CHAP. I.

BY MRS. NEWTON

Geraldine Harmer was an only child, and had been petted, caressed, beloved-indulged if you will, and what the world calls "spoiled," from infancy. But there is a wiser and better creed than that of the world in general; and it is, that no human being can be spoiled by the government of kindness and affection, be they ever so lavish and warm. One thing, however, it does; just as sunshine develops the colour of flowers and leaves which would have been pale and sickly in the shade, it draws out the deep hues and lines of character; and it may be that the selfishness of the selfish becomes more apparent when such a nature is the recipient of life's choicest blessings. But who can think of the myriad hearts in which the noblest qualities, the purest aspirations, and even the most worldenriching talents lie buried like seeds in an Egyptian tomb for want of the light and heat the affections alone can bestow, and yet grieve for their rays shining-even though they chance to fall sometimes on unworthy objects!

Beautiful as was Geraldine's developed character, I believe her to have been only an average type of her sex, if its early influences were more commonly as favourable. With all the softness and tenderness which belong of right to a woman, she possessed that moral bravery which is sure to be extinguished by a discipline of fear, and which for this reason is one of the rarest attributes of character. For my own part, I never hear a harsh word spoken to a child without trembling for the consequences, without dreading that the bloom of perfect and proud integrity may at that moment be brushed away, and the first thoughts of deceit be fanned into being.

Geraldine was about seventeen when she lost

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her mother; and henceforth home-love seemed centred in her remaining parent. Friends may be very dear, acquaintances pleasant and instructive companions; but it is round our very hearth, under the roof where we rest, and in the daily, hourly intercourse of life, that the heart must either be satisfied or not; and human happiness, or a blank where it should be, exist. Blessed Geraldine! still, still for her was home affection. Even grief for the dead, deep, intense as it was, had a gleam of light about it that was not borrowed from sorrow; like the dark clouds that we often see tinged with a golden sunshine. Every memory of her mother was sweet and sacred;-of peace and of gladness. It was at this period that Mr. Harmer changed his residence from an inland town to the coast of Devon. Perhaps local associations have more influence upon us than we are always ready to admit. Geraldine's childhood had been passed amid the soft rich scenery of the heart of England, where meadows show their brightest, deepest green, and the affluent earth is most lavish of its treasures; where blooming orchards look like the flower gardens of some gigantic world, and the ripening corn sways heavily in the breeze, drooping beneath the weight of its growing wealth; where the sunny hills and the fertile valleys and the gentle streams look up to a changeful sky-to them most benignant—with a fond and grateful smile! The scene had surely been in unison with her own happy, joyous, careless childhood.

Life is broken up into the epochs that emotions make, far more vividly than by the lines of outward actions or events; though often enough they mould, or melt into, one another. The death of her mother was Geraldine's first sorrow, speedily followed by the change to a sea-side residence; and this-the perpetual presence of the wide horizon, the changeful, restless, slumbering, treacherous ocean, was beautifully appropriate to the new life which was dawning upon her. That one sorrow had opened the dark door through which so much knowledge steals into the heart; that knowledge taught by suffering, which is the balance in the scale, and

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forbids even hope to soar too high. Yet she was at the age when, despite all the world can do, life will ever wear a new and bright aspect, if not the brightest Fate has in store. And as Geraldine sat on the sea-shore, watching the glancing waves that broke at her feet, her musings took that tinge of poetry of which few natures are quite incapable.blish himself in a profession. Sir George proSometimes it seemed as if each wave had a story it refused to tell-a tale from the distant climes, whence it had toiled on some strange mysterious mission; or as she marked the gently rising tide, obedient to the mistress of the waters, who beckoned from her starry court, her soul seemed lifted by that worship of nature, most reverent as it was, till she saw or created a thousand vague yet beautiful types.

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educated the orphan children of his youngeï brother under his own roof; and, to say the least, had permitted the world to look upon Lionel as his acknowledged heir. He, however, was not insensible to the precarious tenure of his fortunes, and from boyhood had desired to esta posed a military career, one which almost always presents some points of fascination to a youth of nineteen; and Lionel, whose mind had no very early development, was more than content with the choice. A commission was purchased in one of those regiments whose officers are chiefly supplied from the ranks of the aristocracy; and family pride, together with a true regard for his nephew, induced Sir George to make him a yearly allowance fully suitable to the maintenance of the position in which he had placed him. Meanwhile the two sisters remained under his almost parental protection; and Laura at eighteen took the head of her uncle's table.

