Agnes. "I am sure, if Charlie saw it, he would think it something; but I cannot make out what it is. Here is somebody's seal and somebody's signature, and there, I am sure, that is Atheling; and a date, ‘xiij. of May, M.D.LXXII.' What does that mean, Marian? M. a thousand, D. five hundred; there it is! I am sure it is an old deed-a real something ancestral-1572!" "Give it to me," said Charlie, stretching his hand for it over her shoulder. No one had heard him come in. "Oh, Charlie, what did Miss Anastasia say?" cried Marian, and Agnes immediately turned round away from the cabinet, and Mamma laid down her work. Charlie, however, took full time to examine the yellow old document they had found, though he did not acknowledge that it posed him scarcely less than themselves, before he spoke. "She said she'd look up her papers, and speak to the old gentleman's solicitor. I don't see that she's much good to us," said Charlie. "She says I might call her as a witness, but what's the good of a witness against documents? This has nothing to do with Aunt Bridget, Agnes-have you found nothing more than this? Why, you know there must have been a deed of some kind. The old lady could not have been so foolish as to throw away her title. Property without title-deeds is not worth a straw; and the man that drew up her will is my lord's solicitor! I say, he must be what the Yankees call a smart man this Lord Winterbourne." "I am afraid he has no principle, my dear," said Mrs. Atheling with a sigh. "And a very bad man-everybody hates him," said Marian under her breath. She spoke so low that she did not receive that reproving look of Mamma which was wont to check such exclamations. Marian, though she had a will of her own, and was never like to fall into a mere shadow and reflection of her lover, as his poor little sister did, had unconsciously imbibed Louis's sentiments. She did not know what it was to hate, this innocent girl. Had she seen Lord Winterbourne VOL. LXXXI. thrown from his horse, or overturned out of his carriage, these ferocious sentiments would have melted in an instant into help and pity; but in the abstract view of the matter, Marian pronounced with emotion the great man's sentence, "Everybody hates Lord Winterbourne." "That is what the old lady said," exclaimed Charlie; "she asked me who I thought would believe him against her? But that's not the question. I don't want to pit one man against another. My father's worth twenty of Lord Winterbourne! But that's no matter. The law cares nothing at all for his principles. What title has he got, and what title have you?-that's what the law's got to say. Now, I'll either have something to put in against him, or I'll not plead. It's no use taking a step in the matter without proof." "And won't that do, Charlie ?" asked Mrs. Atheling, looking wistfully at the piece of parchment, signed and sealed, which was in Charlie's hands. "That! why, it's two hundred and fifty years old!" said Charlie. "I don't see what it refers to yet, but it's very clear it can't be to Miss Bridget. No, mother, that won't do." Then, my dear," said Mrs. Atheling, "I am very sorry to think of it; but, after all, we have not been very long here, and we might have laid out more money, and formed more attachments to the place, if we had gone on much longer; and I think I shall be very glad to get back to Bellevue. Marian, my love, don't cry ; this need not make any difference with anything; but I think it is far better just to make up our minds to it, and give up the Old Wood Lodge." "Mother! do you think I mean that?" cried Charlie; we must find the papers, that's what we must do. My father's as good an Englishman as the first lord in the kingdom; I'd not give in to the king unless he was in the right." "And not even then, unless you could not help it," said Agnes, laughing; "but I am not half done yet; there is still a great quantity of letters-and I should not be at all surprised if this romantic old cabinet, Îike an old bureau in a novel, had a secret drawer." 4 Animated by this idea, Marian ran to the antique little piece of furniture, pressing every projection with her pretty fingers, and examining into every creak. But there was no secret drawer a fact which became all the more apparent when a drawer was discovered, which once had closed with a spring. The spring was broken, and the once-secret place was open, desolate, and empty. Miss Bridget, good old lady, had no secrets, or at least she had not made any provision for them here. Agnes went on with her examination the whole afternoon, drawn aside and deluded to pursue the history of old Aunt Bridget's life through scores of yellow old letters, under the pretence that something might be found in some of them to throw light upon this matter; for a great many letters of