CHAPTER VIII.

News of any trifling occurrence passes rapidly round a neighbourhood; but news of bridal import speeds with increased velocity through every department. It was soon known to every individual in the establishment, that Mr. Pynsent was accepted by Miss Wetheral, and in less than twenty-four hours the event was generally current in the higher circles of the Wetheral acquaintance. Separated as many mansions were from each other's observation by large intermediate property, it was wonderful how the intelligence could gain such powerful progress, yet it was publicly spoken of as an assured fact the following evening at Lady Spottiswoode's; and Lady Wetheral's extraordinary good fortune was canvassed in every particular.

Mrs. Pynsent's publicly-expressed disapprobation of a daughter-in-law from Wetheral, was commented upon with eagerness, and many [196] anxious friends of both parties looked with mingled curiosity and amusement to the effects likely to emanate from Hatton. Miss Wycherly consented to escort a party upon a congratulatory mission to her aunt Pynsent, and she undertook to drive Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter to Hatton, accompanied by the two Mr. Tyndals.

It was an evil day to Miss Wycherly. Ever since the eventful ball, which produced the present cause of her intended visit, Mr. Spottiswoode had never renewed the subject which she had treated so lightly, or sought her society, his once constant anxiety and invariable daily practice. Since that eventful ball, so happy in its results to one party, so gloomy in its termination to herself—since that night, when her rash spirits tempted her to jest with her lover's serious wish to understand her sentiments, had Mr. Spottiswoode been a stranger to Lidham; and most rashly had Miss Wycherly persevered in flirting with Mr. Henry Tyndal, to evince her indifference to Mr. Spottiswoode's prolonged absence, and to bring down upon herself, ultimately, the reproach of having given encouragement to Henry Tyndal ungenerously and dishonourably. Her present state of mind towards Mr. Spottiswoode was unchangeable [197] affection, such as it had ever felt towards him; and such as she felt assured must ever exist there, though her own lips had made a breach between them, by trifling with his long-expressed affection.

Miss Wycherly felt aware that she had drawn down upon herself the offended feelings of an injured man, who had borne all her caprice with patient endurance; she felt, too, that there was a point when that endurance must and would burst from its fetters, and assert its freedom. Mr. Spottiswoode's spirit might bear with a certain degree of flippancy; but he would not endure to become a woman's toy, to become a thing, which the woman he loved could dare to throw from her in caprice, and recall at will. Such, Miss Wycherly knew, was not the nature of his love, whom her heart pined to recover. But her pride—the pride of a woman unwilling to bend her spirit in acknowledgment of error—persisted in allowing Henry Tyndal to attend her in public; and its false reasoning forbade her to appear wounded by the consequences of her fault. Miss Wycherly could only trust to circumstances for assistance in developing the real intentions of her offended lover; and, in making an appointment with Lady Spottiswoode, [198] she trusted events might concur to restore her again into her son's favour, and dispel the cloud which separated them.

In this frame of mind, and with this hope, to spread flowers on her path, Miss Wycherly drove her four beautiful bays into Shrewsbury, and drew up before Lady Spottiswoode's house. Mr. Spottiswoode, accompanied by the Tyndals, appeared at the hall-door to receive her; and Mr. Spottiswoode politely, but with reserve of voice and manner, expressed Lady Spottiswoode's hope that she would take refreshment before they proceeded to Hatton. This was Miss Wycherly's first meeting with her lover, since the misunderstanding which had taken place at Lady Spottiswoode's ball; and her heart felt and sunk under the changed expression of his voice and manner. She gave her reins to the groom, and prepared to obey Lady Spottiswoode's request. Mr. Henry Tyndal went forward with his brother to offer their assistance, while Mr. Spottiswoode remained on the steps, as a person who conceived that all required attention on his part, was effected in the delivery of his mother's message. Miss Wycherly declined Mr. Henry Tyndal's offered hand, and reseated herself with feelings of mingled mortification and indignation. [199] Nothing now could persuade her to descend from the barouche-box.

"Have the goodness, Mr. Tyndal, to make my excuses to Lady Spottiswoode. I rarely quit my throne, when once exalted, and she will allow of my apology. Insist upon herself and Miss Spottiswoode taking their own time. I am not in any hurry."

It appeared as though Mr. Spottiswoode had cheerfully and for ever surrendered her to Mr. Tyndal's attentions, for he spoke in an undertone to the young men, and returned into the house.

"Very kind fellow," cried Henry Tyndal; "he has gone himself with your message, so I can stay and admire your set out, and yourself. Upon my soul, your habit sits beautifully, doesn't it, John?"

