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loses this child. She must never know of the exchange. Before the baby dies, and it has not many hours to live, the other must be put in its place while she sleeps, or is too confused in her head to know what we are doing. Then when she comes round a little, and sees the child strong and well, no doubt she'll recover too. She must never know it ;'-and he said the word never as if he wanted to nail the notion into my head. I felt quite puzzled and unsteady, and did not know what to say. There was the thought of the poor lady's death, and Mr Lascelles's grief, and perhaps his death too, for to be sure no one ever loved his wife more than he; and then I thought how ill I could do for my daughter and her children, how often they would be likely to want food and clothes and fire, and what worse would become of them if I died; and, after pondering a minute or two, I said-Sir, you shall have the child, if I can manage it."

The whole story had gradually been unfolding itself in Maria's mind, though, in her amazement, she had much difficulty to comprehend it perfectly. At last she exclaimed "Do you mean that I am your granddaughter, and not the child of Mrs Lascelles?"

Startled at her tone of voice, he answered, hurriedly-" That and nothing else is what I mean."

Then rose an agony of grief in her. She covered her face with both her hands, and her head sank down upon her lap. Her limbs, too, failed, and she slid off the bench until she knelt upon the ground. Fowler was bewildered between habitual respect for her station and fond affection for herself, and he thought that he had best let her weep on for some minutes. Then he went to her and touched her arm. She shrank from him hastily, but the next instant seized the great brown furrowed hand, and pressed it to her lips. She rose from her knees and sat down again upon the bench, and desired him to sit beside her." Tell me," she said, "what became of my mother?"

"She lost her little boy by hoopingcough, and then she too pined away and died. They are both buried with my wife and our other children in the churchyard of the old church that was burned the other night. It was still

used now and then for burying in those days."

This brought back to Maria her presence there, and all the scene with Walsingham, and suggested to her more vividly than any thing before the change of her position in the world. She tried, however, to fix her thoughts upon the obscure grave and history of her mother, and to find her own reality in these new circumstances. Of Mrs Lascelles she did not dare to think. But at last she asked again,-" Who was my father?"

"He was a fisherman twenty miles from this, and a very good young man. But he was drowned, and his wife was obliged to return to me. His name was Williams."

She mused for a few moments, and, gathering strength and courage, said to Fowler-" My name, then, is Williams, too? But there are other things that I must know in order to do what is right."-Then, by several distinct questions, she drew from him the account of which the following facts are a summary:

Mr Lascelles had himself gone for the child at night, together with the medical man, taking the corpse of his own baby to Fowler's cottage. This was buried, a day or two afterwards, as the child of Mrs Williams. Her living infant was, in the mean-time, conveyed to the Mount; and, as Mrs Lascelles was far too ill to observe accurately, and the room was kept darkened, there was no difficulty in deceiving her. She then gradually recovered her health, and soon became perfectly well. Mr Lascelles had said to Fowler that he should immediately make a will, bequeathing all his property to Maria after his wife's death, with an annuity to Fowler and his daughter. He premised, however, that this had not been done, as he had not since received any payment, and the omission was easily explained, for Mr Lascelles was killed a very few months afterwards by a fall from his horse. Lascelles then removed to London, in order to be near her mother and other friends. The nurse, who alone among the servants knew of the exchange, had been long dead. The medical man had gone to reside in the metropolis, and of his further history Fowler knew nothing. But he produced from an old tin snuff-box a certificate of the principal fact written by Mr Lascelles

Mrs

himself, and signed both by him and the surgeon.

The sight of this paper again agitated Maria violently, for although she had before no doubt of the truth of the narrative, this seemed at once to bring it into the class of admitted and commonplace facts. Every thing which seemed to separate her from Mrs Lascelles was to her excruciating. But she felt the necessity of decision and external calmness, and would think only of what was to be done.

"Why," she said, "did you not tell me this sooner?"

"Why should I? You were happy, and so was I. And I did not know what change it might make for you if I spoke of matters that had happened twenty years ago. But now I think I shall not live much longer, and I could not die quietly without telling you the truth. But I shall never speak a word of it to any one else. So you must settle for yourself whether you choose any thing to be done about it."

