POMMEROY ABBEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "ASHLEY."

I.

NEVER was there a more gloomy structure than that of the old Abbey of Pommeroy, with its grey walls, overgrown in places with lichen and other kinds of moss, its narrow Gothic casements, and its decaying towers. It was in keeping with the scenery that rose around. Situated on a wild part of the coast of England, it was flanked by bleak and bold rocks on the one side, and by a dark forest on the other. Not that the trees were in close proximity to the abbey: from the abbey gates descended a gentle hill, where a few houses, most of them very poor, were honoured with the title of village, taking its name from their site, "Abbeyland:" the hill wound round to the right, and there rose the dark and gloomy forest. In days long gone by, in the time of the Norman kings, this place had been the stronghold of the De Pommeroys; then they seemed to have dwindled away and disappeared, and the abbey was for a century or two the abode of monks. After that, it had been rebuilt, and of later years it had come again into the hands of the Pommeroys, who professed to be lineal descendants of the ancient family, and retained their form of religion, though they dropped the "de."

The lord of Pommeroy Abbey-though only Mr. Pommeroy, he was always styled "the lord"-had four sons, Guy, Rupert, George, and Leolin; Guy of course being the heir. The two younger we need not notice just now, for they were absent; George was with his regiment, though he had very recently been sojourning at home, and Leolin was abroad. Guy and Rupert were remarkably tall, nearly six feet three, but there the resemblance apparently ended. Guy was of a pale complexion, almost ghastly, his features, in themselves well formed, were rendered plain by their exceedingly stern expression, and by his possessing what is called a hare lip. In Rupert's features might be traced a great resemblance to Guy's, but only by a close observer, for his complexion was more fresh and beautiful than is often owned by man, the expression of his face was winning, though somewhat free and bold, and the form of his mouth was of surpassing sweetness. A stranger, looking at the two for the first time, would have said never were brothers more unlike; that the one was a model of beauty, the other almost of deformity; but as he became accustomed to their features, the likeness would have grown upon him.

The breakfast-table was spread in the abbey breakfast-room, and Miss Pommeroy waited for her father and brothers. She was tall, as they were; her complexion sallow, though not so white as Guy's: indeed, Guy imparted the idea of a man whose colour has been momentarily scared from him by fright: and her hair was darker than theirs. She was named Joan, after a Dame Joan de Pommeroy, who had been famous in the reign of King John, and was said to bear a strong resemblance to her, which probably was only one of those flights of fancy some people delight

to indulge in, since no portrait of Dame Joan was extant now, and it did not appear that one ever had been. Miss Pommeroy had returned but the night before from a six months' visit to a married sister, and now stood at the narrow windows, looking out at the scene she had not seen so long. Rupert entered.

Rupert !" she exclaimed, "I see the smoke of the White House chimneys, curling there. I suppose you have grown intimate with its new inmates; you were in the way for it when I left."

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Guy has."

"Guy!"

"He and the lord are there often. Indeed, I began to think that we were going to be presented gratis with a lady-in-law-"

"Rupert!" interrupted Miss Pommeroy, in a tone of rebuke.

"Until I found that the scent lay in a different direction," continued the unmoved Rupert. "I was mistaking the affair altogether while I fancied the widower and the widow might be doing a little courting on their own account, it appears they were only courting for their children." Miss Pommeroy turned her eyes full on her brother, asking an explanation as plainly as eyes could. But Rupert was silent. "Tell me what you mean," she said, impatiently.

"The son-and-heir is to settle," cried Rupert, "and—”

"Guy cannot afford it," again exclaimed Miss Pommeroy. "You have all been too extravagant for him to think of marrying: the lord has often told him so. Where is to be his separate establishment? and two households in the abbey will not answer.'

"I should like to have a guinea for every useless word you drop in a day, Joan," laughed Rupert Pommeroy. "Guy will afford an establishmentif he gets her. She has five-and-twenty thousand pounds.'

"Are you speaking of the mother or the daughter?"

"Well done, Joan! The mother is double Guy's age-or getting on

for it."

"But-will-she, the daughter, have Guy?" slowly and doubtfully ejaculated Miss Pommeroy.

Rupert had opened one of the narrow casements, and put his head out. Whistling to one of his pointers, which was below, with the gamekeeper, Gaunt.

