IT was two o'clock when I returned to my lodgings; my dinner,just brought in from a neighbouring hotel, smoked on the table; Isat down thinking to eat--had the plate been heaped withpotsherds and broken glass, instead of boiled beef and haricots,I could not have made a more signal failure: appetite hadforsaken me. Impatient of seeing food which I could not taste, Iput it all aside into a cupboard, and then demanded, "What shallI do till evening?" for before six P.M. it would be vain to seekthe Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges; its inhabitant (for me it had butone) was detained by her vocation elsewhere. I walked in thestreets of Brussels, and I walked in my own room from two o'clocktill six; never once in that space of time did I sit down. I wasin my chamber when the last-named hour struck; I had just bathedmy face and feverish hands, and was standing near the glass; mycheek was crimson, my eye was flame, still all my features lookedquite settled and calm. Descending swiftly the stair andstepping out, I was glad to see Twilight drawing on in clouds;such shade was to me like a grateful screen, and the chill oflatter Autumn, breathing in a fitful wind from the north-west,met me as a refreshing coolness. Still I saw it was cold toothers, for the women I passed were wrapped in shawls, and themen had their coats buttoned close.

When are we quite happy? Was I so then? No; an urgent andgrowing dread worried my nerves, and had worried them since thefirst moment good tidings had reached me. How was Frances? Itwas ten weeks since I had seen her, six since I had heard fromher, or of her. I had answered her letter by a brief note,friendly but calm, in which no mention of continuedcorrespondence or further visits was made. At that hour my barkhung on the topmost curl of a wave of fate, and I knew not onwhat shoal the onward rush of the billow might hurl it; I wouldnot then attach her destiny to mine by the slightest thread; ifdoomed to split on the rock, or run a aground on the sand-bank, Iwas resolved no other vessel should share my disaster: but sixweeks was a long time; and could it be that she was still welland doing well? Were not all sages agreed in declaring thathappiness finds no climax on earth? Dared I think that but halfa street now divided me from the full cup of contentment--thedraught drawn from waters said to flow only in heaven?

I was at the door; I entered the quiet house; I mounted thestairs; the lobby was void and still, all the doors closed; Ilooked for the neat green mat; it lay duly in its place.

"Signal of hope!" I said, and advanced. "But I will be a littlecalmer; I am not going to rush in, and get up a scene directly."Forcibly staying my eager step, I paused on the mat.

"What an absolute hush! Is she in? Is anybody in?" I demandedto myself. A little tinkle, as of cinders falling from a grate,replied; a movement--a fire was gently stirred; and the slightrustle of life continuing, a step paced equably backwards andforwards, backwards and forwards, in the apartment. Fascinated,I stood, more fixedly fascinated when a voice rewarded theattention of my strained ear--so low, so self-addressed, I neverfancied the speaker otherwise than alone; solitude might speakthus in a desert, or in the hall of a forsaken house.

"'And ne'er but once, my son,' he said,'Was yon dark cavern trod;In persecution's iron days,When the land was left by God.From Bewley's bog, with slaughter red,A wanderer hither drew;And oft he stopp'd and turn'd his head,As by fits the night-winds blew.For trampling round by Cheviot-edgeWere heard the troopers keen;And frequent from the Whitelaw ridgeThe death-shot flash'd between,'" &c. &c.

The old Scotch ballad was partly recited, then dropt; a pauseensued; then another strain followed, in French, of which thepurport, translated, ran as follows:--

I gave, at first, attention close;Then interest warm ensued;From interest, as improvement rose,Succeeded gratitude.

Obedience was no effort soon,And labour was no pain;If tired, a word, a glance aloneWould give me strength again.

From others of the studious band,Ere long he singled me;But only by more close demand,And sterner urgency.

The task he from another took,From me he did reject;He would no slight omission brook,And suffer no defect.

If my companions went astray,He scarce their wanderings blam'd;If I but falter'd in the way,His anger fiercely flam'd.

