LITMIR.BIZ

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his attempts at enjoyment more like the experiments of a physician to dissipate sickness, than the buoyant sensations of one in health.

      But then he thought not of himself—he did not live in himself, but in the joyous being at his side. Her happiness was exuberant. She might be compared to an exotic, lately pinched, and drooping from the effects of the wintry air, transported back in the first opening of a balmy southern spring, to its native clime. The young and tender green leaves unfolded themselves in the pleasant air; blossoms appeared among the foliage, and sweet fruit might be anticipated. Nor was it only the kindness of her protector that endeared him to her: much of the warm sentiment of affection arose from their singular modes of life. Had they continued at a fixed residence, in town or country, in a civilized land, Elizabeth had seen her guardian at stated periods; have now and then taken a walk with him, or gambolled in the garden at his side; while, for the chief part, their occupation and pursuits being different, they had been little together. As it was, they were never apart: side by side in a travelling carriage—now arriving, now departing; now visiting the objects worthy of observation in various cities. They shared in all the pleasures and pains of travel, and each incident called forth her sense of dependence, and his desire to protect; or, changing places, even at that early age, she soothed his impatience, while he was beguiled of his irritability by her cheerful voice and smiling face. In all this, Elizabeth felt most strongly the tie that bound them. Sometimes benighted; sometimes delayed by swollen rivers; reduced to bear together the miseries of a bad inn, or, at times, of no inn at all;—sometimes in danger—often worn by fatigue—Elizabeth found in her adopted parent a shelter, a support, and a preserver. Creeping close to him, her little hand clasped in his, or carried in his arms, she feared nothing, because he was there. During storms at sea, he had placed his own person between her and the bitter violence of the wind, and had often exposed himself to the inclemency of the weather to cover her, and save her from wet and cold. At all times he was on the alert to assist, and his assistance was like the coming of a superior being, sufficient to save her from harm, and inspire her with courage. Such circumstances had, perhaps, made a slight impression on many children; but Elizabeth had senses and sensibilities so delicately strung, as to be true to the slightest touch of harmony.

      She had not forgotten the time when, neglected, and almost in rags, she only heard the voice of complaint or chiding; when she crept alone over the sands to her mother's grave, and, did a tempest overtake her, there was none to shield or be of comfort; she remembered little accidents that had at times befallen her, which, to her infantine feelings, seemed mighty dangers. But there had been none, as now, to pluck her from peril, and insure her safety. She recollected when, on one occasion, a thunder-storm had overtaken her in the church-yard; when, hurrying home, her foot slipped, as she attempted to descend the wet path of the cliff—frightened, she clambered up again, and, returning home by the upper road, had lost her way, and found night darkening round her—wet, tired, and shivering with fear and cold; and then, on her return, her welcome had been a scolding—well meant, perhaps, but vulgar, loud, and painful: and now the contrast! Her wishes guessed—her thoughts divined—ready succour and perpetual vigilance were for ever close at hand; and all this accompanied by a gentleness, kindness, and even by a respect, which the ardent, yet refined feelings of her protector readily bestowed. Thus a physical gratitude—so to speak—sprung up in her child's heart, a precursor to the sense of moral obligation, to be developed in after years. Every hour added strength to her affection, and habit generated fidelity, and an attachment, not to be shaken by any circumstances.

      Nor was kindness from him the only tie between them. Elizabeth discerned his sadness, and tried to cheer his gloom. Now and then the fierceness of his temper broke forth towards others; but she was never terrified, and grieved for the object of his indignation; or if she felt it to be unjust, she pleaded the cause of the injured, and, by her caresses, brought him back to himself. She early learnt the power she had over him, and loved him the more fondly on that account. Thus there existed a perpetual interchange of benefit—of watchful care—of mutual forbearance—of tender pity and thankfulness. If all this seems beyond the orphan's years, it must be remembered that peculiar circumstances develop peculiar faculties; and that, besides, what is latent does not the less exist on that account. Elizabeth could not have expressed, and was, indeed, unconscious of the train of feeling here narrated. It was the microcosm of a plant, folded up in its germ. Sometimes looking at a green, unformed bud, we wonder why a particular texture of leaves must inevitably spring from it, and why another sort of plant should not shoot out from the dark stem: but, as the tiny leaflet uncloses, it is there in all its peculiarity, and endowed with all the especial qualities of its kind. Thus with Elizabeth, however, in the thoughtlessness and inexperience of childhood, small outward show was made of the inner sense; yet in her heart tenderness, fidelity, and unshaken truth, were folded up, to be developed as her mind gained ideas, and sensation gradually verged into sentiment.

      The course of years, also, is included in this sketch. She was six years old when she left Paris—she was nearly ten when, after many wanderings, and a vast tract of country over-passed, they arrived at Odessa. There had always been a singular mixture of childishness and reflection in her, and this continued even now. As far as her own pleasures were concerned, she might be thought behind her age: to chase a butterfly—to hunt for a flower—to play with a favourite animal—to listen with eagerness to the wildest fairy tales,—such were her pleasures; but there was something more as she watched the turns of countenance in him she named her father—adapted herself to his gloomy or communicative mood—pressed near him when she thought he was annoyed—and restrained every appearance of discomfort, when he was distressed by her being exposed to fatigue or the inclement sky.

      When at St. Petersburgh he fell ill, she never left his bed-side; and, remembering the death of her parents, she wasted away with terror and grief. At another time, in a wild district of Russia, she sickened of the measles. They were obliged to take refuge in a miserable hovel; and, despite all his care, the want of medical assistance endangered her life; while her convalescence was rendered tedious and painful by the absence of every comfort. Her sweet eyes grew dim; her little head drooped. No mother could have attended on her more assiduously than Falkner; and she long after remembered his sitting by her in the night to give her drink—her pillow smoothed by him—and, when she grew a little better, his carrying her in his arms under a shady grove, so to give her the benefit of the air, in a manner that would least incommode her. These incidents were never forgotten. They were as the colour and fragrance to the rose—the very beauty and delight of both their lives. Falkner felt a half remorse at the too great pleasure he derived from her society; while hers was a sort of rapturous, thrilling adoration, that dreamt not of the necessity of a check, and luxuriated in its boundless excess.

      Chapter VI.

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      It was late in the autumn when the travellers arrived at Odessa, whence they were to embark for Constantinople; in the neighbourhood of which city they intended to pass the winter.

      It must not be supposed that Falkner journeyed in the luxurious and troublesome style of a Milord Anglais. A calche was his only carriage. He had no attendant for himself, and was often obliged to change the woman hired for the service of Elizabeth. The Parisian, with whom they commenced their journey, was reduced to despair by the time they arrived at Hamburgh. The German who replaced her, was dismissed at Stockholm. The Swede next hired, became homesick at Moscow, and they arrived at Odessa without any servant. Falkner scarcely knew what to do, being quite tired of the exactions, caprices, and repinings of each expatriated menial—yet it was necessary that Elizabeth should have a female attendant; and, on his arrival at Odessa, he immediately set on foot various inquiries to procure one. Several presented themselves, who proved wholly unfit; and Falkner was made angry by their extortionate demands, and total incapacity.

      At length a person was ushered into him, who looked, who was, English. She was below the middle stature—spare, and upright in figure, with a composed countenance, and an appearance of tidiness and quiet that was quite novel, and by no means unpleasing, contrasted with the animated gestures, loud voices, and exaggerated protestations of the foreigners.

      "I

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