Miss Bridget's own-careful "studies" for the production itself-were tied up among the others; and it would have been amusing, if it had not been sad, to sit on this little eminence of time, looking over that strange faithful self-record of the little weaknesses, the lady-like pretences, the grand Johnsonian diction of the old lady who was dead. Poor old lady! Agnes became quite abashed and ashamed of herself when she felt a smile stealing over her lip. It seemed something like profanity to ransack the old cabinet, and smile at it. In its way, this, as truly as the grass mound in Winterbourne churchyard, was Aunt Bridget's grave. But still nothing could be found. Charlie occupied himself during the remainder of the day in giving a necessary notice to Mr. Lewis the solicitor, that they had made up their minds to resist Lord Winterbourne's claim; and when the evening closed in, and the candles were lighted, Louis made his first public appearance since the arrival of the stranger, somewhat cloudy, and full of all his old haughtiness. This cloud vanished in an instant at the first glance. Whatever Charlie's qualities were, criticism was not one of them; it was clear that though his "No" might be formidable enough of itself, Charlie had not been a member of any solemn committee, sitting upon the pretensions of Louis. He gave no particular regard to Louis even now, but sat poring over the old deed, deciphering it with the most patient laboriousness, with his head very close over the paper, and a pair of spectacles assisting his eyes. The spectacles were lent by Mamma, who kept them, not secretly, but with a little reserve, in her workbasket, for special occasions when she had some very fine stitching to do, or was busy with delicate-needlework by candle-light; and nothing could have been more oddly inappropriate to the face of Charlie, with all the furrows of his brow rolled down over his eyebrows, and his indomitable upper-lip pressed hard upon its fellow, than these same spectacles. Then they made him short-sighted, and were only of use when he leaned closely over the paper-Charlie did not mind, though his shoulders ached and his eyes filled with water. He was making it out! And Agnes, for her part, sat absorbed with her lapful of old letters, reading them all over with passing smiles and gravities, growing into acquaintance with ever so many extinct affairs,-old stories long ago come to the one conclusion which unites all men. Though she felt herself virtuously reading for a purpose, she had forgotten all about the purpose long ago, and was only wandering on and on by a strange attraction, as if through a city of the dead. But it was quite impossible to think of the dead among these yellow old papers-the littlest trivial things of life were so quite living in them, in these unconscious natural inferences and implications. And Louis and Marian, sometimes speaking and often silent, were going through their own present romance and story; and Mamma, in her sympathetic middle age, with her work-basket, was tenderly overlooking all. In the little dim country parlour, lighted with the two candles, what a strange epitome there was of a whole world and a universal life. CHAPTER XXXIII.-DOUBTS AND FEARS. Louis had not been told till this sun set, the whole youthful party- for Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be "wanted" to -nightstrayed along the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out for him the faroff towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days reading a poetry book, and was, really, in a very odd and suspicious "way." day of the peril which threatened the little inheritance of the Athelings. When he did hear of it, the young man gnashed his teeth with that impotent rage which is agony, desperate under the oppression which makes even wise men mad. He scorned to say a word of any further indignities put upon himself; but Rachel told of them with tears and outeries almost hysterical-how my lord had challenged him with bitter taunts to put on his livery and earn the bread he ate-how he had been expelled from his room which he had always occupied, and had an apart ment now among the rooms of the servants and how Lord Winterbourne threatened to advertise him publicly as a vagabond and runaway if he ventured beyond the bounds of the village, or tried to thrust himself "No," said Louis, upon whom his into any society. Poor little Rachel, betrothed and her sister were hanging when she came in the morning faint eagerly, conforting and persuadingand heart-broken to tell her story, "no; I am not in a worse position, could scarcely speak for tears, and It stings me at the moment, I conwas only with great difficulty soothed fess; but I am filled with contempt to a moderate degree of calm. But for the man who