Something stirred in an adjoining chamber; it would not do to besurprised eaves-dropping; I tapped hastily, And as hastilyentered. Frances was just before me; she had been walking slowlyin her room, and her step was checked by my advent: Twilightonly was with her, and tranquil, ruddy Firelight; to thesesisters, the Bright and the Dark, she had been speaking, ere Ientered, in poetry. Sir Walter Scott's voice, to her a foreign,far-off sound, a mountain echo, had uttered itself in the firststanzas; the second, I thought, from the style and the substance,was the language of her own heart. Her face was grave, itsexpression concentrated; she bent on me an unsmiling eye--an eyejust returning from abstraction, just awaking from dreams:well-arranged was her simple attire, smooth her dark hair,orderly her tranquil room; but what--with her thoughtful look,her serious self-reliance, her bent to meditation and haplyinspiration--what had she to do with love? "Nothing," was theanswer of her own sad, though gentle countenance; it seemed tosay, "I must cultivate fortitude and cling to poetry; one is tobe my support and the other my solace through life. Humanaffections do not bloom, nor do human passions glow for me."Other women have such thoughts. Frances, had she been asdesolate as she deemed, would not have been worse off thanthousands of her sex. Look at the rigid and formal race of oldmaids--the race whom all despise; they have fed themselves, fromyouth upwards, on maxims of resignation and endurance. Many ofthem get ossified with the dry diet; self-control is socontinually their thought, so perpetually their object, that atlast it absorbs the softer and more agreeable qualities of theirnature; and they die mere models of austerity, fashioned out of alittle parchment and much bone. Anatomists will tell you thatthere is a heart in the withered old maid's carcase--the same asin that of any cherished wife or proud mother in the land. Canthis be so? I really don't know; but feel inclined to doubt it.

I came forward, bade Frances "good evening," and took my seat.The chair I had chosen was one she had probably just left; itstood by a little table where were her open desk and papers. Iknow not whether she had fully recognized me at first, but shedid so now; and in a voice, soft but quiet, she returned mygreeting. I had shown no eagerness; she took her cue from me,and evinced no surprise. We met as me had always met, as masterand pupil--nothing more. I proceeded to handle the papers;Frances, observant and serviceable, stepped into an inner room,brought a candle, lit it, placed it by me; then drew the curtainover the lattice, and having added a little fresh fuel to thealready bright fire, she drew a second chair to the table and satdown at my right hand, a little removed. The paper on the topwas a translation of some grave French author into English, butunderneath lay a sheet with stanzas; on this I laid hands.Frances half rose, made a movement to recover the captured spoil,saying, that was nothing--a mere copy of verses. I put byresistance with the decision I knew she never long opposed; buton this occasion her fingers had fastened on the paper. I hadquietly to unloose them; their hold dissolved to my touch; herhand shrunk away; my own would fain have followed it, but for thepresent I forbade such impulse. The first page of the sheet wasoccupied with the lines I had overheard; the sequel was notexactly the writer's own experience, but a composition byportions of that experience suggested. Thus while egotism wasavoided, the fancy was exercised, and the heart satisfied. Itranslate as before, and my translation is nearly literal; itcontinued thus:--

When sickness stay'd awhile my course,He seem'd impatient still,Because his pupil's flagging forceCould not obey his will.

One day when summoned to the bedWhere pain and I did strive,I heard him, as he bent his head,Say, "God, she must revive!"

I felt his hand, with gentle stress,A moment laid on mine,And wished to mark my consciousnessBy some responsive sign.

But pow'rless then to speak or move,I only felt, within,The sense of Hope, the strength of Love,Their healing work begin.

And as he from the room withdrew,My heart his steps pursued;I long'd to prove, by efforts new;My speechless gratitude.

When once again I took my place,Long vacant, in the class,Th' unfrequent smile across his faceDid for one moment pass.

