Diana Wynyard. By the author of 'Alice Wentworth,' &c. &c

Chapter I

Diana spent the best part of the night in that feverish state of going hack upon the past, that eager repeating and recalling of all that had been said and done in the last few hours, which distracts the minds of those, who feel they have been misinterpreted, and who see — or think they see — too late, how by some trifling exercise of prudence, or of self-possession, that misinterpretation might have been avoided. " Would that I had known ! would that I had foreseen !" was her constant exclamation ; VOL. II. B yet, had she known, had she foreseen, would the result have been different ? That Aylmer loved her, she felt sure ; yet, how reply to the doubts with which he tormented her, and him self no less ? — how dispel a jealousy he would not give vent to in words ; and which — had he been even taxed with it — he would have been certain to deny haughtily ?

And what proof had she, of this love she believed in? — nothing but an inward feeling founded upon looks and tones, on half-spoken phrases, on things so slight, that their meaning could never be conveyed to a third person ; and to a third person — to her sister Julia — she should, she knew, be forced to repeat the humiliating events of that evening ! This thought was the last she was conscious of; and this thought was the first which came upon her distinctly, in the midst of the confused im pression that something painful had occurred, which oppressed her on waking. It was a consideration which did not contribute to lessen the despondency, with which she looked forward to the ' getting through ' of the next twelve hours ; but there was no escaping it, and having, on going down stairs, first learnt that little Harriet was so much better as to be pronounced (by her papa at least) " quite well again," and then listened to the said " papa's " account to his wife, of the much greater amount of Australian information, that Edward might have obtained from Sir John Oldfield's nephew than he chose to trouble himself about, she soon found herself alone with her sister, and eagerly pressed with questions.

To avoid answering them in detail after the confidential discourse of the preceding day, was impossible ; and the effect produced was, that, even as Diana had feared, Mrs. Boscowen pronounced Aylmer not only false and un feeling, " as she knew him to be before," but insolent and ill-bred to the last degree, as well as regardless of all decorum in entering upon such a subject as his parents' misconduct, of which however, she (Julia) had been better aware than her sister : " for," continued she — " Mrs. Beechcroft, who thought I knew all about it, made some allusion to the affair, just before we left town (when Mrs. Aylmer died, you know) ; she did not tell me any details — it all happened so long ago that she was not likely to know any — all I thought of the b matter was, that they were a very unprincipled set, and that it was a comfort, any way, to think you were never likely to be tempted to marry a man out of such a bad nest.

If I did not mention it to you at the time, I suppose it was because I saw you did not like to speak of him, or anything connected with him ; but now 1 wish I had, it would have saved you from some impertinence, though of a nature, to be sure, that I should not have thought it necessary to guard against." Diana attempted to urge in his excuse, that his strange conversation had not seemed to her, to spring from any lack of respect towards herself, but rather from the wish to make her feel the nature of the conflict in his own mind, without resorting to a plainness of speech (as regarded his personal feelings), which the in tensity of his reserve, seemed to render impos sible. But her pleading only increased the wonder at the continuance of her delusion ; and when in support ot her impression, as to Aylmer's jealousy of Edward (of which Julia professed utter disbelief), Diana endeavoured to relate a part of what had occurred the year before at the Montagues' archery party, her sister remarked " that she could not have thought anything of it at the time."

" For," persisted she — (and this argument, as Diana felt, carried with it a great appear ance of reason) — " you would have told me of this nonsense about Edward long ago, had you then and there attached any importance to it ; you say yourself, Edward undeceived his friend at the moment ; and you may be sure Aylmer has far too much sense not to under stand precisely the terms you both are on, whatever it may suit him to pretend, when seeking to justify his conduct in your sight." It was vain for either to attempt convincing the other ; and when Mrs. Boscowen found, that all her efforts to tear the veil from her sister's eyes, were only met by a gentle prayer for forbearance, she gave up the endeavour at last, more in sorrow than in anger. Their dialogue had run no risk of inter ruption from Edward ; for he did not make his appearance at all till the middle of the day; and when he did, he lounged almost sulkily on a sofa at the other end of the room, till such time as Mrs. Boscowen had betaken herself either to the school-room or nursery.