"I begged you to deliver my message," replied Miss Wycherly, offended and distressed at her lover's action. "I desired you, Mr. Tyndal, to deliver my message, not Mr. Spottiswoode."

Henry Tyndal misunderstood, and was flattered by Miss Wycherly's reproof. It was clear enough to his comprehension she was angry with Spottiswoode for presuming to take a message [200] which had been delegated to himself as her regular and encouraged attendant.

"Oh, well! never mind for once, Miss Wycherly; I thought Spottiswoode was very anxious to go, or he should not have taken my place, I promise you. No, no, poor fellow! he was off before I knew what he was about. Upon my soul, your horses are magnificent."

Miss Wycherly did not hear Mr. Tyndal's observation; her attention was given exclusively and painfully to the hall-door, which remained open.

Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter appeared.

"My dear Miss Wycherly, you are patience itself," exclaimed both ladies.

"I never descend from my altitude," replied Miss Wycherly; "but you look forsaken without a beau of some sort; if your son would like to take a seat, Lady Spottiswoode, there is one to spare."

"Charles said he meant to call at Hatton," said Miss Spottiswoode, "and I dare say it would really be an accommodation, unless this is the day he promised to ride over to the Farnboroughs. Mr. Tyndal, before you mount your horse, just tell Charles here is room for him, by [201] Miss Wycherly's permission—beg pardon for the trouble."

Mr. Henry Tyndal sprang from his horse, and proceeded to obey her request. Miss Wycherly gathered up the reins, but her hands trembled with anxious curiosity to ascertain the effect of the summons. Mr. Henry Tyndal returned alone.

"Spottiswoode says he is going to Hatton, but he is engaged to ride there with the Farnborough party. It has been an appointment of some days' standing, he says, therefore he cannot come; here he is to answer for himself."

Mr. Charles Spottiswoode appeared equipped for riding, but he excused himself to Miss Wycherly with much politeness—a style of manner so wounding to its object, so unbearably irritating to a self-upbraiding, yet proud, spirit. The colour rose in Miss Wycherly's face.

"I am engaged to ride to Hatton with Lord Farnborough and his daughter," proceeded Mr. Spottiswoode: "Lady Anna commanded me to attend her some time ago, and her ladyship never fails her word, therefore I must not allow her to upbraid me with the most offensive of all failings, that of deceiving expectations. Sophy, you are all the colours of the rainbow."

[202]

"Never mind, Charles," replied Miss Spottiswoode, smiling good-naturedly at the remark; "if I mix pink and green too strongly for your taste, pray remonstrate with Lady Anna Herbert; she wears three colours; perhaps your opinion may have some weight with her. I am, you know, incorrigible."

"Will Lady Anna possess more sense than her sex?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode. "Will she relinquish three favourite tints to please?"

"To please you, Charles, I dare say Lady Anna would renounce her darling colours—purple, yellow, and green. Can my dear pink and green be half so prononcée? Miss Wycherly, do speak for me! Charles always upholds Lady Anna's frightful combination."

"I have not upheld Lady Anna, Sophy."

"Yes, you always do, Charles. Every thing is Lady Anna now."

Miss Wycherly's spirit could endure no more; she turned to Lady Spottiswoode.

"We are embarked in this undertaking, and time is precious. If Sophy has settled her interesting topic, may I proceed to Hatton? Mr. Tyndal, Mr. Henry Tyndal, you must not lose sight of us; shall we proceed?"

The lady was perfectly ready to resign the [203] conversation; the Mr. Tyndals were already mounted, and Mr. Spottiswoode bowed his adieu. Miss Wycherly would not appear mortified and unhappy; she returned her lover's salutation with a bow and smile, which equalled his own in apparent indifference; and the party were quickly on their road. Miss Wycherly, as charioteer, had full occupation for her attention, and she was silent during the drive: her heart was heavy; and the fear of having lost Spottiswoode's affection weighed down her spirits and produced a mortal sorrow. Such was the consequence of a fault persisted in, because a false pride could not endure to own its transgression! Such was the suffering produced by a heart resolute to lose the man beloved, ere it would bend to acknowledge its weakness!

Miss Wycherly forgot, in her own misery, the amusement she contemplated in observing her aunt Pynsent's conduct, when she received the visits of congratulation upon her son's intended marriage. In her misery, also, she did not immediately perceive Tom Pynsent and Miss Wetheral comfortably established in the Hatton drawing-room; or did she, for some moments, perceive the Ennismores and Julia also present; while Mr. Pynsent, smilingly and [204] in high spirits, was chatting in turn to the individuals composing the circle, and calling for the congratulations of each person upon the event in prospect.

