-While I stood before her bit of mirror in the kitchen, twisting a refractory curl,, 
 she came suddenly behind me." Eighted at Last, p. 9. 
 
*^%^ 
 
 laHTED AT La 
 
 l\ 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 A child of our grarxdmother Eve, a fema'ie ,• 
 
 Or, for thy more sweet understanding, a -woman. 
 
 Love's Labor's Lost. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 y 
 
 :N'EW YOEK: 
 D. APPLETO]^ AISTD COMPAI^Y, 
 
 549 & 551 BROADWAY. 
 
 1872. 
 
 -* 
 
 <A 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by • 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
OOE'TEH'TS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. — SALLIE HUNT AND OLLIE LEE 
 
 II. — MT MOTHEe's king 
 
 III. THE HEALEE OOMES . 
 
 lY. — PEESEOUTION 
 
 V. — A CHANGE FOR THE BETTEE 
 
 TI. — MY NEW MISTEESS 
 
 VII. — THE EEV. MAECUS TTLEE . 
 
 VIII. — MT STEP-FATHEE . 
 
 IX. — MASTEE AUGUSTUS 
 
 X. — IN Hannah's eoom 
 
 XI. — TEOUBLE AND EELIEF 
 
 XII. — OAKLAWN SCHOOL. 
 XIII. — PEOFESSOE CAVENDISH 
 XIV. — MOTHEE AND DAUGHTEE 
 
 XV. — THE PEOFESSOE's FAMILY . 
 XVI. — THEEE YEAES LATEE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 . 5 
 
 XVII.- 
 
 12 
 
 XVIII.- 
 
 . 13 
 
 XIX.- 
 
 15 
 
 
 . 22 
 
 XX.- 
 
 28 
 
 XXI.- 
 
 . 36 
 
 XXII.- 
 
 39 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 . 44 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 53 
 
 XXV.- 
 
 . 59 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 65 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 . 69 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 74 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 . 77 
 
 XXX. 
 
 85 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 -UNEXPECTED EEVELATIONS . 91 
 -CHANGES AND CHANCES . 97 
 
 -THE DEPAETUEE FEOM OAK- 
 LAWN ^ . . . 103 
 -IN A NOVEL SITUATION . 112 
 -COUSIN ANNE . . . 118 
 -A HUMBLE <)OMPANION . 122 
 -AT HIGHCLIFF . . 128 
 -EALPH ANNESLEY . .133 
 -THE SHIP-FEVEE . . 138 
 -THE FEVEE OF LOVE . . 144 
 -THE EETUEN TO THE CITY 147 
 -AN UNEXPECTED VISITOE 155 
 -THE SEAECH FOE BIEDIE . 161 
 -A MEMOEABLE INTEEVIEW 165 
 -CONCLUSION . . .171 
 
RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 SALLY nUXT AND OLLIE LEE. 
 
 I WAS a waif cast up bj the Dead 
 Sea of poverty upon the town of Brad- 
 shaw, Connecticut. From mj earliest 
 memory I was " town poor," and lived 
 with Granny Hunt in the Pond District, 
 a portion of the town not remarkable for 
 the respectability or sobriety of its inhab- 
 itants. 
 
 T do not know how the select-men 
 could have put a little child to live with 
 such a woman as Sally Hunt ; they cer- 
 tainly would never have subjected one 
 of their own children to the ordeal, but 
 they were acting for the public interest, 
 and I suppose the public conscience ab- 
 solved them, all the more readily, because 
 she offered to keep me for a shilling per 
 week less than any one else. Moreover, 
 she was known to be neat, economical, 
 and industrious, a " regular driver ; " she 
 would early initiate me into these saving 
 habits, and what more could a town 
 pauper need or expect ? Why should I 
 blame them ? 
 
 Are there not many there now who 
 deem these the cardinal virtues, and make 
 them cover a multitude of sins ? Then, 
 I was an orphan, without a relative or 
 friend in the world to care what did 
 become of me, as the old woman often 
 said. 
 
 Indeed; I remember no time when I 
 was not made to feel that I had no busi- 
 
 ness to be in the world, and I early be- 
 came a sort of Ishmaelite, and gave back 
 scorn for scorn, and hate for hate. I 
 know now that I could have given love 
 for love, for I made friends of all things 
 without-doors ; even the great turtles in 
 the pond, I fancied, knew my voice, and 
 when OUie came — little Oliver Lee — I 
 gave him my whole heart. 
 
 He was a pale, sickly boy, of ten, witli 
 great, sunken eyes, that looked like wells, 
 and clubbed feet, turning inward, the 
 scrofulous legacy which two formerly 
 wealthy families had, through a long se- 
 ries of intermarriages, left to the town ; 
 and the town sent him to Granny Hunt, 
 and paid her "nine shillings per week" 
 for keeping him ; at least, so she told our 
 neighbor, Mrs. Smith; but I knew God 
 sent him to be a good angel to me, for the 
 taint touched only his physical system — 
 a better, truer, more patient, loving soul, 
 I have never seen. "When blows and 
 coarse abuse fell upon him, he did not 
 swell with suppressed rage, or fire up 
 with lightning-like anger and scorn, like - 
 me ; he only shrunk a little, and pressed 
 his pale lips together more closely, xind 
 in the summer evenings, when wo were 
 sent to our beds in the old kitchen-cham- 
 ber, his bed occupying one end of the 
 long, low, "lean-to" row, and mine the 
 other, we would sit beneath the high, 
 narrow window, still as mice, while he 
 told me, in low whispers, why he bore 
 this, and made me kneel by his side and 
 say " Our Father" with him. 
 
RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 On tlie wall, opposite my bed, whicli 
 was nearest the window, hung an old, 
 coarse, wood engraving, intended to 
 represent the Last Judgment. There 
 were the flames — ^long, leaping, twisting 
 tongues of fire, amid which writhed a 
 multitude of devils, armed with pitch- 
 forks and spears — upon which they 
 transfixed the unhappy, ghastly sinners, 
 as they fell down into the horrible pit — 
 while above the smoke and flames, seated 
 upon the clouds, benignant-looking, more 
 by force of contrast with the hideous 
 group below, than by any skill of the 
 artist, was the " Son of Man," surrounded 
 by troops of the righteous, with crowns 
 upon their heads and harps in their hands. 
 Before Ollie came, I had been wont to 
 study this picture occasionally. Although 
 I had received no religious training, I was 
 hj no means ignorant of th^ name and 
 character of Satan, and the contrast be- 
 tween these faces and that of the man in 
 the clouds pleased me. I found a resem- 
 blance between the face of one of these 
 fiends and that of Granny Hunt, and I 
 gave it her name in my thoughts. Some 
 days after Ollie came, Mrs, Hunt sent me 
 to a neighbor's for some buttermilk, say- 
 ing, in her usual sarcastic tone, as she 
 gave me the pitcher : 
 
 " Be sure and fall down and break it, 
 now." 
 
 I did. Coming through our old, rick- 
 ety gate, my dress caught upon some- 
 thing, and I pitched headlong, breaking 
 the pitcher, tearing my dress badly, and 
 bruising my arm. The first and second 
 offence brought a shower of blows about 
 my head and ears, the last only elicited 
 the remark that 'twas a pity 'twasn't my 
 neck." 
 
 I did not cry, but stole up to our gar- 
 ret, where Ollie had preceded me, and 
 gave way to such a burst of passion as 
 fairly frightened the poor boy. He tried 
 to soothe me; and, when all his argu- 
 ments failed, he had recourse to that old 
 picture. He explained its meaning as 
 well as he was able ; spoke of the dread 
 
 day of doom in tones full of hushed, 
 trembling awe ; and his poor, puny frame 
 shrunk and shivered as he told of that 
 terrible lake of fire and brimstone, and 
 the torments of the wicked, where I must 
 surely go, if I gave way to my anger thus. 
 "Then she needn't strike me ! " I ex- 
 claimed. "I can't forgive her — I don't 
 know how to, and I don't want to ! " 
 
 " Then you can never go to live with 
 Him,'^ and his preternaturally bright eyes 
 glanced from my stormy face to the se- 
 rene one of Christ. 
 
 " Will Granny Hunt live with Him ? " 
 I suddenly asked. 
 
 " I am afraid not, unless she stops 
 using such bad words," he said, sadly. 
 
 " But you will, Ollie ? " 
 
 " I hope so — if He will take me." . 
 
 " Then I'll try to be good, if you'll 
 ask Him to let me come, too — I'll try 
 real hard, Ollie." 
 
 He sat down on the side of the bed, 
 and, putting his arm around me, told me 
 how people must die before they could 
 go to Him ; how some died young — 
 younger even than I was. Then he told 
 me about his mother — how good she was 
 to him — how many things she had taught 
 him ; how she used to make him kneel 
 by her bedside, and say " Our Father," 
 until she grew too faint and weak to 
 speak to him ; and then — she died. 
 
 " She is in heaven now," he said, 
 " and I promised her I would try to come 
 to her." 
 
 "Is my mother there, I wonder, Ol- 
 lie?" 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Then I'll go, too ! ^' 
 
 I was, indeed, a poor, ignorant child. 
 I had no idea, even after Ollie's teach- 
 ings, what my words meant; but, as I 
 have said, God sent him to me . as an 
 angel, and ever after, violent and pas- 
 sionate as I was at times, I had a dim, 
 undefined hope of attaining to some life 
 better and purer than the one I was liv- 
 ing. But that picture henceforth haunted 
 me, and there came a time when its hid- 
 
SALLY HUNT AND OLLIE LEE. 
 
 eous horrors were my niglitly torment, 
 and filled me with indescribable terror 
 and disgust. 
 
 I did not attend school; the select-men 
 said I was to have three months' school- 
 ing in the year, but Granny Hunt did 
 not think much of schools, especially for 
 town poor, and I seldom attended more 
 than three days in three weeks. In the 
 fall and winter I had to wind quills for 
 her loom, for she wove for the neighbors 
 occasionally, and in the summer I worked 
 in the garden, picked berries, which she 
 sold at the boarding-houses at "the 
 Beach," about two miles south of us, 
 scrubbed floor, and washed dishes, daily 
 duties which were never omitted. I can- 
 not say that I cared much for this dep- 
 rivation. I was sensitive and proud, 
 strange as it may seem, and resented 
 keenly the slights to which, as " town 
 poor," I was sometimes subjected. I 
 greatly preferred wandering over the 
 hills and through the pastures after ber- 
 ries ; and, when I had filled my baskets, 
 to sit perched upon the highest of the 
 perpendicular cliflTs that overhung the 
 west side of the "Pond," and watch the 
 white sails that flecked the blue waters 
 of Long-Island Sound, heaving in sight 
 and disappearing so silently and myste- 
 riously ; or to stretch myself on the cliff, 
 and look down upon the dark, still waters 
 of the pond, where every fleecy cloud and 
 tiny shrub was mirrored so distinctly. 
 
 Yet I was not entirely without 
 instruction. Among OUie's treasures, 
 which he kept in a miniature tin box, 
 which had once been "japanned," was a 
 small Bible, which had been his mother's 
 (I have it now),- the "ITatural History 
 of Whales," a tiny book called "The 
 Twin Lambs," a simple allegory, and two 
 or three certificates of good behavior 
 and scholarship from his teacher, when 
 he was so happy as to go to school. On 
 Sundays he used to read to me from 
 these books, and nothing I have ever 
 read since has impressed me as did the 
 story of the Twin Lambs. I liked to 
 
 hear about the whales — "as big as 
 houses," Ollie said — a statement which I 
 should certainly have doubted, had I 
 heard it from any one else. I liked the 
 Bible stories, too, especially those which 
 told about Yashti, and Esther, and Ruth ; 
 and did I not seem to know the very 
 brook-side whence David took the stone 
 which was to sink into the forehead 
 of Goliath — the wood where Samson en- 
 countered the lion — and the identical 
 field which Elisha ploughed with his 
 twelve yoke of oxen? Indeed, I appre- 
 ciated his skill as a teamster far better 
 than I did the wonderful miracles which 
 he afterward wrought. But those little 
 lambs — my heart went with them in all 
 their wanderings, especially with the 
 truant which would stray from the fold; 
 and when Ollie came to where, worn out 
 with hunger, fatigue, and thirst, it lies 
 down, far away from the happy fold, and 
 the good shepherd, whose unwearied 
 love had followed it through all its wan- 
 derings, finds it and gathers it to his bo- 
 som, I never could keep back my tears. 
 "Was it because that simple story dimly 
 foreshadowed my own life ? 
 
 I do not know but even now it is 
 hard for me to forgive Sally Hunt for 
 snatching that book from my hands and 
 flinging it into the fire. 
 
 But, poor old soul, she knew not what 
 she did. She had been born in a home, 
 if such it could be called, where vice and 
 crime tainted the very source of life, and 
 made the mother's milk a fountain of 
 bitterness and disease, instead of healthy, 
 happy life. Energetic, ignorant, and vio- 
 lent, at eighteen she married a, man 
 whose oldest child was some years her 
 senior, partly to spite her parents, and 
 partly with the hope of bettering her 
 condition, and thus missed the beautiful 
 evangel of love, which so often makes up 
 to a woman for the lack of other teach- 
 ers. Her husband was old, infirm, avari- 
 cious, and ill-tempered; there could be 
 no happiness in such a marriage — not 
 even after their two boys vrere bora. 
 
8 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Indeed, they only seemed to increase the 
 discord, for, although she ruled them 
 herself with a rod of iron, until they were 
 large enough to defj her, she invariahly 
 took their part against their father, who 
 revenged himself by giving every thing 
 that he possibly could, even before he 
 died, to his children by his former mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Her oldest boy soon followed his fa- 
 ther to the grave, the victim of premature 
 vice, and the youngest ran away when 
 a mere lad, and, at the time I lived with 
 her, was married and residing in 'New 
 York. The law allowed her the use of a 
 third of the old house in which we lived, 
 and the bit of land around it ; the ad- 
 joining fields were owned by her step- 
 sons, and there was a constant warfare 
 carried on between them and us. I say 
 ics^ for, little as I loved her, I liked them 
 less, and with reason, for they always 
 called me "town-poor brat," and asked 
 me about my father, the ■" town-pump." 
 They killed our geese, broke up our hens' 
 nests, stole our eggs, put our cow in the 
 "pound; " and we burnt their rails, and 
 turned their cattle into their corn or 
 grain fields whenever we found them 
 in ours. 
 
 If there was any one person whom I 
 hated worse than I did my mistress's 
 step-sons, it was her son — Tom Hunt. 
 He occasionally made us a brief "visit 
 from E'ew York, which usually ended 
 in a quarrel with his mother. I was 
 afraid of him, and he knew it, I suppose, 
 for he seemed to take a fiendish sort of 
 pleasure in tormenting me — ^pulling my 
 hair, pinching me, treading on my bare 
 toes, snapping me on the head with his 
 great fingers, and calling me all sorts of 
 names. He was terribly profane, but 
 his frightful oaths never troubled me 
 much until Ollie told, me how wicked 
 they were. Their quarrels were usually 
 about money, I believe, and Ollie and I 
 used to get out of hearing of his oaths 
 and curses, if we could, for at such times 
 they did not seem to mind us ; and many 
 
 a time I have stolen a glance at the old 
 picture, as we sat in our garret, to see if 
 the great devil was really there, and not 
 down-stairs in the person of Tom Hunt, 
 with whom I had come to identify him. 
 Tom was always flashily dressed, and 
 once he brought with him his wife and 
 little girl, who astonished me by the 
 splendor of their costumes. I suspect I 
 had a natural love for the rich and gor- 
 geous, or what my ignorance took for 
 such, for the impression their finery 
 made upon me was very deep. I doubt- 
 ed if any of the kings and queens that 
 Ollie read about were finer — even Queen 
 Esther herself, when in "regal state" 
 she went into the presence-chamber " to 
 save the Jews from dismal fate." 
 
