MARGARET GRAHAM.

BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.

AUTHOR OF "DARNLEY," "RICHELIEU," &c.

PART THE THIRD.

THE LAST TRIAL.

CHAP. XI.

THE RESOURCE FOR DISAPPOINTMENT.

WITH the reader's good leave and permission, I will turn awhile to one of whom I have not spoken for some time; namely, Allan Fairfax. I cannot take up his history exactly where I left it, though there is one scene in that history of deep interest, which I should much wish to write even here. The construction of my tale will not let me; but I promise to return to it hereafter, and give its details. I must therefore pass over about a fortnight in silence, and, for the moment, leave the reader's imagination to fill up the interval as it will.

It was barely gray daylight, on the morning after the murder of Doctor Kenmore, when some one knocked at the door of Ben Halliday's cottage, and the little boy Charlie, who was already up, opened it, and beheld Mr. Fairfax, with one of the porters of the "White Lion" inn behind him. The young gentleman's face was pale and haggard, his dress not so neat as usual, and there was a look of melancholy wildness about the eyes, which struck even the little boy very much.

"Is your father gone to work?" asked Fairfax, as soon as he saw him; "I have come to get my portmanteau, Charlie, and to bid him good-bye, for I am going far over the seas, to the land of lions and tigers."

"Oh! no, father is not gone to work," replied the boy; "he can't go. He's been very ill; and was dying, like, till Dr. Kenmore blooded him."

Something almost approaching a groan broke from the lips of Fairfax; but at the same moment Ben Halliday raised his voice, saying in a feeble tone, interrupted by a cough, "Won't you come in, sir?-my wife will be here in a moment;" and Fairfax entered the cottage, and walked up to the sick man's bed-side without saying a word. For a few moments he remained in silence, gazing at Ben Halliday with an absent look; but then rousing himself, as if by a great effort, he said,

66 So you are ill, Halliday-what has been the matter?"

"Oh! dear, sir, I am glad to see you," said Mrs. Halliday, entering the cottage; "my poor husband has been at death's door, with inflammation of the lungs the doctor says. But he's a deal better now, only the cough is troublesome. All the pain is gone, and he can breathe easy."

"It is unfortunate," said Fairfax; "he will be out of work for some time, I am afraid, Mrs. Halliday," and he mused for a minute or two.

"Take up that portmanteau, my man," he continued, speaking to the porter, "and carry it down. Let it be put upon the coach with the other things. I will be down almost as soon as you."

The man charged his shoulder with the load, and walked away; and then Fairfax sat down for a moment, saying,

"I cannot stay now, my good people; but I am very sorry for you, and would willingly do what I can to assist you. Here, Mrs. Halliday; here are five sovereigns to help you through your husband's illness. I am somewhat richer than I was, Halliday, so you must not mind taking it."

"Oh! Mr. Fairfax, I cannot indeed," said Ben Halliday; but Fairfax beckoned to the wife, and she, like a wise woman, suffered him to put the money into her hand, thanking him a thousand times for his goodness.

Fairfax stayed a few minutes longer, almost all the time plunged in deep thought, and then rose suddenly to depart.

"God bless you, sir!" said Ben Halliday, as the young gentleman shook hands with him; and Mrs. Halliday also said "God bless you!" and the boy and girl looked earnestly in his face, as if they would have said the same, but for shyness. But, at the same moment, a head was thrust in at the other door, and a face grinned at him maliciously, while the voice of Tommy Hicks cried,

"You have sent away my seat, and I'll spite you if I catch you." Fairfax shook his fist at him; and, bidding the cottagers adieu, took his way back towards the town with hasty strides.

"How ill Mr. Fairfax looks," said Mrs. Halliday, speaking to her husband, "and so sad, too."

Ben Halliday shook his head, gloomily, and answered,

"Ay, 'Bella, there's many a bitter story amongst the rich and the great, as well as among the poor and the lowly. A fine coat often covers a sad heart; and I am afraid Mr. Fairfax has cause to regret that he ever came down to Brownswick. Well, he is a fine, noble gentleman, God bless him!"

