Chapter XVIII (1)

The village in which Adeline resided happened to be the native place of Mary Warner, the servant whom she had been forced to dismiss at Richmond; and who having gone from Mrs Pemberton to another situation, which she had also quitted, came to visit her friends.

The wish of saying lessening things of those of whom one hears extravagant commendations, is, I fear, common to almost every one, even where the object praised comes in no competition with oneself:--and when Mary Warner heard from every quarter of the grace and elegance, affability and active benevolence of the new comer, it was no doubt infinitely gratifying to her to be able to exclaim,--'Mowbray! did you say her name is? La! I dares to say it is my old mistress, who was kept by one Mr Glenmurray!' But so greatly were her auditors prepossessed in favour of Adeline, that very few of them could be prevailed upon to believe Mary's supposition was just; and so much was she piqued at the disbelief which she met with, that she declared she would go to church the next Sunday to shame the hussey, and go up and speak to her in the church-yard before all the people.

'Ah! do so, if you ever saw our Miss Mowbray before,' was the answer: and Mary eagerly looked forward to the approaching Sunday. Meanwhile, as we are all of us but too apt to repeat stories to the prejudice of others, even though we do not believe them, this strange assertion of Mary was circulated through the village even by Adeline's admirers; and the next Sunday was expected by the unconscious Adeline alone with no unusual eagerness.

Sunday came; and Adeline, as she was wont to do, attended the service: but from the situation of her pew, she could neither see Mary nor be seen by her till church was over. Adeline then, as usual, was walking down the broad walk of the church-yard, surrounded by the parents of the children who came to her school, and receiving from them the customary marks of respect, when Mary, bustling through the crowd, accosted her with:--'So!--your sarvant, Miss Mowbray, I am glad to see you here in such a respectable situation.'

Adeline, though in the gaily-dressed lady who accosted her she had some difficulty in recognizing her quondam servant, recollected the pert shrill voice and insolent manner of Mary immediately; and involuntarily starting when she addressed her, from painful associations and fear of impending evil, she replied, 'How are you, Mary?' in a faltering tone.

'Then it is Mary's Miss Mowbray,' whispered Mary's auditors of the day before to each other; while Mary, proud of her success, looked triumphantly at them, and was resolved to pursue the advantage which she had gained.

'So you have lost Mr Glenmurray, I find!' continued Mary.

Adeline spoke not, but walked hastily on:--but Mary kept pace with her, speaking as loud as she could.

'And did the little one live, pray?'

Still Adeline spoke not.

'What sort of a getting-up had you, Miss Mowbray?'

At this mischievously-intended question Adeline's other sensations were lost in strong indignation; and resuming all the modest but collected dignity of her manner, she turned round, and fixing her eyes steadily on the insulting girl, exclaimed aloud, 'Woman, I never injured you either in thought, word, or deed:--Whence comes it, then, that you endeavour to make the finger of scorn point at me, and make me shrink with shame and confusion from the eye of observation?'

'Woman! indeed!' replied Mary--but she was not allowed to proceed; for a gentleman hastily stepped forward, crying, 'It is impossible for us to suffer such insults to be offered to Miss Mowbray:--I desire, therefore, that you will take your daughter away (turning to Mary's father); and, if possible, teach her better manners.' Having said this, he overtook the agitated Adeline; and offering her his arm, saw her home to her lodgings: while those who had heard with surprise and suspicion the strange and impertinent questions and insolent tone of Mary, resumed in a degree their confidence in Adeline, and turned a disgusted and deaf ear to the hysterical vehemence with which the half-sobbing Mary defended herself, and vilified Adeline, as her father and brother-in-law, almost by force, led her out of the church-yard.

The gentleman who had so kindly stepped forward to the assistance of Adeline was Mr Beauclerc, the surgeon of the village, a man of considerable abilities and liberal principles; and when he bade Adeline farewell, he said, 'My wife will do herself the pleasure of calling on you this evening:' then, kindly pressing her hand, he with a respectful bow took his leave.

Luckily for Adeline, Berrendale was detained in town that day; and she was spared the mortification of showing herself to him, writhing as she was under the agonies of public shame, for such it seemed to her. Convinced as she was of the light in which she must have appeared to the persons around her from the malicious interrogatories of Mary;--convinced too, as she was more than beginning to be, of the fallacy of the reasoning which had led her to deserve, and even to glory in, the situation which she now blushed to hear disclosed;--and conscious as she was, that to remain in the village, and expect to retain her school, was now impossible--she gave herself up to a burst of sorrow and despondence; during which her only consolation was, that it was not witnessed by Berrendale.

It never for a moment entered into the ingenuous mind of Adeline, that her declaration would have more weight than that of Mary Warner; and that she might, with almost a certainty of being believed, deny her charge entirely: on the contrary, she had no doubt but that Mrs Beauclerc was coming to inquire into the grounds for Mary's gross address; and she was resolved to confess to her all the circumstances of her story.

After church in the afternoon Mrs Beauclerc arrived, and Adeline observed, with pleasure, that her manner was even kinder than usual; it was such as to ensure the innocent of the most strenuous support, and to invite the guilty to confidence and penitence.

'Never, my dear Miss Mowbray,' said Mrs Beauclerc, 'did I call on you with more readiness than now; as I come assured that you will give me not only the most ample authority to contradict, but the fullest means to confute, the vile calumnies which that malicious girl, Mary Warner, has, ever since she entered the village, been propagating against you: but, indeed, she is so little respected in her rank of life, and you so highly in yours, that your mere denial of the truth of her statement will, to every candid mind, be sufficient to clear your character.'

