NOVELISTS should never allow themselves to weary of the study ofreal life. If they observed this duty conscientiously, theywould give us fewer pictures chequered with vivid contrasts oflight and shade; they would seldom elevate their heroes andheroines to the heights of rapture--still seldomer sink them tothe depths of despair; for if we rarely taste the fulness of joyin this life, we yet more rarely savour the acrid bitterness ofhopeless anguish; unless, indeed, we have plunged like beastsinto sensual indulgence, abused, strained, stimulated, againoverstrained, and, at last, destroyed our faculties forenjoyment; then, truly, we may find ourselves without support,robbed of hope. Our agony is great, and how can it end? We havebroken the spring of our powers; life must be all suffering--toofeeble to conceive faith--death must be darkness--God, spirits,religion can have no place in our collapsed minds, where lingeronly hideous and polluting recollections of vice; and time bringsus on to the brink of the grave, and dissolution flings us in--arag eaten through and through with disease, wrung together withpain, stamped into the churchyard sod by the inexorable heel ofdespair.

But the man of regular life and rational mind never despairs. Heloses his property--it is a blow--he staggers a moment; then, hisenergies, roused by the smart, are at work to seek a remedy;activity soon mitigates regret. Sickness affects him; he takespatience--endures what he cannot cure. Acute pain racks him; hiswrithing limbs know not where to find rest; he leans on Hope'sanchors. Death takes from him what he loves; roots up, and tearsviolently away the stem round which his affections were twined--adark, dismal time, a frightful wrench--but some morning Religionlooks into his desolate house with sunrise, and says, that inanother world, another life, he shall meet his kindred again.She speaks of that world as a place unsullied by sin--of thatlife, as an era unembittered by suffering; she mightilystrengthens her consolation by connecting with it two ideas--which mortals cannot comprehend, but on which they love torepose--Eternity, Immortality; and the mind of the mourner, beingfilled with an image, faint yet glorious, of heavenly hills alllight and peace--of a spirit resting there in bliss--of a daywhen his spirit shall also alight there, free and disembodied--ofa reunion perfected by love, purified from fear--he takescourage--goes out to encounter the necessities and discharge theduties of life; and, though sadness may never lift her burdenfrom his mind, Hope will enable him to support it.

Well--and what suggested all this? and what is the inference tobe drawn therefrom? What suggested it, is the circumstance of mybest pupil--my treasure--being snatched from my hands, and putaway out of my reach; the inference to be drawn from it is--that,being a steady, reasonable man, I did not allow the resentment,disappointment, and grief, engendered in my mind by this evilchance, to grow there to any monstrous size; nor did I allow themto monopolize the whole space of my heart; I pent them, on thecontrary, in one strait and secret nook. In the daytime, too,when I was about my duties, I put them on the silent system; andit was only after I had closed the door of my chamber at nightthat I somewhat relaxed my severity towards these morosenurslings, and allowed vent to their language of murmurs; then,in revenge, they sat on my pillow, haunted my bed, and kept meawake with their long, midnight cry.

A week passed. I had said nothing more to Mdlle. Reuter. I hadbeen calm in my demeanour to her, though stony cold and hard.When I looked at her, it was with the glance fitting to bebestowed on one who I knew had consulted jealousy as an adviser,and employed treachery as an instrument--the glance of quietdisdain and rooted distrust. On Saturday evening, ere I left thehouse, I stept into the SALLE-A-MANGER, where she was sittingalone, and, placing myself before her, I asked, with the sametranquil tone and manner that I should have used had I put thequestion for the first time--

"Mademoiselle, will you have the goodness to give me the addressof Frances Evans Henri?"

A little surprised, but not disconcerted, she smilinglydisclaimed any knowledge of that address, adding, "Monsieur hasperhaps forgotten that I explained all about that circumstancebefore--a week ago?"

"Mademoiselle," I continued, "you would greatly oblige me bydirecting me to that young person's abode."

She seemed somewhat puzzled; and, at last, looking up with anadmirably counterfeited air of naivete, she demanded, "DoesMonsieur think I am telling an untruth?"

Still avoiding to give her a direct answer, I said, "It is notthen your intention, mademoiselle, to oblige me in thisparticular?"

"But, monsieur, how can I tell you what I do not know?"

"Very well; I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle, and now Ihave only two or three words to say. This is the last week inJuly; in another month the vacation will commence I have thegoodness to avail yourself of the leisure it will afford you tolook out for another English master--at the close of August, Ishall be under the necessity of resigning my post in yourestablishment."

I did not wait for her comments on this announcement, but bowedand immediately withdrew.

