66 From Chambers' Journal. MISS BROWN. IN FOURTEEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I. MISS PRISCILLA BROWN looked at herself anxiously in her little bedroom glass, and wondered if her mourning would do. "I should like to have been able to afford myself a new black dress," she thought; "and my bonnet is very shabby, in spite of the new ribbons. Poor Mrs. Barker! It won't signify to her, but I shouldn't like it to be thought that I hadn't cared to pay respect to her memory." Then she began to smooth her dyed silk, to pinch out the half-rusty crape, that it might stand out more crisply, and to re-arrange the new black bonnet-strings, which alone in their glossy stiffness seemed to affront the rest of the half-worn dress. On the whole, she hoped to pass unremarked in the company who were to meet that day to hear the funeral service read over the deceased Mrs. Barker. And though the reflection did not occur to her, she might have told herself that she would probably be the only genuine mourner there. She was not related, even distantly, to Mrs. Barker. But they had been neighbours in the same street of the same town for more than ten years, and an acquaintanceship had grown up between them, on which Miss Brown, now that it was over, looked back as a friendship. Their intercourse had indeed contained elements not quite compatible with a real friendship. Mrs. Barker was captious, sarcastic and domineering. Miss Brown was nervous and timid; but along with her fear of the elder lady's temper had been mingled a great pity for her loneliness, and even for the moroseness which made her so intolerable to those less gentle and patient than Miss Brown. And now the latter forgot the tyranny and temper, and thought sorrowfully of the poor woman's bodily sufferings, and mental discontent, and unhappiness; and penitently of her own occasional failures in patient sympathy; and looking back on their ten years' neighbourhood, she knew that she would in future be much more sensible of the loss of Mrs. Barker's society than she had ever been of the pleasure of it. Another friend gone too, then! She wished she had discovered sooner that Mrs. Barker had been a friend after all, in spite of her oddities and tempers. But Miss Brown had been fancying that her day for friendships was over. More than twenty years ago, one friendship" had 66 come to such sudden and fatal shipwreck, that she seemed never since to have cared about making another. She had known many bitter partings, many sorrowful good-byes. That one had been the bitterest of all, because she had been forced to keep its bitterness to herself. When one morning, her cousin, Robert Dixon, had come to tell her that he was going to be married, she had smiled at the news, and wished him joy, and had then said a goodbye in her own heart to what seemed like her own life. That was more than twenty years ago. But somehow Priscilla Brown had felt since that time that she was too old to make new friendships and think of new loves. Yet she was not really very old or unlovable. She looked perhaps more than her real age, which was forty-four, partly because of the style of her dress, which for ten years had been that of an elderly woman; partly because of a certain formality and stiffness of manner, proceeding from natural shyness. She was tall, and her figure was still slight and graceful. Her face had scarcely been what could be called pretty; but the eyes were soft, the expression serene and sweet, and her complexion had been exquisitely fair and clear. The youthful freshness and the ivory smoothness of skin were gone, but the delicate purity of tint still remained; and even those who had known Priscilla in former days, and under the old pet childish name of "Lily," which suited so well her fairness and slender grace, might have thought that years had dealt very gently with her, and left her much of her youthful attractiveness. But among her present acquaintances, there were only two who had known her in her youth. She had come to settle in Millchester with an invalid sister about fifteen years ago; and after her sister's death, had continued to live there, because the quiet lodgings in one or other of its dull back streets suited her slender purse, and because she had no iuducement to go anywhere else. To the few Millchester people who had got to know the quiet, solitary, stiff old maid, she was simply Miss B own, or "poor Miss Brown a forlorn unit in that helpless mass of reduced gentlewomen whose one duty to the busy, bustling word is to keep, if possible, out of its way. The two people who could remember, if they cared to do so, what she had been in days gone by were her cousins, Mr. Robert Dixon, and his sister, Mrs. Lorimer, and they, indeed, had not much time to give to such reminiscences. Mr. Dixon