My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was myson, whom his father and his father's friends delighted toencourage in all the embryo vices a little child can show, and toinstruct in all the evil habits he could acquire - in a word, to'make a man of him' was one of their staple amusements; and I needsay no more to justify my alarm on his account, and mydetermination to deliver him at any hazard from the hands of suchinstructors. I first attempted to keep him always with me, or inthe nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to lethim come down to dessert as long as these 'gentlemen' stayed; butit was no use: these orders were immediately countermanded andoverruled by his father; he was not going to have the little fellowmoped to death between an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother.So the little fellow came down every evening in spite of his crossmamma, and learned to tipple wine like papa, to swear like Mr.Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent mamma tothe devil when she tried to prevent him. To see such things donewith the roguish naivete of that pretty little child, and hear suchthings spoken by that small infantile voice, was as peculiarlypiquant and irresistibly droll to them as it was inexpressiblydistressing and painful to me; and when he had set the table in aroar he would look round delightedly upon them all, and add hisshrill laugh to theirs. But if that beaming blue eye rested on me,its light would vanish for a moment, and he would say, in someconcern, 'Mamma, why don't you laugh? Make her laugh, papa - shenever will.'

Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes, watching anopportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving themimmediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should alwaysotherwise have done. He was never willing to go, and I frequentlyhad to carry him away by force, for which he thought me very crueland unjust; and sometimes his father would insist upon my lettinghim remain; and then I would leave him to his kind friends, andretire to indulge my bitterness and despair alone, or to rack mybrains for a remedy to this great evil.

But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledgethat I never saw him laugh at the child's misdemeanours, nor heardhim utter a word of encouragement to his aspirations after manlyaccomplishments. But when anything very extraordinary was said ordone by the infant profligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiarexpression in his face that I could neither interpret nor define:a slight twitching about the muscles of the mouth; a sudden flashin the eye, as he darted a sudden glance at the child and then atme: and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of hard, keen,sombre satisfaction in his countenance at the look of impotentwrath and anguish he was too certain to behold in mine. But on oneoccasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr.Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking andinsulting to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularlyanxious to get him out of the room, and on the very point ofdemeaning myself by a burst of uncontrollable passion - Mr.Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with an aspect of sterndetermination, lifted the child from his father's knee, where hewas sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at me, andexecrating me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed himout of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the dooropen for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me.I heard high words exchanged between him and his already half-inebriated host as I departed, leading away my bewildered anddisconcerted boy.

But this should not continue: my child must not be abandoned tothis corruption: better far that he should live in poverty andobscurity, with a fugitive mother, that in luxury and affluencewith such a father. These guests might not be with us long, butthey would return again: and he, the most injurious of the whole,his child's worst enemy, would still remain. I could endure it formyself, but for my son it must be borne no longer: the world'sopinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike unheeded here,at least - alike unable to deter me from my duty. But where shouldI find an asylum, and how obtain subsistence for us both? Oh, Iwould take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M-,flee to the port of -, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humblehome in New England, where I would support myself and him by thelabour of my hands. The palette and the easel, my darlingplaymates once, must be my sober toil-fellows now. But was Isufficiently skilful as an artist to obtain my livelihood in astrange land, without friends and without recommendation? No; Imust wait a little; I must labour hard to improve my talent, and toproduce something worth while as a specimen of my powers, somethingto speak favourably for me, whether as an actual painter or ateacher. Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for, butsome degree of security from positive failure was indispensable: Imust not take my son to starve. And then I must have money for thejourney, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreatin case I should be unsuccessful at first: and not too littleeither: for who could tell how long I might have to struggle withthe indifference or neglect of others, or my own inexperience orinability to suit their tastes?

What should I do then? Apply to my brother and explain mycircumstances and my resolves to him? No, no: even if I told himall my grievances, which I should be very reluctant to do, he wouldbe certain to disapprove of the step: it would seem like madnessto him, as it would to my uncle and aunt, or to Milicent. No; Imust have patience and gather a hoard of my own. Rachel should bemy only confidante - I thought I could persuade her into thescheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a picture-dealerin some distant town; then, through her means, I would privatelysell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a purpose,and some of those I should thereafter paint. Besides this, I wouldcontrive to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but thefew I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on mymarriage. A few months' arduous toil might well be borne by mewith such an end in view; and in the interim my son could not bemuch more injured than he was already.

Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work toaccomplish it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool uponit afterwards, or perhaps to keep weighing the pros and cons in mymind till the latter overbalanced the former, and I was driven torelinquish the project altogether, or delay the execution of it toan indefinite period, had not something occurred to confirm me inthat determination, to which I still adhere, which I still think Idid well to form, and shall do better to execute.