That same evening, soon after dinner, a servant brought me asmall packet; it was directed in a hand I knew, but had not hopedso soon to see again; being in my own apartment and alone, therewas nothing to prevent my immediately opening it; it containedfour five-franc pieces, and a note in English.

"MONSIEUR,"I came to Mdlle. Reuter's house yesterday, at the time when Iknew you would be just about finishing your lesson, and I askedif I might go into the schoolroom and speak to you. Mdlle.Reuter came out and said you were already gone; it had not yetstruck four, so I thought she must be mistaken, but concluded itwould be vain to call another day on the same errand. In onesense a note will do as well--it will wrap up the 20 francs, theprice of the lessons I have received from you; and if it will notfully express the thanks I owe you in addition--if it will notbid you good-bye as I could wish to have done--if it will nottell you, as I long to do, how sorry I am that I shall probablynever see you more--why, spoken words would hardly be moreadequate to the task. Had I seen you, I should probably havestammered out something feeble and unsatisfactory--somethingbelying my feelings rather than explaining them; so it is perhapsas well that I was denied admission to your presence. You oftenremarked, monsieur, that my devoirs dwelt a great deal onfortitude in bearing grief--you said I introduced that theme toooften: I find indeed that it is much easier to write about asevere duty than to perform it, for I am oppressed when I see andfeel to what a reverse fate has condemned me; you were kind tome, monsieur--very kind; I am afflicted--I am heart-broken to bequite separated from you; soon I shall have no friend on earth.But it is useless troubling you with my distresses. What claimhave I on your sympathy? None; I will then say no more.

"Farewell, Monsieur."F. E. HENRI."

I put up the note in my pocket-book. I slipped the five-francpieces into my purse--then I took a turn through my narrowchamber.

"Mdlle. Reuter talked about her poverty," said I, "and she ispoor; yet she pays her debts and more. I have not yet given hera quarter's lessons, and she has sent me a quarter's due. Iwonder of what she deprived herself to scrape together the twentyfrancs--I wonder what sort of a place she has to live in, andwhat sort of a woman her aunt is, and whether she is likely toget employment to supply the place she has lost. No doubt shewill have to trudge about long enough from school to school, toinquire here, and apply there--be rejected in this place,disappointed in that. Many an evening she'll go to her bed tiredand unsuccessful. And the directress would not let her in to bidme good-bye? I might not have the chance of standing with herfor a few minutes at a window in the schoolroom and exchangingsome half-dozen of sentences--getting to know where she lived--putting matters in train for having all things arranged to mymind? No address on the note"--I continued, drawing it againfrom the pocket-book and examining it on each side of the twoleaves: "women are women, that is certain, and always dobusiness like women; men mechanically put a date and address totheir communications. And these five-franc pieces?"--(I hauledthem forth from my purse)--"if she had offered me them herselfinstead of tying them up with a thread of green silk in a kind ofLilliputian packet, I could have thrust them back into her littlehand, and shut up the small, taper fingers over them--so--andcompelled her shame, her pride, her shyness, all to yield to alittle bit of determined Will--now where is she? How can I getat her?"

Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen.

"Who brought the packet ?" I asked of the servant who haddelivered it to me.

"Un petit commissionaire, monsieur."

"Did he say anything?"

"Rien."

And I wended my way up the back-stairs, wondrously the wiser formy inquiries.

"No matter," said I to myself, as I again closed the door. "Nomatter--I'll seek her through Brussels."

And I did. I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment'sleisure, for four weeks; I sought her on Sundays all day long; Isought her on the Boulevards, in the Allee Verte, in the Park; Isought her in Ste. Gudule and St. Jacques; I sought her in thetwo Protestant chapels; I attended these latter at the German,French, and English services, not doubting that I should meet herat one of them. All my researches were absolutely fruitless; mysecurity on the last point was proved by the event to be equallygroundless with my other calculations. I stood at the door ofeach chapel after the service, and waited till every individualhad come out, scrutinizing every gown draping a slender form,peering under every bonnet covering a young head. In vain; I sawgirlish figures pass me, drawing their black scarfs over theirsloping shoulders, but none of them had the exact turn and air ofMdlle. Henri's; I saw pale and thoughtful faces "encadrees" inbands of brown hair, but I never found her forehead, her eyes,her eyebrows. All the features of all the faces I met seemedfrittered away, because my eye failed to recognize thepeculiarities it was bent upon; an ample space of brow and alarge, dark, and serious eye, with a fine but decided line ofeyebrow traced above.