In the meanwhile, the person they spoke of proceeded on his way till he reached the town of Brownswick, and walked through the streets to the door of the "White Lion," at which was standing the morning coach for London, with the horses being put to. Fairfax saw, though he hardly noticed, a number of groups of the town's-people standing at the corners of the streets, and talking eagerly together. The guard and the coachman, too, as they bustled about round the coach, and in and out of the office, exchanged a number of sentences with a party of idlers who were standing near; but Fairfax heard not a word of what they said; and pausing for an instant at the inn-door, he called for his bill, and paid it without going in, gave waiters, and chambermaid, and boots, the usual fee, and, putting on a thick great coat, which was officiously held for him by several of the people of the inn, he inquired if his luggage had been put up, and then took his place upon the coach-box. In a minute or two the coachman was by his side; two fat, elderly ladies rolled out of the office and into the vehicle; a dull-looking man got upon the top; and away the coach went for London as fast as the four greys could carry it. Nothing of any kind occurred on the journey which would interest the reader in the slightest manner to repeat. Allan Fairfax arrived in safety, about three o'clock on the following day, at an inn in the giant of cities.

He instantly set out for the chambers of a lawyer in Gray's Inn, gave a number of directions, signed several papers, and then said,

"Now, Mr. Tindle, you must manage all the rest of my affairs yourself, for I shall set out to-morrow morning early for Plymouth. I shall there catch the John Green East-Indiaman-at least, I hope so-and I trust to be in India and with my regiment in a few months."

"Dear me, sir, you surprise me," cried the solicitor; "why, when you left London, you intended to sell out; and I can't act in this business, or any other, without a power-of-attorney."

"It does not matter, Mr. Tindle," said Fairfax, "all my views are changed. If a power-of-attorney is necessary, you must get it ready directly, and let me have it to-night at the inn where I am staying in the city; I will sign it immediately."

"But will you not see your brothers, sir?" asked the solicitor; "I am sure they have acted very handsomely in this business."

"When they could not do otherwise," answered Fairfax, bitterly; "you will say, probably, that they might have protracted the affair by a suit-at-law; but I must ever feel, Mr. Tindle, that by affecting to believe there was some ground for my father's wild-I must call it insane notion regarding my birth, and taking advantage of that to deprive me for so long of even an equal share of his property, they dissolved every tie between us. I wish not, in the slightest degree, to have any dispute with them; and trust that, if ever I return from India, we shall live on amicable terms; but I cannot forget the past, and therefore shall go away without seeing them. You may say any thing civil on my part that you like, when you come to wind up the whole affair, but it would be better for me not to see them at present."

"But will you not want money, my dear sir?" inquired the lawyer; "money, without which, as you have lately found, nothing is to be done on this earth. I am sure if, under present circumstances, I can be of any

service-"

"No, no," answered Fairfax, "I have enough for the moment. Many thanks to you, however. When the whole is finished, you may pay a thousand pounds into the hands of my agent, as I shall want to buy some horses and other things when I get to Calcutta; and now, pray get the papers ready directly, that there may be no delay, for, signed or not signed, I go at five o'clock to-morrow."

And Allan Fairfax went. At Plymouth he caught the vessel he expected to find, embarked, and reached Calcutta in safety. His fellowpassengers remarked how cold, and grave, and disagreeable he was, and his brother-officers, when he rejoined his regiment, observed that Fairfax was sadly changed. The gay, light spirit was gone; the brilliant fancy that played round all things, no longer enlivened his conversation; but stern thought seemed to have taken possession of him, and to hold him bound as in a chain. Always famous for his gallantry, Fairfax was now rash; and in the despatches from one of the many fields which have lately been fought in India, his name was twice marked-once as deserving public thanks for his services against the enemy, and once as severely wounded.

There was an eye which read the despatch in England, and a cheek that glowed warmly at the account of his chivalrous daring. But when the list of killed and wounded was read over, and Margaret Graham came

to the words, "Captain Allan Fairfax, severely," there were tears dropped upon the paper, and she laid it down with a heavy sigh.

Two years had passed since Fairfax was at Brownswick, and Margaret had laid by her widow's weeds. Young, beautiful, graceful, excellent, and bright, who, with free heart and hand would not have sought her? But the life she lived was so retired that no one had any opportunity of pleading love. She came upon the people in the neighbourhood by glimpses. Some persons were necessarily admitted on business. The Rector of Allenchurch, and the Vicar of Allerdale, dined with her often, with their wives, bringing the daughter of the latter: the former had no children. But Margaret had made a hard bargain with them, that they were never to ask her in return. There was only one other person of whom she saw much; and that was a Miss Harding, who had acted as bridesmaid on her marriage to Dr. Kenmore. She was the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman, who, at his death, had left her in great poverty but she had received a very good education, and sang beautifully. Without hesitation, she had instantly applied herself to earn her own bread by teaching music, and she had been Margaret's first instructor. Her conduct had been praiseworthy in every respect; her manners were graceful and ladylike; and though she was fifteen or sixteen years older than her pupil, a friendship had arisen between them, which Mr. Graham had always encouraged, though his wife had not appeared to approve of it. In the day of their adversity, Miss Harding had been of service in many respects; and now she was Margaret's frequent companion during her solitude, taking part in her pleasures, and, with a gentle cheerfulness, brightening a house into which melancholy thoughts would still intrude frequently.

