On reading this I had no reason to disguise my joy and hope fromFrederick Lawrence, for I had none to be ashamed of. I felt no joybut that his sister was at length released from her afflictive,overwhelming toil - no hope but that she would in time recover fromthe effects of it, and be suffered to rest in peace and quietness,at least, for the remainder of her life. I experienced a painfulcommiseration for her unhappy husband (though fully aware that hehad brought every particle of his sufferings upon himself, and buttoo well deserved them all), and a profound sympathy for her ownafflictions, and deep anxiety for the consequences of thoseharassing cares, those dreadful vigils, that incessant anddeleterious confinement beside a living corpse - for I waspersuaded she had not hinted half the sufferings she had had toendure.

'You will go to her, Lawrence?' said I, as I put the letter intohis hand.

'Yes, immediately.'

'That's right! I'll leave you, then, to prepare for yourdeparture.'

'I've done that already, while you were reading the letter, andbefore you came; and the carriage is now coming round to the door.'

Inly approving his promptitude, I bade him good-morning, andwithdrew. He gave me a searching glance as we pressed each other'shands at parting; but whatever he sought in my countenance, he sawthere nothing but the most becoming gravity - it might be mingledwith a little sternness in momentary resentment at what I suspectedto be passing in his mind.

Had I forgotten my own prospects, my ardent love, my pertinacioushopes? It seemed like sacrilege to revert to them now, but I hadnot forgotten them. It was, however, with a gloomy sense of thedarkness of those prospects, the fallacy of those hopes, and thevanity of that affection, that I reflected on those things as Iremounted my horse and slowly journeyed homewards. Mrs. Huntingdonwas free now; it was no longer a crime to think of her - but didshe ever think of me? Not now - of course it was not to beexpected - but would she when this shock was over? In all thecourse of her correspondence with her brother (our mutual friend,as she herself had called him) she had never mentioned me but once- and that was from necessity. This alone afforded strongpresumption that I was already forgotten; yet this was not theworst: it might have been her sense of duty that had kept hersilent: she might be only trying to forget; but in addition tothis, I had a gloomy conviction that the awful realities she hadseen and felt, her reconciliation with the man she had once loved,his dreadful sufferings and death, must eventually efface from hermind all traces of her passing love for me. She might recover fromthese horrors so far as to be restored to her former health, hertranquillity, her cheerfulness even - but never to those feelingswhich would appear to her, henceforth, as a fleeting fancy, a vain,illusive dream; especially as there was no one to remind her of myexistence - no means of assuring her of my fervent constancy, nowthat we were so far apart, and delicacy forbade me to see her or towrite to her, for months to come at least. And how could I engageher brother in my behalf? how could I break that icy crust of shyreserve? Perhaps he would disapprove of my attachment now ashighly as before; perhaps he would think me too poor - too lowlyborn, to match with his sister. Yes, there was another barrier:doubtless there was a wide distinction between the rank andcircumstances of Mrs. Huntingdon, the lady of Grassdale Manor, andthose of Mrs. Graham, the artist, the tenant of Wildfell Hall. Andit might be deemed presumption in me to offer my hand to theformer, by the world, by her friends, if not by herself; a penaltyI might brave, if I were certain she loved me; but otherwise, howcould I? And, finally, her deceased husband, with his usualselfishness, might have so constructed his will as to placerestrictions upon her marrying again. So that you see I hadreasons enough for despair if I chose to indulge it.

Nevertheless, it was with no small degree of impatience that Ilooked forward to Mr. Lawrence's return from Grassdale: impatiencethat increased in proportion as his absence was prolonged. Hestayed away some ten or twelve days. All very right that he shouldremain to comfort and help his sister, but he might have written totell me how she was, or at least to tell me when to expect hisreturn; for he might have known I was suffering tortures of anxietyfor her, and uncertainty for my own future prospects. And when hedid return, all he told me about her was, that she had been greatlyexhausted and worn by her unremitting exertions in behalf of thatman who had been the scourge of her life, and had dragged her withhim nearly to the portals of the grave, and was still much shakenand depressed by his melancholy end and the circumstances attendantupon it; but no word in reference to me; no intimation that my namehad ever passed her lips, or even been spoken in her presence. Tobe sure, I asked no questions on the subject; I could not bring mymind to do so, believing, as I did, that Lawrence was indeed averseto the idea of my union with his sister.