"She has probably left Brussels--perhaps is gone to England, asshe said she would," muttered I inwardly, as on the afternoon ofthe fourth Sunday, I turned from the door of the chapel-royalwhich the door-keeper had just closed and locked, and followed inthe wake of the last of the congregation, now dispersed anddispersing over the square. I had soon outwalked the couples ofEnglish gentlemen and ladies. (Gracious goodness! why don't theydress better? My eye is yet filled with visions of thehigh-flounced, slovenly, and tumbled dresses in costly silk andsatin, of the large unbecoming collars in expensive lace; of theill-cut coats and strangely fashioned pantaloons which everySunday, at the English service, filled the choirs of thechapel-royal, and after it, issuing forth into the square, cameinto disadvantageous contrast with freshly and trimly attiredforeign figures, hastening to attend salut at the church ofCoburg.) I had passed these pairs of Britons, and the groups ofpretty British children, and the British footmen andwaiting-maids; I had crossed the Place Royale, and got into theRue Royale, thence I had diverged into the Rue de Louvain--an oldand quiet street. I remember that, feeling a little hungry, andnot desiring to go back and take my share of the "gouter," now onthe refectory-table at Pelet's--to wit, pistolets and water--Istepped into a baker's and refreshed myself on a COUC(?)--it isa Flemish word, I don't know how to spell it--A CORINTHE-ANGLICE,a currant bun--and a cup of coffee; and then I strolled ontowards the Porte de Louvain. Very soon I was out of the city,and slowly mounting the hill, which ascends from the gate, I tookmy time; for the afternoon, though cloudy, was very sultry, andnot a breeze stirred to refresh the atmosphere. No inhabitant ofBrussels need wander far to search for solitude; let him but movehalf a league from his own city and he will find her broodingstill and blank over the wide fields, so drear though so fertile,spread out treeless and trackless round the capital of Brabant.Having gained the summit of the hill, and having stood and lookedlong over the cultured but lifeless campaign, I felt a wish toquit the high road, which I had hitherto followed, and get inamong those tilled grounds--fertile as the beds of aBrobdignagian kitchen-garden--spreading far and wide even to theboundaries of the horizon, where, from a dusk green, distancechanged them to a sullen blue, and confused their tints withthose of the livid and thunderous-looking sky. Accordingly Iturned up a by-path to the right; I had not followed it far ereit brought me, as I expected, into the fields, amidst which, justbefore me, stretched a long and lofty white wall enclosing, as itseemed from the foliage showing above, some thickly plantednursery of yew and cypress, for of that species were the branchesresting on the pale parapets, and crowding gloomily about amassive cross, planted doubtless on a central eminence andextending its arms, which seemed of black marble, over thesummits of those sinister trees. I approached, wondering to whathouse this well-protected garden appertained; I turned the angleof the wall, thinking to see some stately residence; I was closeupon great iron gates; there was a hut serving for a lodge near,but I had no occasion to apply for the key--the gates were open;I pushed one leaf back--rain had rusted its hinges, for itgroaned dolefully as they revolved. Thick planting embowered theentrance. Passing up the avenue, I saw objects on each handwhich, in their own mute language. of inscription and sign,explained clearly to what abode I had made my way. This was thehouse appointed for all living; crosses, monuments, and garlandsof everlastings announced, "The Protestant Cemetery, outside thegate of Louvain."

The place was large enough to afford half an hour's strollingwithout the monotony of treading continually the same path; and,for those who love to peruse the annals of graveyards, here wasvariety of inscription enough to occupy the attention for doubleor treble that space of time. Hither people of many kindreds,tongues, and nations, had brought their dead for interment; andhere, on pages of stone, of marble, and of brass, were writtennames, dates, last tributes of pomp or love, in English, inFrench, in German, and Latin. Here the Englishman had erected amarble monument over the remains of his Mary Smith or Jane Brown,and inscribed it only with her name. There the French widower hadshaded the grave: of his Elmire or Celestine with a brilliantthicket of roses, amidst which a little tablet rising, bore anequally bright testimony to her countless virtues. Every nation,tribe, and kindred, mourned after its own fashion; and howsoundless was the mourning of all! My own tread, though slow andupon smooth-rolled paths, seemed to startle, because it formedthe sole break to a silence otherwise total. Not only the winds,but the very fitful, wandering airs, were that afternoon, as bycommon consent, all fallen asleep in their various quarters; thenorth was hushed, the south silent, the east sobbed not, nor didthe west whisper. The clouds in heaven were condensed and dull,but apparently quite motionless. Under the trees of thiscemetery nestled a warm breathless gloom, out of which thecypresses stood up straight and mute, above which the willowshung low and still; where the flowers, as languid as fair, waitedlistless for night dew or thunder-shower; where the tombs, andthose they hid, lay impassible to sun or shadow, to rain ordrought.

