence would know her no more ; a sorrow had been planted in the hearts of its inmates time might soften but never blot out. This had been her doing, and yet how Alice loved all the dwellers in that home she had quitted, though she had resigned them to enter on an unknown future with an untried guide. Would he lead her to a haven of rest ? Alice did not doubt ; the reader may. Childhood's pleasures, youth's bright joys and hopes must be buried, not even their memory be treasured, lest regret for the past should arise and weaken her strong determination to pursue the course of her new duties with unflinching firmness. Alice did not weep now, but turned away from the bright sea, resumed her chair, and as in a dream recapitulated every slight incident in her short life.

The father's care, his pride in her beauty and talents ; the mother's tender watchfulness ; the brother's sage advice, so fondly given, and so often and so gaily ridiculed ; the friend, the more than sister, who had so loved her, and whom she so fondly loved in return ; all arose to view as in a moving panorama ; each trivial event was again lived through, and amongst them vividly came before her the image of another ; and she recalled how often she had been laughingly told he had taught her to walk, that her first tottering steps had been into his outstretched arms. Yes, she loved him above all then, had loved him ever since, and surely it was cruel to expect she could resign him — cruel in his father to be so obdurate, when hers, forgetting the [family feud of many years' duration, rather than see his child suffer, had yielded a reluctant consent to a union he regretted.

The agony at the thought of parting, the alarm with which she had listened and yielded to Edward's persuasions to elope, to be married secretly and go to the continent under an assumed name, forcibly recurred, and she remembered how regardless she had felt of every thing relating to herself — fame, name, country, were as nothing compared to the grief of separation. She should be Edward's wife, and little cared she what the world thought. The fact of their marriage must be concealed, for she knew Edward's whole for tune depended on that ; and since he encountered such risks for her, why should she refuse to incur obloquy for a time to make him happy. She should return as his acknowledged wife, see again all the dear ones, and then be so very hapny. This reasoning had brought Alice to the little inn, but as she sat in that low chair, reflecting on the events of the morning, it did not produce content, and the sophistry to which she had lis tened became clearly revealed.

Self-reproach was felt in all its bitterness ; retrace her steps she could not. Would she if she could ? No, Alice inwardly owned she would not. The solemn words of the morning had bound her to another. The words spoken by the kind looking clergyman still rung in her ears. " Love, honour, and obey." How easy for her who had only the last injunction to learn. Forsaking all others — that had been a crime a few hours since; now it was a duty, a command given by her Creator, had been vowed by her lips, and should be fulfilled. Her error should be atoned for by a strict adherence to the virtue she had been taught. The parents who had so carefully nurtured her should never blush for her negli gence in the performance of her wifely duties, nor should the husband, to whom she had made such promises, ever find her shrink from sacri ficing her fondest wishes to his interests.

Poor Alice ! you still deceived yourself, sought for points of argument on your own side only, and no adversary was near to clearly display the past, or tell you of a life-long remorse — a dread lest punishment should be inflicted by the hand of one dearest to you, or by the loss of him altogether — to whisper how God often removes our idols to draw us to himself. We will not follow Alice farther into her rea sonings, or rather dreary reflections, as she sat there hour after hour doing nothing, seeing nothing, and apparently forgetful even of her present position, till she was roused by the entrance of Mrs. Ellis, who commenced busy preparations for dinner. " Well, my dear young lady," she began, " here you sit, and the fire nearly out, though 'tisn't by any means cold for them as stirs about.

I'm downright hot, but you are chilly, I daresay, so I'll make the coals shew us a bright face in a minute." A vigorous onslaught with the poker was followed by a cheerful blaze, and Mrs. Ellis com placently continued her remarks — " There, that's better than black coals to look at. Mr. Edward, if he was here, and I am sure I wish he was, would laugh and say, ' Mother Ellis, you always know what cheers a tired man — a good-humoured face, bright fire, and clean hearth.' That table cloth was given to me by Mr. Edward's mother, and the spoons and forks by his father, who, bad as he is, knew a good servant when he had one. The plates and dishes are Mr. Edward's own. I keep them for his use, and his friends, when they dine here when the hounds come this side of the county ; so you will, as it were, eat off your own plate, and I hope make a good dinner."

