The Grey House at Endlestone

Front matter

THE GBEY HOUSE AT ENDLESTONE. BY EMMA JANE WOEBOISE, Author of " Lady Clarissa," "Oliver Westwood," "Nobly Born," "Father Fabian." " The House of Bondage," "Husbands and Wives," &c.% &c. " I bared my head to meet the smiter's stroke ; There came sweet dropping oil. I waited, trembling, but the voice that spoke Said gently. ' Cease thy toil." •• I looked for evil, stern ot face and pale; Came good, too fair to tell. X leant on God when other Joys did fail He gave me these as well." %nxfosm : JAMES CLARKE AND CO., 13, FLEET STREET. HODDEB AND STOUGHTON, PATEENOSTER ROW. Ib77. LONDON : W. SPEAIQHT & SONS. PRINTERS, FETTER LANB CONTENTS. CHAPTEE PAGE I. A Page from Hilda's Diary 1 II. Morning and Evening 13 III. The Shadows Deepen 25 IV. AHollow World 36 V. A Friend in Need 49 VI. A Long Journey 60 VII.

Hilda's New Home 71 VIII. Saturday Evening 82 IX. The Blue House 94 X. Sunday Afternoon 105 XL From Hilda's Diary 115 XII. A Miserable Morning 127 XIII. Confidences 139 XIV. The End of the Skating Party 149 XV. Pardon and Peace 160 XVI. A Morning of Surprises 172 XVII. Ghosts 183 XVIII. Warning Voices 194 XIX. A True Love Story 206 XX. The Way of Transgressors 218 XXI. From Hilda's Diary 229 XXII. Alice's Wedding CONTENTS. CHAPTEE PAGE XXIII. Hilda Becomes a Person of Importance 251 XXIV. The Mother's Confessional 263 XXV. Going to Bradenshope 274 XXVI. Quiet Hours 286 XXVII. TheZingara 298 XXVIII. The Wanderer's Ketum 310 XXIX. The Wild Cattle 321 XXX. Love and Friendship 332 XXXI. Westward Ho! 342 XXXII. Christina's Story 353 XXXIII. Tapping the Weather-Glass 365 XXXIV. The Day at Arnheim 377 XXXV.

Favourable Symptoms 388 XXXVI. Hilda Confesses to Herself 400 XXXVII. The Lady of Arnheim 411 XXXVIII. Hilda's "Ultimatum 423 XXXIX. The Zingara Again 434 XL. In the Haunted Rooms 444 XLI. Giuditta Delia Bocca 455 XLII. Cousin William 4gg XLIII. The New Evangeline 477 XLIV. Giacinta 4gg XL V. Matrons in Council 499 XLVI. "La Vendetta" 5U XLVII. "Little Paolo" 522 XL VIII. " There Everlasting Spring Abides" 532 XL1X. " So He Giveth His Beloved Sleep " 544 L. The End of the Chronicle

Chapter I

A PAGE FROM HILDA'S DIARY. " Unthinking, idle, wild, and young, I laughed and talked, and danced and sung ; And proud of health, of freedom vain, Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain ; Concluding in those hours of glee That all the world was made for me." ■ O Life, O Beyond, Thou art strange, thou art sweet." " How beautiful is life ! What a happy world is this ! How sweet it is to live — to love ! And yet cynics would have us believe that sorrow is the natural inheritance of poor, frail mortality ; that pitfalls and snares beset oui" path from the cradle to the grave ; that disappointments and vexations are the common lot ! Well ! some people, I suppose, do have rather a troublesome time of it ; there are the sick, the poverty-stricken, the unlucky, the friendless, to say nothing of the gloomy, ill-tempered folk, who look always on the dark side of things, and cast their own unlovely shadow on all around them — these, perhaps, have some reason to affirm that life is a vale of tears, happiness a myth, and expectation a veritable jack-o' -lantern !