Adeline never before was so strongly tempted to violate the truth; and there was a friendly earnestness in Mrs Beauclerc's manner, which proved that it would be almost cruel to destroy the opinion which she entertained of her virtue. For a moment Adeline felt disposed to yield to the temptation, but it was only for a moment,--and in a hurried and broken voice she replied, 'Mary Warner has asserted of me nothing but--' Here her voice faltered.

'Nothing but falsehoods, no doubt, interrupted Mrs Beauclerc triumphantly,--'I thought so.'

'Nothing but the TRUTH!' resumed Adeline.

'Impossible!' cried Mrs Beauclerc, dropping the cold hand which she held: and Adeline, covering her face, and throwing herself back in the chair, sobbed aloud.

Mrs Beauclerc was herself for some time unable to speak; but at length she faintly said--'So sensible, so pious, so well-informed, and so pure-minded as you seem!--to what strange arts, what wicked seductions, did you fall a victim?'

'To no arts--to no seductions'--replied Adeline, recovering all her energy at this insinuation against Glenmurray. 'My fall from virtue as you would call it, was, I may say, from love of what I thought virtue; and if there be any blame, it attaches merely to my confidence in my lover's wisdom and my own too obstinate self-conceit. But you, dear madam, deserve to hear my whole story; and, if you can favour me with an hour's attention, I hope, at least, to convince you that I was worthy of a better fate than to be publicly disgraced by a malicious and ignorant girl.'

Mrs Beauclerc promised the most patient attention; and Adeline related the eventful history of her life, slightly dwelling on those parts of it which in any degree reflected on her mother, and extolling most highly her sense, her accomplishments, and her maternal tenderness. When she came to the period of Glenmurray's illness and death, she broke abruptly off and rushed into her own chamber; and it was some minutes before she could return to Mrs Beauclerc, or before her visitor could wish her to return, as she was herself agitated and affected by the relation which she had heard:--and when Adeline came in she threw her arms round her neck, and pressed her to her heart with a feeling of affection that spoke consolation to the wounded spirit of the mourner.

She then resumed her narration;--and, having concluded it, Mrs Beauclerc, seizing her hand, exclaimed, 'For God's sake, marry Mr Berrendale immediately; and adjure for ever, at the foot of the altar, those errors in opinion to which all your misery has been owing!'

'Would I could atone for them some other way!' she replied.

'Impossible! and if you have any regard for me you will become the wife of your generous lover; for then, and not till then, can I venture to associate with you.'

'I thought so,' cried Adeline; 'I thought all idea of remaining here, with any chance of keeping my scholars, was now impossible.'

'It would not be so,' replied Mrs Beauclerc, 'if every one thought like me: I should consider your example as a warning to all young people; and to preserve my children from evil I should only wish them to hear your story, as it inculcates most powerfully how vain are personal graces, talents, sweetness of temper, and even active benevolence, to ensure respectability and confer happiness, without a strict regard to the long-established rules for conduct, and a continuance in those paths of virtue and decorum which the wisdom of ages has pointed out to the steps of every one.--But others will, no doubt, consider, that continuing to patronize you, would be patronizing vice; and my rank in life is not high enough to enable me to countenance you with any chance of leading others to follow my example; while I should not be able to serve you, but should infallibly lose myself. But some time hence, as the wife of Mr Berrendale, I might receive you as your merits deserve: till then--' Here Mrs Beauclerc paused, and she hesitated to add, 'we meet no more.'

Indeed it was long before the parting took place. Mrs Beauclerc had justly appreciated the merits of Adeline, and thought she had found in her a friend and companion for years to come: besides, her children were most fondly attached to her; and Mrs Beauclerc, while she contemplated their daily improvement under her care, felt grateful to Adeline for the unfolding excellencies of her daughters. Still, to part with her was unavoidable; but the pang of separation was in a degree soothed to Adeline by the certainty which Mrs Beauclerc's sorrow gave her, that, spite of her errors, she had inspired a real friendship in the bosom of a truly virtuous and respectable woman; and this idea gave a sensation of joy to her heart to which it had long been a stranger.

The next morning some of the parents, whom Mary's tale had not yet reached, sent their children as usual. But Adeline refused to enter upon any school duties, bidding them affectionately farewell, and telling them that she was going to write to their parents, as she was obliged to leave her present situation, and, declining keeping school, meant to reside, she believed in London.

The children on hearing this looked at each other with almost tearful consternation; and Adeline observed, with pleasure, the interest which she had made to herself in their young hearts. After they were gone she sent a circular letter to her friends in the village, importing that she was under the necessity of leaving her present residence; but that, whatever her future situation might be, she should always remember, with gratitude, the favours which she had received at ----.

The necessity that drove her away was, by this time, very well understood by every one; but Mrs Beauclerc took care to tell those who mentioned the subject to her, the heads of Adeline's story; and to add always, 'and I have reason to believe that, as soon as she is settled in town, she will be extremely well married.'

To the mulatto the change in Adeline's plans was particularly pleasing, as it would bring her nearer her son, and nearer William, from whom nothing but a sense of grateful duty to Adeline would so long have divided her. But Savanna imagined that Adeline's removal was owing to her having at last determined to marry Mr Berrendale; an event which she, for Adeline's sake, earnestly wished to take place, though for her own she was undecided whether to desire it or not, as Mr Berrendale might not, perhaps, be as contented with her services as Adeline was.

