Roger Kyffin's Ward. Kingston William Henry Giles

last words she had uttered. In vain the doctor administered a restorative. With her one arm flung round her boy, while Roger Kyffin held her other hand, her spirit took its departure.

      Roger Kyffin would gladly have carried Harry off to London, but no sooner did Lady Tryon hear of the death of her neglected daughter-in-law, than, driving over to the cottage, she took Harry with her back to Aylestone Hall. She directed also that a proper funeral should be prepared; and at her request several distant members and connections of the family attended it. Thus Mrs Tryon was laid to rest with as much pomp and ceremony as possible, in Lynderton churchyard.

      With a sad heart Roger Kyffin returned to London and devoted himself with even more than his usual assiduity to his mercantile duties.

      Aylestone Hall was a red brick building, surrounded by a limited extent of garden and shrubbery, within half a mile of the town of Lynderton. The interior, for a country house, had a somewhat gloomy and unpicturesque aspect. Young Harry felt depressed by the atmosphere, so different from the cheerful little cottage, with its flower-surrounded lawn, to which he had been accustomed. He was not drawn either to his grandmother, though she intended to be kind to him. She treated him indeed much as a child does a new plaything, constantly fondling it at first, and then casting it aside uncared for. Harry was also soon nauseated by the old lady’s caresses. He had, too, a natural antipathy to musk, of which her garments were redolent.

      Lady Tryon was a small woman with strongly marked features, decidedly forbidding at first sight, though she possessed the art of smiling, and making herself very agreeable to her equals. She could smile especially very sweetly when she had an object to gain, or wished to be particularly agreeable; but her countenance could also assume a very different aspect when she was angry. She had bright grey eyes, which seemed to look through and through the person to whom she was speaking, while her countenance, utterly devoid of colour, was wrinkled and puckered in a curious way. She always wore rouge, and was dressed in the height of fashion. She very soon discarded her widow’s ugly cap, and the gayest, of colours decked her shrivelled form, the waist almost close up under the arms, and the dress very low, a shawl being flung over her shoulders. She could laugh and enjoy a joke, but her voice was discordant, and even when she wished to be most courteous there was a want of sincerity in its tone. Lady Tryon had been maid of honour in her youth to a royal personage, and possessed a fund of anecdote about the Court, which was listened to with respectful delight by her country neighbours. She was supposed to have very literary tastes, and to have read every book in existence. The fact was that she scarcely ever looked into one, but she picked up a semblance of knowledge, and having a retentive memory was able to make the most of any information she obtained. In the same way she had got by heart a large supply of poetry, which she was very clever in quoting, and as her audience was not often very critical, any mistakes of which she might have been guilty were rarely discovered. Her chief talent was in letter-writing, and she kept up a constant epistolary correspondence with aristocratic friends. No one could more elegantly turn a compliment or express sympathy with sorrow and disappointment. She occasionally, too, penned a copy of verses. If there was not much originality in the lines, the words were well chosen, and the metre correct. She described herself as being a warm friend and a bitter enemy. The latter she had undoubtedly proved herself on more than one occasion; but the warmth of her friendship depended rather upon the amount of advantage she was likely to gain by its exhibition than from any sensation of the heart. In fact, those who knew her best had reason to doubt whether she was possessed of that article. In reality, its temperature was, without variation, down at zero. Poor Sir Harcourt, a warmhearted man, had discovered this fact before he had been very long united to her. She, however, managed from the first to rule him with a rod of iron, and to gain her own way in everything. Most fatally had she gained it in the management of her son, whom she had utterly ruined by her pernicious system of education. Sir Harcourt endeavoured to make all the excuses for her in his power.

      “She is all mind!” he used to observe. “A delightful woman – such powers of conversation! We must not expect too much from people! She has a wonderful command of her feelings: never saw her excited in my life! A wonderful mind, a wonderful mind has Lady Tryon!”

      Lady Tryon had, however, one passion. It absorbed her sufficiently to make her forget any annoyances. She was fond of play. She would sit up half the night at cards, and, cool and calculating, she generally managed to come off winner. Of late years she had not been so successful. Her mind was not so strong as it was, and all her powers of calculation had decreased. Still she retained the passion as strong as ever. In London she had no difficulty in gratifying it, but during her forced visits to the country she found few people willing to play with her. At first, her country neighbours were highly flattered at being invited to her house, but they soon found that they had to pay somewhat dear for the honour. Still her ladyship, while winning their money, was so agreeable, and smiled so sweetly, and spoke so softly, that like flies round the candle, they could not resist the temptation of frequenting her house. For some years she managed to rule the neighbourhood with a pretty high hand. There was only one person who refused to succumb to her blandishments, and of her she consequently stood not a little in awe. This person was an authoress, not unknown to fame. She had more than once detected the piracies of which Lady Tryon had been guilty in her poetical effusions, and could not resist, when her ladyship spoke of books, asking her in which review she had seen such and such remarks. Miss Bertrand was young, not pretty, certainly, but very genuine and agreeable, and possessed of a large amount of talent. She drew admirably, and her prose and poetical works were delightful. Lady Tryon looked upon her as a rival, and hated her accordingly.

      Such was the grand-dame under whose care Harry Tryon was to be brought up. Dr Jessop was not happy about the matter. He would far rather that the honest clerk had taken charge of the boy. He resolved, however, as far as he had the power, to counteract the injudicious system he discovered that Lady Tryon was pursuing. For this purpose he won the little fellow’s affection, and as he was a constant visitor at the house in his official capacity, he was able to maintain his influence. When her ladyship went to town he induced her to allow Harry to come and stay with him, and on these occasions he never failed to invite Roger Kyffin down to pay him a visit. The worthy clerk’s holidays were therefore always spent in the neighbourhood of Lynderton. The two kindly men on these occasions did their best to pluck out the ill weeds which had been growing up in Master Harry, while under his grandmother’s care. It was, however, no easy task to root them out, and to sow good seed in their stead. Still, by their means Harry did learn the difference between good and evil, which, if left to Lady Tryon’s instructions, he certainly would never have done. He also became very much attached to the old doctor and to his younger friend, and would take advice from them, which he would receive from no one else. He grew up a fine, manly boy, with many right and honourable feelings; and though his mental powers might not have been of a very high order, he had fair talents, and physically his development was very perfect. Lady Tryon herself began to teach him to read, and as he showed a considerable aptitude for acquiring instruction, and gave her no trouble, she continued the process till he was able to read without difficulty by himself. She put all sorts of books into his hands, from which his brain extracted a strange jumble of ideas. He certainly acquired very good manners from his grandmother, and to the surprise of the neighbourhood, when he was ten years old there was scarcely a better behaved boy in Lynderton. Dr Jessop then suggested that he should be sent to Winchester School, or some other place of public instruction. Lady Tryon would not hear of this, though she consented that he should attend the grammar school at Lynderton. For this the worthy doctor was not sorry.

      “I can look after him the better,” he said to himself, “and go on with the process of pulling up the weeds during her ladyship’s absence.” Harry’s holidays were generally spent in the country. Twice, however, his grandmother had him up to London in the winter. On these occasions, Mr Kyffin got leave from her ladyship to have him to stay with him part of the time. Every spare moment of the day was devoted to the lad. He took him to all the sights of London, and in the evenings contrived for him variety of amusement. Harry became more and more attached to Mr Kyffin, and more ready to listen to his advice, and more anxious to please him. Thus the boy grew on, gaining mental and physical strength, though without forming many associates of his own rank in life. His manners were very good, and his tastes were refined, and this prevented him associating with the ordinary run of boys at the grammar school.