Imatges de pàgina
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rity, Sergeant Somerville. "A deafening Spanish government, ill paid, half starved, thunder of musketry," he says, "and the and cruelly flogged for the slightest offence, rushing roar of rockets blazing over our the Carlists, on October the 1st, again atheads, drowned the hurrahs of the English tacked the Ametza lines, and were again and the vivas of the Spaniards. Some repulsed with the loss of more than one who hurrahed suddenly stopped, and fell thousand men. Of the Legion there fell down without a word. Some exclaimed, under four hundred, including thirty-seven 'My leg my head!' 'my arm!' and officers. The Lancers behaved very galwere left behind to groan. The hedge- lantly on this occasion, and Evans, always rows, and the fields, and the houses that to the fore, had a ball pass through one of had hitherto been lying clear from the his ears. We must pass over with a mere smoke in the sun and the south wind, word the poisoning of English soldiers at beyond where the battle had been, now Vittoria, and the garotting of Don José emitted smoke and fire, while in our rear Elgoez, the chief baker. Some fifteen hunthe strife was dying. Around us were the dred men died at this place of the poisoned ill-fated dead and dying of the enemy, and bread and aquadiente. Nor can we stop to the cheers and vivas of our own troops as describe the burning alive of eleven English we pushed on and drove back the retreat- prisoners by the Christinos, or the taking ing foe beyond the positions held by them of Bilboa. On March the 16th, there was previous to the attack on us in the morn- hard fighting near Hernani, when (owing ing. At a distance in front were the in- to the dastardly treachery of Espartero, habitants hurrying off their cows and pigs; and the jealous or cowardly Spaniards) the elder children leading the younger; the English had to retreat with the loss the mother with the babies, her sheets and of nearly nine hundred men. shirts, hastening after them. The dusty of Irun was soon after taken, Andoain coloured bakers who had been busily pre- fell, and Espartero, with thirty thousand paring the Carlist rations in some of the men, eventually entered Madrid. A few houses, were seen making their escape with months later, a hundred and twenty-seven each a bag of flour or bread, assisted by of the Legion, with thirteen officers, dethe retreating soldiers. Ours in turn serted by the Christino regiments, capitushared the bread and the wine, and what-lated at Andoain, and were foully butchered ever could be had, as they came up to these houses. Some dared to advance further in front than others for the mere purpose of being first at the plunder, and some were in ditches into which they had tumbled, professing to be wounded. One of these, an English officer, was observed by one of his own men. Two or three soldiers immediately threatened to shoot him if he did not come out of his hiding-place."

The plundering now became universal over a wide area of fields, orchards, and houses. The enemy in this engagement lost above a thousand men; Evans nearly half that number.

Three days later, before daybreak, the Carlists made a desperate attempt to recover a height commanding the town of Passages, occupied by the marines and their artillery. A marine officer, seeing them emerge from cover, quickly and carefully prepared a heavy dose of canister shot, and with one dreadful, simultaneous volley tumbled the whole force, dead, wounded, and living, down the rocky paths, and hotly peppered the surviving fugitives.

After a dangerous mutiny amongst the men of several of the English regiments, who were, it must be said, neglected by the

The town

by the cruel enemy. In May, 1837, the Legion was disbanded, and Evans returned to England. Not long after, Colonel O'Connell's new legion of thirteen hundred and ninety-three men, disgusted with the Spaniards, also broke up. There is quite proof enough that, under a man like Wellington, the Isle of Dogians," as the Tories called the British Legion, would have rivalled the deeds of the heroes of Salamanca and of Waterloo.

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LELGARDE'S INHERITANCE.

