CHAPTER VIII. "And then I met with one Who was my fate; he saw me and I knew 'T was love that like swift light'ning darted through So many chapters in novels begin with descriptions of beautiful days that it seems useless to add another to those already written by abler painters in words; but to speak of flowers, of birds, of blue sky, and of sunshine, of fleecy clouds and soft breezes, at certain times and on certain occasions, has its use, however hackneyed these expressions may be. It is to the mind what the recitative in an Italian opera is to the ear, or a frame to a painting. It brings the thoughts into tune; it calls up a variety of pictures, differing according to the imagination of the readerto the scenes with which his memory is stored to the impressions of which he is susceptible. "The day was beautiful.” Has not every one at once, before his eyes, some picture that appeals to his feelings or his fancy, that suggests a train of remembrances, that brings tears into his eyes, or a smile on his lips? -- The day was beautiful on which Gertrude Lifford opened her window to examine the aspect of the sky, and ascertain that it did not threaten to interfere with what she called her first day of pleasure. No such shade marred the face of the heaven. It was fair and `bright, and hazy in the distance an autumnal English sky — and even the flat extent of the park looked less ugly than usual, as it showed its green surface in the light of the early morning. Gertrude was satisfied, but her excited spirits would not suffer her to sit still. The hours seemed interminably long till she could reasonably begin to dress. Her dress had been a source of great anxiety to her; and as Madame de Staël was heard to say that she would have been willing to barter all her literary successes for the gratification of experiencing for a single day the pleasure of being beautiful, so Gertrude would almost have given up her beauty for the sake of knowing that she would be dressed like other people, for the assurance of not appearing old-fashioned and ridiculous: for between her mother, who had not been out anywhere for years, and never but in Spain, and the milliner at Stonehouseleigh, whose knowledge of the fashions was limited, she felt great apprehensions as to the result. But she need not have done so; she was not dressed like other people certainly, but if vanity were the cause of her uneasiness she might have been content. A piece of fine rare Indian muslin delicately embroidered in white which had made part of her mother's trousseau, and had never been made up was now turned into a gown for her. A magnificent mantilla of old Spanish lace was her shawl. A Leghorn straw-hat with a wreath of poppies and corn-flowers, which, with the skill in such handiwork acquired in a convent, Mrs. Lifford had made for her, and a chain of elaborately carved coral going twice round her neck, completed her attire. When she went into her mother's room she found her sitting up on her couch, with various cases of antique`workmanship smelling of foreign perfumes by her side. From one she took out some diamond rings, from another a pair of bracelets of a curious Moorish shape, which she put on her fingers and her wrists. Then she gave her a fan with highly finished paintings and richly ornamented handle, and showed her how to hold it. Then she bade her go to the foot of the couch that she might look at her; and as she stood there in all her picturesque beauty, with her youth and her brilliant dress, and the exultation in her eyes, she seemed a strange vision in that chapellike room so full of holy pictures and religious ornaments, so dark for the sake of its suffering inmate, so silent and so still, that those who entered it instinctively lowered their voices, and trod lightly on the soft carpet. "Gertrude," said her mother, fixing her eyes on her daughter's face, "The world is not happiness." "Perhaps not, Mamma, but it is pleasure." "I too went to a ball once, and I carried that fan in my hand. It is a long time ago. It was at the time of my sister's marriage. She has died since. Her name was Assunta. Strange, was it not? Mine is Angustia. I am glad they did not call you so, Gertrude." "Yes, dearest Mamma; see how well I use my fan. May I dance, Mamma?" "Dearest, you have never learnt; you do not know how." "I did not know how to do this a moment ago," she answered, playing again with the fan in the true Spanish fashion, and then coming round to her mother's side she bent over her fondly, and said, "Tomorrow I shall tell you if the world has been pleasure to me. Do be well to-morrow, Mamma; you are much better than you were. There was a time when you could not have exerted yourself as much as you have done lately." "Heaven bless thee!" was her mother's only an swer. "The carriage is at the door," the maid whispered. "Mamma, must I say good-bye to papa?" Mrs. Lifford winced, as it were, at the question, looked at her daughter, and seemed to hesitate. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes; come this way first; let me arrange those two curls that are straying on thy neck. Throw thy head a little back, and take these orange blossoms with thee. That will do; go to him, he may remember the bull-fight at Seville." "Shall I ask him if he does?" "O no, no!" the mother answered, with a shudder, and with another kiss dismissed her child. Into a room nearly as sombre as the one she had left, but with nothing in it to please the eye or the feelings, that vision of youth and beauty walked. In the attitude her mother had placed her in, with the weapons she had armed her with, into her father's presence she went, with a lighter step and a more confiding spirit than usual. He looked up from the table where he was examining some accounts, and said in a tone of annoyance, "What do you want?" "Nothing," she answered, in a faint voice. "I really don't know." "It would be better, in that case, not to interrupt me." "I will not do so again," she said, and left the room. A servant met her at the door, and told her that her uncle was in the carriage. She hastened after him, jumped into the heavy, old-fashioned coach, and slowly and steadily they proceeded to Woodlands. Father Lifford was making a great effort, a real sacrifice in thus putting himself out of the way, in |