insults me, and his still she shrank with the strangest words lose their power. I could repugnance from going away. It almost be seduced to stay when he scarcely could be attachment to the begins to struggle with me after this home of her youth, for it had always downright fashion; but you are perbeen an unhappy shelter-nor could fectly right for all that, and within a it be love for any of the family, the few days I must go away." little timid spirit feared she knew not what terrors in the world with which she had so little acquaintance. Lord Winterbourne to her was not a mere English peer of influence only in a certain place and sphere, but an omnipotent oppressor, from whose power it would be impossible to escape, and whose vigilance could not be eluded. If she tried to smile at the happy devices of Agnes and Marian, how to establish herself in their own room at Bellevue, and lodge Louis close at hand, it was a very wan and sickly smile. She confessed it was dreadful to think that he should remain, exposed to all these insults; but she shrank with fear and trembling from the idea of Louis going away. The next evening, just before the "A few days? O Louis!" cried Marian, clinging to his arm. "Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value," said Louis. "I am tempted-ay, both to go and stay-for sake. of the clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?" "I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector," said Agnes, with a little anxiety. "O no; it is very cruel of you, and you are quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way-he meant what he said he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very grand for two minutes, and let him know.' "Am I so very grand?" said Louis, with a momentary pique. "I have nothing to do with your rectors I know what he meant, whatever he might say." 66 "It is a great deal more than he does himself. I am sure of that," said Agnes, with a puzzled air. He means what he says, but he does not always know what he means; and neither do I." Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister's perplexity, but they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do. "Now, I will tell you what my plan is," said Louis. I do not know what he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better probation for me," he added, with a rising colour and an air of haughtiness. "I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of the marshal's baton in the soldier's knapsack. I give up rank and renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I will go at once to your father." 66 Oh, Louis, will you? I am so glad, so proud!" and again the little hands pressed his arm, and Marian looked up to him with her radiant face. He had not felt before how perfectly magnanimous and noble his resolution was. "I think it will be very right," said Agnes, who was not so enthusiastic; and my father will be pleased to see you, Louis, though you doubt him as you doubt all men. But look, who is this coming here?" They were scarcely coming here, seeing they were standing still under the porch of the church, a pair of very tall figures, very nearly equal in altitude, though much unlike each other. One of them was the Rector, who stood with a solemn bored look at the door of his church, which he had just closed, listening without any answer save now and then a grave and ceremonious bow, to the other "individual," who was talking very fluently, and sufficiently loud to be heard by others than the Rector. "Oh, Agnes!" cried Marian, and "Hush, May!" answered her sister; they both recognised the stranger at a glance. 66 66 Yes, this is the pride of the old country," said the voice; 'here, sir, we can still perceive upon the sands of time the footprints of our Saxon ancestors. I say ours, for my youthful and aspiring nation boasts as the brightest star in her banner the Anglo-Saxon blood. We preserve the free institutions - the hatred of superstition, the freedom of private judgment and public opinion, the great inheritance developed out of the past; but Old England, sir, a land which I venerate, yet pity, keeps safe in her own bosom the external traces full of instruction, the silent poetry of Time-that only poetry which she can refuse to share with us." To this suitable and appropriate speech congenial as it must have been to his feelings, the Rector made no answer, save that most deferential and solemn bow, and was proceeding with a certain conscientious haughtiness to show his visitor some other part of the building, when his eye was attracted by the approaching group. He turned to them immediately with an air of sudden relief. So did Mr. Endicott, to whom, to do him justice, not all the old churches in Banburyshire, nor all the opportunities of speechmaking, nor