IN TWELVE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER III,

BEHOLD Lelgarde settled in her new possessions, queening it in the gloomy old house and stiff gardens, which had not seen anything so fresh and sweet, I am sure, for a very long time. Athelstanes lay in a wild part of Yorkshire, only to be approached by a network of railways, every one of which was at daggers drawn with all the others; stage-coaches lingered there still, and the nearest station was ten miles off. The Athelings had been there ever since the year one. It was their boast that

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And they prided themselves on the fair Saxon colouring, which, from generation to generation, had been as completely a possession of the Athelings as their coat of I do not know if they had been careful to choose light-complexioned wives, but certainly, with few exceptions, every family portrait had the same characteristics of sunny hair and fair delicate colouring, matching well with their Saxon names. The house itself was Elizabethan-the regular E shape, the drawing-room occupying one projection, the other contained, as we were given to understand, "poor Miss Hilda's apartments;" and the old housekeeper, who offered the information, sighed as she spoke. She was the only old servant who had chosen to remain; the rest appeared to harbour resentment against Lelgarde for the slight she had put on Athelstanes in her childish days, or perhaps for being young, or for not being Miss Etheldreda; any how they declined to stay, but Mrs. Bracebridge remained, and, though she began by treating us with a deadly politeness, which froze the marrow in our bones, she was now gradually succumbing to the irresistible influence of Lelgarde's graciousness, a graciousness which had in it a certain touch of hauteur that probably recalled Miss Etheldreda, as lemonade might remind one of vinegar. I need not say much about the grounds, which were not beautiful; a wide flat paddock in front, not large enough to be dignified by the name of park, walled kitchen-gardens, and a stiff square flower-garden at the back, plantations closing it all in, and beyond, wild moors stretching away into the distance. This was Athelstanes. When I add that the handsome furniture had seen its best days, that there was a great deal of white paint and white dimity, in vivid contrast to a great deal of dark polished oak, that everybody's bedroom seemed to lead in and out of everybody else's, and that every square inch of wall was covered with family portraits, I have said all that need be said of Lelgarde's domain.

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Lelgarde agreed: so, prudently wrapped up, we summoned the housekeeper, and prepared to make the grand tour.

Going steadily over anything, be it pic ture-gallery, museum, or big house, always has the effect of leaving one sodden and depressed. By the time we had done it all, Lelgarde and I were both in this state, and thankful when an unexpected staircase suddenly landed us in the front hall again. Here hung the principal modern portraits; among them the old squire, and what I had soon recognised as a boyish likeness of Lelgarde's father.

"And who is the one hanging next to him, the very handsome young woman in the blue satin ?" I asked.

"That," replied Mrs. Bracebridge, reverentially, "was my late mistress, Miss Atheling."

Somehow I had felt sure of it when I asked the question; the high, delicate features, and hard expression, were so exactly what I had pictured Miss Etheldreda. Hard-that was the word for her-just, I dare say, and therefore liked by her dependents, but certainly as disagreeable a woman, with all her beauty, as eye ever looked upon.

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Now," continued Mrs. Bracebridge, "would you like to see poor Miss Hilda's rooms? I don't know why I go on keeping them locked: will you like to see them, ma'am?"

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"By all means,' answered Lelgarde, eagerly, for we had exchanged small jokes about the Blue Chamber, which was always kept closed. When opened, it looked commonplace enough: handsome, faded fur

curious tall cabinet of ebony, inlaid with ivory, heavy crimson curtains hanging low over the narrow window-this was all.

For the first few days, Lelgarde was extremely busy: the engaging of new ser-niture, a capacious invalid couch, a very vants, the looking over of inventories, and ceaseless interviews with the various retainers, occupying every moment. She was looking rather oppressed with her new responsibilities, but I could not perceive that the sight of Athelstanes in any degree awakened old recollections.

"Come," I said, one wild wet afternoon, when I found her leaning her little tired head on her hand, after holding one of her

"She was a great sufferer," the old wo man said, softly; "for nearly fifteen years she never left this room, and the one next it, poor lady."

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"A nervous affection, ma'am; she lost, little by little, the use of her limbs; my mistress nursed her devotedly, and was the only person who could manage the pocr lady for her good."

