CHAPTER XXVI.

THE BARONET'S BRIDE.

NEVER was man married under more auspicious circumstances than Sir Henry Harleigh. He the descendant of an ancient house, and the accomplished possessor of a splendid fortune; his bride the fairest flower in the family of a distinguished nobleman; surely here were elements of high happiness, warranting the congratulations of the "troops of friends" who, by their presence, added eclat to the imposing nuptials. "Heaven bless thee, sweet Anne!" sobbed the venerable peer, her father, folding his daughter in his arms, as Sir Henry advanced to conduct her to his travelling-chariot; "may these be the last tears thou wilt have occasion to shed!" The blushing, trembling girl could make no reply; and linking her arm in that of her handsome husband, dizzy with agitation, and almost insensible of the many hands that shook hers in passing, suffered him to lead her through the throng of guests above, and lines of be-favoured lackeys below, to the chariot waiting to conduct "the happy pair" to a romantic residence of Sir Henry's in Wales. The moment they were seated, the steps were shut up the door closed. Sir Henry hastily waved a final adieu to the company thronging the windows of the drawing-room he had just quitted; the postilions cracked their whips, and away dashed the chariot and four, amidst the cheery pealing of the bells—

-"bearing its precious throbbing charge

To halcyon climes afar."

Sir Henry's character contrasted strongly, in some respects, with that of his lady. His urbanity was tinctured with a certain reserve, or rather melancholy, which some considered the effect of an early and severe devotion to study; others, and perhaps more truly, a constitutional tendency inherited from his mother. There was much subdued energy in his character; and you could not fail, under all this calmness of demeanour, to observe the strugglings of talent and ambition. Lady Anne, on the contrary, was all sprightliness and frolic. It was like a

sunbeam and a cloud brought together; the one, in short, "L'Allegro;" the other "Il Penseroso." The qualities of each were calculated to attemper those of the other, alternately mitigating and brightening; and who would not predicate a happy harmonious union of such extremes?

Six months after their marriage, the still "happy couple" returned to town, after having traversed an extensive portion of the continent. Lady Anne looked lovelier, and her spirits were more buoyant and brilliant than ever. She had apparently transfused not a little of her vivacity into her husband's more tranquil temperament: his manners exhibited a briskness and joyousness which none of his friends had ever witnessed in him before. During the whole of the London " season," Lady Anne revelled in enjoyment; the idol of her husband-the centre of gayety and cheerfulness-the star of fashion. Her debut at Court was one of the most flattering of the day. It was generally talked of, that the languid elegance, the listless fastidiousness of royalty, had been quickened into something like an appearance of interest, as the fair bride bowed before it, in the graceful attitude of loyal duty. Once or twice I had the satisfaction of meeting with her ladyship in public—all charming vivacity-all sparkle-followed by crowds of flatterers-till one would have thought her nearly intoxicated with their fragrant incense! "What a sweet smile!"- "How passing graceful!"-" What a swan-like neck!"- "Ah! happy fellow that Harleigh!"-" Seen Lady Anne? Oh! yonder she moves -there-that laughing lady in white satin, tapping the French ambassador on the shoulder with her fan."- "What! Is that Lady Anne, now waltzing with Lord -? What a superb foot and ankle! What a sylph it is!" tittle-tattle that ever accompanied Sir passing through the mazes of a London season; and I doubt not the reader would have joined in it, could he have seen Lady Anne! Should I attempt to present her bodily before him, he would suspect me of culling the hyperboles of the novelist, while I should feel that after all I had failed. He should have seen for himself the light of passion-of feeling and thought-that shone in her blue eyes-the beauteous serenity that reigned in

Such was the ball-room
Henry and his lady, in

her aristocratic brow-" in all her gestures, dignity and love!" There is a picture of a young lady by Sir Joshua Reynolds that has been sworn to by many as the image of Lady Anne; and it is one worthy of that great artist's pencil. Not the least characteristic trait about her, was the naïveté with which she acknowledged her love of Sir Henry, displaying it on all occasions by

"Looks of reverent fondness,"

that disdained concealment. And so indeed was it with the baronet. Each was the other's pride and contentment; and both were the envy of society. Ah, who could look upon them and believe that so dark a day was to come! But I will not anticipate.