Lady Spottiswoode gazed in astonishment at the sudden and powerful change: who could have surmised that the "empty, horrible Wetherals" were now to receive a thousand attentions and affectionate solicitudes from Mrs. Pynsent!—that "the bird from the Wetheral nest" was to be wooed to its gilded cage by all the gentle lures that Mrs. Pynsent could devise!—that sweet was henceforth to be bitter, and the bitter sweet! Lady Spottiswoode gazed, and gazed again.

"Well, you are all come to say pretty things to me," said Mrs. Pynsent, addressing the newly-arrived party, "and you are all moonstruck!—not a word from one of you: why, Pen, you are all of a heap!—Well, Tyndal lads, what have you to say?—here am I, full of bustle and happiness. Tom is going to get married at last, and he has made his old mother happy. We are all happy. I tell Bobby he ought to fall down and worship Miss Wetheral, for taking Tom—but here, just come this way, Lady Spottiswoode." Mrs. Pynsent lowered her voice.—"I [205] didn't much like the idea of a Wetheral, once, you remember; but that's all ended—we won't remember old grievances."

"Certainly not," replied her ladyship—"one has often reason to discard opinions."

"To be sure—can't be for ever harping upon one string." She turned to her niece.

"Why, you look as if you had lost your love. What's the matter, woman?—cheer up. Get a good husband, Pen; and don't pay these sort of visits with such a long face!"

Miss Wycherly could not command a portion of the ever-ready spirits which had never failed her before; her mind was too oppressed, even to make an effort. Her aunt's observations were unheard or unnoticed, as she turned towards her cousin Tom, who came up, red-faced and happy, to demand her felicitations.

"All right, at last, Cousin Pen: all fears and tribulations are over. There is nothing like fair dealing, and I have won a wife, after a devilish sharp run, though a short one. Now say something in your own fashion upon it, Cousin Pen; something, as Spottiswoode says of you, sharp, short, and sensible."

Miss Wycherly put her hand to her eyes, and, for a few moments, she made no reply. [206] Tom Pynsent believed the trembling of her hands proceeded from fatigue.

"I have told you, Cousin Pen, a woman should not drive four-in-hand; it's something out of reason. A pair is very pretty handling; but your little figure perched upon a box, with four horses, won't answer. Your hands are all in a shake, now."

"Let Pen alone, Tom," said Mrs. Pynsent. "My niece is a Wycherly, and the Wycherlys never gave in till they were fairly under ground."

"I am ill, aunt; very ill—a glass of water; any thing just to revive me; my heart is bursting." Miss Wycherly became unable to speak, and the company surrounded her, offering every species of condolence and remedy. A glass of water was procured, and the cold sparkling draught refreshed her. She felt that an effort must be made; and it was made under sickness of heart and prostration of mind, but the effort had a beneficial effect, for it roused the sufferer from a blighting sense of misery to the recollection of present events, and she was enabled to smile and speak to her cousin with some degree of coherence.

"Tom, I do wish you happy, and I suppose I am fatigued, for I have driven fourteen miles, but I never was so ill before."

[207]

"You are ill," observed Julia Wetheral, who had seated herself near Miss Wycherly: "it must be something extraordinary which could overpower you, Penelope. You must have felt fatigue in mind and body with those gay horses."

Miss Wycherly endeavoured to form a playful reply, but a flood of tears burst forth.

"Say nothing to me, now, Julia—let me be perfectly silent for a quarter of an hour, and I shall recover."

Every one returned to their former seats, except Julia, who remained silently at Miss Wycherly's side, and the company again resumed their interrupted conversation. Mrs. Pynsent had her private thoughts respecting her niece's sudden illness, which she whispered to Lady Ennismore.

"Pen is never ill, and never tired with driving—she would drive six-in-hand, and laugh at it. I hope Pen hasn't taken a fancy to Tom: my sister Hancock never could bear the idea of cousins marrying."

Lady Ennismore smiled graciously.—"You are more acute, Mrs. Pynsent, than myself: you have, no doubt, excellent reasons for your suppositions."

"Lord, I never suppose any thing, Lady [208] Ennismore, or see any thing till it's all over; only Pen's illness, just now, looks queer. If it was not about Tom, I can't imagine the cause of Pen's bit of a faint, just when she was to congratulate him upon his engagement! I am sure Pen never would faint about a trifle; and, as to her driving, it's all my eye: my brother Bill put her upon the coach-box as soon as she could walk."