 I soon made friends with this girl, 
 and, during the Sunday which she passed 
 there, to my shame be it said, I almost 
 forgot Ollie. It was midsummer, and I 
 took my new friend down to the pond to 
 show her my fish and turtles, and waded 
 knee-deep into the water to gather the 
 beautiful water-lilies for her ; but she 
 called the turtles " ugly things," and 
 flung my lilies back into the pond, be- 
 cause the "nasty things wet her dress." 
 Then she looked at my old dress and 
 asked what I wore such " an old patched 
 thing" for, and why I did not curl my 
 hair like hers — " 'twas all the fashion." 
 
 Ollie was looking down from the 
 narrow garret - window when I came 
 back to the house, and I immediately 
 went to him with these queries. He did 
 not say much about the dress, but he 
 took his pocket - comb and began to 
 smooth out my tangled locks, and wind 
 them around his fingers. They were 
 rather longer than usual, and, when he 
 took from the japanned trunk a little 
 box, and showed me myself in the two- 
 inch mirror set in the lid, I was filled 
 with wonder and delight at the change. 
 Pride in my personal appearance was 
 aroused, and I smoothed my curls daily. 
 At first Mrs. Hunt said nothing, and 1 
 fancied she did not notice the change ; 
 
SALLY HUNT AND OLLIE LEE. 
 
 9 
 
 but one day, while I stood before her bit 
 of mirror in the kitchen, twisting a re- 
 fractory curl, she came suddenly behind 
 me, and, gathering my hair in her hand, 
 took her shears from the window-sill, 
 cut all the locks close to my head, and 
 flung them into the fire. 
 
 " There," she cried, giving me a box 
 and a shove, "go to your work, and re- 
 member that I don't keep young uns for 
 a dollar a week to prink afore the look- 
 ing-glass ! " 
 
 I took the sheet upon which I had 
 been at work and jerked my needle 
 through it with a hearty wish that I 
 could stick it through her in the same 
 way. Ollie was at work outside the door, 
 and, when he came in, his poor, pale 
 face looked very sad, and I thought it 
 was for the loss of my curls. So it was, 
 in part, but more for the hatred he read 
 in ray face, for, when he asked me about 
 it that night, and I burst into a storm 
 of rage, and wished the old woman 
 dead and buried, his fiice grew sadder 
 still. 
 
 "O Lina ! Lina ! " he said, "I am 
 afraid you will never go there ! " 
 
 "Go where?" 
 
 " To live with Him, as you prom- 
 ised." 
 
 " I don't care if I don't ! " I cried, 
 passionately. " I don't believe He wants 
 to have me, or he would not a let her cut 
 off my curls ! — What does God make 
 such folks for, if He is good as you say, 
 Ollie ? " I added, suddenly struck by a 
 new thought. 
 
 "He don't make 'em so," he replied, 
 thoughtfully. "You know the walnut- 
 sprout that I bent down for you to swing 
 on, last summer, down by the pond. It 
 has not come up straight again, and it 
 never will, I guess. I s'pose something 
 bent her just so, when she was a little 
 girl, mebbye, and made her cross and 
 crooked, and I s'pose she'll allers stay so 
 unless He makes her better." 
 
 " Why don't He then, if He can ? " 
 
 "I don't know 
 
 I never thought 
 
 about it before. I guess it's cause no- 
 body's ever asked Him," 
 
 " Then let's us ask Him, Ollie." 
 
 We did. Then and there we knelt 
 down, and I well remember how earnest- 
 ly I seconded OUie's petition that God 
 would make Sally Hunt a better woman, 
 and how disappointed I was to find her, 
 in the morning, more cross and captious 
 than ever. Like many a soul of larger 
 growth, my faith faltered. My heart 
 was still sore about my curls, and there 
 was little comfort in hearing Ollie say 
 that God liked me just as well without 
 them. T didn't like myself half so well. 
 
 One day, in the autumn, when Ollie 
 and I were shelling out the dry beans in 
 the shed, the bell of one of the churches 
 began to toll. The day was very stilL 
 and, across the mile and a half between 
 us and the church, we could hear every 
 stroke distinctly. Ollie had counted up 
 to sixty when I heard the voice of our 
 neighbor, Polly Smith, talking with my 
 mistress. Presently, Mrs. Hunt called 
 me to get a pail of water, and, as I en- 
 tered the kitchen, Mrs. Smith glanced at 
 me rather curiously as she said : 
 
 " You'll take her to the funeral, I 
 s'pose? " 
 
 "What for? She don't know him 
 from Adam ! Besides she hain't got a 
 rag o' mournin'." 
 
 " An' 'taint likely the town'll buy her 
 any. Between him an' her we've a pretty 
 bill of expense a'ready. But then, I'd 
 take her. Folks'll think strange if ye 
 don't. Can't you borrow suthing ? " 
 
 "Who'd want ter lend to town poor ! " 
 asked granny, dryly. 
 
 " Sure enough. But Steve Leet's girl 
 down to the cove's got a black dress that 
 'ud jest about fit her," said Mrs. Smith, 
 with another glance at me, for — ^to my 
 shame, I confess I had not stirred from 
 my tracks — " an' Polly Maria ain't over 
 an' above particular about such things." 
 
 The woman's glance drew Mrs. Hunt's 
 attention to me, and, with a cuff that 
 sent me half-wav across the floor, she said : 
 
10 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 " Go to your work, an' don't stand there 
 to swaller every word that's said! " 
 
 ""Who's dead?" I asked, curiosity 
 getting the hetter of prudence. 
 
 "Why, your gran'ther, child. Don't 
 you know it ? " 
 
 " Gran'ther ! " I echoed, unmindful of 
 Mrs. Hunt's angry gesture. " I did not 
 know as I had one ! " 
 
 " Well, you know it now ! " exclaimed 
 my mistress, " if that's any comfort ! Old 
 IsTathan Day was your gran'ther, an' he's 
 to he huried to-morrow. It would not 
 be so easy tellin' who's your father. 
 'Now he off with you ! " 
 
 I took the pail and made my way to 
 the pond. It certainly was a comfort to 
 me. For the first time in my life I felt 
 as if I belonged to somebody — was some- 
 body. I had had a grandfather ! That 
 he was even then lying dead made no 
 difference ; I scarcely thought of it. But 
 I wondered what he was like. I had 
 seen old gray-haired Mr. Gates, with his 
 little grandson on the horse before him. 
 Was my grandfather like him ? Why 
 did he never come to see me? Did he 
 know I was here at Granny Hunt's? 
 Why did not I live with him as Alfred 
 Gates did with his grandfather ? 
 
 Mrs. Hunt's voice calling me broke in 
 upon my queries. As I again entered 
 the kitchen I heard her say, in reply to 
 Mrs. Smith : 
 
 "Yes, long before that. He was out 
 0^ his wits when he sold out an' went 
 West. They were pretty well run down, 
 though, an' could not stomach bein' poor 
 among folks they'd known aU their born 
 days. We heard teU as he'd set up some 
 sort o' 'factory out there, an' got cheated, 
 as of course he would. But the truth is, 
 they hadn't no faculty, an' that girl must 
 play the lady— Lina Day, how many 
 times must I tell you not to drizzle water 
 from that are gourd all over the floor ! " 
 I was drinking very slowly, filling my 
 ears rather than my mouth. "There's 
 another on 'em," she added, as I went 
 into the shed, "the proudest, obstinatest. 
 
 shiftlessest critter that ever drawed 
 breath — a regular chip o' the old block ! " 
 
 " I don't see as she favors her mother 
 the least bit — if, indeed, Harriet Day was 
 her mother. She was a pleasant-spoken 
 girl, I remember, and as pretty as a pink." 
 
 " Han'some is as han'some does I " 
 muttered Mrs. Hunt. "We all know 
 how she turned out! " 
 
 " I wish we knew for sartin. To be 
 sure, the old man come back here crazy 
 as a loon, with this girl, a baby in his , 
 arms, an' everybody s'posed it was Har- 
 riet's, but the old man never would say 
 so, nor tell where it was born. Sister 
 Janet's husband was one of the select- 
 men then, and he tried his best, I'm sure. 
 — Well, here I set, as if I'd notrhin' to do. 
 I'll come this way to-morrow, for I be- 
 lieve in paying some respect to the dead, 
 even if he was town poor." 
 
 He had been town poor, then ! Well, 
 what did that matter ? I had a grand- 
 father, as I told Ollie, with a feeling of 
 proud satisfaction. 
 
 That afternoon I was sent -down to 
 the cove, about two miles below us, to 
 ask for the loan of little Adeline Lee's 
 black dress to wear to my grandfather's 
 funeral, and I can remember the feeling 
 of importance with which I made known 
 mj errand to Steve Leet's grim-visaged 
 sister. I had a grandfather! 
 
 I was somewhat cowed by the great 
 black eyes, set in a circle of yellowish 
 purple, which the woman fastened upon 
 me, as she said in a low, solemn tone : 
 
 " So your gran'ther has gone at last, 
 child. I hope you'll heed the warning." 
 
 I said, " Yes, m'am," but with no 
 very distinct idea of what I was prom- 
 ising ; and, before the thin lips opened 
 again, a short, rather stout man, with a 
 face tanned and burned to the complexion 
 of sole-leather, entered, carrying upon 
 his shoulder a little girl of about my own 
 age. 
 
 "Two hungry uns, Polly," he began, 
 but, seeing me, he interrupted himself 
 with — " Why, here's a new un ! A play- 
 
SALLY HUNT AND OLLIE LEE. 
 
 11 
 
 feller for you, Birdie. Jump down an' 
 shake hands with her. Easy there ! " 
 
 He swung her from his shoulder as 
 lightly as if she had indeed heen a bird, 
 and she came shyly tow^ard me, while 
 the woman said : 
 
 "It's the child that lives with Sally 
 Hunt. She wants to borrow Ad'line's 
 frock to wear to her gran'ther's funeral." 
 
 "So he's gone at last, an' the poor 
 thing lives with Sally. I guess it's kinder 
 rough there at times. Sally used to be 
 squally. But you'll let her take the dress, 
 Birdie, an' she shall stay an' have some 
 dinner, too." 
 
 "We were still eying each other, as 
 strange children and animals will before 
 making acquaintance, when he added : 
 " What are you playing shy for, like a 
 couple of young porpoises? Can't you 
 show her your traps ? " 
 
 Little Adeline laughed — a little, quick, 
 silvery laugh, like the sudden overflow 
 of a tiny jet of water — and brought from 
 an inner room a broken-nosed doll, a 
 wooden box fuU of exceedingly beautiful 
 shells, and some picture-books. "With 
 these we adjourned to the bench near 
 the open door, while Polly Maria put 
 some clams over the tire to boil for din- 
 ner, and Uncle Steve, as little Adeline 
 called him, went into a kind of shed, and, 
 rolling up his red-flannel shirt-sleeves, 
 took off his tarpaulin hat, which left a 
 red mark across his forehead, like the 
 ring of a planet, and began washing him- 
 self, dashing the water over his head 
 and face, blowing and sneezing, until I 
 thought of OUie's whales, then rubbing 
 them with the coarse crash towel until 
 his face was as red as the lobster- shell 
 cradle I held in my hand, and his hair 
 seemed glued to his scalp. 
 
 Then he came and sat down upon the 
 bench, and, lifting Adeline upon one 
 knee and me upon the other, he began 
 to tell us about the pictures in the books. 
 One of them was "The N'atural History 
 of Beasts," and was full of pictures of 
 lions, tigers, sloths, and monkeys ; " queer 
 
 critters," Uncle Steve said, " some on 'em 
 he'd seen in the longitudes under the 
 line." 
 
 Then Polly Maria called, "Dinner! " 
 and we gathered around the table. The 
 pine table, white as this sheet of paper, 
 was set with four blue-edged plates, nice 
 brown bread and yellow butter, and in 
 the midst a dish of yellow earthen, 
 full of smoking clams, from behind which 
 beamed the kindly face of the old fisher- 
 man, only just visible, for the rush-bot- 
 tomed chairs in which he and his sister 
 sat were so low as to give them a dwarf- 
 ish look, especially to me, who sat in Ad- 
 eline's high chair, while she occupied a 
 temporary elevation which Uncle Steve 
 had " rigged up " for the occasion. 
 
 "ISTow, work sharp, or I shall eat all 
 the clams afore you know it," he said, 
 as he filled our plates. f 
 
 But he did not. He was much more 
 intent on spreading great slices of bread 
 and butter for us, than feeding himself. 
 I think it did him good to see me eat, for 
 he leaned back in Ms chair and said: 
 
 " I guess we'll have to keep this little 
 gal. Then I'd have a pair o' birds — a 
 blue bird and a black bird — for see how 
 black her eyes be ! — What say ye, Birdie ? 
 Will you go halves with her? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Give her half of all — half of Uncle 
 Steve?" he added. 
 
 She jumped down, and went and 
 leaned against him without speaking. 
 He smoothed her silky locks tenderly 
 with his great brown hand and said, 
 smiling : 
 
 " Well, well, I s'pose 'twould come 
 kinder hard arter being the baby so long. 
 But we'll find a place for her whenever 
 she'll come, won't we ? " 
 
 Eough, coarse, and homely in speech 
 and look, but with such a kind, loving 
 heart — such a true, tender heart — such a 
 noble, reverent heart! Among all the 
 blessings which God has vouchsafed to 
 give me, there is none which fills me with 
 a deeper sense of gratitude than the gift, 
 
12 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 to my desolate childhood, of the friend- 
 ship of this humble fisherman ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MY MOTHEE's EING. 
 
 It was a pauper funeral. An open 
 pit at the end of a long row of sunken 
 graves, overrun with dewberry-vines 
 and yarrow, with broken, moss-grown 
 stones, some of the red sandstone of the 
 region, and ornamented with those drop- 
 sical-looking heads with aborted wings 
 attached, supposed to represent cherubs. 
 Others of marble, for the Days had once 
 been a family of some repute in the an- 
 nals of Bradshaw. A pine coflSn stood 
 on the verge of the open grave ; the min- 
 ister, two of the select-men, a few white- 
 haired old men, who had played with the 
 deceased in his youth, a half dozen 
 women, and some school-boys, who had 
 left their play upon the common to see 
 what was going on, composed the assem- 
 blage. 
 
 The men stood with uncovered heads, 
 the more aged with their hats held be- 
 hind the ear, to help catch the words of 
 the minister as he lifted his voice in 
 prayer. How strange and remote his 
 voice sounded in the open air ! Every- 
 thing was strange — myself not the least 
 so, in that black dress. Then the voice 
 ceased, the undertaker began to unscrew 
 the lid of the coffin, and the women be- 
 gan to converse in low tones, looking 
 curiously at me. 
 
 "Not a single look like Harriet Day, 
 as I can see ! " 
 
 "Well, now, where are your eyes? 
 That mouth is clear Day ! " etc., etc. 
 