But I! — I am very happy! Words cannot express my felicity, my full content with the fate 1 ■r THE GREY HOUSE AT ENDLESTONE. that Providence allots me. I think I must be the happiest girl in all London to-night ! I really think I must ! There is not even a crumpled roseleaf to disturb my slumbers. Let me count up my advantages — my ' blessings !■' as the goody-goody people would tell me I ought to call them. " Imprimis — good health ! I never had an ache or a pain in my life, except when I gashed my arm with papa s sword, which, of course, I had no business to touch. Next — a very fair pedigree ; we are not exactly aristocrats, we Capels, but we are ' well-connected,' as people say, and the roots of our familytree go down a long way into the British soil ; I am a gentlewoman born and bred.

Next — a very tolerable amount of good looks. I don't think I can take rank as a beauty, but I am well enough. Yes, I dare say many people would call me a decidedly pretty girl, because I have — I really have — a very nice complexion, and regular features, and — as ' somebody ' ' said to me only two hours ago — ' as sweet and bright a smile as ever woman wore.' Was that original, I wonder, or was it only a quotation ? That same somebody said also, that I was graceful as a nymph and stately as a duchess ! And, what is more, I am sure that he meant it — that silly Horace Trelawny ! I suppose I may count his love as the supremest of all my blessings, though he has not as yet spoken to his father, nor declared himself to mine. But Aunt Mowbray approves, and she thinks papa will, readily enough, consent to our engagement — as, indeed, why should he not ?

For my Horace is better born than myself, nobly descended, wonderfully hand some, by no means poor, I imagine, without a blemish on his character — though the Raynham girls do say that he is a terrible flirt. And last, not least, he loves me with all his heart and soul ! And I love him — my brave, beautiful, high-minded, gifted Horace. I would marry him if he were as poor as Job. I would rather live with him in a cottage, or, what is far worse, in a stuffy, stupid, little eight-roomed house, with steep, narrow stairs and low ceilings, in one of those long, dull, shabby-genteel London streets, where itinerant vendors cry their wares, children \ squall upon the door-steps, and every house is exactly like ' A. PAGE FROM HILDA'S DIARY. 3 its neighbour, than I would live in a castle with any other man alive, though he were a peer, or even a royal prince.

" Dear me, what nonsense I am writing ! Well, people in love are always allowed to be a little foolish, and I do not see why I should not avail myself of the universal licence. Heigho ! it is very sweet to be in love — to be honestly in love — with the most delightful man in all the world, who loves me even more than I love him — at least, he says so. I am quite ashamed of having written that ' M least,' for, of course, what he says is true — true as the Bible ! There is not an atom of deceit or treachery in Horace's nature. Yes, my love, my own Horace — I may call you so now without being unmaidenly, since you have asked me and I have promised to be your wife — I do trust you wholly, perfectly, and without reservation ; I love you ; I love you more than tongue can tell. I have always been happy, even at that school in Paris ; I am happier now than I have ever been before — far happier ; but I shall be still happier in the time to come, when I am Horace's wife, and we are together always and for ever."

Hilda Capel wrote these words in her diary ; she had kept a sort of diary from her childhood, and, for the last three weeks, she had posted up her journal regularly every night — or sometimes, as was the case in the present instance, every morning — before going to bed. For Hilda had just come home from a ball — one of the most brilliant of an unwontedly brilliant London season, now drawing to its close. Let us look at her, as she clasps and locks her dainty MS. volume, and wipes her gold pen on a gay little pen wiper, and begins slowly to take off her ornaments, while the toilet lights already flicker in their sockets, and out side the rosy dawn is surging over the tree-tops in Ken sington Gardens. She is alone, for she is a kind-hearted girl, and always excuses her maid from attendance when she is likely to be late ; and though she has danced no end of round dances — chiefly with Horace Trelawny — and dined out before going to the ball, and had a kettledrum of her own before that in her aunt's drawing-room (which was virtually hers), and had driven in the Row before 1—2 THE GREY HOUSE AT ENDLESTONE. that, to say nothing of engagements earlier in the day — though she has done enough to tire a maid-of-all-work, she is not weary, and feels that she could sit up several hours longer musing on the new-born happiness which seems to her the crown of her happy, thrice happy, girlhood.

