CHAPTER I.

In Rome, on a bright sunny morning in the month of March, 186–, two ladies were seated in a drawing-room, the windows of which looked upon the Corso. Mother and daughter they evidently were; and, as they play a prominent part in this story, we may be permitted to devote a short time to describing them.

As a mark of respect to age, we shall give the elder lady precedence. Although she was dressed in black, and seated at a table working, one could judge that her figure was tall and elegant. In her youth she had been a great beauty; yet it could not be said that strong traces of that beauty still lingered over those thin, worn features, for "sorrows, nor few, nor light," had set their mark upon them. But neither time nor grief had destroyed the calm, gentle expression of that countenance, ever ready to light up with a cheerful[2] smile and look happy in the happiness of others. Her character may be expressed in a single word—devotedness. As daughter, sister, wife, and mother, her whole life had been one almost unbroken act of self-sacrifice. Most of those whom she loved had been taken from her while she was still in the bloom of life; her children alone remained. The two elder—a son and a daughter—were married, and therefore, in some degree, lost to her, so that Flora, her second daughter, was the only one really left; and in this, her

youngest child, was centred Mrs. Adair's every hope and thought. Their affection was mutual: Flora Adair believed herself to be blessed indeed in her mother.

And now let us turn to the young lady. We are obliged to confess that, although she is considered to be like her mother, it is a resemblance not boasting of much physical beauty. A sad drawback this, doubtless, to a heroine; but, according to the old saying, "what can't be cured must be endured." Her figure, however, was really good; she was about the middle height, with tiny hands and feet, a broad forehead, blue eyes—fairly large and dark—a small but well-formed nose, round cheeks, a large mouth, with a tolerably good, but an over-crowded, range of teeth; a complexion far from bright or clear, and[3] a profusion of dark brown hair brushed off her forehead, and twisted round the back of her head in thick plaits. Such is our heroine's picture—not a very attractive one, it may be said, and of this no one was more fully conscious than Flora Adair herself.

As to her character, she was generally looked upon as cold, and somewhat haughty, yet she was really rather indifferent than haughty; but how often is indifference of manner called haughtiness in the world! Her seeming coldness in a great measure came from a shrinking dread of forcing herself upon others. It is true she cared but little for society, and found a young lady's life weary and objectless; her constant thought was how to make the hours go faster. Had any one asked her why she found them so long, she would probably have borrowed her answer from Shakespeare, and have said—

Something of all this could be seen in her listless air, as she sat there near the window, not reading, but with a book in her hand, gazing out vacantly, as if to ask, "How shall I get through to-day? Will it be anything more interesting than usual?" Better, perhaps, had it not been so, some would say—better had the blank been left[4] unfilled, as she was now but negatively unhappy, the unhappiness arising from her own disposition, ever yearning for something more, something deeper, than she had yet known; and also because she had not yet learned that "the first principle of wisdom is to be satisfied with that which is;" or "in the state in which she was therewith to be content."

Which is the better lot:—a short spell of deep happiness and after misery, or an even life, unmarked by great joy or great sorrow? Flora Adair would answer, "Give me, were it only for a short time, intense happiness, at any cost; no price is too great for it, or it would be worth nothing!" So that had the choice been offered to her she would have taken the very lot which was destined for her.

There was another member of their little circle, a young lady of about Flora's age, named Lucy Martin, who was travelling with the Adairs, and who was absent for a few days on a visit to some friends at Albano: as she shortly afterwards returned home, it is needless to describe her more fully.

Mrs. Adair looked at her watch, and said, "Half-past ten, Flora; and the Eltons are to call for us at eleven. We had better get ready."

Flora followed her mother out of the room,[5] letting her book fall, rather than placing it, upon the table.

Soon after, the carriage came, and away they drove with their friends to Frascati, where they were to have a croquet match, and an al-fresco dinner given by Mrs. Elton. Their party now consisted of that lady herself, her son and younger daughter, and the Adairs. At the place of rendezvous—the Villa Torlonia—they were to meet the rest of their friends.