DIANA WYNYAKD. He then sauntered towards the table at which Diana was sitting, and amused himself with taking up one thing after another out of her work-basket, till he was formally requested to replace them, which he did one by one, neatly enough, but very slowly. " Julia's as sharp as ever on me !" said he, with something between a sigh and a yawn, as he settled the needle-case in its appropriate nook. "She is a little quick in her ways, and speaks her mind plainly ; " returned Diana, " but why should you, Edward, answer her joke on your early rising so pettishly, or be so bearish to the children as you have been this morning ?" "lam sorry I sent Helen away, though I was little enough inclined to games and gam bols ; and I should not have minded Julia, if she hadn't somehow mixed farming in Aus tralia with her congratulations on my 'im provement.' It's that I can't stand ! — to be sure she doesn't exactly know why it should vex me so ! — But I'm sorry, and will see and behave better.

I was thinking last night, Di.," continued he, after a pause, " that both you and I are sadly altered creatures from what we were a year and a half back !" " We are by so much older," she rejoined ; " and though I'm afraid we are scarcely wiser, it is natural that a year and a half should have made us something graver." " Why it should have made you so, I don't see ; though plenty has happened to make me graver in that time." And he hummed carelessly — ' Needles and pins, needles and pins, When a man's married his trouble begins.' " Edward, I can't bear that vulgar song, and I won't have it sung before me !" " I will not repeat the offence, since it is one ; though why it should be, as you're not married, I can't think. Only, vulgar or no, there's a great deal of truth in that song." " I'm sorry for your sake if you think so," said Diana ; " but I know you're not in earnest !"

"Not quite — no — something betwixt and between joke and earnest went through my mind, for the fact is, Clara's a dear, good girl (I wish I could have you to stay with her), but in one way or other, you know yourself, I have had more than my share of plagues in the last twelvemonth." " You have, indeed ; and the worst of them is, that you are, Whether here or at Riddles worth, as it were alone — divided from what you love best." " At Riddlesworth I feel that dreadfully ! " said he, " Here I have you." " I am very glad to think that I can replace anything to you," she replied, " but I wanted to say, that though I quite understand your disinclination to much you used to like, your impatience of much you used to put up with, I do wish you could rule yourself a little better, in dealing with those whose affection and indul gence you will soon have to test severely.

Why let James think you capricious and in constant ? Why lose your temper with Julia ? I can't tell you how it vexes me to see you go on so ! " " Does it, Di. ? — you're much too kind to care ! " and he went to the window, through which he saw his nephews and nieces just rushing into the garden. " Do you think it would please Julia, if I went out and helped them to knock down the Spanish chest nuts ? " " I don't know about Julia, but I'm sure it would please the children beyond anything," answered Diana, who inwardly added, ' it will please himself too, which is a great thing ; and, besides, I shall have a little peace when he's gone !' " Well, I'll go," said he, brightening up as he made his energetic determination, and left her — if not to peace, at least to the undisturbed liberty of brooding over that, which being never totally absent from her mind, appeared, however deceitfully, to fret and tor ment it least, when most given way to.

She reproached herself, nevertheless, for her extreme satisfaction at being for the moment rid of one, who — weak — and in many points blameable — as she held him to be, clung so entirely to her for consolation, amid the difficulties his own imprudence had earned him. Old affection inclined her to pity him, in spite of the kind of contempt she felt for his utter lack of the manly resolution requisite to look his situation in the face, and to accept, if need were, the sacrifices, and the life of toil and exertion it might necessitate. It had been his wont in the time of his high-flown day dreams, to look down with scorn on the wealth and luxury amid which he had been bred ; yet he continued (as if from inability to resign a single enjoyment until compelled to forego it), to drag on a despicable sort of existence, of which dissimulation was the essence, and which was rendering him, every day, more un fit to encounter the hardships he had made so light of in anticipation.

" I could hardly bear with him if he were not so unhappy," said Diana to herself; "but when I see that in his face, I have not the heart to say the sharp things that rise to my tongue. And it is not fair to be angry with him, because I think he has done me an injury just by his familiar, affectionate ways of speak ing to and of me ! He is so open-hearted, so unreserved himself, even in the midst of all these horrid concealments, that (having once explained how things are between us), he can not fancy a renewal of the old mistake. He knows nothing, suspects nothing, on Aylmer's part, which might make doubt or jealousy natural, if not excusable ! If he knew ! " she stopped, for the current of her reflections was arrested by a sudden thought; what if she were to throw herself on Edward's generosity, and beseech him to entrust Aylmer with the secret of his marriage ?

