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cancy, who propounded the questio verata, the tabooed subject of the morning, by declaring his opinion that Mr. Vivian was a “regular good fellow-none of your die-away-men-a fellow that was up to everything."
lawn as ill at ease as it was possible to be, to take her place under the falling blossoms of the acacia, and consume her heart with bootless vexation and shame.
Meanwhile Zaidee, grieved and silent, sat at When Sylvo took himself away after this en- her work alone. Mr. Vivian had thrown a great lightened estimate of character, Mary turned gulf between these girlish intimates, the friends from gazing at the river. "Speaking of Mr. Vi- of many years. It was the first indication of vian." said Mary with the voice of elderly expe- that maturer life in which their hearts could no rience, addressing Zaidee, I forgot to mention to longer dwell together, and their young existence you that I overheard what mamma said to you run on in one common stream. To the trusting one day before he came here. It was about en- and simple heart of Zaidee it was a very harsh couraging him, you know, if he should think of disjunction-a rending asunder causeless and paying his addresses to you. Now, of course, as cruel. If Mr. Vivian had not been "our Perhe admires you so much, that is quite likely, Eliz-cy," Mary must have incurred for him the posi abeth," said Mary with dry lips and a forced tive dislike of her "beautiful sister." As it was, smile; "and I hope you will not let any foolish Zaidee only thought of him with the kindest scruples weigh with you, but will guide your con- thoughts. duct by mamma's advice. I quite agree with her; it would be an admirable match- Beauty and genius, you know.'" And Mary sang with scornful levity, the burden of the ballad, "Be honored aye, the bravest knight, beloved the fair
"I am going to town to call on Mr. Vivian's sister, said Mrs. Cumberland, the same day; he was so good as to ask me, Mary, my love; and you may be sure I shall be only too happy to show some attention to Mrs. Morton. I think you should both come with me, you young ladies; you are "Mary," said Zaidee earnestly, "I do not know neither of you in great spirits, I perceive, this why it is that I am so much pained to hear you morning. Ah, I can make allowance for youthspeaking so. I suppose it is no harm to speak ful feelings, my sweet Elizabeth; and Mary's so; it is two strangers talking to each other; it gravity, with so many things to consider-the is not you and me. But I have grown a wo-crisis of her life-is equally excusable. Go and man," said Zaidee, raising her head with the sim-get your bonnets, my dear children; the drive plicity of a child," and there are some things will refresh us all to-day." which must not be said to me. No one must They went to do her bidding silently; Mary tell me to encourage Mr. Vivian; no one must contracting her brow and setting her pretty teeth talk to me of paying addresses. I cannot bear together in the very impatience of passion, as she it, indeed, and I must not," continued Zaidee, heard her own circumstances-" the crisis of her warming into strange decision. "If I am like life" thus alluded to. For the first time Mary Mr. Vivian's sister, he is like some one whom I shed bitter tears when she had reached her own knew when I was a child. If it were not so, I apartment, and concealed herself and her secret should be ashamed to see Mr. Vivian again; but heartbreak within its closed door. "They give now I should be glad to be friends with him if me to Sylvo without a thought; this is all the he pleased. I was very proud and very glad to care they have for their daughter," cried Mary see him here with you last night; and I think I with unrestrainable complaint; "and Elizabeth, will try not to be affronted, nor shut myself up Elizabeth! the sunshine of this life is all for her, when he comes. But there is to be no more of and there is only Sylvo for me!" addresses, if you please. I am sure I should quite as soon think of paying my addresses to Mr. Vivian as he to me.'
Mary Cumberlaud, with her book lying open on her lap, followed the motion of Zaidee's lips and her slight unconscious gestures, with the extremest astonishment. Mary felt the ground suddenly taken from beneath her feet. She was entirely disconcerted and thrown back upon herself by this simple decision-by the words which, spoken with so little pretension, had yet all the authority which words could have coming from the lips of a queen. Her own scornful satire and uncharitable mood were thrown far into the distance. Zaidee, resenting nothing, but only patting an end to it, passed by like a young princess, and left Mary far behind her in the way. Their position was reversed in a moment; Mary's scornful and unkindly advice was quite thrown out of court; it returned upon herself with double mortification and annoyance. She felt so guilty that she attempted no answer, but only said "Oh," with a last attempt at superiority, and, leaving the window, wandered down the
The tears poured down heavily over Mary's cheeks; it was the crisis of her life, though Mrs. Cumberland wot not of it. With a hasty motion she went to the darkest corner of the room, and, hid by the curtains of her bed, bent her knee. They were waiting for her down stairs in wonder Mary's toilet was seldom such a lengthy operation-but the floodgates of her heart were opened, and all her emotions, good and evil, were pouring forth in a deluge. She forgot everything except her own guiltiness, and the relief and ease it was to unburden herself to confess and empty all her heart. When she rose from her knees she had to bathe her face, so many traces of tears were on it. "Now, I will be good," said Mary with a smile which was bright and childlike, though it was tearful; and she tied on her bonnet with trembling hands, and went down to the little party that waited for her. The day was a brilliant one, fresh and sweet, and the river flashed gayly in the sunshine. After that preparation Mary's heart was open to be refreshed by the cheerful shining of the universal light.
