A Woman's Error. A novel

Front matter

In 2 Vols. 21s. THE GRAND PACHA'S YACHT CRUISE ON THE NILE. By EMMELINE LOTT, Anthor of "Harem Life in Egypt and Turkey," &c. " There are many reasons why this book will become the leading one of the season. First, because it contains a mass of information hitherto unknown to English readers. Secondly, because it gives an insight into Egyptian domestic life, such as few Europeans could have seen; and, lastly, because the Nile is just now a subject of great interest in consequence of the Prince and Princess of Wales being on its waters. — Telegraph. "The author of this work is well known for her narrative of ' Harem Life in Egypt and Turkey.' The present production possesses many features in common with its predecessor, and the author tells of what she saw and what she heard on her journey with the Princesses of Egypt on their visit to the harams of Buiuk Hanems, on the Nile, in a manner which makes the work a very readable and entertaining one.

The features of the book which will be most attractive are those devoted to a description of the mode and habits of life among the ladies of the harem, some of whom, if the author is to be credited, by no means deserve the confidence reposed in them by the Pachas. ft umerous instances are mentioned of the amours and of the liasons of the frail beauties of the harem; and the author must certainly have made good use of the introductions which she obtained to collect so large an amount of scandal of this kind, however ungracious it may be on her part to give to the world these curious details of the inner life of the harem." — Observer A CHEAPER EDITION. In 1 Vol. 7s. 6d. RECOLLECTIONS OF CENTRAL AMERICA, AND THE WEST COAST OF AFRICA. By MRS. FOOTE, (Widow of the late Henry Grant Foote, Esq., Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Lagos).

" We strongly recommend this book to our readers as a simple and unaffected record of a brave-hearted woman's experience in uncivilise d lands." — Examiner. " It is simply and pleasantly written, and will be welcome to those who are fond of works of travel."— Daily Telegraph. In 1 Vol. 5s. THREE HISTORICAL PLATS. WILLIAM OF NORMANDY, HENRY THE SECOND, AND OFFA, KING OF MERCIA Each in Five Acts. By HENRY J. VERLANDER, M.A. (Late of St. John's, Cambridge) , Author of "The Bride of Rougemont," &c. ' ' The author of these dramas displays talents of a very high order, both in the construction of his plots and in the language of his dia. logues. A very slight modification would suffice to adapt them for the stage, an experiment we should gladly see attempted at this time, when a revival of the public taste for the regular drama is sadly needed." — Observer.

Chapter I

More than a month has passed since the events recorded in our last chapter, and the cold winds and rain of April had given way to the genial and bright sunshine of May. Maud had heard nothing from home for a long time. She had finished another novel, which had realised a considerable sum. She had been as sociated with the most gifted men and women of the day, and they one and all admitted her great talent, and sought her society ; no one more so VOL. IL B than her respected friend Mr. Fitzgerald, who had been a frequent visitor at the Boothby 's. Augustus Boothby spent almost the whole of his time in Maud's company. Hourly he watched her, and a strange feeling filled his soul as he did so, a mighty and uncontrollable passion was stealing into his heart. He had learnt to love her with a love such as he had never felt in his early youth — a love such as can only be under stood to a truly sympathising mind.

It was, as we have said, the month of May, and although there was bright sunshine and a cloudless sky the spirits of Maud were greatly depressed. She was alone iu the drawing-room, trying in vain to dispel the gloom which filled her heart with grief, for in spite of all her efforts her one great sorrow weighed her down. She thought of the happy week she had spent at Pentlow Hall, in Cecil Woodhouse's company, the love she bore him and her happiness, when she fancied that love was reciprocated. She tried to cast from her these reminiscences, but she could not. She attempted to write, but could not, so she rose and paced up and down the room. At length she became calmer, seated herself at a table, and tears flowed plentifully from her eyes, for the spirit of desolation seemed to have taken possession of her soul.

The door was suddenly opened and Augustus Boothby stood before her. " Good morning, dear Maud," he said, taking her hand and pressing it warmly ; but on looking at her face he started, and said hurriedly : " I fear I have intruded, Miss Courtenay. Have you had bad news from Bridgnorth ?" A bitter smile writhed poor Maud's lips, as she replied : " No, I have had no news, bad or good from home. The fact is, Mr. Boothby, the 'dark mood ' as the Irish say, is upon me to day, from which I have vainly endeavoured to rouse myself. You are no doubt aware, that there are periods when a depression of spirit takes possession of us, and we cannot for a time shake b it off. I am so glad you have come. I assure you, you have not intruded." " I wish I could banish for ever from your heart that feeling of desolation which I have long known oppresses you.

