The pretty little village of Arborfield was surrounded by lovely scenery, and celebrated for the salubrity of its air, and the good taste of its dwelling-houses. It had picturesque varieties of "The cottage of thatch Where never physician had lifted the latch"And the residences of more lofty pretensions were unimpeachable in the beauty of their flower-gardens, conservatories, smooth lawns, and shady shrubberies. Yet had Arborfield a draw-back-the propensity of some of its inhabitants to pry into the affairs of the rest. Perhaps that 66 our village" merely shared the fate of other villages in this respect; but the spinsters of Arborfield (for spinsters there, as elsewhere, were the prime instigators of every gossiping report) were of rather a higher grade than the spinsters in one of Hood's lively poems, who, he alleges, were in the habit of discoursing on my readers may say "Who wore silk, and who wore gingham, peared that Mrs. Scott was only, with true sisterly zeal, conciliating young Edwards on behalf of her sister Grace, who came (quite by accident) to stay with her during the time of the young man's visit; and quitted Arborfield as his affianced bride. They also accused Mrs. Perry of having between her husband and his family; when, first instigated, and then widened a quarrel both by correspondence and interviews, she was anxiously exerting herself to bring about a reconciliation, and, at length, succeeded in effecting her purpose. as Even Sir Charles and Lady Leighton, although considered by the world in general a very happy pair, could not pass unscathed through Arborfield scrutiny. Lady Leighton had been heard to blame her husband for bringing his dogs into the drawing-room on a rainy day; and to hint that cigar-smoking might, like other indulgences, be carried to excess; and the spinsters of Arborfield emulated the rigidity of the judges who inquired into the merits of the claimants of the "Dunmow Flitch;" and who (so says the Spectator) pronounced that one married lady was not an eligible candidate, because she aspired to undue dominion over the drawingroom fire; and had been heard to say of her husband "that by his good-will he would never suffer the poker out of his hand." Yet was there one couple at Arborfield who bravely bore under the most searching investigation into their concerns. And what the Atkins's shop might bring 'em !" The spinsters in question were particularly fond of discovering cases of married unhappiness among their neighbours, and making public the result of their investigations. How often we see that people profess to know most about matters about which it is impossible they can know anything at all from experience! Spinsters, according to the judgment of Theseus, in the "Midsummer Night's Dream," ought to em-up ploy themselves in "Chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon." But the spinsters of Arborfield preferred walking about with a moral divining rod, and finding out the hidden secrets of the land of matrimony a land which they had never trodden, but of which they spoke as fluently and confidently as a bevy of thrice-married widows could have done. Accordingly, Miss Paget, Miss Dennett, Miss Richards, and others of the sisterhood, maintained that Arborfield abounded in unhappy married pairs, and (so praiseworthy was their impartiality) that the fault always lay on the side of the lady. Sometimes, to be sure, they hurried into rapid conclusions, and made assertions which they failed to bear out. Mrs. Scott was, in their apprehension, unjustifiably kind and courteous in her manner to young Edwards; and they apprehended that a deep domestic tragedy was in rehearsal when she persuaded her husband to invite him to stay with them at Arborfield. But it ap 66 Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave had resided for tve years at Arborfield, and their friends, heir acquaintance, and, "last, not least," their servants, could never depose to a single difference between them. "The word unkind, or wrongly taken," which is, alas! a "household word" in most establishments, seemed to be a word in the dead language to them. Love has been defined as egotism divided by two," but such was not the love of Mr. and Mr. Hargrave. Happy in themselves and in each other, they were also desirous to promote the happiness of all connected with them. They mingled freely with society, and were kind and charitable to the poor, in deeds as well as words. Perhaps some of my readers will hope that I am describing a disinterested young couple, who married for love on the income (made so popular in the present day by letters in the Times newspaper) of threehundred a year; but such was not the case. Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave had a good house, spacious grounds, and an appropriate staff of servants, and generally passed two months of the spring in London, partaking of its amusements with a moderation which was evidently more the result of want of taste for gaiety, than want of money. Neither can I gratify my romance-loving readers by representing Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave as a young couple. Mrs. Hargrave, at the time my story begins, was turned of forty, and looked her age. Her husband was several years older, and looked more than his age, on account of the repeated attacks of illhealth, which seemed to be the only bitter drop in his cup of happiness. Yet, even this trouble was greatly mitigated; for Mrs. Hargrave, in addition to her other excellences, was an invaluable nurse-patient, active, kind, and soothing. I can never agree with those persons who say that women are good nurses by intuition; no woman can ever deserve that character without she combines the requisites of gentleness and cheerfulness and how many are deficient even in one of these requisites, how few excel in both! However, I must not dilate on this subject, for I confess to a peculiar enthusiasm on the subject of good nurses, and consider Florence Nightingale, walking through the wards of Scutari, a far more admirable object than Corinne crowned at the Capitol. Mrs. Hargrave, although kind and obliging to all her neighbours (the scrutinizing spinsters included), had a favourite at Arborfield. She passed much of her time with Lady Leighton, who was both amiable and well-informed, and whose house was attractive from the frequent visits of London friends, who liked to make an occasional transit from the bustle of the "great metropolis," to the quiet and freedom of a pleasant country-house. On one of these occasions, Mrs. Hargrave was peculiarly struck by the appearance of a newly-arrived lady-visitor. She seemed to be about five-and-twenty, had bright blue eyes, light brown curls, a fair and blooming complexion, and, in short, was precisely of that style of fresh loveliness which Mrs. Hargrave (being herself a brunette-beauty) particularly admired. "You must make me acquainted with that charming girl," she said to Lady Leighton; "how beautiful she is, but how sad is the expression of her countenance! I am not prone to romantic fancyings, but I seem to read the details of her history in the melancholy of her looks. She is crossed in love; she has a suitor precisely to her mind, who is rejected by her parents on account of his poverty; and they are persuading her to accept some infirm old peer, or vulgar millionaire, who will secure to her a colossal settlement and a miserable lot for life." "Quite wrong in your little history, dear Mrs. Hargrave," replied Lady Leighton. "Emmeline Cuthbert is an orphan; she has been for five years a wife, and for four years an unhappy and neglected one. She is still deeply attached to her unfeeling husband, and nothing but his reformation could ever bring back smiles to that sweet face, or joy to that young heart." "And may we not hope that his reformation will take place?" said Mrs. Hargrave, still gazing with admiration on the fair Emmeline. "Where can he find a more attractive object than at home?" "In his eyes, unfortunately," said Lady Leighton, "every object appears to be more attractive than the one whom he has vowed to love and to cherish. I shall be glad to make you acquainted with poor Emmeline. I think you are more calculated to "ministers to a mind diseased" than myself. I have known her from childhood, and take much interest in her; but I confess to a preference for the society of happy people." Such was not the feeling of Mrs. Hargrave. She loved to console, to cheer, to pour balm into the wounds made by another; to throw sunshine on the path which the unkindness of another had darkened; and the unhappy young wife felt attracted towards her from the beginning of her acquaintance, and soon formed an intimacy with her, which was not long in ripening into friendship. Cuthbert occasionally visited in company with his wife, and Mrs. Hargrave could not but allow "That if a shape could win a heart, He had a shape to win." But his utter and open neglect of his charming wife, the levity of his manner, his avowed disbelief of all that was great and excellent, so revolted the good feeling and the good taste of his wife's friend, that she would rather have seen her favourite Emmeline united to the infirm old peer or vulgar millionaire, whom she had shadowed forth in her first imaginings of the private history of the melancholy beauty, than have beheld her sacrificed to the selfish, heartless husband who slighted and despised her. When Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave paid their usual spring visit to London, Emmeline was almost daily their visitor; and earnestly did Mrs. Hargrave strive to succeed in the blessed office of peace-making between the wife and husband; but she was unsuccessful. Cuthbert was entangled in the spells of an evil enchantress, as different from his own sweet wife as the "Lady Geraldine" from the "Lady Christabel," in Coleridge's poem; and the prospects of poor Emmeline gradually grew darker and darker; there was little hope that the cloud that menaced her would reveal a silver lining. At length came the dreaded stroke, Cuthbert left his home and his wife-left in company with her unprincipled rival; left without any spoken word of kindness, any written word of farewell. Happily, it was not in his power to injure Emmeline in her worldly circumstances, as he had injured her in her peace of mind. She had possessed a good property, which her guardians had required to be settled on herself; nor had Cuthbert been in the least unwilling to comply with their desire. He had an ample fortune of his own, and was so enamoured by a gleam of hope, for Cuthbert evinced no sign of contrition, no interest in his fair young wife. He held no communication with his friends, and it was conjectured that he was living abroad, under a feigned name, but nothing was known of him that could be reduced to a certainty. Emmeline