 At length the people swerved aside a 
 liftle, and Mrs. Hunt led me forward to 
 look upon the face of the dead — that was 
 familiar. Somewhere — away — far away, 
 and oh, how the thought seemed to re- 
 cede, as I tried to grasp it ! — I had seen 
 that same v/hite, thin face, with that 
 
 fringe of 
 
 bending over 
 
 soft white hair 
 me. While I continued to gaze there 
 came memories — vague and dim memo- 
 ries, more like dreams than any thing 
 else — of a place that was not Sally Hunt's 
 — of boats and great sheets of water, that 
 were neither the Cedar Pond nor the 
 Sound — of dusty roads and wayside 
 houses, where women gave me cakes and 
 cups of milk, that were held to my lips 
 by trembling old hands, laced by great 
 blue veins, just like those folded upon 
 the dead man's breast. I do not know 
 what ghosts of memories that dead face 
 might have recalled, if I had not sud- 
 denly felt Mrs. Hunt's grip upon my arm 
 and heard her voice whispering : 
 
 "Are you going to keep 'em waitin' 
 all day?" 
 
 I followed her and Mrs. Smith across 
 the fields, still haunted by that face, and, 
 as soon as we were alone, poured out 
 these memories to Ollie. But there was 
 nothing in his experience that could help 
 me, only he sometimes dreamed of beau- 
 tiful faces, and sailing away over the 
 water ; and so we set them down as 
 dreams, and life went on as before. 
 
 I did not go down to the Cove vath 
 little Adeline Leete's dress — ^Mrs. Sally 
 sent it by old Sam Grant ; but, not long 
 after, I heard the old fisherman's name 
 mentioned in a way that made a deep 
 impression upon my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Sally had been weaving a piece 
 of toweling for the wife of one of the 
 select-men ; and the lady, when she came 
 for it, felt it her duty, I suppose, to in- 
 quire after Ollie and myself. We were 
 called into the room, hastily glanced over, 
 told that we "must be good children, 
 and not learn bad words or bad habits," 
 and then she went on to speak of some 
 changes relative to the management of 
 the town paupers, and mentioned the 
 sale of certain things that had belonged 
 to some that had recently died. 
 
 " There were a few things that be- 
 longed to old Nathan Day," she contin- 
 ued, " which he had contrived to hide. 
 
THE HEALER COMES! 
 
 13 
 
 You liavo no idea, liiisband says, how 
 cunning some of these people are. In a 
 common steel tobacco-box he had hidden 
 away a heavy gold ring, marked with the 
 letters 'P. 0.' and 'H. D.' on the in- 
 side. It just fitted my Sarah Ann, and I 
 got it at a bargain! " 
 
 " Was there nothing else in the box ? " 
 queried Mrs. Sally. 
 
 "No, for I looked myself— nothing 
 but some old cotton and a bit of dirty 
 paper. Steve Leete, of the Oove, bid off 
 the box, and even had the impudence to 
 bid for the ring. To thiiik of the like of 
 him wanting rings ! " 
 
 "He's got a niece, you know," said 
 Mrs. Hunt, dryly. 
 
 "I've heard so, but he'd better save 
 his money to buy her bread. If he were 
 to die, we should have her on the town. 
 I like to see folks know their- proper 
 places. But I must be going." 
 
 "An' she was Lois Bunnelle — poorer 
 'n pizen, an' went out to work afore she 
 married Abram Barnes ! " growled Gran- 
 ny Hunt, as the woman crossed the 
 threshold. " Got it at a bargain 1 I guess 
 she did. She'd skin a 'skeeter any time. 
 Well, if I was as forehanded as she is, I'd 
 never let my girls wear town-poor rings ! 
 An' that un, by good rights, belongs to 
 some un else ! " 
 
 " Lina," whispered OUie, as we bent 
 over our carpet-rags, "that ring was 
 your mother's. Wouldn't you like to 
 have it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He did not speak of it again for many 
 months. 
 
 CHAPTER III. • 
 
 THE HEALEB COMES ! 
 
 I AM back there again — in the old 
 house — sitting in the kitchen, the narrow 
 windows of which overlook the pond. 
 It is winter ; the surface of the water is 
 hardened to thick Mack ice, mottled over 
 
 in spots with that of lighter hue. The 
 snow lies deep and hard in the roads — 
 the drifts piled high over fences and 
 posts in many a curve of rare beauty. 
 All without is white and cold, and within 
 one sits by my side with a face like the 
 snow, and eyes deep and dark as the ice- 
 bound lake, sewing with thin, trembling 
 fingers the strips of carpet-rags which 
 he has hardly strength to hold. 
 
 Need I say it is Oliver — poor, pa- 
 tient, uncomplaining Oliver? Again I 
 help him up stairs and down, for he needs 
 help now. Mrs. Hunt cannot have a bed 
 down-stairs, for who is to pay for the 
 extra fire ? JSTot the town. She says it's 
 " nothing but a cold — ^he'll be well enough 
 when the warm weather comes — that 
 he's full of notions, like his mother be- 
 fore him, and poor folks can't afford to 
 be notional." 
 
 We do not read any more now, for 
 he is too short of breath, even if it were 
 not so cold in our garret, neither do we 
 tell stories, but he kisses my cheek, and 
 says, faintly : 
 
 " You are so good to me, Lina. What 
 should I do without you ? " And, though 
 the tears fill my eyes every time he says 
 this, I am very strong, for he calls me 
 good. 
 
 I am ten years old, but if I were fifty 
 I could not waken more regularly, when 
 I hear that hoarse rattling in his thioat, 
 to give him drink — drink too often fro- 
 zen — or to caulk with rags the worm- 
 eaten clapboards that let the snow come 
 sifting through upon his bed. Then, in 
 the mornings — these long, cold, gray, 
 winter mornings — I wake to find his eyes 
 fixed upon the face of Christ in the old 
 picture — always gazing on His face with 
 such a pleading, expectant look. Then 
 I think of the stories of the miracles 
 which he has read to me, and I wish, oh, 
 so earnestly, that He would come and lay 
 His hands upon him, and heal him ! 
 
 " He will, Lina, He will make me 
 whole, by-and-by," he says, when I tell 
 him my thoughts. 
 
14 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 But I am impatient. I think when 
 Dr. M^oore is called in, and uses sucli long, 
 hard words, and leaves such queer-smell- 
 ing medicines, that possibly' the time has 
 come ; but Ollie grows worse instead of 
 better, and I lose all faith. 
 
 Oh, these wearj days and weary 
 .nights ! Ollie, growing weaker and weak- 
 er (he cannot get down-stairs now), and 
 I growing quieter and quieter ; and Mrs. 
 Hunt darting about the house as usual, 
 and talking of "the spring, and folks 
 that have the spleen." 
 Then He comes I 
 
 It is night — night in the old, lean-to 
 garret-room. The winter moon shines 
 white and silent in the wintry sky ; the 
 small uncurtained window is frosted all 
 over with rare devices, beautiful as 
 dreams ; the ice on the pond cracks and 
 splinters beneath the action of the frost 
 — and all is still again. I rise up in my 
 little bed — ^is it Ollie that calls ? 
 "Lina!" 
 
 In a second, I am by his side. 
 " Oh, I'm so cold — so dreadful cold! " 
 he murmurs. 
 
 I strip my own bed of its covering to 
 put over him, and, crawling upon his 
 bed, take his hands in mine. They are 
 like ice — so cold and damp. 
 
 "Are you any warmer now, Ollie? " 
 There is no answer, and I think he 
 sleeps; but, presently, he whispers, and 
 I bend my head to listen : 
 
 " 'Suffer little children to come unto 
 me, and forbid them not.' " 
 
 The words are broken and faint, but 
 I know the verse. He has read it to me 
 from his Bible and the story of the 
 " Twin Lambs," and I whisper : 
 "Do you feel better, Ollie? " 
 "Yes — ^lie down Lina; put your face 
 close to mine ; I want to tell you some- 
 thing." 
 
 I creep under the coverlid, and lay 
 ray cheek close to his, with my arms 
 about his neck. Still he does not tell 
 me — does not speak. 
 ^' Ollie ! " 
 
 " You'll try to be good, Lina— not to 
 say bad words, or think bad thoughts — 
 you'll try ? " 
 
 " I'll never say a bad word again, or 
 get mad, Ollie, if you'll get well, Ollie," 
 I say, crying ; for there is something in 
 his voice that awes me. I wish I could 
 see his face, but it is so dark here ; and 
 I cast an imploring glance toward the 
 wall, where I know the benignant face 
 hangs, and think : 
 
 " Oh, if He would only come now ! " 
 I^Tow he is still — maybe asleep. No — 
 hark ! — he whispers : 
 
 "Don't cry, Lina! "What was it I 
 wanted to say ? — Oh, the little trunk and 
 the books are to be yours ; and there's 
 two ten-cent pieces in the box — mother 
 gave me — mebbye they'll help to buy 
 back that ring for you — your mother's 
 ring." 
 
 " Yes. You feel better, Ollie ? " 
 "Easier. Kiss me, Lina." 
 I kiss his cold cheek, and he lies still, 
 only now and then making a low moan ; 
 that and the splitting of the ice are all 
 the sounds I hear ; presently I cease to 
 hear even these, for I fall asleep and 
 dream — dream that Ollie and I have the 
 boat we have so often longed for, and 
 are sailing on the pond, which grows 
 narrower and narrower, until it shrinks 
 to a swift, rapid river, shut in between 
 high walls of rock, upon which grow 
 cold-looking lichens and long green ferns. 
 Onward still, while the stream grows 
 narrower and deeper, the sky darker and 
 gloomier, and the lichens and ferns give 
 place to snow and ice— nothing but snow 
 and ice ! Chilled to the heart I awake ; 
 the ice is in my arms — that cold, icy 
 body. The gray morning light is strug- 
 gling through the window, and I start 
 up to catch a sight of his face. I know 
 that look, I had seen it on the face of my 
 grandfather; and, with a loud shriek, I 
 spring to the floor. — The Healer had 
 come and found me sleeping ! Ollie was 
 dead! 
 
 I believe the suddenness of the ,event 
 
PERSECUTION. 
 
 15 
 
 and my fright touched even Granny 
 Hunt's heart. After the first shock was 
 over, I was very quiet, and she left me 
 to sit all day long in the kitchen corner, 
 without once calling me to take part in 
 the house-cleaning going on in anticipa- 
 tion of the funeral ; while the neighbors 
 who assisted her went back and forth, 
 from kitchen to parlor, stopping to ask 
 me the same questions again and again, 
 until, worried out, I refused to speak. 
 
 Then I was lectured for my evil tem- 
 per, and bade to think of poor Oliver, 
 and what would become of me if I were 
 to die. 
 
 God knows I did' think of him, and 
 how, in my grief and loneliness, I longed 
 to be with him, wherever that might be. 
 But when, standing by his side after they 
 had laid him out, my dumb grief broke 
 into convulsive sobs at the sight of that 
 still immovable face, and I uttered this 
 wish, they were filled with horror — 
 shocked that one so young could be " so 
 wicked." 
 
 "Weak enough and wicked enough I 
 was, but not in that one feeling. I did 
 not believe it then, and I do not now. 
 If I am wrong, let Him who stood by 
 that grave at Bethany, and wept for His 
 young friend, judge. 
 
 Then came the funeral. I wore no 
 mourning this time. No one would 
 "think it strange" for the little town 
 pauper to follow Jier dearest friend to 
 the grave in a party-colored calico dress. 
 Indeed, I never thought about it, but sat 
 in the low chair in the corner of the 
 room, where Mrs. Sally had placed me 
 as soon as the neighbors began to come 
 in, with my eyes fixed upon the coffin 
 that hid him from my sight, crying out 
 in my heart, " Ollie ! OUie ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PEESECIJTION. 
 
 I DID try to be good after Ollie's death. 
 I did long to be good ; but, alas ! it was 
 the parable of the sower over again! 
 There was the good seed, sown by his 
 feeble hand — there the ground, not inca- 
 pable of bearing good fruit, and there 
 were the tares also — and in that cold, 
 ungenial atmosphere, under the constant 
 harrowing of Sally Hunt's unhappy tem- 
 per, is it strange that the tares choked the 
 good seed, and the ground remained un- 
 fruitful ? 
 
 I did not forget Oliver. Night after 
 night I went to sleep with his little Bible 
 and the " Whale Book " beneath my 
 pillow (Mrs. Sally had burnt the " Twin 
 Lambs "), but it was easier to do this 
 than to keep my temper, and I gradually 
 grew discouraged, and lost all hope of 
 being good — almost all desire. 
 
 Sundays were our holidays. When 
 Ollie was gone there was no more read- 
 ing for me, no more telling stories, no 
 one to teach me to spell out words, and 
 these days were very long and lonely. The 
 words did not sound right when I spelled 
 them alone, and I could not look at our 
 old pictures forever. Mrs. Sally usu- 
 ally spent the day in cleaning up the 
 house, looking over her drawers and bun- 
 dles of pieces, bags of stockings, etc., 
 " putting things to rights generally," as 
 she expressed it. She never went to 
 church, but it occurred to me that I 
 might ; so, with a childish attempt at di- 
 plomacy, which betrayed its nature at the 
 outset, I asked her one day If Mrs. Smith 
 did not " go to meeting." 
 
 "Yes, I s'pose so." 
 
 " Why don't you go ? " 
 
 " Because I hain't got no seat. They've 
 took to selling the slips, and I ain't a 
 goin' to set with niggers and every thing. 
 I guess I'd be as able to buy a seat as 
 Nance Smith, if I had my rights ! " 
 
 She was nettinof seine for the fisheries 
 
16 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 at the Cove, and her needle flew like 
 lightning. 
 
 "I should like to go some time," I 
 said, after a pause. 
 
 "You would, would you? " — slacken- 
 ing her hand. "Who put that notion 
 into your head? " 
 
 Like all people of her stamp, she was 
 exceedingly jealous and suspicious. 
 
 " Nobody, ma'am. Ollie used to tell 
 me about going when he was a little boy, 
 and he wanted me to go. Mayn't I?" 
 
 " Yes, I guess you'd better, an' have 
 up prayers. If you're gettin' so mighty 
 pious, you'd better mind an' wind that 
 are twine a little evener. A pretty figger 
 you'd cut a gwine ter meetin' ! — not a 
 shoe to your foot, nor a decent rag to 
 your back ! They'd turn you out o' the 
 house." 
 
 I did not believe it. Ollie said God 
 did not mind about clothes ; vrhy should 
 the people at church care ? 
 
 To be sure, I had no decent shoes ; 
 the town provided such luxuries only for 
 winter, and mine were sadly worn by 
 May, but I had a blue-and-white calico 
 dress — the one I had worn to Ollie's fu- 
 neral — and a sunburnt straw bonnet, 
 with the bit of limp black crape across it, 
 which Mrs. Smith had put on when my 
 grandfather was buried. I took Mrs. 
 Hunt's words in earnest, and determined 
 to go. But, somehow, I did not like to 
 say any thing more to her about it ; so, 
 after taking a bath in the pond one pleas- 
 ant Sunday morning, I went to my gar- 
 ret, and spent nearly an hour in curling 
 my short locks and dressing myself before 
 the bit of looking-glass in the lid of the 
 box I had inherited among Ollie's treas- 
 ures. 
 
 Luckily for me, Tom Hunt had arrived 
 the evening before, and, as usual, there 
 was • som^ trouble between him and his 
 mother, or rather some trouble in which 
 he needed her aid. I heard talk of selling 
 the cow, and, finally, they went down 
 the lane toward the pasture. Then I 
 hurried on my bonnet, and took — ah. 
 
 what woman, who remembers her child- 
 hood, will not understand the tempta- 
 tion ! — an old green veil of Mrs' Sally's, 
 which was spread over some blankets in 
 my room, and hurried out of the house. 
 Then I made one more addition to ray 
 toilet. Mrs. Barnes's daughter, when she 
 came to our house about the weaving, 
 had flowers on her bonnet — why should 
 not I ? Especially as there were several 
 beautiful lilac-blossoms on the stunted 
 bush by the gate. I gathered one, pinned 
 it upon my bonnet, and struck across the 
 fields at a rapid pace. 
 
