EVERYDAY LIFE LIBRARY No. 2
CORALIE
By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME
Author of "Dora Thorne," "The Mystery of Colde Fell," "The Belle ofLynn," "Madolin's Lover," "The Heiress of Hilldrop," Etc., Etc.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER I.
"Eighty pounds a year!" My reader can imagine that this was no greatfortune. I had little or nothing to spend in kid gloves or cigars;indeed, to speak plain, prosaic English, I went without a good dinnerfar oftener than I had one. Yet, withal, I was passing rich on eightypounds a year.
My father, Captain Trevelyan, a brave and deserving officer, died when Iwas a child. My mother, a meek, fragile invalid, never recovered hisloss, but died some years after him, leaving me alone in the world withmy sister Clare.
When I was young I had great dreams of fame and glory. I was to be abrave soldier like my dear, dead father, or a great writer or astatesman. I dreamed of everything except falling into the commongrooves of life—which was my fate in after years. My mother, believingin my dreams, contrived to send me to college—we both considered acollege education the only preliminary to a golden future. How shemanaged it out of her slender means I cannot tell, but she kept me atcollege for three years. I was just trying to decide what profession toadopt, when a letter came summoning me suddenly home.
My mother was ill, not expected to live.
When I did reach home I found another source of trouble. My sisterClare, whom I had left a beautiful, blooming girl of eighteen, had beenill for the past year. The doctors declared it to be a spinal complaint,from which she was not likely to recover, although she might live foryears.
She was unable to move, but lay always on a couch or sofa. The firstglimpse of her altered face, so sweet, so sad and colorless, made myheart ache.
All the youth and bloom had died out of it.
My mother did not live many days; at her death her income ceased, and Ifound myself, at twenty, obliged to begin the world as best I could, thesole protector of my invalid sister. The first step was to sell ourlittle home, a pretty cottage at Hempstead, then to take lodgings nearerthe city; after that I set vigorously to work to look for a situation.
Ah, me, that weary task! I wonder if any of my readers ever went quitealone, friendless, almost helpless, into the great, modern Babylon, tolook for a situation; if so, they will know how to pity me. I spent manypounds in advertisements; I haunted the agency offices; I answered everyadvertisement I read—it seemed all in vain.
My father's regiment was then in India, but