I saw that he expected to be further questioned concerning hisvisit, and I saw too, with the keen perception of awakenedjealousy, or alarmed self-esteem, or by whatever name I ought tocall it, that he rather shrank from that impending scrutiny, andwas no less pleased than surprised to find it did not come. Ofcourse, I was burning with anger, but pride obliged me to suppressmy feelings, and preserve a smooth face, or at least a stoiccalmness, throughout the interview. It was well it did, for,reviewing the matter in my sober judgment, I must say it would havebeen highly absurd and improper to have quarrelled with him on suchan occasion. I must confess, too, that I wronged him in my heart:the truth was, he liked me very well, but he was fully aware that aunion between Mrs. Huntingdon and me would be what the world callsa mesalliance; and it was not in his nature to set the world atdefiance; especially in such a case as this, for its dread laugh,or ill opinion, would be far more terrible to him directed againsthis sister than himself. Had he believed that a union wasnecessary to the happiness of both, or of either, or had he knownhow fervently I loved her, he would have acted differently; butseeing me so calm and cool, he would not for the world disturb myphilosophy; and though refraining entirely from any activeopposition to the match, he would yet do nothing to bring it about,and would much rather take the part of prudence, in aiding us toovercome our mutual predilections, than that of feeling, toencourage them. 'And he was in the right of it,' you will say.Perhaps he was; at any rate, I had no business to feel so bitterlyagainst him as I did; but I could not then regard the matter insuch a moderate light; and, after a brief conversation uponindifferent topics, I went away, suffering all the pangs of woundedpride and injured friendship, in addition to those resulting fromthe fear that I was indeed forgotten, and the knowledge that she Iloved was alone and afflicted, suffering from injured health anddejected spirits, and I was forbidden to console or assist her:forbidden even to assure her of my sympathy, for the transmissionof any such message through Mr. Lawrence was now completely out ofthe question.

But what should I do? I would wait, and see if she would noticeme, which of course she would not, unless by some kind messageintrusted to her brother, that, in all probability, he would notdeliver, and then, dreadful thought! she would think me cooled andchanged for not returning it, or, perhaps, he had already given herto understand that I had ceased to think of her. I would wait,however, till the six months after our parting were fairly passed(which would be about the close of February), and then I would sendher a letter, modestly reminding her of her former permission towrite to her at the close of that period, and hoping I might availmyself of it - at least to express my heartfelt sorrow for her lateafflictions, my just appreciation of her generous conduct, and myhope that her health was now completely re-established, and thatshe would, some time, be permitted to enjoy those blessings of apeaceful, happy life, which had been denied her so long, but whichnone could more truly be said to merit than herself - adding a fewwords of kind remembrance to my little friend Arthur, with a hopethat he had not forgotten me, and perhaps a few more in referenceto bygone times, to the delightful hours I had passed in hersociety, and my unfading recollection of them, which was the saltand solace of my life, and a hope that her recent troubles had notentirely banished me from her mind. If she did not answer this, ofcourse I should write no more: if she did (as surely she would, insome fashion), my future proceedings should be regulated by herreply.

Ten weeks was long to wait in such a miserable state ofuncertainty; but courage! it must be endured! and meantime I wouldcontinue to see Lawrence now and then, though not so often asbefore, and I would still pursue my habitual inquiries after hissister, if he had lately heard from her, and how she was, butnothing more.

I did so, and the answers I received were always provokinglylimited to the letter of the inquiry: she was much as usual: shemade no complaints, but the tone of her last letter evinced greatdepression of mind: she said she was better: and, finally, shesaid she was well, and very busy with her son's education, and withthe management of her late husband's property, and the regulationof his affairs. The rascal had never told me how that property wasdisposed, or whether Mr. Huntingdon had died intestate or not; andI would sooner die than ask him, lest he should misconstrue intocovetousness my desire to know. He never offered to show me hissister's letters now, and I never hinted a wish to see them.February, however, was approaching; December was past; January, atlength, was almost over - a few more weeks, and then, certaindespair or renewal of hope would put an end to this long agony ofsuspense.