"Rupert! Rupert!" exclaimed his sister, petulantly stamping her foot, "you know when I want to hear a thing I must hear it. I say, will Alice Wylde have Guy?"

Rupert drew in his head. "You had better ask that of Guy himself." "Is it true that she has so much? It was given out that they were rich, but twenty-five thousand is a great deal."

"That's true. Her father was in India: a nabob-or rajah-or merchant-something they make fortunes at, out there: and she inherits." "She will never have Guy: she is too beautiful."

"Pretty women often marry ugly men, and-Hist, Joan!" broke off Rupert: "here he comes, the son-and-heir."

Guy Pommeroy entered the room. His temper had made him not loved by his brothers and sisters, but his father doted on him: in Guy he saw his son-and-heir; and his constant allusions to his being such, had caused it to be a by-word of ridicule, as attached to Guy. Haughty,

arrogant, and fearful spendthrifts, the Pommeroys had outrun their income; but this was not known to the world; and Guy had reached the age of eight-and-twenty without thought of marrying, when the White House changed its tenants, and became inhabited by the widow and daughter of Mr. Wylde.

But not for the sake of her fortune did Guy Pommeroy think of sacrificing his liberty: the Pommeroys were of that class who love the liberty and licence of single life: that the money may have added weight to the inducement was probable, but the fresh beauty of Alice had caught his and his heart. When those cold natures, such as was Guy's, do love, they love passionately: and with an impassioned fervour that is not often equalled, had Guy Pommeroy learnt to love Alice Wylde.

eye

"Guy," began Miss Pommeroy, with little regard to his feelings or to her own good manners, "Rupert says you want to marry Miss Wylde. Will she have you?"

A hot scarlet flush illumined Guy's white cheek: proving, of itself, how very deep his love had gone. He drew himself up haughtily. "Let Rupert concern himself with his fishing and his shooting, and his other-more questionable-sports: but let him not concern himself with me."

He rang the bell as he spoke, and his father's personal attendant entered; Jerome, a faithful serving-man of fifty years. "The lord breakfasts in his room," said Guy.

She could not

"Yes, sir, I know it," replied Jerome. "He has slept badly." Miss Pommeroy had turned to the breakfast-table. domineer over Guy, as she sometimes did over Rupert: not that the latter heeded her domineering, for he was good-tempered and careless. Once, when Guy had declined to tell her something she wished to know, and she had teased him to anger, he struck her a blow, and her face retained the mark for days. She said no more to Guy now, but in the course of the day she questioned her father: was Guy to marry Alice Wylde?

Mr. Pommeroy looked up. "Who has made you so wise?"

"Rupert."

She and

She was

"It is no business of Rupert's: or of any one's. Nothing is settled." "Neither will it be," exclaimed Miss Pommeroy, speaking what she thought. "I do not suppose she would have Guy." "Not have Guy!" uttered Mr. Pommeroy. "I can tell you that an alliance with the future lord of Pommeroy is what many a young lady, far higher in position and lineage than she, would kneel for. Mrs. Wylde see it in the right light, and are eager for it." So far as Mrs. Wylde went, Mr. Pommeroy judged rightly. an ambitious woman, dwelling too much upon the advantages accruing from "family," as those, not well-born, are apt to do. In Guy Pommeroy she saw all that was to be desired: and to make Alice the future lady of Pommeroy," was the dream which fired her ambition. But, if Guy was courted to the White House, Rupert was not. He had at one time gone thither as much as his brother, but a faint and very disagreeable suspicion had dawned suddenly upon Mrs. Wylde; and that was, that her daughter was getting to enjoy the society of the handsome Rupert, more than that of Guy. Never, from that hour, was Rupert

Pommeroy admitted within the doors: call when he would, there was an excuse ready: Mrs. Wylde was out, or Mrs. Wylde was engaged.

The day passed on to the evening, and the family dined alone, a somewhat notable circumstance, for the abbey was generally rich in guests. Rupert rose from table when his sister did, and strolled out: Guy remained with his father.

"Where have you been all the afternoon?" demanded the lord. “At the White House?"

"I called in there," replied Guy.

"When do you mean to bring matters to a close? Speak to her offhand, boy, and don't be afraid. I never knew that a Pommeroy could be scared by a woman."

Guy Pommeroy's livid face turned scarlet, a far deeper scarlet than that called up by Joan's bold question in the morning. If the proud old chief could but have known its cause!