Since Lord Lowborough's departure I had regarded the library asentirely my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day. None ofour gentlemen had the smallest pretensions to a literary taste,except Mr. Hargrave; and he, at present, was quite contented withthe newspapers and periodicals of the day. And if, by any chance,he should look in here, I felt assured he would soon depart onseeing me, for, instead of becoming less cool and distant towardsme, he had become decidedly more so since the departure of hismother and sisters, which was just what I wished. Here, then, Iset up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from daylight tilldusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure necessity, ormy duties to little Arthur, called me away: for I still thoughtproper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to hisinstruction and amusement. But, contrary to my expectation, on thethird morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in,and did not immediately withdraw on seeing me. He apologized forhis intrusion, and said he was only come for a book; but when hehad got it, he condescended to cast a glance over my picture.Being a man of taste, he had something to say on this subject aswell as another, and having modestly commented on it, without muchencouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate on the art ingeneral. Receiving no encouragement in that either, he dropped it,but did not depart.

'You don't give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,' observedhe, after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing andtempering my colours; 'and I cannot wonder at it, for you must beheartily sick of us all. I myself am so thoroughly ashamed of mycompanions, and so weary of their irrational conversation andpursuits - now that there is no one to humanize them and keep themin check, since you have justly abandoned us to our own devices -that I think I shall presently withdraw from amongst them, probablywithin this week; and I cannot suppose you will regret mydeparture.'

He paused. I did not answer.

'Probably,' he added, with a smile, 'your only regret on thesubject will be that I do not take all my companions along with me.I flatter myself, at times, that though among them I am not ofthem; but it is natural that you should be glad to get rid of me.I may regret this, but I cannot blame you for it.'

'I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conductyourself like a gentleman,' said I, thinking it but right to makesome acknowledgment for his good behaviour; 'but I must confess Ishall rejoice to bid adieu. to the rest, inhospitable as it mayappear.'

'No one can blame you for such an avowal,' replied he gravely:'not even the gentlemen themselves, I imagine. I'll just tellyou,' he continued, as if actuated by a sudden resolution, 'whatwas said last night in the dining-room, after you left us: perhapsyou will not mind it, as you're so very philosophical on certainpoints,' he added with a slight sneer. 'They were talking aboutLord Lowborough and his delectable lady, the cause of whose suddendeparture is no secret amongst them; and her character is so wellknown to them all, that, nearly related to me as she is, I couldnot attempt to defend it. Curse me!' he muttered, par parenthese,'if I don't have vengeance for this! If the villain must disgracethe family, must he blazon it abroad to every low-bred knave of hisacquaintance? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon. Well, they weretalking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she wasseparated from her husband, he might see her again when hepleased.'

'"Thank you," said he; "I've had enough of her for the present:I'll not trouble to see her, unless she comes to me."

'"Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we're gone?" saidRalph Hattersley. "Do you mean to turn from the error of yourways, and be a good husband, a good father, and so forth; as I do,when I get shut of you and all these rollicking devils you callyour friends? I think it's time; and your wife is fifty times toogood for you, you know - "

'And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me forrepeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did,without delicacy or discrimination, in an audience where it seemedprofanation to utter your name: himself utterly incapable ofunderstanding or appreciating your real excellences. Huntingdon,meanwhile, sat quietly drinking his wine, - or looking smilinglyinto his glass and offering no interruption or reply, tillHattersley shouted out, - "Do you hear me, man?"

'"Yes, go on," said he.

'"Nay, I've done," replied the other: "I only want to know if youintend to take my advice."

'"What advice?"

'"To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel," shoutedRalph, "and beg your wife's pardon, and be a good boy for thefuture."

'"My wife! what wife? I have no wife," replied Huntingdon, lookinginnocently up from his glass, "or if I have, look you, gentlemen:I value her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her,may have her and welcome: you may, by Jove, and my blessing intothe bargain!"

'I - hem - someone asked if he really meant what he said; uponwhich he solemnly swore he did, and no mistake. What do you thinkof that, Mrs. Huntingdon?' asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause,during which I had felt he was keenly examining my half-avertedface.

'I say,' replied I, calmly, 'that what he prizes so lightly willnot be long in his possession.'

'You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for thedetestable conduct of an infamous villain like that!'

'By no means: my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in ahurry, and I mean to live as long as I can.'

'Will you leave him then?'

'Yes.'

'When: and how?' asked he, eagerly.

'When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effectually.'

'But your child?'

'My child goes with me.'

'He will not allow it.'

'I shall not ask him.'

'Ah, then, it is a secret flight you meditate! but with whom, Mrs.Huntingdon?'

'With my son: and possibly, his nurse.'

'Alone - and unprotected! But where can you go? what can you do?He will follow you and bring you back.'

'I have laid my plans too well for that. Let me once get clear ofGrassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.'

Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face,and drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightenedcolour, that sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise inwrath: I abruptly turned away, and, snatching up my brush, beganto dash away at my canvas with rather too much energy for the goodof the picture.

