in her countenance. She had more character, indeed,
than was told by her face, which is generally so true
an index of the mind. Her education had been as
good as England could afford, and her intellect had
been sufficient to enable her to make use of it.
But her chief charm in the eyes of many consisted in
the fact, doubted by none, that she was every inch
a lady. She was an only daughter, too,—with
an only brother; and as the Ancrums were all rich,
she would have a very pretty fortune of her own.
Fred Neville, who had literally been nobody before
his cousin had died, might certainly do much worse
than marry her.
And after a day or two they did seem to get on very
well together. He had reached Scroope on the
21st, and on the 23rd Mrs. Neville arrived with her
youngest son Jack Neville. This was rather a trial
to the Earl, as he had never yet seen his brother’s
widow. He had heard when his brother married
that she was fast, fond of riding, and loud. She
had been the daughter of a Colonel Smith, with whom
his brother, at that time a Captain Neville, had formed
acquaintance;—and had been a beauty very
well known as such at Dublin and other garrison towns.
No real harm had ever been known of her, but the old
Earl had always felt that his brother had made an
unfortunate marriage. As at that time they had
not been on speaking terms, it had not signified much;—but
there had been a prejudice at Scroope against the
Captain’s wife, which by no means died out when
the late Julia Smith became the Captain’s widow
with two sons. Old reminiscences remain very
firm with old people,—and Lord Scroope
was still much afraid of the fast, loud beauty.
His principles told him that he should not sever the
mother from the son, and that as it suited him to
take the son for his own purposes, he should also,
to some extent, accept the mother also. But he
dreaded the affair. He dreaded Mrs. Neville;
and he dreaded Jack, who had been so named after his
gallant grandfather, Colonel Smith. When Mrs.
Neville arrived, she was found to be so subdued and
tame that she could hardly open her mouth before the
old Earl. Her loudness, if she ever had been loud,
was certainly all gone,—and her fastness,
if ever she had been fast, had been worn out of her.
She was an old woman, with the relics of great beauty,
idolizing her two sons for whom all her life had been
a sacrifice, in weak health, and prepared, if necessary,
to sit in silent awe at the feet of the Earl who had
been so good to her boy.
“I don’t know how to thank you for what
you have done,” she said, in a low voice.
“No thanks are required,” said the Earl.
“He is the same to us as if he were our own.”
Then she raised the old man’s hand and kissed
it,—and the old man owned to himself that
he had made a mistake.
As to Jack Neville—. But Jack Neville
shall have another chapter opened on his behalf.
CHAPTER IV.
Copyrights
An Eye for an Eye from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