was 8 prosperous banker, with a handsome house | she means kindly." To which Mrs. Barker a little way out of the town. He was a had rudely replied: "I make you welcome, widower now; and his sister, who was a then, to all your cousin's kindness, and I widow, had lived with him, and kept his wish you much joy of it. I'm glad I house, and looked after his children, ever haven't come yet to be thankful for such since his wife's death. She had ample small mercies"-words which brought means of her own, and her residence with tears into Miss Brown's gentle eyes, but her brother was simply a piece of obliging to which she only retorted by repeating benevolence on her part. It is to be feared her vindication of Mrs. Lorimer's kindly that, though Miss Brown knew this, she intentions. A coolness had followed this had never been able thoroughly to appre-little scene, but the quarrel was made up ciate this sisterly behaviour; for some- over Mrs. Barker's next attack of neuraltimes, during the first years of Mr. Dixon's gic pain. When she was suffering from widowerhood, she had wondered if he this, Miss Brown forgave her everything. could have quite forgotten how he had Thinking of these sufferings now, she once liked her, and allowed her to see that could forget all the crossness and roughhe did so. Mrs. Lorimer, however, would ness which they had caused. "Poor woonly have smiled had she guessed that her man! poor Mrs. Barker! Well, she is cousin entertained any notion of supplant- happier now, I trust. I ought to think of ing her; and Priscilla herself was secretly that;" and she was wiping away a tear ashamed of her own grudge against her, with her fine, clean pocket-handkerchief, for Mrs. Lorimer was a tolerably good-forgetting its fineness, and that the proper natured woman, with the good-nature time for producing it in the worshipful which even selfish people, if prosperous company of well-dressed monrners was not and happy, can afford to shew to those come, when she heard a sudden clatter and who are not likely to interfere with their commotion in the street, and looking out, well-being. She was kind, in her own saw that a carriage had stopped at the way, to the poor relation; and Miss door, and that Mrs. Lorimer, in the richest Brown, conscious that her secret bitter- and newest of mourning, was sweeping ness of spirit was unchristian and un- into the house. worthy, struggled against it, and, as a sort of penance for her depravity, tried to see only the intended kindness, and not MRS. LORIMER, too, was on her way to the occasional insolence of the fashion of attend the solemnity of the day. "I it. Thus they had continued on sufficient- found it was rather early," she said, as she ly friendly terms. Miss Brown had paid came in, "so I thought I might as well short visits now and then at Elm Grove, come round and give you a seat; and Mr. Dixon's villa; and Mrs. Lorimer came having taken one herself, as she spoke, in to call on her, and brought her presents of her cousin's parlour, it soon became plain flowers and vegetables -not, perhaps, the that she had come less for the purpose of very choicest that grew in the Elm Grove saving her the five minutes' walk to the gardens, but good enough to be, as Mrs. end of the street, than of enjoy ng a little Lorimer said, very nice and useful in a preliminary gossip, which would have been small Millchester lodging." There was no out of place in the house of mourning, natural reason why the flowers should not and for which Miss Brown was not much smell sweet, and why the peas and cauli- more disposed just then than she was to flower should seem to have lost their make her shabby dress and tearful eyes flavour; and Miss Brown tried to accept more conspicuous by arriving in an ostenthem gratefully, and make the most of tatious carriage, instead of upon her own them. As to the hot-honse grapes and humble feet. She could not, however, degreenhouse flowers that she would some-cline the offered seat; and, to her relief, times see on the table by Mrs. Barker's Mrs. Lorimer noticed neither her dyed silk sofa, and which she knew came likewise nor her red eyelids, being too much occufrom Elm Grove, she reminded herself pied with reflections on more important that, to an inval'd like Mrs. Barker, these subjects. delicacies were only appropriate offerings; and she was even generous enough to resent, with some family pride, the sneers with which the cynical old lady once criticized Irs. Lorimer's motives in supplying her with such tributes of affection. She is my cousin, Mrs. Barker; and I am sure CHAPTER II. So, there's Mrs. Barker gone! Well, we must all die. It's a mercy, poor old woman, that she didn't last longer. Her temper was something frightful." "She had much to suffer," said Miss Brown softly so softly that