The Press.
London, England, 1854-12-09 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

t circumstances might render such a step desirable for
me ; and two days before her death she wrote a letter on
this subject, which she enjoined me not to open until a
year alter her death. When 1 did open it, 1 understood
better than I had ever done before the enduring and un-
selfish nature of that woman's love ! Love was all in all
with her ; every faculty was made subordinate to her love
as wife and mother !"
" Happy woman !" murmered Miss Hastings.
" Nay ; wouldto God she had been happy !—above all,
that Iha not been the instrument of her unhappiness!
Sweet Caroline ! gentle, loving, self sacrificing, prematurely
killed by brooding over the ills that encompassed those she
loved !—No ! she was not happy ; and that thought haunts
me like the memory of a crime !"
Miss Hastings turned towards her agitated friend. "Do
not reproach yourself too mach!—she was happy as your
wife—she loved you !—There was no reason why she
should not stretch a hand across the grave to aid Null in
your earthly course. She was one of the moat generous,
most amiable beings 1 ever knew. You will not have a

second wife like her.
"Like her ! There are none like her. Few women are
capable of such love. No; I do not, at my present age,
seek a renewal of that blessing of my manhood. With
Caroline I buried all love for woman. I think you know
this !—But perhaps you do not know how thoroughly both
Caroline and I understood and appreciated your character."
A momentary elevation of the eyebrows was all the
reply which Miss Hastings made to this : but she listened
attentively, with slightly compressed lips, as if she suffered
pain,—whether mental or physical it would have been di&
cult to decide.
He proceeds to speak of their " girl
and boy attachment ;" how that feeling has
now quite gone, how mistaken he was in her
character when he believed that her passion
would control her intellect, and how he had
found in his lost Caroline all that he had
imagined her to be, and he adds
:
You never loved me, as I once fancied.—Yon, with
your calm nature, discovered your error soon enough
not to suffer much from it —Was it not so, my friend ? "
" I never deceived myself on that point! " she replied,
faintly ;—finding that he waited for an answer.
"No matter ! Whether you were loving or loveless in
those past days, you and I can never be wholly indifferent
to each other, Margaret!"
" Never !—neither here nor beyond the grave !" she
said quickly, and as if the words were forced from her.
Lord Carleton's manner became warmer.
" God bless you, my friend !—There was something
like affection in those words—something which makes me
hope you will let me add to your happiness by enabling
you to exercise your benevolence in a larger sphere than
you have hitherto done.—Something that makes me
almost sure my Caroline's wish was prophetic, and that you
will consent to become the second Lady Carleton—rule
my household—be a mother to my boys—and the best and
wisest friend to one who tells you candidly that he has no
love to give. Will you be my wife, now, Margaret? You
refused me once, twice, thrice. We were young then, and
we loved—at least I loved.—We are growing old now !
Shall we grow old together, Margaret?" He had taken her
hand. She returned the pressure of his, and looked at him
with a strange expression.
" What is this ?—You are ill ?—I have been thoughtless
to enter on this matter now !—Let me lead you to the
house !"—he said, with alarm.
" Stay !—one moment !—it will keep off one moment !"
—she spoke in a gasping, broken voice, and with a strong
effort to master some physical pang.—" Listen!—you do
not know me !—my life !—you are wrong !—all wrong !
Frederick! Be your wife ?—not the wife of your love—
the head housekeeper—care for your sons—your wards—
talk with you when you are in the mood—l would even
degrade myself to serve you thus—because—ah ! God! he
has not known it!—But there is another obstacle now!—
Again, I cannot be your wife ! "
" What is this ? Calm yourself, my dear friend !
Margaret ! What is the matter ?" he exclaimed, much
alarmed at her excited manner.—" Bny, in one word, what
obstacle there is."
"Another time—l—l—" and, overcome with acute
pain, she fell back insensible. Lord Carleton carried her
across the lawn to the house, and laid her on a sofa, in the
first room he came to.—Seeing no one about, he rang the
bell violently, and gazed with mingled pity and wonder at
the emaciated form he remembered so well adorned with
all the graces of youth and the imagination of a lover.—
There was nothing there, now, that he could call beau-
tiful.
"Ah ! if she had lived in the affections instead of in the
intellect," he thought, " she would have been beautiful and
amiable, now !—Surely her life has been a mistake!—What
did she mean just now ?—Not know her?—How can I be
wrong?"
Here the history of the first Margaret ends—
we need not tell her fate—and the tale of the
son and the niece succeeds. It is less pleasing,
for this among other reasons, that they are
brought into closer proximity, and that, after
some mistakes on his part and trials on hers,
they are united in affection, and in the inter-
course of daily life, as brother and sister,
though on both sides the attachment is of a
much warmer kind.
The book has many faults, and we strongly
object to what may be termed the moral or
sentiment of it ; but of all false canons of
criticism the falsest is that which judges a
book by its freedom from defects and not by its