One day, when she was sitting with her friend, shortly after the news of the battle which I have mentioned had arrived in England, she looked up from the part of the newspaper she was reading, asking,

"Did you not once know a Mr. Fairfax, Margaret?"

"Yes," answered Margaret, with a sudden start. "Is there any thing about him there ?—I did not see it."

"It is about some relation of his, I suppose" replied Miss Harding. "See here-Death of Sir William Fairfax.-We regret to announce that Sir William Fairfax, Member for the Western Division of the County of departed this life on Tuesday last, at his house in Portland Place. He is succeeded in his title and the family estates by his cousin, Captain Allan Fairfax, who lately distinguished himself so much in India, the late baronet having only left daughters. Sir Allan is expected daily in England.'"

Margaret was drawing; and she continued to draw; but, after a few minutes, she rose and left the room; and when she returned, Miss Harding thought she had been weeping. From that moment the latter never mentioned the name of Fairfax in Margaret's hearing. Two more months passed over without any event, and Margaret Graham reached her four-and-twentieth birth-day. Miss Harding passed the day with her, and Margaret would fain have engaged her to stay several more; but her friend replied,

"I cannot, Margaret. I am engaged to-morrow evening to Sir Wild Clerk's, to sing, you know," she added, with a smile, "and I have still to gain my bread."

"You need not unless you like, Eliza,” replied Margaret.

"What, change the friend for the dependant, Margaret ?" said Miss Harding; "no, no; it is better as it is. At all events, I must go to these good people, for I have promised; but, if you like, I will come back the next morning."

"I do like, very much," answered Margaret, with a smile: and so it was settled.

CHAP. XII.

A COUNTRY ROUT.

THE party at Sir Wild Clerk's was as large as the neighbourhood of Brownswick would furnish. He was a wealthy man, a man of ancient family in the county, and in fact a very good sort of person; but he had been seized with a desire of seeing his eldest son, a raw lad from college, represent a borough in parliament, and therefore he crammed his house full once or twice a month. Something had delayed Miss Harding till more than one-half of the guests had arrived. She expected no very great attention; she knew that she was invited for her voice, and as she had no vote, that if she had not been able to sing and amuse others she would not have been invited at all. She was accustomed to the thing-had made her mind up to it, and therefore was not at all surprised that, with the exception of two or three of her pupils, who, in the simple kindness of a young girl's heart, greeted her warmly-nobody took much notice of her till Lady Clerk asked her to sit down to the piano, and she sang a little ballad of which she was very fond and Margaret also. At the end of the first stanza she raised her eyes, and saw a gentleman standing beside the lady of the house (who seemed to be paying him very great attention), with his face turned towards her, gazing at her steadfastly. She thought him remarkably handsome, and certainly there was something in his air and manner which distinguished him from every one else in the room. He was a young man, too, tall and spare in form with a face very pale, and an air of thoughtful gravity which always has something of dignity in it. The moment that her eyes met his, he averted his glance, and continued with his head bent as if to hear what Lady Clerk was saying, but yet there was a look of abstraction on his face which did not seem to show any great attention. When her song was done, the lady, to her surprise, moved up to thank her and to express her pleasure, and she was followed by the stranger, who was introduced to her by a name which she did not hear; for a patronising connoisseur young lady-they are a class-came up to declare she was enchanted, and to beg that the next thing she sang might be "So-and-so."

Miss Harding sang it at once, though she disliked it very much, and then retiring quietly took a seat in the next room, till she should be called upon again. There was a vacant chair on one side of her and a deaf old lady on the other, who asked her why she did not sing that night; and while she was explaining, as well as she could to one who could not hear, that she had just been singing, the gentleman to whom she had been introduced came and sat down beside her.

“That is a delightful ballad, Miss Harding," he said; "I mean the first one you sang, not the second, which did not please me as much. Can