"Perhaps it is mental agitation of another kind," softly remarked Lady Ennismore.

"Pooh, pooh!—Pen has no mental agitation, Lady Ennismore. What should ail her to faint about any thing, if it wasn't Tom's marriage? My sister Hancock had always a horror of their marrying, only I thought nothing about it.—How was I to fancy Pen liked Tom, when she was always with Charles Spottiswoode?"

Lady Ennismore appeared politely convinced, by her companion's reasoning, that Miss Wycherly's faintness proceeded from her cousin's insensibility to her attachment, when the door was thrown open to announce Lord Farnborough and Lady Anna Herbert. Miss Wycherly cast an eye of alarm towards the hall. Lord Farnborough stalked majestically forward with his daughter under his arm, and Mr. Spottiswoode [209] followed too surely in their train. She started up—"Julia, I cannot stay here; follow me into the library."

Both ladies disappeared during the little bustle of a fresh reception, and Lady Ennismore alone observed their rapid exit. Miss Wycherly closed the door of the library, to secure themselves from interruption or intrusion; she then took off her hat, and, seating herself at the library-table, she rested her head upon her hands, while the tears flowed copiously down her cheeks. "Julia," she said—"Julia, I cannot endure this; I have lost him, and my heart will break."

Julia sat down opposite her companion, and vainly offered consolation.

"Don't attempt to console me, Julia," sobbed poor Miss Wycherly.

"I am past all consolation. The creature has never visited Lidham since that abominable night at Lady Spottiswoode's, and now he is capering after Lady Anna Herbert. Oh, Julia, if you could comprehend the misery I feel!"

"My dear Penelope, you never confessed your fault to Charles Spottiswoode, I fear, by all this grief. Have you tried to see him, or written to him since your quarrel?"

[210]

The Wycherly blood rushed into the very forehead of Penelope. She raised her head and dashed away the tears.

"Who! I beg submissively for Spottiswoode's forgiveness! I meanly sue for pardon to a man who has been my slave till this Lady Anna has attracted him! I tell him to return to Lidham, because I cannot live without him! I'll die ten thousand deaths, before I will sully my lips in imploring pardon!"

"But, Penelope, you are not reduced to implore pardon," replied Julia, in soothing accents. "You are not advised to act in any way degrading to your feelings. Did you not trifle most ungenerously with Mr. Spottiswoode at your last meeting, and have you made one advance since that time, to prove to him you were in jest?"

Miss Wycherly again drooped her head upon her hands, as she replied—"He has given me no opportunity to do so, Julia: he has been ever since that evening devoted to the Farnboroughs."

"And you have been equally devoted to the Tyndals, Penelope. Have you not made Henry Tyndal your shadow?"

"A great spoony!" ejaculated Miss Wycherly.

[211]

"Put an end to all this," resumed Julia, "and give Mr. Spottiswoode reason to think you regret your unjust conduct; decline Henry Tyndal's constant attendance, and do not bring upon yourself the Court Herbert reproaches. You are encouraging Henry Tyndal, Penelope, and Mr. Spottiswoode must perceive it."

"I know I have done wrong, Julia, but every thing is gone too far; I cannot, cannot subject myself to Spottiswoode's scorn; he will never forgive me, and I will never bear the indignity of seeking a hopeless reconciliation. If I have suffered Henry Tyndal's attentions, he has sought Lady Anna Herbert. No, we are divided for ever!"

The idea of a final separation from her lover's affection, seemed to produce agony of mind too powerful to endure, for, Miss Wycherly, rising suddenly, seized Julia's hands, and gazed earnestly in her face.

"Julia Wetheral, I will act upon your advice, only tell me what to do, if any thing now can restore his heart; I am wretched enough to submit to any thing short of the degradation of seeking a man's extinguished affection! You will not wish me to do a wrong thing, Julia, therefore, think for me, and quiet my heart."

[212]

"I will tell you what to do, Penelope; return with me into the drawing-room; do not give your attention to Mr. Henry Tyndal, and do not appear so indifferent to a man you have driven from you with unkindness."

"Julia," replied Miss Wycherly, breathing hard, "I cannot bear to see Spottiswoode with another person. I cannot witness his attention to Lady Anna. I will remain here till they are gone, or I should die upon the spot. If you could understand my miserable feelings, you would pity me, and my own folly has produced them!"

