Hopes and Fears

girl, though not in the least offended nor disturbed, but Phoebe and Miss Fennimore considered them such an exposure that they were by no means willing to give Bertha the opportunity of launching herself at her senior.

The state of the household likewise perplexed Phoebe. She had been bred up to the sight of waste, ostentation, and extravagance, and they did not distress her; but her partial authority revealed to her glimpses of dishonesty; detected falsehoods destroyed her confidence in the housekeeper; her attempts at charities to the poor were intercepted; her visits to the hamlet disclosed to her some of the effects on the villagers of a vicious, disorderly establishment; and she understood why a careful mother would as soon have sent her daughter to service at the lowest public-house as at Beauchamp.

Mervyn had detected one of the footmen in a flagrant act of peculation, and had dismissed him, but Phoebe believed the evil to have extended far more widely than he supposed, and made up her mind to entreat him to investigate matters. In vain, however, she sought for a favourable moment, for he was never alone. The intervals between other visitors were filled up by a Mr. Hastings, who seemed to have erected himself into so much of the domesticated friend that he had established a bowing and speaking acquaintance with Phoebe; Bertha no longer narrated her escapes of encounters with him; and, being the only one of the gentlemen who ever went to church, he often joined the young ladies as they walked back from thence. Phoebe heartily wished him gone, for he made her brother inaccessible; she only saw Mervyn when he wanted her to find something for him or to give her a message, and if she ventured to say that she wanted to speak to him, he promised-'Some time or other'-which always proved sine die. He was looking very ill, his complexion very much flushed, and his hand heated and unsteady, and she heard through Lieschen of his having severe morning headaches, and fits of giddiness and depression, but these seemed to make him more unable to spare Mr. Hastings, as if life would not be endurable without the billiards that she sometimes heard knocking about half the night.

However, the anniversary of Mr. Fulmort's death would bring his executor to clear off one branch of his business, and Mervyn's friends fled before the coming of the grave old lawyer, all fixing the period of their departure before Christmas. Nor could Mervyn go with them; he must meet Mr. Crabbe, and Phoebe's heart quite bounded at the hope of being able to walk about the house in comfort, and say part of what was on her mind to her brother.

'Whose writing is this?' said Phoebe to herself, as the letters were given to her, two days before the clearance of the house. 'I ought to know it-It is! No! Yes, indeed it is-poor Lucy. Where can she be? What can she have to say?'

The letter was dateless, and Phoebe's amaze grew as she read.

'DEAR PHOEBE,

'You know it is my nature to do odd things, so never mind that, but

attend to me, as one who knows too well what it is to be motherless

and undirected. Gossip is long-tongued enough to reach me here, in

full venom as I know and trust, but it makes my blood boil, till I

can't help writing a warning that may at least save you pain. I know

you are the snowdrop poor Owen used to call you, and I know you have

Honor Charlecote for philosopher, and friend, but she is nearly as

unsophisticated as yourself, and if report say true, your brother is

getting you into a scrape. If it is a fact that he has Jack Hastings

dangling about Beauchamp, he deserves the lot of my unlucky Charteris

cousins! Mind what you are about, Phoebe, if the man is there. He

is plausible, clever, has no end of amusing resources, and keeps his

head above water; but I know that in no place where there are

womankind has he been received without there having been cause to

repent it! I hope you may be able to laugh-if not, it may be a

wholesome cure to hear that his friends believe him to have secured

one of the heiresses at Beauchamp. There, Phoebe, I have said my

say, and I fear it is cutting and wounding, but it came out of the

love of a heart that has not got rid of some of its old feelings, and

that could not bear to think of sorrow or evil tongues busy about

you. That I write for your sake, not for my own, you may see by my

making it impossible to answer.

'LUCILLA SANDBROOK.

'If you hold council with Honor over this-as, if you are wise, you will-you may tell her that I am learning gratitude to her. I would ask her pardon if I could without servility.'

'Secured one of the heiresses!' said Phoebe to herself. 'I should like to be able to tell Lucy how I can laugh! Poor Lucy, how very kind in her to write. I wonder whether Mervyn knows how bad the man is! Shall I go to Miss Charlecote? Oh, no; she is spending two days at Moorcroft! Shall I tell Miss Fennimore? No, I think not, it will be wiser to talk to Miss Charlecote; I don't like to tell Miss Fennimore of Lucy. Poor Lucy-she is always generous! He will soon be gone, and then I can speak to Mervyn.'

This secret was not a serious burthen to Phoebe, though she could not help smiling to herself at the comical notion of having been secured by a man to whom she had not spoken a dozen times, and then with the utmost coldness and formality.

The next day she approached the letter-bag with some curiosity. It contained one for her from her sister Juliana, a very unusual correspondent, and Phoebe's mind misgave her lest it should have any connection with the hints in Lucilla's note. But she was little prepared for what she read.

'Acton Manor, Dec. 24th.

'MY DEAR PHOEBE,

'Although, after what passed in July, I cannot suppose that the

opinion of your elders can have any effect on your proceedings, yet

for the sake of our relationship, as well as of regard to

appearances, I cannot forbear endeavouring to rescue you from the

consequences of your own folly and obstinacy. Nothing better was to

be expected from Mervyn; but at your age, with your pretences to

religion, you cannot plead simplicity, nor ignorance of the usages of

the world. Neither Sir Bevil nor myself can express our amazement at

your recklessness, thus forfeiting the esteem of society, and

outraging the opinion of our old friends. To put an end to the

impropriety, we will at once receive you here, overlooking any

inconvenience, and we shall expect you all three on Tuesday, under

charge of Miss Fennimore, who seems to have been about as fit as

Maria to think for you. It is too late to write to Mervyn to-night,

but he shall hear from us to-morrow, as well as from your guardian,

to whom Sir Bevil has written, You had better bring my jewels; and

the buhl clock from my mother's mantelshelf, which I was to have.

Mrs. Brisbane will pack them. Tell Bertha, with my love, that she

might have been more explicit in her correspondence.

'Your affectionate sister,

'JULIANA ACTON.'

When Miss Fennimore entered the room, she found Phoebe sitting like one petrified, only just able to hold out the letter, and murmur-'What does it mean?' Imagining that it could only contain something fatal about Robert, Miss Fennimore sprang at the paper, and glanced through it, while Phoebe again faintly asked, 'What have I done?'

'Lady Acton is pleased to be mysterious!' said the governess. 'The kind sister she always was!'

'Don't say that,' exclaimed Phoebe, rallying. 'It must be something shocking, for Sir Bevil thinks so too,' and the tears sprang forth.

'He will never think anything unkind of you, my dear,' said Miss Fennimore, with emphasis.

'It must be about Mr. Hastings!' said Phoebe, gathering recollection and confidence. 'I did not like to tell you yesterday, but I had a letter from poor Lucy Sandbrook. Some friends of that man, Mr. Hastings, have set it about