CHAPTER XIII.-A VISIT.
and interest in the beautiful sister who was so like his own.
Zaidee, on her part, after her first recognition of Elizabeth-the eager glance from under her eyelids, which showed how little her beautiful cousin was changed-was completely engrossed by the children, those wonderful little unknown existences of whom she had never dreamed. In Zaidee's thoughts life had stood still with the family at the Grange; her fancy consented indeed to Elizabeth's marriage and to Percy's fame, but her mind had gone no further; and this rosy boy and these pretty girls burst upon her like a revelation: she could not withdraw her eyes from these new children-these members of the family for whom she was totally unprepared. She had been the youngest herself at home in the old days, and she was conscious of an amusing rivalry with this intrusive new generation. Perhaps they were not the only ones; perhaps there were other children besides these claiming an interest in the Grange; and Zaidee shyly took a seat in a corner with comical dismay.
Mrs. Cumberland, reclining back in her comfortable corner, as they pursued their way to town, had given herself up to "languor," or to thought. Her young companions were very silent both of them; for Mary did not find it suitable to disperse her better thoughts by talking of them, and Zaidee was full of silent anticipation, timidity, and longing. She was safe in her chang. ed looks and name-she had come through the scrutiny of Percy, and remained undiscovered; and though she trembled a little with eagerness and anxious interest, she was not afraid of Elizabeth! Elizabeth had been the idol of Zaidee's childish fancy, as of every other member of the family of the Grange; her wonderful beauty, her simplicity, the humbleness of her perfect womanhood, had given her a magical sway over all these fresh young hearts. Perhaps there was not one of them but had a wider range and a stronger impulse of life than she had, but within her own boundary there was a perfection and sweet repose in the mind of Elizabeth which every one "No, Philip, my boy, no more rides," said was soothed and strengthened by. Her young Percy, setting down his little cavalier. "Go and cousin's thoughts dwelt upon her image in the make your obeisance, you small rebel, and apolpast-wondered how far Mrs. Bernard Morton ogize for the use you have put your respectable might prove different from Elizabeth Vivian-uncle to. I am better than any pony, and half marvelled at her own resemblance to her. as good as an Arab, in Philp's apprehension, There was no lack of occupation for Zai- Mrs. Cumberland. The children estimate my dee's mind and memory as they drove towards powers very highly, I am glad to say—I am quite invaluable to them."
"Genius unbending-Genius in its sportive mood," said Mrs. Cumberland. "You are so fortunate, my dear Mrs. Morton; I envy you the constant society of one so richly endow
with a smile. She was very proud of her younger brother, but he was her younger brother still, and she smiled a little at these commendations, though she liked the speaker all the better for them."