Importuned by the sound of my own footsteps, I turned off uponthe turf, and slowly advanced to a grove of yews; I saw somethingstir among the stems; I thought it might be a broken branchswinging, my short-sighted vision had caught no form, only asense of motion; but the dusky shade passed on, appearing anddisappearing at the openings in the avenue. I soon discerned itwas a living thing, and a human thing; and, drawing nearer, Iperceived it was a woman, pacing slowly to and fro, and evidentlydeeming herself alone as I had deemed myself alone, andmeditating as I had been meditating. Ere long she returned to aseat which I fancy she had but just quitted, or I should havecaught sight of her before. It was in a nook, screened by aclump of trees; there was the white wall before her, and a littlestone set up against the wall, and, at the foot of the stone, wasan allotment of turf freshly turned up, a new-made grave. I puton my spectacles, and passed softly close behind her; glancing atthe inscription on the stone, I read," Julienne Henri, died atBrussels, aged sixty. August 10th, 18--." Having perused theinscription, I looked down at the form sitting bent andthoughtful just under my eyes, unconscious of the vicinity of anyliving thing; it was a slim, youthful figure in mourning apparelof the plainest black stuff, with a little simple, black crapebonnet; I felt, as well as saw, who it was; and, moving neitherhand nor foot, I stood some moments enjoying the security ofconviction. I had sought her for a month, and had neverdiscovered one of her traces--never met a hope, or seized achance of encountering her anywhere. I had been forced to loosenmy grasp on expectation; and, but an hour ago, had sunk slacklyunder the discouraging thought that the current of life, and theimpulse of destiny, had swept her for ever from my reach; and,behold, while bending suddenly earthward beneath the pressure ofdespondency--while following with my eyes the track of sorrow onthe turf of a graveyard--here was my lost jewel dropped on thetear-fed herbage, nestling in the messy and mouldy roots ofyew-trees.

Frances sat very quiet, her elbow on her knee, and her head onher hand. I knew she could retain a thinking attitude a longtime without change; at last, a tear fell; she had been lookingat the name on the stone before her, and her heart had no doubtendured one of those constrictions with which the desolateliving, regretting the dead, are, at times, so sorely oppressed.Many tears rolled down, which she wiped away, again and again,with her handkerchief; some distressed sobs escaped her, andthen, the paroxysm over, she sat quiet as before. I put my handgently on her shoulder; no need further to prepare her, for shewas neither hysterical nor liable to fainting-fits; a suddenpush, indeed, might have startled her, but the contact of myquiet touch merely woke attention as I wished; and, though sheturned quickly, yet so lightning-swift is thought--in some mindsespecially--I believe the wonder of what--the consciousness ofwho it was that thus stole unawares on her solitude, had passedthrough her brain, and flashed into her heart, even before shehad effected that hasty movement; at least, Amazement had hardlyopened her eyes and raised them to mine, ere Recognition informedtheir irids with most speaking brightness. Nervous surprise hadhardly discomposed her features ere a sentiment of most vivid joyshone clear and warm on her whole countenance. I had hardly timeto observe that she was wasted and pale, ere called to feel aresponsive inward pleasure by the sense of most full andexquisite pleasure glowing in the animated flush, and shining inthe expansive light, now diffused over my pupil's face. It wasthe summer sun flashing out after the heavy summer shower; andwhat fertilizes more rapidly than that beam, burning almost likefire in its ardour?

I hate boldness--that boldness which is of the brassy brow andinsensate nerves; but I love the courage of the strong heart, thefervour of the generous blood; I loved with passion the light ofFrances Evans' clear hazel eye when it did not fear to lookstraight into mine; I loved the tones with which she uttered thewords--

"Mon maitre! mon maitre!"

I loved the movement with which she confided her hand to my hand;I loved her as she stood there, penniless and parentless; for asensualist charmless, for me a treasure--my best object ofsympathy on earth, thinking such thoughts as I thought, feelingsuch feelings as I felt; my ideal of the shrine in which to sealmy stores of love; personification of discretion and forethought,of diligence and perseverance, of self-denial and self-control--those guardians, those trusty keepers of the gift I longed toconfer on her--the gift of all my affections; model of truth andhonour, of independence and conscientiousness--those refiners andsustainers of an honest life; silent possessor of a well oftenderness, of a flame, as genial as still, as pure asquenchless, of natural feeling, natural passion--those sources ofrefreshment and comfort to the sanctuary of home. I knew howquietly and how deeply the well bubbled in her heart; I knew howthe more dangerous flame burned safely under the eye of reason; Ihad seen when the fire shot up a moment high and vivid, when theaccelerated heat troubled life's current in its channels; I hadseen reason reduce the rebel, and humble its blaze to embers. Ihad confidence in Frances Evans; I had respect for her, and as Idrew her arm through mine, and led her out of the cemetery, Ifelt I had another sentiment, as strong as confidence, as firm asrespect, more fervid than either--that of love.