The lessons done; the signal madeOf glad release and play,He, as he passed, an instant stay'd,One kindly word to say.

"Jane, till to-morrow you are freeFrom tedious task and rule;This afternoon I must not seeThat yet pale face in school.

"Seek in the garden-shades a seat,Far from the play-ground din;The sun is warm, the air is sweet:Stay till I call you in."

A long and pleasant afternoonI passed in those green bowers;All silent, tranquil, and aloneWith birds, and bees, and flowers.

Yet, when my master's voice I heardCall, from the window, "Jane!"I entered, joyful, at the word,The busy house again.

He, in the hall, paced up and down;He paused as I passed by;His forehead stern relaxed its frown:He raised his deep-set eye.

"Not quite so pale," he murmured low.Now Jane, go rest awhile."And as I smiled, his smoothened browReturned as glad a smile.

My perfect health restored, he tookHis mien austere again;And, as before, he would not brookThe slightest fault from Jane.

The longest task, the hardest themeFell to my share as erst,And still I toiled to place my nameIn every study first.

He yet begrudged and stinted praise,But I had learnt to readThe secret meaning of his face,And that was my best meed.

Even when his hasty temper spokeIn tones that sorrow stirred,My grief was lulled as soon as wokeBy some relenting word.

And when he lent some precious book,Or gave some fragrant flower,I did not quail to Envy's look,Upheld by Pleasure's power.

At last our school ranks took their ground,The hard-fought field I won;The prize, a laurel-wreath, was boundMy throbbing forehead on.

Low at my master's knee I bent,The offered crown to meet;Its green leaves through my temples sentA thrill as wild as sweet.

The strong pulse of Ambition struckIn every vein I owned;At the same instant, bleeding brokeA secret, inward wound.

The hour of triumph was to meThe hour of sorrow sore;A day hence I must cross the sea,Ne'er to recross it more.

An hour hence, in my master's roomI with him sat alone,And told him what a dreary gloomO'er joy had parting thrown.

He little said; the time was brief,The ship was soon to sail,And while I sobbed in bitter grief,My master but looked pale.

They called in haste; he bade me go,Then snatched me back again;He held me fast and murmured low,"Why will they part us, Jane?"

"Were you not happy in my care?Did I not faithful prove?Will others to my darling bearAs true, as deep a love?

"O God, watch o'er my foster child!O guard her gentle head!When minds are high and tempests wildProtection round her spread!

"They call again; leave then my breast;Quit thy true shelter, Jane;But when deceived, repulsed, opprest,Come home to me again! "

I read--then dreamily made marks on the margin with my pencil;thinking all the while of other things; thinking that "Jane" wasnow at my side; no child, but a girl of nineteen; and she mightbe mine, so my heart affirmed; Poverty's curse was taken off me;Envy and Jealousy were far away, and unapprized of this our quietmeeting; the frost of the Master's manner might melt; I felt thethaw coming fast, whether I would or not; no further need for theeye to practise a hard look, for the brow to compress its expenseinto a stern fold: it was now permitted to suffer the outwardrevelation of the inward glow--to seek, demand, elicit ananswering ardour. While musing thus, I thought that the grass onHermon never drank the fresh dews of sunset more gratefully thanmy feelings drank the bliss of this hour.

Frances rose, as if restless; she passed before me to stir thefire, which did not want stirring; she lifted and put down thelittle ornaments on the mantelpiece; her dress waved within ayard of me; slight, straight, and elegant;, she stood erect onthe hearth.

There are impulses we can control; but there are others whichcontrol us, because they attain us with a tiger-leap, and are ourmasters ere we have seen them. Perhaps, though, such impulsesare seldom altogether bad; perhaps Reason, by a process as briefas quiet, a process that is finished ere felt, has ascertainedthe sanity of the deed Instinct meditates, and feels justified inremaining passive while it is performed. I know I did notreason, I did not plan or intend, yet, whereas one moment I wassitting solus on the chair near the table, the next, I heldFrances on my knee, placed there with sharpness and decision, andretained with exceeding tenacity.

