The Press.
London, England, 1857-11-14 00:00:00

THE PRESS, NOVEMBER 14,1857.

She was in no mood yet to bear anything approaching
to reproof ; in the haughty raising of the flushed face, and
the scornful curling of the parted lip, I guessed the kind
of answer she was preparing herself to give.
But that answer was never spoken. Beibre a word had
fallen from bet, the door was slowly opened ; cne of tlie
servants, mute and hesitating, stood upon the threshold.
There was a moment's pause.
" Well, Richard ?"
The summons opened the man's lips.
"Could you come out into the hall, sir ?"

" Out into the hall !—what for ?"
"'There was some one wanting to speak to you, sir—
Mr. Beresford's servant—if you would oome out for a
minute, sir."

•
There was something—it might be in the man's look or
tone, or both—that called for attention ; without a word,
rising quickly from his chair, Mr. Wynter went out.
Mrs. Wynter turned about and looked nervously towards
the re•ctosing door.
" Dear me ! what is it, I wonder ?"
" My dear mother, what do you suspect ?" and Helen
laughed ; but her merriment I thought had a strange sound
in it. "It is only some message from Edward."
" Well, I suppose so, but yet it is odd—What is that ?
Huai+ !" she cried.
God knows what it was! It was a sound in the hall,
neither distinct nor loud—a murmur rather than a cry ;
but, such as it was, it sent the blood rushing from Helen's
cheek. With a wild startled look she glanced round—she
half rose—

"Mother!" she cried. "Miss Haig ! go to the door!"
There was no need. I rose up, but I had not taken two
steps when the door reopened: there before us again, but
with his broad face blanched, stood Mr. Wynter.
. .

" Mr. Wynter !—Frank !—oh, my God, what is it?"
His wife stood up before him : in silence he took both
her hands and put her back: stern-faced, as I had never
seen him before, without a syllable, he went up to Helen's
chair. She had risen and stood facing him, her eyes wild
with a terror beyond all utterance : she never spoke : the
only words that broke the silence—and their tone I shall
remember while I live—were these, that came from him—
" Helen, it is all over between you. God forgive you!
Edward lieresford has shot himself dead !"

There came a great convulsive cry—but not from her.
Dumb, white, an.l stiff she stood, her lips drawn back,
her large, wild darkening eyes distending into a great un•
utterable horror ; like a statue hut for her gasping breath ;
immovable, frigid, fixed ; ghastly in her deathlike agony,
with all the horror and all the hideousness of despair.
" Oh, Nelly !—oh, my poor Nelly !"
Bursting into a passion of tears, Mrs. Wynter flung
herself upon her daughter's neck, hut no tears did her
weeping bring from Helen. Insensible alike to the sound
of her emotion or the touch of her embrace, the white,

marble figure never moved—till on a sudden, throwing her
mother off. she flung her arms up in the air and shrieked
aloud. Thrice that cry rant, curdling the blood within
our hearts : when it ceased, like one felled suddenly by a
blow, she sank upon the floor—a huddled mass—her white
face pressing on the ground, and when we stooped to raise
her up she was quite lifeless—as cold and motionless as a
corpse.

The other sister, Sydney Wynter, after pro-
tracted coquetry with a Mr. Rupert and a Mr.
Leslie, at length decides fir the former on the
discovery of a seduction by the latter, which
brings on a duel between him and the former,
whose sister Leslie has seduced. We think it
would be difficult to express in fewer words the
complexities of this particular episode. After
Helen and Sydney have been thus disposed
of; it is of course the governess's own turn ;
and Uncle Gilbert, a gentleman of forty, with
a humped back, a severe countenance, flashing
oyes, flowing locks, and satirical propensities,
is taken captive in due form. The language
of " Riverstou" is certainly inclined to be
stilted; but, excepting the one great draw-
back, this is its chief fault. Miss Craik is a
very lively writer. She has wit, and she has
sense; and she has made in the beautiful
young governess, with her strong will, saucy
independence, and promptness of repartee, so
interesting a picture that we almost forget
how much of it is not her own.

4. There is one remarkable feature in this
novel which will commend it to most of our
readers who have lived long enough to have
sufficient troubles of their own without seeking
the stimulant of imaginary misfortunes. It is
fair weather throughout; or if a cloud now
and then sails across our vision, it is never so
dense but that we can see the sun behind it.
The story is full of romantic adventures, told
with just that admixture of pleasantry and
pathos which creates excitement without
uneasiness. The author seems much too
goodnatured to analyse and linger over the
sufferings of those characters which the ex-
igencies of the story compel to be miserable;
and the BOITOWS of the English young lady
who conceived an unrequited love for the
Turkish hero are shaded off so gently that
our sympathy is! never very heavily taxed.
Ttto poen?) 9f t)lits nor), is laid in Esypt,and