And Captain Bernard was a member of Parliament, one of the legislators of the country-a man stepping forward to the sober precincts of middle age. They lived in a little house near the Parks, of which the fashion was more satis-ed." factory than the size. When Mrs. Cumberland "Do you mean Percy?" said Elizabeth Vivian and her young companions entered the small drawing-room, the first person who met their eyes was Mr. Vivian, with a rosy boy seated astride on his shoulders, holding his wavy hair for a bridle. Percy was flushed with the canter at which he had been carrying this small "Elizabeth is my elder sister, Miss Cumberequestrian round the very limited circle of the land," said Percy, coming confidentially and with apartment, and was, moreover, being called back a little embarrassment to Mary's side-" Elizaby two small nieces at the window, who re-beth is the ideal of domestic superiority for her ferred some dispute to Uncle Percy. A lit-brothers, at least. I cannot quite swallow aptle girl of five years old sat on a footstool plause in Elizabeth's presence; I have always a close by her mother, looking at a childish ludicrous sense of its inappropriateness. Mrs. picture-book with an air of childish abstrac- Cumberland is very kind, no doubt, but I would tion and thoughtfulness, and Mrs. Morton her- much rather she forgot those unfortunate books self rose to meet her visitors as they entered. in presence of Elizabeth." Mary Cumberland's quick eye, guided by what Percy had said, made an instant comparison between these two faces, which were said to resemble each other. It was indeed very strange. Mrs. Morton's expanded and matronly beauty was in the fulness of its bloom. Zaidee had still the shelter and the sweetness of the bud, coy and half-disclosed; and there were individual differences marked and visible-but the resemblance was enough to bewilder the looker-on. It seem ed the same face in different circumstances and linked to different spirits-the same, and yet another-something cast from the same mould, yet strangely diversified by a change of material. It was a very remarkable resemblance-quite to see the Grange?" enough to account for Percy's wondering looks Mary stammered something of being very
Is she not proud of them, then?" asked Mary, with a glance of wonder.
"You defeat me, Miss Cumberland; you kill the precious blossoms of my humility," said Percy, but still in an under-tone; "how shall I refuse to be applauded, think you, when you intoxicate me after this barbarous fashion? Yes, Elizabeth likes very well to hear of them; and I too have a home in the country, where I should like to show you how fiercely the feminine jury pronounce on the demerits of any hapless critic who falls upon Percy. Yes, that bubble reputation— they have real enjoyment of it, those good peo ple in Cheshire. Do you know I should like you
Why did Philip go away? She could not form an answer for herself.
glad; it took her by surprise to be so ad-ty. dressed.
"Yes: yet I am by no means sure that you "Zaidee, you must go up-stairs with Philip," would be pleased with it," said Percy, with one said the sweet voice of Elizabeth. With a start of his dubious glances; "our country is too of terror Zaidee listened; but saw that it was the bleak, and our climate too boisterous for your little studious girl with the picture-book, and fancy. I think I should succeed better in flow-not her changed and unknown self, who was adcry Hampshire, or sweet Devon, in pleasing you. What do you think? Do I guess your taste? Sweet English calm and comfort, with the winds and the storms far away?"
"I have very common_tastes," said Mary, shy of this conversation. "Does not every one prefer calm and comfort to the winds and the storms? "
dressed. This was almost too much for Zaidee's forced composure. She felt her heart leaping to her throat; her face flushed and paled with extreme emotion; she could scarcely keep the voice of her yearning silent. Zaidee!-they had not forgotten her; they had commemorated even her name.
"What a sweet name!-what a strange unusual name!" cried Mrs. Cumberland;" one may trace the poet's suggestion there, I am sure."
"I do, at least," said Percy; "I am of the Epicurean temper. My brother is of a different frame; the Cheshire gales are sweeter than Araby to him. Yet, poor fellow, he toils by the "No, indeed," said Elizabeth seriously, yet burning banks of the Ganges, and does kind with a smile; "my Zaidee is named for a dear things for everybody, and never thinks of him- child we lost from the Grange in a very extraorself. I am a very poor fellow to have such dinary way—a little cousin, an orphan, who was friends. A man who is brother to Philip Vivian very dear to us all. My little Zaidee is a great and Elizabeth ought to be a better man." favorite at home for her name's sake. Even The young listener to whom he was thus un-Percy there, who has a hundred nicknames for bosoming himself looked up at Percy with shy everybody, is too tender of this name to mock at glances and a swelling heart. More than all the it. Our first Zaidee-our lost child-we had self-assertion in the world, this compunction en- each of us a different contraction for her strange deared him to Mary. She could not continue to name; but no one likes to say Zay now-not close her heart, as she had vowed to do this even Sophy. We cannot play with poor Zai. morning. Involuntarily she smiled, wondering dee's name." within herself at the humility which fancied some small Cheshire squire or Indian merchant, or this Mrs. Morton, who was only the beautiful young wife of a middle-aged member of Parliament, superior to Percy Vivian, poet, author, man of letters. Literature had suddenly become the noblest of all professions to Mary-fame, the most dazzling of human possessions. She smiled at her hero's humility; it never entered into her head for an instant that Percy could be right.