"Monsieur!" cried Frances, and was still: not another wordescaped her lips; sorely confounded she seemed during the lapseof the first few moments; but the amazement soon subsided; terrordid not succeed, nor fury: after all, she was only a littlenearer than she had ever been before, to one she habituallyrespected and trusted; embarrassment might have impelled her tocontend, but self-respect checked resistance where resistance wasuseless.

"Frances, how much regard have you for me?" was my demand. Noanswer; the situation was yet too new and surprising to permitspeech. On this consideration, I compelled myself for someseconds to tolerate her silence, though impatient of it:presently, I repeated the same question--probably, not in thecalmest of tones; she looked at me; my face, doubtless, was nomodel of composure, my eyes no still wells of tranquillity.

"Do speak," I urged; and a very low, hurried, yet still archvoice said--

"Monsieur, vous me faites mal; de grace lachez un peu ma maindroite."

In truth I became aware that I was holding the said "main droite"in a somewhat ruthless grasp: I did as desired; and, for thethird time, asked more gently--

"Frances, how much regard have you for me?"

"Mon maitre, j'en ai beaucoup," was the truthful rejoinder.

"Frances, have you enough to give yourself to me as my wife?--toaccept me as your husband?"

I felt the agitation of the heart, I saw "the purple light oflove" cast its glowing reflection on cheeks, temples, neck; Idesired to consult the eye, but sheltering lash and lid forbade.

"Monsieur," said the soft voice at last,--"Monsieur desire savoirsi je consens--si--enfin, si je veux me marier avec lui?"

"Justement."

"Monsieur sera-t-il aussi bon mari qu'il a ete bon maitre?"

"I will try, Frances."

A pause; then with a new, yet still subdued inflexion of thevoice--an inflexion which provoked while it pleased me--accompanied, too, by a "sourire a la fois fin et timide" inperfect harmony with the tone:--

"C'est a dire, monsieur sera toujours un peu entete exigeant,volontaire--?"

"Have I been so, Frances?"

"Mais oui; vous le savez bien."

"Have I been nothing else?"

"Mais oui; vons avez ete mon meilleur ami."

"And what, Frances, are you to me?"

"Votre devouee eleve, qui vous aime de tout son coeur."

"Will my pupil consent to pass her life with me? Speak Englishnow, Frances."

Some moments were taken for reflection; the answer, pronouncedslowly, ran thus:--

"You have always made me happy; I like to hear you speak; I liketo see you; I like to be near you; I believe you are very good,and very superior; I know you are stern to those who are carelessand idle, but you are kind, very kind to the attentive andindustrious, even if they are not clever. Master, I should beGLAD to live with you always;" and she made a sort of movement,as if she would have clung to me, but restraining herself sheonly added with earnest emphasis--"Master, I consent to pass mylife with you."

"Very well, Frances."

I drew her a little nearer to my heart; I took a first kiss fromher lips, thereby sealing the compact, now framed between us;afterwards she and I were silent, nor was our silence brief.Frances' thoughts, during this interval, I know not, nor did Iattempt to guess them; I was not occupied in searching hercountenance, nor in otherwise troubling her composure. The peaceI felt, I wished her to feel; my arm, it is true, still detainedher; but with a restraint that was gentle enough, so long as noopposition tightened it. My gaze was on the red fire; my heartwas measuring its own content; it sounded and sounded, and foundthe depth fathomless.

"Monsieur," at last said my quiet companion, as stirless in herhappiness as a mouse in its terror. Even now in speaking shescarcely lifted her head.

"Well, Frances?" I like unexaggerated intercourse; it is not myway to overpower with amorous epithets, any more than to worrywith selfishly importunate caresses.

"Monsieur est raisonnable, n'eut-ce pas?"

