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THE NEW

MONTHLY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE.

OCTOBER, 1851.

GERALDINE A LIFE.

BY MRS. NEWTON

CHAP. III.

CROSLAND.

(Concluded from page 165.)

26 Be tended by My blessing! should my shadow cross thy thoughts Too sadly for their peace, so put it back For calmer hours in memory's darkest hold. If unforgotten! should it cross thy dreams, So might it come like one that looks content, With quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth."

TENNYSON.

Was it summer or autumn? Even the calendar would scarcely have helped you to decide? It was the time when English scenery wears a gorgeous, and yet sober hue; when, in the still atmosphere, the dark-robed trees stand motionless, as if too proud to sway in the breeze, as they might when decked in palest green, or laughing behind a mask of blossoms; and when the garden-flowers are no longer those richlyscented children of the soil, that came like heralds-the heralds of the present statelier race. As we have hinted, Time had done much in his own quiet way during the last few years, and among other things a certain avenue of beeches, saplings when Geraldine first came to her cottage, had grown to be the admiration of every visitor. Their boughs just met overhead, in some cases kissing and parting at the bidding of the faintest breeze, at others interlacing their fibres and refusing a divorce. Beneath these trees ran a hard and polished gravel path, though at their very roots was spread that soft mossy, dark green turf, which tells of care and cultivation.

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It was the evening of a warm bright day; the sun had already sunk far below the horizon, and the golden harvest-moon decked the garden landscape in that olden beauty, of which we never weary, and to which, familiar as it is, we still find paid the meed and word of admiration. Along the gravel path, beneath the sheltering trees, a young girl danced, enticing after her a favourite greyhound, whose airy movements seemed typical of her own-danced from the mere exuberance of happiness and mirth

danced to the only music of her own rich singing. Tuneful as that of a bird it was, and almost as wild; for though Florentia's delicate ear saved her from the possibility of a discord, she was wilful in her ways, and finding she could play-to please herself-on any instrument which came before her, and sing after the same fashion to the same easily contented auditor, she positively resisted all study when she reached the point that would chain her to application. Yet her snatches of song, and perfect modulation, made up a charming music nevertheless.

And so she danced, her full white dress floating in the soft breeze, now showing, now hiding her lithe and graceful figure. A scarlet cachmere scarf, with richly embroidered ends, had fallen from one shoulder, but passing by her waist, was gathered lightly in her hand. The scarf was Geraldine's, but it was one of Florentia's wilful ways to appropriate for the moment anything of her "sister's" to which she took a fancy.

Geraldine Harmer might also have been seen in the beech-tree avenue, but walking slowly, and some lookers-on might have thought most calmly; for the shadows were too heavy to show the fitful gleam of her eye, or the quiver of her lip, whenever the sound of wheels broke on her ear, or the listening sense was strained to fantasy, and mocked her with its cheat. In her hand she grasped a letter, she knew not why, for every syllable of its brief contents seemed repeated before her wherever she gazed; -on the sombre trees, or the calm cold sky. At last, at last Lionel Weymouth had returned-even now was speeding to greet her, and had announced his coming in words more full of tender meaning than any he had ever addressed to her before. She felt that his heart had been through the long years of absence as true as her own; and her frame trembled and reeled under the excess of her happiness.

It was before the days of universal railroads, and trusting to the uncertainties and delays of posting, there is no wonder tha Lione' Weymouth was an hour or two later than he had expected to be. But why should his coming at

happiness, and Life's sole reality-dream on: the hours are brief, and years must fling ther shadows, ere that dream, but in serener shape,

all bring such joy to Florentia? Simply be cause she understood, though vaguely, that Geraldine's dearest friend, of whose goodness and cleverness she had so often talked-shall descend to thee from heaven again! Geraldine would scarcely have believed how often-was coming at last; and being herself always quite happy-happy to the very filling of her heart, this new delight brimmed over the cup to that free burst of joyancy.