mixed more in the world than Mrs. Hargrave or even Lady Leighton approved; but scandal had never attacked her fair fame. She was so universally admired that admiration had no particular charm for her. She so rarely met with a rival, in point of beauty, that she wore her laurels (or rather myrtles) with perfect composure. with the exceeding beauty of Emmeline, the -sorrows which now could not be brightened her dowry was a matter of perfect indifference to him. Emmeline, herself, had never thought or cared much about her separate maintenance; nor, in the first hours of her exceeding grief at her husband's desertion, did the consciousness of her independence impart the slightest consolation to her; yet, in reality, it considerably lightened the troubles of her lot. Emmeline had a plentiful allotment of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Had she, under her present bereavement, been thrown on their protection, with a half-broken heart, and a few five-pound notes, I am of opinion that she would soon have been subjected to inquiries as to her future plans in life. Now, however, Emmeline's relatives were full of kindness and affection. Elaboratelywritten letters, invitations to country houses, and presents of exquisitely bound books, suitable to people in trouble, poured in upon her. She was told that "she had nothing to reproach herself with." She was told that "family love was, after all, much more strong and enduring than connubial attachment." There was no illtimed inquiry into her "plans." She could still live in her pretty house, in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and (after she had got over her first burst of sorrow) visit her friends as usual. So said the family conclave; but a widowed aunt said something more. "You are far too young and beautiful, Emmeline," said Mrs. Belton, "to be without a chaperone, now that you have not even the nominal protection of a husband. I am willing to sacrifice my home, my independence, my favourite pursuits, everything, for the purpose of being of service to my beloved niece." So Mrs. Belton left the apartments where she had lived for many years with one servant, bringing with her to Emmeline's house the aforesaid servant, in the capacity of a lady's-maid; and gave up her carpet-work, her slip of flowergarden, and her rubber of sixpenny whist, to follow her fair niece into the scenes of worldly gaiety, to which, after a time, she returned. "She could not bear thought," she said, "and must try to forget her sorrows in society." Mrs. Hargrave did not altogether approve of Mrs. Belton's domestication in the house of her niece, and yet she could not oppose it. Mrs. Belton was a woman of unsullied character, and of good temper; and her near relation to Emmeline certainly seemed to point her out as a fitting companion and protectress for her; but Mrs. Belton was deficient in intelligence and information, was shallow and frivolous, and quite incapable of improving the mind and elevating the thoughts of the deserted young wife, and teaching her to think less of a world of vanity and folly, and more of a world "where there is neither marrying, nor giving in marriage." Emmeline was still occasionally the guest of the Hargraves, at Arborfield; but the contemplation of their exceeding happiness seemed to make her yet more sensible of her own sorrows About two years had elapsed since the departure of Cuthbert. Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave were preparing for their usual visit to London in the spring of 1857, when the severe illness of the former obliged them to alter their intention. Mrs. Hargrave assumed the post of nurse with her wonted skill, sweetness, and kindness; but when the invalid had fully recovered, July was far advanced, and a journey to London was out of the question. "I must depend on you alone for an account of the London season,' ," said Mrs. Hargrave to Lady Leighton, shortly after the return of the latter to Arborfield. "I have been so anxiously employed that I have seldom looked at a newspaper." "I fear," said Lady Leighton, looking grave, "that you will not feel pleased with some of the London news I have to communicate to you. I had rather say nothing about it, but we must not shrink from what we consider to be a duty." Mrs. Hargrave actually felt nervous; it was grave, and to hear her talk about not shrinking so new and strange to see Lady Leighton look from a duty. "I am rather uneasy about our young friend, Emmeline Cuthbert,' " said Lady Leighton. "Do you not remember that about this time last year, Mrs. Boyce told us how much Captain Tracey admired her, and that you spoke on the subject to Emmeline?" I remember it well," said Mrs. Hargrave; "but Emmeline assured me, clearly, unhesitatingly, and I am sure truthfully that Captain Tracey's visits at her house were not so frequent as those of many others; that he had never addressed her but in terms of respect; and that, though deserted by her husband, she considered herself a married woman, and should resent any expression of undue admiration, as much as if she were living happily with Cuthbert." "Ah!" said Lady Leighton, with a sigh, "I believe she meant it all last year; but there has been a change in the necessity of such strict propriety this spring." "I cannot comprehend you," said Mrs. Hargrave; "well-principled people do not change the fashion of their morals like that of their dresses. Emmeline cannot marry