"Yes; especially when I am requested to be so in English: butwhy do you ask me? You see nothing vehement or obtrusive in mymanner; am I not tranquil enough?"

"Ce n'est pas cela--" began Frances.

"English!" I reminded her.

"Well, monsieur, I wished merely to say, that I should like, ofcourse, to retain my employment of teaching. You will teachstill, I suppose, monsieur?"

"Oh, yes! It is all I have to depend on."

"Bon!--I mean good. Thus we shall have both the same profession.I like that; and my efforts to get on will be as unrestrained asyours--will they not, monsieur?"

"You are laying plans to be independent of me," said I.

"Yes, monsieur; I must be no incumbrance to you--no burden in anyway."

"But, Frances, I have not yet told you what my prospects are. Ihave left M. Pelet's; and after nearly a month's seeking, I havegot another place, with a salary of three thousand francs a year,which I can easily double by a little additional exertion. Thusyou see it would be useless for you to fag yourself by going outto give lessons; on six thousand francs you and I can live, andlive well."

Frances seemed to consider. There is something flattering toman's strength, something consonant to his honourable pride, inthe idea of becoming the providence of what he loves--feeding andclothing it, as God does the lilies of the field. So, to decideher resolution, I went on:--

"Life has been painful and laborious enough to you so far,Frances; you require complete rest; your twelve hundred francswould not form a very important addition to our income, and whatsacrifice of comfort to earn it! Relinquish your labours: youmust be weary, and let me have the happiness of giving you rest."

I am not sure whether Frances had accorded due attention to myharangue; instead of answering me with her usual respectfulpromptitude, she only sighed and said,--

"How rich you are, monsieur!" and then she stirred uneasy in myarms. "Three thousand francs!" she murmured, "While I get onlytwelve hundred!" She went on faster. "However, it must be so forthe present; and, monsieur, were you not saying something aboutmy giving up my place? Oh no! I shall hold it fast;" and herlittle fingers emphatically tightened on mine.

"Think of my marrying you to be kept by you, monsieur! I couldnot do it; and how dull my days would be! You would be awayteaching in close, noisy school-rooms, from morning till evening,and I should be lingering at home, unemployed and solitary; Ishould get depressed and sullen, and you would soon tire of me."

"Frances, you could read and study--two things youlike so well."

"Monsieur, I could not; I like a contemplative life, but I likean active life better; I must act in some way, and act with you.I have taken notice, monsieur, that people who are only in eachother's company for amusement, never really like each other sowell, or esteem each other so highly, as those who work together,and perhaps suffer together."

"You speak God's truth," said I at last, "and you shall have yourown way, for it is the best way. Now, as a reward for such readyconsent, give me a voluntary kiss."

After some hesitation, natural to a novice in the art of kissing,she brought her lips into very shy and gentle contact with myforehead; I took the small gift as a loan, and repaid itpromptly, and with generous interest.

I know not whether Frances was really much altered since the timeI first saw her; but, as I looked at her now, I felt that she wassingularly changed for me; the sad eye, the pale cheek, thedejected and joyless countenance I remembered as her earlyattributes, were quite gone, and now I saw a face dressed ingraces; smile, dimple, and rosy tint, rounded its contours andbrightened its hues. I had been accustomed to nurse a flatteringidea that my strong attachment to her proved some particularperspicacity in my nature; she was not handsome, she was notrich, she was not even accomplished, yet was she my life'streasure; I must then be a man of peculiar discernment. To-nightmy eyes opened on the mistake I had made; I began to suspect thatit was only my tastes which were unique, not my power ofdiscovering and appreciating the superiority of moral worth overphysical charms. For me Frances had physical charms: in herthere was no deformity to get over; none of those prominentdefects of eyes, teeth, complexion, shape, which hold at bay theadmiration of the boldest male champions of intellect (for womencan love a downright ugly man if he be but talented); had shebeen either "edentee, myope, rugueuse, ou bossue," my feelingstowards her might still have been kindly, but they could neverhave been impassioned; I had affection for the poor littlemisshapen Sylvie, but for her I could never have had love. It istrue Frances' mental points had been the first to interest me,and they still retained the strongest hold on my preference; butI liked the graces of her person too. I derived a pleasure,purely material, from contemplating the clearness of her browneyes, the fairness of her fine skin, the purity of her well-setteeth, the proportion of her delicate form; and that pleasure Icould ill have dispensed with. It appeared, then, that I too wasa sensualist, in my temperate and fastidious way.