 The bell for the afternoon service 
 ceased ringing before I reached the 
 church, and, seeing no one about the 
 door, I was afraid to go in, so went and 
 sat down by Ollie's grave, for the grave- 
 yard, as is customary in some of our 
 country villages and towns, was close by 
 the church. At length, I saw a man go- 
 ing toward the church, and I hurried for- 
 ward that I might go in with him. He 
 did not see me, and I followed him in, 
 and up the middle aisle. My bare feet 
 made no noise, but the man's boots creaked 
 as none but the Sunday boots of some 
 respectable gentlemen can, and, although 
 the minister was at prayer, most of the 
 heads, especially of the younger portion 
 of the congregation, were turned to see 
 who entered, and, seeing me, continued 
 to gaze in astonishment. Some smiled 
 and whispered, and one or two little girls 
 giggled out when the man, turning to 
 fasten his slip-door, became aware of my 
 presence,^ and stood looking at nie in 
 blank surprise. I felt my cheeks glowing 
 from anger and mortification, and was 
 turning to run away, when the slip op- 
 posite was opened by a young lad, and 
 the lady within reached forward and 
 drew me in, and seated me by her side. 
 
 She did not look at me again until the 
 prayer was ended, then she quietly re- 
 moved the obnoxious bonnet with its veil 
 and flowers, and smoothe^'i my hair with 
 her ungloved hand. I thought it looked 
 like the apple-blossoms, it was so soft and 
 
PERSECUTION. 
 
 17 
 
 white, •when she opened a hymn-book and 
 held it out for me to take. I did not 
 know what the book was for, but I held 
 it as she did hers, until the minister 
 ceased to read, and the organist began a 
 soft prelude on the organ, when I dropped 
 it in my astonishment. I had never 
 heard any instrumental music before, and 
 I stretched back my neck as far as pos- 
 sible, to see whence the strains proceeded 
 that filled me with wonder and delight. 
 Suddenly I thought of Ollie and the 
 golden harps of the angels he used to 
 read about, and, before I knew it, the 
 tears began to come, and one or two had 
 fallen upon the lady's book, which I had 
 picked up mechanically and held in my 
 hand. I glanced at her in a great fright, 
 but she did iiot notice them, only put out 
 her haifd, closed the book, and fixed her 
 eyes upon the minister. My eyes fol- 
 lowed her eyes. I had seen the minister at 
 Ollie's funeral, and, though I understood 
 little that he said, I liked his face and 
 voice, and sat very still through the re- 
 mainder of the service, When it was 
 over, the lady put on ray bonnet, but the 
 lilac-blossom and veil were missing. She 
 waited until most of the congregation had 
 gone out, then took the veil, and, throw- 
 ing it over my shoulders, led me by the 
 hand down the aisle. 
 
 " "What made you cry? " she asked in 
 a low, pleasant voice, as we entered the 
 porch. 
 
 " It was thinkin' of Ollie, ma'am.'' 
 
 "Ollie! Who is he?" 
 
 "He's dead, ma'am, and that's his 
 grave yonder," I replied, pointing to the 
 portion of the graveyard where he lay. 
 
 "Aunty," said the lad by her side, 
 turning his bright, handsome face toward 
 her, " don't you remember that I told you 
 of seeing a lame boy and a little girl 
 down by the pond, when we were here 
 last summer ? This is the girl." 
 
 "And the boy is dead?" said the 
 lady, 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Where do you live? " 
 2 
 
 "With Sally Hunt at the pond." 
 
 " She isn't your mother ? " 
 
 " No ; I hain't got no mother." 
 
 "And your father — where is he? " 
 
 I hesitated, and she repeated the ques- 
 tion, and asked if he was dead. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am. I never see 
 him. Mrs. Sally allers says I'm a child 
 of Satan." 
 
 Her grave look checked the lad's ris- 
 ing smile, and she said, as kindly as be- 
 fore : 
 
 "You can tell me your name, at 
 least." 
 
 "Zerlina Day, ma'am, and," I added, 
 proud that there was any thing I could 
 tell her, " my grandfather is buried out 
 there, too." 
 
 She was silent a moment; then, see- 
 ing some of the people looking back at 
 us curiously, she led me toward the street, 
 saying : 
 
 "Do you know the place call Fern- 
 side Cottage ? " 
 
 " Mr. Eames's, ma'am — over the hill, 
 below Bill Williams's place? " 
 
 "Yes. We are staying there at pres- 
 ent. Will you ask the person you live 
 with to let you come there some day? I 
 shall be glad to see you." 
 
 I readily promised, and stood watch- 
 ing them until they turned the corner by 
 the store ; then, with one glance at Ollie's 
 grave, I hurried toward the pond. 
 
 But I did not return as light-hearted 
 as I had come. That veil troubled me. 
 I knew I had no right to take it. I. fan- 
 cied the lady knew this when she looked 
 at it so gravely. I feared to meet Mrs. 
 Sally's eye, and before I reached home I 
 took it from my shoulders and held it 
 behind me while I watched an opportu- 
 nity to get into the house unobserved. 
 Presently, I saw Mrs. Sally come out and 
 pass around the corner of the shed, and 1 
 ran through the gate, turned the corner 
 of the house and — met her face to face. 
 She had a long, lithe apple-tree sprout in 
 her hand, which she laid over my shoul- 
 ders vigorously. 
 
18 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 I had long since learned tlie useless- 
 ness of dodging, and, intent on concealing 
 the veil, I stood and took the lashes in 
 silence. 
 
 "There, madam! " she cried, as she 
 paused for breath, "next time you take 
 a notion to run away, you can have as 
 much more of the same sort ! " 
 
 "What was it moved me to hold out 
 the veil and confess my fault ? Was it 
 the kind lady's words, or poor, crippled 
 OUie's spirit pleading with me to choose 
 the right ? I don't know, hut I held it 
 forth, and said, as steadily as I could for 
 the pain : 
 
 "You said I might go, ma'am, only I 
 hadn't oughter took the veil ! " 
 
 " Took the veil, you good-for-nothing 
 little hussy ! What business had you to 
 even tech one o' my things ? " she cried, 
 as she jerked the veil out of my hand. 
 " Where've you been to ? " 
 
 "Tomeetin'!" 
 
 " Ter meetin' ! Ter meetin' ! In that 
 rig!" 
 
 " You said I might go, ma'am ! " 
 
 "It's a lie! I never said such a 
 word! " 
 
 " You did, ma'am. Yoasaid — " But 
 she dropped the switch, caught me by the 
 shoulders, and shook me until I had no 
 breath left for words. 
 
 "There! " she cried, as she pushed me 
 reeling toward the house, "tell me I lie, 
 will ye ! I guess you won't want ter go 
 to meetin' agin in a hurry. Into the 
 house with you ! " 
 
 " Hillo, old lady ! You seem to be 
 havin* a time of it ! What's the row ? " 
 and Tom Hunt's coarse face looked out of 
 the door. 
 
 " She's been ter meetin'. Ask her ! " 
 sneered the old woman. 
 
 " And this is a part of the blessin' — 
 the layin' on of hands, I s'pose, mother. 
 Well, you haven't forgot your old knack, 
 it seems. Some is whipped for goin' and 
 some for not goin', and it's all the same 
 in the long-run. But, Madam Parson, 
 supposin' you give us a piece of the ser- 
 
 mon ? " and he caught me by a lock of 
 hair, and drew me into the house. 
 
 "Nokickin', now. Your pious folks 
 never kick.'' 
 
 I did kick, and strike too. The good 
 spirit was gone. I could bear blows 
 from the mother, but neither the touch 
 nor the ridicule of the son ; and, jerking 
 away from him, I flung myself on the 
 floor and screamed v/ildly. 
 
 Is it any wonder that I did not make 
 known the kind lady's request ? Any 
 wonder that I did not keep my promise 
 to Ollie, but thought bad thoughts and 
 said bad words, until I almost deserved 
 the name which Tom Hunt gave me — 
 " little devil ! " Indeed, I should have 
 quite deserved it, if it had not been for 
 that one angel which God had set to 
 watch over me. He would not quite 
 leave me to myself. 
 
 Tom Hunt was much at home this 
 summer, and, very soon after the scene I 
 have described, it became necessary for 
 Mrs. Sally to go to New York. What to 
 do with me was the question. She would 
 not leave me alone in the house, and as 
 for having any one come there to stay 
 with me, that was out of the question — 
 she said she'd stay at home first. She 
 was always in a quarrel with the neigh- 
 bors, and happened to be " out " with 
 both Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Grant at this 
 time. I ventured, finally, to suggest go- 
 ing to the Cove. She caught at the idea. 
 Polly Maria had asked her to let me 
 come and see Adeline, and she'd send 
 down by Sam Grant, that very day, and 
 ask if they could have me for a few 
 days. 
 
 "Come and welcome,'' was the an- 
 swer, and I spent six days there — the 
 happy precursors of many more, before 
 the summer was over — days that fringe 
 Vi'lth light that most miserable period of 
 my life. How they come back to me 
 now, and the scenes that they enclose ! 
 There is the little, low, brown house, 
 stuck under the stee.p bank, like a swal- 
 low's nest beneath the eaves, originally a 
 
PERSECUTION. 
 
 19 
 
 fisherman's shanty, but enlarged and re- 
 paired bj Uncle Steve until it forms a 
 nice kitchen and two bedrooms, exclusive 
 of the bhed ; the wide-curving beach 
 stretching away for a mile or so, and 
 ending in hig-h, rocky points — the wet, 
 brown sand strewn with smooth varie- 
 gated pebbles, and " silver shells," and 
 large rocks cropping out here and there ; 
 an occasional fish-house, with its great 
 reel for drying the seine, its lazy, listless, 
 jolly occupants lounging upon the rocks, 
 waiting for signs of the coming prey — 
 the broad expanse of water, bounded by 
 the dim, distant outline of Long Island 
 — the restless, foara-capped waves that 
 came rolling in upon the beach, sending 
 their spray mockingly in our faces, as we 
 sit on the bench beside the door, each 
 chanting its part in the solemn, mystic 
 anthem, which goes up ceaselessly from 
 the heart of old ocean — weird, low notes, 
 caught up by the tall, dark pines on the 
 bank above the house, and wafted far in- 
 land to the ears of dreaming poet and 
 maiden — the fresh, glad breeze, symbol 
 of the Spirit of Grod, " that moveth on 
 the face of the waters," with health and 
 healing in its touch — and, best of all, the 
 simple, homely, loving hearts and faces 
 that met me there. 
 
 Tears ! well, let them come ! It is 
 much that the child of the almshouse has 
 memories which can call forth such as 
 these. 
 
 Uncle Gteve had been a sailor in his 
 younger d.iys, and I think he must have 
 garnered in his heart a large share of the 
 sunshine and warmth of those " furrin' 
 parts under the line," about which he 
 used to tell little Ad'line and me, for his 
 fund seemed inexhaustible. It could 
 thaw even the hard visage of Mrs. Sally, 
 and penetrate the husk of black melan- 
 choly in which his sister had ensconced 
 herself, for I soon found it was but a 
 husk (the result of a combination of high 
 Calvinism and bile), and I used often to 
 wonder why Uncle Steve never sent her 
 on a " v'yage across the line." But un- 
 
 derneath the husk was a fund of real 
 though undemonstrative kindness v/hich 
 neither the hard discipline of life nor her 
 hopeless temperament could petrify ; and, 
 although she looked upon us as "con- 
 ceived in iniquity and born in sin," she 
 was, practically, as tender of us as if we 
 had been angels. 
 
 They were such a contrast — the in- 
 mates of that cabin — my childish imagi- 
 nation was never tired of watching them. 
 One day, when Polly Maria was silently 
 stitcldng away on a red-flannel shirt for 
 Uncle Steve (he always wore red flannel, 
 and I used to think the color had some- 
 thing to do with his high complexion, 
 for I could hardly tell where the one 
 ended and the other began), I asked him 
 what made her always so sober. 
 
 He paused a moment from his work — 
 a lobster-car which he was weaving from 
 smooth lithe ash-splints — and, glancing 
 at her a moment through the open door- 
 way, said: 
 
 " Disap'inted ! " 
 
 "Disappointed! " I repeated, and, af- 
 ter maturely considering the meaning of 
 the word, I said: 
 
 "You wasn't ever disappointed, were 
 you, Uncle Steve?" 
 
 "Bless the child, no! " he returned, 
 laughing. " I never took to sech ways. 
 Howsomever, I s'pose it comes more 
 nateral to womankind than it does to us. 
 — Give me another splinter, Blackbird." 
 
 " How more natural ? " I asked, hand- 
 ing the long splint. 
 
 "Well, I dunno exactly — but I've 
 known lots on 'em to be so, though they 
 pretty ginerally picked up arter a While. 
 Then, you se?, Polly Maria has had trou- 
 ble." 
 
 "Trouble?" 
 
 " Yes, when she was a young gal she 
 broke off with Jim Dean, or Jim with 
 her, I never rightly know'd which, for I 
 was in the Aurory at the time, but it 
 don't matter which ; Jim, he went and 
 married Jane Toroner, an' Polly, arter 
 peakin' around a while, up an' married 
 
20 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Bill Stevens all ter once, as you may say. 
 I'd no perticular grudge toward Bill as I 
 knovv'd on, an' I don't want ter say hard 
 things about him; but he didn't turn out 
 well — took to drink, and 'bused her — a 
 woman ! An' now, you see, she has 
 trouble with me and Bluebird." 
 
 " With you ! O Uncle Steve J " 
 
 "Yes. Tou see I hain't been much 
 used to wimmen-folks's ways — I've got a 
 notion o' flingin' things about an' litterin' 
 up the room, an' it worrits her, I know 
 it does ; an' then, when I take Bluebird 
 off to the reef with me, an' it's a bit rough, 
 that worrits her. To be sure, these here 
 winds ain't the trades, an' a body can't 
 allers tell when they'll chop right about, 
 as I tell her." 
 
 " What's become of her husband ? " 
 
 "He's dead. Arter he died she took to 
 meetin's an' doctrines, an' I hoped she'd 
 light up a bit, but I don't see it yet, poor 
 woman ! " 
 
 Oh, what a kindly, affectionate glance 
 was that which he cast toward the dark, 
 silent woman! 
 
 I watched his stiff, clumsy fingers as 
 they wove, with geometrical precision, 
 the octagon- shaped apertures in the car, 
 until he had made two or three rounds, 
 when I resumed the conversation. 
 
 " Whose girl is Ad'line ? " 
 
 "Brother Joe's." 
 
 "Where's he?" 
 
 " Dead — knocked overboard in a hur- 
 ricane off St. Kitts." 
 
 " Were you with him ? " 
 
 "iSTo; I was on a whaliu'-v'yage ter 
 the Nor'west coast. When we got inter 
 port, his wife was dead, too, and Birdie 
 yonder" (liis eye glanced to where little 
 Ad'line sat on the bank above, beneath 
 the pines, tossing the dry cones down at 
 us) "was aleetle bit of a thing not bigger'n 
 a lobster and a'most as red as one biled. 
 So I got a woman to keep her, for Joe's 
 wife's mother had enough of her own ter 
 look after, an' went on a vy'age up the 
 Straits. When I got back she could run 
 alone. Polly's husband was dead, an' I 
 
 thought I'd give up the sea for a spell an' 
 make a berth for 'em on shore. I used 
 to lobster an' fish about here when I was 
 a shaver no bigger'n you, an' I know'd 
 I'd make both ends meet somehow, an' 
 so I have." 
 