'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he with bitter solemnity, 'you are cruel -cruel to me - cruel to yourself.'

'Mr. Hargrave, remember your promise.'

'I must speak: my heart will burst if I don't! I have been silentlong enough, and you must hear me!' cried he, boldly interceptingmy retreat to the door. 'You tell me you owe no allegiance to yourhusband; he openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly givesyou up to anybody that will take you; you are about to leave him;no one will believe that you go alone; all the world will say, "Shehas left him at last, and who can wonder at it? Few can blame her,fewer still can pity him; but who is the companion of her flight?"Thus you will have no credit for your virtue (if you call it such):even your best friends will not believe in it; because it ismonstrous, and not to be credited but by those who suffer, from theeffects of it, such cruel torments that they know it to be indeedreality. But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone? you,a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly -'

'In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,' interrupted I.'Well, I'll see about it.'

'By all means, leave him!' cried he earnestly; 'but NOT alone!Helen! let me protect you!'

'Never! while heaven spares my reason,' replied I, snatching awaythe hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own. Buthe was in for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier: he wascompletely roused, and determined to hazard all for victory.

'I must not be denied!' exclaimed he, vehemently; and seizing bothmy hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, andlooked up in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze.'You have no reason now: you are flying in the face of heaven'sdecrees. God has designed me to be your comfort and protector - Ifeel it, I know it as certainly as if a voice from heaven declared,"Ye twain shall be one flesh" - and you spurn me from you - '

'Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!' said I, sternly. But he only tightenedhis grasp.

'Let me go!' I repeated, quivering with indignation.

His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt. With a slightstart, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicioustriumph lit up his countenance. Looking over my shoulder, I behelda shadow just retiring round the corner.

'That is Grimsby,' said he deliberately. 'He will report what hehas seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishmentsas he thinks proper. He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon - noreverence for your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration for itsimage. He will give such a version of this story as will leave nodoubt at all about your character, in the minds of those who hearit. Your fair fame is gone; and nothing that I or you can say canever retrieve it. But give me the power to protect you, and showme the villain that dares to insult!'

'No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!' said I,at length releasing my hands, and recoiling from him.

'I do not insult you,' cried he: 'I worship you. You are myangel, my divinity! I lay my powers at your feet, and you must andshall accept them!' he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet.'I will be your consoler and defender! and if your conscienceupbraid you for it, say I overcame you, and you could not choosebut yield!'

I never saw a man go terribly excited. He precipitated himselftowards me. I snatched up my palette-knife and held it againsthim. This startled him: he stood and gazed at me in astonishment;I daresay I looked as fierce and resolute as he. I moved to thebell, and put my hand upon the cord. This tamed him still more.With a half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, hesought to deter me from ringing.

'Stand off, then!' said I; he stepped back. 'And listen to me. Idon't like you,' I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as Icould, to give the greater efficacy to my words; 'and if I weredivorced from my husband, or if he were dead, I would not marryyou. There now! I hope you're satisfied.'

His face grew blanched with anger.

'I am satisfied,' he replied, with bitter emphasis, 'that you arethe most cold-hearted, unnatural, ungrateful woman I ever yetbeheld!'

'Ungrateful, sir?'

'Ungrateful.'

'No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not. For all the good you ever did me, orever wished to do, I most sincerely thank you: for all the evilyou have done me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardonyou, and make you of a better mind.' Here the door was thrownopen, and Messrs. Huntingdon and Hattersley appeared without. Thelatter remained in the hall, busy with his ramrod and his gun; theformer walked in, and stood with his back to the fire, surveyingMr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former, with a smile ofinsupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the impudence ofhis brazen brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.

'Well, sir?' said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air ofone prepared to stand on the defensive.

'Well, sir,' returned his host.

'We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at thepheasants, Walter,' interposed Hattersley from without. 'Come!there shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I'llvouch for that.'

Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect hisfaculties. Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with hiseyes. A slight flush of anger rose to Hargrave's cheek; but in amoment he turned calmly round, and said carelessly:

'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her Imust go to-morrow.'

'Humph! You're mighty sudden in your resolution. What takes youoff so soon, may I ask?'

'Business,' returned he, repelling the other's incredulous sneerwith a glance of scornful defiance.

'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away. ThereuponMr. Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and settinghis shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and,addressing me in a low voice, scarcely above his breath, pouredforth a volley of the vilest and grossest abuse it was possible forthe imagination to conceive or the tongue to utter. I did notattempt to interrupt him; but my spirit kindled within me, and whenhe had done, I replied, 'If your accusation were true, Mr.Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'

'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun againstthe wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friendby the arm, and attempted to drag him away. 'Come, my lad,' hemuttered; 'true or false, you've no right to blame her, you know,nor him either; after what you said last night. So come along.'

There was something implied here that I could not endure.

'Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?' said I, almost beside myselfwith fury.

'Nay, nay, I suspect nobody. It's all right, it's all right. Socome along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.'

'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinningin mingled rage and triumph. 'She can't deny it if her lifedepended on it!' and muttering some more abusive language, hewalked into the hall, and took up his hat and gun from the table.

'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I. 'But you,' turning toHattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, askMr. Hargrave.'

At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made mywhole frame tingle to the fingers' ends.

'Where is he? I'll ask him myself!' said I, advancing towardsthem.

Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed to theouter door. It was half open. His brother-in-law was standing onthe front without.

'Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?' said I.

He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.

'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined amanner that he could not, or did not choose to resist itsauthority. Somewhat reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanceda pace or two into the hall.

'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued - 'these men, whether ornot I yielded to your solicitations.'

'I don't understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.'

'You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as agentleman (if you have any), to answer truly. Did I, or did Inot?'

'No,' muttered he, turning away.

'Speak up, sir; they can't hear you. Did I grant your request?

'You did not.'

'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd neverlook so black.'

'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman,Huntingdon,' said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, butwith a bitter sneer upon his countenance.

'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk ofthe head. Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying, -'You know where to find me, should you feel disposed to send afriend.'

Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimationobtained.

'Now, Huntingdon, you see!' said Hattersley. 'Clear as the day.'

'I don't care what he sees,' said I, 'or what he imagines; but you,Mr. Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, willyou defend it?'

'I will.'

I instantly departed and shut myself into the library. What couldpossess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; butdrowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate betweenthem; I hardly knew what I said. There was no other to preserve myname from being blackened and aspersed among this nest of booncompanions, and through them, perhaps, into the world; and besidemy abandoned wretch of a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, andthe false villain Hargrave, this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutalas he was, shone like a glow-worm in the dark, among its fellowworms.

What a scene was this! Could I ever have imagined that I should bedoomed to bear such insults under my own roof - to hear such thingsspoken in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by thosewho arrogated to themselves the name of gentlemen? And could Ihave imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly,and to repel their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done?A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despairalone.

Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as Ipaced to and fro the room, and longed - oh, how I longed - to takemy child and leave them now, without an hour's delay! But it couldnot be; there was work before me: hard work, that must be done.

'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vainrepinings and idle chafings against my fate, and those whoinfluence it.'

And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediatelyresumed my task, and laboured hard all day.

Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen himsince. The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but Ikept aloof from them as much as possible, and still continued mylabour, and have continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to thepresent day. I soon acquainted Rachel with my design, confidingall my motives and intentions to her ear, and, much to my agreeablesurprise, found little difficulty in persuading her to enter intomy views. She is a sober, cautious woman, but she so hates hermaster, and so loves her mistress and her nursling, that afterseveral ejaculations, a few faint objections, and many tears andlamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she applaudedmy resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on onecondition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she wasutterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me andArthur to go alone. With touching generosity, she modestly offeredto aid me with her little hoard of savings, hoping I would 'excuseher for the liberty, but really, if I would do her the favour toaccept it as a loan, she would be very happy.' Of course I couldnot think of such a thing; but now, thank heaven, I have gathered alittle hoard of my own, and my preparations are so far advancedthat I am looking forward to a speedy emancipation. Only let thestormy severity of this winter weather be somewhat abated, andthen, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to a solitarybreakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house forhis invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles ontheir way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shallleave him hours before the dawn, and it is not probable he willdiscover the loss of both until the day is far advanced.

I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon thestep I am about to take; but I never waver in my resolution,because I never forget my son. It was only this morning, while Ipursued my usual employment, he was sitting at my feet, quietlyplaying with the shreds of canvas I had thrown upon the carpet; buthis mind was otherwise occupied, for, in a while, he looked upwistfully in my face, and gravely asked, - 'Mamma, why are youwicked?'

'Who told you I was wicked, love?'

'Rachel.'

'No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.'

'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully. Then, after areflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was Igot to know: when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mammasays I'm not to do something that he tells me to do, he alwayssays, "Mamma be damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked peoplethat are damned. So, mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked:and I wish you wouldn't.'

'My dear child, I am not. Those are bad words, and wicked peopleoften say them of others better than themselves. Those wordscannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it. Godwill judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others sayabout us. And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remembernever to repeat them: it is wicked to say such things of others,not to have them said against you.'

'Then it's papa that's wicked,' said he, ruefully.

'Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong toimitate him now that you know better.'

'What is imitate?'

'To do as he does.'

'Does he know better?'

'Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'

'If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'

'I have told him.'

The little moralist paused and pondered. I tried in vain to diverthis mind from the subject.

'I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, 'for Idon't want him to go to hell.' And so saying he burst into tears.

I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter andbecome good before he died -; but is it not time to deliver himfrom such a parent?