"I shall at once tell Mr and Mrs Nugent the whole story. What they may wish I do not know. But I will send to inform you as soon as possible. In the meantime, take this," giving him the contents of her purse, "I must not have money and you be in want of it."

The old man looked at her with glistening and delighted eyes, and exclaimed, "Well, when I have seen you, I have often thought you are a deal prettier than ever your poor mother was, though she was the prettiest girl in the parish; but I never knew you look half so beautiful before. Perhaps when I see you again, if that ever happens, it may be settled that you shall be nothing more to me than a fine young lady, and, I daresay, that would be best for us both. But I should like that you would give your old grandfather one kiss before he dies.' She threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him repeatedly, while the tears ran down his face. "Now," he said, "dear Miss Maria, you had best go to the house, and leave me to get home at my own pace. You will have plenty to think of, no doubt. But, at all events, you may believe that you are dearer to poor old Jack Fowler than to any of the great folks you have been living among. I never saw the tail of your gown go by without praying God to bless you; and when you used to come down here from London, I always fancied He had sent an angel into the country to do every body good. God bless you, my darling! God bless you, and make you as happy as I wish you, and as good as the Virgin Mary!"

CHAPTER X.

When Maria had reached her own room she threw herself upon her knees, and prayed for strength to do what was right in all things, and to bear meekly and cheerfully whatever might occur to her.

She then sat down and began to reflect upon the steps requisite to be taken. Her heart was full of the memory of Mrs Lascelles, who had been to her far more than a common mother, and who had died in the belief that Maria was her child. But she knew that now was not the time for these feelings, and turned away from them in order to act decidedly. The question as to Mr Nugent's determination was far from clear. He was a haughty self-indulgent man, full of concentrated family pride, and believing that there was a specific virtue in the blood of his ancestors to render

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Her supposed mother's small fortune, she also believed, had come to her by inheritance, not bequest; as, indeed, Mrs Lascelles could have had no reason for making a testamentary disposition in favour of an only child, who would naturally succeed to her possessions. Any provision from this source she would, therefore, also be deprived of; and, at all events, she would have had at least much hesitation in taking advantage of a bequest made under an erroneous belief as to her birth. Thus she saw clearly that she was now altogether dependent on Mr Nugeut, who had always professed the intention of making her his heir, but who would now assuredly abandon any such design, and might very possibly even dismiss her from his regard and protection. Mrs Nugent abounded in good-will of a very ordinary and undiscerning stamp, but, as to all more serious matters, was a mere instrument of her husband's decrees. She bought some latitude of indulgence by an idolatrous veneration for his wisdom in every thing on which he condescended to exert it.

Having thus reviewed for herself the chief circumstances of her situation, she wrote a full account of all she had heard from Fowler, which she addressed to Mr Nugent, and begged to know what he might decide. She sent the letter to him by a servant within two hours of her return to the house. Having done this, her heart, though still deeply agitated, felt much lighter than before; and she leant her head upon her hand, and retraced all her life with Mrs Lascelles, even in the most minute detail, as if on occasion of a second death-bed, again taking leave for ever of the only being whom she had known as a mother. She took out, and looked at all the little outward tokens in her possession of warm and pure maternal affection, a miniature which she had always worn, a bracelet of her hair, a paper of practical directions for her conduct in life, and some fragments of written prayer for her welfare. Long and sadly did she contemplate these things, and revolved the mystery of that relation, so far higher and holier than the outward and natural one, which had constituted, and would for ever maintain the guide and guardian of her childhood as the true and imperishable mother of her spirit.