Shut up for fifteen years in that room, and managed for one's good by that horrible cold-eyed woman. What a life! But something besides struck me in Mrs. Bracebridge's tone. I wondered if the poor thing had been mad, and if that inheritance, too, threatened my Lelgarde. I turned to look at her, and saw her standing, quite intent on the old cabinet, with a puzzled, lost expression on her face, which surprised me.

"Where can I have seen a cabinet like this before?" she asked, knitting her brows in perplexity; "I seem to know it quite well. Is there anything in it, Mrs. Bracebridge?"

Mrs. Bracebridge did not know. Mr. Graves had overhauled and superintended the valuing of everything, she said; and the key, with several others, had been given to Lelgarde. She at once produced the bunch, and selecting the key that fitted, opened the doors, revealing a quaint nest of pigeon-holes and drawers.

"We will not keep you, Mrs. Bracebridge," she said; "I have a fancy to look this over, and this is just the afternoon for it." Mrs. Bracebridge demurred, with a glance at the empty grate; but Lelgarde vowed she was not at all cold, and was evidently bent on her search.

"That is right," she cried, when we were left alone; and she eagerly began to examine the drawers. The result was disappointing. Miss Hilda, whatever had been her woes, had been too wise to write them down for the amusement of future generations. One closely-written manuscript book turned out to contain receipts for cookery and for knitting; there was a herbarium, which had come to a standstill in the middle, an old-fashioned album, also ending half-way through, and several sketch-books. These last were rather interesting; they contained graceful, slight outlines, with no great force about them, and to many the dates were added, dates of six or seven-and-twenty years ago. Here and there was a bolder sketch, of quite a different stamp of merit; landscapes, chiefly -some scenes in the neighbourhood; and we both noticed that in almost every foreground the same figure was introduced: that of a slight girl, not unlike Lelgarde herself, sitting, standing, or on horseback;

it constantly recurred, always unmistakably the same person.

"And not Miss Etheldreda," said Lelgarde. "Could it be this poor Hilda in her young days? If so, I think this artist, whoever he was, must have been rather fond of Miss Hilda." Lelgarde blushed, I observed, and sighed. "There is something sad in looking over these things," she said, rather, I thought, to account for the sigh. "Poor Hilda was young and merry then, I suppose, like me. How little she thought what her life was going to be!"

As she spoke she was incessantly passing her fingers over the back of the little recess which we were then exploring; a restless movement which she had been continually repeating ever since we had begun our examination.

"It is strange how well I seem to know this piece of furniture," she said; "but I fancy there ought to be some secret drawer or cupboard here somewhere, only I cannot find out how to open it.”

"Ought to be? What do you mean?" "I cannot explain; that is just what puzzles me; only I feel as if there ought to be-just that."

Were old recollections reviving, I wondered; but what an unlikely thing to awaken them! It was getting too dark to carry our researches further, and the cold was becoming intense.

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'Come," I said, we shall catch our deaths. Come and get warm.'

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"You disturbed me," she cried, petulantly; "I had just got hold of it. I only seem to want one link more to remember something."

She started and clung to me; for close, close to us, just behind the cabinet, was a rustle, as of a sweeping dress, and the dull thud of some falling body; a gust, at the same moment, swept through the room, and a wild splash of rain against the window seemed to bring darkness with it. We clung together, like two fools as we were, and Lelgarde shrieked aloud. At that sound Mrs. Bracebridge appeared with a candle, and I at least grew brave at the sight of it.

"A mouse, I dare say, ma'am," she remarked, deferential but contemptuous, in answer to our apologetic statement.

"No; there is something-something white," gasped Lelgarde, pointing to the dark corner.

Mrs. Bracebridge stooped to examine it. "Yes, indeed, I quite forgot that it had been put away behind the cabinet. You

"And it is ?"

must have shaken it down, ma'am, in pull- a rod of iron all her days. The two faces ing out the drawers." seemed to me to tell their own story, and I could understand how each sister had what she had been. There was a bright smile on the painted lips-a laugh in the pretty blue eyes; and yet "Poor young thing!" were the words which rose to my lips as I looked.