"Well, my pupil," said I, as the ominous sounding gate swung tobehind us--"Well, I have found you again: a month's search hasseemed long, and I little thought to have discovered my lostsheep straying amongst graves."

Never had I addressed her but as " Mademoiselle" before, and tospeak thus was to take up a tone new to both her and me. Heranswer suprised me that this language ruffled none of herfeelings, woke no discord in her heart:-

"Mon maitre," she said, "have you troubled yourself to seek me?I little imagined you would think much of my absence, but Igrieved bitterly to be taken away from you. I was sorry for thatcircumstance when heavier troubles ought to have made me forgetit."

"Your aunt is dead?"

"Yes, a fortnight since, and she died full of regret, which Icould not chase from her mind; she kept repeating, even duringthe last night of her existence, 'Frances, you will be so lonelywhen I am gone, so friendless:' she wished too that she couldhave been buried in Switzerland, and it was I who persuaded herin her old age to leave the banks of Lake Leman, and to come,only as it seems to die, in this flat region of Flanders.Willingly would I have observed her last wish, and taken herremains back to our own country, but that was impossible; I wasforced to lay her here."

"She was ill but a short time, I presume?"

"But three weeks. When she began to sink I asked Mdlle. Reuter'sleave to stay with her and wait on her; I readily got leave."

"Do you return to the pensionnat!" I demanded hastily.

"Monsieur, when I had been at home a week Mdlle. Reuter calledone evening, just after I had got my aunt to bed; she went intoher room to speak to her, and was extremely civil and affable, asshe always is; afterwards she came and sat with me a long time,and just as she rose to go away, she said: "Mademoiselle, Ishall not soon cease to regret your departure from myestablishment, though indeed it is true that you have taught yourclass of pupils so well that they are all quite accomplished inthe little works you manage so skilfully, and have not theslightest need of further instruction; my second teacher must infuture supply your place, with regard to the younger pupils, aswell as she can, though she is indeed an inferior artiste to you,and doubtless it will be your part now to assume a higherposition in your calling; I am sure you will everywhere findschools and families willing to profit by your talents.' And thenshe paid me my last quarter's salary. I asked, as mademoisellewould no doubt think, very bluntly, if she designed to dischargeme from the establishment. She smiled at my inelegance ofspeech, and answered that 'our connection as employer andemployed was certainly dissolved, but that she hoped still toretain the pleasure of my acquaintance; she should always behappy to see me as a friend;' and then she said something aboutthe excellent condition of the streets, and the long continuanceof fine weather, and went away quite cheerful."

I laughed inwardly; all this was so like the directress--so likewhat I had expected and guessed of her conduct; and then theexposure and proof of her lie, unconsciously afforded byFrances:--"She had frequently applied for Mdlle. Henri'saddress," forsooth; "Mdlle. Henri had always evaded giving it,"&c., &c., and here I found her a visitor at the very house ofwhose locality she had professed absolute ignorance!

Any comments I might have intended to make on my pupil'scommunication, were checked by the plashing of large rain-dropson our faces and on the path, and by the muttering of a distantbut coming storm. The warning obvious in stagnant air and leadensky had already induced me to take the road leading back toBrussels, and now I hastened my own steps and those of mycompanion, and, as our way lay downhill, we got on rapidly.There was an interval after the fall of the first broad dropsbefore heavy rain came on; in the meantime we had passed throughthe Porte de Louvain, and were again in the city.

"Where do you live?" I asked; "I will see you safe home,"

"Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges," answered Frances.

It was not far from the Rue de Louvain, and we stood on thedoorsteps of the house we sought ere the clouds, severing withloud peal and shattered cataract of lightning, emptied theirlivid folds in a torrent, heavy, prone, and broad.

"Come in! come in!" said Frances, as, after putting her into thehouse, I paused ere I followed: the word decided me; I steppedacross the threshold, shut the door on the rushing, flashing,whitening storm, and followed her upstairs to her apartments.Neither she nor I were wet; a projection over the door had wardedoff the straight-descending flood; none but the first, largedrops had touched our garments; one minute more and we should nothave had a dry thread on us.