Three weeks have passed: the scene is in London now. Geraldine Harmer has accepted the invitation of an old friend, and with Flo rentia has journeyed thither. Some indefinable, yet right feeling, pointed out this step. Lionel Hark! now surely that is the sound of wheels! Weymouth desires her daily society; yet they Yes, yes - nearer : ah, there is the clatter of the are not to the world's eye betrothed. He does horses' hoofs upon the piece of shing y road. A not urge the declaration of their engagement, carriage turns the corner, and now the and she instinctively shrinks from it. Kind, postilions, directed by some villager, sweep up affectionate he is, and yet—and yet she is restto the gate. The servar ts are ready, but a ger- less and unsatisfied! But they are very gaytleman has sprung out before the steps could he as gay, at least, as London's dullest season will lowered. Florentia no longer sings, and for a permit; and theatres are visited, and a few par minute is motionless. And Geraldine Harmer-ties are gathered together to do honour to Lionel she who at this moment for the first time fully realizes the depth and truth and intensity of a love which has been for ten years a portion of her being, is she also awed to silent stillness? Almost-and yet she glides as if impelled by some magnetic force into the deepest shadow of the trees, her dress of darkest velvet does not betray her, and she leans against a friendly trunk to save herself from falling. The hour is come, and yet her heart cries out, "Not yet-woman; but the simple, yet warm sincerity and not yet; it is too much!"

But the stranger sees, by the full moonlight, the graceful figure, standing like a white-robed statue in the beech-tree avenue; recognizes, too, the scarf, his gift, and bounding thither, clasps Florentia in his arms before she is aware, kisses her cheek with a tren bli g lip, and murmurs the one word "Geraldine!" before a laughing voice has time to say, "I am not Geraldine!"

He starts-discovers his mistake at a glance -makes a confused apology, and seeing Geraldine at last, wreathes his arm round her; but he is annoyed at his own blundering precipitation, and neither kiss nor embrace is so warm as those which were in truth the free outbreak of his feelings!

"Is she not beautiful?" exclaimed Geraldine, an hour or two afterwards, when a late dinner or early supper being concluded, Florentia had

left the room for a few minutes. "Is she not as
beautiful as I told you she was?"
"Beautiful!" replied Lionel Weymouth,

"she is the loveliest creature I ever beheld !"

Yet, while he spoke, he held Geraldine's hand in his, and had already found fit opportunity of breathing in her ear the hopes and aspirations of his life. It was late that night ere he left for the hotel where he had engaged accommoda

tion.

And now, Geraldine Harmer, indulge for the brief interval you may the ecstasy of pure, unclouded happiness-the dream of perfect love. Thou bearest the signet of thine own devotion, in the humility which wonders how thou canst be so well beloved, commingled with that unshaken faith which cannot doubt his word.

Dream on, poor woman heart, of earth's choice

Weymouth.

It might be called Florentia's first introduc tion into society; but she had none of that girlish, bashful awkwardness, which much oftener arises from anxious vanity and excessive self-consciousness than from the opposite cause. She was far too natural and impulsive a being for anything of the sort: she had sprung, it is true, as if at one bound, from the child to the

naive vivacity of her manners had a charm
about them as captivating as it was indescrib
able. And her beauty-of that there could not
be two opinions. Strangers raved of it, and on
seeing her again, only grew more and more ex-
travagant in their expressions of admiration.
Lovers were already entering the lists, and
"looking daggers
at one another; but awed
by some mysterious halo that seemed to en-
circle their idol, they had not dared to avow their
homage.

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As if to make amends for his one familiarity, however unintended, Lionel Weymouth treated Florentia with a marked respect, that bordered on deference, and had something singular in its character, when the difference of age between them was remembered. At first it could not have been quite easy for him to maintain, since she treated him as an old and familiar friend; but by quick degrees her manner changed, and while to three-fourths of her acquaintance she was still the childish girl, to him she was ever the dignified woman. His respect was even a distant kind; for he always left to others to surround her with those petits soins and name less attentions so many were eager and ready to pay. Yet once, when a fop whom she laughed at and despised was forcing some knightly vice upon her somewhat against her will-fold ing and arranging a shawl for her shoulders, 1 think - Lionel Weymouth was quick to the res cue. But why did his cheek flush, and his hands tremble? and why, when she thanked him with a look, and passed her arm uninvited through his, did the flush change to paleness, and the common-place words he strove to utter die upon his tongue?

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Geraldine saw the look, the flush, the sudden pallor; but she only drew her opera-hood a

little more over her face, and took the arm of, the discarded stripling.

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It was the next day: Geraldine Harmer, who had not hitherto in her whole life consented to a subterfuge, for once planned and manoeuvred. She contrived that Florentia and her hostess should be away for some hours, and this during the time that Lionel Weymouth was call. He was shown into the drawing-room, and awaited her coming, but only for a few minutes. She entered, and a friendly greeting ensued; but as Geraldine passed the nearest window, she drew down the blind. It was a cloudy day, and yet the light seemed garish, as it always does to the mentally oppressed-blinding to her eyes and torturing to her brain. Lionel Weymouth was seated in an easy chair, and presently Geraldine found herself leaning over the back of it. She felt that she must speak without being seen; she knew that she could not control her countenance.