It must not be supposed, however, that Geraldine Harmer's life was that of a recluse, or that she grew to be a mere visionary; far otherwise; for the next six or seven years she mixed a good deal in society, and paid at least one visit in the year to the metropolis. Observation confirmed or contradicted the theories of her young mind; and in her father's constant society and confiding affection she bad that support, the absence of which is, I believe, the most fatal deprivation a young woman can know-the support of a stronger mind, and more larged intellect than her own; that something which she recognizes most speedily, and bows to most implicitly, in father, brother, or husband. The metaphor of the oak and the ivy, as applied to the two natures, is beautiful, because it contains so much truth; and woman's fine qualities are only half developed while tottering as it were by herself. There is but one condition". more pitiable, and that is when she twines herself round some rotten reed, corrupts her own soul by the contact, and sinks into the very mire at last. But the girl who nestles by the side of a wise yet gentle father, or who has the proud privilege of a noble brother's tender friendship, is sheltered from a thousand dangers and temptations. She will be the last to "lose" her heart unworthily, though she may bestow it entirely and wisely.

Not driven therefore to any fatal choice by the want of an object to venerate and rely on-so large an element in the besoin d'aimer-there is not much wonder that at three-and-twenty Geraldine's heart was still free. It might have been open to those passing thoughts and inclinations, which are but as the summer lightning that indicates the pathway of the storm; for youth will have its dreams, and the heart it own promptings. But her peace had never been broken; her soul was yet ignorant of its deepest mysteries.

It was at this time that the accidents of society threw her a good deal with Lionel Weymouth; acquaintance ripened into intimacy both with father and daughter; and intimacy into a friendship founded on mutual appreciation and esteem. Weymouth was two or three years older than Geraldine, and, until a recent period, had expected to inherit a fine landed property in the north of England. Without exactly pledging himself to celebacy, Sir George Weymouth had

The doctrine of "Destiny" is charmingly satisfactory when some perfectly unexpected disaster, of which we have been the blind instruments, takes place. The feelings of Laura and Marian Weymouth were entirely a case in point, when, suddenly, without more preparation than a day or two's vague suspicion, they discovered that their sedate, grey-headed uncle, of fifty-five, was actually in love with, and had proposed to marry, their school companion, their beautiful friend, Emily Dalton! For this result had she been their guest for weeks at a time. Emily belonged to what is called "a good family; but she was one of the many children of a younger son." Half-a-dozen sisters and three brothers must ultimately divide with her his slender fortune: but she had been educated in a worldly school, and had always looked on marriage as the stepping-stone to fortune. It had become a bye-word in her home, though always uttered sotto voce, that love was a luxury reserved for the rich, and romantic reveries an indulgence for the well-endowed. Surely this was precisely the girl to accept, with self-gratulation, the hand of an elderly baronet of large fortune! Whether by skilful flatteries and evident partiality she had sought it, is another question.

The marriage was a hasty one; for there was no reason for delay. Laura and Marian were bridesmaids; but though not above a hundred miles distant at the time, Lionel was not invited to the wedding. The omission did not arise from any ill or unkind feeling on the bridegroom's part: very far from it. The truth was, the most unpleasant task he had ever imposed on himself was writing to his nephew the intelligence of his intentions; and Lionel's presence at the wedding breakfast would have been like that of the skeleton at a feast. Yet, after all, there was no wrong in his purpose: he had acted for years a father's part to his brother's children; nor did he now intend to desert them he was only taking upon himself those duties which the "world" had expected from him thirty years before.

a heart truly and deeply devoted to her. Every purpose and aspiration of his nature led up to one hope-the hope of her affection, and perpetual companionship through the meridian and decline of life; for Youth, he foresaw, must be passed in the struggle to win her: but he left with his love unspoken! Perhaps his feelings might have betrayed him from his resolution had not their last interview been broken by one of those commonplace accidents which so often jar on the soul's truer world of thought and emotion. The gushing words flew back to the heart unuttered; and they parted in the presence of others, much as ordinary acquaintances might have done.