Mrs. Lorimer scarcely heard her. "I wonder how she has left her money. | Brown than a hundred were to her cousin. She was such a curious woman, that, for Yet she again forgot all about her possible my part, I shouldn't be surprised if she legacy while she stood, squeezed into a had made some extraordinary will. They corner, thinking regretfully of the evensay she had no really confidential law-ings she had spent with Mrs. Barker in yer." this very room; and which, dreary enough as they had been, would have been still drearier to the solitary, morose old lady, if Miss Browu had not tried to cheer them. "There must be some relations, I suppose," said Miss Brown, who until this moment, had scarcely thought of a will at all. "No," said Mrs. Lorimer quickly. "I've reason to know, for I've made inquiries, that she had no relations at all. Her husband had some, I know, but they have nothing to do with her. She might leave her fortune to you or me if she liked. Of course, Priscilla, she will have left you a remembrance; you were always very attentive to her." Miss Brown's face flushed with a sudden, not unpleasant agitation of hope. She had never thought of a possible legacy to herself; she had never got a legacy in her life. Supposing that she had been left a remembrance, as Mrs. Lorimer called it. A "remembrance," she understood, generally meant "ten pounds to buy a mourn ing-ring." There was a momentary struggle in her mind over the mourning-ring. Would it be necessary for her to spend even part of her ten pounds, if she got them on such a useless ornament? Would not a mourning black-silk dress, or new shawl, be as suitable a tribute to the memory of her friend? Then, with an instinctive dread of allowing herself to entertain the hope of such a windfall, she said: "I'm sure I don't expect anything; I never thought of it." "Well, all I say is, it will be very odd if none of her friends here are remembered; I am sure she has been trouble enough to them. The times and times I've felt it was just my duty to go and see what the old woman was doing, and how she was, because really she seemed to have no one to look after her! Not that I expect to see a sixpence of her money." Then Miss Brown perceived that Mrs. Lorimer considered her elf entitled to a legacy too, and naturally she could not help thinking of the chances of her own, though she did so with a thrill of contrition at the unfeelingness of such calculations. When they arrived at Mrs. Barker's house, Mrs. Lorimer kept her wits about her, and had a sharp eye on the looks and manners of the other mouruers, and reckoning up her own claims against what she knew of theirs, believed that she might be sure of a hundred pounds at least. Ten pounds were a good deal more to Miss CHAPTER III. THE funeral was over. Miss Brown was sitting at home in her little parlour, having taken off and carefully put away her black dress. She had done so with a little hesitation. It seemed unfeeling to change the black dress for a brown one on the very evening of her friend's funeral; but economy had been too long a serious consideration with her to allow of her departing from her daily frugal habits; besides, she considered that by saving her black dress she might do Mrs. Barker's memory more honour before the world, than by wearing it out in the solitude of her own fireside. But she laid aside her usual needlework, and sat thinking of the service which she had that day attended. And then she thought of her own funeral service, and wondered if, when she died, there would be a single human being to shed one such genuine tear for her as she had shed that day for Mrs. Barker. No; there would be no one to mourn her death, even as there was no one who really cared much about her life. She had tried to fulfil the duties which came in her way. She was gentle and kind to the lodging maid-of-all-work; she gave out of her penury to those poorer than herself; and struggling with, and in part subduing her own shrinking from the task, she had taken a share of those thankless duties of a charity collector, which seem to be generally thrust upon single wonen. But, after all, what part had she in the world's work, and who would miss her when she left it? What was she to anybody, and what was anybody to her? Then, even as the tears filled her eyes, her thoughts wandered back to the days when things had been different with her, when she had little dreamed of this cheerless and solitary old age. In her reverie, she saw herself as she had once been, young and pretty, and happy with a quiet, serene happiness and hope. How confident that hope of hers had been! how sure she had been that life was very sweet, and that as she loved, so she was loved again! She had been mistaken; and for many a year There was a loud ring at the door-bell. This did