The Two Guardians. Yonge Charlotte Mary

into a muttered exclamation, "destitute of all principle! all labour in vain!"

      "What—how—Mr. Lyddell?"

      "This whole day have I been at it, trying to bring him to reason about that farm!"

      "What? Did he wish the Dissenter to have it?"

      "He saw no objection—treated all I said as the merest moonshine!"

      "What? all the annoyance to the Wortleys, and the mischief to the poor people!" exclaimed Marian, "Why, we should have a meeting-house!"

      "Nothing more likely, in the Manor field, and fifty pounds subscribed—all for the sake of toleration and Gerald's interests."

      "You don't mean that he has done it?" said Marian, alarmed, and not quite understanding Edmund's tone of irony, "Cannot you prevent it?"

      "I have prevented It; I said that, with my knowledge of my uncle's intentions, I could never feel justified in consenting to sign the lease."

      "And that puts a stop to it? Oh, I am very glad. But I suppose he was very angry?"

      "I never saw a man more so. He said he had no notion of sacrificing Gerald's interest to party feeling."

      "How could it be for Gerald's interest to bring Dissenters to Fern Torr? I am sure it would be very disagreeable. I thought it, was quite wrong to have any dealings with them."

      "He has been popularity-hunting too long to have many scruples on that score."

      Marian could not help triumphing. "Well, Edmund, I am glad you have come to my opinion at last. I knew you would not like the Lyddells when you knew them better."

      "I never was much smitten with them," said Edmund, abruptly, as if affronted at the imputation of having liked them.

      "But Edmund," cried Marian, standing still in the extremity of her amazement, "what have you been about all this time? Have you not been telling me it is all my own fault that I do not get on with them?"

      He was silent for a little while; and then turning round half-way, as people do when much diverted, he broke out into a hearty fit of laughter. "It is plain," said he, at last, "that nature never designed me for a young lady's counsellor."

      "What do you mean, Edmund?"

      "I suspect I have done mischief," said Edmund, after a little consideration, "and I believe all that remains to be done is to tell you all, and come down from my character of Mentor, which certainly I have not fulfilled particularly well."

      "I am sure I do not understand you," said Marian.

      "Well, then," said Edmund, speaking in a more free and unembarrassed tone than he had used since he had been at Oakworthy, "this is the fact of the matter, as Mrs. Cornthwayte would say, Marian. I always thought it very unlucky that you were obliged to live here; but as it could not be helped, and I really knew nothing against the Lyddells, there was no use in honing and moaning about it beforehand, so I tried to make the best of it. Well, I came here, and found things as bad as I expected, and was very glad to find you steady in the principles we learnt at home. Still, I thought you deficient in kindly feeling towards them, and inclined to give way to repining and discontent, and I think you allowed I was not far wrong. To-day, I must allow, I was off my guard, and have made a complete mess of all my prudence."

      "O, I am very glad of it," said Marian. "I understand you now, and you are much more like yourself."

      "Yes, it was a very unsuccessful attempt," said Edmund, again laughing at himself, "and I am very glad it is over; for I have been obliged to be the high and mighty guardian all this time, and I am very tired of it;" and he yawned.

      "Then you don't like them any better than I do," repeated Marian, in a tone of heartfelt satisfaction.

      "Stop, stop, stop; don't think that cousin Edmund means to give you leave to begin hating them."

      "Hating them? O no! but now you will tell me what I ought to do, since there is no possibility of getting away from them."

      "No, there is no possibility," said Edmund, considering; "I could not ask the Marchmonts again, though they did make the offer in the first fulness of their hearts. Besides, there are objections; I should not feel satisfied to trust you to so giddy a head as Selina's. No, Marian, it cannot be helped; so let us come to an understanding about these same Lyddells."

      "Well, then, why is it that we do not do better? I know there are faults on my side; but what are the faults on theirs?"

      "Marian, I believe the fault to be that they do not look beyond this present life," said Edmund, in a grave, low tone.

      Marian thought a little while, and then said, "Caroline does, but I see what you mean with the others."

      "Then your conduct should be a witness of your better principles," said Edmund. "You may stand on very high ground, and it entirely depends on yourself whether you maintain that position, or sink down to their level."

      "O, but that is awful!" cried Marian; and then in a tone of still greater dismay, "and Gerald? O, Edmund, what is to become of him?"

      "I must trust him to you, Marian."

      "To me!"

      "You have great influence over him, and that, rightly used, may be his safeguard. Many a man has owed everything to a sister's influence." Then, as Marian's eye glistened with somewhat of tender joy and yet of fear, he went on, "But take care; if you deteriorate, he will be in great danger; and, on the other hand, beware of obstinacy and rigidity in trifles—you know what I mean—which might make goodness distasteful to him."

      "O, worse and worse, Edmund! What is to be done? If I can do him so much harm, I know I can do him very little good; and what will it be when he is older, and will depend less on what I say?"

      "He will always depend more on what you do than on what you say."

      "But what can I do? all the schoolboy temptations that I know nothing about. And Elliot—O, Edmund! think of Elliot, and say if it is not dreadful that Mr. Lyddell should have the management of our own Gerald? Papa never could have known—"

      "I think, while he is still so young, that there is not much harm to be apprehended from that quarter," said Edmund; "afterwards, I believe I may promise you that he shall not be left entirely to Oakworthy training."

      "And," said Marian, "could you not make him promise to keep away from the stables? Those men—and their language—could you not, Edmund?"

      "I could, but I would not," said Edmund. "I had rather that, if he transgresses, he should not break his word as well as run into temptation. There is no such moral crime in going down to the stables, as should make us willing to oblige him to take a vow against it."

      "Would it not keep him out of temptation?"

      "Only by substituting another temptation," said Edmund. "No, Marian; a boy must be governed by principles, and not by promises."

      "Principles—people are always talking of them, but I don't half understand what they are," said Marian.

      "The Creed and the Ten Commandments are what I call principles," said Edmund.

      "But those are promises, Edmund."

      "You are right, Marian; but they are not promises to man."

      "I could do better if I had any one to watch me, or care about me," said Marian.

      Edmund's face was full of sadness. "We—I mean you, are alone indeed, Marian; but, depend upon it, it is for the best. We might be tempted not to look high enough, and you have to take heed to yourself for Gerald's sake."

      "I do just sometimes feel as I ought," said Marian; "but it is by fits and starts. O, Edmund, I would give anything that you were not going."

      "It is too late now," said Edmund, "and there are many reasons which convince me that I ought not to exchange. In a year or two, when I have my promotion, I hope to return, and then, Marian, I shall find you a finished young lady."

      Marian shuddered.

      "Poor child," said Edmund, laughing.

      "And you are going home," said