"Lionel," she exclaimed, in a low, yet calm voice, "you are not happy!"

"Not happy! oh yes; why not?" "Be frank," she returned: "do not deceive yourself or me. I repeat, you are not-we are not-happy!"

"Geraldine!" It was the only word to which it seemed he could give utterance-there was a forced intention to take her hand; but a stronger and truer impulse restrained him. "And yet," she continued, "the first wish of my heart-the purpose of my life-is to make you happy."

"Best Geraldine!" But now he stooped his head, and buried his face in his hands.

"Even"-and she touched his arm as she spoke-"even if your happiness must take a different shape fron that foolish dream of early life. Moreover I blame you not-I see your sufferings, and from my soul I pity them."" "Oh, that you would despise and rebuke me instead-your scorn, so well deserved, would be more endurable than such compassion."

“You are ungenerous now. Would you rob me of my own self-respect? While I honour and esteem you, I shall not be ashamed of" and her voice perceptibly trembled-" of the love I have borne you."

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*And I! Oh, Geraldine, if you but knew how, for long years, I have worshipped your image-how every aim of existence has circled round to one dear hope-how, even now, how very dear you are to me

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And yet," interrupted Geraldine, "you love Florentia!" There was a pause; one of those pauses in which the tongue is chained because emotions crowd and crush together paralysing every power, except the keen experience of the heart's unutterable agony. What he felt was but vaguely shadowed forth; less clearly told by word or gesture than by the rigid lines of suffering to which his visage moulded. With Geraldine the last ray of hope, which quite unconsciously to herself, had lingered in her heart and redeemed it from utter darkness, expired,

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and-groping for a moment in the gloom-her reason took time to recover its balance. bravely it wrestled, and beautifully her soul triumphed.

"Youth has departed," continued Geraldine, at length, "and I should have known that the few graces

"No-no," interrupted Lionel, seizing her hand, and pressing it between his own; "I will not listen to such words. Take me--for I am yours-take me, and save me from myself! Take me, directly-to-morrow; forgive me this wandering of the will, and I will learn to look upon it as a madness! Take me, Geraldine!" "To scorn myself-and blight the happiness of the two beings I love best in the world? Never! You do not know me, Lionel Weymouth."

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Oh, do not draw your hand away, and speak so sternly. Even now, in my humiliation and deep misery, it is your sympathy I want. And yet, Geraldine, it is well for you to be cold."

"Cold!" It was but the one word she could utter, and as it came forth it seemed to freeze her lips and keep them parted-cold! when at that moment she would have flung herself at his feet to be trampled in the mire, if that could have given him peace; cold! when the large silent tears of agony were falling from her eyes, unregarded by him, though they splashed like raindrops on his shoulder; cold! when, for one word or look of genuine love from the idol of her worship she would have thought life itself but a fit sacrifice! Yet gentle, though heroic, as was her nature-the word had stung her, and spurred from its lair that fiery steed, a women's pride. "and forgive

"Take me," repeated Lionel, this madness."

"It was the past which was madness," said Geraldine, firmly; and her tears seemed now absorbed by the long lashes-at least they fell no longer. "You will marry Florentia !"

"Yes," she continued, after a brief silencefor he was speechless, and had buried his face in his handkerchief-“ and by-and-bye we shall smile at the old maid's love passage,' and wonder how she could have been so foolish."

"Florentia may avenge your wrongs, Geraldine, and refuse to love me."

There was something in these words which again unnerved her. Refuse to love him-that seemed impossible! But she spoke calmly, and said, "I have no wrongs to be avenged; dismiss such a thought from your mind. Andand - Florentia admires you, that I know. And think you that securing her happiness will not bring peace to me? Ah! you cannot tell how dear she is to me-dear as any sister could have been, dear almost as I could fancy a child might be."

She spoke the truth, and yet her words, as truth may often do, conveyed a false impression. Lionel Weymouth believed at that moment that Florentia was dearer to her than he had ever been; and that several wishes and feelings worked together to prompt her present conduct.

