ALL THE YEAR ROUND. A WEEKLY JOURNAL. CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS. yo. 301.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 1865. NEVER FORGOTTEN. PART THE SECOND. CHAPTER XXII. FOREBODINGS. MISS MANUEL had returned. She had been at Torquay, or at St. Leonard's, or at some of those sheltered winter corners where invalids go to £nd colour and strength. This her world supposed; her court of writers and "clergymanical" reviewers, all knew this; and when they made their congratulations on her return, never suspected that her fresh brilliancy was owing to the keen breezes of the little dun town so far away. She returned with all the enthusiasm of triumph. Almost on the day of her arrival she met Major Carter. He had heard of her visit. He had fallen in with Fermor, who, in a pettish way, had told of her sudden departure. "She is gone, God knows where, and has told nobody." Which speech disturbed the major not a little. Now, as she passed him to enter a shop, there was a look of insolent victory in her face, which made him yet more uneasy, and sent him home thoughtful. If he had only watched her carefully for the rest of the day, he would not have slept that night. [PRICE 2d. unsuspecting Major Carter was already hanging a spectral sword of Damocles, and as it swung and shook, he felt himself brought within its cold shadow, and shivered; but the world was going so pleasantly with him, that he shook off all disagreeable thoughts for the present. Mrs. Fermor, full of enthusiasm and young affection, had soon shut out the memory of what she had heard during her night-watch, and came eagerly to welcome her friend back again. She had worked herself into a sort of romantic love for this friend; and though she felt again, when ascending the stairs, something of her old recollections, when she entered and saw Miss Manuel sitting nearly as "bright" as ever, she forgot it, and ran forward to embrace her with real affection. "I am so glad, so delighted, to see you down again," she said, with a sort of punctuation, as it were, of kissing. Pauline tried to be cold, but her resolution gave way before the genuine delight of this faithful little woman. Then she turned from her suddenly and sharply, and she called herself (mentally) "She-Judas!" say," she added, a little ruefully, for she again thought of what she had heard during the nightwatching, "you do not care so much for me?" And she looked at her wistfully. "I am so glad!" said Mrs. Fermor. "I never discovered until you were ill how much I liked you. I don't know why; we have For early that morning Mr. Speedy had re-known each other for so short a time; and I dare ceived a fairy-looking note at his Irrefragable office, and was almost intoxicated at finding in it a request that he would, after office hours, wait on Miss Manuel at her house. From that day he became generally superior to homely Mrs. Speedy. The note was long preserved in the Speedy archives, and it lay for many a day on the top of the other notes in the little basket. Major Carter was not passing, or he would have seen Mr. Speedy with a new pair of gloves going in, and Major Carter was not Asmodeus Carter, or he would have frantically torn away the front of that house, of all houses in London, to see and hear Miss Manuel and the man of business sitting close, and talking with extraordinary eagerness. Major Carter did not watch the terminus at Euston-square for the night-train to start, or he would have seen a muffled Mr. Speedy drive up and take a ticket for Bangor, on "special mission," as it was said at the office, where he was missed next day. On this "special mission," sent by order of the directors, he was away more than a week. Thus over the head of "Why should you think that ?" said Pauline. "You know I like you, and indeed I feel grateful for all you have done for me. I only learnt today how you nursed and watched me. And it has distressed me more than you would suppose. I wanted nobody," and she added, a little vehemently, " and you-not for the world. You might have caught it. But I am indeed grateful." And again she turned sharply, and called herself Judas. "I never thank," she went on earnestly. "They tell me I am cold, and do not feel obligations. So that you will understand, if I should ever appear not to value what you have done as it deserves to be valued, you will set it down to the right cause. Don't judge me too harshly; there may be more behind than you know of. We may not all have our free will." Deeply mystified at the beseeching manner with which this was said, Mrs. Fermor knew not what to make of it. "I don't know," she said, "but I am sure you will be always kind and good." She added, piteously, "I seem to have no friends now. I have so few to care for me, and those few- She stopped. "But your husband," said Miss Manuel, "is not he all in all, as they put it ?" The little lady's little brow contracted. Her eyes fell towards the ground. "I dare say it is my fault," she said. "It may be. I am very young and foolish. Perhaps if I had some one to advise and counsel me, some kind person that understands me, or would try and understand me. I thought of this very often during the nights that I was with you. From the very first day I was attracted to you-I felt that you would aid and assist me in some difficulty. And now I am sure, if I were to put confidence in you and tell you my little troubles, you, who I think are beginning to like me-you who are