"There is plenty of time," replied Guy, in a tone that concealed the evasiveness of the words. "Father, drink claret: so much port is not good for you.'

"I hate the claret," said Mr. Pommeroy; "and not a drop should be on my table, but for fashion's sake: I never got used to it as a young man, and can't as an old one. In my day, Guy, the creed was to despise everything French."

"But think of the gout, sir. Jerome is fearing another attack, I know."

"Jerome would fear his own shadow, if you'd let him,” said the lord of Pommeroy.

Rupert strolled leisurely along until he was beyond view of the abbey, and then he mended his pace, and went as if he were walking for a wager. It was a lovely summer's evening, and the setting sun threw its red and golden light across the heavy trees in the distance. Cutting across some fields, by a sheltered path, he emerged from them at the back of the White House, and entered its garden by a small door.

Not to the open part of it: no, Rupert Pommeroy dared not do that, lest he should encounter the lynx eyes of Mrs. Wylde. He kept safe amidst the stunted trees that skirted the wall, and peeped out beyond them to see what was to be seen.

He saw a bright looking girl of radiant mien, her dark brown hair shining in the slanting beams of the sun, and her cheeks damask with expectation. She was in an evening dress of white, and wore a small thin gold chain round her neck, and similar bracelets on her arms; and she was flitting from bed to bed, plucking a flower from one, stooping to inhale the scent of another, and-drawing further from the windows of the house: drawing, as if unconsciously, and without any apparent design.

A lady appeared at the dining-room window, which was open. "Alice."

"Well, mamma?"

"I wish you would put a scarf over your shoulders. You are sure to choose this hour to loiter in the garden, just when the sun is full upon it."

"Mamma, I shall not take cold."

"I don't suppose you will, but you'll tan your neck. The hot summer sun tans as much at its setting as at mid-day."

Alice Wylde folded her laced pocket-handkerchief, corner-wise, and threw it over her neck.

"You have not drunk your wine," pursued Mrs. Wylde.

"I don't want it, thank you."

Mrs. Wylde turned from the window, and, reaching over the desserttable for the glass of wine which stood near Alice's plate, drank it herself. Mrs. Wylde was too fond of wine-of course in a lady-like way; nothing more is meant to waste it, and she then filled her own glass again, and sat down.

Mrs. Wylde was one who enjoyed her dinner: it is a weakness obtaining amidst ladies who have approached, what they would call, the meridian of life; and Mrs. Wylde not unfrequently fell into a doze after it, and she enjoyed that as much as her dinner.

Alice Wylde had not been reared in a good school. A girl, who has, will not deceive her mother in word or deed, scarcely in thought: and, rely upon it, where deceit is practised to a mother, a day of retribution too surely comes: it may be soon, or it may be late, but come it will, and does. She flitted from flower to shrub, and from shrub to flower, gradually drawing round the wind of the lawn, beyond the sight of her mother's eyes, had her mother remained to look; which Alice did not fear, for she knew her mother's indolent and self-indulgent habits. In another moment, she was in the midst of the sheltering trees, and in the arms of Rupert Pommeroy.

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My dearest !"

"Oh, Rupert, I have been wishing for this evening to come! I have been longing to tell you some news. Guy called this afternoon and asked me to be his wife."

"Ah!"

"I told him I was very sorry, for I did not love him, and it was of no use his asking."

"What did he say?"

Rupert laughed, and held her closer. "I hardly knew what he said: I was confused, and only caught up the sense of his words. He said that he loved me as no other man had ever loved, for his passions were vehement within him: and then came something about his being Guy Pommeroy, of Pommeroy Abbey."

"You might have told him that one other, at any rate, loved you as passionately as he. How did it end, Alice ?"

"He would not take my refusal: he did not seem to believe in it: he said young ladies did not know their own minds, and that he should never give me up while he had life. He said he should come to the White House as usual, and he hoped that in a few weeks I should grant him a different answer. I told him if he did continue to come, he must consider himself mamma's visitor, not mine."

Rupert drew her face to his, and kept it there while he whispered his sweet vows of love. She resisted not: for, passionately as Guy Pommeroy loved Alice, so did she, in her turn, love Rupert. Thus the time passed, all too swiftly for those, wrapt in the magic of the other's presence, in the melody of love's golden chords; and the light was fading, and the sun had set, and the evening star shone in the heavens, when Alice