It was a soft, balmy day, such as, in the middle of March, can only be enjoyed in Italy; the hot, bright sun tempered by the fresh breeze of early spring, and the air perfumed by the fragrance of the wild flowers, which so abound in southern lands. Out of the Porta San Giovanni and along the Via Tusculum lies the road to Frascati, bounded on one side by the Alban hills, and on the other by the desert Campagna.

The desultory conversation which was carried on during the drive consisted of the usual subjects talked of among strangers in Rome, and during Lent:—"How do you like Rome? What have you seen? Have you obtained tickets for all the ceremonies of Holy Week?" The horrors of crushing at these ceremonies—histories told of ladies having had their veils torn off, their prayer-books dashed from their hands, and, as a climax,[6] fainting—as, on a memorable occasion, when a stalwart English lady called out to the crowd ruthlessly pressing upon a falling victim, "Take her up—take her up! for if she is killed we shall all be shut out from the Cena!"

In the course of the drive, Helena Elton said suddenly to Flora, "Have you happened to meet with a Mr. Earnscliffe who is here now?"

"No. What of him? Is he anything out of the common?"

"Rather," rejoined Miss Helena, who slightly indulged in mild slang, and generally answered in a prolonged, emphasised manner, "rather," when she meant to say "very much," "exceedingly," &c.

"Then tell me something of him. What is he like?" asked Flora.

"Like something very tall, strong, handsome, and aristocratic in appearance; in manner, proud and distant, certainly not a lady-worshipper."

"And very rich," interposed Mrs. Elton. "I knew his parents most intimately, but they both died when he was quite a child, and I had lost sight of the family altogether, until by chance we met him abroad a short time ago. Earnscliffe Court is a magnificent place."

"A capital speculation, Helena," said Flora, with a smile. "Do you enter the lists? As you[7] seem to think the conquest a difficult one, it might be worth a struggle."

"Oh! he is not in my line at all—I should be afraid of him; but if you think so much of the prize you should enter the lists yourself."

"No, no, Helena, I am not so foolish as to risk a defeat for what I do not value; besides, I am neither pretty nor fascinating. How, then, could I catch this modern Childe Harold, as you describe him? Moreover, I hate a bon parti. I shall never marry, unless I meet with one whom I can admire and love beyond all the world!"

The conversation did not seem to please Mrs. Elton, who cut it short by saying, "It is all very well to read about desperate love in novels; but, believe me—and I have seen a great deal of the world—marriages based upon calm respect and affection are far happier than your ardent love matches. You will understand this, dear child, when you are a little older."

Helena shrugged her shoulders, and murmured in an under tone, meant only for Flora's ear, "Oh, have I not heard enough of all this!"

"Well, Mrs. Elton," replied Flora, "I am not such a child after all! I am more than one-and-twenty, and can vouch for it that I will never have anything to say to a marriage based upon 'calm respect and affection!'"

[8]

Mrs. Adair—who had remained silent, quietly amused at this animated discussion—now thought that it was going a little too far, and managed to change the conversation.

Shortly afterwards they arrived at the entrance to the Villa Torlonia, where they alighted, and the coachman drove to the hotel in Frascati to await their order to return.

The villa is but a stone's-throw from the town: a magnificent terrace leads to the large, rambling, white building, in which one could well imagine half-a-dozen families living with separate households. The view from the front is grand indeed. Beneath the windows, and across the high road before them, is the Casino, with its pretty gardens; beyond this, and far below, stretches out the great Campagna, and Rome, with her countless domes and steeples gleaming in the sun.

The grounds of the villa are, in their style, very beautiful and extensive, although to our English eyes somewhat stiff and formal, cut up as they are by broad avenues, with their majestic lines of trees. Across the centre, and leading from the grand terrace, a wide opening shows an artificial grotto, cascade, and basin; a flight of covered steps on either side of the abundant stream of falling water winds under this cascade, and leads to a terrace above, from behind which[9] spreads out a beautiful bosquet, the bounds of which are entirely hidden by thick foliage. The outer walls of these steps are so overgrown by luxuriant vegetation as to be completely masked, so that, on approaching, these apertures look like entrances to subterranean caverns.

This picturesque cascade was the place of rendezvous; towards it, therefore, our friends were proceeding, when Charles Elton, who had for a moment or two been watching a figure moving among the trees, exclaimed, "By Jove, there's Earnscliffe!"