" I am certain to do that, if you dine with me," observed Alice, " but not alone. Do sit down, Mrs. Ellis." " To be sure I will ; but deary me, I have had my dinner two hours and more. What I took when you breakfasted was my elevens, so what I eat now will be my fours ; boiled chicken is very light without bacon, so I'll leave the bacon, I think — no, I won't either, for Mr. Edward always says ' your bacon, Ellis, gives as much relish to boiled chicken as sense does to a pretty woman.' Well, I hope he is making a good dinner, though he ought to have been here. It is well for the old squire I'm not his son ; I'd see him where he deserves to go, before I'd knuckle under to such a tyrannical, immoral old sinner. But for him what a cosy meal you and Mr. Edward might have enjoyed together to-day, and a happy even ing by the fire afterwards."

Alice could scarcely restrain her tears at the contrast her present lonely position afforded, to that sketched by her hostess, but unwilling to let her see how futile were her kind attempts at consolation, she forced a smile, and said — " Of course I wish Edward was with me ; but as he is not, you must amuse me — must tell me of his mother. Was her life a happy one ?" " Happy ! no, I should think not, tied to such a tyrant. I could tell you such tales of the old squire ; but you are too young to listen to his wicked acts. Mr. Edward would have set him at defiance as soon as the law made him his own master, but for the promise he made to his dying mother." " What was that promise?" asked Alice, now really interested. " That he would never openly defy his father in any difference of opinion, but endeavour by good example to make him conscious of his faults, and to be obedient in all but one thing, and in that to be firm. ' Never, my dear son,' she said, whilst large tears fell from her eyes, ' never be persuaded or forced into a union' — that was the word, though in my foolishness I didn't know what she meant then — ' never marry except with one you love above all others, for without affection life is a wearisome pilgrimage.' " " Did not Mrs. Trevellyan love her husband ?" again asked Alice.

" Lor bless you, my dear young lady, how could she, when she had loved another all her younger days — that one no other than your own father ; and I have been told he loved her, and would have married her but for pride and the old family quarrels. He was too proud to ask a favour from her father ; but here am I running out of the straight path like a driven pig. I was telling you how my poor dying lady — I went to nurse her you must know — made Mr. Edward promise not to marry without love on both sides, not with out proof that the lady loved him. Mr. Edward has stuck to his promise ; he has been respectful to the old squire, and never defied him." " I fear he has," remarked Alice in a sad tone; " he has defied him in taking me." " A picture has always two sides," replied Mrs. Ellis ; " you look only at the father's side when you say that ; but now just turn to the mother's. Mr. Edward cared nothing for that proud, rich Miss Haynes, so he pretended not to see the man trap set to catch him ; he did care for you, and remembering his promise he took you, for didn't you shew your love by leaving others for his sake ?"

" ' Forsaking all others,' you should say," observed Alice, the clergyman's voice still sounding in her ears. " I must do so now, for, dearly as I love them, I love Edward better." " Now look here," said Mrs. Ellis, giving the fire another vigorous stirring, " I never pretend to preach, but don't the parsons all tell us what ever happens is God's doing, and therefore must be right ? Now if it hadn't been right you would not be here, so you have no cause to take blame to yourself. Perhaps running away from home does not seem quite proper, but good will come of it, and when that good comes you will tell me how true a fortune-teller I have proved." Alice might have told Mrs. Ellis her creed was not orthodox — that it is no part of the Protestant doctrine to do wrong that good may follow ; but, consoled by the hope inspired, she let the subject drop without commencing an argument.

Tired by the agitation of the day and the loss of the previous night's rest, Alice went early to bed, tended as if she had been a petted child, and soon forgot her anxiety in a sleep which lasted till late the next morning . Her grief was violent on awaking, but looking round the little chamber, she arose after a fervent prayer calm and hopeful, and delighted Mrs. Ellis by giving her a kiss of greeting on her rosy cheek as they met at the breakfast table. The day appeared long ; but in after years the good seeds scattered by reflection during those hours of isolation in that simple inn parlour sprung into resolutions bearing bright blossoms. On the third morning all was bustle in the little inn with Mrs. Ellis, who had received a letter from Mr. Edward desiring her to set off for London with her charge, go to her cousin's house, and await his arrival ; or, if he should not deem it prudent to go there himself, his directions, where to find, and how they should go to him.