Now, reader, during the last two pages I have been giving youhoney fresh from flowers, but you must not live entirely on foodso luscious; taste then a little gall--just a drop, by way ofchange.

At a somewhat late hour I returned to my lodgings: havingtemporarily forgotten that man had any such coarse cares as thoseof eating and drinking, I went to bed fasting. I had been excitedand in action all day, and had tasted no food since eight thatmorning; besides, for a fortnight past, I had known no resteither of body or mind; the last few hours had been a sweetdelirium, it would not subside now, and till long after midnight,broke with troubled ecstacy the rest I so much needed. At last Idozed, but not for long; it was yet quite dark when I awoke, andmy waking was like that of Job when a spirit passed before hisface, and like him, "the hair of my flesh stood up." I mightcontinue the parallel, for in truth, though I saw nothing, yet "athing was secretly brought unto me, and mine ear received alittle thereof; there was silence, and I heard a voice," saying--"In the midst of life we are in death."

That sound, and the sensation of chill anguish accompanying it,many would have regarded as supernatural; but I recognized it atonce as the effect of reaction. Man is ever clogged with hismortality, and it was my mortal nature which now faltered andplained; my nerves, which jarred and gave a false sound, becausethe soul, of late rushing headlong to an aim, had overstrainedthe body's comparative weakness. A horror of great darkness fellupon me; I felt my chamber invaded by one I had known formerly,but had thought for ever departed. I was temporarily a prey tohypochondria.

She had been my acquaintance, nay, my guest, once before inboyhood; I had entertained her at bed and board for a year; forthat space of time I had her to myself in secret; she lay withme, she ate with me, she walked out with me, showing me nooks inwoods, hollows in hills, where we could sit together, and whereshe could drop her drear veil over me, and so hide sky and sun,grass and green tree; taking me entirely to her death-cold bosom,and holding me with arms of bone. What tales she would tell meat such hours! What songs she would recite in my ears! How shewould discourse to me of her own country--the grave--and againand again promise to conduct me there ere long; and, drawing meto the very brink of a black, sullen river, show me, on the otherside, shores unequal with mound, monument, and tablet, standingup in a glimmer more hoary than moonlight. "Necropolis!" shewould whisper, pointing to the pale piles, and add, "It containsa mansion prepared for you."

But my boyhood was lonely, parentless; uncheered by brother orsister; and there was no marvel that, just as I rose to youth, asorceress, finding me lost in vague mental wanderings, with manyaffections and few objects, glowing aspirations and gloomyprospects, strong desires and slender hopes, should lift up herillusive lamp to me in the distance, and lure me to her vaultedhome of horrors. No wonder her spells THEN had power; but NOW,when my course was widening, my prospect brightening; when myaffections had found a rest; when my desires, folding wings,weary with long flight, had just alighted on the very lap offruition, and nestled there warm, content, under the caress of asoft hand--why did hypochondria accost me now?

I repulsed her as one would a dreaded and ghastly concubinecoming to embitter a husband's heart toward his young bride; invain; she kept her sway over me for that night and the next day,and eight succeeding days. Afterwards, my spirits began slowly torecover their tone; my appetite returned, and in a fortnight Iwas well. I had gone about as usual all the time, and had saidnothing to anybody of what I felt; but I was glad when the evilspirit departed from me, and I could again seek Frances, and sitat her side, freed from the dreadful tyranny of my demon.