"No," said Helen, "her powder became food for him; she made him under-gamekeeper."

"Excellent, Helen, you shine to-night," cried Elizabeth; "such a bit of wit never was heard from you before."

"Your poem is a proof that the best way of being original is to describe things as you actually see them," said Anne.

"Is not mine original? I do not think it was taken from any book,"

said Harriet, willing to pick up a little more praise.

"Not perhaps from any book," said Elizabeth, with a very grave face; "but I am afraid we must convict you of having borrowed from the mother of books, Oral tradition."

"Oral tradition!" repeated Harriet, opening her mouth very wide.

"Yes," said Elizabeth; "for I cannot help imagining that the former part of your ode is a parody upon

"I"ll tell you a story About Jack A"Nory, And now my story"s begun; I"ll tell you another About Jack and his brother, And now my story is done."

And that your friend Francis must have been the hero who complains so grievously of Taffy the Welshman, whose house was doubtless situated in a field of barley, while his making a dreadful racket is quite according to the ancient notions of what he did with the marrow-bone."

"Oh! there is Papa looking in at us," said Anne; "now for the question of pennon and pennant."

"Oh! Anne, it is all nonsense," cried Helen; "do not shew it."

But Anne, with Helen"s paper in her hand, had already attacked Sir Edward, who, to the author"s great surprise, actually read the poem all through, smiling very kindly, and finished by saying, "Ah ha! Helen, it is plain enough that your friends are naval. I can see where your pennant came from."

"But is it not a flag, Uncle Edward?" asked Helen.

"A flag it is," said Sir Edward, "and properly called and spelt pendant."

"There, Helen, you are an antidote to the hydrophobia," said Rupert; "everything becomes--"

"Do not let us have any more of that stale joke," said Elizabeth; "it is really only a poetical license to use a sea-flag for a land-flag, and Helen had the advantage of us, since we none of us knew that Pennant signified anything but the naturalist."

"And pray, Helen," said Sir Edward, "am I to consider this poem as an equivalent for the music you have cheated us of, this evening?"

"I hope you will consider that it is," said Elizabeth; "is it not positively poetical, Uncle Edward?"

Helen was hardly ever in a state of greater surprise and pleasure than at this moment, for though she could not seriously believe that her lines were worthy of all the encomiums bestowed on them, yet she was now convinced that Elizabeth was not absolutely determined to depreciate every performance of hers, and that she really possessed a little kindness for her.

When Mr. Woodbourne rang the bell, Elizabeth gathered up all the papers, and was going to put them into a drawer, when Harriet came up to her, saying in a whisper, evidently designed to attract notice, "Lizzie, do give me that ridiculous thing, you know, of Mr. Merton"s; I could not bear you to have it, you would shew it to everyone."

"Indeed I should do no such thing," said Elizabeth; "I never wish to see it more, you are very welcome to it."

Harriet received the precious doc.u.ment with great satisfaction, carefully folded it up, and placed it in her bag, very much to Rupert"s delight, as he silently watched her proceedings.

When they went up to bed, Anne followed Lady Merton to her room, in order to ask some question about the dress which she was to wear the next day, Sunday, and after remaining with her a few minutes, she returned to Elizabeth. She found her looking full of trouble, quite a contrast to the bright animated creature she had been a few minutes before.

"My dear Lizzie," exclaimed Anne, "has anything happened? what has grieved you?"

"Why, Anne," said Elizabeth, with almost a groan, "has not enough happened to grieve me? is it not terrible to think of what I have done?"

Anne stood still and silent, much struck by her cousin"s sorrow; for she had considered their expedition to the Mechanics" Inst.i.tute as a foolish girlish frolic, but by no means as serious a matter as it now proved to be.

"I want you to tell me, Anne," continued Elizabeth; "was I not quite out of my senses yesterday evening? I can hardly believe it was myself who went to that horrible place, I wish you could prove that it was my double-ganger."

Anne laughed,

"But does it not seem incredible," said Elizabeth, "that I, Elizabeth Woodbourne, should have voluntarily meddled with a radical, levelling affair, should have sought out Mrs. Turner and all the set I most dislike, done perhaps an infinity of mischief, and all because Kate wanted to go out on a party of pleasure with that foolish Willie. Oh!

Anne, I wish you would beat me."

"Would that be any comfort to you?" said Anne, smiling.

"Yes," said Elizabeth; "I should feel as if I was suffering a little for my madness. Oh! how I hope Papa will speak to me about it. If he does not, I shall see his displeasure in his eyes, and oh! I could bear anything better than the silent stern way in which he used to look at me, once before, when I had behaved very ill. And then, to-morrow is Sunday, and I shall scarcely see him all day, and he will have no time to speak to me; and how can I get through a Sunday, feeling that he is angry with me? how shall I teach the children, or do anything as usual?