Her resolution might in some measure have been strengthened by her love for the object of his passion, yet not in the mar ner or to the degree that he imagined. Geraldine Harmer was one who acted from her own right impulses, yoked with, rather than chained by. high principles; yet she did not analyze her motives narrowly enough to find how noble they were. And her generous nature unconsciously masked its generosity-partly from that inwoven pride without which no character has dignity, and partly from the sensitive delicacy which shrinks from making another feel the object of a sacrifice or the recipient of a favour.

Ah, how seldom the best and wisest of us can judge truly of another! Faults and weaknesses rise like straws to the surface; and great virtues, thrown up by the storms of life-like pearls from the deep-become apparent; but the intermediate world, which is th ́t of habitual emotion and daily existence, which makes the realities of life, and which moulds the individuality of character, is seldom fathomed. No wonder Lionel Weymouth failed to see the ruin he had worked; the beautiful palace which Hope had built and Faith made strong, laid prostrate in the dust; and Desolation growing to a giant, and brooding over the fragments ! It was a rapid wooing, that of Florentia Lawson-(Geraldine had bestowed on her protegée her own mother's name). A few weeks and the wedding-day was named, and no one paused, or had paused to consider if it were a gulf or a haven before the pair. So great the difference of years between them, that in her happy days Geraldine had shrunk from making Florentia her confidante, and the artless girl had never suspected that the most dear friend of whom she had heard so much could be looked on in any other light. Yes, it was Geraldine's praise of him she loved that had prepared her to admire him; and when Lionel came, she saw a man in the prime and pride of life, with a mind well stored and enriched by travel and observation; though perhaps she did not herself know how much the impression he made on her was deep ened by his being the first of his sex who treated her otherwise than as a child.

the influence and charm of his wealth; though if visions of future magnificence floated before her, it is only just to own, there was not one in which her dear "sister" had not place-was not to be endowed with some costly gift, or pleased with some expensive enjoyment. But if she was proud of being chosen, was not he proud of being accepted? Yes. She was so young-so beautiful; and when her lip answered to his kiss, he felt assured he was beloved!

Pride admiration-passion-the common elements wherewith poor self-deluders think to build up wedded happiness! As much material as can be expected when there is a score of years' disparity between the parties; unless, indeed, the mating be at that later period of life when character on both sides is formed and developed, and the difference of a score of years or a score of weeks would be equally unimportant. But Love there was not-there could not be; Love which is Sympathy, and of which the fond ca ress or endearing word is but an outward and earthly type. If we speak to be understoodyea, if we only think, for another's thoughts to How in unison with ours, not wearying with tame monotony, but even as bright rivers mingle ere they reach the ocean, bringing each to each its separate wealth and separate hueenriching, strengthening, beautifying! this there was not.

What Geraldine Harmer endured is written only in that book, where surely beyond the skies a record is kept of Woman's trials and sacrifices. Hours of despair, in which madness with all its terrors hovered near, and death, which seemed more distant, looked like a benig nant angel, yet one forbid to aid her. She made no confidante-she was too proud to do so; and indulged not in demonstrations. Stil it was impossible such struggles could endure without making sign of their work; but the cluster of acquaintances we call "the world"who never, I believe, by any chance guess rightly the riddles of life-attributed her looking ill to the fatigue and excitement she was undergoing in preparing for the wedding. Everybody congratulated her on the "brilliant match" bet protegée was making, much as they would a Geraldine was the first to hint to Florentia dowager, on the like bestowal of a portionless that Lionel loved her. Partly because her own daughter. And without any positive intentions soul once nerved to meet the destiny which was of malice or scandal, they added half-a-dozen before her, she felt there must be no pause or years at least to her age; as well they might, hesitation in its course; and partly because, for the lingering traces of youth had departed generous to the last, she was willing to prepare suddenly and for ever, and her long, fine har his way before him. Startled as the young girl which only a few weeks since was dark, and was at first, surprise soon gave way to an in- rich, and abundant, now showed lines of white toxication of delight; it was all true, and in a that seemed to thicken day by day. Her bea few, very few, days they were betrothed. Now tiful hair! of which she had been conscious and came a new trial for Geraldine: with the inno-proud-even a little vain-this too must be laid cent frankness of a child, Florentia would sit at her feet, and throwing back the rich clustering curls from her face as she looked up, would talk of her happiness, and pour out her praises of him. The admiration she had first experienced still held its place in her heart; and side by side with it now stood pride-pride at being the object of his choice. Nor was she insensible to

upon the altar of her vanished-wasted Youth! Strange that those whitening tresses had a spell which flung a shadow in bis path, and saddened Lionel Weymouth's spirit even on his Wedding Day!