"Poor Miss Hilda's picture, ma'am, that unconsciously helped to make the other is all."

CHAPTER IV.

LELGARDE and I had dined, and were sitting by the drawing-room fire afterwards, when my sister said, giving a shrinking look into all the dark corners :

"Joan, I hate that dreary room opposite. I shall have it locked up again, and Mrs. Bracebridge shall keep the key."

"So as to turn it into a haunted chamber at once! My dear, before it had been shut up a week, you would have ghosts, and rumours of ghosts, demoralising the whole establishment! You would never keep a servant, depend upon it."

"It has given me the horrors," she answered, with a shiver.

"Because we were geese enough to be frightened at nothing. Come, Lelgarde, let me advise you. Have a fire lighted there; open all the windows, do it up with a set of Cretonne chintz, all over blue and scarlet dickey-birds; ask the seven vicarage children to tea there, and let them make themselves ill with plum-cake, and greasy with bread-and-butter, and you will find Miss Hilda's ghost is laid in no time."

The door opened slowly, causing Lelgarde to jump almost into my arms.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, if I startled you," said Mrs. Bracebridge, advancing out of the shadow with a large square of canvas in her arms; "you desired me to bring this for you to look at after dinner poor Miss Hilda's picture."

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"Tiresome old woman !" I thought, if we had not had enough of Miss Hilda for one day;" but the housekeeper was only obeying Lelgarde's orders, and I could say nothing, so we proceeded to look at the portrait. We both exclaimed with surprise at seeing its unfinished state: the drapery of the head and shoulders was merely sketched out, not coloured at all. The face only was complete, and the hair again died away into indistinctness, in a way that gave a strange ghastly look to the features-high, delicate features, so like Miss Atheling's, that the difference of expression was the more striking. For this was a gentle face, so sweet that one half forgave its utter weakness. I quite forgave it, when I thought of the hard, stern face hung in the hall, and recollected that Etheldreda was many years older than her sister, and had doubtless ruled her with

"Ah! you may say that, ma'am," responded Mrs. Bracebridge, with a sighrather a leading sigh, I thought, as if she longed to be asked what she was sighing for. Lelgarde did what answered the purpose, in exclaiming :

"Why was this lovely picture never finished and framed? And oh! who could have done that?" For right across the canvas, barely sparing the face, was a broad rough splash of colour, as if an angry or careless hand had dashed aside a wet brush, not recking where it went.

"Ah! it is a long story," said the old woman, evidently dying to tell it.

"If it is a doleful one, pray let it wait till to-morrow," I said; but Lelgarde waved me aside, impatiently, and, pointing to an arm-chair,

"Then sit down and tell it, Mrs. Bracebridge," she said, "and let me pour you out a cup of tea meanwhile. You see," she added, with her pretty graciousness, "you belong so completely to this place, so much more than I do; and whatever you know about the family, I think I I ought to know: so please begin."

"I will pour out the tea," I said, and betook myself to the massive silver salver and teapot, much amused at Lelgarde taking the high moral tone, to choke any qualms of conscience at gratifying her curiosity by a gossip with the old servant.

"It is going on for seven-and-twenty years, ma'am, since Miss Atheling's por trait was taken and this one commenced," Mrs. Bracebridge solemnly began, "and the gentleman as took both was a Mr. Hamilton, one of them artist gentlemen from London. The old squire was living then, you are aware, ladies, and he had this young gentleman down for the summer months-which many wondered as he liked to do so-to take the young ladies' portraits, and to give Miss Hilda lessons, and to make drawings about the place."

"How old were my cousins at this time?" Lelgarde asked from the shadowy corner where she sat intently listening.

"Let me see: Miss Atheling would have been over thirty, and Miss Hilda, I mind me, was just of age. I was lately come,

then, myself, and was head housemaid under the old housekeeper-nurse, as she was mostly called, having nursed both the ladies, and the little brothers as died between."