66

In due time Sir Henry completed the extensive arrangements for his town residence; and, by the beginning of the ensuing winter, Lady Anne found herself at the head of as splendid an establishment as her heart could desire. The obsequious morning prints soon teemed with accounts of his dinners; and of the balls, routs, soirées, and conversaziones given by this "new queen of the evening hour." Sir Henry, who represented his county in Parliament, and consequently had many calls upon his time -for he was rather disposed to be a working" member-let his lady have it all her own way. He mingled but little in her gayeties; and when he did, it was evident that his thoughts were elsewhere-that he rather tolerated than enjoyed them. He soon settled into the habitudes of the man of political fashion, seldom deviating from the track, with all its absorbing associations, bounded by the House and the Clubs ;-those sunk rocks of many a woman's domestic happiness! In short, Sir Henry— man of fashion as he was-was somewhat of a character, and was given ample credit for sporting "the eccentric." His manners were marked by a dignity that often froze into hauteur, and sometimes degenerated into almost surly abruptness; which however, was easily carried to the account of severe political application and abstraction. Towards his beautiful wife, however, he preserved a demeanour of uniform tenderness. She could not form a wish that he did not even personally endeavour to secure her the means of gratifying. Considering the number and importance of his public engagements, many wondered that

he could contrive to be so often seen accompanying her in rides and drives about the Park and elsewhere; but who could name

"The sacrifice affection would not yield."

Some there were, however, who erelong imagined they detected a moodiness—an irritability—a restlessness-of which his political engagements appeared hardly to afford a sufficient explanation. They spoke of his sudden fits of absence, and the agitation he displayed on being startled from them. What could there be to disturb him? was he running beyond his income to supply his lady's extravagance? was he offended at any lightness or indiscretion of which she might have been guilty? had he given credence to any of the hundred tales circulated in society of every woman eminent in the haut ton? was he embarrassed with the consequences of some deep political move? No one could tell; but many marked the increasing indications of his dissatisfaction and depression. Observation soon fastened her keen eyes upon Lady Anne, and detected occasional clouds upon her generally joyous countenance. Her bright eye was often laden with anxiety; the colour of her cheek varied; the blandness and cheerfulness of her manner gave place to frequent abruptness, petulance, and absence; symptoms these which soon set her friends sympathizing, and her acquaintance speculating Whenever this sort of enquiry is aroused, charity falls asleep. She never seemed at ease, it was said, in her husband's presence-his departure seemed the signal for her returning gayety. Strange to say, each seemed the conscious source of the other's anxiety and apprehension. Each had been detected casting furtive glances at the other-tracking one another's motions, and listening, even, to one another's conversation; and some went so far as to assert that each had been observed on such occasions to turn suddenly pale. What could be the matter? Every body wondered—no one knew. Some attributed their changed deportment to the exhaustion consequent upon late hours and excitement; a few hinted the probability of a family; many whispered that Sir Henry—some that Lady Anne-gambled. Others, again, insinuated that each had too good cause to be dissatisfied with the other's fidelity.

When, however, it got currently reported that a letter was one evening given to Sir Henry at his club, which blanched his face and shook his hand as he read it-that his whole manner was disturbed for days after, and that he even absented himself from a grand debate in the House-an occasion on which he was specially pledged to support his party-curiosity was at once heightened and bewildered. Then, again, it was undeniable that they generally treated one another with the utmost tenderness -really-unequivocally. Lady Anne, however, daily exhibited symptoms of increasing disquietude; the lustre faded from her eye, the colour from her cheek-her vivacity totally disappeared -she no longer even affected it. "How thin she gets!" was an exclamation heard on all hands. They were seen less frequently in society; and even when they did enter into it, it was evidently an intolerable burden. Sighs were heard to escape from Lady Anne; her eyes were seen occasionally filled with tears; and it was noticed, that, on observing Sir Henry watching her-which was often the case-she made violent efforts to recover her composure. Thus in tears one evening, curiosity was strained to the utmost when Sir Henry approached her, rather stiffly bowed away the gentleman who was proposing to dance with her, drew her arm within his, and, with some trepidation of manner, quitted the room. "Good heaven! what can be behind the scenes ?" thought fifty different people who had witnessed this last exhibition.

"Afraid they lead a woful life together," said one. thought they would suit one another," was the reply.

"I never

"'Pon my soul," simpered a sickly scion of nobility, "'tis an odd thing to say-but-but-gad, I do believe I can explain it all! Harleigh, I know, hates to see her dance with mewhew!"

"Haven't you seen her turn pale, and seemed quite sick at heart, when she has noticed him talking to Miss -?" wheezed an old dowager, whose daughter had attempted to join in the race for the baronet's hand? These, and a thousand others, were questions, hints, and innuendoes banded about every where during the remainder of the season: soon after the close of which, Lady Anne brought her husband a son and heir;" and,

66