so good and noble Miss Manuel, who had been listening with her eyes fixed on the other, turned hastily and rose. "No, no," she said, "not to me. To any one in the world but me. I am not fit to advise any one. Good and noble! No, no. Wicked, rather. I have no will, no strength. I am a weak, miserable being. Leave me, leave me quick. I am ill still, I believe, and talk absurdly. Leave me now. I shall be better to-morrow." Mrs. Fermor departed, sad and wondering. When she was gone, Pauline fell upon and buried her face in the cushions of a sofa, sobbing wildly. Good God! good God! what am I coming to? What devilish task is this I have plunged into? Destroying the innocent, poisoning the pure! No, no-save me, save me; and spare that poor, gentle, tender, confiding thing!" She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and she started up. "Whom would you spare ?" said her brother, scornfully; that girl who has just left you? Never, by my soul! never! not while I live! If your hand fails, then is mine ready -far rougher, and far more deadly. So choose. I am growing impatient. It is too long. Ah, Pauline! you treat an oath lightly, it seems. Your memory is growing weak. To me it seems but last night, and that our darling Violet is lying in the next room. Come, take a serious warning, or, as sure as I live, I go out into the open roads and make shorter work of it. I shall, surely as I live!" He then looked round and round the room with a suspicious glare, as if some one was concealed. "How can you want me to tell you of these things? I want no promptings. My heart carries me-on only too fast. You are forgetting, and will soon have forgotten. I never can forget. I saw her last night—” He stopped, looking round wildly. She was frightened, and soothed him. "Now, Louis," she said, "depend on me. Leave all to me. Indeed I have not forgotten, and never, never shall." Those words of his often repeated themselves; but latterly she had noticed they grew more intense, and lasted longer. "No," she said, "I must go on. He is right. The guilty still flourish, and shall be overtaken." CHAPTER XXIII. LADY LAURA STILL WORKING. THE glowing cheek and rich red lip, for which Mrs. Fermor was noted, were paling off into lighter tones. A wrung and wistful look was in her bright eyes. In her little soul, a stiff strong stubborn pride was working. It had worked its way, like a strong current through the earth of an embankment; and the "breach," as it would be called, between her and her "lord," was widening with every fresh day. She went out a good deal into "society," where, like many wandering married ladies, whose lords do not choose to wander with them, she found plenty of pleasant friends and strangers to chatter with, and even-to use the goodnatured word which conveniently cloaks up so many derelictions-even to "flirt" with. Had a friendly lady on an ottoman close by introduced that word to her, she would have coloured up, and gathered in the folds of her dress with noisy rustle, and indignantly played the respectable young woman outraged. With her it was all homage, and intellectual talk with clever men-the old moral spring-guns and "gins" of fatal power and mischief. Mrs. Fermor, therefore, was seen at many parties, and the observant remarked that "that Mr. Romaine" was at nearly all the houses where Mrs. Fermor was seen. There was an intimate air in his manner, the observant observed, which she herself was conscious of, and struggled against. He had the look of coming with her there, and of taking her away, though in effect he did neither. He saw her down to halls, and there imperiously took her cloak from another holding it for her to put on. And though he did not go near her much in rooms, she had a feeling that she was always under his eyes. She began to feel, indeed, that this must not go further, and had determined that, as soon as the holy work in his regard she had put her hand to was satisfactorily accomplished, it should cease. Poor quick vivacious little soul! impetuous, aggrieved, with a sore heart under her tulle, she was kept up by her pride. That "holy work" she had undertaken was pretty near to being accomplished. It was said that Mrs. Massinger's marriage had made no such brilliant impression as was reckoned on (one of her professional critics said she was "curdy"), and the town resented it as if it were her fault. The noble earl who looked to those matters, and "rated" belles as seamen are rated, before and after the mast, had smiled contemptuously as he looked down on her through his gold "pinchnose," as the French call it. Blancmange, my good Fitzroy," he said, shutting up his "pinchnose." 'Blancmange, and no more. There are people, of course, who like blancmange." The neophyte was behaving valiantly. It did seem as though he would be firm in his faith. But already the Fiery Cross of Scandal had been softly passed round by the full fat fingers of dowagers, and the irrevocable "coupling" of her name with that of Mr. Romaine had taken place. Poor foolish, little, innocent, helpless married woman! The turbaned vultures were already fluttering heavily in the air overhead. Fermor, the "fallen - short man," homme manqué, was still wrapped in his moodiness as in a cloak. There was bitterness in everything he chewed. Presently, a good-natured elderly man, with grey whiskers and a gold double eye-glass, with a ribbon and square glasses, came up to him confidentially one evening, and laying the gold glasses on Fermor's shirt, said: "My dear fellow, I know you are a man of sense, and will not take ill what is said by a man old enough to be your father-but-er-I want to speak-about" (cough) "Mrs.