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Was she here, when I—" Lelgarde hesitated, knitting her brows as if in a painful effort to remember.

“She was, ma'am; but she had then for some years been Miss Hilda's attendant, and Miss Atheling had been pleased to put me in her place, as housekeeper. I need not tell you, ladies," she went on, "that there is, and always will be, gossip in the servants' hall, let the upper servants check it as they may; and it was not long before we were all talking about Miss Hilda and Mr. Hamilton."

Lelgarde and I thought of the sketchbook, and exchanged glances.

"You see, Miss Atheling never seemed to think of Miss Hilda as anything but a child; and sure she did look like it, and always took it as natural that she should be treated as such-she was so meekspirited; and certainly nothing, in a general way, could have happened to her, even to the altering of the way she dressed her hair, but what Miss Atheling should know of it. But just that summer it fell out that the squire began of the illness which carried him off later-some terrible complaint in his inside.”

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"And Miss Atheling was with him a great deal, I suppose, I said, hastily, as the old woman seemed inclined to plunge into unpleasant details.

"Night and day, ma'am; and all that time Mr. Hamilton was thought to be busy making his sketches about the place, and Miss Hilda practising her music, and all that, in the room yonder, which was then called the schoolroom. But we servants, ma'am, could have told a different tale.' $

"It was a pity you did not," said I, virtuously.

"It was nurse's place, ma'am, she being the housekeeper, not ours; and nurse could refuse nothing to Miss Hilda, not if it had been a knife to cut her own throat, we often used to say. Well, the rights of it I cannot tell you, ladies, for I was never made acquainted with it; but one day, it is certain that Miss Atheling came into the schoolroom, and found Mr. Hamilton painting her sister's portrait, or, maybe, pretending to paint it; and what passed I cannot say for Miss Atheling was not one to make any noise about her anger; but I met her in the hall, taking Miss Hilda to

her room; and her face, ladies-it was terrible."

"And what happened?"

"Mr. Hamilton left the house that very hour, and the portrait was huddled away in a lumber-room, and there it stayed till long, long afterwards. I saw it one day, in poor Miss Hilda's room, put away behind the cabinet; I suppose nurse must have brought it down at her request, poor lady."

"And what did my cousin do to her sister ?" asked Lelgarde, with dilated eyes, as if she expected to hear that she had tortured her.

"Her look was enough to cow Miss Hilda, ma'am, at any time; beyond that, I never heard that the poor young lady was punished; I am sure Miss Atheling's one wish was to keep it all from folk's knowledge, and specially the old squire. And in the autumn they all went to London for Mr. Atheling's health, and stayed away the whole winter."

"Did you go with them ?"

"No, ma'am, only Miss Atheling's maid, and one or two men-servants, as they stayed at a hotel. And nurse went too, and that was the beginning of her being about Miss Hilda; for the maid, she had enough to do with helping Miss Atheling attending upon the squire: oh! he was a great sufferer."

"Did he die in London? I forget," asked Lelgarde.

"Oh, no, ma'am, they all came back in early spring; and Miss Hilda, she looked almost as like to die as her father; all the spirit seemed to have gone out of her: days and days she never stirred from her room: but Miss Atheling was that wrapped up in the squire, that she saw nothing else. At last nurse told her that poor Miss Hilda must have mild sea-air, which had saved her from a decline before, and might again; leastways nothing else would. And so at last she got leave to take her quite away by the seaside, down somewhere in Devonshire. I could see that it angered my poor mistress that she could not go with her, and she was angry too, maybe, that Miss Hilda would not rather stay at home and die, than go so far away when her father might be dying any moment; but there, there was no denying how ill she was-and she let her go.'

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"Was she away when the squire died ?" 'No, ma'am, he seemed to rally for a bit, and it was not till quite the end of the summer that he died; and, as it fell out, the very day poor Miss Hilda came home. Shall I ever forget her face when she came

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