It is terrible to see one so young so sorrowful." " You, I am sure, do not for a moment think the youthful heart cannot know or feel sorrow ; but there are weak-minded people who maintain the young cannot feel and ought not to know sorrow." " It must be a weak-minded person indeed, who can entertain such an absurd notion," returned Augustus, " there are thousands of common place people who talk of the never ending joys of youth, and whose idea of the spring time of life, as they call it, is to seek mirth and gaiety where ever it is to be found. Such unthinking people deem it unnecessary to reflect on the past, the present, or the future, they only understand hap piness to consist in loving and being loved as they call it," and a sarcastic sneer curled the proud lip of Mr. Boothby. For a minute there was a pause, when Maud, anxious to change the subject, broke the silence by asking : " Can you tell me where to find a teacher of languages ?" 11 The modern or dead languages ?" asked Augustus.

" The dead, Latin and Greek. I have an ardent desire to be thoroughly acquainted with both, but more especially the latter." "You are I am sure acquainted with both languages," said her companion. " Very slightly." " I know an excellent tutor, to whom I will introduce you. He will bring you on rapidly. He was at college with me, but reverse of fortune has compelled him to turn his talents to account. 1 am truly glad to hear that you intend master ing Greek and Latin, you will make a first rate classic." " I intend to study very hard," said Maud, " I have a particular leaning to Greek and Latin, and fancy I have capabilities that way — " " And another way," said Augustus, smiling, and holding up one of her works. "Oh, yes; of course I knew years before I commenced writing that sooner or later I must do so.

But, Mr. Boothby, do not all feel this — did not you ?" " Yes, and as you say, all do, or nearly all ; but they do not all shine forth." " To what do you attribute the failure ?" asked Maud. " The want of education- — at least sufficient education. Still in spite of this the possessor of intellect and talent feels them burning within him, causing him great bitterness and sorrow — a sorrow different to all others, one which rather embitters than chastens the spirit ; there is no humbling influence, for he feels that he is un appreciated, and that the talent God has im planted in him is lost. His must be a bitter lot." After a short pause, Maud said : " When I have thoroughly mastered Latin and Greek, I shall travel. I have a longing desire to visit Greece and Egypt." " To hear you talk," said Augustus.

" I fancy I am living my life over again. Every feeling that you speak of I have known. But you have this advantage over me, no one ever sympathised with me, no one understood me, whilst you have one who understands and sympathises with your every word and feeling ; aye, and I may say every thought." Again a bright ray of sunshine illumined the young girl's heart, but she spoke not. After a minute or two, Augustus, who had been gazing intently at his companion, said : " I have more than once thought your last work was an outline of your own life. I am not of that opinion now." Maud looked up suddenly, and said : " No. I assure you it was not. It has been a rule of mine, and was so from the first, never to be egotistical in my writings. There is, however, no doubt that all a writer's sentiments and ideas will be to some extent promulgated, although un consciously at the time.

I will not deny that in all my works, most of the characters are taken from life and from my own observation, but in no instance have I ever alluded to myself. If a writer cannot find, either from his own study and observations on life, or in the well of his imagination, sufficient material for the incident of a more than ordinarily good novel, he had better at once give up what he considers his vocation." " I quite agree with you, and I assure you it was only when I first had the happiness of mak ing your acquaintance, that I thought you had sketched your own life, but such a surmise was quickly dispelled, as I became to know you more intimately. By the bye, when is your new book to be published?" "Very shortly, I believe." " I am glad to hear it," said Augustus. " I anticipate pleasure in its perusal."

After a moment's pause, he continued — " Are you going to Almack's with my sister, to-night?" "Yes," replied Maud, faintly smiling. "Julia says I must consider it a necessary duty ; but, in truth, I care very little about it. I should be much happier in spending the evening at home to enjoy a little music and reading." " Or writing," said Augustus, smiling. 11 Or writing," repeated Maud. " I can quite enter into your feelings, for they are precisely my own. I care nothing for balls, I never did, except for the study of character they afforded. I have often wondered why, even as a young man, I could take no pleasure in dancing ; the opera is to me the most enjoyable of all public amusements." "Why not?" asked Maud, as she looked into her companion's almost perfect countenance. " Because I was never cared for, or really loved by any one with the exception of my brother and Julia, and their love was not the affection I have thirsted for.

Amongst literary women I have never found one who could comprehend my peculiar nature, until I was introduced to you, Maud. You do I feel certain." " I feel certain, I do," replied Maud, in a low b earnest voice, which went to the very soul of her companion. For some time neither spoke, till Mr. Boothby began : " I have lived many more years in the world than you have, Miss Courtenay; but there has been a strange similarity in our lives. There has been the same want of sympathy from others, the same feeling of desolation in our hearts, how severe none but ourselves can know. May God grant you may escape the one great sorrow I have experienced." Maud replied not ; she was thinking over the truthfulness of the first part of his speech, and pondering deeply on his last words ; she knew not to what they referred.