While these thoughts were passing in Savanna's mind, and her warm and varying feelings were expressed by alternate smiles and tears, Mr Berrendale arrived from town: and as Savanna opened the door to him, she, half whimpering, half smiling, dropped him a very respectful curtsey, and looked at him with eyes full of unusual significance.

'Well, Savanna, what has happened?--Anything new or extraordinary since my absence?' said Berrendale.

'Me tink not of wat hav appen, but what will happen,' replied Savanna.

'And what is going to happen?' returned Berrendale, seating himself in the parlour, 'and where is your mistress?'

'She dress herself, that dear misses,' replied Savanna, lingering with the door in her hand, 'and I,--ope to have a dear massa too.'

'What!' cried Berrendale, starting wildly from his seat, 'what did you say?'

'Why me ope my misses be married soon.'

'Married! to whom?' cried Berrendale, seizing her hand, and almost breathless with alarm.

'Why, to you, sure,' exclaimed Savanna, 'and den me hope you will not turn away poor Savanna?'

'What reason you have, my dear Savanna, for talking thus, I cannot tell; nor dare I give way to the sweet hopes which you excite: but, if it be true that I may hope, depend on it you shall cook my wedding dinner, and then I am sure it will be a good one.'

'Can full joy eat?' asked the mulatto thoughtfully.

'A good dinner is a good thing, Savanna,' replied Berrendale, 'and ought never to be slighted.'

'Me good dinner day I marry, but I not eat it.--O sir, pity people look best in dere wedding clothes, but my William look well all day and every day, and perhaps you will too, sir; and den I ope to cook your wedding dinner, next day dinner, and all your dinners.'

'And so you shall, Savanna,' cried Berrendale, grasping her hand, 'and I--' Here the door opened, and Adeline appeared; who, surprised at Berrendale's familiarity with her servant, looked gravely, and stopped at the door with a look of cold surprise. Berrendale, awed into immediate respect--for what is so timid and respectful as a man truly in love?--bowed low, and lost in an instant all the hopes which had elevated his spirits to such an unusual degree.

Adeline with an air of pique observed, that she feared she interrupted them unpleasantly, as something unusually agreeable and enlivening seemed to occupy them as she came in, over which her entrance seemed to have cast a cloud.

The mulatto had by this time retreated to the door, and was on the point of closing it when Berrendale stammered out, as well as he could, 'Savanna was, indeed, raising my hopes to such an unexpected height, that I felt almost bewildered with joy; but the coldness of your manner, Miss Mowbray, has sobered me again.'

'And what did Savanna say to you?' cried Adeline.

'I--I say,' cried Savanna returning, 'dat is, he say, I should be let cook de wedding dinner.'

Adeline, returning even paler than she was before, desired her coldly to leave the room; and, seating herself at the greatest possible distance from Berrendale, leaned for some time in silence on her hand--he not daring to interrupt her meditations. But at last she said, 'What could give rise to this singular conversation between you and Savanna I am wholly at a loss to imagine: still I--I must own that it is not so ill-timed as it would have been some weeks ago. I will own, that since yesterday I have been considering your generous proposals with the serious attention which they deserve.'

On hearing this, which Adeline uttered with considerable effort, Berrendale in a moment was at her side, and almost at her feet.

'I--I wish you to return to your seat,' said Adeline coldly: but hope had emboldened him, and he chose to stay where he was.

'But, before I require you to renew your promises, or make any on my side, it is proper that I should tell you what passed yesterday; and if the additional load of obloquy which I have acquired does not frighten you from continuing your addresses--' Here Adeline paused:--and Berrendale, rather drawing back, then pushing his chair nearer her as he spoke, gravely answered, that his affection was proof against all trials.

Adeline then briefly related the scene in the church-yard, and her conversation with Mrs Beauclerc, and concluded thus:--'In consequence of this, and of the recollections of HIS advice, and HIS decided opinion, that by becoming the wife of a respectable man I could alone expect to recover my rank in society, and consequently my usefulness, I offer you my hand; and promise, in the course of a few months, to become yours in the sight of God and man.'

'And from no other reason?--from no preference, no regard for me?' demanded Berrendale reproachfully.

'Oh! pardon me; from decided preference; there is not another being in the creation whom I could bear to call husband.'

Berrendale, gratified and surprised, attempted to take her hand; but, withdrawing it, she continued thus;--'Still I almost scruple to let you, unblasted as your prospects are, take a wife a beggar, blasted in reputation, broken in spirits, with a heart whose best affections lie buried in the grave, and which can offer you in return for your faithful tenderness nothing but cold respect and esteem; one too who is not only despicable to others, but also self-condemned.'

While Adeline said this, Berrendale, almost shuddering at the picture which she drew, paced the room in great agitation; and even the gratification of his passion, used as he was to the indulgence of every wish, seemed, for a moment, a motive not sufficiently powerful to enable him to unite his fate to that of a woman so degraded as Adeline appeared to be; and he would, perhaps, have hesitated to accept the hand she offered, had she not added, as a contrast to the picture which she had drawn--'But if, in spite of all these unwelcome considerations, you persist in your resolution of making me yours, and I have resolution enough to conquer the repugnance that I feel to make a second connexion, you may depend on possessing in me one who will study your happiness and wishes in the minutest particulars;--one who will cherish you in sickness and in sorrow;--' (here a twinge of the gout assisted Adeline's appeal very powerfully;) 'and who, conscious of the generosity of your attachment, and her own unworthiness, will strive, by every possible effort, not to remain your debtor even in affection.'

