THE

CORNHILL MAGAZINE.

JULY, 1877.

Carità.

CHAPTER XL.

Two-PARTED.

T

HIS early summer had been a time of little pleasure to any one in the Square. Everything had seemed to go wrong from the day Miss Cherry went dolefully away, crying with wonder and disappointment to think that her darling should have been so unkind to her, and her brother fallen so completely out of her influence. Very hopefully she had come, prepared to do her duty, and sure at least of Cara's sweet society and comfort -but as she drove away from the door Miss Cherry felt that this society was over for ever. She had trusted in "the child" from Cara's earliest days-and now the child shut up her heart, and would not, even after all she had seen with her own eyes, confide in her. She saw now how it was going to be. James would marry" that woman," which was the bitter name by which gentle Miss Cherry, so full of kindly charity, had been driven by suspicion to call Mrs. Meredith-and Cara would fall away from her own relations, and estrangement and doubt would take the place of affection. "Oh, that we had never seen them!" Miss Cherry said to herself, meaning the Meredith family generally-that "elderly siren" who had bewitched VOL. XXXVI.-NO. 211.

1.

James, and that harum-scarum son who had persuaded Cara to bind herself to him without telling her nearest relations. For Edward Miss Cherry had a certain kindness. He had been very kind-he had behaved as young men used to do (she thought), as was becoming and respectful-and he too had been disappointed and wounded by the strange secresy of the young pair, who had no motive to make them so desirous of concealing their engagement; why should they conceal it? This was the most provoking, the most exasperating feature of all; there was no reason for concealment the parents on either side would have been willing enough-no one would have thrown any obstacles in their way. Why had they made a mystery of it? And James ?-Miss Cherry went down to the country with a sad heart. But it pained her infinitely to answer those questions which Miss Charity insisted upon having replies to. She could censure them herself in the recesses of her own bosom-but to hear others find fault with them was more than Miss Cherry could bear.

"You see I have got well without you," Miss Charity said. " I hope you have done as well for James and his daughter, Cherry, as nature, without any assistance, has done for me."

"Oh, they are very well, thank you," said Miss Cherry, with a tremor. "Cara has a headache sometimes; but all girls have headaches-and as for James, he is in perfect health."

"I was not thinking of his health. Is all safe about the other matter?"

"You know, her husband died," said Miss Cherry, somewhat dreamily.

"What has that to do with it? A woman without a husband has just as much need to be circumspect as a woman with one. What are you insinuating, Cherry? I don't understand you to-day?"

"Why should I insinuate-and what can I say? James was going away, because he could not make up his mind to give up going to her; but now he means to stay."

"So that is it!" said Miss Charity. She was not quite decorous in all her ways, but took the privilege of her age, and often shocked her more scrupulous niece. She uttered a sound which was not unlike a low whistle of mingled astonishment and amusement. "So that is what it is! These men with broken hearts are incroyable, Cherry. And will she have him, I wonder?”

"Have him?" Miss Cherry echoed, with something which from her gentle lips was like scorn. She was over-severe in this case as naturally as in other cases she was over-charitable. "She had not seen her husband for I don't know how many years-there cannot be any very great grief on his account. And James goes there every night."

"Ah! but I wonder if they'll care to marry," said the old lady— "that's different-I should think they would prefer not to marry

"Aunt Charity! James may be weak but he is not wicked. He would not do such a thing

"You are a little old maid, and you don't know anything about it," cried Miss Charity, peremptorily. She was an old maid herself, to speak by the book-but she thought she did understand. Miss Cherry said nothing of her other trouble. She went and got her knitting meekly, and settled down in the old way as if she had never left the Hill. Well! it was home, and this was her natural life-but when her old aunt, who was now quite strong again, went briskly out to the garden to look after the flowers and her gardener, Miss Cherry let her hands fall into her lap, and felt the stillness penetrate to her soul. The troubles of the Square, the commotions and displeasures, Cara who would not open her heart— saucy Oswald who smiled in her face and defied her-poor Edward with his disappointment-and even James, who according to all appearance was going to marry again;-how angry she had been with them! how she had felt their different faults, crying to herself bitterly over them— and yet how she missed them! That was life-this-this was homewhich was quite a different thing. It was very wicked of her, very ungrateful to God who had given her such a lovely house, such a good kind aunt, nobody to trouble or disturb her; very ungrateful, very wicked. Had she not everything that heart could desire? and peace and quiet to enjoy it. Miss Cherry acknowledged all this-and cried. How still it was! nothing moving, nothing happening-and yet, ungrateful woman, to be so well off and not to appreciate it! What could she wish for more?—indeed, Mrs. Burchell thought that she had a great deal too much, and that it was sinful for an unmarried woman without a family to be so well off as Miss Cherry was.

Meantime Cara, left alone in the Square, fell into all the melancholy of her beginning. Oswald still came to see her from time to time in the morning, confiding to her all the steps of his progress, and receiving sometimes her sympathy, sometimes reproof, sometimes what they both called "advice." Though she had very good cause to be angry with him, yet it was very difficult to be angry with Oswald-for though he was so self-regarding, he was too light-hearted to be stigmatized with the harsher quality of selfishness. It came to the same thing often, but yet the name seemed too harsh. And he was Cara's only friend. She had not had time to form many acquaintanceships, and she was too shy to go by herself to return the calls, or even to accept the invitations of the people she did know. How was she to go anywhere? Her father took no interest, asked no questions-and Mrs. Meredith was no longer the confidant of everything that happened, to arrange all for her. Therefore she refused the invitations, and shrank more and more into her corner. Between her and Mrs. Meredith a great gulf had risen. Who had caused it or what had caused it no one could tell-but there it lay, separating them, causing embarrassment when they met, and driving them daily further and further apart. Mrs. Meredith was angry with Cara as