Finding his companion did not reply he continued — " You do not care for the kind of amusement that Almack's offers. Were you always as little inclined for balls, which to the great bulk of women appear to afford such pleasure, and obtain no slight admiration from men ? " Maud looked up at her companion's face as she said: " Admiration I what a bauble ! I neither value nor expect it. I was ever too careless of my personal appearance. My time and my thoughts are always too much occupied to bestow either the one or the other, on what the world calls pleasure. If I desire approbation, it is for my writings, which I sincerely believe deserve ad miration. If any one took the liberty of paying me a personal compliment, I should consider it a mere idle one^ and value it as such. When I was young, my companions set me down as stupid, for I could not take delight in any of the amusements they seemed to enjoy so much ;: nor could I share in, or caare to' listen to the common-place conversations that were going on around me by the young men and1 young ladies, and was con sequently pitied by them for my stupidity.

These butterflies little knew how ardently I was seeking a congenial soul." " You have found that soul ?" asked Augustus, in a whisper and a trembling voice. " Thank God I have !" said Maud, solemnly. " My manner was usually unconsciously to my self, cold and proud, a manner anything but pleasant to strangers, so that few liked me, and as to love, my dearest mother's is the only love I ever did or do possess." A slight shudder passed over Maud's frame, and her lips trembled. Mr. Boothby was on the point of pouring forth ardent vows of the passionate attachment that burned within his heart, but checked himself as he thought " my time is not yet come," so he turned the conversation and asked for some music. Maud instantly took her seat at the piano and played and sung to him, and under the soothing influence of her exquisite voice and the charming melodies she warbled, the bitterness of their spirits was soothed, and once more sunshine peeped forth in their hearts.

Chapter II

Immediately after dinner, Lady Boothby and her young frier.d, Maud Courtenay, retired to their respective rooms to dress for a ball at Almack's that evening. Maud, instead of commencing her toilette, seated herself in an easy chair before the fire, and with her feet on the fender thought over the events of the morning. In this meditative mood she continued until she was aroused by the entrance of Lady Boothby's abigail, who had come to assist in the arrangement of her toilette. " Good gracious, Miss Courtenay, not began to dress yet?" " No," said Maud smiling, " there is plenty of time." " Indeed, Miss, you are mistaken, there is scarcely an hour, Lady Boothby's toilette is very nearly completed. Shall I begin your hair ?" "Yes," said Maud, as she arose and seated herself before the toilette glass.

" What dress will you put on ?" asked the maid. " The white silk." "Where are the ornaments and flowers for your hair ?" was asked. " I wear neither." The abigail shrugged her shoulders, and when the dress was on, she said : " Where are mademoiselle's jewels ?" " The only one I ever wear is, suspended round my neck " This was a small star set in diamonds. Again the abigail shrugged her shoulders, but when Maud rose, she could not help admiring the exquisite simplicity of the whole attire. Maud descended to the drawing-room, and in a minute after Sir Harry and Lady Boothby joined her. The carriage was announced and they were all speedily seated therein. " Maud ; do you dance ?" enquired Sir Harry, with a quiet smile. " Occasionally, not very often." " You are not fond of dancing ?" enquired Lady Boothby.

" Not very. My dislike, however, to going to balls is not so much the dancing, as having to walk about the rooms, or sit down with some empty-headed person I have danced with, who can talk of nothing beyond the charming ball he had been at the night before at the Duchess of , or, how he had been bored at the opera, to which he had been a hundred timeB ; or some crack friend who had lost a large sum on the Derby ; or his enjoyment of society in Vienna and Paris, neither of which cities he had probably ever visited." "■My dear Maud," said Julia laughing, "how dreadfully severe you are." " No, dear Julia, only just." "But, my love, when people meet they must talk." " I suppose they must ; but surely they need not indulge in common-place nonsense." " Then you disapprove of dancing ?" said Sir Harry.

" Not so. I dislike balls in general, but I look on with pleasure when children meet together to enjoy so healthy an amusement." " Then it is only children of a larger growth that you think ought not to dance ?" asked Sir Harry, smiling. " Just so," said Maud gaily, " these children of a larger growth as you term them, seem to me to make such a business of dancing, but I especially dislike to see grey headed old gentlemen and ladies, fathers and mothers of families, so far forget their dignity as to go off like spinning tops in the waltz or gallopade." " Or the polka," laughed Sir Harry. "To me the most disgusting of all dances. Still one that at the height of its popularity every foolish old man and woman thought it requisite to he taught. I never saw it danced but I asked myself where was the boasted pride of the women of England?"