But alas! it was just about that time she was called to sustainanother blow in the death of her uncle - a worthless old fellowenough in himself, I daresay, but he had always shown more kindnessand affection to her than to any other creature, and she had alwaysbeen accustomed to regard him as a parent. She was with him whenhe died, and had assisted her aunt to nurse him during the laststage of his illness. Her brother went to Staningley to attend thefuneral, and told me, upon his return, that she was still there,endeavouring to cheer her aunt with her presence, and likely toremain some time. This was bad news for me, for while shecontinued there I could not write to her, as I did not know theaddress, and would not ask it of him. But week followed week, andevery time I inquired about her she was still at Staningley.

'Where is Staningley?' I asked at last.

'In -shire,' was the brief reply; and there was something so coldand dry in the manner of it, that I was effectually deterred fromrequesting a more definite account.

'When will she return to Grassdale?' was my next question.

'I don't know.'

'Confound it!' I muttered.

'Why, Markham?' asked my companion, with an air of innocentsurprise. But I did not deign to answer him, save by a look ofsilent, sullen contempt, at which he turned away, and contemplatedthe carpet with a slight smile, half pensive, half amused; butquickly looking up, he began to talk of other subjects, trying todraw me into a cheerful and friendly conversation, but I was toomuch irritated to discourse with him, and soon took leave.

You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very welltogether. The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little tootouchy. It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility toaffronts where none are intended. I am no martyr to it now, as youcan bear me witness: I have learned to be merry and wise, to bemore easy with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and Ican afford to laugh at both Lawrence and you.

Partly from accident, partly from wilful negligence on my part (forI was really beginning to dislike him), several weeks elapsedbefore I saw my friend again. When we did meet, it was he thatsought me out. One bright morning, early in June, he came into thefield, where I was just commencing my hay harvest.

'It is long since I saw you, Markham,' said he, after the first fewwords had passed between us. 'Do you never mean to come toWoodford again?'

'I called once, and you were out.'

'I was sorry, but that was long since; I hoped you would callagain, and now I have called, and you were out, which you generallyare, or I would do myself the pleasure of calling more frequently;but being determined to see you this time, I have left my pony inthe lane, and come over hedge and ditch to join you; for I am aboutto leave Woodford for a while, and may not have the pleasure ofseeing you again for a month or two.'

'Where are you going?'

'To Grassdale first,' said he, with a half-smile he would willinglyhave suppressed if he could.

'To Grassdale! Is she there, then?'

'Yes, but in a day or two she will leave it to accompany Mrs.Maxwell to F- for the benefit of the sea air, and I shall go withthem.' (F- was at that time a quiet but respectable watering-place: it is considerably more frequented now.)

Lawrence seemed to expect me to take advantage of this circumstanceto entrust him with some sort of a message to his sister; and Ibelieve he would have undertaken to deliver it without any materialobjections, if I had had the sense to ask him, though of course hewould not offer to do so, if I was content to let it alone. But Icould not bring myself to make the request, and it was not tillafter he was gone, that I saw how fair an opportunity I had lost;and then, indeed, I deeply regretted my stupidity and my foolishpride, but it was now too late to remedy the evil.

He did not return till towards the latter end of August. He wroteto me twice or thrice from F-, but his letters were mostprovokingly unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in triflesthat I cared nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflectionsequally unwelcome to me at the time, saying next to nothing abouthis sister, and little more about himself. I would wait, however,till he came back; perhaps I could get something more out of himthen. At all events, I would not write to her now, while she waswith him and her aunt, who doubtless would be still more hostile tomy presumptuous aspirations than himself. When she was returned tothe silence and solitude of her own home, it would be my fittestopportunity.

When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on thesubject of my keen anxiety. He told me that his sister had derivedconsiderable benefit from her stay at F- that her son was quitewell, and - alas! that both of them were gone, with Mrs. Maxwell,back to Staningley, and there they stayed at least three months.But instead of boring you with my chagrin, my expectations anddisappointments, my fluctuations of dull despondency and flickeringhope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it, and now to persevere- now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass and patientlyabide my time, - I will employ myself in settling the business ofone or two of the characters introduced in the course of thisnarrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.