Miss Wycherly walked about the library in great distress, which pierced her friend's heart to witness. She could only offer her sympathy, and urge her change of manners towards Mr. Tyndal. Grief produces many effects; on some minds the hand of sorrow falls heavily, yet it originates patience and gentleness; in others, it produces irritation and increased violence of temper. It was so with Miss Wycherly, whose spirit chafed at the remembrance of her own folly, and even attacked the prudent counsel of her friend.

"I tell you, Julia, I am ready to spurn the Tyndals from my sight; for who can despise [213] them more than I do?—but it is useless to place before me, so pertinaciously, my folly in having borne with them. I am well aware of my error, without requiring any one to heap my transgressions before my eyes at every turn. Reproach never heals a wound."

"I do not speak in reproach, Penelope," replied Julia, in accents that overcame Miss Wycherly's quick temper; "I only point out the means to serve you, because you asked me to do so."

"Don't heed my words, Julia," exclaimed Miss Wycherly, continuing her restless walking up and down the library; "I speak in bitter misery, and know not what I say. Do not leave me, for I know you are kind, and not given to take offence, and I am almost maddened with vexation. Tell me what to do, Julia, and I swear to be guided by you."

"I repeat my words, then, Penelope. Return with me into the drawing-room; do not give Mr. Henry Tyndal all your attention, and bear with Mr. Spottiswoode's attention to Lady Anna: it will not last long."

"Oh, Julia!" sighed Miss Wycherly, "if I could but think you a true prophet—but I will do as you wish; I will try to bear the sight of [214] Lady Anna, but the idea gives me a shuddering fit. See how I tremble."

"You do tremble, Penelope, but a determined effort will subdue it."

Julia rubbed Miss Wycherly's hands, which were deadly cold, and replaced her hat, as the poor girl sat trembling, and incapable of assisting herself. Julia also smoothed the curls which fell in abundance upon her pale cheeks. "And now, Penelope, take my arm, and let us take one steady turn through the room, to try your powers."

Miss Wycherly took Julia's offered arm, and proceeded towards the door. "Let us go into the drawing-room at once," she said. "With you I have given way, because I am assured of your sympathy and secrecy; but to no other eye will I betray my repentance or my sorrow. I may look ill—I am ill—but no one shall say Penelope Wycherly pines for Charles Spottiswoode."

Miss Wycherly's sentiment operated at once upon her nerves and manners: no one could suppose she had just suffered a strong nervous attack, by the collected air of her entrance again into company. It was only the pallid complexion and calm demeanour, which betrayed [215] recent illness to her friends; and Mrs. Pynsent, satisfied that her niece could never struggle against her disappointment with Tom, offered her every little soothing attention, and even seated her where she could not observe her cousin, still conversing with Anna Maria: her chair was placed near the window, immediately opposite to Mr. Spottiswoode and Lady Anna Herbert.

"There, Pen, dear, air will refresh you; but you have driven too far, I dare say: there, look straight before you, and don't keep turning round."

Lady Anna Herbert made a very polite speech, hoping Miss Wycherly had not been seriously ill, and Miss Wycherly passed through the forms of recognition with her ladyship with great presence of mind. Mr. Spottiswoode slightly bowed; but he did not address her, or join in the short conversation which ensued between the ladies. Miss Wycherly became silent, and struggled visibly, to Julia's eye, for resolution to bear up through the scene. Lady Ennismore broke up the meeting by ordering her carriage, and then Miss Wycherly's situation became oppressive. Tom Pynsent came forward to his cousin with looks of interest. "Cousin Pen, I will drive your carriage home, for Miss Julia Wetheral [216] says you are not fit to hold the reins, and I think so too."

Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter entreated Miss Wycherly to suffer Mr. Pynsent to take her place, and renounce the idea of driving.

"The air will revive me," said Miss Wycherly, her lips quivering as she spoke. "I am fatigued, I believe, and I will gladly allow Tom to drive; but I cannot sit in the carriage. I must be in the air."

Mrs. Pynsent felt for her niece, and she resolved to prevent her suffering the distress of sitting a couple of hours by the side of Tom, who was now as good as married to Miss Wetheral. She applied to Mr. Spottiswoode.

"Here, Charley, can't you drive the ladies home? It's all in your way, you know, and quite out of Tom's. Suppose you drive your party into Shrewsbury, and Pen will drive herself on to Lidham; the distance is a trifle from Shrewsbury."