even half-a-dozen rectors who were within two steps of a peerage, could have presented such powerful attractions as did that beautiful blushing face of Marian Atheling, drooping and falling back under the shadow of Louis. The Yankee hastened forward with his best greeting. to "When I remember our last meeting," said Mr. Endicott, bending his thin head forward with the most unusual deference, "that tantalising vision of what might have been, I think myself fortunate indeed have found you so near your home. I have been visiting your renowned city--one of those twins of learning, whose antiquity is its charm. my country our antiquities stretch back into the eternities; but we know nothing of the fourteenth or the fifteenth century in our young soil. My friend the Rector has been showing me his church." In Mr. Endicott's friend the Rector stared at him with a haughty amazement, but came forward without saying anything to the new-comers; then he seemed to pause a moment, doubtful how to address Louisa doubt which the young man solved for him instantly by taking off his hat with an exaggerated and solemn politeness. They bowed to each other loftily, these two haughty young men, as two duellists might have saluted each other over their weapons. Then Louis turned his fair companion gently, and, without saying anything, led her back again on the road they had just traversed. Agnes followed silently, and feeling very awkward, with the Rector and Mr. Endicott on either hand. The Rector did not say a word. Agnes only answered in shy monosyllables. The gifted American had it all his own way. "I understand Viscount Winterbourne and Mrs. Edgerley are at Winterbourne Hall," said Mr. Endicott." She is a charming person; the union of a woman of fashion and a woman of literature is one so rarely seen in this land." "Yes," said Agnes, who knew nothing else to say. "For myself," said Mr. Endicott solemnly, "I rejoice to find the poetic gift alike in the palace of the peer and the cottage of the peasant, bringing home to all hearts the experiences of life; in the sumptuous apartments of the Hall with Mrs. Edgerley, or in the humble parlour of the worthy and respectable middle class - Miss Atheling, with you." "Oh!" cried Agnes, starting under this sudden blow, and parrying_it with all the skill she could find. "Do you like Oxford, Mr. Endicott? Have you seen much of the country about here?" have revived a little in his presence but for that arrow of Mr. Endicott's, not knowing whether to address him, or whether her best policy was to be silent. She went on by his side, holding down her head, looking very small, very slight, very young, beside that dignified and stately personage. At last he himself condescended to speak. "Am I to understand, Miss Atheling," said the Rector, very much in the same tone as he might have asked poor little Billy Morrell at school, "Are you the boy who robbed John Parker's orchard ?"-"Am I to understand, as I should be disposed to conclude from what this person says, that, like my fashionable cousin at the Hall, you have written novels? -or is it only the hyperbole of that individual's ordinary speech?" "No," said Agnes, very guilty, a convicted culprit, yet making bold to confess her guilt. "I am very sorry he said it, but it is true; only I have written just one novel. Do you think it wrong?"? "I think a woman's intellect ought to be receptive without endeavouring to produce," said the Rector, in a slightly acerbated tone. "Intelligence is the noblest gift of a woman; originality is neither to be wished nor looked for." "I do not suppose I am very guilty of that either," said Agnes, brightening again with that odd touch of pugnacity, as she listened once more to this haughty tone of dogmatism from the man who held no opinions. "If you object only to originality, I do not think you need be angry with me." She was half inclined to play with the lion, but the lion was in a very ill humour, and would see no sport in the matter. To tell the truth, the Rector was very much fretted by this But it was too late. Mr. Endicott unlooked-for intelligence. He felt as caught a shy backward glance of if it were done on purpose, and meant Marian, and, smothering a mortal as a personal offence to him, though jealousy of Louis, eagerly thrust really, after all, for a superior sister himself forward to answer it-and of St. Frides wide, this unfortunate the Rector had caught his unfortunate words. The Rector drew himself up to a still more lofty height, if that was possible, and walked on by Agnes's side in a solemn and stately silence-poor Agnes, who would gift of literature was rather a recommendation than otherwise, as one might have thought. So the Rev. Lionel Rivers stalked on beside Agnes past his own door, following Louis, Marian, and Mr. |