There was a little pause which no one interrupt. ed, and then Mrs. Cumberland rose to take leave. Zaidee never knew how she reached the foot of that narrow staircase. She stumbled down the steps with a blindness upon her eyes, and a strange joy of grief about her heart. They remembered her-cared for-kept her name among them-in the family! But what misfortune was it which had driven Philip away?
But some one else was listening by her, with such a flush of interest and anxiety as scarcely The excitement of these discoveries was alcould be controlled. Yes, Percy was right; but most too much for Zaidee; her secret life-her Zaidee was proud he had the nobleness to own secret world her uncommunicated thoughts, this superior excellence; and Philip-why was pressed upon her heart like a nightmare. When Philip in India? What had the Squire of Briar-she had only the past to look back upon, she ford to do on the banks of the Ganges? What did this mean? It might betray her, but she could not restrain the question that came to her anxious lips. Percy had changed his position a little, and stood between them now. He was near enough to be addressed.
"What did your brother go to India for?" asked Zaidee, looking up with her old wistful
could muse over it in quiet; but here was the present, the living to-day, full of a world of surprises and undreamt-of chances, which her veiled and unknown existence must take no cognizance of, though they were nearest to her heart. It was to Zaidee as it might be to a spirit returned to the earth; she walked side by side with those who mourned for her, sat at their table, heard them speaking of herself, yet durst not reveal herself to their lingering tenderness, or make known to them the heart which glowed with answering affection. She walked in a dream the live-long day, her inner life differing so strange"We are not the richest family in the world," ly from her external one-as strangely as Elizasaid Percy, with a smile. "Philip is about a beth Cumberland, the beautiful daughter of these very commonplace business; he is making a for-kind people, differed from brown Zaidee Vivian, tane." the heiress of the Grange. They saw her beauty pale, and her mind become preoccupied, and Mrs. Cumberland "made allowance for youthful feelings;" and Mary, struck with penitence for her own conduct, made effort upon effort to win
Mr. Vivian looked extremely astonished, and so did Mary Cumberland. Their amazement made no difference in the anxious curiosity of the questioner.
But why did he need to make a fortune? The question was on Zaidee's lips; but she had prudence enough to restrain it. Her face grew troubled; her heart was full of yearning curiosi
back the confidence she fancied she had alienated, and wondered with an anxious heart what Percy Vivian might have to do with this musing heaviness. Percy had a great deal to do with it, but not as Mary supposed; and now, when Percy came and went about the house perpetually, Mary was no longer excited with causeless doubts. That the young man felt a singular interest in her beautiful sister was sufficiently apparent-that he followed Zaidee's looks and movements with a wondering regard, for which he himself could not account;-but something else was still more evident, and still more satisfactory. Percy did not worship at the feet of this more lofty and poetic beauty; he brought his homage to the sunny eyes, the lighter heart. and less fanciful spirit of Mary Cumberland; he had only interest and admiration to bestow upon her beautiful sister Elizabeth. And never yet, though they were come to be on very confidential terms, had Percy the slightest.opening for inquiry-the slightest reason to suspect that this beautiful Elizabeth was not the child of the house.
In other respects than this, the household was slightly jarring and uncomfortable. Mrs. Burtonshaw did not have her son's claims acknowledged as they should have been; the good lady found everybody around her, and herself not less than everybody, unexpectedly fascinated with this Mr. Percy Vivian, and she did not doubt that the young author would carry off Mary from under her very eyes, and amid the plaudits of Sylvo. Sylvo still looked with delight on Mr. Vivian's high-stepping horse, and admired the dashing style in which Mr. Vivian drew up at Mr. Cumberland's gate. Sylvo never suspected when his new friend laughed at him-never grew suspicious of the solemn assent which Mr. Vivian gave to his brilliant suggestions; and he had not the slightest objection to the new-comer's devotion to Mary, nor grumbled that her ear was engrossed and her attention occupied night after night. Mr. Cumberland and Mrs. Cumberland were equally indifferent; all the discretion in the house was embodied in the person of Mrs. Burtonshaw, and even her remonstrances and representations failed to open the eyes of this careless father and mother to the danger of their child.
should the poor boy have a wife? He does not want a wife; he would much rather be left to his travels and Mr. Mansfield."
"That is the very thing I am afraid of,” said Mrs. Burtonshaw. "Why, Mary, my love, if it is not soon, Sylvo will go away."