Such a step could not peril his interests ; it would — it must — ensure her happiness ! But if it should not prove so ? If she were after all deceived ? and if Aylmer's whimsical alternations of conduct were simply the result — not of jealousy — but of the very motives he pretended to abhor and condemn ? If Julia's impression were the true one, and he were, in fact, just such a man as he had insinuated that his father had been ? Or, short of that, if he, for whatever reason, failed to acknowledge that interest in her, which she must attribute to him in asking Edward to reveal such a secret for her sake, in what cave or abyss could she hide the shame and humiliation which must be her portion? No, this was not to be contem plated ; and she blushed at having, even for one moment, conceived such a purpose.

She must have patience ; whatever turn events took, Edward could not long delay making his marriage public; and then — then she should know her fate! Biit to that knowledge she looked forward with a dread little in accord ance with all she had thought, felt, and even urged, while arguing with her sister. She tried to combat that dread, to see again (as she had seen) that jealousy, working upon a nature to which an education of painful circumstances had lent a warp of suspicious ness, accounted for everything now. But it did not — could not — account for his conduct of the year before ; since, unless some bird of the air had revealed to him her nocturnal interview with Edward, after meeting him at Clara Wood's, nothing could have then occurred to justify or palliate the insolence of his caprice.

" Was it possible," as she had sometimes asked herself, "that such a palliation might exist ?" But, no — his absence from the room at the time the appointment was made, and the hour at which it had been so cautiously kept, rendered it, if not impossible, at least so improbable, that he should even have sus pected their clandestine meeting, that, as she never failed to confess to herself the moment after, the conjecture was too wild to be dwelt on, and she recurred to her doubts and her despondency, as well as to her efforts, to steel herself against the worst. " Were Edward known to be married," she repeated, "I should feel with Julia — should see that that man has no fair or honourable excuse for dealing with me as he does ; and, once satisfied of his unworthiness, there would be an end of love, even though the very life were torn out of me by the same wrench !

" She got up from her seat and walked to the window, more for the purpose of changing her place than anything else ; for the prospect of dead leaves and naked flower-beds there presented to her eye, was certainly not an enlivening one. She had scarcely stood there a minute, when Helen suddenly appeared under the verandah ; she had been running very fast, and looked so heated and frightened that her aunt, instantly opening the window, in quired what was the matter ? ' The matter ' proved to be, that the merry beating of the chestnuts had had an nnfortunate result ; that Uncle Edward had climbed one of the tallest trees, in order to get down a favourite stick of Willy's, which had lodged in a high branch ; that Willy had taken it into his head to emulate his uncle (who, not being on terra jirma himself, could not well interfere with the strong hand to check his nephew's am bitious intentions), and, before he got very far, had lost his balance, fallen to the ground, and been very much hurt.

" Uncle Edward had got down himself as fast as he could," Helen added, "and was carrying Willy home." This story, which, as told by the terrified little girl, was confused enough, had scarcely been concluded when Edward himself appeared bearing Willy in his arms, and followed by the younger children, who, after having been in considerable fear lest their brother should have been killed outright, now began to be corres pondingly re-assured, when they found he had so far recovered from the effects of the fall, as to be able to speak and look about him. Edward, however, who was afraid his arm was broken, hastened to lay his nephew on a bed, and, almost before he could be missed out of the house, was already on horseback and on his way to Thornborough, to seek for medicaj aid, which, by his exertions, was obtained within a time that appeared short even to Mrs. Boscowen and Diana.

The child's arm did not prove to be precisely broken, but the injury received was as painful and almost as severe as if it had been ; so that, as James Boscowen had started shortly after breakfast on some expedition from which he was not likely to be home before night, Edward's real kindness of heart and zealous desire to be helpful at need, were invaluable. In spite of being (as he was for all ordinary purposes) one of the most indolent of mortals, Edward Boscowen had a kind of energy and activity peculiar to himself; he could not be active and energetic everyday ; it was ' not his line,' (as Frank Crosby would have said), but once aroused by the spur of adventure or sympathy, nothing seemed too much for him. On this occassion he was always at hand for whatever was wanted ; he rode three times into Thornborough and back that afternoon, and was on the point of setting out a fourth time, to fetch a composing draught that had not appeared so soon as it ought ; only that he luckily met it — or the bearer of it, rather — at the park-gate.