Mr. Spottiswoode expressed himself ready to undertake the office of coachman, if Miss Wycherly approved of his skill: Miss Wycherly caught at this one last opportunity of seeing and speaking to her lost lover: she rose from her chair, and reseated herself.—

[217]

"I shall be happy if you ... yes." Not a word more could pass her lips, though she tried to articulate. Mr. Spottiswoode looked earnestly at her pale countenance, and appeared struck by her agitation. Mrs. Pynsent's heart was disturbed by her poor niece, Pen.

"That arrangement will do, boys. Tom, just shew Miss Wetheral the new picture in the study before she goes, and Charley, Miss Wycherly's groom will ride your horse. I shall tell Bill Wycherly he ought to send the coachman with Pen, not a groom-fellow."

Lord Farnborough and his daughter rose to take leave. It appeared to Miss Wycherly's jealous eye, that Lady Anna spoke laughingly to Mr. Spottiswoode upon the subject of his new vocation, but she could not catch the words, or his reply: Lady Anna made her a passing bow as she joined Lord Farnborough, and they were gone when she passively sunk upon a sofa by Julia's side, exhausted with her efforts. "Julia, this day decides my destiny—I am weaker than a child."

Mr. Henry Tyndal approached them to express his regret at Miss Wycherly's fatigue: she closed her eyes, and turned from him in disgust, abruptly exclaiming—

[218]

"I wish to be quiet and alone, Mr. Tyndal."

"I am glad you are not going to drive back," persevered Henry Tyndal; "I dare say Spottiswoode will drive you very well; he is a very fair hand at the ribbons. I'm sure I would drive you with the greatest pleasure in the world, Miss Wycherly, but I am not a dab at driving. I am glad, however, I shall be riding by your carriage: you will ride inside, of course: I hope—I beg you will ride inside."

Miss Wycherly looked daggers at the man with whom she had been so intimate for many days, and whom she had allowed to be constantly in attendance.

"I require no one's opinion, Mr. Tyndal, to regulate my actions, and I shall be obliged by your removing from before me."

"I am afraid Miss Wycherly is very ill," said Henry Tyndal, looking inquisitively at Julia. "What can we do for her, Miss Wetheral?"

"Do, for Heaven's sake, leave me!" cried Miss Wycherly, losing all patience at his including himself in her arrangements; "I will not be annoyed by your obstinate stupidity."

"Stupidity, Miss Wetheral! Now what can Miss Wycherly mean by stupidity, when I am so fearful about her driving home?"

[219]

Julia saw her friend's complexion reviving, and her eye lighting up with a thousand fires: in another moment, a torrent must overwhelm the unfortunate Henry Tyndal; but, as if to prove his utter blindness, he placed his own foot upon the precipice by offering to take her hand. Miss Wycherly felt the extent of her imprudence, in suffering the attendance of a man whom she never intended to marry, by its effects; but reason, at that moment, did not inform her impatient spirit that the fault was hers alone. All suggestions of reason were overpowered by anger, for Charles Spottiswoode's eyes were upon her, and he had witnessed the action. Miss Wycherly pushed Henry Tyndal's hand away, and rose from her seat, as she replied, with great impetuosity,

"If you ever presume to approach me with familiarity, I will tell you how I abhor the insolence, and resent the affront. How dare you attempt to touch me, Mr. Tyndal?"

Mr. Tyndal was offended, but he never imagined insult and insolence could be implied in his well-intentioned movement: he, therefore, stood silent and sulky for a few moments. Miss Wycherly passed him, and took her station between Lady Spottiswoode and her aunt. Mrs. Pynsent was pleased to perceive her son still [220] absent, and her anxiety was sincere, in endeavouring to get her niece away from Hatton, and in preventing Tom's reappearance: she was sure Sally Hancock would think with her that, when once Tom was married, Pen would think no more of the matter. Lady Ennismore's departure destroyed all her intended plans for Penelope's peace of mind; for Miss Wetheral was recalled from contemplating the new picture, and where her fairy footsteps led, there followed Tom Pynsent. It was in vain that Mrs. Pynsent bustled round her niece, and recommended her to Mr. Spottiswoode's care; Tom's first step was to bring Anna Maria up to his cousin.

"We have hardly spoken together, have we, Pen, in this confounded bustle? but here's my little wife, come to ask how you are, and to say you must always be glad to see us at Lidham, when you set up with you know who." Tom looked knowingly at Henry Tyndal.

"We have ever been good friends, Penelope, and a closer connexion shall not disunite us," said Anna Maria, as they shook hands. Tom Pynsent, infinitely too happy to remain stationary, walked away with his prize, and Miss Wycherly remained with the Spottiswoodes. Mr. Charles Spottiswoode was giving all his [221] attention to some coloured prints on hunting subjects, when Mrs. Pynsent summoned him.