Lionel saw the event in this its true light; but he had none the less a just perception of the change it effected in his own prospects. In the depths of his heart he had for some time felt that his vocation should not have been a military one; though, out of deference to his uncle's feelings, he had been silent on the subject of his discontent. As his character matured, there sprang up restless energies which revolted at the effeminate existence of a carpet soldier; while at the same time his mind sickened at the associations of active service, and disputed the "honour" of being a legalized slaughterer. But now he determined to sell his commission, and woo fortune in some more congenial path. Soon after the marriage he com- There is generally speaking so much in a municated his wishes to his uncle, who, though man's nature that is incomprehensible to a a little surprised, raised no opposition; and woman, that it is always a daring task for her when Lionel, acknowledging his obligations, to weigh his actions, or to attempt the divinayet gave expression to his ardent desire for tion of his feelings. His love is seldom her love: independence, Sir George easily yielded to his his faith is not her faith: his life is not her lifeproposal for curtailing to the most necessary only in moments of existence which shine out trifle his hitherto handsome allowance. In briefly and brightly in the dark expanse of truth, wealthy as the baronet was, he had already memory, like stars on the purple firinament, discovered many new channels which were delv- does it seem that love and sympathy can raise ing themselves for his money, and as ordinary the curtain and let one soul perceive the other. characters ever do, gave up a thousand generous For if woman knows not man, neither can he, exresolves under the pressure of altered circum- cept in rarest instances, regulate the spring of her faults, or discover the fountain of her virtues.

stances.

It was after Lionel Weymouth had left the atiny, and during the months which preceded his embarkation for India-that land of golden promise, where he had formed a connection with a mercantile establishment-that he met Geraldine Harmer. The regard which sprung up between them was not of that rapid growth and demonstrative nature which speedily brings about a climax, and not unfrequently dies out as quickly. But silently and gradually it pervaded the heart of each; implanting fresh hopes therein, and giving its own hue to life. And yet not a word of this love had been spoken between them; nay, Lionel considered that his attempt to conceal his affection had been in a great measure successful. He had marked out for himself a career, a goal to be reached. Not until his sisters were either married or endowed by him with independence, and not until he had won a fortune to lay at her feet, would he seek Geraldine's love, or sue for her hand. During the long years of his absence she should be free without blame if she forgot himwithout remorse if she wedded another. Perhaps, in the long run, this code of honour works well; for a promise is but a chain that may gall more than it binds; and the strongest of all ties is the unacknowledged one that the heart forges for itself. But, unfortunately, they whose constancy would shine out most brightly unimpaired by time or absence, are the very ones who suffer most severely from the alternating hopes and fears which must accompany an unacknowledged love, and which perplex the reason, and make the word "free" but a term of mockery.

Lionel Weymouth left England with a noble appreciation of Geraldine Harmer's worth, and

Thus it is not for me to tell how passed the years with Lionel Weymouth. Active was his life, and prosperous in no ordinary degree, if the esteem and respect of his fellow-men could make it so, and the gold which seemed by some strange alchemy to multiply itself at his bidding, He corresponded with Geraldine Harmer on terms of affectionate friendship; but he spoke not of love and marriage at first, because to the integrity of his purpose it still belonged to hold her "free." But time passed on, and a few strokes of his pen secured ease and independence to his grateful and affectionate sisters. They married too, soon afterwards, in the sphere which was theirs by birth and education. And still he corresponded with Geraldine Harmer, though without any change in the tone of his letters; only that the presents which often accompanied them grew more and more costly. Instead of graceful trinkets, precious more as souvenirs of his regard than for their intrinsic value, came shawls of Cashmere, meet for royalty itself the costliest tissues from the looms of Decca, and jewels of great value-a monument they were, but we ask, as the poet did at the tomb of a wife, was it "love or pride?" The tenderness of deep regard shone forth in every page he wrote; yet still he did not ask her to be his. Why? Ah! that is precisely the question, a woman cannot answer.

