CHAPTER XXVII.

Ann Boleyn.-I swear again, I would not be a Queen
For all the world.

Shakspeare.

ALL Suppers must however come to an end, and so at length did this. By degrees the room was thinned. Party after party departed, and the more domestic circle alone remained. This was the three sets of cousins. All the young ladies went up together to put on cloaks and shawls, &c., and as usual at such times, some of the events of the past evening were discussed. Isabella said she was sure Mary Anne had had honours enough, and compliments without end.

"Indeed," said Mary Anne, "it is very disagreeable; I can't bear compliments; I wonder people can like them!" "Particularly, if they don't deserve them!" observed Emily, as coolly as she could.

Grace looked at her.

"Well, but Mary Anne did deserve all that happened tonight," said Constance.

"You don't mean to say, I suppose," said Ellen, “that every body who has a pretty idea come into her head deserves to be crowned a Queen, though certainly Mary Anne does deserve very great praise for the plan of the Bower. I suppose, Mary Anne, you mean that you feel as Grace did, according to George's droll way of expressing it."

"Yes," said Mary Anne; "but it is so ridiculous to dress you up, and call you a Queen, and be paying such compliments to you: how ridiculous it was of Mr. May to talk of my genius, taste, and modesty! and of Mr. Parry to compare me to Flora! and all the rest who spoke of my fair face and lovely brow!-such stuff, you know; and then Mr. Everard, worse than all, he talked of my beauty and loveliness, and went on more than any body, calling me 'her Majesty !'—it's so very disagreeable, when every body's looking at you, too !"

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Well, Mary Anne," said Emily, restraining her indignation for Grace's sake, you need not complain of Mr. Everard, for I am sure he did not pay you any very great compliments."

"But I am sure he did though!" said Mary Anne; you would have thought so, if they had been to you.'

"and

"Well," returned her cousin, "I had rather you should have had such than I."

"Ah!" said Mary Anne, "that's nothing but spite, I know well enough; for you have not once treated me like the rest, or called me your Majesty,' the whole evening."

"Why, Mary Anne," remarked Ellen, in her dry, quiet way, "you are very unreasonable; first, you blame every body for calling you Queen, and paying you that amusing mock sort of honour, and now you blame Emily for not doing so; now, what do you really wish?"

"Oh, I only wish people would not be so ridiculous!" said Mary Anne, feeling she had made herself silly, and hoping to get out of the scrape.

"Yes, but, about Emily," persisted Ellen,-"why, then, do you blame Emily ?"

"Because," said Mary Anne, "I know she was vexed, and wanted some share in the praise about the Bower; she would not come and help to crown me-I observed it all; and I know Emily has been grudging me my honours all the evening, because she thought more praise should be given to her for her part in the execution. I tried that it should be so, for I told Lady Musgrove that the others had done more than I had; but Lady Musgrove did not think so, for she said Emily could never have thought of any thing as pretty as the Bower-did she not, Ellen ?"

"Yes," said Ellen; "but she said she was sure Emily helped you a great deal in the execution-and so she did; and I am sure Emily has been quite the life of every thing to-night, and Grace too," added she, "only Grace is so quiet, one never observes what she does, only sees the effect. She is just like our river at Langham: it is a beautiful, clear, quiet stream, running silently underneath tall reeds; we can hardly see a glimpse of the water, only where the sun shines upon a few little open spots now and then, but the meadows on each side are beautifully green and bright. This little stream, too, supplies the whole village with water, making no show at all, but springing out between the stones. Now is not that just like Grace?"

Grace had not spirits to answer her kind friend as she might have done another time. The rest of the Duffs and

Isabella were not disposed to join in the praise of Grace, for different reasons, and Emily was still burning with indignation at Mary Anne's late consummate impudence and affectation. At last, Charlotte Duff, who never interfered in any thing scarcely, said, "What a pretty idea that is of Ellen's! it would make a subject for Fanny to write verses upon."

"It may be pretty or not," said Ellen, "I do not care for that; but I want you to say it is true of Grace."

"To be sure it is true of Grace!" cried Emily at last, "and the only reason they don't say so is, because it is too true.'

Charlotte meanwhile had stolen quite close to Grace, and ventured to take her hand." Well," thought poor Grace, "I ought to care for nothing, when I have three such dear, kind friends-how can I ever make them understand how much I love them? how much better this honour of Ellen's is, than the honour they paid me down stairs.”—Yet she felt ashamed that others heard it, because she knew it was Ellen's and Emily's kind exaggeration, which others would not understand, though it was delightful to herself in proving their affection for her.