"Here, Charley, your party are waiting for you, and you are sitting dumb-founded, like a lover bewitched. Pen, who do you suppose Charley is thinking of? Who is a long way on her road to Farnborough Stacey, Charley?"

Mr. Spottiswoode hastily put away the prints; and Miss Wycherly was fast sinking into the depression which follows effort of any kind, when Tom Pynsent returned, in high feather, from assisting the Wetheral party into their carriage. He flew to Miss Wycherly.

"Cousin Pen, my little wife commands me to dine at Wetheral to-day, so I shall see you properly packed up under Spottiswoode's care: very good thing Spottiswoode was here, or I should have driven you home in a towering passion for standing in my way. Come this way, Pen, my little wife sends you a message, and so does her sister: I must tell them as a profound secret."

"You be hanged, Tom, with your secret!" said his mother, "and do not keep Pen from her party."

Tom Pynsent dragged Miss Wycherly into the large bay-window, in spite of opposition.

"I don't understand ladies' ways just yet, Pen, but I am ordered to say these words from [222] my little wife, 'Be firm;' and her sister desired me to say, 'All things must end well, if patient.' Now the devil a bit can I make out any meaning from either sentence, can you?"

"Yes, I understand, Tom; and tell them this evening for answer, 'Amen.'"

"You are all a parcel of riddles, Pen; what has 'amen' to do with your affairs. I say, Pen, what's all this with Spottiswoode?"

Miss Wycherly tried to answer her cousin's question lightly, but she burst into tears.

"Oh, ho, that's it, Pen, is it?" Tom Pynsent pronounced the words slowly, as if awakened to some new idea gradually. "All must end well, be firm, and amen. I see something now, by Jove."

His cousin made no reply, but the tears coursed down her cheeks. Tom Pynsent was sorry for her, and he put his arm round her waist, to suit the action to the word.

"Never mind, Pen; if you've quarrelled, touch your swain up with a bit of sugarcandy as you go to Shrewsbury. Pitch it in smoothly, Pen, and Spottiswoode will turn like the sunflower. Don't cry, cousin Pen, it makes me dismal—d—n it, don't cry!"

Mrs. Pynsent underwent considerable anxiety [223] during the tête-à-tête, but, when her son became tender, her interference became imperative.

"Tommy, what are you squeezing your cousin there about, when you are nearly married; secrets are ill-bred things, Master Tommy."

Miss Wycherly's distress became apparent, and she threw open the window; her cousin good-humouredly and awkwardly endeavoured to conceal her from observation, by pointing out the beauties of the view.

"There, Pen, are the trees I spoke of, (clear up and dry your eyes, Pen) and my father talks of planting upon that hill, (don't let any one guess you are down in the mouth, Pen). I think I like it best as it now stands. Spottiswoode, Tyndal, give me your opinion."

The gentlemen were soon engaged in disputing the propriety of planting, or not planting a fine swell in the park, each arguing upon their opinions, enabling Miss Wycherly to recover some degree of composure; and, when her well-appointed equipage drove to the door, she was able to perform her adieus with tolerable calmness. Tom Pynsent offered his arm to Lady Spottiswoode.

"Now, my lady, three gentlemen can't cut themselves down into two, so I shall take charge [224] of you, while they fight for your daughter and Pen."

Mr. Spottiswoode stood irresolute for an instant, but the Mr. Tyndals took possession of Miss Spottiswoode; neither of those gentlemen approached Miss Wycherly. Mr. Spottiswoode was, of course, under the necessity of leading her to the carriage, but it took place in profound silence. Tom Pynsent, now awake to his cousin's state of mind, managed every thing for her.

"There, ladies, you are comfortable. Pen, let me place you comfortably upon your throne."

Mrs. Pynsent screamed from the drawing-room window, "I say, Tom, put Pen inside!"

Tom Pynsent, however, seated his cousin safely on the "throne," as she had always designated the coach-box, and Mr. Spottiswoode took his seat by her side; the Mr. Tyndals also mounted their horses, and rode away.

Mr. Spottiswoode paused to admit of Tom Pynsent's careful arrangement of his cousin's box-cloak, but Mrs. Pynsent again screamed from the window:—

"I say, Tom, you'll be too late for Wetheral!"

Tom Pynsent noticed his mother's exclamations [225] by a sharp movement of the elbow, and remained till he had adjusted every thing with precision. He then shook his cousin's hand forcibly, and descended upon the steps of the door. "All's right, Spottiswoode."