 He set the car up, stepped back, shut 
 up one eye, and took a critical survey of 
 his work. 
 
 "She's a trifle lop-sided, Blackbird, 
 but we'll bring her np with the next 
 round, won't we ? " 
 
 " Yes. And you've never been to sea 
 since. Uncle Steve? " 
 
 " !N'o ; I'm allers talkin' about it, but 
 don't get away. Birdie'd be so lonesome, 
 for she (nodding toward his sister), 
 though mighty good in the main — wuth 
 a dozen o' me — can't be to her jist what 
 I've been — ^larnin' her to swim — playin' 
 porpoises, an' whales, an' bears, an' kan- 
 garoos. It ain't nateral she should, you 
 know." 
 
 *I said, " Of course not," though, upon 
 reflection, I did not see why, for, sitting 
 there, at her work, so upright and un- 
 bending, she bore far more resemblance 
 to a kangaroo, as delineated in Ad'line's 
 book, than I could possibly conceive of 
 Uncle Steve's attaining with his best ef- 
 fort, and I knew he never stopped short 
 of that. 
 
 This conversation opened an inex- 
 haustible topic between Uncle Steve and 
 me — that of whales. I told him about 
 OUie's book; and he would take little 
 Ad'line and me upon his knees, and tell 
 us stories about them, far more wonder- 
 ful than any contained in the book, and 
 go on to talk about the natyces of the 
 Northwest coast, and bring out his fa- 
 vorite book, the " !N'arrative of John E. 
 Jewett," who was cast away in the re- 
 gion of Nootka Sound.. (he had but one 
 other besides his Bible and Almanac, 
 viz., an " Account of Eemarkable Ship- 
 wrecks "), and refresh his memory w^ith 
 regard to their peculiar habits. 
 
 I seem to see him now, reading the 
 title-page, slowly pointing with his finger 
 
PERSECUTION. 
 
 21 
 
 along tlie lines, and the expression of 
 honest confidence and satisfaction in his 
 face and voice when he came to the 
 couplet which served for motto to the 
 book : 
 
 " Dire scenes of hon-or on a savage shore, 
 Of which, a mtncss sad, a part I bore." 
 
 " That's truth, every word on't, for 
 IVe been there myself, an' know all 
 about it ; an', what's more, I've seen the 
 man himself, an' bought this ere book of 
 him. If you are goin' ter buy books, 
 Birdies, it's a good plan to buy them as 
 you know to be true." 
 
 Then, perhaps, to our great delight, 
 he would finish by giving ns, in a voice 
 as hoarse as the winds of that region, a 
 song purporting to be an authentic ac- 
 count of the dreadful massacre perpe- 
 trated by those savages — 
 
 " On board the North America, at anchor as she lay, 
 In Queen Charlotte's harbor, Nor'west America." 
 
 I have heard some famous voices since, 
 but I doubt if I ever enjoyed any singing 
 as I did that ! 
 
 I do not know why I should single out 
 this particular day from all those happy 
 ones, but in all the after-years the mem- 
 ory of this stood out with vivid distinct- 
 ness — Uncle Steve and myself in front 
 of the open shed-door ; little Ad'line on 
 the bank above, her fair hair lifted by 
 the sea-breeze, laughing so gleefully when 
 one of her light missiles fell close to our 
 feet ; was it because I was to see her lie 
 there, one day, so white and still — so 
 very stiU — when no breeze stirred her 
 hair, and there was no sound of laughter 
 — not even of woods — only a low, hushed 
 sobbing to mingle with the solemn re- 
 quiem of the pines ! But I must not an- 
 ticipate. 
 
 In spite of Polly Maria's fears, we 
 were often off with Uncle Steve to the 
 reef to look after his lobster-pots or to 
 throw our lines for the rock-fish that fre- 
 quented those waters. We had our hooks 
 and lines carefully prepared for us, and 
 no mother threaded needles for her little 
 
 daughters with more unwearied patience 
 than Uncle Steve showed in baiting our 
 hooks and disentangling our lines from 
 among the rocks and sea-weeds. We 
 had but one order — we must not talk; 
 talking " scart the fish." When we grew 
 restless under this rule, he would bid us 
 run to the other end of tlie island and 
 "slacken our tongues a bit," or leave us 
 rocking in the boat, while he went a 
 little distance and fished from the rocks. 
 
 On one of these occasions I bound his 
 heart to me forever, even if my friend- 
 lessness had not done it before. He was 
 only a few rods distant, on the opposite 
 side of the rocky point, where our boat 
 was moored, when little Ad'line, in reach- 
 ing after a bit of floating sea-weed, lost 
 her balance and fell into the sea. I do 
 not think she would have drowned, the 
 boat was so near she must have caught it 
 when she came up, but I, who could 
 swim like a duck (thanks to my experi- 
 ments in the pond), was over after her in 
 an instant, and had one arm about her, 
 and one hand on the edge of the boat, 
 when Uncle Steve came in sight on the 
 rocks above. He dropped his line, and 
 the great fish dangling at the end slipped 
 back into the water, taking the tackle 
 after him, while he sprang to my aid. 
 He drew us into the boat, and, taking us 
 in his arms, carried ns up the rocks with- 
 out a word. Then he held us close to 
 his breast, and choked, and choked, as 
 if something "ivere in his throat, and he 
 turned away his head, but not before I 
 saw the tears standing in his eyes. 
 
 I was never " town poor " there. I 
 was "Blackbird," and treated just as 
 kindly as little Ad'line herself; only, if 
 Uncle Steve petted her a little more, it 
 was because, as he once said, in a half- 
 apologetic tone : 
 
 "She'd allers been such a little mite 
 of a thing an' needed broodin' so much ; " 
 and, though by that very remark he un- 
 consciously showed that he felt the es- 
 sential difference in our characters, he 
 never permitted that to influence him 
 
RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 further, and if we had been birds, indeed, 
 he could not have treated us more ten- 
 derly or been more thoughtful of our 
 comfort. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A CHANGE FOE THE EETTEE. 
 
 But, behind these glints of sunshine, 
 lies the dark, dreary background of my 
 life at Sally Hunt's ; made drearier than 
 ever this summer, by the fact that, in 
 some way, she had become involved in 
 Tom's affairs, and found herself compelled 
 to raise, upon short notice, what was for 
 her quite a large sum of money. More- 
 over, the minister, Mr. Brae, probably re- 
 minded of my existence by my appearance 
 at church that Sunday, had been making 
 inquiries about me, particularly as to 
 why I was not sent to school; and, 
 between her trouble about the money, 
 and indignation at.the minister's " impu- 
 dence," her temper became unbearable., 
 I learned of this interference incidentally, 
 by " twits and flings," for she never told 
 me any thing that concerned myself 
 directly, and I knew, by the way she 
 drove me at my work, that she meant 
 to get as much out of me as possible, 
 fearing that something might come from 
 these inquiries. To me, any change 
 would have been most welcome. 
 
 It was coming, but from quite a differ- 
 ent source than that which she feared. 
 
 On her return from New York, she 
 had brought a lot of (what seemed to me) 
 very nice clothing, though some of the ar- 
 ticles, were exceedingly dirty and " hogged 
 out," as she expressed it, .which had 
 been given her by Tom's wife. Among 
 these things was a bit of thread lace so 
 delicate and fine, that I was never tired 
 of looking at it, though I did not dare to 
 touch it. She intended it for a cap, and 
 put it out upon the grass with some other 
 things to bleach. Some time in August, 
 she had occasion to look for the lace, and 
 could not find it. She searched the 
 
 house thoroughly, but without success, 
 and then remembering, I suppose, my 
 special admiration for it, charged me 
 with stealing it. Of course I denied the 
 charge, and — but why stain this fair page 
 with a detail of what followed ? Heaven 
 knows I have no pleasure in recalling 
 scenes like this, but I must take account 
 of all the circumstances and influences 
 that have moulded me into what I am. 
 
 You can readily guess what it was — 
 rage and violence, strength and injustice 
 on one side — wild passion, scorn and 
 defiance on the other, and I do not know 
 how the conflict would have ended, for I 
 would have died before I would have ad- 
 mitted the truth of the charge, and she 
 believed it her "bounden duty to whip 
 the lie out of me," if it had not been for 
 the appearance of old Sam Grant. 
 
 He was employed about some small 
 job for her, and, hearing the fray, came 
 to see what it was about. 
 
 I think he pitied me and tried to in- 
 tercede in my behalf — but she never lis- 
 tened to other people or deferred punish- 
 ment on account of their presence. But, 
 when he finally comprehended the cause 
 of the trouble, his face brightened at once. 
 
 "Lord bless me. Miss Sally, I'll bet 
 I'll find that are stuff in a minute ! If 
 my eyes sarved me, I seed it yesterday 
 built into that are robin's nest in the old 
 apple-tree yonder. I remember lookin' 
 at it, but didn't think 'twas of any 'count." 
 
 He returned in a few seconds, with 
 the bird's nest in his hand, and, woven in 
 among the sticks and straivs, was the 
 piece of lace for which my body and soul 
 were still smarting, but so mildewed 
 from exposure as to be good for noth- 
 ing. 
 
 I was innocent, and old Sam gave me 
 a look of triumph. Mrs. Hunt did not 
 acknowledge her error or apologize ; she 
 merely began a tirade about the wicked- 
 ness of town-poor children, and myself 
 in particular, which I did not stay to hear. 
 With a burning feeling of anger, hatred, 
 and degradation in my heart, I fled from 
 
A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. 
 
 23 
 
 the house to the pond, and, throwing my- 
 self upon the ground, gave way to a pas- 
 ■ sionate flood of tears. I do not know 
 how long I had lain there, bat I was still 
 sobbing in the spasmodic way common to 
 children when grief has nearly exhausted 
 itself, when some one addressed me, and, 
 raising my head, I saw a lady and gentle- 
 man standing near me. 
 
 I sat up and stared. The lady asked 
 questions in a high^ falsetto tone, and the 
 gentleman eyed me fixedly. 
 
 " Give the child time to recover her- 
 self. Cousin Agnes. "We have taken her 
 by surprise," he said; and there was 
 something in his voice, and the way he 
 spoke, that helped to quiet me far more 
 then the lady's words. 
 
 Presently he took me by the shoulder, 
 and, raising me up, said : 
 
 "Now, tell the lady what you are cry- 
 ing for." I did tell her, and he listened 
 quietly, occasionally glancing at the lady, 
 to check, as I thought, her frequent ex- 
 clamations of pity. 
 
 " You are sure you have told the 
 truth? " he said, sternly, as I finished my 
 tale. 
 
 " To be sure she has. Cousin Ealph. 
 Don't be so suspicious ! " cried the lady. 
 
 " Let her answer for herself, if you 
 please, Agnes! " 
 
 " Yes, sir. You may ask Sam Grant. 
 I never touched the lace ; 'twas the old 
 robin ! " I said, indignantly, for I read dis- 
 trust and suspicion in his keen glance. 
 
 "I shall not take that trouble," he 
 replied, with a smile. " I believe you. 
 What is your name ? " 
 
 " Zerlina Day, sir." 
 
 " But what makes you live with that 
 odious woman ? " broke in the lady. 
 "Why don't your friends take you 
 away ? " 
 
 " Hain't got no friends, ma'am. I'm 
 town poor." 
 
 Whether my words destroyed any lit- 
 tle romance the lady had been weaving 
 about me, I cannot say, but she sudden- 
 ly removed her hand from my shoulder, 
 
 and even the end of her scarf, which 
 touched my dress. This movement did 
 not escape the quick eye of her compan- 
 ion, and it brought a smile to his lips, 
 that did not make his face half so pleas- 
 ant as the one he had given me a mo- 
 ment before. 
 
 " A capital illustration of the subject 
 of our discussion, dear cousin," he began 
 — " a proof of that high state of moral 
 and religious development with which 
 you have been striving to impress me 
 during our walk; quite providential, I 
 should say, for this poor little wretch'fi 
 daily life is a gauge which shows just 
 how much that development or culture, 
 or whatever you please to call it, amounts 
 to. The people of this town, I presume, 
 are a fair sample of humanity, in this nine- 
 teenth century ; moral, well educated, 
 intelligent, and pious, as the world goes. 
 Let any millionnaire offer them a sum of 
 money, for a course of lectures, or for 
 founding a library, a school, or for any 
 benevolent purpose, how gladly they 
 would receive it ; how unanimous would 
 be the vote of thanks, and how scrupu- 
 lously they would carry out the condi- 
 tions imposed by the donor ! But here 
 is a child, an heir of immortality, as your 
 faith and mine teaches, endowed with 
 powers that make it little lower than the 
 angels ; passions and affections that will 
 — nay, must even here, on earth — make 
 its future a heaven or hell, bequeathed to 
 them by their professed Master, in the 
 memorable words, ' The poor always ye 
 have with you ! ' and what do they do 
 with it? Accept — ^no, endure it as a 
 burden — put it out to live with some 
 Sally Hunt at the lowest starvation price, 
 and then go to church and thank God 
 they are not like other men, left to bow 
 down to " stocks of wood or stone ! '* 
 Talk to me of my rationalism, Agnes! 
 It is better to believe in any thing, if it 
 be a reality, like this piece of granite, 
 then to be a professed humbug ! " 
 
 "You always have such a queer Avay 
 of putting things, Ealph, that there is no 
 
24 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 use in arguing witli you. Your long resi- 
 dence abroad has made you so unprac- 
 tical ! " said the lady, impatiently. "But 
 this poor child — what can we do for her ? " 
 
 Again that peculiar smile lighted up 
 his dark face, as he said : 
 
 "If the Baltic were not going to sail 
 on Saturday, I^ try to be a little practi- 
 cal for once, and relieve your mind by 
 looking after the child myself." 
 
 " You ! You are joking, Ealph." 
 
 " No, I am not. Why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; only it seems so queer 
 to think of your troubling yourself with 
 a child." 
 
 " There are a great many queer things 
 in this world, cousin, and it is very true 
 that I have had little to do with children. 
 But, however highly I may think of the 
 Eastern custom that transfers superfluous 
 female infants to the arms of Father Gan- 
 ges, in comparison with sonie of the fea- 
 tures of our much-boasted pauper-system, 
 I should not quite venture to put it in 
 practice in this case. If I had the time, 
 I presume, I could find some decent 
 woman who, for love and money, would 
 treat her kindly, at least as kindly as I 
 do' my dogs, which seems not to have 
 been her fate heretofore," he said, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Indeed, I always said you had a 
 good, kind heart at bottom, Ealph." 
 
 " It's a family trait, I'm sure, for I 
 was just thinking the same thing of you, 
 Agnes, and, therefore, was about to pro- 
 pose that you should take her yourself. 
 You will then have something to occupy 
 you — something to love, the lack of which 
 you were lamenting not long since — an 
 object- in life — ^the great need of your sex. 
 And, look here, cousin " — he caught my 
 head in his hands, and turned it toward 
 the lady — " there is something here that 
 wiU pay better than crochet or embroid- 
 ery. Wilful, fiery, I should say, but ca- 
 pable of being wrought into a noble 
 character, and finely tempered. Will 
 you try it, cousin ? " 
 
 " I wonder I did not think of it my- 
 
 self, Ealph. It will be, indeed, a delight- 
 ful task to mould that plastic mind after 
 one's highest ideal; to watch it as it 
 expands beneath the hand to perfect 
 symmetry and grace, like the statue un- 
 der the chisel of the artist, and to feel 
 that it is the work of one's own hand ! " 
 cried the lady, enthusiastically. 
 