Saying this, she put out her hand to Berrendale; and that hand, and the arm belonging to it, were so beautiful, and he had so often envied Glenmurray while he saw them tenderly supporting his head, that while a vision of approaching gout, and Adeline bending over his restless couch, floated before him, all his prudent considerations vanished; and, eagerly pressing the proffered hand to his lips, he thanked her most ardently for her kind promise; and, putting his arm round her waist, would have pressed her to his bosom.

But the familiarity was ill-timed;--Adeline was already surprised, and even shocked, at the lengths to which she had gone; and starting almost with loathing from his embrace, she told him it grew late, and it was time for him to go to his lodgings. She then retired to her own room, and spent half the night at least in weeping over the remembrance of Glenmurray, and in loudly apostrophizing his departed spirit.

The next day Adeline, out of the money which she had earned, discharged her lodgings; and having written a farewell note to Mrs Beauclerc, begging to hear of her now and then, she and the mulatto proceeded to town, with Berrendale, in search of apartments; and having procured them, Adeline began to consider by what means, till she could resolve to marry Berrendale, she should help to maintain herself, and also contrive to increase their income if she became his wife.

The success which she had met with in instructing children, led her to believe that she might succeed in writing little hymns and tales for their benefit; a method of getting money which she looked upon to be more rapid and more lucrative than working plain or fancy works: and, in a short time, a little volume was ready to be offered to a bookseller:--nor was it offered in vain. Glenmurray's bookseller accepted it; and the sum which he gave, though trifling, imparted a balsam to the wounded mind of Adeline: it seemed to open to her the path of independence; and to give her, in spite of her past errors, the means of serving her fellow-creatures.

But month after month elapsed, and Glenmurray had been dead two years, yet still Adeline could not prevail on herself to fix a time for her marriage.

But next to the aversion she felt to marrying at all, was that which she experienced at the idea of having no fortune to bestow on the disinterested Berrendale; and so desirous was she of his acquiring some little property by his union with her, that she resolved to ask counsel's opinion on the possibility of her claiming a sum of money which Glenmurray had bequeathed to her, but without, as Berrendale had assured her, the customary formalities.

The money was near L300; but Berrendale had allowed it to go to Glenmurray's legal heir, because he was sure that the writing which bequeathed it would not hold good in law. Still Adeline was so unwilling to be under so many pecuniary obligations to a man whom she did not love, that she resolved to take advice on the subject, much against the will of Berrendale, who thought the money for fees might as well be saved; but as a chance for saving the fee he resolved to let Adeline go to the lawyer's chambers alone, thinking it likely that no fee would be accepted from so fine a woman. Accordingly, more alive to economy than to delicacy or decorum, Berrendale, when Adeline, desiring a coach to be called, summoned him to accompany her to the Temple, pleaded terror of an impending fit of the gout, and begged her to excuse his attendance; and Adeline, unsuspicious of the real cause of his refusal, kindly expressing her sorrow for the one he feigned, took the counsellor's address, and got into the coach, Berrendale taking care to tell her, as she got in, that the fare was but a shilling.

The gentleman, Mr Langley, to whom Adeline was going, was celebrated for his abilities as a chamber counsellor, and no less remarkable for his gallantries: but Berrendale was not acquainted with this part of his history: else he would not, even to save a lawyer's fee, have exposed his intended wife to a situation of such extreme impropriety; and Adeline was too much a stranger to the rules of general society, to feel any great repugnance to go alone on an errand so interesting to her feelings.

The coach having stopped near the entrance of the court to which she was directed, Adeline, resolving to walk home, discharged the coach, and knocked at the door of Mr Langley's chambers. A very smart servant out of livery answered the knock; and Mr Langley being at home, Adeline was introduced into his apartment.

Mr Langley, though surprised at seeing a lady of a deportment so correct and of so dignified an appearance enter his room unattended, was inspired with so much respect at the sight of Adeline, whose mourning habit added to the interest which her countenance never failed to excite, that he received her with bows down to the ground, and, leading her to a chair, begged she would do him the honour to be seated, and impart her commands.

Adeline, embarrassed, she scarcely knew why, at the novelty of her situation, drew the paper from her pocket, and presented it to him.

'Mr Berrendale recommended me to you, sir,' said Adeline faintly.

'Berrendale, Berrendale, O, aye,--I remember--the cousin of Mr Glenmurray: you know Mr Glenmurray too, ma'am, I presume; pray how is he?'--Adeline, unprepared for this question, could not speak; and the voluble counsellor went on--'Oh!--I ask your pardon, madam, I see;--pray, might I presume so far, how long has that extraordinary clever man been lost to the world?'

'More than two years, sir,' replied Adeline faintly.

'You are,--may I presume so far,--you are his widow?'--Adeline bowed. There was a something in Mr Langley's manner and look so like Sir Patrick's, that she could not bear to let him know she was only Glenmurray's companion.

'Gone more than two years, and you still in deep mourning!--Amiable susceptibility!--How unlike the wives of the present day! But I beg pardon.--Now to business.' So saying, he perused the paper which Adeline had given him, in which Glenmurray simply stated, that he bequeathed to Adeline Mowbray the sum of L260 in the 5 per cents, but it was signed by only one witness.

'What do you wish to know, Madam?' asked the counsellor.

'Whether this will be valid, as it is not signed by two witnesses, sir?'