She was left alone to the indulgence of these reflections till nearly evening, when her maid knocked at the door and delivered to her a letter, which, she said, had been given to her by Mr Nugent's man. Maria dismissed her, and with a firm hand opened the paper, which had no direction, but the contents of which ran thus:

"DEAR MISS WILLIAMS,-I address you by the name which I learn from your communication you must henceforth bear, because it can never be too soon to act upon a sense of duty. You will not expect me to write very coherently while indignant, as I now must be, at the unprincipled deception so long practised upon me. Not that I mean at all severely to blame you. I have no doubt, from all I have seen of you, that you would have shrunk with just horror from assuming_any claim to the blood of my family. Even if, as I cannot but suspect, you have sometimes had instinctive suspicionsprovidential intimations, as it were that your birth did not entitle you to the position you were placed in, yet I cannot wonder that these were speedily suppressed by the consideration of the distinction you thus attained, to say nothing of the ease and elegance of your life, which I candidly confess that I esteem of less importance. Neither do I unconditionally condemn my late sister, who, doubtless, had derived from her ancestors a sense of honour that must have prevented her from intruding any one of obscure descent into our family. I cannot, however, but suppose that in earlier life, and when nearer to the plebeian source of your existence, your disposition and appearance must have betrayed to a near observer some traces of vulgarity, of course, exquisitely painful to your supposed mother. I can, therefore, only presume that a due regard to her husband's memory withheld her from indulging any doubt on the subject, especially as, without even fancying any such substitution as had unhap pily taken place, it might have been believed that the signs of rusticity and meanness had arisen naturally from him, as I have heard that one of his grandmothers was little better than a farmer's daughter. For him, indeed, I reserve my whole moral disapprobation, contempt, and disgust. If forging the name of a commercial house to a

1839.]

The Onyx Ring.

piece of paper, which can only lead to the loss of money-so deservedly undervalued by all moral writers-be justly thought worthy of painful, disgraceful, nay, even of capital punishment, how can we rate sufficiently high the guilt of a culprit who has deliberately forged the name of an honourable family-for the Lascelles's are decidedly gentlemen-to a child, to a living progeny of beggars, fishermen, peasants, and I know not whom-nay, has involved in this disgrace an ancestry beyond comparison more distinguished, whom, through his wife, he has thus attempted to stain with indelible contamination? Far, far better had my sister perished honourably, rather than be saved by such an artifice, and live in some degree to aid in so basely deluding me. It is doubtless an ordinance of the Divine mercy which left him without a son who might possibly have inherited his laxity of principle. But I restrain my outraged feelings from regard to you, who would, perhaps, be pained by the expression of them in their full force.

"As to yourself, my dear Miss Williams, it will be obvious to your good sense, which, for a person of your birth, certainly does you credit, that you have lived in my family only as my niece, and, the error being cleared up, I owe it to myself to take care, however reluctantly, that you should no longer occupy the same si

43

tuation. Indeed, your continuance in
this house, even as an humble com-
panion of Mrs Nugent, would be so
distressing to me as reminding me of
the deception I have suffered from, as
well, doubtless, as to Mrs Nugent, who
always governs hers views by mine,
that I could not think myself justified
in so lacerating all our most sacred
sentiments and principles. You de-
rive no property from Mr Lascelles,
and that of Mrs Lascelles, my late
sister, now reverts to me as her bro-
ther. I am far, however, from desir-
ing that you should be left without
the means of subsistence in the rank
of life which you must now belong
to, and to which your origin so natu-
I therefore pro-
rally consigns you.
pose to settle on you the sum of fifty
pounds per annum, both as an act of
charity, and as marking my general
approbation of your couduct. I also
wish you to remain in this house for
a day or two, until you can make ar-
You will
rangements for quitting it.
always find in me a sincere friend, and
it must be a relief to your mind to
know that I do not consider you as
in any serious degree guilty of the
foul and profligate treachery which
has been exercised towards me.
lieve me, my dear Miss Williams, very
sincerely yours,

CHAPTER XI.

Well as Maria thought she knew the writer of this letter, she was hard ly prepared for all its contents, and she could not suppress her disgust at She took, many expressions in it. however, a few hours to consider what she should do, and sent to beg that she might be excused from appearing at dinner. The most pressing object was to communicate with her grandfather; but for this purpose the only person she could apply to at the moment was the old housekeeper. The good woman heard the story of her birth with amazement and bitter grief, and readily undertook to go to Fowler that evening, and say that Maria was soon to leave the Mount, but could not yet decide precisely what she should do. This being arranged, she wrote to Arthur a full statement of

Be

"WALTER ALGERNON SIDNEY "NUGENT."

the whole matter, distinctly released
him from his engagement, which, she
said, she feared had been already
irksome to him, and stated that she
designed to seek at once for a situa-
She added, that
tion as governess.
she did not wish him to misunderstand
her views, and would explain them to
him, although to no one else. She felt
sure that any plan of residing with her
grandfather would, from their dif-
ferent habits, be extremely unpleasant
and disadvantageous to them both.
She referred, however, with earnest
admiration to the noble qualities of
the old man, and said that he was one
from whom a queen might be proud
to have descended.

