HYDE MARSTON;

OR, RECOLLECTIONS OF A SPORTSMAN'S LIFE.

BY THE EDITOR.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.-A DISCOVERY.

"Mischief, thou art afoot."
SHAKSPEARE.

The music ceased, and the singer, rising abruptly, approached the chair into which I had thrown myself when the song commenced. Tears fell fast and thick upon her cheeks, and she walked like one in a trance, without design, and sightless-for I felt her breath as she passed, but saw me not. I sprang to my uncle's elbow.

"Well met, in such worshipful company, sir," I said, bowing to his companion: "'tis not often haste has such good speed."

"You have, indeed, been in earnest," he replied; "and we estimate your obedience. Madame de Beauplans-but you seem not to need an introduction."

"Mr. Marston is an old acquaintance," said the lady, giving me one of her blandest smiles; and of my sister, too. Charlotte, where are you?-have you nothing kind to say to an old friend? Here is Mr. Marston."

It was one of the most awful moments of my life! The fair girl thus summoned returned, and I felt a trembling hand in mine. I knew that her eyes were on me, but I dared not meet them. No one spoke it was a dreadful silence. I grew faint-the room seemed to swim around me; in another moment I should have swooned, when a servant entered to announce that supper was served. In noisy eagerness the gambling groups, grave and gay, broke up.

"Will you give Charlotte your arm, Mr. Lyster?" Caroline said, addressing my uncle as one anticipating no refusal, and with an air of finished indifference, taking mine. As we passed into the adjoining room, she affected to turn her head, and, with sudden emphasis, whispered into my ear-"Beware, beware! I know not what to caution you against, but there is mystery here that bodes evil. Tomorrow, as early as you may, come to me in Lansdowne-crescent. Fail not, for life and death may hang on it."

We reached the supper-table, and, bowing to me, she walked onwards to a vacant chair on my uncle's left hand, her sister being already seated on his right. The nearest decanter stood me in good stead. I sat like one waiting for a shell to explode at his feet: what dark plot was thickening-what dire catastrophe was at hand?

Early as the hours are at Cheltenham, where, according to the practice at most water-drinking places, people betake themselves to the public promenades the first thing they do on arising from their beds, I found the walks of the Montpelier Spa already filled by liverless legions when I sauntered into them at daybreak on the following morning. Whether my visit might, indeed, properly be called an early one would admit of question, as it certainly did not succeed that curtian-leap of the lazy, known in naval circles as "turning out." The scene from which, on the previous night, I had retired to my chamber left me as much disposed towards "the living couch of fire which it had spread," as for another case of caloric that does not admit of so poetical a description. Having at length consumed the darkness with melancholy meditation and a meerschaum, I strolled forth what time the twilight was at issue with the day. It was a sad, sickly attempt at morning-as yellow, wheezy, dull, and wobegone as the lazarettes of bile that were doing quarantine under its glimpses. Had there been a gleam of sunshine-the merest elasticity of air-probably my physique would, for the moment, have thrown care to the dogs (albeit, the spirit was sore and sorrowing); for I was young, and nature's posy for the youthful heart is "dum licet in rebus jucundis vive beatus." But, notwithstanding destiny, on the honourable principle of compensation, had thrown into contrast lusty life with dusty mortality-health sans wealth, with riches sans teeth, sans eyes, lights, livers, everything-for once my buoyancy of existence was vanquished, hope was dismasted, and, as Dibdin sings, I drifted a "sheer hulk" about those cathartic waters. There, like the "ancient mariner," I might have probably driven to this day, had not one crossed my course well fitted to arouse me from such a sleep of fearful dreams: it was Caroline, and she was alone.

"You are abroad betimes," she said, with well-assumed indifference: "is it the ton just now for young gentlemen of fashion to rise at the hour in which Aurora ought and ploughmen do?"

"Madame," I replied, "jest is as out of season, at such a

moment

"As earnest were out of place. Does monsieur desire to make a scene? would he see himself planté in this bed of crocuses? Suffer me to take your arm; we are already objects of remark."

As she spoke she drew me from the broad walk, and, crossing the road which runs parallel with it, we took the field path that led-and perhaps still leads-to Lansdowne-crescent.

"We breakfast alone," she observed, as we entered a small library in which the equipage for that meal was laid. "Charlotte is not well this morning, and we can dispense with her presence," she continued, as the servant in attendance left the room on being told that his services were no longer required. "And now for explanation, whatever it may cost!" fell upon my ears, in accents familiar withal, but acute and tuneless; for life's rude discord had mingled with the harmony to which nature set them. "This is neither the time nor the occasion for form or method; we must understand each other, and at once: I have matter of account to learn. I cannot conjecture what, but presentiment tells me it is no common thing. There is

much must be told to you, at whatever expense of feeling, of shame, of remorse."

She paused for an instant, while a winter of memory seemed to roll over her.