Captain Tracey, therefore would do wrong to think of him otherwise than as an agreeable acquain- | been troubled with if they had waited a reasontance." able time." "But she fancies she can marry him," said Lady Leighton; "that is, it is not exactly fancy on her part, but the lawyers tell her that she can do so after the close of the year." "My dear Lady Leighton," said Mrs. Hargrave, apprehensive that the gaieties of the London season had caused her friend to suffer under a slight aberration of mind, "your memory deceives you - Emmeline is not a widow." "Have you not read the particulars of the 'New Marriage Act?"" was Lady Leighton's reply. "No," said Mrs. Hargrave; "I rarely looked at a newspaper during the long continued illness of my husband. But what occasions the necessity of a new Marriage Act? The old one was surely quite sufficient to bind our ancestors closely together." "Exactly so," said Lady Leighton; "and the opinion of our Legislature is that it bound them too closely together, and that the cords ought to be slackened." "I do not quite comprehend you," said Mrs. Hargrave, thinking that her usually lucid and self-possessed friend was talking with singular wildness and inconsistency. "In the first place," said Lady Leighton, "you will not, I am sure, object to the law extending its protection to the honest earnings of a woman deserted by her husband; it is not right that he should have the power of returning to rob her of them." 66 "I cannot at all agree in your logic," said Mrs. Hargrave. A question of morality seems to me to be quite unconnected with one of chronology; but I can scarcely realize to myself that Emmeline, already a wife, can think of becoming a bride." "And Captain Tracey has a very small income, and very expensive habits," said Lady Leighton; "it is a foolish business altogether, but certainly not unlawful, so it will not exclude Emmeline from society. I was quite certain that you would be uncomfortable about it, and therefore did not write to you on the subject; it is always well to delay bad news as long as possible." "Not always," replied Mrs. Hargrave; "but I thank you, Lady Leighton, for your expressions of sympathy in the grief I am sufferingfor it is, indeed, a grief to me, to think that my dear young friend, Emmeline Cuthbert, should be thus wandering from the right path, even although not forbidden by the law to do so." "It is very sad, indeed," said Lady Leighton, endeavouring to compose her countenance to an expression of sorrowful disapprobation. But when she had quitted Mrs. Hargrave, she paid several other morning visits, and although the new Marriage Act formed a subject of conversation at all of them, no one remarked that her spirits seemed at all affected by the discussion. Mrs. Hargrave, after some discourse with her husband, who quite agreed in everything she said (it was a habit he had), wrote to Em"There I quite agree with you and the Legisla-meline, earnestly entreating her to come and ture," said Mrs. Hargrave; "but what has that to do with Emmeline, whose fortune is secured to her by marriage settlement?" "But there are other enactments," resumed Lady Leighton. "If a man has left his wife for a rival, and if he has been away for more than two years without holding any communication with her, she has the privilege of procuring a dissolution of marriage, and uniting herself with another person." "The privilege!" repeated Mrs. Hargrave somewhat contemptuously-"the privilege of breaking her own vow because her husband has broken his-the privilege of running the risk of a second time encountering the miseries from which she has once escaped!" "It is all very true, my dear Mrs. Hargrave," replied Lady Leighton; "only you put the case in rather a more forcible way than I have been accustomed to hear it put. But Emmeline is, you know, not very strong-minded, and she has heard the new laws spoken of as a great blessing to women; and that foolish Mrs. Belton has been persuaded by Captain Tracey to advocate his cause. But I assure you the whole matter has met with resolute disapproval from me. The first persons who take advantage of a new law are like those who first appear in a new fashion; they bear all the brunt of the ridicule and disapprobation, which they might not have visit them at Arbor field; and Emmeline, who could not forget all Mrs. Hargrave's kindness to her, came for a couple of days, with a somewhat timid look, and a somewhat subdued manner. "My dear Emmeline," said Mrs. Hargrave, as soon as they were alone, "I do not ask if you Act; for I am sure that Lady Leighton, who are going to take advantage of the new Marriage has an avowed dislike to being the bearer of bad news, would not have told me your intention on light grounds; but I ask you if you have really and truly weighed the sin of which you will be guilty in violating the vow which you made at the altar to be faithful to your husband till death?" "Has he not himself violated that vow?" asked Emmeline. "This is very feeble casuistry," Emeline, "replied Mrs. Hargrave; "you would not bring it forward on any other occasion; you would not say that the misdeeds of others justified your own." "But is it not hard," said Emmeline, "at my age, to look forward to a probable long life deprived of all the happiness of conjugal affection ?" "I do not like the expression, 'hard,' applied to the dispensations of the Almighty," said Mrs. Hargrave; "it might have pleased