Only, it is not expedient ; there are sounds of life without, the morning is brightening into day, and Horace will certainly be there before luncheon. Henceforth, he will be one of the family, for Hilda has no misgivings as to her father's acceptance of a suitor, whom even her worldly Aunt Mowbray emphatically speaks of as "eligible!" We have seen that she hesitated to rank herself as a beauty, and she was right. But, nevertheless, Hilda Capel was " a maiden fair to see ; " she was tall, graceful, and withal, as Horace Trelawny affirmed, rather "duchesslike " — that is to say, there was a certain natural stateliness in her manner and bearing ; she was perfectly wellmade, and her shapely head was set on a firm, though slender, white throat, which rose pillar-like from drooping shoulders. Her skin was smooth and clear, her hair of a rich brown, glossy and abundant, her eyes of a soft, deep grey, and her features tolerably regular, though not absolutely faultless.

Bnt Hilda's great charm of countenance lay in her expression, which was sweet and earnest — wonderfully earnest, when you take into account her shallow education, and her worldly and painfully irreligious training. For, born and baptized in a Christian country, and brought up as a nominal member of the English State Church, required to read her daily chapter in the Bible up to a certain age, taught her catechism, and, in due course, confirmed, Hilda Capel was at heart, and in aspiration, little better than a refined and highly moral heathen. She looks lovely to-night, or rather this morning, as she stands before the glass twisting up her long, silken hair into a net. Her face is radiant with her inward joy • that perfect happiness which she has just chronicled in her " Diary " is reflected in every feature ; she might stand for a portrait of Euphrosyne.

And her happiness is perfect, because it has not yet occurred to her that the A PAGE FROM HILDA' S DIARY. 5 change and loss which really, after all, are in the world, can ever come to her ; because she cannot guess that the golden chalice she now holds filled to the brim with life's sweet, fine wine, can ever be emptied out, and changed into a cup of bitterness, overflowing with gall and wormwood — a nauseous draught from which her lips recoil, and her palate shudders ; because she has gathered roses ever since she can remember — roses in bud and in bloom, Mies full of odorous dews, purple heartsease and golden eyed forget-me-nots, — gathered them by handfuls at her will, without once being wounded by the thorns, or pluck ing instead of flowers brambles, briars, and stinging, noxious weeds.

There are thorns and weeds in the world, she knows, but not for her ! Bitter herbs and acrid waters, darkened days and tearful nights — but not for her! not for happy Hilda Capel, rich and fair, young and spirited, and the fortunate betrothed of Horace Trelawny. At length, her gay attire laid aside, and her flowers and jewels scattered here and there, she lay down on her soft, white pillows, and slept the sound, refreshing sleep of youthful health and happiness. But ere she closed her eyes, no prayer passed her sweet, " crimson-threaded lips," no involuntary thanksgiving for so much joy went up to Him, "from whom all blessings flow." Aid yet she lay down in peace and awoke in gladness, for her Father, of whose love she took so little count, watched over her, and folded her — poor thoughtless child of earth — safe under the shadow of His wings ; for the Lord loved her, and cared for her, and watched over her, though she neither loved nor cared for Him, nor watched for tokens of His favour ; for His ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, and His mercies are vouch safed to the evil and the good.

Only, the soul that sins shall suffer; it cannot dwell apart from God and not sustain a grievous loss ; it must come to Him, if not in the calm, in the storm, if not in the sunshine, in the shadow, if not by the rills of Siloam by the desolate Dead Sea shores. "The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God." All who forget God I So wrote the Psalmist in olden time, and the experience of saints and sinners ever since has all tended to confirm his declaration. For there is, certainly, a hell upon earth — a hell in the inmost heart of every person whose life here is practically godless, whatever may be the miseries of the Gehenna or Tartarus which await the finally impenitent. Out of God, there can be no real happiness ; no joys that are not as the many-coloured air bubbles blown by children ; no pleasures that will not presently pall upon the taste, and from luscious fruits become as apples of Sodom, fair to look upon, but within mere dust and bitterness.