not startle her, for there were other lodgers in the house; but pre ently she heard a man's step in the passage, and the recollection of this mistake of hers self to bear the possible disappointment used to bring a painful spasm to her heart, in a becoming spirit, she kept say ng to and a flush of shame to her face. Now, herself: "Poor Mrs. Barker! I shall miss though she could think of it more calmly, her very much; but I'm sure I had no still it was a thought from which she claim on her - not the slightest." shrank uncomfortably. To-night this uncomfortable recollection seemed to rise before her more prominently than usual. And more distinctly than usual too, came a remembrance of another kind, which al-a voice asking for her, and then she did ways had the power of soothing and comforting her, even though the actual thing on which she looked back had been more painful than pleasant to her at the time when it happened. start, and her face flushed like a young girl's and as she rose, she trembled with a nervous agitation which would still sometimes overpower her when she chanced to meet unexpectedly the one for whom years She had been a girl of eighteen when ago she used to wait and watch. Howher cousin, Robert D.xon, had begun pay- ever, this emotion might only be a sort ing her those attentions which had first of echo of the past, for she could check it flattered her vanity, and easily won her now as she could not have done then, and affection. He had not meant anything se- though she glanced with a little annoyance rious, but it was some years before she at her poor fire and worn dress, she was discovered this; and before she had made sufficiently misstress of herself to meet her the discovery, and got her eyes opened to visitor, when he was shown into her the mistake into which she had fallen, she parlour, with a friendly, composed welhad refused the only offer which had ever come. Only when Mr. Dixon came in, and been made her thanks, perhaps, to her when she saw in his face a look which own secret confidence in her cousin, and struck her as unusual, she grew a little conseqent indifference to every one else. nervous again as she said: "I hope there's I was the recollection of that genuine love, nothing wrong, Robert? Maria and the which had been so honestly and earnestly, children are well?" (For what had and even passionately pressed on her, which brought him to call on her at this hour?) at once pained and soothed her; only, as "All quite well, thank you." He was time went on, even her soft heart had got shaking hands with her as he answered to find more and more satisfaction in the her, and was doing so with a warmth thought of the very pain wh ch her refusal and cordiality which brought the colour had caused to her unlucky lover. It was back to her face, and a reminiscence of old pleasant to know that she had been so times to her mind, driving from it the loved once, little as any one cared about thoughts with which it had been lately It was comforting, in the midst occupied. She sat down, but he remained of her sad reflections about how little any standing by the fire. "This is a strange one would grieve for her death, to be able time to come to call on you, Priscilla," he to say to herself: "I wonder if he re-said, after a moment's silence; and the members me still? He told me, even when I refused him, that he would never forget me while he lived. I wonder if he would be sorry to hear of my death ?” her now. The little maid of the lodging brought in her tea, which gave a new direction to her meditations. There had been a rise of a halfpenny in the prices of sugar and bread, and this idea came to add its weight to her already depressed spirits. It was reported too that coals were to be dearer, and winter was only beginning. Miss Brown sighed; and then, remembering what Mrs. Lorimer had been saying, began to think, with a sort of fearful, nervous anxiety, about the chances of Mrs. Barker's having left her a "remembrance." She felt all the time that it was better and wiser not to think about it, if she could only help doing so; and to prepare her tone of assumed jocularity, for it was quite evidently assumed, made her heart beat quicker. It was a strange time for him to come; his look and manner were strange: something strange was surely going to happen. "But I thought I had better come and see you this evening myself. I've something to tell you, Priscilla; I thought I would come myself to tell you;" and he turned suddenly as he stood near her, and looked at her with a curious look, which made her grow hot and cold. What was it he had come to say to her? 66 Perhaps you guess what it is; perhaps you know what I've come to tell you," he said abruptly, as he still looked at her in that peculiar way. She did not answer. She had been