Basil

Five months had nearly elapsed since Clara and my father had departed for

ch details of country life as the writer thought likely to interest me. Their tone was as affectionate-nay, more affectionate, if possible-than usual; but Clara's gaiety and quiet humour, as a correspondent, were gone. My conscien

London house, I dreamed-with the strangest sleeping oblivion of my marriage, and of all the new interests which it had crowded into my life-of country rides with my sister, and of quiet conversations in the old gothic library at the Hall. Under such influences as these, I twice resolved to make amends for my long absence, by joining my father and my sister in the country, even though it were only for a few days-and, each time, I failed in my resolution. On the

ara, containing a summons to the

in London, that he believed you kept some secret from him. I am afraid this is preying on his mind: your long absence is making him uneasy about you. He does not say so; but he never sends any message, when I write; and if I speak about you, he always changes the subject directly. Pray come here, and sh

use like ours!" Mr. Sherwin laughed as coarsely as usual, at the difficulties I made about only leaving his daughter for a week. Mrs. Sherwin very earnestly, and very inaccountably as I then thought, recommended me not to be away any longer than I had proposed. Mr. Mann

wished to see it on the day of my arrival at home; but there had been a thaw for the last week-mud and water were all about me-a drizzling rain was falling-a raw, damp wind

truction he had put on my long absence and my persistence in keeping my secret from him, I could not tell; but it was evident that I had lost my usual

armth of Clara's welcome, all the pleasure of hearing her whisper her thanks, as she kissed me, for my readiness in following her advice, to restore my equanimity. But even then, when the first hurry and excitement of meeting had passed away,

topics, as if a mere acquaintance had been present. When my sister left us, he too quitted the room, to see

y father's evident displeasure at my protracted absence. There was a little restraint between us, which neither had the courage to break through. Before lo

ocket containing some of Margaret's hair, fell out of its place in my waistcoat, and swung towards my sister by the string which attached it round my neck. I instantly h

she rose, and putting her hands on my shoulders, as if to k

my brother's waistcoat-" she continued, observing that I was too confused to speak-"and when I find him colouring very deeply, and hi

htful, while she still fixed her eyes on me. She took my hand gently, and whispered in my ear:

vately to Mr. Sherwin's house, and exposing to her the humiliating terms of dependence and prohibition on which I lived with my own wife. A strange medley of feelings, in which pride was uppermost, forbade me to do that. Then again, to involve my sister in my secret, would be t

n the subject to every one. I can't speak yet, love, as I wish to speak: you will know why, some day, and say that my reserve was right. In the meantime,

hough I am, I can promise all you wish. Seriously, Basil," she continued, "that telltale locket of yours has so pleasantly brightened some very gloom

of my stay at the Hall. One morning, when we were alone, I took courage, and determined to try the dangerous ground a little, with a view towards

will hear nothing. You have not that confidence now-you speak hesitatingly-your eyes do not meet mine fairly and boldly. I tell you again, I will hear nothing which begins with such common-place excuses as you have just addressed to me. E

known how I suffered, at that instant, under the base necessities of concealment, I might

much harm. When the wedded happiness I had already waited for, and was to wait for still, through so many months, came at last, was it not best to enjoy my married life in convenient secrecy, as long as I could?-best, to abstain from disclosing my secret

ht have returned to London the day after my arrival at the Hall, without alteri

s; my father's coldness; and the winter gloom and rain which confined us almost incessantly within doors, all tended in their different degrees to prevent my livin

hem last. Particular rooms that I had once been fond of occupying, were favourites no longer: particular habits that I had hitherto always practised in the country, I could only succeed in resuming by an effort which ve

of my stay; and merely said that we should soon meet again in London. She evidently saw that my visit had weighed a little on my spirits, and was determined t

turn to London I rep

ence of the raw, wintry weather, had a little affected her; and then changed the subject. In other directions, household aspects had not deviated from their accustomed monotony. As usual, Mrs. Sherwin was at her post in the drawing-room; and her husband was reading the evening paper, over his

usual terms, on my safe return; and said that nothing had taken place in my absence-but in his utterance of those few words, I discovered, for the first time, a change in his voice: his tones were lower, and his articulation quicker than usual. This, joined to the extraordinary coldness of his hand, made me inquire whether he w

taken place in my absence, though they all said that nothing had happened. But trifling illnesses seemed to be little