Some time before Mr. Huntingdon's death Lady Lowborough eloped withanother gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while inreckless gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted. Shewent dashing on for a season, but years came and money went: shesunk, at length, in difficulty and debt, disgrace and misery; anddied at last, as I have heard, in penury, neglect, and utterwretchedness. But this might be only a report: she may be livingyet for anything I or any of her relatives or former acquaintancescan tell; for they have all lost sight of her long years ago, andwould as thoroughly forget her if they could. Her husband,however, upon this second misdemeanour, immediately sought andobtained a divorce, and, not long after, married again. It waswell he did, for Lord Lowborough, morose and moody as he seemed,was not the man for a bachelor's life. No public interests, noambitious projects, or active pursuits, - or ties of friendshipeven (if he had had any friends), could compensate to him for theabsence of domestic comforts and endearments. He had a son and anominal daughter, it is true, but they too painfully reminded himof their mother, and the unfortunate little Annabella was a sourceof perpetual bitterness to his soul. He had obliged himself totreat her with paternal kindness: he had forced himself not tohate her, and even, perhaps, to feel some degree of kindly regardfor her, at last, in return for her artless and unsuspectingattachment to himself; but the bitterness of his self-condemnationfor his inward feelings towards that innocent being, his constantstruggles to subdue the evil promptings of his nature (for it wasnot a generous one), though partly guessed at by those who knewhim, could be known to God and his own heart alone; - so also wasthe hardness of his conflicts with the temptation to return to thevice of his youth, and seek oblivion for past calamities, anddeadness to the present misery of a blighted heart a joyless,friendless life, and a morbidly disconsolate mind, by yieldingagain to that insidious foe to health, and sense, and virtue, whichhad so deplorably enslaved and degraded him before.

The second object of his choice was widely different from thefirst. Some wondered at his taste; some even ridiculed it - but inthis their folly was more apparent than his. The lady was abouthis own age - i.e., between thirty and forty - remarkable neitherfor beauty, nor wealth, nor brilliant accomplishments; nor anyother thing that I ever heard of, except genuine good sense,unswerving integrity, active piety, warm-hearted benevolence, and afund of cheerful spirits. These qualities, however, as you wayreadily imagine, combined to render her an excellent mother to thechildren, and an invaluable wife to his lordship. He, with hisusual self-depreciation, thought her a world too good for him, andwhile he wondered at the kindness of Providence in conferring sucha gift upon him, and even at her taste in preferring him to othermen, he did his best to reciprocate the good she did him, and sofar succeeded that she was, and I believe still is, one of thehappiest and fondest wives in England; and all who question thegood taste of either partner may be thankful if their respectiveselections afford them half the genuine satisfaction in the end, orrepay their preference with affection half as lasting and sincere.

If you are at all interested in the fate of that low scoundrel,Grimsby, I can only tell you that he went from bad to worse,sinking from bathos to bathos of vice and villainy, consorting onlywith the worst members of his club and the lowest dregs of society- happily for the rest of the world - and at last met his end in adrunken brawl, from the hands, it is said, of some brotherscoundrel he had cheated at play.

As for Mr. Hattersley, he had never wholly forgotten his resolutionto 'come out from among them,' and behave like a man and aChristian, and the last illness and death of his once jolly friendHuntingdon so deeply and seriously impressed him with the evil oftheir former practices, that he never needed another lesson of thekind. Avoiding the temptations of the town, he continued to passhis life in the country, immersed in the usual pursuits of ahearty, active, country gentleman; his occupations being those offarming, and breeding horses and cattle, diversified with a littlehunting and shooting, and enlivened by the occasional companionshipof his friends (better friends than those of his youth), and thesociety of his happy little wife (now cheerful and confiding asheart could wish), and his fine family of stalwart sons andblooming daughters. His father, the banker, having died some yearsago and left him all his riches, he has now full scope for theexercise of his prevailing tastes, and I need not tell you thatRalph Hattersley, Esq., is celebrated throughout the country forhis noble breed of horses.