the yard — a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window — at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. All these things spoke of peace; — but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. These persons were Mr. Kneebone and Winifred.
The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Amongst others who attended the sad ceremony was Mr. Kneebone. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollen-draper, who following up a maxim of his own, “that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness,” determined to profit by the opportunity. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Wood from pressing his suit long ago. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position.
“We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred,” he began — “for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name — we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere.”
Winifred’s eyes filled with tears. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. So he resolved to try another tack.
“What a very remarkable thing it is,” he observed, applying to his snuff-box, “that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,”— Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so — “should turn out to be alive after all. Strange, I shouldn’t know him when he called on me.”
“It is strange,” replied Winifred, artlessly. “I knew him at once.”
“Of course,” rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, “but that’s easily accounted for. May I be permitted, as a very old and very dear friend of your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore, to ask you one question?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Winifred.
“And you will answer it frankly?”
“Certainly.”
“Now for it,” thought the woollen-draper, “I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. — Well, then, my dear,” he added aloud, “do you still entertain the strong attachment you did to Captain Darrell?”
Winifred’s cheeks glowed with blushes, and fixing her eyes, which flashed with resentment, upon the questioner, she said:
“I have promised to answer your question, and I will do so. I love him as a brother.”
“Only as a brother?” persisted Kneebone.
If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
“If you knew how much importance I attach to your answer,” he continued passionately, “you would not refuse me one. Were Captain Darrell to offer you his hand, would you accept it?”
“Your impertinence deserves very different treatment, Sir,” said Winifred; “but, to put an end to this annoyance, I will tell you — I would not.”
“And why not?” asked Kneebone, eagerly.
“I will not submit to be thus interrogated,” said Winifred, angrily.
“In the name of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere, I implore you to answer me,” urged Kneebone, “why — why would you not accept him?”
“Because our positions are different,” replied Winifred, who could not resist this appeal to her feelings.
“You are a paragon of prudence and discretion,” rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. “Disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state. When Captain Darrell’s birth is ascertained, I’ve no doubt he’ll turn out a nobleman’s son. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own,” he added, mentally. “He has quite the air of one. And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulfil a promise which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”
“A promise to my mother?” said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
“Yes, my angel, to her— rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it.”
“Oh! name it.”
“You are a party concerned. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. Promise me.”
“If in my power — certainly. But, what is it! What did you promise?”
“To offer you my heart, my hand, my life,” replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
“Sir!” exclaimed Winifred, rising.
“Inequality of rank can be no bar to our union,” continued Kneebone. “Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman.”
In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. Taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses.
“Adorable girl!” he cried, in the most impassioned tone, and with the most impassioned look he could command. “Adorable girl, I have long loved you to desperation. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. Would she were alive to back my suit!”
“This is beyond all endurance,” said Winifred, striving to withdraw her hand. “Leave me, Sir; I insist.”
“Never!” rejoined Kneebone, with increased ardour — “never, till I receive from your own lips the answer which is to make me the happiest or the most miserable of mankind. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. No mercenary consideration influences me. Love — admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Let your father — if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. I care not. Possessed of you, I shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast.”
“Pray cease this nonsense,” said Winifred, “and quit the room, or I will call for assistance.”
At this juncture, the door opened, and Thames entered the room. As the woollen-draper’s back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
“Call as you please, beloved girl,” he cried, “I will not stir till I am answered. You say that you only love Captain Darrell as a brother —”
“Mr. Kneebone!”
“That you would not accept him were he to offer —”