"How delightful!" rejoined Mrs. Elton. "Now he cannot avoid making one of our party. Go quickly, Charles, and overtake him: we will follow."

Charles soon captured the retreating Mr. Earnscliffe, who had just seen the Eltons, and was making a desperate, but vain, effort to escape. He could not pretend that he did not hear Charles, so with a tolerably good grace he turned and surrendered.

"Where on earth were you going so fast?" said Charles, nearly out of breath. "Here is my mother, who is determined on making you join our party!"

"Indeed!" accompanied by anything but a look of pleasure.

[10]

Mrs. Elton advanced to meet him with outstretched hands. "How charming to find you here, Mr. Earnscliffe; you cannot well refuse to join us, see the croquet, and partake of a cold dinner. I would have written to invite you, but that I so feared a refusal, feeling certain that you would not think our croquet party worth the loss of a day from Rome's immortal ruins. I do so wish I could prevail upon you to accompany us to some of them; how delightful it would be to have such a guide!"

"Pray be undeceived, Mrs. Elton; I should be but a very poor guide for you; believe me, 'Murray' would be much more instructive, and would enable you to talk far more learnedly about those things than I could."

Was there not a covert sneer in those words? The lady, however, did not see it, or appeared not to do so. As a possible husband for one of her daughters, many things must be pardoned in him which would not be passed over in a poor younger son. She replied with a smile, "Well, we can arrange that at some other time; for the present, having caught you here, we may of course count upon your remaining with us." Taking his answer for granted, she continued, "Allow me to present my friends, Mrs. and Miss Adair." Mr. Earnscliffe bowed to the Adairs, shook hands with[11] Helena, and then walked on with Mrs. Elton towards the cascade.

Mrs. Elton opened the conversation with that very original question, "How do you like Rome, Mr. Earnscliffe?"

"In what way do you mean?—as she was once, the mistress of the world, and her people a nation of kings; or as she is now, the decrepid representative of all the superstitions of bygone ages?"

Mrs. Elton laughed approvingly; but Flora, who was walking close behind with Charles Elton, said, in a slightly subdued tone, "See what prejudice will do! I do wonder how persons, otherwise noble and generous, can say such things simply for the pleasure of abusing what they do not understand, and therefore dislike!"

"Oh! Miss Adair, he might have heard you," exclaimed Charles Elton.

"N'importe!" said Flora, with an impatient shrug of her shoulders.

Almost at the same moment, Mr. Earnscliffe, who, notwithstanding Mrs. Elton's efforts to drown Flora's voice, had heard every word, turned and bowed to her, saying, with rather a scornful smile, "Bravo, Miss Adair, you are quite an apostle, and I, according to you, am something very like a simpleton!"

"I did not say that," she answered, blushing;[12] "it would have been rude and untrue; but, were you to think of it, I am sure you will admit that what I did say is true."

He smiled, returned to Mrs. Elton, and said, "Adair!—a Scotch name?"

"An Irish name, also; my friends are Irish."

"Indeed, one might have guessed it, from the spirit of the young lady's observations."

"Mamma," interrupted Helena, "there they are all at the cascade waiting for us; and I see Thomas, too, with the croquet boxes."

"Well, my dear, we are going to them; don't be impatient."

This injunction was given in vain. Helena had already darted off to her friends at the cascade. They consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Penton,—both young; the lady, tall, slight, and dark,—very elegant, but apparently haughty, and evidently accustomed to be admired; the gentleman, a large and rather an unwieldy figure, with a sandy complexion, and a heavy, although good expression of countenance; Mary Elton, Helena's sister, and somewhat like her, but in manner as grave and sedate as the other was gay and thoughtless; Mr. Mainwaring, and Mr. Caulfield,—the latter, a good-looking, bright, laughing Irishman; the former, an Englishman, and particularly grave and solemn.

[13]

Helena was received with marked pleasure. Her great liveliness made her a general favourite. She was soon in deep conversation with Mary and the gentlemen about the selection of the croquet ground, while the Pentons turned to greet the others who had just come up.