"My connection with Launcelot Ridsdale is known to you," she resumed, and her voice was hoarse and hollow; "as also my marriage with M. de Beauplans. On the death of my husband, I returned to London, which I left for the Isle of Wight, in consequence of a catastrophe that you are acquainted with." (She spoke of the suicide of C-"There I remained till, a few months ago, an outrage committed by Ridsdale forced me to seek security elsewhere. Arriving again in London, I learnt the failure of the firm in whose hands all my funds were deposited, and, with the little money I could command, I came to this place for a temporary retirement, to await the winding up of my banker's affairs. Here I met my sister, visiting a distant relative, and first heard of the recent death of our father. The history of my life was a sealed book to her, save a rumour that I had formed a wealthy union abroad; and I had no difficulty in inducing her to become an inmate here. I have sought this interview less from curiosity than caution. Hyde, Charlotte loves with a passion the concentration of her life-intense as the spirit of superstition, wild as the worship of idolatry. You are the idol of that adoration. Already have I said, 'Beware, beware!' There is a gulf yawning for your soul's perdition. Enough that you have had the warning.

害

*

Soon after my arrival in Cheltenham, I made the acquaintance of the gentleman at whose house I met you last night. From the day of my introduction to him, he commenced a course of attentions whose object admitted of no doubt. He was refined and courteous in his manners, possessed a well-cultivated mind and a large fortune; but it was impossible to associate love with three-score years. Some ten days ago I received intelligence that my bankers were wholly insolvent, and that every shilling I had lodged with them was irretrievably lost almost at the same moment I had a visit from Mr. Lyster, with an offer of his hand. I lost no time in acquainting him with the utter ruin which had overtaken me, and gratefully but decidedly declined his proposal. On the following day he transmitted, through his agent, a deed whereby he assigned to me, absolutely and without stipulation of any kind, estates yielding six thousand a year in the county of Stafford, together with his domain of Claxton Manor. Last night I took that deed back, and told him the only condition on which I could accept his prodigal gift would be as his wife. Our union will be a speedy one. With gratitude for the foundation, I do not despair of a superstructure making up in stability what it may lack in grace."

Why has life never been compared to a circulating library, and each of its coteries to a romance, or, at the least, a novel in three volumes post octavo? Out of materials that might have belonged to the most ordinary career, how strange and fearful a plot was weaving its meshes around me! Slowly the working of its machinery was being developed what the final event would bring about was a mystery I

hardly dared wish to penetrate. Still my own agency was not to be committed to chance that was within my own control, and I was responsible for its consequences. The discovery of the miserable results to which my uncle's change of name might have led was effected in time to prevent the perpetration of an act that could not have been undone this was, at least, a consolation, whatever else might come of it. The urgency of the case was too immediate to admit of my de. laying an explanation-towards one of those whom it concerned, indeed, delicacy as to the mode of making it was unnecessary. Let the world's sophists legislate for moral latitude as they may-let mothers angle for young "profitables," with tender bait properly prepared, and find favour in virtuous eyes-let fathers barter their daughters, without respect of person, to the best bidders in money and matrimony, and be still accounted "honourable men;" but, be convention never so courteous and convenient, that woman is the shame and reproach of her sex, whose heart is not the herald of her hand. She is a perjuror if she vow at the altar to love without assurance that her oath can be sacredly fulfilled; she is what may not be written--if she make her passion wait upon her purpose!

"Caroline," I said, " few words must serve to convey intelligence as deeply concerning yourself as the revelation you have made has affected me. This marriage can never take place. He, whom you know as Lyster, is that uncle Longueville, whose presumptive heir you have so often heard me say I had reason to believe myself. Enough that you know the relation in which we stand towards each other, to feel such connection is impossible between you and him. But how is he to be told it? In what manner is a phantasy to be put an end to, whose very indulgence is a scandal?"

I deal with character as I have experienced it: not haply such as it is met with in life's common round, but as it made or marred the fortunes of those who moved in more eccentric orbits. Of these, not the least remarkable was she who, with pale cheek and flashing glance, listened as I spoke. When I ceased, she made no reply, but seemed to wait as in the hope or fear of hearing more. It was a pause too full of thought for speech, but it suggested the necessity for action too forcibly to allow of much deliberation. Daintiness of expression would not only have been out of place-it would have been full of danger. The evil hand would soon be put to the work the evil heart was engendering, unless the power of offence were crushed at once.

Rising from the untouched meal, I continued-" In whatever manner communicated, my uncle must instantly be taught the idleness of his present design: he must be told-"

"That I am base-by him who made me so! A noble achievement-an honourable earnest for a fair domain!"

"Caroline," I said, with such composure as I could command, "in the scorn and bitterness of maturity, there is neither propitiation nor atonement for the follies or the vices of youth. The most desperate property of sin is recklessness, because the offender is an alien from the will as well as the way of virtue. It shall not be thus with