the Lord to have deprived you of health, or to have reduced Mrs. Hargrave repeated to her many passages from the Evangelists bearing on the subject, especially several verses at the beginning of the 19th chapter of St. Matthew; and she also quoted to her the emphatic words of St. Paul in the 7th chapter of the 1st Epistle to the Corinthians: "And unto the married I command, yet not I, but the Lord, Let not the wife depart from her husband: but and if she depart, let her remain unmarried, or be reconciled to her husband." "My husband has shown no inclination to be reconciled to me," said the tearful Emmeline. "True," replied Mrs. Hargrave, "but he may yet repent; and are you right in doing an act which would exclude him from receiving the earthly reward of his repentance? How can you be reconciled to your husband,' when you have effectually cast him away from you by becoming the wife of another man?" "I am afraid you have heard some unkind reports of Captain Tracey's character," said Emmeline, starting off from the point of debate. "Were you a widow," said Mrs. Hargrave, "I should take much interest in acquainting myself with the character of Captain Tracey; but the opinions I have just given to you I should continue to give, if you were engaged to the most exemplary man of your acquaintance -that is, supposing such a one felt inclined to marry you under the circumstances." Emmeline took refuge in a flood of tears, and a declaration that she was not clever like Mrs. Hargrave, and was therefore unable to sustain an argument with her. "It does not require cleverness to understand the clear and plain texts of the Bible," said Mrs. Hargrave. "But the marriage service is not in the Bible," replied Emmeline. "The most important part of it is there," said Mrs. Hargrave. "Have I not recently repeated to you the words of our Saviour, What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder?'” "It is very easy for the happy to quote Scripture, and bring forward arguments," said Emmeline, peevishly. "You have the best husband in the world, Mrs. Hargrave, who thinks you perfection, and is quite devoted to you. How can you possibly tell what your feelings might have been had you been illtreated, neglected, and scorned? Would not the wish have crossed your mind to be more congenially mated?" "It might have done so," said Mrs. Hargrave, "but I should have prayed for strength to struggle with and subdue it." "So you now think," said Emmeline; "but when we fancy ourselves placed in untried situations, we may deceive ourselves in our estimation of our probable fortitude and patience in them." "Emmeline," said Mrs. Hargrave-and her cheek crimsoned as she spoke-"I am not fancying myself in an untried situation. It is painful to me to speak of my past troubles, but the history of them may be useful to you. I have borne all that you have borne. When I changed my maiden name, it was not for that of Hargrave." “My dear, dear friend,” exclaimed Emmeline, now roused to affectionate sympathy, "forgive my apparent want of feeling. Have you, indeed, suffered the trial of a bad husband? Oh! how thankful I feel that you are at last rewarded with so good a one. Will it distress you too much to tell me your story?" "I will tell it to you briefly, Emmeline," said Mrs. Hargrave; "but I would not wish to dwell on all the distressing scenes of my married life. I married at twenty years of age, and, although not possessed of your beauty, I was much admired, and had declined several eligible offers. Mr. Wyndham, in the opinion of my uncle, was a very indifferent match for me; but I had no ambitious views, and as the character and connexions of my lover were good, my uncle withdrew his opposition, and we were married; but I cannot say, in the words of old tales, that we lived happily together ever afterwards.' We had two years of enjoyment; and as I was an economical manager (and we were without children), we contrived to live comfortably and respectably on a very moderate income. My uncle said that I had done pretty well for myself after all. But my cousin, Elizabeth Langford, the wife of an excellent and affluent country gentleman, had warmly opposed my engagement, and even now told me to rejoice with trembling,' for that she had always descried a want of principle and firmness in Wyndham's character, and that if temptation came in his way he would not be able to resist it. Temptation at last came; a situation which was presented to my husband by a friend, and, which in a pecuniary point of view was very desirable, involved a change of residence, and introduced us to a different circle of acquaintance. My husband met with dangerous companions among men, dangerous syrens among women; my love was disregarded, my remonstrances were slighted, my tears were unpitied. Emmeline, all that you have suffered I suffered, and, like you, I was deserted." Emmeline's tears were flowing fast; she warmly pressed the hand of her friend, and felt angry with herself for having regarded her with a feeling bordering on envy, when she had ranked her among the favoured few who walk through life in perpetual sunshine, treading on a carpet of thornless roses. "You may imagine," said Mrs. Hargrave, "how deeply I sorrowed over my trial. I had not, like you, Emmeline, a large fortune, but the sum left to me by my parents (two hundred a-year) was secured to myself. I was not left to solitude: my cousin, Elizabeth Langford, earn |