Mrs. Elton announced, in a delighted tone, that they had been fortunate enough to meet and capture Mr. Earnscliffe. "What an addition to our party, is it not, Mary?" turning to her eldest daughter.

"Yes," Mary replied, quickly; "we are all, I am sure, very happy to see Mr. Earnscliffe. Does he condescend to play croquet?"

"I have never played," said he; "but I have seen people knocking balls about with things like long-handled mallets. That is croquet, I believe?"

"Oh, Mr. Earnscliffe," exclaimed Helena, "what a description to give of playing croquet! But whatever you may think of it, I find it very jolly fun, and mean to lose no time before setting to work."

"To play, you mean, Miss Elton!" said a voice behind her; and on turning round she found that Mr. Caulfield was the corrector, whereupon she at once gaily attacked him.

"I never heard of such audacity, Mr. Caulfield; you, a Hibernian, to venture to correct me, a true[14] Briton, in the use of my own language! Take care that you don't get a defeat at croquet for this!"

"I am sure it will not be your fault, Miss Elton, if I do not"—in an aside, meant only for her ear—"But have you not conquered already, though not, perhaps, at croquet?"

She got a little red, and said quickly, "This is all waste of time! Mary, you said you had seen a place that would do beautifully for us; so, lead on. I will go and see that Thomas has all the things right."

Mary did as she was desired, while her sprightly sister, followed by Mr. Caulfield, ran back to the servant to see that all was in order.

Helena and her companion were enjoying themselves greatly, if loud laughter is a sign of enjoyment. At length they came running after the others to a broad grassy alley, bordered and overhung by wide-spreading trees. This was the place which Mary had spoken of, and, fortunately, it met with Helena's approval. "Oh, yes, Mary, this will do, capitally," she said; "and there is shade, too, under these trees. Mark out the ground, place the arches and the balls, and give me a croquet-stick!"

"Yes, miss," replied Thomas, who seemed quite an adept at arranging the playground.[15] Having done this to his young mistress's satisfaction, he approached Mrs. Elton and asked where the dinner was to be laid.

"It is true, we have not chosen where we shall dine. Caroline," to Mrs. Adair, "will you come with me and seek a nice place for our repast, while the young people begin their game? We can trust them to Mrs. Penton's chaperoning for a few moments, although she is too young and too pretty for such a post."

Mrs. Penton laughed, and said, "You may very safely trust them to me, and I will give you a good account of my stewardship when you return. So you may go in peace."

Mr. Caulfield, who helped Helena to arrange the game, now struck his "mallet," as Mr. Earnscliffe had named it, three times on one of the balls in order to attract attention; and called out, "Who will play? Will you, Mrs. Penton?"

"Not just yet. I will sit down and look on for the present; later, perhaps, I may take a turn."

"Then the players are, the Misses Elton, Miss Adair, Penton, Mainwaring, Elton?"

"Nay," interrupted Charles, "I am quite unable to play to-day."

"Mr. Earnscliffe?" continued Mr. Caulfield, inquiringly.

[16]

"I know nothing of the game, and I should not like to make my first essay among such proficients as, I presume, you all are."

"Then there only remains my humble self to make up the party. Now for the division; you ladies should draw lots for choosing sides."

"I dare say Flora is as willing as I am to yield this to Helena," said Mary. "If so, we need not take the trouble of drawing lots."

Flora smiled assent, when Helena exclaimed, "Very green of you both. However, it is your affair, not mine; and as I am decidedly the gainer by it, I ought not to object. First, then, I choose Flora; secondly, Mr. Mainwaring. I leave Mary to manage Mr. Penton and Mr. Caulfield; no easy matter, I can answer for it, with regard to the latter gentleman."

"How cruel not to choose me as one of your subjects," he said in a light tone, yet looking a little annoyed.

"Choose you for a subject! Not for worlds. I shall delight in croqueting you; and this, of course, I could not do if you were on my side. But as my enemy, you shall be well croqueted!" and as her foot rested upon one of the balls near her, she looked laughingly at him, and struck the ball lightly with her "mallet."

The elder ladies now returned; the gentlemen[17] placed stools for them near to Mrs. Penton; and, after some jesting about the conduct of her charge during their absence, the game commenced.