-er-Fermor." Fermor looked at him sharply, and grew hot. "What would you say about Mrs. Fermor ?" "Well," said the other, "it is merely as a friend, you know, and "O, of course," said the other, bitterly; "it is always friends who bring us good news. Well ?" "You see, the world," said the other, stretching out his glass in the direction of the world, but being brought up suddenly by the shortness of the ribbon, "You see, the world, my dear fellow, is censorious, and I do think, if you went a little more out with Mrs. Fermor, especially to those parties which that half-savage fellow Romaine frequents دو This came as news indeed for Fermor. "This, then, is the game ?" he thought. "I am to be ridiculous through town; the mari complaisant; the easy-tempered jackass. Let her treat me as :she pleases at home, but I will not be pointed at." To the next party, Captain Fermor announced sullenly that he was going. "With all my heart," said Mrs. Fermor, gaily. "I hope you will go to others too." Fermor laughed scornfully. "We shall see." Lady Laura was still fighting the fashionable "good fight." She was labouring on with her old constancy, and seemed to have gained fresh spirit, though not fresh strength. The face was growing yet longer; the worn cheeks yet more worn; but the eye had the old keen wary ken, and swept the line of men with the nicest appreciation, like a general's. Yet there were many things to damp and discourage her. Though successful with Alicia Mary, whom, with infinite pains and struggling, she had made Mrs. Onslow Piper, still that alliance had brought with it serious charges, and some terrible expenses. Trousseau and breakfast were the least of these; but at the last moment young Piper, with an aggrieved manner, as though he were making this proposal a test for whether he had been "taken in" or no, struck," and bluntly and suspiciously said it was due to his selfrespect to "get something;" that his friends said it was "a shame." And though the poor ladycaptain did what she could, the odds were too 66 : great, and she had to wring out of her own allowance something that would satisfy the greedy youth. There was the London house too, and the London carriage, and London riding horses on job, and the London milliner, Madame Adelaide but months ago the job-master had talked to Lady Laura in her own hall as if she had been one of his stable-boys; and Madame Adelaide, once sweet and full of lively compliments, was now showing her teeth, and snarling about "her attorney." Yet she fought on, laboured on, for there was hope. Blanche, younger and fresher than Alicia Mary, had somehow been attracting that young Lord Spendlesham, just burst from his guardians, and who, in truth, fancied Blanche. Actually "the thing" was making progress, and Blanche, wearing always a look of devout adoration, and following the noble youth with steady eyes wherever he moved, conveyed the idea of a hopeless idolatry not unpleasing. Lady Laura had friends-good faithful contemporaries-who gave the boy a smile of encouragement, and remarked to him the "fine girl there" who never took her eyes off him. Young Spendlesham-unconsciously selfishthrew out carelessly many whims and wishes, which were gratified at great cost to the family. He was passionately fond of dancing, and when there was a gap in his programme, outside he would say to Blanche, "Get Lady Lau to give a dance. I dote on dancing." And Lady Lau bowed her head with Spartan courage, and was abroad for one half the day in a cab, and for the other half in her room doing common millinerywork with desperate but skilful fingers, striving hard to avoid drifting away on the rocks of Madame Adelaide. Whence she wrung out money for these works, and how she faced the rude job-master and the insolent French woman, and with dignity made them (for the time) ashamed, and how she screwed a little delay out of both job-master and milliner, were things to be admired and compassionated. If I had only time to breathe," she thought often, "and a little space in front clear! But they come on me all together, and from all sides." "Ask the Fermors," she said to her daughter. "I hate having aggrieved relations going about." And this was the party to which Fermor had said so sullenly that he would go. CHAPTER XXIV. A CLOUD NO BIGGER THAN A HAND. His WHILE Miss Manuel was away, the town had something to talk of. It was soon pretty well kuown and pretty well talked about, how "that sucking young Spendlesham" was about to make "a greater fool of himself" than ever. own contemporaries told him, in their friendly way, not to be an ass, and seriously wondered among themselves what he could see in so plain a virgin, who was almost old enough to be his mother. But among the long tribe of dowagers the attempt was most deeply resented. they got her among them in some private place, Had of this elderly populace knew no bounds, and they almost thirsted for her blood. they would surely have sacrificed her. The fury ness, recovered, and went away to the Continent By-and-by the aunt died, and the Westende property "came in" unexpectedly. The news gave a dreadful pang to Lady Laura; and later Sir John married handsomely. The lady he married was the well-known Miss Chedder, of the banker's family, with, as some of