Stepping over a little mat of green wool, I found myself in asmall room with a painted floor and a square of green carpet inthe middle; the articles of furniture were few, but all brightand exquisitely clean; order reigned through its narrow limits--such order as it soothed my punctilious soul to behold. And Ihad hesitated to enter the abode, because I apprehended after allthat Mdlle. Reuter's hint about its extreme poverty might be toowell-founded, and I feared to embarrass the lace-mender byentering her lodgings unawares! Poor the place might be; poortruly it was; but its neatness was better than elegance, and hadbut a bright little fire shone on that clean hearth, I shouldhave deemed it more attractive than a palace. No fire was there,however, and no fuel laid ready to light; the lace-mender wasunable to allow herself that indulgence, especially now when,deprived by death of her sole relative, she had only her ownunaided exertions to rely on. Frances went into an inner room totake off her bonnet, and she came out a model of frugal neatness,with her well-fitting black stuff dress, so accurately definingher elegant bust and taper waist, with her spotless white collarturned back from a fair and shapely neck, with her plenteousbrown hair arranged in smooth bands on her temples, and in alarge Grecian plait behind: ornaments she had none--neitherbrooch, ring, nor ribbon; she did well enough without them--perfection of fit, proportion of form, grace of carriage,agreeably supplied their place. Her eye, as she re-entered thesmall sitting-room, instantly sought mine, which was just thenlingering on the hearth; I knew she read at once the sort ofinward ruth and pitying pain which the chill vacancy of thathearth stirred in my soul: quick to penetrate, quick todetermine, and quicker to put in practice, she had in a momenttied a holland apron round her waist; then she disappeared, andreappeared with a basket; it had a cover; she opened it, andproduced wood and coal; deftly and compactly she arranged them inthe grate.

"It is her whole stock, and she will exhaust it out ofhospitality," thought I.

"What are you going to do?" I asked: "not surely to light a firethis hot evening? I shall be smothered."

"Indeed, monsieur, I feel it very chilly since the rain began;besides, I must boil the water for my tea, for I take tea onSundays; you will be obliged to try and bear the heat."

She had struck a light; the wood was already in a blaze; andtruly, when contrasted with the darkness, the wild tumult of thetempest without, that peaceful glow which began to beam on thenow animated hearth, seemed very cheering. A low, purring sound,from some quarter, announced that another being, besides myself,was pleased with the change; a black cat, roused by the lightfrom its sleep on a little cushioned foot-stool, came and rubbedits head against Frances' gown as she knelt; she caressed it,saying it had been a favourite with her "pauvre tante Julienne."

The fire being lit, the hearth swept, and a small kettle of avery antique pattern, such as I thought I remembered to have seenin old farmhouses in England, placed over the now ruddy flame,Frances' hands were washed, and her apron removed in an instantthen she opened a cupboard, and took out a tea-tray, on which shehad soon arranged a china tea-equipage, whose pattern, shape, andsize, denoted a remote antiquity; a little, old-fashioned silverspoon was deposited in each saucer; and a pair of silver tongs,equally old-fashioned, were laid on the sugar-basin; from thecupboard, too, was produced a tidy silver cream-ewer, not largerthen an egg-shell. While making these preparations, she chancedto look up, and, reading curiosity in my eyes, she smiled andasked--

"Is this like England, monsieur?"

"Like the England of a hundred years ago," I replied.

"Is it truly? Well, everything on this tray is at least ahundred years old: these cups, these spoons, this ewer, are allheirlooms; my great-grandmother left them to my grandmother, sheto my mother, and my mother brought them with her from England toSwitzerland, and left them to me; and, ever since I was a littlegirl, I have thought I should like to carry them back to England,whence they came."

She put some pistolets on the table; she made the tea, asforeigners do make tea--i.e., at the rate of a teaspoonful tohalf-a-dozen cups; she placed me a chair, and, as I took it, sheasked, with a sort of exaltation--

"Will it make you think yourself at home for a moment?"

"If I had a home in England, I believe it would recall it," Ianswered; and, in truth, there was a sort of illusion in seeingthe fair-complexioned English-looking girl presiding at theEnglish meal, and speaking in the English language.

"You have then no home?" was her remark.

"None, nor ever have had. If ever I possess a home, it must beof my own making, and the task is yet to begin." And, as Ispoke, a pang, new to me, shot across my heart: it was a pang ofmortification at the humility of my position, and the inadequacyof my means; while with that pang was born a strong desire to domore, earn more, be more, possess more; and in the increasedpossessions, my roused and eager spirit panted to include thehome I had never had, the wife I inwardly vowed to win.