Anne, what do you think was the first sound in my ears when I awoke this morning, and has been returning upon me all day?--the words, "It was a tree to be desired to make one wise.""

"Little wisdom we have gained from it," said Anne.

"Eve"s wisdom," said Elizabeth, "the knowledge of evil, and the wisdom of vanity and vexation of spirit. But was it not curious, Anne? when first I woke, before I had opened my eyes, those words were sounding in my ears, like a dream of Papa"s voice, reading the Lesson at church; I almost fell asleep again, and again those words came back in Papa"s voice, and then I woke entirely, and before I had seen what kind of day it was, before I knew whether it was Sat.u.r.day or Sunday, I was sure there was something wrong, and then there was all this black Mechanics"

Inst.i.tute business before me. And all through this day those words have been ringing in my ears, and coming upon me like the pressure of King James"s iron belt."

"Have they indeed?" said Anne, "I could hardly have believed it. I have not seen your "look o"ercast and lower," like his."

"Perhaps not," said Elizabeth; "but yet I was like him.

"Forward he rushed with double glee Into the tide of revelry."

And I believe that having anything on my mind puts me in wilder spirits, apparently, than usual, but I am sure that my merriment to-day was no proof that I was happy. It was partly, I believe, from a mad spirit, like what drives wicked men to drinking, and partly from folly and levity. It was the same when Mamma"s sister, Miss Dorothea Hazleby, died; I am sure I was very sorry for Aunt Dorothy, for she was a most amiable person, and had always been particularly kind to me, and I was very sorry too for Mamma and old Mrs. Hazleby, who were broken-hearted about it; yet would you believe it? the very day that Papa was gone to Hastings, to the funeral, and Mamma was at home, too ill and too wretched to go, even to her mother, I was out in the garden with Horace and Dora, forgot all about her distress, and began a noisy game with them close under her window. She sent Kate to tell them not to make such a noise; and when we came in, and she found that it was my doing, she gave me such a kind, grieved, reproachful look, that I think I shall never forget it. And now it is most strange to think how wildly and merrily I laughed at all Rupert"s jokes, when I knew I was in disgrace, and after having behaved so very ill."

"Indeed, I did not think it would have distressed you so much," said Anne; "I never thought it was more than a very foolish affair."

"It is a very different thing for you," said Elizabeth; "you have nothing to do with the town, and you need not have known that it was not a fit place to go to."

"But you did not know that it was not fit for us," said Anne.

"I did know that I ought not to go where I had not been told I might go," said Elizabeth. "It was relying on my own judgement that led me astray. But, oh! I wish I had been here at the time the Socialist lectures were given; I should as soon have thought of climbing up the kitchen-chimney, as of going to that den, and giving the ragam.u.f.fins such a victory over Papa."

"It was very silly of us not to ask a few more questions," said Anne.

"Ah! that is the worst part of my behaviour," said Elizabeth; "that abominably unfair account which I gave you, at Mr. Turner"s door, of Helen"s objections. It was in fact almost deceit, and the only thing that can take off from the blackness of it, is that I was sufficiently senseless to believe it myself at the time I spoke."

"Oh yes, of course you did," said Anne.

"Yet there must have been a sort of feeling that your hearing her arguments would put a stop to the beautiful scheme," said Elizabeth; "you do not know, perhaps, that Kate was nearly convinced by Helen"s good sense, and I do believe that the reason I was not, was, what I tremble to think of, that I have been indulging in a frightful spirit of opposing and despising Helen, because I was angry with her for loving d.y.k.elands better than home. I do believe she hardly dares to open her lips. I heard her telling Lucy afterwards that there was a rose at d.y.k.elands of the colour of her pattern, and I dare say she did not say so, when it would have been to the purpose, for fear I should say that damp turns roses orange-coloured; and I could see she did not defend her pendant with Captain Atherley for fear I should tell her he was not infallible. No wonder she pines for d.y.k.elands; a fine sort of sister and home she has found here, poor child."

"Oh! now you think so--" Anne began, but here she stopped short, checked by her dread of interfering between sisters; she could not bear to add to Elizabeth"s bitter feelings of self-reproach, and she could not say that her conduct on the preceding evening had been by any means what it ought to have been, that she had treated Helen kindly, or that Helen had not suffered much from her want of consideration for her.

She only kissed her cousin, and wished her good night very affectionately, and nothing more was said that evening.

But Anne"s silence was often very expressive to those who could understand it, and of these Elizabeth was one.