 "An occupation worthy of the an- 
 gels, or — woman," he returned, gravely; 
 " but you must remember that the artist 
 finds no perfect block. The material will 
 prove more or less flawed, and you must 
 not expect too much. You will doubtless 
 take with her a great increase of care, 
 responsibility, and disappointment. But 
 we all have to creep before we can walk, 
 unless it be some such favored mortal as 
 yourself, cousin" — and his lip curled 
 with a mischievous expression — " and I 
 have faith in your ultimate success. 
 What I recall of my own childhood leads 
 me to think that those who have the care 
 of children often, unconsciously, nullify 
 their most earnest eflfbrta by indirect 
 influence. What are you laughing at, 
 Agnes ? " 
 
 "How can I help it? To hear you 
 talk, one would suppose you a gvoNQ pater- 
 familias, and not a confirmed old bach- 
 elor. Excuse the adjective, cousin — it 
 slipped out unawares. But I know so 
 little about children." 
 
 "Trust to your womanly instincts, 
 Agnes, and you cannot fail — that is, if 
 you decide to accept this gift from God." 
 
 " Ealph, I wish you would leave 
 ofi" that irreverent way of speaking." 
 
 Another comical expression glimpsed 
 over his face as the lady turned to me 
 and asked : 
 
 " Would yon like to go and live with 
 me, child ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "And will you promise to be very 
 good, and — " 
 
 "Enough, Agnes! Don't begin by 
 making the child promise impossibilities. 
 — Zerlina ! " I started at the deep, firm 
 tone — " this lady will give you a pleasant 
 
A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. 
 
 25 
 
 home ; she -will be kind to you, and will 
 teach you to he a good and useful woman. 
 What can you do in return? " 
 
 " I can try to he as good as I can, sir." 
 
 " And love me ? " added the lady. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Very well. — Are you satisfied, Ag- 
 nes ? " 
 
 " Yes ; hut how are we to man- 
 age ? I can never face that odious Hunt 
 womau." 
 
 " It is not necessary. I will arrange 
 the business with the proper authorities 
 this afternoon." Then, turning to me, 
 he added : " You had best go home now, 
 and mind and keep your own counsel. 
 Do you understand ? " — seeing my puz- 
 zled look. 
 
 "No, sir. I don't know just what 
 * counsel ' means." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, then! I sup- 
 pose you understand that ? " he replied, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Yes, sir. That's what Granny Hunt 
 allers tells me." 
 
 " Well, obey, then, until you see me." 
 
 He drew the lady's arm through his, 
 and they took the path through the 
 woods in the direction of the beach. I 
 watched them until they were hidden by 
 the trees. Was it a dream ? Would I 
 really live in some other place ? What 
 would Ollie think? I looked up to the 
 blue sky, flecked with white, fleecy clouds, 
 as if I expected to see his face looking 
 down upon me, with the old, pleasant 
 smile brighter than ever at my good for- 
 tune. He had told me that heaven " was 
 away up beyond the clouds ; " and often, 
 sitting on the hot, still hills, amid the 
 whortleberry-bushes, I had paused from 
 my labor, and, looking up to the yet 
 stiller sky, had thought how easy it would 
 be for him to look down on me there. 
 
 Then I thought of my new friends — of 
 the lady. Her face was pretty, the features 
 small, delicate, and regular, but it had a 
 kind of wilted look, like my water-lilies 
 when I held them too long in my hand, 
 or laid them in the sun for any length of 
 
 time. Her eyes were blue, and her light- 
 brow^n hair, arranged in long, loose ring- 
 lets, was mingled with a profusion of blue 
 ribbon that ornamented the inside of her 
 straw bonnet. She was younger than 
 and not so pale as the lady I had met at 
 church ; her dress was more fashionable, 
 but, somehow, I did not like her so well. 
 I rather preferred the gentleman, at least 
 when he smiled. I thought, from his 
 dark, sunburnt face, his firm tones, and 
 decided manner, he must be one of 
 those " bold, brave captains " that Uncle 
 Steve sung about. This thought suddenly 
 brought to my mind the probability of 
 my being separated from my friends at 
 the Cove ; and I was sorry I did not ask 
 if I might not sometimes go to see them ; 
 and, last of all, I remembered Sally Hunt, 
 and oh, how I did long to tell her ! Had 
 the gentleman desired to try my power 
 of self-control, he could not have selected 
 a better test. 
 
 She was in rather better humor than 
 usual when I entered the house. She 
 took no notice of my long absence, nei- 
 ther did she make any reference to the 
 affair of the morning. The road upon 
 which we lived was little travelled, and 
 no one passed that day but John Wilford 
 with a flock of sheep. And I went to 
 my garret that night with a sadder heart 
 than ever, for, until that day, I had really 
 never hoped. 
 
 I was on my knees next morning, 
 scrubbing the kitchen-floor, when I heard 
 the sound of wheels rapidly approaching, 
 and, dropping my brush, I sprang up and 
 ran to the window. The carriage had 
 passed the corner of the house, but I 
 knew it had stopped, and my heart 
 seemed to stop beating also. 
 
 A thump on my head, from the yard- 
 stick with which Granny Hunt was 
 measuring cloth, set it in motion again. 
 
 "What are you starin' at, you fool! 
 'Tain't nobody arter you, I guess ! " 
 
 " I guess 'tis ! " I cried, triumphantly, 
 for, spite of her reminder, I had main- 
 tained my position and had caught sight 
 
26 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 of Squire G and my new friend, as 
 
 they came round the corner of the house, 
 for no one ever thought of entering by 
 the front door. 
 
 "ITo so good news as that!" she 
 muttered, as she rose and began to 
 gather up the scattered threads that had 
 fallen from her cloth, for she too had 
 seen them. 
 
 They soon undeceived her. She v/as 
 too wilful to manifest any surprise when 
 
 Mr. G went on to say that a lady, 
 
 distinguished for her benevolence and 
 many excellent qualities, Miss Agnes La- 
 throp, wished to adopt the child, Zerlina 
 Day. The town authorities, satisfied 
 that it was for the good of the child, had 
 consented, on condition that she should 
 not again become a charge to this place. 
 The necessary papers had been signed, 
 and he had come to give the child into 
 the hands of Ealph Annesley, Esq., etc. 
 
 Mr. G seemed in high spirits ; he 
 
 called me to him, patted me on the head, 
 hoped I would " be a good girl, and not 
 form bad habits." 
 
 All the while Mr. Annesley sat listen- 
 ing, with that queer smile curving his 
 lips. 
 
 It takes but little time to pack the 
 wardrobe of a pauper. And, with one 
 lingering glance at the old picture on the 
 wall and the corner where Ollie's bed 
 used to stand, I followed my old mistress 
 down, with my bundle in my hand. 
 
 " The lady '11 find all her things clean, 
 an' the young un knows how to keep 
 'em so, if she's a mind ter," said Mrs. 
 Hunt. 
 
 " Is the child honest ? " said Mr. An- 
 nesley, turning suddenly to her, and ad- 
 dressing her for the first time. 
 
 "It's plaguey little you know about 
 young uns if you don't know that the 
 best on 'em'll bear watchin'," she re- 
 plied sharply. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Hunt!" began Squire 
 
 G ; but Mr. Annesley motioned him 
 
 to be still, and, fixing his keen gray eyes 
 upon Mrs. Hunt, said : 
 
 " Did this child ever steal from yon? ' 
 
 "I never gin her a chance. I've 
 dealt with the likes of 'em too long for 
 that, I hope ! " 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. A^nnesley, I can assure 
 you we have never had any complaints 
 of that nature about this child," inter- 
 rupted Mr. G — -, nervously. " I think 
 she bids fair^o make a useful member of 
 society ; she can hardly fail of doing so, 
 under the training of your accomplished 
 relative. There are, it strikes me," he 
 went on tapping my forehead with his 
 fat finger, "capabilities here — compari- 
 son large, you see, causality fair — and 
 capabilities, as I tell my wife, must mako 
 themselves felt, sooner or later, sir." 
 
 Oh, what an excellent thing is faith! 
 Especially in a town magistrate. It was 
 this conviction, I suppose, that reconciled 
 Squire G and his respectable con- 
 freres to leaving me to take my first les- 
 sons under the tuition of Granny Hunt ! 
 
 " Certainly, sir — in one way or the 
 other," said Mr. Annesley, dryly, as he 
 took my hand to lead me out. "We were 
 followed by the town magnate ; and, 
 from the carriage, in which Mr. Annes- 
 ley placed me, I caught the last glimpse 
 of Granny Hunt's froze-and -thawed vis- 
 age, peeping at us from behind the paper 
 shades in her spare room. 
 
 We drove to the village, and stopped 
 at a house near the church ; where, with 
 a request to be " as quick as possible," to 
 the woman who met us at the door, Mr. 
 Annesley left me. The woman took me 
 into a back room, where another woman, 
 with her foot on a bonnet-block and her 
 mouth full of pins, sat sewing; but I no- 
 where saw the pretty, faded face of my 
 lady friend. I soon understood that I 
 had been left there for new dresses. The 
 woman tried on several of pretty prints 
 and muslin, with frequent injunctions not 
 to drop my shoulders in ihat way, or 
 draw in my breath, while they both plied 
 me with questions as to who the person 
 was with whom I was going to live, and 
 where I was going, with a kind of run- 
 
A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER. 
 
 27 
 
 ning commentary upon the condition of 
 town paupers generally, while the pins, 
 though they thickened her speech some- 
 what, seemed to be not the slightest im- 
 pediment. 
 
 I knew absolutely nothing about my 
 new friends or my destination, and, there- 
 fore, could give them no satisfactory in- 
 formation, and was glad when Mr. An- 
 nesley returned and put an end to their 
 questions. He spoke a few seconds with 
 the woman, paid her some money, and, 
 quite unmindful of her voluble thanks 
 and hopes that " the lady would be satis- 
 fied — the fit was quite wonderful, seeing 
 it was all guess-work " — he stalked out of 
 the room and deposited me and the large 
 package which the woman handed him 
 in the carriage, without so much as giv- 
 ing one look at my pretty new dress. 
 
 We took the road to the beach, a 
 small hamlet overlooked by a large hotel 
 and several boarding-houses, much fre- 
 quented by lovers of sea-food and sea- 
 breezes. Mr. Annesley did not speak, 
 but, with slackened reins, let the horse 
 plod on at its own gait, while I, proud of 
 my new clothes — prouder still of the as- 
 tonishing fact that I was actually riding 
 in a real carriage — looked down upon the 
 people on foot or in open wagons whom 
 we passed, with an exceedingly self-satis- 
 fied feeling, until, in smoothing out the 
 folds of my dress-skirt, I let OUie's little 
 japanned trunk, which, as the most valu- 
 able of my possessions, I carried in my 
 hand, slip to the floor of the vehicle, and 
 a sidewise lurch sent it to the ground. 
 
 "Oh, stop — please, do stop! " I cried, 
 attempting to follow it. 
 
 He caught hold of my dress, and 
 asked what I had dropped. 
 
 "OUie's little trunk, sir. Please let 
 me get out ! " which I did as soon as he 
 checked the horse. 
 
 " And what precious valuables is that 
 tin box supposed to contain? " he asked, 
 as he helped me back to my seat by his 
 side. 
 
 I had a fancy that he was laughing at 
 
 j mo, and answered timidly, "Books and — 
 and things, sir." 
 
 " Books and things " — a woman's an- 
 swer. I felt quite sure he was laughing 
 at me now, for that queer smile gathered 
 round his mouth as he muttered : 
 
 " A special subject for Agnes's literary 
 mania — so much the better. "What books, 
 child?" 
 
 " OUie's Bible, that his mother gave 
 him, and the ' Whale Book,' sir. It's 
 got a picture of the very one that swal- 
 lowed Jonah," I said, eagerly. 
 
 "Authentic, no doubt. But who is 
 Ollie?" 
 
 I told him about him, and was still 
 talking when we drove up to the " Man- 
 sion House." He lifted me out and led 
 me across the piazza to a parlor, where 
 there was quite a party of ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, among whom I quickly recog- 
 nized Miss Agnes. She ran forward to 
 meet us, very much as little Adeline 
 Leete might have done, and, taking my 
 hand, presented me to the company as 
 her protegee^ saying something very pret- 
 ty about "a waif cast up by the sea," 
 which I did not then comprehend. Then 
 she related my story, or I supposed she 
 was talking about me, for she repeated 
 my name and Mrs. Hunt's, but I was 
 puzzled to recognize myself through the 
 romantic covering in which her imagina- 
 tion clothed me. Of course every one 
 praised her " benevolence," etc. — all but 
 Mr. Annesley, who stood with his back 
 to the company, looking out of the win- 
 dow, and when he turned round he 
 looked decidedly cross. 
 
 In a few hours we were on our way 
 to New Haven, and, tired as my eyes 
 were, from looking at every object to be 
 seen through the car-window, and half- 
 blinded with dust, I could not help gaz- 
 ing with delight at that beautiful city. I 
 had never seen any place larger than 
 Bradshaw before, and the elegant houses, 
 the elm-arched streets, the high bluffs 
 rising like sentinels on either side, the 
 long semicircle of undulating green hills 
 
28 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 in the background, made me think of 
 the paradise of which Ollie used to tell 
 me, and this child's fancy clings to me 
 still. God's blessing on every leaf of 
 those noble elms that shade alike the 
 weary and the light-hearted ! 
 
 Here, Mr. Annesley left us to take 
 the boat for New York, whence he was 
 to sail for the East. He did not tell 
 me when he left that I must be a good 
 girl and love my protectress ; perhaps he 
 thought the ladies at the beach had im- 
 pressed that duty upon my mind suffi- 
 ciently ; he only shook ray hand and said 
 " Good-by, my girl," in a pleasant voice, 
 and, turning to Miss Agnes, added some- 
 thing about having as much patience with 
 me as she would have with a Choctaw or 
 a Chinese. 
 
 Next morning, before we left, Miss 
 Agnes took me to Miss Ford's, on Chapel 
 Street, to select a new hat. Shall I ever 
 forget that pretty, English straw, with 
 its wreath of rose-buds, and the many 
 times she had occasion to caution me 
 "not to crush them," in my eagerness to 
 see every thing from the stage-coach 
 windows, on our way to her home in 
 Chester wood ? 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 MY NEW MISTEESS. 
 
 These are many of the progeny of 
 Eeuben yet living, and my new friend 
 was a true daughter of this line. Kind, 
 unselfish, generous, and impulsive, she 
 had little firmness, and no self-reliance. 
 Moreoverj she was surrounded by a large 
 circle of intimate friends, who claimed 
 the right to criticise her for burdening 
 herself with the care of a child, who 
 " belonged to nobody," and to advise her 
 as to the best method to be pursued in 
 bringing her up, and, par conseqxience^ 
 when I left her, at the end of four years, 
 she had never quite decided how or for 
 
 what station in life I was to be edu- 
 cated. 
 
 Yet she prided herself greatly on her 
 method, which consisted in carefully 
 writing out, in her delicate "Italian 
 hand," a set of rules for the employment 
 of my time (she having decided to teach 
 me herselt), and the regulation of my 
 conduct for every hour in the day, and 
 hanging them up over the mantel-piece 
 in her small sitting-room, which hence- 
 forth was called the "study." 
 