"Dear Aunt Burtonshaw, it must not be soon," said Mary, growing red and serious; "and indeed you must not speak of it again. Poor Sylvo, he deserves better than to have me laughing at him, and you speaking as if he were a child. You should hear what Elizabeth says."
"What does Elizabeth say?" asked Mrs. Burtonshaw, with great curiosity.
Zaidee had to be recalled from her own thoughts by a repetition of the question before she heard it. "I only say that Sylvo is very good and very kind, and ought to have some one who cares for him," said Zaidee, dismissing the subject quietly. It was more important to Aunt Burtonshaw than it was to Zaidee. She looked from one to the other with a new light thrown on her thoughts. "Mary does not care for Sylvo; Elizabeth does," said Aunt Burtonshaw within herself. She was quite excited with her imagined discovery. She recalled the paleness, the abstraction, the many silent thoughts and hours of musing which had slightly separated Zaidee from the family. Look ing back, she found that these unquestionable tokens of "falling in love" had all made their appearance since Sylvo came to Twickenham, She could scarcely refrain from going at once to this pensive young martyr of a secret attachment, and caressing her into hope and cheerfulness. "I am sure Sylvo will be a happy man," said Mrs. Burtonshaw with a little emphasis. Alas! Sylvo was so unimportant a person in the eyes of those ungrateful young ladies, that neither of them observed how emphatic his mother's words were; but Mrs. Burtonshaw's own thoughts did not let the matter rest. She resolved that the poor dear" should not pine in vain for Sylvo. She resolved that Sylvo's hopes should change their direction without delay. Mary, indeed, had been destined for him from the cradle, but Eliza beth was certainly the next best when Mary did not care for him; and then such a beauty! Mrs. Burtonshaw--a wisewoman--finding that she could not have exactly what she would, instantly burst into delight with the substitute which she could "I wanted very much to have a little girl my-have. She did not love Mary less, but she loved self when Sylvo was born," said Mrs. Burtonshaw solemnly; but when I found that I had got a big boy, and when by-and-by the little girl came to Maria Anna, of course I very soon came to a decision, my love. I set my heart upon it when you were in your cradle, Mary. I said to myself, Here is my Sylvo, now he shall wait for his little cousin. He is a good boy; he will be guided by his mother, and I shall take care never to lose sight of this sweet little darling till she is my Sylvo's wife.' I have never lost sight of you, Mary, my dear child, and you could not be so cruel as to break my heart now."
"No, indeed, Aunt Burtonshaw," said Mary, laughing and blushing; "but why should you break your heart? Sylvo's heart would not break, I am sure, if I were to run away to-morrow, and I belong to you now as much as Sylvo does. Why
Elizabeth more. She abounded in caresses and in delicate allusions to her dear child's "feelings." Poor Zaidee had no mercy shown to her on one side or the other. Perfectly guileless of “falling in love" as she was, she was concluded to be over head and ears in it by both parties in the house. Mrs. Cumberland pathetically assured the wondering Zaidee, "Ah, my love, I know woman's heart." And Mrs. Burtonshaw, with equal tenderness, said, "Come with me, my dar ling, and look for Sylvo." There was no refuge for her between the two; she must either be smitten with the charms of Sylvester, or bound to Mr. Vivian's chariot-wheels. Mary, who sometimes was a little troubled, fearing for the last of these misfortunes, had a wicked delight in the absurdity of the former one. She increased Aunt Burtonshaw's delusion with the greatest gloe.
Mary's conscience was clear now of all her own | Elizabeth; but everybody knows the difference misbehavior. She was once more Zaidee's most between an ugly house and a graceful one. Where loving sister, and Zaidee had forgiven and for- does nature tolerate such angles as these four gotten her evil manners. Mary was in the corners? and what are all her graceful curves and highest spirits, without a drawback upon her hap-rounded outlines for, but that we should enjoy piness, except the fear which sometimes glanced them? There is the line of a mountain, now, in across her, that her companion really had an un- this admirable book, and there is the line of a fortunate liking for Mr. Vivian. This, however, leaf; look at them, sister Burtonshaw, and then was too transitory, and had too slight a founda- look at this square block of brick and mortar, tion to give any permanent trouble to her mind; the thing is a monster-it is at discord with eveand Mary was in the highest flow of her naturally rything." happy disposition, and gave herself full scope. Aunt Burtonshaw's delusion grew more and more complete under her exertions. "I only trust you may be as happy yourself, my dear love," said Aunt Burtonshaw, "and then I will be content."