the elder ladies put it, "sixty thousand pounds to her back, my dear," but who had also sixty thousand tongues. She was a stalwart lady, and brought with her to the family the whole story of the Fermor affair, which she kept alive and fresh by constant daily allusion, rubbing salt into an old sore. For sixteen years Sir John led a miserable life, with the Lady Laura business flourished in his face, hurled at his back as he left the room, tumbled about his ears like broken crockery, dashed on his cheeks like hot scalding tea-until the famous Miss Chedder died, and left him a widower, with two good-looking daughters. It was wonderful indeed. Alicia Mary had been difficult to "placer;" but her incomparable mother had brought her in a winner, as the skilful jockey does the indifferent horse, simply by splendid riding. But what was difficult with Alicia Mary seemed almost impossible with Blanche, who was raw, helpless, and without any fertility of resource. Splendid riding" was here profitless; but Fortune took pity on this gallant Lady Laura, and, by some combination of accidents, fascinated the young Spendlesham with the charms of Blanche. The "finest woman" he had ever known was a fresh barmaid at a fishing inn in the country, for whom he had had an agonising attachment. But the barmaid had long since married respectably-i.e. into an opulent butcher interest. The features of Blanche recalled the old romance, and the fresh barmaid seemed to live again in the person of Blanche. Young Sir John by-and-by thus became a fatherly Sir John, later on a middle-aged Sir John, and was now a fresh and elderly_Sir But young Spendlesham was not yet sui juris. The law had furnished him with some odious janis-John. But he had never forgiven the Fersaries called guardians, who were wary and watch- mors. He had now grey whiskers and a round ful. One of these was happily an old admirer of clean face, with a light-blue tie and white waistLady Laura's, Sir John Westende, of Westende coat. For him was the handsome carriage with House, who, as young Sir John, clapped and ap- the bays seen waiting at the foot of the steps as plauded when she, as young Lady Laura, was fly- the train halted at Westende; and to him porters ing round in tulle and flowers on her bare-backed and station-master at Westende obsequiously steed. These were the delightful days when we touched their caps. Then as the train passed over had "figure," and a "neck," and colour, and light the viaduct, its passengers saw the bright carin our eyes, and all the ambrosial charms of youth. riage and brighter horses below, rolling along Sir John, it was thought, was sure to come the winding road, dipping into the clumps of forward;" but he was irresolute, and went back trees, and reappearing proudly in the sun, making again timidly when he had advanced. the mile and a half or so of journey which lay between Westende House and the station. Sir John's sister had married a brother of the late Lord Spendlesham, so that it was quite fitting that he should be appointed one of the guardians. Sir John himself having the two good-looking daughters, it was natural that he should begin to associate his ward and his daughters together, in a tranquil and prospective manner. He always indeed said that his ward was not worth his salt, and had no wit, and never would have any, and the sooner he made a fool of himself the better. The young Sir John of those days had not the Westende property, which came in late. He had a modest but sufficient patrimony, and was deeply in love with Lady Laura. The latter, if ever she liked any man, might be said to have liked Sir John, and told him so. But sentiment, with her, could only be indulged in where it was to be had gratis; any laying out of money on it was out of the question. Young Sir John went away happy to travel for two months, and when he returned found that a personal friend had been invited to take his place; a personal friend, too, whose prospects were, if anything, only a This at least was his tone until suddenly one shade better than his own. The skilful who day a co-guardian came down to the station managed her affairs thought they were bound to and took the pleasant road that led to the park, give her the benefit of ever so trifling an advan- specially to communicate the news that young tage; and, considering that the Westende pro- Spendlesham had announced that he was going perty had not then come in (it eventually "came to marry on the very day he came of age. Sir in" by an aunt), it was only natural that they John, who was in his garden with his blue tie on should act as they did. The balance, which took and a grey "wide-awake" hat, took this news the shape of sentiment, could not be reduced savagely-his face grew pink with rage and exinto moneys numbered; and was, of course, left citement, and he threw down his stick upon the out of the reckoning. Sir John was put back; gravel walk. "It shan't be! By it shan't the friend, who was shy and retiring, received be," he said; "curse their impudence." (Sir notice that it was now his turn. This caused a John swore on great occasions.) "What do they breach. Young Sir John, after some excited ex-mean? They have done this on purpose. That postulation, retired to Westende, while Lady woman has laid it all out; I know it." Laura married Mr. Fermor. For an hour he was in a fury, then ordered his On this step he was furious, got a severe ill-carriage and drove into the country town six |