The Weird of the Wentworths, Vol. 1

haps, some

neighbouring e

he tea-making, and was apparently too busily engaged to give much attention to the assiduous addresses of a young officer who sat on her right hand. In the window a boy of fifteen was aiding his younger sister in mastering her French lesson, whi

eakfast, Johnny and

re almost finished,"

or you will be la

yed, and took the

, papa?" continued

t the arrival of the Earl of

the young officer. "Is Ca

, here he is-'Captain the Hon. de Vere, accompanied by the Marquis of Arranmore, is expected to join the noble family in a few d

tain L'Estrange; "you know De Vere is

him, I suppos

I do just, we

e like?" a

ook, as fierce as a Turk; curiously enough, I am thought rather like

a dashing, soldierly-looking man

you like it, and his sisters were quite the belles in town last season. The Prince Reg

But I shall be late-is the tea ready, Ellen?-let us sit do

ude; "we shall have a cold drive; i

at your breakfast

breakfast, we take this opportunity of making our r

y, and see his house once more on the top of the fickle wheel that had crushed him so low. He did not spend his time in unavailing lament over parted grandeur, but strove by hard and steady labour to launch on the tide, "that, taken at its height, leads on to fortune." His eldest son George entered the army when only seventeen, and was rapidly rising in his profession, when again the hand of death snatched another victim, and the father's hopes seemed once more shattered. Still beaten down, but not conquered, he lived and laboured for his family. Ellen, now his eldest child, was a remarkably fine-looking girl; she was much above the average height, and built on a large scale, with a commanding look, and seemed born, as her flatterers told her, to be a duchess. Nature had given her a lavish abundance of fair brown hair, which, confined by the frail net that scarcely held its prisoner, rolled half way down her back and contrasted sadly with the garb of woe she st

g, hardly form

its brightest l

s that had sprung up around them since Mr. Ravensworth had fixed on it as a residence, in order that his children might have the benefit of country and sea air, and

bay bounded by Berwick Law and Bass amid the waters, and to the left the upper course of the Forth. The dining-room and hall door, which were at the back, looked out on the champaign country stretched between the Pentlands and

chools, and, after his day's attendance at the Parliament houses, calling for them again on his way home. Accordingly, breakfast finished

whose years doubled hers. The management of Mr. Ravensworth's house, and the bringing up of Johnny and Maude were left almost entirely to her control, and we must do her the justice to say that the manner in which she conducted herself at the head of her father's table, and the strict a

e of fortune ceased to fling its radiance, was not too young to remember that times had once been better, happier than now; that there was a day when wealth had made them many friends; a day when they had lived in splendour, with carriages and horses, manservants and maidens; and when she contrasted it with their present life it was apt to make her discontented. She had been too well brought up by her father, who was a tr

to the scenes she was born to grace. Ellen knew-how could she help knowing?-that she was very beautiful. Proud, but not vain, of her beauty, she felt that, living in a position beneath her due, this beauty might yet raise her to her dreamland heights. It was to no purpose that day after day declined without bringing the realization of her hopes-she still hoped on, without considering that the hours most precious were stealing silently awa

as one who could raise her to the height of her ambition-young, rich, handsome. Could she catch his eye? could she make a conquest of the young Earl's heart? She looked at herself in the mirror, Pride whispered she could! But then came a chilling thought-L'Estrange. For nearly a year had he paid her the most untiring homage. Pleased at first, flattered by her powers, she had led him on-led him on till he had proposed for her hand-been accepted too-ha! dreadful truth, accepted! She had loved him once-but now-did she love him? no, no, he had her friendship-he had her affection-but not her love! And who was her love? The phantom of her mind's creation, the unreal knight of her dreams. And now the phantom of her imagination was near, she had never s

as going to chance the reality for the shadow-chance all on a wild throw, and perhaps-most probably-lose both. So spoke the still, small voice within; but pride, false

rates his l

eserts t

to cast in

or lose,

late! Such were Ellen's thoughts as she lounged on the sofa, while poor L'Estrange plodded his solitary