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Years have passed away; seven years at least. It is a bright spring day-when spring has caught a flower or two from summer that is so close at hand. Birds trill their glad notes from the neighbouring boughs, now in gay chorus, now taking up the single strain as if in loving rivalry. The buzz of busy insects fills the air, and every sound and sight of nature is typical of joy and youth, showing once more the old and yet the new-born graces of the HebeMother earth!

easy

Soon after his marriage, Lionel Weymouth had purchased a beautiful residence, with highly-cultivated pleasure-grounds, within an drive of the metropolis. And here we still find him. But those seven years have brought their chances and changes, and life wears to him now a very different aspect. He is seated near an open window, and near him is a lady, a much-loved visitor, arrived within these few hours, after an absence of many months on the continent. The reader should recognise her at once, for Geraldine Harmer is very little altered; or, if altered at all, one might say improved in appearance. She did not look any older than on the "wedding day" we parted from her; and though suffering now from painful anxiety, her countenance had lost the habitual shade of sadness it then wore. It would seem that at one bound she had sprung from alınost youth to that most uncertain of all ages called 66 certain," but that since then, Time had passed her by, without claiming his tribute. He had even stayed the bleaching of the hair, which showed in massive glossy coils beneath the prettiest of morning caps (a Parisian purchase), which Geraldine wore; the few lines of silver among the braids which shaded her cheek being by no unbecoming -- they never are, when forty years are fairly passed. Nature adapts her pictures better than the inventors of patent wigs and mysterious hair dyes, and the whitening locks harmonize with the fading cheek, with which youthful tresses only contrast. Then Geraldine had the good taste to eschew girlish costume, and dress like what she was-the woman of forty-one or two. Having mentioned the pretty cap therefore, I may add that her dress was of a rich, dark silk-made, however, very fashionably, and which set off her figure, unimpaired in its roundness and symmetry, to the greatest advantage.

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I really fear that in my earlier chapters I neglected to describe Geraldine's person; and now it is so late in the day, I must needs be brief. Of the middle height, with fine eyes, a pretty mouth, and good teeth, many people thought her still a very charming woman ;" every one who had made her acquaintance lately, believed she must have been very hand

and

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some a few years ago. Perhaps this was not altogether true: her beauty consisted very much in the beauty of expression; and as this depends on character, and as every development of character with her had been a beautiful one, it is very possible that she was better-looking for a woman of forty than she had been as the girl of twenty. She night have married within the last seven years, as the saying is, "over and over again;" and there is no numbering how many opportunities she had had of choosing during her tour on the continent (made with friends who were known at every court in Europe) among German barons and Italian counts; but not even a French peer, who was neither old nor disagreeable, could make her appreciate the privilege of embroidering a coronet on her handkerchief.

Clinging lovingly by her side was her godchild and namesake, Lionel's eldest daughter, a beautiful girl of six years old. She took not after her mother, for she was grave and thoughtful beyond her years, and loved better to hold by Geraldine's hand and listen to her words, than play with her gayer and younger sister, the little Florentia, who was just now alternately chasing a butterfly and trampling down the flower-beds, or gambolling with Misa the greyhound, once before mentioned in this history, who was grown by this time an old dog. But Lionel Weymouth had much to say to Geraldine, unfit for the quick ears of six years old to receive; and urging that her sister wanted her companionship, and only half-enjoyed her sports without her, he enticed the docile child from the verandah to the garden.

For a period that might be counted by years, Geraldine had been content and serene in the presence of Lionel Weymouth. It is true that he was still the dearest object on earth to her heart: but her affection was so moulded with love for Florentia, and entire devotion to their children, that there was not one selfish feeling intermingled, or a thought she had need to hide from her own scrutiny, when remembering him as the husband of another. As much could not be said for Lionel Weymouth; for though worlds would not have tempted him to breathe a thought that could have disturbed the serenity he knew she had regained, there were regrets and convictions buried in the inmost recesses of his own heart, which, strive as he might to stifle and extinguish them, still burned on with constant power to torture. Laid out as in a map, he now could see how blessed a lot his life would have been with her whose true and long-tried love he had despised and rejected! What had it been for seven long years? A dream of unsatisfied longings, whose only waking reality had been Disappointment!

"How kind of you," he exclaimed, as soon as the child had left them-how kind of you to come thus promptly at my suinmons! Yet it is only like yourself; for I never yet knew you pause at a sacrifice of your own convenience." My dear friend," replied Geraldine, “you give me praise where I do not deserve it. My

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