The carriage was soon lost behind the knoll, which had been the subject of dispute.

The Mr. Tyndals appeared no more by the side of the carriage, and a long silence was broken by a remark from Mr. Spottiswoode.

"I wonder we see nothing of the Tyndals."

Miss Wycherly answered, half hesitating, "I believe I have offended Mr. Henry Tyndal."

"That is to be regretted," was Mr. Spottiswoode's reply, and a second silence ensued; the remainder of the drive was passed without a word on either side. Lady Spottiswoode urged Miss Wycherly to remain with them and dine; but Penelope's heart was too ill at ease to accept her hospitality. Her pallid countenance and hurried voice pleading excuses, spoke more powerfully than words could do, and her friends forbore to press her compliance. Mr. Spottiswoode still held the reins, and evinced no intention to quit the box. Miss Wycherly dared not meet his eye, as she thanked him for the trouble he had taken.

[226]

"You must not return thanks yet, for my task is not ended," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, "I shall drive you safely to Lidham."

"Pray—not for the world!" exclaimed Miss Wycherly, fixing her eyes upon her companion, in the energy of speaking; Mr. Spottiswoode's face wore a mild expression, and a smile quivered on his lip, but it fled at her exclamation, and his manner resumed its reserve. She remembered Julia's charge to be gentle; she remembered her cousin's charge to "pitch it in smoothly;" she saw also Mr. Henry Tyndal walking his horse in the distance.

"Yes, yes, Charles Spottiswoode, drive on, and drive fast—don't wait for any one!"

"Not for Tyndal?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode, provokingly.

"Not for a human being—drive on, I beseech you!"

Mr. Spottiswoode obeyed, and the carriage proceeded with rapidity in the direction of Lidham.

Three miles were traversed, and Lidham rose among its woods in grandeur, ere Miss Wycherly attempted to speak; she had taxed her memory to bring forward some topic of conversation, but it played her false; she had awaited a [227] remark from her companion, upon which to ground her intended kindness, and it had not reached her ear—her heart now pined to recover its former ease and happiness, yet no opportunity offered to attempt the resumption. To begin the subject voluntarily, was a thought which fled at its very birth. What! own herself in the wrong, and apologize for having given pain to a worthy heart? Ask for pardon, when she had insulted a human being in the dearest feelings? and, when her spirit longed to be at peace with her lover, full of its own injustice and wrong? forbid it, womanly dignity!

Mr. Spottiswoode passed through the lodge at Lidham, and yet Miss Wycherly persevered in her silence; no matter, Mr. Wycherly was in sight, and the hour was past for repentance; she must henceforth submit to bear a gnawing and unpitied remorse for her levity of conduct, and for the knowledge that she had thrown away the very opportunity she had coveted, to try her power upon her lover's forgiveness. To her "dignity" she must sacrifice an ingenuous confession of sorrow for an error, heartless as it was uncalled for; and the demands of "dignity" superseded the claim of right. So do women often create their own misery, by daring to [228] offend, yet quailing under the degradation of revoking an ungenerous speech.

Mr. Wycherly returned to the house, and was ready to receive his daughter and Mr. Spottiswoode when they drove up in his usual way. It never occurred to him that the somewhat long absence of the latter from Lidham was a sure prognostic of a misunderstanding between the parties most interested in the visits.

"Why, Spottiswoode, you are a truant, but Pen has caught you at last, I see. She and I thought you were gone for ever, but I'm glad to see you, however." Mr. Wycherly handed his daughter from the barouche-box. "Well, now, come down, for dinner has been ready this half-hour; down with you, my good fellow."

Mr. Spottiswoode declined staying dinner; he would take his own horse, and return to Shrewsbury.

"My good fellow, what's the matter with you? you won't think of losing your dinner? Nonsense, my dear sir; stay and take your dinner, and go home afterwards, if you like. Here, Pen, try your eloquence."

But Miss Wycherly had flown in sorrow and anger to her own room. Mr. Spottiswoode perceived her departure, and it decided his own; [229] he could not be prevailed upon to defer his ride home till the evening. It was evident Miss Wycherly got out of his way, and her manner towards him was offensive; he could not think of remaining at Lidham, to subject himself to repeated annoyances; Mr. Wycherly pressed in vain.

"Well, Spottiswoode, you are determined, so I can't help it; but I think there is something in the wind."

"I am returning to my mother's house," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, as he shook hands.

"Give my compliments," said Mr. Wycherly, "and tell her I say you are an obstinate mule."