Alice's preparations were soon made, and she was in a fever of anxiety to be off long ere the post-chaise came to the door ; nor could any cautions restrain the bounding steps with which she descended the stairs, passed through the long passage, and jumped into the chaise. The journey was tedious, but ended at last, and the travellers were seated in the cousin's room, but no one was there to meet the eager, expec tant Alice. She waited only a short time, a carriage stopped at the door, and a note was placed in her hands, and the few lines telling her to get into the carriage and come to the writer were hastily read. Mrs. Ellis demurred, saying she did not think she ought to lose sight of her charge till she saw her safe in Mr. Edward's care ; but ere the good lady could resolve on what course to take, Alice had resumed her travelling cloak, was seated in the carriage, and driven away.

Ten minutes elapsed when it stopped at a house in Russell Square, the door opened, and Alice was in the hall, her hands taken by a gentleman standing at the foot of a flight of stairs, up which he led her into a large, handsome room. The door closed and she was clasped in her husband's arms.

Chapter II

" Now, Edward, tell me all about home, mamma, papa, John, Frances; you saw them— were they well ?" Alice asked the question as she sat on a low chair by her husband's side ; his arm was round her waist, and though a slight frown passed over his face as she spoke, be drew her closer to him, and answered — " Well, quite well, all of them." " But not happy ; you cannot say that, and you hesitate to tell the grief you witnessed." " Not so, love ; to-morrow you shall know, but not to-night : do not cloud the first evening we pass together." FORGETTING ALL OTHERS. "Edward, I have been so happy the last few hours ; but now I have thought of others, I should like to hear your story. You have had a trying ordeal to pass through, and feeling that will make me calm. I will listen patiently, and not cry to add to your vexation."

" Darling," replied the young husband, gazing into the eyes lifted so pleadingly to his, and kiss ing their soft lids, " let us take a common-place view of our situation, and not sentimentalise over it. We have done wrong, and we suffer as we have made others suffer ; but we were driven to it by obstinacy and pride ; we were expected to mould our inclinations by the wishes of others — you to marry whoever you were told it was right and proper you should, and I was to take for a wife one perfectly distasteful — and this when we had loved each other so long. We could not part, and here we are. 1 had a trial to go through, I own, but not so bad as you imagine. My greatest pang was leaving you. The first thing I heard on reach ing Merton was that you had eloped during the night with Lord Vivyan.

Considerably relieved to find I was not suspected, though feeling terribly guilty, I entered the Manor House. Your father and mother, who were evidently ignorant of your flight, met me as usual. John was too busy with dogs and huntsmen to think of any other affair. Breakfast was nearly over before I found courage to ask for you, and then Frances answered, telling me you had gone to see Nurse Mills the evening before, and finding her very ill, had sent word you should remain the night. Frances then added, ' I shall go presently, to take Alice's place, and send her home to rest.' " We proceeded to cover, found a fox. 1 carried off the brush, and went back to your father's to give the trophy to Frances, who had laughingly told me when we parted she should claim it at my hands.^John'ruet me in the hall, and I felt myself turn pale as he placed a hand on my arm, and said — " ' Alice is gone !' "'Gone!

Where ?' 1 asked. c VOL. L i " ' That I demand of you,' he answered, ' yet,' he added, ' how should you know — you are here, and surely love her too well to make her a disgrace to her kindred.' " ' John,' I said, as calmly as I could speak, 'I love Alice above all others, and would protect and assert her purity with my life's blood. May I see your father ? ' " ' No !' was the answer, given rather gruffly ; ' leave me now. Another has been named as the abductor of Alice, but I stfspect you; therefore go, lest passion makes me act as, for her sake, I should regret.' "He closed the door as he finished speaking, and I passed into the garden, where I met Frances who, like John, suspected me, for her eyes looked searchingly into my face as she said — " ' This is a sad trial for us. I am broken hearted.' " ' What ! ' I inquired, in assumed surprise, 1 do you suppose Alice has left her home to live a life of sin with her lover ? ' " ' No ! ' she exclaimed, vehemently, ' I know her too well.