Moreover, said the Psalmist : " In Thy presence is fulness of joy ; at Thy right hand are pleasures for ever more." And this also is true of the present life as well as of that which is to come. For God is present now as then, and His obedient children are for ever at His right hand in the place of privilege and honour. Heaven and hell may be figures of speech and signify states of being rather than actual places of abode ; but this is sure — that heaven is about us now, though but dimly felt and com prehended, if only we walk with God and seek to do His will in love and not in fear ; and that hell is at our very doors, nay, goes with us wherever we go, if, refusing God's grace and rejecting the Gospel of His Son, we live carnal, worldly lives, steeped in selfishness (which is the root of all sin), and forget our Father, whose loving-kindness has given us all things richly to enjoy.

Certainly, Hilda Capel was not wicked in the general acceptation of the term. On the contray, she was amiable, generous, naturally sweet-tempered, and inclined, by force of education and surroundings, to virtue rather than to vice. But God was unthought of. She lived a prayerless, thankless life, saying, " Our Father " with her lips in church, but never in secret lifting up her heart to Him, never in any of her ways acknowledging Him, never seeking His favour or His guidance ; content to have her portion in this life, to enjoy all good and pleasant things, without one remembrance of the liberal hand that gave them. And all the while it never occurred to her that she was other than she ought to be; that her so-called religion, limited to a single Sunday service, was the merest, A PAGE FROM HILDA'S DIARY. 7 hollowest form that could be imagined — the husk without the grain, the watch without the spring, the vase without the perfume !

After about six hours' profound slumber, Hilda awoke, and saw the sunshine streaming in through the blinds, and her beautiful ball dress lying across a chair. Then she remembered all that had happened the night before ; she recalled her lover's every word and look, and at the same time recollected that he would come early to pay his respects to Mrs. Mowbray, and to settle which would be the more expedient — to write to Major Capel, who was at present residing in Paris, or to run over and pay him an unexpected visit. Major Capel was, as you will readily understand, Hilda's father — a fashionable, selfish man of the world, universally popular in the society which he affected, and generally supposed to be exceedingly wealthy. Hilda was his only child and sole heiress, and when her mother died, twelve years before, she had been, at that mother's earnest request, consigned to the care of her widowed sister, who promised, on her part, to superintend the education of her niece, and finally "bring her out" at the proper age, and act as her chaperon till she married.

And Major Capel was well content with this arrangement. The gay life which he led indisposed him to any kind of domestic incubus ; his wife had not been too happy, though she had not openly complained of unkindness or neglect, and the care of a child, however nominal the charge, would have been a restraint to which nothing could induce him to submit. He was only too well pleased to find that his sister-in-law, who was well received in the "best society," was willing to relieve him of his parental obligations. The little Hilda was accordingly committed to her aunt, who undertook the whole responsibility of her bringing up, on condition of a handsome allowance, to be largely increased when her niece should attain her eighteenth year. For Mrs. Mowbray had expensive habits and a limited income, and the liberal arrangements which her brother-in-law was quite willing to make would add greatly to her comfort, and enable her to hold a better position in her own circle than would otherwise have been possible.

And my readers will understand how greatly she appreciated these advantages when I repeat that she was in every particular a selfish, fashionable woman of the world — just that, and nothing more. Hilda, being of an affectionate nature, grew up with a certain attachment to her aunt. She was instructed in all that is supposed to be included in the education of a young lady of the upper ten thousand. She had excellent abilities and an inquiring mind, and so she really knew more than might have been expected, considering how frequently she was desired not to spoil her eyes poring over books, nor to injure her figure or her complexion by too close application to any favourite study, and how often reminded that a girl with her fortune and claims to beauty had no need to slave in the schoolroom like the luckless maidens whose acquirements must be alike their dowry and stock-in-trade.