 It did not take long for me, child as 
 I was, to discern that, whenever these 
 rules interfered with her business ^r 
 pleasure, they were set aside, and I very 
 naturally followed her example. It need 
 hardly be said I was a poor scholar for 
 my age. I found no difficulty in learn- 
 ing any thing that was taught orally, and 
 easily understood the principles involved 
 when familiarly explained (at least I did 
 in after-years, and suppose I might then), 
 but I detested saying things off by rote, 
 without changing or missing a word of 
 the text, and this was Miss Agnes's idea 
 of a perfect lesson. Yery sore were my 
 trials with English grammar and arith- 
 metic under this system, and very sore 
 my heart too, for I almost always failed, 
 and was sent away in disgrace with the 
 tearful reproach, which cut me far deeper 
 than had Mrs. Sally's blows, that I did 
 not love her, or I would not try her pa- 
 tience thus. 
 
 I (lid love her, but I should have 
 loved her better, more spontaneously, if 
 my obligations to do so had not been so 
 continually kept before me by herself 
 and others, while no one ever seemed to 
 think of my need of love. I have no 
 desire to make a special plea for myself 
 — I know what I was then ; and, many a 
 time since, I have gone down on my 
 knees and prayed that the errors and 
 sins of that period of my life might be 
 forgiven. But there was one thing of 
 which neither Miss Agnes nor her friends 
 took sufficient account — the half-savage 
 life I had hitherto led, and my utter ig- 
 
MY NEW MISTRESS. 
 
 29 
 
 norance of the common forms and usages 
 of society. Especially was this true 
 .of the first months of ray residence with 
 her, when I was expected to " behave 
 like a lady " when presented to her nu- 
 merous friends and acquaintances ; not to 
 "wriggle or twist " my body, or cross my 
 limbs, "like a vulgar, ill-bred child," and 
 to be very careful not to tumble my mis- 
 tress's collar or hair when I kissed her 
 upon entering or leaving the room, which 
 was one of the established rules. 
 
 Of coursej I failed — but I think my 
 eagerness to please her was as often the 
 cause of my failure as my awkwardness, 
 and poor Miss Agnes felt my gaucherie 
 as keenly as if her own reputation was 
 at stake. And indeed it was, for each 
 of her friends claimed the right to criti- 
 cise her action in adopting me, and there 
 is no tribunal like that to be found among 
 one's friends and relatives in a country 
 town or village. 
 
 Chesterwood was in a sort of tran- 
 sition state at this time. Formerly, a 
 wealthy agricultural town, its wide 
 green common was set round with large, 
 heavily-timbered, roomy old mansions, 
 with gardens and " home lots " behind 
 them — the homes of wealthy farmers, 
 who drove out, as their fathers had be- 
 fore them, daily, to their farms amid the 
 hills. 
 
 They were strongly conservative, and 
 as aristocratic, in their way, as any 
 Guelph that ever filled a throne, making 
 it a point of conscience to patronize the 
 same lawyer, doctor, minister, and store- 
 keeper, . year after year, without a 
 thought of change. But they lived in 
 the nineteenth century, and the introduc- 
 tion of the steam-engine changed the 
 whole aspect of the town, and gave a 
 new tone to the life of thought there. 
 There had sprung up within a few years 
 a class of men, chiefly mechanics, upon 
 whom the members of the old regime 
 had been wont to look with a friendly, 
 patronizing air, with views broader and 
 deeper than their purses, to be sure, but 
 
 active-brained, enthusiastic, busy-handed, 
 whose keen eyes detected at once the 
 available power of the beautiful streams 
 that laced the fine old township with 
 their silver threads ; who bought privi- 
 leges, cut channels, built dams, dug 
 flumes, put up machinery, set hundreds 
 of hands to work, and lo ! at the west 
 end of the old town there sprang up the 
 pretty village of Biibbleton, so named in 
 honor of the senior partner of the firm 
 of Bubble & Hum, to whose enterprise 
 the village owed its existence — or, in tlie 
 words of Orville A. Grindwell, Esq., the 
 talented young lawyer who had taken 
 up his residence there, it had "sprung, 
 Minerva-like, from his brain." 
 
 Squire Gaines, who belonged to the 
 old town and visited at Miss Agnes's, said 
 that the crop had exhausted the soil, with 
 how much truth I cannot say. But I 
 know that the old regime looked down 
 upon the place as a sort of Jonah's gourd, 
 and prophesied for it a like fate, and, for 
 a time, their prophecies seemed likely to 
 prove true, for the first attempts failed, 
 a fate nowise uncommon in the history 
 of manufactures, but, like the giant An- 
 taeus, every time they touched the ground 
 they gathered new strength, until they 
 became firmly established, and the manu- 
 facturing interest was in the ascendant. 
 There were new stores, schools, lawyers, 
 doctors allopathic, homoeopathic, botan- 
 ic, dentists, etc., etc., and a new church 
 with a spire far overtopping the old one, 
 and a new minister. The majority of 
 the townspeople soon felt their interests 
 to be identified with the new movement, 
 but a few, the most aristocratic of- the 
 old regime^ wrapped about them that 
 mantle of family pride, to the preserva- 
 tion of which the air of certain localities 
 in !N"ew England seems peculiarly favor- 
 able, and kept on " the even tenor of 
 their way " with unabated dignity. 
 
 In most of these families, there were 
 one or more unmarried daughters, not, as 
 I can well believe, for lack of opportuni- 
 ty, for several of them must have been 
 
30 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 very pretty in their youth, but chiefly 
 because, their circle being limited, the 
 offers did not come from the approved 
 grade. Professional men and merchants 
 were considered the only desirable par- 
 ties, and, as these had been somewhat 
 scarce in Chesterwood in their early days, 
 and those who had come into town in 
 the train of the manufactures were either 
 provided with wives or preferred youth 
 to rank, they were still left hanging upon 
 the ancestral tree, though occasionally 
 one dropped off into the arms of some 
 wealthy old bachelor or widowed divine. 
 
 To this set belonged Miss Agnes, she 
 being the only child of their old physi- 
 cian, from whom she had inherited a 
 competence, and whose dying wish she 
 respected by still living in the house 
 which he had built at the time of his mar- 
 riage, and which was one of the pleas- 
 antest of those fronting upon the com- 
 mon. Miss Agnes had been very pretty 
 and quite gay in her girlhood (of course 
 all this I learned in after-years), had been 
 educated at a celebrated female school in 
 Hartford, and spent several successive 
 winters in New York, with her maternal 
 relatives. If reports were true, she was 
 several times engaged to be married, but 
 they ended, where they began, in mere 
 gossip, for it was not until she was near 
 thirty that she announced her engage- 
 ment to a IsTew-York merchant, and the 
 gentleman visited Chesterwood as her 
 betrothed husband. Her father's illness 
 and death caused the marriage to be de- 
 ferred at first, then it was put off on one 
 pretence and another, the gentleman's 
 visits became less frequent, his letters 
 more cool, until, finally, he wrote re- 
 questing her to cancel the engagement, 
 giving, as a reason, the state of his affairs, 
 and a serious doubt of his ability to make 
 her happy. The letter reached her about 
 the same date as the announcement of 
 his marriage to a lady who possessed a 
 few more thousands than the old doctor 
 had been able to leave his daughter. 
 
 Like Polly Maria, she had been " dis- 
 
 'p'inted," and I am inclined to think there 
 is some truth in Uncle Steve's remark, 
 that it " comes kinder nat'ral to women," 
 for, although her most intimate friends 
 said she had never recovered from the 
 shock, I think they must have been mis- 
 taken, from the fact that she was always 
 ready to refer to it, in her usual manner, 
 on all occasions. Indeed, it was the pet 
 sorrow that gave a pleasant sentimental- 
 ism to her whole life. I hardly know 
 what she would have done without it ; 
 it was the bond between her and the 
 young people of her acquaintance, and 
 this alliance, coupled with a kind of half 
 recognition of the " new folks," subjected 
 her to a good deal of criticism and scru- 
 tiny from her own set. Her adoption of 
 me, as I said before, was a fruitful theme 
 for discussion. Had she assumed the re- 
 sponsibilities and duties of a missionary, 
 for which she was in no wise adapted, they 
 would have lauded her self-sacrifice and 
 devotion, and been proud of the slightest 
 line written by her hand, but this 
 " whim " of adopting a town pauper was 
 " quite another thing," and .it met with 
 more condemnation than congratulation. 
 
 "Agnes dear," Miss More would say, 
 after discussing the last number of Gra- 
 Jiam or Godey^ and that "love of a 
 poem" by "Willis or Morris, "you are 
 wearing yourself out with that child. 
 Eemember that you have other duties — 
 you were not at the society yesterday — 
 duties to yourself and your friends. You 
 must not confine yourself in this way ; 
 you can never bear it! " 
 
 "But I do not feel it, Fanny. It is 
 so pleasant for me to have something 
 wholly my own — some one to love me 
 better than any one else in the whole 
 world. I have been so much alone since 
 papa's death — and I need affection so 
 much ! " 
 
 Then, perhaps, there would follow 
 something about the " dear gazelle " from 
 Moore, and Miss Fanny, w^ho was senti- 
 mentally given also, would admit that 
 "dear Agnes had had her trials," and 
 
MY NEW MISTRESS. 
 
 31 
 
 they would go on quoting poetry or talk- 
 ing over some piece written in their 
 albums by some distinguished politician 
 or preacher, when a student ; one remi- 
 niscence calling up another, until they 
 grew quite young again. Of all Miss 
 Agnes's circle, I liked Fanny Moore, with 
 her poetry and sentimentalism, the best. 
 
 She would be followed by the digni- 
 laed Miss Griffin, whose ancestor original- 
 ly owned one-third of the whole town- 
 ship, and whose mother's grand-uncle 
 had once been secretary of state. To be 
 sure, most of the land had long since 
 passed into other hands, but it must have 
 been very strong land, indeed, for even 
 the memory of its ownership gave a lof- 
 tiness and stiffness to the Griffins, which 
 were to be accounted for in no other way. 
 Like the condemned heroine in Ben 
 Jonson's play, Sarah Griffid was " Duch- 
 ess of Malfy still ! " She never Avould 
 recognize my existence, in spite of Miss 
 Agnes's manoeuvring, otherwise than by 
 a brief — 
 
 "Ah! that child. I think I heard 
 Fanny Moore say you had taken one." 
 
 Miss Beach was the wit of the set, 
 who liked, above all things, to hear people 
 say, "Now, Anna, don't be satirical! " 
 and she shook her black curls defiantly 
 at me every time she came, and ordered 
 me off to play, vowing she was not going 
 to be cheated out of her usual quiet chats 
 with Miss Agnes, for all the brats in 
 Christendom. " Turn your cosy sitting- 
 room into a nursery if you choose, dear, 
 or your house into a foundling hospital — 
 make a second John Kogers's wife of your- 
 self, but don't expect me to tolerate them. 
 I came here to see my old friend, and I 
 am going to see her ! The idea of your 
 adopting a child! — and one in no way 
 connected with you — whom you know 
 nothing about — and you so exclusive J^ 
 It is preposterous ! I wonder you don't 
 apply for the position of matron of the 
 
 orphan asylum in H. Shall I write 
 
 you a letter of recommendation, dear?" 
 and the black curls would toss with mirth 
 
 at Miss Agnes's annoyed look and depre- 
 catory tone as she pleaded : 
 
 " But you cannot understand how 
 lonely my life was, Anna. You have a 
 plenty of brothers and sisters to love and 
 care for you." 
 
 "Love! Fiddlesticks i You might 
 as well say to quarrel with me too. Give 
 me your position and independence, and 
 you may take the love. Don't let us be 
 silly in our old age, Agnes." 
 
 But the most dreaded of these ladies, 
 the Mte noire of those days, was Miss 
 Harriet Hart, and I think Miss Agnes 
 shared my feeling. She was such a su- 
 perior person ; every one said so, though 
 in what the superiority consisted, save 
 in a hard, inflexible will and unfaltering 
 self-assertion, I never could make out. 
 Under the pretence of a regard for truth, 
 she made no scruple of saying the most 
 disagreeable things, or meddling with 
 the most intimate personal affairs. Her 
 features and figure, though large, were 
 good, and she was always most carefully 
 dressed, but there Was something hard 
 and metallic about her — you felt it as 
 soon as she entered the room. I had a 
 fancy that this property extended to her 
 clothes, for her silks and muslins had a 
 rustle and stiffness peculiar to themselves. 
 She had an* adroit manner of drawing 
 people out, and then coming down upon 
 them with her own views — generally 
 some oracular utterance of an old truism 
 that, for the time being, v/ould quite dis- 
 concert a more self-reliant person than 
 Miss Agnes. 
 
 She had been absent from town v,^hen 
 we arrived, and I had seen most of Miss 
 Agnes's friends before she made her 
 appearance. I was seated at my table, 
 striving to master my lessons, when she 
 called, and the rustle of her silk caused 
 me to look up. Miss Agnes signed for 
 me to go on with my studies, and con- 
 versed some tim^e with her visitor, before 
 she said : 
 
 "Zerlina, dear, come and shake 
 hands with Miss Hart. — A little waif, 
 
33 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Harriet, wMcli I picked up on tlie sea- 
 shore, a few weeks since." 
 
 " Aj, I've heard about it." She gave 
 me two fingers and a sharp glance, be- 
 fore she added, " You can go on with 
 your lessons, child." 
 
 "She may as well take a recess, now, 
 for I have a great deal to ask you about, 
 Harriet. — Zerlina, you may get your hat 
 and go out." 
 
 " Permit me to observe, Agnes, that 
 I think your course decidedly wrong, if 
 the child has not properly learned her 
 lessons yet. Children should be made to 
 pursue their studies under any circum- 
 stances, and thus form habits of concen- 
 tration and self-control. Don't you think 
 so ? " 
 
 "I presume you are right, but I con- 
 fess I never thought of it before," replied 
 Miss^ Agnes, timidly. 
 
 - '^nd you have actually adopted this 
 child without carefully weighing all the 
 responsibilities, Agnes ! " 
 
 What a weight of condemnation there 
 was in her voice and manner ! Miss Ag- 
 nes blushed as if caught in the commis- 
 sion of some crime, but said, with charm- 
 ing frankness : 
 
 "I am afraid I have, Harriet. The 
 truth is, I did not think much about it. 
 I met the child when she was suifering 
 from the violence of the person who had 
 charge of her ; my cousin, Ealph Annes- 
 ley, who was with me, suggested the idea 
 of my adopting her, and I did." 
 
 " That was just like you — impulsive 
 as a child — but, unfortunately, something 
 else is needed when we come to training 
 her for her proper sphere in life. Have 
 you decided upon any plan ? " 
 
 " Ob, yes ; I shall train her to be my 
 child — companion, friend — and, at the 
 same time, a useful member of society, I 
 hope. But I shall be glad of any sugges- 
 tions." 
 
 " Then let me suggest that you train 
 her for the humble condition of life in 
 which she was born," returned the lady, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Oh, no, Harriet, I cannot do that ! ** 
 cried Miss Agnes, eagerly. " I must do 
 better by her than that, or where is the 
 good of my taking her ? " 
 
 " A very pertinent question, and one 
 which should have occurred to you be- 
 fore, my dear," said Miss Hart, with a 
 grim smile. " I presume you are teach- 
 ing her yourself — what is your meth- 
 od?" 
 
 Miss Agnes pointed proudly to our 
 neat schedule of exercises. 
 
 " Beading, writing, spelling, defining, 
 grammar, geography, arithmetic ! — um ! — 
 um ! — the first three are essential — drop 
 the others and send her to the kitchen 
 to take lessons of Hannah Smith. In' 
 this way she may really become of some 
 use to you and others. To attempt any 
 thing more with her is a complete ab- 
 surdity, and will prove an utter failure, 
 take my word for it." 
 
