



Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Sue Fleming and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)










                               MARGARET CAPEL.



                                   A NOVEL.



                                BY THE AUTHOR OF

                          "THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE."




                               IN THREE VOLUMES.

                                    VOL. III.




                                    LONDON:

                     RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

                                    1846.





                                    LONDON:
                 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.





                                MARGARET CAPEL.




CHAPTER I.

    For not to think of what I need's must feel,
    But to be still and patient all I can,
    And haply, by abstruse research, to steal
    From my own nature all the natural man:
    This was my sole resource, my only plan.

    COLERIDGE.

    And time, that mirrors on its stream aye flowing
    Hope's starry beam, despondency's dark shade;
    Green early leaves, flowers in warm sunshine blowing,
    Boughs by sharp winter's breath all leafless made.

    ANON.


Margaret remained for more than a year in the most perfect retirement.
The solitude of Ashdale was nothing to that of Mrs. Fitzpatrick's
cottage. This tranquillity was well adapted to her state of feeling:
she never experienced a wish to interrupt it. She was sincerely attached
to her hostess. Although reserved, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was even-tempered;
and she became very fond of Margaret, whose society filled up such a
painful blank in her home. Both had suffered much, though neither ever
alluded to her sufferings: and sorrow is always a bond of union. When
first she came to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, her health was so delicate, that
the poor lady feared she was to go through a second ordeal, similar to
the one she had lately submitted to with her own child. Margaret had a
terrible cough and frequent pain in the side, and whenever Mrs.
Fitzpatrick saw her pause on her way down stairs with her hand pressed
on her heart, or heard the well-known and distressing sound of the
cough, the memory of her daughter was almost too painfully renewed. But
Mr. Lindsay pronounced the cough to be nervous, and the pain in the side
nothing of any consequence; and though winter was stealing on, his
opinion was borne out by Margaret's rapid amendment.

Circumstances had long taught Margaret to suffer in silence: she found
then no difficulty in assuming a composure of manner that she did not
always feel; and soon the healing effects of repose and time were
visible in her demeanour. The loss of her uncle was become a softened
grief--for her other sorrow, she never named it even to herself. Yet
still if any accident suggested to her heart the name of Mr. Haveloc, it
would be followed by a sudden shock, as though a dagger had been plunged
into it. She could not bear to think of him, and it was a comfort to be
in a place where she was never likely to hear him named.

And in the beautiful country, among those fading woods, on that
irregular and romantic shore, was to be found the surest antidote for
all that she had endured--for all she might still suffer. In the soft,
yet boisterous autumn wind--in the swell of the mighty waves--in the
fresh breath, ever wafted over their foam, there was health for the
body, there was peace to the mind. The scenery was so delightful that
she was never tired of rambling--and so secluded, that there was no harm
in rambling alone. And though a beauty, and by no means a portionless
one, she found means to pass her time without an adventure, unless the
vague admiration entertained for her by a young coxcomb who was reading
for college with the clergyman, might deserve that name.

This youth, not being very skilful in shooting the sea-gulls, had
nothing on earth to do except to make love to the first pretty woman he
might encounter