'Why,--really not,' replied Langley; 'though the heir-at-law, if we have either equity or gallantry, could certainly not refuse to fulfil what evidently was the intention of the testator:--but then, it is very surprising to me that Mr Glenmurray should have wished to leave any thing from the lady whom I have the honour to behold. Pray, madam,--if I may presume to ask,--Who is Adeline Mowbray?'

'I--I am Adeline Mowbray,' replied Adeline in great confusion.

'You, madam! Bless me, I presumed;--and pray, madam,--if I may make so bold,--what was your relationship to that wonderfully clever man?--his niece,--his cousin,--or,--?'

'I was no relation of his,' said Adeline still more confused; and this confusion confirmed the suspicions which Langley entertained, and also brought to his recollection something which he had heard of Glenmurray's having a very elegant and accomplished mistress.

'Pardon me, dear madam,' said Mr Langley, 'I perceive now my mistake; and I now perceive why Mr Glenmurray was so much the envy of those who had the honour of visiting at his house. 'Pon my soul,' taking her hand, which Adeline indignantly, withdrew, 'I am grieved beyond words at being unable to give you a more favourable opinion.'

'But you said, sir,' said Adeline, 'that the heir-at-law, if he had any equity, would certainly be guided by the evident intention of the testator.'

'I did, madam,' replied the lawyer, evidently piqued by the proud and cold air which Adeline assumed;--'but then,--excuse me,--the applicant would not stand much chance of being attended to, who is neither the _widow_ nor _relation_ of Mr Glenmurray.'

'I understand you, sir,' replied Adeline, 'and need trouble you no longer.'

'Trouble! my sweet girl!' returned Mr Langley, 'call it not trouble; I--' Here his gallant effusions were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a very showy woman, highly rouged, and dressed in the extremity of the fashion; and who in no very pleasant tone of voice exclaimed,--'I fear I interrupt you.'

'Oh! not in the least,' replied Langley, blushing even more than Adeline, 'my fair client was just going. Allow me, madam, to see you to the door,' continued he, attempting to take Adeline's hand, and accompanying her to the bottom of the first flight of stairs.

'Charming fine woman upon my soul!' cried he, speaking through his shut teeth, and forcibly squeezing her fingers as he spoke; 'and if you ever want advice I should be proud to see you here, (with a significant smile).' Here Adeline, too angry to speak, put the fee in his hand, which he insisted on returning, and, in the struggle, he forcibly kissed the ungloved hand which was held out, praising its beauty at the same time, and endeavouring to close her fingers on the money: but Adeline indignantly threw it on the ground, and rushed down the remaining staircase; over-hearing the lady, as she did so, exclaim, 'Langley! is not that black mawkin gone yet! Come up this moment, you devil!' while Langley obsequiously replied, 'Coming this moment, my angel!'

Adeline felt so disappointed, so ashamed, and so degraded, that she walked on some way without knowing whither she was going; and when she recollected herself, she found that she was wandering from court to court, and unable to find the avenue to the street down which the coach had come: while her very tall figure, heightened colour, and graceful carriage, made her an object of attention to every one whom she met.

At last she saw herself followed by two young men; and as she walked very fast to avoid them, she by accident turned into the very lane which she had been seeking: but her pursuers kept pace with her; and she overheard one of them say to the other, 'A devilish fine girl! moves well too,--I cannot help thinking that I have seen her before.'

'And I think so too!--by her height, it must be that sweet creature who lived at Richmond with that crazy fellow, Glenmurray.'

Here Adeline relaxed in her pace: the name of Glenmurray--that name which no one since his death had ventured to pronounce in her presence,--had, during the last half hour, been pronounced several times; and, unable to support herself from a variety of emotions, she stopped, and leaned for support against the wall.

'How do you do, my fleet and swift girl?' said one of the gentlemen:--and Adeline, roused at the insult, looked at him proudly and angrily, and walked on. 'What! angry! If I may be so bold,' (with a sneering smile), 'fair creature, may I ask where you live now?'

'No, sir,' replied Adeline; 'you are wholly unknown to me.'

'But were you to tell me where you live, we might cease to be strangers; pray who is your friend now?'

Here, as his companion gave way to a loud fit of laughter, Adeline clearly understood what he meant by the term 'friend;' and summoning up all her spirit, she called a coach which luckily was passing; and turning round to her tormentor, with great dignity said,--'Though the situation, sir, in which I once was, may in the eyes of the world, and in yours, authorize and excuse your present insulting address, yet, when I tell you that I am on the eve of marriage with a most respectable man, I trust that you will feel the impropriety of your conduct, and be convinced of the fruitlessness and impertinence of the questions which you have put to me.'

'If this be the case, madam,' cried the gentleman, 'I beg your pardon, and shall take my leave, wishing you all possible happiness, and begging you to attribute my impertinence wholly to my ignorance.' So saying, he bowed and left her, and Adeline was driven to her lodgings.

'Now,' said Adeline, 'the die is cast;--I have used the sacred name of wife to shield me from insult; and I am therefore pledged to assume it directly. Yes, HE was right--I find I must have a legal protector.'

She found Berrendale rather alarmed at her long absence; and, with a beating heart, she related her adventures to him: but when she said that Langley was not willing to take the fee, he exclaimed, 'Very genteel in him, indeed! I suppose you took him at his word?'

'Good Heavens!' replied Adeline, 'Do you think I would deign to owe such a man a pecuniary obligation?--No, indeed; I threw it with proud indignation on the floor.'

