influence; the ill-starred revelations of Wilson reasserted
their power, overmastering the denial of Mr. Carlyle.
Shakspeare calls jealousy yellow and green; I think
it may be called black and white for it most assuredly
views white as black, and black as white. The
most fanciful surmises wear the aspect of truth, the
greatest improbabilities appear as consistent realities.
Not another word said Isabel to her husband; and the
feeling—you will understand this if you
have ever been foolish enough to sun yourself in its
delights—only caused her to grow more attached
to him, to be more eager for his love. But certain
it is that Barbara Hare dwelt on her heart like an
incubus.
CAPTAIN THORN AT WEST LYNNE.
“Barbara, how fine the day seems!”
“It is a beautiful day mamma.”
“I do think I should be all the better for going
out.”
“I am sure you would, mamma,” was Barbara’s
answer. “If you went out more, you would
find the benefit. Every fine day you ought to
do so. I will go and ask papa if he can spare
Benjamin and the carriage.” She waltzed
gaily out of the room, but returned in a moment.
“Mamma, it is all right. Benjamin is gone
to get the carriage ready. You would like a bit
of luncheon before you go—I will order the
tray.”
“Anything you please, dear,” said the
sweet-tempered gentlewoman. “I don’t
know why, but I feel glad to go out to-day; perhaps
because it is lovely.”
Benjamin made ready his carriage and himself, and
drove out of the yard at the back, and brought the
carriage round to the front gate.
The carriage—or phaeton as it was often
called—was a somewhat old fashioned concern,
as many country things are apt to be. A small
box in front for the driver, and a wide seat with
a head behind, accommodating Barbara well between
them when Mr. and Mrs. Hare both sat in.
Benjamin drew the rug carefully over his mistress’s
knees—the servants did not like Mr. Hare,
but would have laid down their lives for her—ascended
to his box, and drove them to their destination, the
linen draper’s. It was an excellent shop,
situated a little beyond the office of Mr. Carlyle,
and Mrs. Hare and Barbara were soon engaged in that
occupation said to possess for all women a fascination.
They had been in about an hour, when Mrs. Hare discovered
that her bag was missing.
“I must have left it in the carriage, Barbara.
Go and bring it, will you, my dear? The pattern
of that silk is in it.”
Barbara went out. The carriage and Benjamin and
the sleek old horse were all waiting drowsily together.
Barbara could not see the bag, and she appealed to
the servant.
“Find mamma’s bag, Benjamin. It must
be somewhere in the carriage.”