Frances' tea was little better than hot water, sugar, and milk;and her pistolets, with which she could not offer me butter, weresweet to my palate as manna.

The repast over, and the treasured plate and porcelain beingwashed and put by, the bright table rubbed still brighter, "lechat de ma tante Julienne" also being fed with provisions broughtforth on a plate for its special use, a few stray cinders, and ascattering of ashes too, being swept from the hearth, Frances atlast sat down; and then, as she took a chair opposite to me, shebetrayed, for the first time, a little embarrassment; and nowonder, for indeed I had unconsciously watched her rather tooclosely, followed all her steps and all her movements a littletoo perseveringly with my eyes, for she mesmerized me by thegrace and alertness of her action--by the deft, cleanly, and evendecorative effect resulting from each touch of her slight andfine fingers; and when, at last, she subsided to stillness, theintelligence of her face seemed beauty to me, and I dwelt on itaccordingly. Her colour, however, rising, rather than settlingwith repose, and her eyes remaining downcast, though I keptwaiting for the lids to be raised that I might drink a ray of thelight I loved--a light where fire dissolved in softness, whereaffection tempered penetration, where, just now at least,pleasure played with thought--this expectation not beinggratified, I began at last to suspect that I had probably myselfto blame for the disappointment; I must cease gazing, and begintalking, if I wished to break the spell under which she now satmotionless; so recollecting the composing effect which anauthoritative tone and manner had ever been wont to produce onher, I said--

"Get one of your English books, mademoiselle, for the rain yetfalls heavily, and will probably detain me half an hour longer.

Released, and set at ease, up she rose, got her book, andaccepted at once the chair I placed for her at my side. She hadselected "Paradise Lost" from her shelf of classics, thinking, Isuppose, the religious character of the book best adapted it toSunday; I told her to begin at the beginning, and while she readMilton's invocation to that heavenly muse, who on the "secret topof Oreb or Sinai" had taught the Hebrew shepherd how in the wombof chaos, the conception of a world had originated and ripened, Ienjoyed, undisturbed, the treble pleasure of having her near me,hearing the sound of her voice--a sound sweet and satisfying inmy ear--and looking, by intervals, at her face: of this lastprivilege, I chiefly availed myself when I found fault with anintonation, a pause, or an emphasis; as long as I dogmatized, Imight also gaze, without exciting too warm a flush.

"Enough," said I, when she had gone through some half dozen pages(a work of time with her, for she read slowly and paused often toask and receive information)--"enough; and now the rain isceasing, and I must soon go." For indeed, at that moment,looking towards the window, I saw it all blue; the thunder-cloudswere broken and scattered, and the setting August sun sent agleam like the reflection of rubies through the lattice. I gotup; I drew on my gloves.

"You have not yet found another situation to supply the place ofthat from which you were dismissed by Mdlle. Reuter?"

"No, monsieur; I have made inquiries everywhere, but they all askme for references; and to speak truth, I do not like to apply tothe directress, because I consider she acted neither justly norhonourably towards me; she used underhand means to set my pupilsagainst me, and thereby render me unhappy while I held my placein her establishment, and she eventually deprived me of it by amasked and hypocritical manoeuvre, pretending that she was actingfor my good, but really snatching from me my chief means ofsubsistence, at a crisis when not only my own life, but that ofanother, depended on my exertions: of her I will never more aska favour."

"How, then, do you propose to get on? How do you live now?"

"I have still my lace-mending trade; with care it will keep mefrom starvation, and I doubt not by dint of exertion to getbetter employment yet; it is only a fortnight since I began totry; my courage or hopes are by no means worn out yet."

"And if you get what you wish, what then? what are? your ultimateviews?"

"To save enough to cross the Channel: I always look to Englandas my Canaan."