"So you will build a house shaped like a mountain, Mr. Cumberland?" said Mrs. Burtonshaw, who had made up her mind never to be astonished again.
"I shall employ such a selection of natural lines as will produce the most perfect whole," Meanwhile Zaidee wandered on through that said Mr. Cumberland. "Never fear, sister Burother world of hers, of which they were all igno- tonshaw, we will bring something quite unique rant. Mrs. Bernard Morton came to Twickenham out of it-not a square box, I promise you. We to return Mrs. Cumberland's visit. Mr. Percy will bring in a new era in domestic architecture. Vivian came almost every day. She heard them I am a candid man-I never shut my mind to speak the names familiar to her-she listened to conviction; if there is no one else in England the family allusions now and then made by the bold enough to embody these principles in stone brother and sister, which she alone understood in and lime, I am. Sylvo, my boy, if you can't this company of strangers. Mrs. Morton won-rebuild, you can have your house decorated at dered why the beautiful Miss Cumberland would least. How do you excuse yourself for presentstay so pertinaciously in her corner, and Percy ing nothing to the eyes of your peasants but a began to fancy that those sweet lips, which never larger hut-a cottage on a great scale? A landed opened, had really nothing to say. "She is very proprietor ought to be a public educator, Sylvo. unlike the other members of the family," Eliza- You don't appreciate your position, sir." beth Vivian said; and they both felt so strange an interest in her so much curiosity-that she puzzled their observation exceedingly. Quite unconscious that any one remarked her, perfectly unaware of the interpretations given to her abstraction, Zaidee went upon her silent way. The secrecy which, when it concerned the past alone, was no burden to her, oppressed her now like a thundery and sultry atmosphere. The flush of secret excitement varied her paleness with a feverish hectic, her sweet composure was disturbed and broken, and all her life seemed subsidiary to those moments of intense and eager interest in which she sat listening to Elizabeth and Percy in their involuntary references to their home.
CHAPTER XV.-A NEW THOUGHT.
"The use of ornament is to make us happy." Mr. Cumberland laid down his book, and looked around the room. "This is an extremely common-place apartment, Maria Anna-the house altogether is the most prosaic affair in the world, Sister Burtonshaw. Who could be happier, now, passing up or down the river, for the sight of such a house as this?'
"The house is a very comfortable house, Mr. Cumberland," said Mrs. Burtonshaw. "I do not see, for my part, what we have to do with the people in the steamboats, whether it makes them happy or not."
These are the degenerate ideas which belong to this age, sister Burtonshaw," said the philosopher. "Do you mean to say that I discharge my duty to the commonwealth when I build a square box, and congratulate myself that it is comfortable? I do not see that the world in general has any concern with my comfort. To the mass of people this is quite an indifferent subject, sister
Sylvo's "ha, ha," rung like a distant chorus upon the somewhat high-pitched treble of his respectable uncle, but Mrs. Burtonshaw was roused for her son's honor. "If Sylvo pays a schoolmaster, I assure you he does very well, Mr. Cumberland," said Mrs. Burtonshaw. "What has he to do teaching classes? And you are extremely mistaken if you think Sylvo's place is only a cottage on a great scale. It is a very handsome mansion, Mr. Cumberland—a gentlemanly residence, the advertisement said it might do for any landed proprietor in England. Yes, Elizabeth, my love, it is a very excellent house."
"I am quite astonished that I can have shut my eyes to it so long," said Mr. Cumberland, too zealous about his own house to care for Sylvo's. "There is an inhuman character, a hardness and pitilessness about our architecture, which is sufficiently striking when one comes to consider. Fancy some poor creature now passing this house in a storm, sister Burtonshaw-where is the roofed porch and the grateful seat to give shelter to the traveller? I must set about it at once."
"What is Mr. Cumberland to set about at once ? said Mrs. Burtonshaw, with a little scream. "A porch to shelter vagrants-at our very door- and you will give in to him, Maria Anna! I have never been considered pitiless to the poor. I have always helped my fellow creatures when I had opportunity," continued the good lady, raising her head with offence; "but to have a porch full of vagabonds on a rainy day, whoever might happen to call! It is a great deal too much, Mr. Cumberland. It is not benevolence, it is only fancy that goes so far."
But Mr. Cumberland, who was making magnificent designs on paper-gables and pinnacles enough to strike Nürnberg with envy, and carry