" Do not make Miss Capel a blue stocking, or a femme incomprise," said Mrs. Mowbray, to the highly recommended French governess, who con sidered herself capable of imparting every kind of know ledge, and all sorts of accomplishments ; while at the same time she professed to devote herself to the high moral culture and rebgious training of her pupils ! " To give a girl the reputation of a savante is seriously to injure her prospects ; the days of Sevigne and De Stael are for ever passed. It was all very well for you, who have to earn your bread as a governess, to learn everything under the sun, and to learn it thoroughly ; but art, science, and philosophy are useless to a young lady who has only to please herself and to shine in fashionable society. No amount of erudition, no number of ologies, will help her to a good marriage — which, I take it, is the end and aim of every rational and well-trained young woman.

Miss Capel must speak French fluently — if possible, German also ; and she ought to be able to read and pronounce Italian sufficiently to make out the libretto of an opera without the help of a translation. Of course she must dance gracefully, but that will not depend on you so much as upon M. Chateau and Mademoiselle Cleary, her mistress of deportment. She must play brilliantly, and sing really well, but I will not have her tormented with A PAGE FROM HILDA'S DIARY. 9 thorough-bass, whatever that may be, or any useless nonsense of that sort ; and she ought to sketch a little, I suppose ; and you may teach her a little botany, if you like, and just as much astronomy as will enable her to know Ursa Major from the Pleiades. I am not sure that I know them myself, and I have done very well without knowing ; but such things are talked about now more than they were in my young days, and it is not desirable to appear more ignorant than others, or to be unable to mix in general conversation.

In short, fit her to appear gracefully and effectively in society, when the time comes, and I shall be contented. I need not suggest that her morals should be carefully attended to, and that she should be properly grounded in the principles of the Protestant religion. Lady John Maltravers assures me, that though convent-bred, you are not a Papist." " Oh ! no, indeed, madame ; I am Protestant, I do assure you," replied the obsequious governess, who held no creed at all, and would unhesitatingly have conformed to Buddhism, had it seemed expedient. " I exactly compre hend what it is you require, and I undertake that ma chere et belle eleve shall be all that you desire. As for me, I detest a bas-bleu ; as you say, it is only we poor governesses who are compelled to toil at real learning; young ladies of rank and fashion, especially those who are handsome and rich, are better without too much educa tion.

A little of everything is my maxim ; and plenty of style. Ah ! madame, style and grace are everything to a young lady. I give you my word that Mademoiselle Capel shall perfectly acquire the one and the other." And Mrs. Mowbray retired, well satisfied ; and Made moiselle La Violette reigned in the schoolroom, and did her best to mould the thirteen-years-old Hilda into a fashionable young lady. For three years she held sway, and then, some misunderstanding taking place between herself and her patroness, she resigned her post, and Hilda was sent to a Paris pension, and afterwards to an expensive school in Germany. And now she was altogether free of masters and governesses ; she had been presented, and her first season was a decided success. She had been admired, courted, envied, and the Honourable Horace Trelawny, second son of the Earl of Camelford — with every prospect of succeeding to the title, his eldest brother being a life-long invalid, and almost certain not to marry — had formally proposed, and had been unhesitatingly accepted, — not merely as a bon parti, as we have seen ; not at all, indeed, on account of any temporal advantages, either present or to come ; but simply because the girl loved him with all the warm and pure affection of her girlish heart.