" Where indeed ?" said Sir Harry, laughing heartily at Maud's comical, though true picture. " I fear Maud's picture is too true, as regards a large number of the fashionable dancers," said Lady Boothby. " It is a pity that the youth of both sexes spend so much valuable time in frivolous amusements instead of study." " I hope you will meet some congenial spirits to-night," observed Sir Harry, " there will be a s trong gathering of the literati and you need not be at a loss for a suitable companion." " I have no doubt I shall enjoy myself ex ceedingly. Mr. Eoothby will be there, will he not?" " Oh ! yes, he will meet us." " Then I cannot fail to have a pleasant even- *-*> ing. A sudden feeling of happiness passed through Sir Harry's heart as he heard Maud ask so anxiously for his brother. The carriage stopped, and the party entered the brilliantly lighted ball-room.

Nearly an hour had elapsed ere Mr. Boothby made his appearance ; as he entered, Maud was engaged in conversation with a gentleman to whom she had been introduced. Augustus immediately joined her, shook hands with the gentleman, who immediately after left them. "Have you been dancing, Miss Courtenay?" asked Mr. Boothby. " Oh ! no, I was more pleasantly engaged in talking to your friend, who has just left us. He is a very well read man." " There's Julia and my brother talking to the Duke of Northwich, and Mr. Trevelyan," said Augustus. " Shall we join them ?'' " Yes, if you please," replied Maud. After the usual salutations with the Duke and Mr. Trevelyan, both of whom Maud had often met, Lady Boothby repeated Mr. Boothby's question. " Have you been dancing, Maud ?" " No, I don't care for it, you know."

"Yes, but you should have one valse. It would raise your spirits ; you are looking rather triste." Maud could not conceal a smile which stole over her lips, at the idea of dancing raising her spirits, and as she smiled her eyes met those of Mr. Boothby's. A glance passed between them, and then bending down, he said in a low voice, " I will not ask you, Maud." She looked up quickly, and Augustus was amply r ewarded by the expression in her eyes. " Had not Miss Courtenay avowed her dis inclination for dancing," said the Duke courteously, " I should have asked to have been honoured with her hand in the next valse." Maud bowed and was about to reply, and in courtesy to accept the invitation, when the Duke said gaily, " Ah ! thank you, Miss Courtenay, I meant not to induce you to say yes. I will not be so selfish, but I shall hope to be permitted having the pleasure of accompanying you round the room, after I have fulfilled my enagagement with Lady Eustace."

Maud bowed gracefully, and accepting Mr. Boothby's arm, walked to a seat at a distance. As soon as the dance was finished, Maud and Mr. Boothby arose, and proceeded arm-in-arm through the room till they met the Duke. " I shall leave Miss Courtenay in your Grace's charge," said Mr. Boothby, turning to his friend, " I must go and speak to a group of friends, or rather acquaintances, I see yonder." The Duke introduced his companion to many of his friends, people distinguished for nobility of birth as well as for for genius and talent. Men and women whom England could glory in. ' Not only was she presented to these high-minded people, but also to a great many common-place and frivolous of both sexes, and she noted all down in the tablets of her memory, as studies for future writings. To her astonishment, as well as to the astonishment of a great many others, she met her old friend Mr. Fitzgerald, who for some unaccountable reason had taken it into his head to go to Almack's, a place which he had not visited for many a long day.

" Well, Miss Courtenay," he said, shaking her hand warmly, " how have you enjoyed your visit to Almack's, your first, I believe." " Yes, it is my first," said Maud, " I have found the scene a useful study ; but as to en joying the ball, or rather the dancing, I care nothing about it. These balls are mere dancing parties." '• Nothing else," returned Mr. Fitzgerald. " But tell me, do you consider they are conducive to the mental improvement of the young men and women who nightly assemble at them." Maud looked up at the old man's face and replied, " There is much to be said against, yet there may be points in favour of these assemblies ; though to me there appears, I must confess, very few. I do not think the minds of those who seek pleasure night after night in such assemblies can become elevated.

Their ideas must become frivo lous and their characters weak. How piteous it is to see so many fair and pure young girls, throwing away their time and talents in such trifling and I fear often sinful pursuits. It astonishes me to see mothers aiding in the work of folly, mothers who think of nothing, care for nothing beyona getting their daughters married. How some of these poor creatures would hate themselves if the truth were laid before them. But they were educated to think that as soon as their children are educated the great object in life is to get them what is called settled, or in other words to secure a husband of some sort. Am I not correct, Mr. Fitzgerald ?" " I wish for the sake of those fair young creatures I could say you were in error ; but I cannot." " Then you agree with me," said Maud, sorrowfully.