She had hardly finished this letter before Mrs Nugent came to her in a foolish flurry of sorrow, wonder, and

good-nature. She had adopted all her husband's opinions on this as on every other subject, but her heart was too much for her head, and, in bidding Maria good-night, she showed real feeling. The housekeeper did not present herself till later, and then she came in with a face of paleness and anxiety, and said, " Ma'am, you need not think any more of doing him good. He is gone to a better place, and has left you his blessing."

This new shock for a time completely overpowered Maria, and a long flood of tears gave her a melancholy relief. When she could again collect herself so vanishes the thought, the last tie of human kindred that belonged to me on earth-the image of the cheerful, generous, unconquerable old man rose strongly before her as she had seen him that very morning. She could hardly conceive the possibility of his so sudden death, although he had himself foreseen it. The housekeeper said, in answer to her questions, that a woman, the wife of a labourer, had come to attend on him. By her account, he had returned from the Mount much exhausted, and had lain down on his pallet, hardly able to speak. The woman, whom he had called on in his way home, and begged to accompany him, had given him drink, and after a time he had regained strength enough to explain himself, but was evidently fast declining. He was hardly alive when the housekeeper reached him, yet he seemed pleased when she mentioned who it was that had sent her. With closed eyes and joined hands he articulated very feebly, "Tell Miss Maria that I pray God to bless her-God Almighty bless her!"-A few miuutes afterwards he again opened his bright blue eyes, fixed them on the face of his visitor, with a slight smile-closed them again —and expired.

Maria, strange as it may seem, slept during the night, and dreamed that she was a child gathering daisies, which she put into a basket that Jack Fowler held for her, and which he afterwards helped her to carry and present to Mrs Lascelles. When she woke, all the occurrences of the previous day also appeared a dream. But swiftly they broke upon her; and although at first she trembled, she soon regained her strength and calmness, and felt in the very gravity and sadness of the

events a claim on her for the energy required by them. Having made up her mind as to the future, she determined to see Mr Nugent, for she knew that her presence had an ascendency over him which she would be far from equally certain of maintaining by letter.

She went down to his study, knocked at the door, entered, and found him sitting woe-begone over a parchment pedigree, examining to whom he ought to bequeath his property. He rose at her approach, coloured, and stammered out-" Well, dear Maria-Miss Lascelles-Williams, I mean-I trust you are satisfied with the communication you received from me."-She looked at him steadily and courteously, and said "I have no complaint to make.”—Then she took a chair and sat down; on which he grew more confused and more civil, and, also sitting down, said " Can I do any thing for you? I shall be most happy if you will let me know how I can serve you."

66

Pray, have you heard of the death of my grandfather?"

"Yes; Mrs Simpson told me of it. Allow me to condole with you on the subject. I assure you I have always entertained a favourable opinion of him, and do not blame him—that is, I do not so very much blame him-for his concealment of the truth."

"Of course nobody dares imagine that any blame attaches to him. He only complied with the eager wishes of Mr Lascelles, and could not suppose himself in any way responsible for the result of his private arrangements.-But I now wish to say, that, as I have so long lived in your family, and have not, I trust, at all disgraced it, I cannot conceive myself asking any extravagant favour if I desire to be allowed to remain here until I can make all the necessary preparations for quitting the house with propriety. During that interval I trust I shall not be pained by any superfluous remarks, either on my own parentage or on the conduct of Mr and Mrs Lascelles. These are points which cannot, I think, be very decently commented on before me, in the tone of your letter. If, as I presume will be the case, you agree to my wishes in these respects, it will give me pleasure to remain with you and Mrs Nugent for some days; and I hope to show by my conduct

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