'What madness!' returned Berrendale: 'you had much better have put it in your pocket.'

'Mr Berrendale,' cried Adeline gravely, and with a look bordering on contempt, 'I trust that you are not in earnest: for if these are your sentiments,--if this is your delicacy, sir--'

'Say no more, dearest of women,' replied Berrendale pretending to laugh, alarmed at the seriousness with which she spoke: 'how could you for one moment suppose me in earnest? Insolent coxcomb!--I wish I had been there.'

'I wish you had,' said Adeline, 'for then no one would have dared to insult me:' and Berrendale, delighted at this observation, listened to the rest of her story with a spirit of indignant knight-errantry which he never experienced before; and at the end of her narration he felt supremely happy; for Adeline assured him that the next week she would make him her protector for life:--and this assurance opened his heart so much, that he vowed he would not condescend to claim of the heir-at-law the pitiful sum which he might think proper to withhold.

To be brief.--Adeline kept her word: and resolutely struggling with her feelings, she became the next week the wife of Berrendale.

For the first six months the union promised well. Adeline was so assiduous to anticipate her husband's wishes, and contrived so many dainties for his table, which she cooked with her own hands, that Berrendale, declaring himself completely happy for the first time in his life, had not a thought or a wish beyond his own fireside; while Adeline, happy because she conferred happiness, and proud of the name of wife, which she had before despised, began to hope that her days would glide on in humble tranquillity.

It was natural enough that Adeline should be desirous of imparting this change in her situation to Mrs Pemberton, whose esteem she was eager to recover, and whose kind intentions towards her, at a moment when she was incapable of appreciating them, Savanna had, with great feeling, expatiated upon. She therefore wrote to her according to the address which Mrs Pemberton had left for her, and received a most friendly letter in return. In a short time Adeline had again an expectation of being a mother; and though she could not yet entertain for her husband more than cold esteem, she felt that as the father of her child he would insensibly become more dear to her.

But Berrendale awoke from his dream of bliss, on finding to what a large sum the bills for the half-year's housekeeping amounted. Nor was he surprised without reason. Adeline, more eager to gratify Berrendale's palate than considerate as to the means, had forgotten that she was no longer at the head of a liberal establishment like her mother's, and had bought for the supply of the table many expensive articles.

In consequence of this terrible discovery Berrendale remonstrated very seriously with Adeline; who meekly answered, 'My dear friend, good dinners cannot be had without good ingredients, and good ingredients cannot be had without money.'

'But, madam,' cried Berrendale, knitting his brows, but not elevating his voice, for he was one of those soft-speaking beings who in the sweetest tones possible can say the most heart-wounding things, and give a mortal stab to your self-love in the same gentle manner in which they flatter it:--'there must have been great waste, great mismanagement here, or these expenses could not have been incurred.'

'There may have been both,' returned Adeline, 'for I have not been used to economize, but I will try to learn;--but I doubt, my dear Berrendale, you must endeavour to be contented with plainer food; for not all the economy in the world can make rich gravies and high sauces cheap things.'

'Oh! care and skill can do much,' said Berrendale;--'and I find a certain person deceived me very much when he said you were a good manager.'

'He only said,' replied Adeline sighing deeply, 'that I was a good cook, and you yourself allow that; but I hope in time to please your appetite at less expense: as to myself, a little suffices me, and I care not how plain that food is.'

'Still, I think I have seen you eat with a most excellent appetite,' said Berrendale, with a very significant expression.

Adeline shocked at the manner more than the words, replied in a faltering voice, 'As a proof of my being in health, no doubt you rejoiced in the sight.'

'Certainly; but less robust health would suit our finances better.'

Adeline looked up, wishing, though not expecting, to see by his face that he was joking: but such serious displeasure appeared on it, that the sordid selfishness of his character was at once unveiled to her view; and clasping her hands in agony, she exclaimed, 'Oh Glenmurray!' and ran into her own room.

It was the first time that she had pronounced his name since the hour of his death, and now it was wrung from her by a sensation of acute anguish; no wonder, then, that the feelings which followed completely overcame her, and that Berrendale had undisputed and solitary possession of his supper.

But he, on his side, was deeply irritated. The 'Oh, Glenmurray!' was capable of being interpreted two ways:--either it showed how much she regretted Glenmurray, and preferred him to his successor in spite of the superior beauty of his person, of which he was very vain; or it reproached Glenmurray for having recommended her to marry him. In either case it was an unpardonable fault; and this unhappy conversation laid the foundation of future discontent.

Adeline arose the next day dejected, pensive, and resolved that her appetite should never again, if possible, force a reproach from the lips of her husband. She therefore took care that whatever she provided for the table, besides the simplest fare, should be for Berrendale alone; and she flattered herself that he would be shamed into repentance of what he had observed, by seeing her scrupulous self-denial:--she even resolved, if he pressed her to partake of his dainties, that she would, to show that she forgave him, accept what he offered.

But Berrendale gave her no such opportunity of showing her generosity;--busy in the gratification of his own appetite, he never observed whether any other persons ate or not, except when by eating they curtailed his share of good things:--besides, to have an exclusive dish to himself seemed to him quite natural and proper; he had been a pampered child; and, being no advocate for the equality of the sexes, he thought it only a matter of course that he should fare better than his wife.

