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that your

discharged, this house immediately let father and mother and I must be content to live under

one roof, and make one household, and that all my shawls, laces, dresses, and fineries of every saleable description, must go, and I wear filthy dowlas for the rest of my mortal life The filthy dowlas was the sorest cut of all

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but Anne Duglas is without mercy."

So, in fact, it was.

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Everything saleable must go to pay their most urgent debts. As for the furniture of their house, Anne Duglas, after having consulted the best authorities upon the subject, had advised that it should be retained. They had a lease for some time of this pretty villa, at a high rent; and the best chance of disposing of it was to let it furnished. The rent they had every reason to expect they should thus obtain for it would be a sort of little income something, though trifling, to depend upon, beside the uncertain gains of Armand's pencil.

Though she had not made the slightest allusion to it nor ever would confess it the sacrifice most hard for Evelyn - indeed the only one she very much cared about was that of going to live with Du Chastel's father and mother in one family.

The very force and liveliness of her temper, made the sort of domestic fetters which are almost inevitably the consequence of living in another person's house, most particularly offensive to her. Even if, as Anne Duglas proposed, she should be considered the mistress of the house, and the regulator of its domestic economy

a part for which Madame Du Chastel's state of health rendered her perfectly unfit - this would not mend the matter much. Evelyn loved and honoured Du Chastel himself, and found that near acquaintance did nothing to diminish the enthusiastic esteem with which his history, as related by his son, had inspired her. He was one indeed well calculated to stand the searching touchstone of familiar intercourse; but she had been disappointed in Madame.

She felt it very disagreeable to find the noble religious martyr of her exalted fancy sinking into a sickly, low-spirited, nervous, rather unreasonable, and rather selfish woman; and it did not mend the matter that Evelyn was always quarrelling with herself because she could not help seeing this, and not liking it much. She would have wished to have been able to worship, as Du Chastel himself set the example of doing, these shattered remains of a great sacrifice for conscience sake.

She almost sickened at the prospect of the daily task of always struggling, and always failing; ever striving to be considerate and amiable, and ever quarrelling with herself; for the fallings-short she too well knew there inevitably must be. What duty can walk

its daily round and feel no pause, and know no void without the impulsion of love?

The love of God will be sufficient where the love of man happens not to be; but ah! had she attained to that perfection yet?

Far from it, said her conscious, honest heart.

But one step she had attained that of cheerful acquiescence. She had learned of Anne Duglas to look upon life as a calling, and a task; and in a bright and hopeful spirit to do her best. If all could not be done as it ought, much might be done pretty well. And moreover, she found that as soon as she had succeeded in casting all thought of self behind her, and accepting the sacrifice which prudence demanded, she was at once lightened from the irritation of her burden. A brave new heart for labour and endurance seemed to rise within her, and vivify her whole being.

And so there was an end of that. And Evelyn started upon her new career.

The family returned to that dwelling in the row at Islington, which Evelyn next to abhorred. She made a little attempt to find something in the house way less particularly disagreeable to her than this spot; but, as often happens, the matter seemed decided for her; circumstances worked together so, that nothing else could be found equally eligible as regarded price, the quiet and fresh air necessary to Madame, and other circumstances of situation - cheap markets being one

not

to be neglected. The cards of life are thus most often put into our hands. She felt it so at least in this instance; and having done her best in vain to avoid what was disagreeable, submitted without a murmur, and began her life of cheerful activity, by casting about her to make things as comfortable as could be.

The imagination is a most elastic faculty. She, who had been accustomed to all the splendid treasures of the conservatory and hot-houses of Donnington, smiled at herself to see the pleasure she could take in a pot of crimson double daisies, or sweet violets, which Armand would bring home in his hand.

Her tiny bed-room, with the expenditure of a few shillings, she made quite a sweet little place, even in dull and dingy Islington. Cheap muslin and coloured calico were substituted for silks, and fringes, and laces; common white earthen-ware for painted china; rushbottom cherry chairs for gilded cabrioles; a mite of a dressing-glass there was in place of the elaborate toilette set out with every imaginable rich and elegant superfluity which taste or fancy could devise; a little muslincovered table, a pincushion, and one or two keepsake trifles from Armand. Upon the chimney-piece, however, there were a few rare bits of old French china, which Anne Duglas had insisted upon putting there; and over it, Du Chastel, the father, with his own hands, had hung the only picture left in his possession, the one mentioned in the opening of this history, as representing th the battle of Jarnac.

This room was her sanctuary, her own abode, here home. It was at the top of the house. They were all so sorry she should have to go up so many steep stairs; but she liked to be out of the way, and convinced them she preferred this upper story.

She found her new task very difficult at first; the great difficulty being the old, the universal one, that of subduing herself. Her temper was high, and various things, small in themselves, offended her taste and irritated her temper beyond measure, far beyond reason, or what the occasion justified, as she was ever ready to confess. But alas! Madame Du Chastel's state of health and spirits was such, as to make constant demands upon the patience, indulgence, and consideration of those around her. And Evelyn, who had hardly known what it was to have a day's serious illness in her life, except upon one memorable occasion, found it almost impossible to make due allowances for her.

But the most difficult times of all were, when she thought Madame tiresome and exacting with her husband. Then Evelyn lost all patience; her colour would rise, and her very finger-ends tingle with the desire to interfere; the very last thing that Du Chastel, ever just, compassionate, and candid to the exactions of infirmity and low spirits, would have desired.

Yet quite aware of what she was feeling, he could

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