CHAPTER XV. Yet day by day She lived, till fear grew hope and faith, Death is dark, and foul, and dull; SHELLEY. LADY S. The paragraphs, you say, Mr. Snake, were all inserted? SNAKE. They were, Madam; and as I copied them myself in a feigned hand, there can be no suspicion whence they came. SHERIDAN. I MUST do Mrs. Sidney justice : ambitious and worldly as she was-keenly as she must have felt that her daughter had at one fell blow demolished prospects more brilliant than could ever fall to her lot again-she yet at this moment forgot all but that daughter's misery. She had seen her throbbing head laid on the pillow; she had, with her own hands, administered a composing draught; and it was only when Viola said, "Pray leave me, mother, I may perhaps sleep,-pray leave me, cousin Dorothy," that Mrs. Sidney quitted the apartment. I followed her; but I resolved in my own mind to return at a later hour. Mrs. Sidney called to Marables, and desired to be instantly summoned, if her daughter should feel herself worse. Marables faithfully promised compliance, and gratuitously added, that "She would not even go down to supper, in order that she might be within call." To judge by the tone of self-glorification in which she gave forth this magnanimous resolve, it was easy to perceive that she considered it an act of self-denial, bordering on martyrdom. "It is a shocking thing, Marables," observed Mrs. Sidney. "Of course you know the match is off. What will people say? How every one will talk." "Ah! and the dresses, ma'am," answered Marables. "What a pity it is you would have all those silks and satins made up. Had you but left them in the piece, they would have lasted for ever among the young ladies, and now they will be old-fashioned long before Miss Sidney can wear them half out. To be sure, all those presents will be vastly useful; for the young ladies, poor things! were sadly in want of jewellery." "Presents! Marables; they must, of course, be returned." "Returned, ma'am !" echoed Marables, looking quite terrified; "that will, indeed, be horrible." Mr. Sidney had, I think, received a far greater shock than his wife; her vanity, but his pride, had been deeply wounded. Strictly honourable in all his dealings, conscientious in every relation of life, possessing an untarnished name, and renowned for unblemished credit and integrity in the mercantile world, honour might in him (if any thing could) have supplied the place of a higher principle, and now his daughter had indeed wounded him in the most vulnerable point; her bond was forfeit, her note of promise dishonoured, she was a bankrupt in faith and credit. Had Mr. Sidney seen his own name in the Gazette, I do not think he could have experienced a deeper pang. He now called to his wife: “Anne, you surely do not mean to have all these people flocking here to-morrow: you must write off immediately to them, and get cousin Dorothy and Miss Sharpe to help you." Mrs. Sidney took my arm, and led me to the drawing-room: she wrung her hands in despair, as she exclaimed: "What shall I say, Charles? How that odious Mrs. Brookes will triumph!" "Say!" rejoined her husband, "say that the wedding is unavoidably postponed; they will learn the truth soon enough. And now," he added, in his sternest manner, "I forbid you, Anne, I forbid one and all, as they value my friendship, as they hope for my countenance and protection, ever to let this subject again pass their lips. I will not that the malicious prying gossips shall be gratified by details in which they have not the remotest concern. Let them put what interpretation they please on her conduct; they cannot, alas! think too badly of it." He left the room, and Dick Sidney entered in breathless haste. "Oh, mamma! mamma!" exclaimed the boy, "it is of no manner of use sending now to the confectioner's, for lots of things have arrived. A large bride-cake, well frosted over with sugar, which you will now, perhaps, give me to take to school; and cook says that, as far as her share is concerned, the jellies and creams only want 'turning out;' so all you can now contradict will be the ices, and I am sure that will hardly be worth while." "Oh, I never thought of the breakfast," said poor Mrs. Sidney in a voice of despair; "what shall I do?" and away she went to consult her artiste. Meanwhile Miss Sharpe and I were writing, as though our pens were impelled with centripetal force towards the paper. Miss Sharpe, however, varied her occupation, by indulging, from time to time, in that contemptible gnat-stinging, commonly called "talking at a person." 66 Ah, I thought it would end in something of this kind; poetry, and all such nonsense, from morning to night. Well, thank goodness, Mr. Sidney cannot blame me; I have had nothing to do with his daughter's education. Heaven forbid that Margaret or Lucy should ever act thus! I am sure I could never hold up my head again." Then, as she folded her last note, she said, "I wish you good night, Miss Dorothy; I hope you will find your pupil better;" and she swept out of the room. Miss Sharpe frequently indulged in a sneer; she mistook it for satire,-a prevailing error this; but sneering is a blunt razor, and satire a sharp one; and most incontestably I would rather at any time be cut through and through by a keen weapon, than be hacked and hewn to pieces by a dull one. To be satirical, requires some small degree of talent; whereas this same pointless sneer demands only a snarling manner, a tolerable degree of gall, and a plenitude of self-satisfaction. The whole of that night I passed by Miss Sidney's bed-side; and Viola rejoiced, as she felt the hot blood tingling in her veins, the pulse that |