# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 103

CHAPTER XXVII.
A DISCOVERY.
It is a fearful trust, the trust of love. In fear, not hope, should woman's heart receive A guest so terrible. Ah! never more Will the young spirit know its joyous hours Of quiet hopes and innocent delights; Its childhood is departed.
"The more I see of the world," continued Lavinia, sipping her bohea from a little china cup, that might have served Titania, "the more I am convinced that the principles with which I set out in life are the only ones to get on with. You ought to refer every thing to ​yourself—be your own idol. If a lover ruins himself for your amusement, you ask, what better could he have done with his fortune? If, by any odd chance, he was to do—what they all talk of doing—die for your sake! well, it is quite charming to be paid such an unusual compliment. It is curious to note, after all, that people take you very much on your own estimate! Modesty is only a proof of merit in 'Gay's Fables;' generally, it is taken as a tacit acknowledgement that you have nothing of which to be proud. My motto of 'je m'adore,' is only what I expect!"
"Well, the exaggeration is pleasant enough," answered Maynard, smiling.
"It is truer than you like to admit. What makes Sir George Kingston—so false, so insolent, to others—a complete slave to my caprices? Only because I do not care for him! He knows I should only laugh at his desertion; and he would not like to be the one who was left, which he knows I should do for the first thwarted whim."
"And yet this man," muttered Walter, ​"can inspire deep and devoted attachments!"
"Not he! of all the letters in my possession, only one set convey to me the idea of real affection; and, odd enough, it is you who have inspired it! You know the correspondence you have been carrying on for Sir George."
"I do," said Walter, colouring; "and heartily am I ashamed of it! Now, I know him: I must and will put an end to it!"
"She says," continued Lavinia, "'but for your letters, I should never have known you; therefore, never have loved you as I do!' but read for yourself," tossing one to him; "if Lady Marchmont's letters have touched even me, what effect will they take upon you!"
"Lady Marchmont!" cried Walter, in the most utter astonishment; "is it to Lady Marchmont that I have been writing?"
"To be sure it is!" replied the other: "did you not know it?"
"Sir George," said he, "never mentioned the name."
​ "It was sheer carelessness on his part, then," continued Lavinia, "for I am sure that he has no delicacy in the matter. I remember Lady Marchmont as if it were but yesterday—so beautiful, so proud! where would her pride be, if she could know that her letters were in my hands? And yet they might be in worse; for I, at least, pity her!"
"Good God!" exclaimed Walter, rising, and pacing the room, after reading a few passages from the letter he held in his hand, "never can I forgive myself! every regret she expresses cuts me to the heart!"
"You do, indeed, seem to take it to heart!" exclaimed the actress, an expression of jealous anger crossing her features; "why, it is quite a God-send for you! many a heart is caught in the rebound. Tell her you wrote the letters; explain Sir George's treachery; and, my life upon it, but you will
'Bear off the honours of the well-fought day!'"
"And how," continued Walter, not ​attending to his companion—"how bitterly she reproaches herself! and to think that this earnest, this sorrowful love, has been a toy—an amusement—the result of such heartless treachery! I never can tell her—but I ought—I must!"
"Why, it is the very thing that I am advising you to do," cried Lavinia: "the game is in your own hands!"
"How little," said he, still rather thinking aloud, than talking, "did I think, while writing these letters, proud of their composition, what misery I was inflicting on another, and storing up for myself!"
"And little did I think," muttered Lavinia, " that I could have been so mistaken. I have always fancied that it was Miss Churchill who inspired you with all these fine verses; instead of that, it was Lady Marchmont!"
And a bitter jealousy took possession of her mind. She had grown accustomed to look upon Ethel as Walter's passion and inspiration: it was something far off and distant, ​which even she felt was sacred; but Lady Marchmont was a new rival, and come too actual, and too near.
"I will tell you what, Lavinia," said Maynard, stopping short in his hurried walk, "you must give me those letters; and, painful as it is, I will at once take them to her, and make the disclosure!"
"Indeed I will do no such thing!" replied Lavinia, pettishly; "if Lady Marchmont likes to be made a fool of, what business is it of mine?"
Walter, who had been engrossed in his own thoughts, had not observed what was passing in his companion's mind, and stood amazed at what appeared to him such an unaccountable change.
"My dear Lavinia," exclaimed he, earnestly, "you wrong yourself; you are far too kind-hearted to have any satisfaction in the shame and misery to which keeping back those letters will inevitably expose Lady Marchmont!"
​ "What would she care for mine?" was the reply. "Besides, I really must look to myself: what will Sir George say?"
"Nothing to you," answered Maynard, "for I will take the whole upon myself!"
"It is of no use talking to me, for I will not do it!" cried Lavinia, passionately: "I see that you are in love with Lady Marchmont, and it is not me that you must expect to help you!"
A sudden light broke in upon Walter; and, for a moment, he felt awkward and embarrassed: but he was too deeply penetrated with the fault he had committed, too much touched with pity for its victim, to give up his point; besides, she had a claim upon him for her uncle's sake,—that uncle who had been his kindest and his first protector!
"I am quite tired," said the actress, rising, "and shall go to my own room. Good evening!"
"You shall not go," replied Walter, gently detaining her, "till your better self comes ​back; I thought you were above any such petty triumph over another!"
"You know I am not thinking of any such thing," answered she, sullenly: "but have the goodness to tell me, why I should help you to make love to Lady Marchmont?"
"I am sure," cried Walter, "I want your help in nothing of the kind. I do not, I never could love Lady Marchmont: you know," added he, in a faltering voice, "that I love another!"
It was with bitter reluctance that he said this; he could not bear even an allusion to Ethel's name; but it was the penalty of his own conduct: he could not allow Lavinia's most unfounded jealousy to interfere with the only reparation in his power. The actress felt that he spoke the truth; and, ashamed of the petulance that she had displayed, now sought to bring the subject round a little.
"But why should you interfere in the matter? It will ruin you with Sir George!—you will lose your situation!"
​ "Do you think," cried Walter, "that I could keep it, after to-night? I would not, for twice his wealth, live with a man I so utterly scorn!"
"But you lose," said she, "his interest; and he has it in his power to do so much for you!"
"I could not submit to an obligation from Sir George Kingston!"
"I admit that you are right," replied Lavinia, slowly; "but I feel an unaccountable reluctance that you should interfere in this matter."
"Listen to me for a moment," said Walter, "and seriously. Sir Jasper Meredith was my first and my best friend. If I possess the talents that have placed me in the very situation that I hold, I owe their cultivation to him. To what use have I turned them? to destroy the happiness of the being dearest to him upon earth! For his sake alone, I would lay down my life to restore those letters!"
"Poor, kind, old man that he was," said ​the actress, "how he would have grieved over this! Well, the grave often saves us a world of trouble!"
"I stand amazed now," continued Walter, "at my own recklessness in writing them; but I am so accustomed to invent an existence, that I forget the consequence in the interest of the composition. Ah, I see that there is no wickedness so desperate as deception: we can never foresee its consequences!"
"You shall have the letters," said Lavinia, beginning to put them together: "I shall tell Sir George that I sent them to their right owner in a fit of jealousy, and he will only be flattered!"
"My dear Lavinia," said Walter, "I thank you most cordially; you know not the weight you have taken off my conscience; as to Sir George, I shall see him myself when I return from Lady Marchmont's."
So saying, he took the letters; and, again thanking her, hurried away.
"I do pity her!" exclaimed Lavinia, as ​she went slowly up-stairs; "the very humiliation of the letters being restored, is quite punishment enough, even for loving Sir George Kingston. It is the idol of her own fancy that she loves, not him!"