Adeline, though more surprised and more shocked than ever, could not help laughing internally, at her not being able to put her projected generosity in practice; but her laughter and indignation soon yielding to contempt, she ate her simple meal in silence: and while her pampered husband sought to lose the fumes of indigestion in sleep, she blessed God that temperance, industry and health went hand-in-hand, and, retiring to her own room, sat down to write, in order to increase, if possible, her means of living, and consequently her power of being generous to others.

But though Adeline resolved to forget, if possible, the petty conduct of Berrendale, the mulatto, who, from the door's being open, had heard every word of the conversation which had so disturbed Adeline, neither could nor would forget it; and though she did not vow eternal hatred to her master, she felt herself very capable of indulging it, and from that moment it was her resolution to thwart him.

Whenever he was present, she was always urging Adeline to eat some refreshments between meals, and drink wine or lemonade, and tempting her weak appetite with some pleasant but expensive sweetmeats. In vain did Adeline refuse them; sometimes they were bought, sometimes only threatened to be bought; and once when Adeline had accepted some, rather than mortify Savanna by a refusal, and Berrendale, by his accent and expression, showed how much he grudged the supposed expense,--the mulatto, snapping her fingers in his face, and looking at him with an expression of indignant contempt, exclaimed, 'I buy dem, and pay for dem wid mine nown money; and my angel lady sall no be oblige to you!'

This was a declaration of war against Berrendale, which Adeline heard with anger and sorrow, and her husband with rage. In vain did Adeline promise that she would seriously reprove Savanna (who had disappeared) for her impertinence; Berrendale insisted on her being discharged immediately; and nothing but Adeline's assurances that she, for slender wages, did more work than two other servants would do for enormous ones, could pacify his displeasure: but at length he was appeased. And as Berrendale, from a principle of economy, resumed his old habit of dining out amongst his friends, getting good dinners by that means without paying for them, family expenses ceased to disturb the quiet of their marriage; and after she had been ten months a wife Adeline gave birth to a daughter.

That moment, the moment when she heard her infant's first cry, seem to repay her for all she had suffered; every feeling was lost in the maternal one; and she almost fancied that she loved, fondly loved, the father of her child: but this idea vanished when she saw the languid pleasure, if pleasure it could be called, with which Berrendale congratulated her on her pain and danger being passed, and received his child in his arms.

The mulatto was wild with joy: she almost stifled the babe with her kisses, and talked even the next day of sending for the tawny boy to come and see his new mistress, and vow to her, as he had done to her mother, eternal fealty and allegiance.

But Adeline saw on Berrendale's countenance a mixed expression,--and he had mixed feelings. True, he rejoiced in Adeline's safety; but he said within himself, 'Children are expensive things, and we may have a large family;' and, leaving the bedside as soon as he could, he retired, to endeavour to lose in an afternoon's nap his unpleasant reflections.

'How different,' thought Adeline, 'would have been HIS feelings and HIS expressions of them at such a time! Oh!--' but the name of Glenmurray died away on her lips; and hastily turning to gaze on her sleeping babe, she tried to forget the disappointed emotions of the wife in the gratified feelings of the mother.

Still Adeline, who had been used to attentions, could not but feel the neglect of Berrendale. Even while she kept her room he passed only a few hours in her society, and dined out; and when she was well enough to have accompanied him on his visits, she found that he never even wished her to go with him, though the friends whom he visited were married; and he met, from his own confessions, other ladies at their tables. She therefore began to suspect that Berrendale did not mean to introduce her as his wife; nay, she doubted whether he avowed her to be such; and at last she brought him to own that, ashamed of having married what the world must consider as a kept mistress, he resolved to keep her still in the retirement to which she was habituated.

This was a severe disappointment indeed to Adeline: she longed for the society of the amiable and accomplished of her own sex; and hoped that, as Mr Berrendale's wife, that intercourse with her own sex might be restored to her which she had forfeited as the mistress of Glenmurray. Nor could she help reproaching Berrendale for the selfish ease and indifference with which he saw her deprived of those social enjoyments which he daily enjoyed himself, convinced as she was that he might, if he chose, have introduced her at least to his intimate friends.

But she pleaded and reasoned in vain. Contented with the access which he had to the tables of his friends, it was of little importance to him that his wife ate her humble meal alone. His habits of enjoyment had ever been solitary: the school-boy, who had at school eaten his tart and cake by stealth in a corner, that he might not be asked to share them with another, had grown up with the same dispositions to manhood: and as his parents, thought opulent, were vulgar in their manners and low in their origin, he had never been taught those graceful self-denials inculcated into the children of polished life, which, though taught from factitious and not real benevolence, have certainly a tendency, by long habit, to make that benevolence real which at first was only artificial.

Adeline had both sorts of kindness and affection, those untaught of the heart, and those of education;--she was polite from the situation into which the accident of birth had thrown her, and also from the generous impulse of her nature. To her, therefore, the uncultivated and unblushing _personnalite_, as the French call it, of Berrendale, was a source of constant wonder and distress: and often, very often did she feel the utmost surprise at Berrendale's having appeared to Glenmurray a man likely to make her happy. Often did she wonder how the defects of Berrendale's character could have escaped his penetrating eyes.

Adeline forgot that the faults of her husband were such as could be known only by an intimate connexion, and which cohabitation could alone call forth;--faults, the existence of which such a man as Glenmurray, who never considered himself in any transaction whatever, could not suppose possible; and which, though they inflicted the most bitter pangs on Adeline, and gradually untwisted the slender thread which had began to unite her heart with Berrendale's, were of so slight a fabric as almost to elude the touch, and of a nature to appear almost too trivial to be mentioned in the narration of a biographer.