Nothing else particular passed, except at the immediate parting, which took place in the dining-room. The reader will remember that Mary Anne's and Campbell's visit to their cousins was at an end, and they were to return home to-night with their brothers and sisters. Glad enough was Mary Anne that it was so she thought she should escape any unacceptable examination on the Fairy Bower, and it would die away naturally. Had she not been leaving, she might not have been so bold. But just before going, she remembered she must take leave of Grace, and should be expected to kiss her. She could hardly tell why she felt it so entirely impossible to do this; yet to go without would be so very remarkable. The same difficulty had struck Grace, some time before, and she thought she should see by it what Mary Anne really thought. All had taken leave-Mary Anne was in a hurry and confusion-she had lost one of her gloves-every body looked for it-it was found, and she was running after some of her party who had gone,-when Mr. Everard called her back, and reminded her she had not taken leave of the fair Grace, who had so dexterously woven her crown for her.

Mary Anne was forced to check her steps and return.

With a hurried movement she approached Grace, took her hand, and quickly kissed her.-"Good bye, Grace," said she.

She

Grace coloured crimson in a moment-Mary Anne, scarlet; and she ran as fast as she could into the hall, to join her party. Grace felt very uneasy at finding the eyes of Mr. Everard and Mrs. Ward fixed steadily upon her. knew she looked very remarkable, and was much relieved to withdraw from their gaze as soon as possible. Grace attended her mamma to her room, and Mrs. Leslie began talking to her. Presently she said, to Grace's surprise, "Grace, my dear, I hope you have had a pleasant evening--has any thing happened? you seemed enjoying yourself very much." "Yes, I did, mamma, very much," answered Grace.

"But then, my dear, why are you so dull now?" asked her mamma.

Poor Grace said she did not know that she was dull.
Her mamma then very kindly asked if she was well.
Grace answered, "Yes, quite well."

Mrs. Leslie then told her she must be quite tired and excited by all her dissipation, and advised her to go to bed, and not to sit up talking at all with Emily, though they must have a great deal to say. Else, my dear child," added she, “I shall have you quite ill; or perhaps one of those sad palpitations will come on; so good night, my dear little girl,” and she gave her a kiss.

Poor Grace! her mamma's words recalled all her troubles; how she wished she might tell her all! but that she knew was more impossible than any thing. She knew her mamma never encouraged her to tell any thing unfavourable of her companions, yet she thought she never could feel easy with such a great bar between herself and her mamma. "It is not," thought she, "like George's quizzing people, or any thing else that has ever happened before to me: this is such a great thing, and so many other events are tangled together in it—my palpitation and the broken cup; and then Hanson is connected, besides Emily's part; then those strange words of Mr. Everard's, and I cannot think why he would find out the person who invented the name of the Fairy Bower!"

"By this time Grace had reached her room, where was Emily. Emily had not begun undressing, but was walking up and down the room. There was a strange contrast be

tween the appearance of the two young friends. Emily was highly excited, and looked quite fresh and ready to begin the evening again. Grace's motives for exertion had ceased; namely, the pleasure of assisting to entertain others, and the desire of not betraying that any thing was wrong by her manner; and now that she was alone with the only person who knew the secret, she no longer struggled against the sad feelings that oppressed her. She looked very worn and sorrowful. "Oh, Grace!" cried Emily, "I have been so impatient for you! who could ever have supposed such things would have happened? I am really nearly wild with anger; and I am angry too with you, for it was all your fault. It was all for your sake I was silent; and up-stairs, too, I was just going to tell all, only you looked at me so imploringly." "Indeed," said Grace, "I know it is all my fault, and I am very sorry indeed that you are angry with me."

Emily now scolded Grace for her simplicity, and told her there was nobody to blame but "that mean and false Mary Anne." "I had no idea," said she, " Mary Anne was so bad, though I knew she was silly and vain; besides I really did not think she was clever enough for such a deception.'

Emily did not remember that much of Mary Anne's cleverness, was owing to her own and Grace's silence. Mary Anne had not been clever enough to deceive Emily, who had a great deal of observation; besides, indolent people, who seem to have no wit or cleverness, and are thought very dull, or even stupid, have sometimes cleverness, or cunning, enough to deceive others a great deal wiser, better, and cleverer than themselves. A very little cleverness goes a great way in a fraud, because good sort of people are not suspicious; they think others like themselves, till they find out any person false. And again, this sort of cleverness is soon learned, and is less trouble to acquire than any other. Mary Anne had gained all she had in less than twenty-four hours! but then she had prepared her mind for it silently for many years; as we before said, she availed herself of her sisters' talents and labours; she chose to learn duets, that she might play and be praised with less trouble before company; and she had at times done sly things, which nobody knew, to get admired. All these practices, and the habit of mind she had thereby acquired, prepared her for this almost incredible piece of falsehood. Step by step she had led herself into it;