" Yes, I consider you quite a philosopher, Miss Courtenay." " More of a misanthrope, 1 fear," said Maud, with a smile, "and yet that cannot be, for I love, I adore goodness and everything that is beautiful. Look, Mr. Fitzgerald, at that lovely girl, I could gaze on her till I knew every linea ment of her beautiful face." " I would to Heaven that all women thought as well and deeply as yon do, Miss Courtenay." " No, Mr. Fitzgerald, that would never do," said Maud, smiling, " then there would be no variety in our study. Besides, I do not think that deep thinkers are always the most amiable beings in the world. In truth, I am sure they are not. By sad experience I know it." A mournful expression overspread her brow. " They become disgusted with many of their fellow crea tures, in consequence of having read their shallow characters, and seen their common minds, and though they love and appreciate worth and goodness when they find it, still they discover so little of the latter, that it does not compensate for the great preponderance of the former, and thus the deep thinker becomes embittered, proud, stern, and cold to their fellow creatures, with whom they can have no sympathy."

" But, my dear Miss Courtenay, do not these deep thinkers, like poets, in some measure, live in a world of their own creating ?" " To some extent they do. There are those, Mr. Fitzgerald, who would rejoice had they never lifted the veil and gazed on the bitter hol lowness that lay beneath it. Had they passed through life, studying neither the good nor the bad ; for alas ! if they seek the one, they must also find the other, and become well acquainted with both." " Are you one of those who regret studying human nature, who would blind your eyes to evil and to good, for as you truly say, we cannot seek the one without finding the other. Are you one of these, Miss Courtenay?" asked Mr. Fitz gerald, in a low voice, that none could hear but his companion. As she replied he fixed a searching gaze upon her, but Maud answered truthfully — " No. If I had how could I have depicted scenes aud pourtrayed characters that I know to be life-like.

And even setting that aside, I would not have blinded my eyes, for if I had not beheld the evil 1 must have lost the good. They are so intermingled." " That's true enough ; but what has been your aim?" " To study those around, and to work in the hope of good to my fellow creatures." " Humph!" muttered the old gentleman. " I perceive," continued Maud, "you consider it a wild dream ; but I will not despair. " " Never do so, my dear," said Mr. Fitz gerald, with a gratified look. " At this very moment your holy dream may have been realised." They were joined by Augustus, and Mr. Fitz gerald took leave of them for the night. " What a very beautiful girl Miss Gibson is." And he directed Maud's attention to the spot where she was standing. Maud started on hearing the familiar name, and asked hurriedly — " Where is Dora Gibson ?"

" There she is," said Augustus, " with the vol. il c dark hair and Asiatic cast of countenance. Do you know her ?" " I see now," replied Maud. " No, I don't know that lady, but possibly my friend may be a relation of hers." " No, that lady is an orphan, and without a relation in the world. She was born in Madras. Her father held a good appointment in the India service. She is very rich." " She is not at all like his Dora," said Maud, unconsciously. " His Dora," remarked Augustus to himself. The Duke of Northwich came and asked Maud to waltz with him, and not wishing to appear particular she complied. Maud was extremely absent, for her answers to his Grace were not only not to the purpose, but very short. He saw at a glance something had occurred to cause such great depression on her spirits, but he little imagined how far away from the gay throng in which she was moving the mind of his partner was.

The faces and forms of all around her, replaced by those of Dora aud Cecil Woodhouse, and deep sorrow entered her heart as she thought of their soon becoming man and wife. The valse finished, Augustus came to conduct Maud to the carriage. As they drove home she scarcely spoke, a chord had been touched in her heart — a name spoken which had power to call up memories she had striven to flee from, and a train of thought had been suggested which she could not break. o2

Chapter III

Another month had elapsed since the events recorded in our last chapter. It is June, and the height of the London season. Mr. Boothby continued constant as ever in his daily — nay, almost Hourly attention to Maud. In the month that had passed since the night of the ball at Almack's, he had often thought over the words that had unconsciously fallen from her lips, and felt that she, too, had suffered from an un happy attachment. The very idea seemed to make him love her more ardently, for this he imagined was another link to bind them more closely to each other. Maud, however, knew not all his feelings ; she felt an indescribable pleasure in his society and his conversation, his gentleness — nay, his almost fondness towards her, soothed her troubled heart. She felt that there was one who cared for her, and it was comfort to her yearning young heart.