"Well, well--ere long I shall pay you another visit; good eveningnow," and I left her rather abruptly; I had much ado to resist astrong inward impulse, urging me to take a warmer, moreexpressive leave: what so natural as to fold her for a moment ina close embrace, to imprint one kiss on her cheek or forehead? Iwas not unreasonable--that was all I wanted; satisfied in thatpoint, I could go away content; and Reason denied me even this;she ordered me to turn my eyes from her face, and my steps fromher apartment--to quit her as dryly and coldly as I would havequitted old Madame Pelet. I obeyed, but I swore rancorously tobe avenged one day. "I'll earn a right to do as I please in thismatter, or I'll die in the contest. I have one object before menow--to get that Genevese girl for my wife; and my wife she shallbe--that is, provided she has as much, or half as much regard forher master as he has for her. And would she be so docile, sosmiling, so happy under my instructions if she had not? would shesit at my side when I dictate or correct, with such a still,contented, halcyon mien?" for I had ever remarked, that howeversad or harassed her countenance might be when I entered a room,yet after I had been near her, spoken to her a few words, givenher some directions, uttered perhaps some reproofs, she would,all at once, nestle into a nook of happiness, and look up sereneand revived. The reproofs suited her best of all: while Iscolded she would chip away with her pen-knife at a pencil or apen; fidgetting a little, pouting a little, defending herself bymonosyllables, and when I deprived her of the pen or pencil,fearing it would be all cut away, and when I interdicted even themonosyllabic defence, for the purpose of working up the subduedexcitement a little higher, she would at last raise her eyes andgive me a certain glance, sweetened with gaiety, and pointed withdefiance, which, to speak truth, thrilled me as nothing had everdone, and made me, in a fashion (though happily she did not knowit), her subject, if not her slave. After such little scenes herspirits would maintain their flow, often for some hours, and, asI remarked before, her health therefrom took a sustenance andvigour which, previously to the event of her aunt's death and herdismissal, had almost recreated her whole frame.

It has taken me several minutes to write these last sentences;but I had thought all their purport during the brief interval ofdescending the stairs from Frances' room. Just as I was openingthe outer door, I remembered the twenty francs which I had notrestored; I paused: impossible to carry them away with me;difficult to force them back on their original owner; I had nowseen her in her own humble abode, witnessed the dignity of herpoverty, the pride of order, the fastidious care of conservatism,obvious in the arrangement and economy of her little home; I wassure she would not suffer herself to be excused paying her debts;I was certain the favour of indemnity would be accepted from nohand, perhaps least of all from mine: yet these four five-francpieces were a burden to my self-respect, and I must get rid ofthem. An expedient--a clumsy one no doubt, but the best I coulddevise-suggested itself to me. I darted up the stairs, knocked,re-entered the room as if in haste:--

"Mademoiselle, I have forgotten one of my gloves; I must haveleft it here."

She instantly rose to seek it; as she turned her back, I--beingnow at the hearth--noiselessly lifted a little vase, one of a setof china ornaments, as old-fashioned as the tea-cups--slipped themoney under it, then saying--"Oh here is my glove! I had droppedit within the fender; good evening, mademoiselle," I made mysecond exit.

Brief as my impromptu return had been, it had afforded me timeto pick up a heart-ache; I remarked that Frances had alreadyremoved the red embers of her cheerful little fire from thegrate: forced to calculate every item, to save in every detail,she had instantly on my departure retrenched a luxury tooexpensive to be enjoyed alone.

"I am glad it is not yet winter," thought I; "but in two monthsmore come the winds and rains of November; would to God thatbefore then I could earn the right, and the power, to shovelcoals into that grate AD LIBITUM!"

Already the pavement was drying; a balmy and fresh breeze stirredthe air, purified by lightning; I felt the West behind me, wherespread a sky like opal; azure immingled with crimson: theenlarged sun, glorious in Tyrian tints, dipped his brim already;stepping, as I was, eastward, I faced a vast bank of clouds, butalso I had before me the arch of an evening rainbow; a perfectrainbow--high, wide, vivid. I looked long; my eye drank in thescene, and I suppose my brain must have absorbed it; for thatnight, after lying awake in pleasant fever a long time, watchingthe silent sheet-lightning, which still played among theretreating clouds, and flashed silvery over the stars, I at lastfell asleep; and then in a dream were reproduced the setting sun,the bank of clouds, the mighty rainbow. I stood, methought, on aterrace; I leaned over a parapeted wall; there was space belowme, depth I could not fathom, but hearing an endless dash ofwaves, I believed it to be the sea; sea spread to the horizon;sea of changeful green and intense blue: all was soft in thedistance; all vapour-veiled. A spark of gold glistened on theline between water and air, floated up, approached, enlarged,changed; the object hung midway between heaven and earth, underthe arch of the rainbow; the soft but dusk clouds diffusedbehind. It hovered as on wings; pearly, fleecy, gleaming airstreamed like raiment round it; light, tinted with carnation,coloured what seemed face and limbs; A large star shone withstill lustre on an angel's forehead; an upraised arm and hand,glancing like a ray, pointed to the bow overhead, and a voice inmy heart whispered--

"Hope smiles on Effort!"