He blamed himself too so good-naturedly, for having set the example of climbing " when he might have guessed that such a bold-spirited little fellow as Willy, would be sure to be doing likewise," that Mrs. Boscowen's heart was quite melted, and all remembrance of his being (as she often called him), " the most provoking creature alive," was for the present wiped away. She was delighted too when he announced next day " that he could not think of leaving AVaterdown till he saw poor Willy all right again ;" and she expressed with all the warmth natural to her " how happy she should be, to retain such an ally in all the efforts she should have to make, for amusing her invalid, quietly. I am ashamed," she ad ded to her sister, when he had left the room — " downright ashamed of being so often put out with him.

He is so affectionate ! — and so willing to serve ! — one ought always to remember that !" Diana hoped for a while that this lengthen ing of Edward's visit — under such circumstances — might, perhaps, be made available for inducing him to confess his real situation to his brother. On her own account she eagerly desired it ; the mystery weighed on her in a thousand ways (independently of the indirect effect she attributed to it) ; — it even interfered with the easy freedom of her daily intercourse with her sister, besides making it almost impossible to explain some things to Julia, which she thought might have appeared clearer, had she not been debarred from touching on certain trifles, which bordered too closely on Edward's private affairs. She did not, however, urge anything on her own score (albeit she might have pleaded that it was unfair to continue burdening her with a secret, which she had never expected to have to keep beyond his marriage-day) ; it was for his sake, and his alone, that she again and again entreated him to consider, that neither James nor Julia would ever abuse the confidence reposed in them, and that it would be vain to look for a more favourable opportunity for informing them, that he had taken a step, of which they could not indeed be expected to approve, but of which — being now past remedy — they were sure, from every motive of feeling and principle, to wish to make the best.

But to speak would have been unpleasant — more unpleasant than Diana was precisely aware of, inasmuch as she did not yet know, to what degree the flaming love which had VOL. II. c elevated him above all sublunary considera tions was already evaporated ; and even had it been otherwise, the mere fact of a thing's being ' unpleasant,' was enough to deter Edward from doing to-day, what could possibly be put off till to-morrow. Diana's arguments were, therefore, unavail ing ; she thought the avowal a duty — a necessity; he could not see that either was involved in it, and he obstinately adhered to the determination he had expressed on the subject, the day he arrived from Riddlesworth. In all points save this, he conformed himself wonder fully to the line of conduct she had so often endeavoured to make him observe ; and, though occasionally tried by the various petty things he had become least patient of, there was little or no trace in his demeanour of the irritability and sullenness he had lately shown.

He was, at times, indeed melancholy, even to the amount of gloom ; but, as this appearance of sadness did not interfere with his kindness and consideration for those around him, she felt compassion for him, in spite of his per verseness; and, believing him to be chiefly depressed through his protracted absence from Clara, was at pains to give him every mark of sympathy and affection. She was, however, soon destined to be un deceived, as to the precise cause of his um happiness; for one morning, about a fortnight after Willy's accident, as Edward was feeling in his pocket for a new pencil-case he had brought the child from Thornborough, there came out with it a crumpled note, which he looked at carelessly, and then threw to Diana, saying — " I ought to have given you that before ; I got it at Riddlesworth."

It proved to be a short letter from his wife, containing her warm thanks to ' dear Miss Wynyard ' for a little worked collar, which Diana, after manufacturing at odd times in her own room, had presented to Edward when last leaving Waterdown, in order to be given or sent to Clara. It had evidently been sent ; which showed that he had not broken his stay at his grandfather's, wearisome as he pro nounced it, by one flying visit to the Harble dale retreat ; and, more than that, she saw, on turning over the second page, a little postscript, thus worded : — c2 " Dearest Edward, it will be a whole month to-morrow since I have seen you ! — but, if you think you ought to stay on where you are, I could have patience, if you would only write a little oftener." " I had no notion," said she, as she returned the note, " that you had ever left her so long alone."