Hilda's education had made her externally a fine lady, but it had not really spoiled her, and there were in her nature a depth and sin cerity, an unalloyed simplicity, of which her aunt and her closest friends never dreamed, and of which she was her self scarcely cognisant. Mrs. Mowbray breakfasted always, when they were alone, in her own room, and thither Hilda, as soon as she had taken her coffee, repaired. Attired in a richly embroidered white muslin, relieved by one or two knots of pale rose ribbon, and all the soft bloom of youth and health and happiness on her cheeks, she looked her very best. " Well, Hilda!" said her aunt, when the usual morning salutations had passed between them, " I must say dissipation seems to agree with you. It is just the end of the season, and your roses are as fresh, and your eyes as bright, as on the day you left the schoolroom.

Who would think you had danced till four o'clock this morning ? " "I have had a good sleep since then, and I am quite rested." " What is the matter, Hilda ? I read something more than ordinary in your face. How you blush, child ! It is becoming, however; but don't get into a habit of blushing — it proves too much self-consciousness, which is not well-bred ; besides, it is altogether like a milk-maid." " The matter is only that I am so very happy, auntie." " Has all been settled between you and Horace Tre lawny, then ? " " Yes ; that is to say, I have told him he may write to papa — and he is coming here presently, to see you, auntie. I knew that you approved." " I quite approve. If I did not, I should have inter- A PAGE FROM HILDA'S DIARY. 11 fered ere this, my dear ; for, of course, I perceived some weeks since how it was likely to be !

Yes ! you have done well, though with your face and fortune you might have done better. I shall tell your father that it is really a good match. Though, understand, Hilda, I should have discouraged Mr. Trelawny at once, I should never have allowed the intimacy, had his position with regard to the title been other than it is." " I do not understand, I think." " I mean as regards his brother, who will certainly die young and unmarried, leaving the way clear for your Horace. Were he simply a younger brother I should have kept you apart ; you will grace a coronet, and I intend that you shall wear one." " Aunt ! that sounds liarrid ! It is so calculating, so hard ! Besides, I tell you plainly, I thought nothing about Horace's possible prospects when I accepted him. I am going to marry him because I love him ; because he is the one man in all the world for me ; because, without him, all my life to come would be a blank — a void."

" Hilda, I am astonished ! I am pained ! It humbles me to hear you talk in such a strain ; you are scarcely modest." " Oh, aunt ! " cried Hilda, deeply pained, the pink roses of her cheeks flushing to crimson, and spreading over neck and brow, " I should not think of saying so much to any one else, and I would not have said it to you yester day ; I would scarcely have allowed it to myself. But now — now that Horace has told me how much he loves me, now that we are actually engaged, and that it is settled that I am to be his wife, I may surely admit to you that I do honestly care for my future husband. I do not think, though, I should have said so much, had you not half implied that I had taken into account the infirmities and declining health of poor Lord Polperro. I would not for the world be mercenary; I don't care a jot for money."

" That is because you have never wanted it, my dear ; you would tell a different tale if you had ever known the misery of debt and empty pockets." " I cannot imagine it. One must manage very badly to get into debt, I should think." " You have never had to manage at all, therefore you are not a judge ; if you were poor now " " Oh, poor ! I should be miserable ! I have always had everything I wanted, and I always shall, I hope. That is not being mercenary, I suppose ? " "It inclines that way, Hilda ; and I think, in spite of your romantic affirmations, that Mr. Trelawny, as a poor curate, a briefless barrister, or an impecunious younger son without prospects, would have had little chance with you." " Rich or poor, Mr. Trelawny would always have been Mr. Trelawny." " Well, my dear, I will not argue with you.

Your choice is an excellent one, or I should scold you, and per haps shut you up till you came to your senses. As it is, you can afford to indulge in a little sentimentality ; but don't look so radiantly happy, child, or you will make your lover conceited." " I will try to be demure ; but really, I do feel so very happy — about as happy as I can ever be, I do believe." " It is not well to feel in that way," said Mrs. Mowbray, gravely. " It makes me shiver to hear you talk, and to see you look so wonderfully elate. Extremes of feeling, like extremes of opinion and extremes of action, are always dangerous. I forget whether it is in the Bible, or in Shakespeare— but one or the other says, ' Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.' A very wise and useful caution, who ever said it."