But though it has been long said that trifles make the sum of human things, inattention to trifles continues to be the vice of every one; and many a conjugal union which has never been assailed by the battery of crime, has fallen a victim to the slowly undermining power of petty quarrels, trivial unkindnesses and thoughtless neglect;--like the gallant officer, who, after escaping unhurt all the rage of battle by land and water, tempest on sea and earthquake on shore, returns perhaps to his native country, and perishes by the power of a slow fever.

But Adeline, who, amidst all the chimaeras of her fancy and singularities of her opinions, had happily held fast her religion, began at this moment to entertain a belief that soothed in some measure the sorrows which it could not cure. She fancied that all the sufferings she underwent were trials which she was doomed to undergo, as punishments for the crime she had committed in leaving her mother and living with Glenmurray. She therefore welcomed her afflictions, and lifted up her meek eyes to her God and Saviour, in every hour of her trials, with the look of tearful but grateful resignation.

Meanwhile her child, whom, after her mother, she called Editha, was nursed at her own bosom, and thrived even beyond her expectations. Even Berrendale beheld its growing beauty with delight, and the mulatto was wild in praise of it; while Adeline, wholly taken up all day in nursing and in working for it, and every evening in writing stories and hymns to publish, which would, she hoped, one day be useful to her own child as well as to the children of others, soon ceased to regret her seclusion from society; and by the time Editha was a year old she had learnt to bear with patience the disappointment she had experienced in Berrendale.

Soon after she became a mother she again wrote to Mrs Pemberton, as she longed to impart to her sympathizing bosom those feelings of parental delight which Berrendale could not understand, and the expression of which he witnessed with contemptuous and chilling gravity. To this letter she anticipated a most gratifying return; but month after month passed away, and no letter from Lisbon arrived. 'No doubt my letter miscarried,' said Adeline to Savanna, 'and I will write again:' but she never had resolution to do so; for she felt that her prospects of conjugal happiness were obscured, and she shrunk equally from the task of expressing the comfort which she did not feel, or unveiling to another the errors of her husband. The little regard, meanwhile, which she had endeavoured to return for Berrendale soon vanished, being unable to withstand a new violence offered to it.

Editha was seized with the hooping-cough; and as Adeline had sold her last little volume to advantage, Berrendale allowed her to take a lodging at a short distance from town, as change of air was good for the complaint. She did so, and remained there two months. At her return she had the mortification to find that her husband, during her absence, had intrigued with the servant of the house:--a circumstance of which she would probably have remained ignorant, but for the indiscreet affection of Savanna, who, in the first transports of her indignation on discovering the connexion, had been unable to conceal from her mistress what drove her almost frantic with indignation.

But Adeline, though she felt disgust and aversion swallowing up the few remaining sparks of regard for Berrendale which she felt, had one great consolation under this new calamity.--Berrendale had not been the choice of her heart: 'But, thank Heaven! I never loved this man,' escaped her lips as she ran into her own room; and pressing her child to her bosom, she shed on its unconscious cheeks the tears which resentment and a deep sense of injury wrung from her.--'Oh! had I loved him,' she exclaimed, 'this blow would have been mortal!'

She, however, found herself in one respect the better for Berrendale's guilt. Conscious that the mulatto was aware of what had passed, and afraid lest she should have mentioned her discovery to Adeline, Berrendale endeavoured to make amends for his infidelity by attention such as he had never shown her since the first weeks of his marriage; and had she not been aware of the motive, the change in his behaviour would have re-awakened her tenderness. However, it claimed at least complaisance and gentleness from her while it lasted: which was not long; for Berrendale, fancying from the apparent tranquillity of Adeline (the result of indifference, not ignorance,) that she was not informed of his fault, and that the mulatto was too prudent to betray him, began to relapse into his old habits; and one day, forgetting his assumed liberality, he ventured, when alone with Savanna, who was airing one of Editha's caps, to expatiate on the needless extravagance of his wife in trimming her child's caps with lace.

This was enough to rouse the quick feelings of the mulatto, and she poured forth all her long concealed wrath in a torrent of broken English, but plain enough to be well understood.--'You man!' she cried at last, 'you will kill her; she pine at your no kindness;--and if she die, mind me, man! never you marry aden.--You marry, forsoot! you marry a lady! true bred lady like mine! No, man!--You best get a cheap miss from de street and be content--'

As she said this, and in an accent so provoking that Berrendale was pale and speechless with rage, Adeline entered the room; and Savanna, self-condemned already from what she had uttered, was terrified when Adeline, in a tone of voice unusually severe, said, 'Leave the room; you have offended me past forgiveness.'

These words, in a great measure, softened the angry feelings of Berrendale, as they proved that Adeline resented the insult offered to him as deeply as he could wish; and with some calmness he exclaimed, 'Then I conclude, Mrs Berrendale, that you will have no objection to discharge your mulatto directly?'

This conclusion, though a very natural one, was both a shock and a surprise to Adeline; nor could she at first reply.

'You are _silent_, madam,' said Berrendale; 'what is your answer? Yes, or No?'

'Yes,--yes,--certainly,' faltered out Adeline; 'she--she ought to go--I mean that she has used very improper language to you.'

'And, therefore, a wife who resents as she ought to do, injuries offered to her husband cannot hesitate for a moment to discharge her.'

'True, very true in some measure,' replied Adeline; 'but--'