flushed, and now she became very pale. Was it possible that the long, long deferred hope was coming true pounds she would have been able better to realize and enjoy the idea of such unexpected good-fortune. But forty thousand! She was confounded, awed, half-incredu at last? People often said that Mr. Dixon was sure to marry again. Was the old dream of her youth being renewed, and had he come to ask her to be his wife, to take care of his children, and to manage lous. She found herself thinking, in a vahis house for him, instead of Mrs. Lorimer? But why did a feeling more resembling terror than joy seem to come over her as she waited for him to go on speaking? Of course, if he asked her, she would say yes. It could not be possible that she did not know her own mind on that subject, after having had all these years to think about it. Or was it possible that what she now felt was a fear of, and a shrinking from the very thing which she had once so hopelessly coveted, so vainly sighed for? 66 cant, absent way, of that additional halfpenny which she would have to pay for her next pound of sugar, Then she remembered how indifferent Mrs. Barker had been about the threatened rise in the price of sugar; and so, by degrees, she got to conceive of what was to be her own future immunity from all such petty cares. Robert says I shall have fifteen hundred pounds a year," she thought, and another standard whereby to measure her strange new fate occurred to her. She knew that even Mrs Lorimer had only six hundred a year. But she had not answeed his last question. Still, he did not seem surpised at She went to bed mechanically at her her confused look or at her silence. "I usual hour; she got up the next day and see," he said presently; "this won't be al- went about her frugal daily housekeeping. together news to you. Well, it will be She was not sure that she had not been news to Maria, at any rate." dreaming a dream about having been left a fortune. But before the day was far gone, there came to her sufficient confirmation of Mr. Dixon's news; and before the evening, she found herself deep in a maze of strange law papers and law phrases, and listening in meek, uncomprehending bewilderment to the talk between the lawyer and Mr. Dixon, who had come back to see her, and whose proffered assistance in this, to her, overwhelming embarrassment of riches, she was glad to accept. News to Maria! Yes, she had no doubt it would be news to Mrs. Lorimer, and not of an agreeable kind. And was she quite the question flashed on her -that the news would be welcomed by herself, as she had fancied it must be? She kept silence, and he went on. sure “After all, Priscilla, if you had any notion of this, you might have given us a hint. But perhaps it was more prudent to say nothing about it. Of course -as he saw her now completely puzzled look "you guess that I've come to tell you about the will." "The will!" and she gave a gasp, of anxiety, as it seemed to him; in reality, of relief. He had come, then. merely to tell her about Mrs. Barker's will; perhaps of a legacy to herself; not to make anything like a proposal of marriage! She was relieved she was certainly relieved. "To be sure, the will. Mrs. Barker has left you all her money. You have succeeded to forty thousand pounds." CHAPTER IV. Miss Brown proved herself to be a very poor woman of business. They were very patient with her-both the lawyer and the banker- and did their best to make her understand the meaning of the new language which she had to learn; and she was obliged to them for the pains they took to explain things clearly, and very much ashamed of her own stupidity and muddle-headedness, and of the trouble she was giving them. When Mr. Finch, the lawyer, was gone, she tried to apologize to her cousin. I am "You see, Robert, I am so ignorant about all these business matters. afraid I am very stupid." Mr. Dixon smiled indulgently; and as he looked at her gentle, still sweet face, with its expre-sion of shy helplessness, perhaps some remembrance came to him of the time when he used to take pleasure in being appealed to by his pretty cousin for help or enlightenment in her girlish difficulties. MISS BROWN was once more alone in her parlour, seated at her table, with the teatray and the cold tea-pot before her. Mr. Dixon had gone, and she was left to realize to herself as she could the news that he had brought her. Forty thousand pounds! Nobody had ever supposed that Mrs. Barker was so rich, though she was known to be well off. And all this money 'You are quite clever enough for a wowas now hers! This was her legacy! At man, Priscilla," he said, in what he meant first she was too awestruck to be actually to be a complimentary tone. "It doesn't happy. If she had been left a hundred do for ladies to be born lawyers. If Mrs. |