" What do you mean ?" asked he. She replied by putting her finger first on the date of the letter, then on the postscript, at the sight of which he coloured so highly, and looked so displeasedly confused, that she felt convinced he had not read it before, and had flung her the paper in ignorance of that part of its contents. " It must be full six weeks since you have been near her !" exclaimed Diana. " I couldn't manage it from Riddlesworth," he muttered, in reply. " But you could from here ! You know no questions are ever asked you when you start off to shoot or fish, or whatever it may be, at farm-houses, or friends' places, in any direction." " Yes — but you recollect what I said to Julia ; and Willy, you see, is not all to rights again yet, though old Wickstead promised he should be by this time.

My starting off would seem strange just now." " I don't think so," she replied; "but have you at least written to her since you received that ?" He looked down, biting his lip, without attempting to answer for some minutes, and then said, hastily — " I was going to write to-day." " It is time you should, Edward ! — and you'll write to beg her pardon and say you will be down to-morrow, won't you? — for," continued she, perceiving that he hesitated, " though Willy is so much better, that Julia and I want no help now to watch or amuse him, you know from what passed this morning, that he is not likely to be literally ' all right,' for some time to come ; and Julia has since talked of going to town to show his arm to a London surgeon, if it does not improve more rapidly." " Do you mean that they are thinking of going to' town this winter — of taking a house ?" asked he.

DIANA AVYNYARD. " Yes ; and this about Willy would only hasten matters a little ; for James must at all events be very much in London about Mrs. West's business — (she alluded to a sister of the Boscowens who had become a widow that autumn) — " so I consider it not unlikely that they will presently take a house there for six months. Are you sorry for it ?" " I — no, I don't care ; it makes little differ ence to me, whichever way my affairs turn. Indeed if I have to leave England, I had rather you were all in London, for I should see the more of you to the last." He sighed deeply as he said these words ; and Diana, though shocked at the discovery she had made of his neglect of Clara, could but endeavour to cheer him with hopes of better fortune than he seemed at the moment to anticipate. " But," added she to her speech of encouragement, "you will not deserve any good that may happen, unless you make haste — great haste — to put an end to poor Clara's suspense and loneliness."

" She's got her mother with her, I dare say," remarked Edward. " You dare say ! but you don't know ! and even if you did, I am sure she is wretched by those words at the end of her letter !" " You ladies," returned he, with a kind of smile, " are always in the comfortable per suasion that some one or other of your sex is ' perfectly wretched,' whether you know any thing about the matter or not. As to the poor devils of men, they're all monsters, of course ; it wouldn't do to waste pity on us !" " How can you say so, Edward ? — how can you say that to me ?" " Well, it is a shame, and I'm an ungrateful dog, more ways than one, perhaps ; but, dear Di., it helps one out so to abuse one's best friends, when one feels one's in the wrong ! I'll go to Harbledale to-morrow ; and now for the letter, which is the worst part of the busi ness, for, I suppose, you wouldn't dictate it for the creation.

Well, give me the ink like a dear creature, and here goes." He wrote about two lines ; but they were to announce his coming ! and would therefore be sufficient. " And now I must talk to Julia about it, I suppose," observed he, with a sort of twist in his whole person, as if he disliked the idea of it uncommonly. "Yes, you must indeed; and there she is under the verandah, do go and get it over at once !" He obeyed, and was so far rewarded, that no surprize or curiosity appeared to be felt, on his announcing that he intended " to leave them to-morrow, to have a couple days shooting, in shire. " I shall be back again on Thursday, Julia," said he next morning, while giving her his fare well kiss, as she was leaving the room a moment before his departure. " It would not be safe to make it more, so you need not cast such expostulating looks at me, Di. !

" continued he to Miss Wynyard, when her sister was gone ; " there is no knowing what you women won't advise one to do, when you are once ' up about a thing.' — I verily believe when it comes to the point, that I — even I — have more real prudence in me than you ! — But, as I'm going to be a good boy, and very obedient, and all that — I expect two kisses, Di. ! — one for myself, and one to take to Clara, as she's not here to receive it." " You are really getting very odd ways, Edward ! " said she, drawing back in some displeasure, as he without much ceremony took that which he ' expected.' "How can you be so silly, Di.!" he ex claimed ; " you ought to have given me another, for my son and heir, in whom you take such interest ! — very good of me to let you off! — And remember, against I come back, that I am not to hear any more about "my duties," for a month to come ! "