Time passed very differently with Geraldine Harmer. Hers was a life of great retirement; her father's age and increasing infirmity inducing with each year greater seclusion, while her own inclinations henceforth eschewed, not less decidedly the vanities and frivolities of the gay world. With the awakening of the heart comes also the awakening to the hollowness of

what the world calls pleasure; and she, like a thousand others, content with the secret worship of a beautiful idea, relinquished every likely opportunity of substituting for it some absolute reality. She was almost happy-cheerful certainly; and four years passed away with the seeming swiftnees for ever attendant on a calm and uniform course. It is time in which action, and change, and suffering crowd, that in the retrospect appears so long. Geraldine was seven-and-twenty when her father died. It was a great grief to her; but one of those sorrows which a merciful Providence heals by the touch of time.

A portion of Mr. Harmer's income died with him, but Geraldine found herself mistress of about four hundred a-year. This was an income quite sufficient to supply her moderate wants, and gratify her simple tastes. She remained in the same pretty cottage they had so long inhabited, and by dint of frequently, almost constantly having a female friend for a visitor, contrived the nearest approach to an independent style of living which it is possible for a young single woman to accomplish; at least without touching the confines of those conventional proprieties, which sometimes bristle very vexatiously in the way of the most pureintentioned. And still came the letters from India; but less through them than by more indirect channels did she learn that Lionel Weymouth was acquiring a princely fortune, to which her moderate independence would be an unfelt addition.

And still time passed, and Geraldine was Thirty-that age at which the fatherless, brotherless, single woman need pause and ask her own nature if it have enough of the oak in itself still, still to stand alone. Probably she will look back with rejoicing at having escaped some particular union, or more than one; and certainly, if she have mind and heart, her ideal of happiness will be far higher and nobler than it was ten years before. If-but it is with Geraldine we have to do; and she, like so many others, bore the talisman in her heart which shaped out her life as if by the iron hand of Destiny.

"Aye, aye, miss," said Watson, throwing down the cordage he was joining, and touching his hat to the lady, and the next minute he had sprung from his boat which lay idle on the beach, and was sauntering with a sailor's swagger beside her. This was no unusual occurrence; for Watson, as I have said, was an old acquaintance. If he advised a sail, and said the weather was settled, Geraldine and her friends were always willing to trust themselves to his skill and care; these pleasure-trips being usually enlivened by a story from the old "man-ofwar's-man." It is true that some of these became thrice-told tales; but the exactness with which the " yarns were repeated only impressed his hearers with a conviction of Watson's veracity. He was an honest fellow in the main-a little addicted, it might be, to driving hard bargains in the fishing-season, when he had got a successful "haul" of fish, and was able to fix the market price; on which occasions, however, his full heart must vent itself, and he usually made some excuse to call at the cottage and relate his good fortune. Sometimes he met with a rebuke instead of a congratulation, which he listened to with the greatest respect, satisfying his conscience with the reflection that his avocations bordered on a sort of political economy quite beyond a young lady's reasoning. Yet he did not think the world contained so perfect a creature as his patroness; and imbued as he was with the deepest reverence for her, an absolute affection, almost unconsciously to himself, had taken still deeper root in his heart. All these feelings had expressed themselves in the only compliment he knew how to pay. On the recent repairing and fresh painting of his darling boat, he had called it the " Geraldine," its former laurels having been won under the repellant title of "The Gorgon." Sailors must be exceedingly fond of the hideously picturesque; and it was a sacrifice to carve away the unsightly figure-head into a shapeless mass, which probably more resembled a cornucopia than anything else. As for attempting to substitute a likeness of Geraldine herself, he would have thought it presumption had a ghost from the old carvers arisen to attempt it.

"Are there many boats out?" continued Geraldine, drawing her shawl tightly round her; for the freshening breeze had almost plucked it from her shoulders.

"All our craft will be in before sun-down," replied Watson, "if I know the men. I told them this morning a squall was coming on, and you see there's half-a-dozen owners who took my advice, and their craft are side by side my Geraldine.' But I tell you what, miss-there's a brig in the offing that had better hold out to sea. This is nasty weather to come in without a pilot; and they hav'nt one on board, I know, by the roads she is in now.

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Alas! the seaman's fears were but too well founded. As night drew on, so increased the hurricane; and by midnight the tempest was raging. The unfortunate brig fired guns of distress; but no boat could have lived through the