 Consciously or unconsciously, Miss 
 Hart did a good deal toward a seeming 
 fulfilment of her prophecy. She had a 
 habit of coming in to hear me recite ; or 
 about the hour of recitation, and often 
 when I knew, by Miss Agnes's look, that 
 she was satisfied with me. Miss Hart 
 would take the book from her hand and, 
 in five minutes' time, so completely con- 
 fuse me that I could answer nothing 
 correctly; then return the book to my 
 mistress without a word, but with such a 
 look ! Why, Miss Agnes could no more 
 have stood up and defied that look than 
 she could have made a world. 
 
 Besides, she knew that I had a much 
 better knowledge of my lessons than my 
 answers to her friend indicated, and was 
 both grieved and angry. I could not 
 make her understand how that lady^s 
 presence, even the rustle of her dress, 
 seemed to act upon me like a spell, freez- 
 «ing all my faculties. I did not under- 
 stand it myself. It did not help the mat- 
 ter to say simply that I did not like Miss 
 Hart, for then my failure was attributed 
 to sheer obstinacy, and I was generally 
 sent to the kitchen in disgrace, as the 
 
MY NEW MISTRESS. 
 
 33 
 
 only fitting place for me, until the kind 
 heart of my mistress recalled me to her 
 ■side. 
 
 But, in causing me to be sent to the 
 kitchen, Miss Hart did me a kindness of 
 which neither of us was aware at the 
 time. Hannah Smith was a genuine 
 New-England woman — sensible, clear- 
 headed, and kind-hearted. She had been 
 in the family many years. At first she 
 had been kind to me from a sense of 
 duty, but gradually she came to like me 
 for myself or, rather, for the habits of 
 neatness and order Avhich had been in- 
 stilled into me by Granny Hunt. Han- 
 nah often trusted me to do things about 
 the house, taught me the routine of du- 
 ties in a well-ordered household, and 
 made me her aid in assisting the sick 
 and the poor ; for Miss Agnes, though a 
 liberal giver, shrunk from close contact 
 with pain and suffering. 
 
 In two studies, and precisely those 
 with which Miss Hart said I had noth- 
 ing to do, I made rapid progress — mu- 
 sic and di-av/ing — and, in spite of that 
 lady's contempt, Miss Agnes was very 
 proud of my performances. They were 
 crude enough, for my teachef (one of 
 those peripatetic young ladies who make 
 the round of country towns) might have 
 practised weeks on Giotto's " " to ad- 
 vantage, herself. Miss Agnes's praise 
 might have made me vain if I had not so 
 keenly felt my stupidity and backward- 
 ness in the more solid branches, which I 
 was not likely to forget under Miss Hart's 
 criticisms. 
 
 The second summer after I came to 
 Chesterwood, I went to a day-school. 
 Miss Agnee, I presume, was quite satis- 
 fied with her experiment in teaching, for 
 a slight indisposition in the spring served 
 as an excuse for the change. My dislike 
 of schools soon wore off under my new 
 circumstances, and Miss Agnes was so 
 pleased with my progress that she took 
 me with her to the sea-side, as a reward, 
 during the summer vacation, instead of 
 leaving me at home with Hannah. 
 
 We went to the beach, v»iiere we 
 spent four weeks, or Miss Agnes did, for 
 most of my days were passed at the Cove 
 with Uncle Steve and little Adeline. 
 Miss Agnes had some hesitation as to the 
 propriety of my renewing my acquaint- 
 ance with " people of that sort ; " but, 
 hearing a gentleman speak in the highest 
 terms of Uncle Steve's heroism in saving 
 the lives of two unlucky boys, during a 
 sudden squall, her curiosity was excited, 
 and she not only permitted me to go, but 
 took me over herself, when Uncle Steve 
 quite won her heart by his resemblance 
 to one of the characters in Scott's "Pi- 
 rate." 
 
 Uncle Steve, who had his own opin- 
 ion of pirates, did not feel at all compli- 
 mented by the comparison, I could see; 
 but Miss Agnes was quite charmed with 
 little Adeline, and he could forgive any 
 thing to those who were kind to her. I 
 need not say how unchanged I found the 
 simple hearts there, nor how glad they 
 were to see me. I was "a whole head 
 taller than Bluebird," Uncle Steve said, 
 when he placed us "back to back" and 
 sighted the difference with his right eye 
 shut close and set round by a sea of 
 wrinkles ; but not too tall to sit on his 
 knee and listen to his stories with the 
 same interest as of old. I shall never for- 
 get his astonishment and delight when I 
 made for him a sketch of the cottage, with- 
 the curving beach, and the "Dart" com- 
 ing in from the Keef. He even saw a 
 resemblance to himself in the upright, 
 black mark, crowned with a tarpaulin, 
 with two horizontal curves for arms, 
 which occupied the stern of the boat. 
 He got a carpenter to frame it, and, 
 when he had " slung "it at the proper 
 angle over the mantel, and stepped back 
 to admire it with a true nautical squint, 
 Michael Angelo could never have received 
 a look of more loving reverence and ad- 
 miration than he bestowed upon me. 
 
 Little Adeline had grown too, grown 
 prettier — ^more like my old favorites, the 
 pond lilies — but her pet name seemed 
 
34 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 just as fitting as ever, fcr no one wlio 
 saw her cliildisli grace of manner, or 
 looked into lier eyes, could ever think of 
 her growing old or mature. Polly Maria 
 was the only one in whom I noted any 
 change. She seemed to be more gloomy 
 and discouraged, in view of her own 
 shortcomings, than ever before, but I 
 was beginning to form my own estimate 
 of people and things, and, when I saw 
 her laboring so unweariedly, day after 
 day, not only for our comfort, but for 
 the parties of country people v*^ho were 
 always wanting some favor, lending 
 them her kettles and dishes to help out 
 their picnics and finding them dirty, if 
 not cracked or broken, when returned, 
 without a word of complaint, I found it 
 difficult to believe her the " sinful worm 
 of the dust " which she affirmed herself 
 to be. I was beginning- to understand 
 that people are generally better than 
 their creeds; that the moods resulting 
 from a morbid, diseased digestion, and 
 an earnest, thoughtful, religious experi- 
 ence, are quite different things. 
 
 I had not been there many days, how- 
 ever, before I began to suspect her anx- 
 iety was in some way connected with the 
 visits of a certain Mr. E"at Frisbie, who 
 frequently called to look after the seine 
 she was netting for him, he being a large 
 owner in one of the most valuable fish- 
 eries ; and they held, sometimes, quite 
 long conversations together, which, how- 
 ever, did not seem to brighten her up in 
 the least — why, I could not tell, for he 
 was a brisk, cheery little man, with a 
 clear, treble voice like a fife. 
 
 ' At last, I asked Uncle Steve what it 
 meant. 
 
 He continued to look gravely, for a 
 minute or so, at the point of the horizon 
 on which his eye was fixed v/hen I spoke, 
 before he replied : 
 
 " I s'pose it's cause he's a widderwer." 
 
 "A widower?" 
 
 "Yes. He's been hangin' round, off 
 and on, all summer. Widderwers are pret- 
 ty good at hangin' on, I've minded, but. 
 
 somehovv^, Polly don't seem to bite — not 
 right sharp," he added, meditatively. 
 
 " Do you mean that he wants to mar- 
 ry Polly Maria ? " 
 
 " A'cordin' to my observation, that's 
 it, though she never's opened her head 
 to me about it, but I know'd she'd feel 
 oneasy in her mind about Birdie and 
 me, if she had a mind ter go, so I tried 
 to talk to her a bit, and lay out a clear 
 course for us all, an' she said as how 
 'twas a world o' changes, and 'twas best 
 to be prepared for whatever as was to 
 come ter pass — which I take to be as nigh 
 true as any thing out o' the Bible. Them 
 as has had troubles like her ought ter 
 know," said the old man, humbly. 
 
 "But you wouldn't let her go! you 
 couldn't spare her ? " I said, in surprise. 
 
 "Well, yes; 'cause, as I said afore, 
 that's Bible truth, an' there's no sheering 
 off from that. N'at's a good feller — he's 
 Vf ell to do, and he's got three little uns, 
 who need lookin' arter. You see, Black- 
 bird, it don't come quite so handy for 
 most men-folks to look arter little uns, 
 as it did for me to look arter Birdie. 
 'Nat thinks slie'd be a good hand ter look 
 arter 'em, an' so she would. An' I 
 shouldn't wonder if among so many on 
 'em they brightened her up a little, for 
 she never'd be alone as she is here, when 
 Birdie and I am off in the Dart. 
 'Twouldn't be so lonesome for her," 
 
 Rough, unpolished old sea-shell, but 
 with a strain of the eternal melody in his 
 heart — unselfish to the last ! But I did 
 not see it then, and this matrimonial pro- 
 ject seemed to me a kind of proof of 
 Polly Maria's sinfulness, and I bluntly ex- 
 pressed my thought. 
 
 Uncle Steve opened his mouth, some- 
 thing after the manner of , a fish, and 
 laughed silently ; then letting his eye 
 drop on me, he said : 
 
 "ISTot sinful, but nateral. Blackbird. 
 You don't understand it now, but you 
 will bime-by. Some on 'era play shy 
 awhile, but I've minded they 'most oilers 
 give in at last." 
 
MY NEW MISTRESS. 
 
 35 
 
 "But liow will Birdie and you man- 
 age?" 
 
 "Well, it seemed kind of a hard kink 
 to me -when I first thouglit on't, 'cause 
 you see I ain't very sharp, an' I hadn't 
 obsarved as Birdie was a growin' up inter 
 a tall gall till she minded me on't t'other 
 day. Polly had gone up ter Harriet 
 Stone's ter evenin' mee4in', and I kinder 
 sounded Birdie about the matter." 
 
 " What did she say ? " I asked, seeing 
 that he paused, 
 
 "Say? She made it all straight, in 
 course! Nothing ever puzzles her! 
 You see I bore down hard on I^Tat's little 
 gals as hadn't no mother, 'cause I thought 
 'twas a good p'int, an' when I axed her 
 would she let Aunt Polly go to look 
 arter 'em, and be content with old IJncle 
 Steve and what he could do for her, why. 
 Lord bless ye, I had her a cryin' an' a 
 laughin^ all ter once : cryin' for the poor 
 little gals as hadn't got no Uncle Steve, 
 she said ; and laughin' to think o' the 
 weddin', an' 'cause she'd have some little 
 gals ter go ter- see. I never'd thought 
 about tliat afore, Blackbird," he add- 
 ed, thoughtfully, raising his tarpaulin, 
 and drawing the back of his red hand 
 across his still redder forehead, as if all 
 this unusual amount of thought pained 
 Mm. "I'd never thought about her 
 bein' lonesome, though she won't 'low 
 she is. But it's nater for her to want ter 
 see somebody besides Polly an' me, an' 
 she can't go agin nater — though, if any- 
 body can, she can. I've thought a deal 
 about it sin', Blackbird, an', if 'twarn't 
 makin' too much 'count of old Steve 
 Leete, I should say the Lord had jist took 
 a turn at the wheel Himself ter lay out a 
 clear course for me — leavin' a kink here 
 an' there ter make me keep a sharp look- 
 out, an' all for Birdie's sake, in course. 
 An' sin' you've come, I've thought on 
 another p'int. She ought ter have some 
 larnin' — not that she don't read glib 
 enough now, an' knows all the capes 
 from the Horn up to Sandy Hook, but 
 she don't know much about the land as 
 
 you seed when you was talking to her 
 about Chicago t'other day ; an' she can't 
 write nor make picters, 'cause she hain't 
 been ter school much, it's sech a long 
 ways to go ; an' Polly nor I ain't much 
 given to sech things. If PoUy marries 
 Kat, Birdie can stay up there some, an' go 
 ter school with his chirren. You see, the 
 kink is clear; it all pays out with a clear 
 run. Blackbird!" 
 
 " Yes ; but what will you do all alone, 
 IJncle Steve ? " He looked straight over 
 my head at the distant horizon, so that I 
 could not see his eyes, as he said : 
 
 "Blackbird, you used ter like my 
 clam-chowders : I guess I'll go an' make 
 one for dinner! " 
 
 Even the thought of my favorite dish, 
 could not hide from me the figure of the 
 lonely old man, and I persisted in repeat- 
 ing: 
 
 "But you will be all alone, when she 
 is up there." 
 
 " I can get used to it, Blackbird, I 
 s'pose," he said, slowly; and I much 
 doubt whether the spars and lines of the 
 schooner ofit" Faulkner's Island (upon 
 which his eyes were fixed) did not 
 grow indistinct, for a moment, from 
 other causes than distance and the salt- 
 sea spray. 
 
 I learned from Uncle Steve that Sally 
 Hunt had become entangled in a lawsuit 
 with her step-sons, which had been de- 
 cided against her, and the damages and 
 costs would be very heavy for one of her 
 means. Miss Agnes had forbidden me to 
 renew my acquaintance with her, and 
 the prohibition was a severe trial to me. 
 Not that even Miss Agnes's teachings 
 had led me to feel any thing like love or 
 forgiveness toward my old mistress, but 
 I longed to have her see my pretty dress- 
 es, my new hat, and sun-shade — to show 
 her that "town-poor Lina " was some- 
 body. I thought there would be no harm 
 in just walking past there ; the tempta- 
 tion to do so was very great : and one 
 day, when Uncle Steve was off to the 
 Reef, and Polly Maria and little Adeline 
 
36 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 gone up to Eogers's store, where I had 
 declined to accompany them, I dressed 
 myself in my prettiest dress and set off 
 for the pond. It did not occur to me 
 that the very dress which I was so proud 
 of would prevent my old mistress from 
 recognizing me, even if my growth did 
 not. But, as I drew near the old place, 
 there came memories of Ollie, gentle 
 memories that drove away the proud, 
 vain feelings with which I had set 
 out, and left only tears. The sting of 
 Granny Hunt's blows, so keenly re- 
 membered when I started, were forgot- 
 ten, and, yielding to a sudden impulse, I 
 sprang over the fence, and, instead of 
 walking proudly past the house, sought 
 my old retreat on the edge of the pond. 
 Looking into the water there, I saw all 
 that poor boy's life pass before me ; even 
 the patient face seemed to mirror itself 
 there, and I continued to gaze until I 
 could see it no longer for the fast-falling 
 tears. • 
 
 As I turned to go, I came in contact 
 with a bent sapling ; it was the one Ollie 
 had bent for me years before, and by 
 which he had illustrated to me the rea- 
 son of Granny Hunt's existence : " God 
 does not make 'em. He lets 'em be. 
 Something made her cross and crooked, 
 I s'pose." 
 
 Again I seemed to hear his earnest 
 voice repeating these words; and, my 
 heart melting within me, I went down 
 on my knees and uttered again that 
 prayer for our old mistress's redemption 
 which our childish faith had put up years 
 before. 
 
 ' God deals wonderfully with the heart 
 of childhood ; let us reverence, not scorn 
 His teachings. 
 
 OHAPTEE VIL 
 
 THE EEV. MAECUS TTLEE. 
 
 "I WOULD also give notice that the 
 Eev. Marcus Tyler will preach from this 
 pulpit this afternoon, on the subject of 
 foreign missions, when he will give 
 some account of, the great field for mis- 
 sionary enterprise among the tribes of 
 Central Africa," etc. 
 
 How well do I remember the above 
 announcement as it fell from the lips of 
 Father Mason in Chesterwood Church 
 one wintry Sunday morning, and tho 
 look of eager curiosity which I lifted to 
 the somewhat stout, bland-looking gen- 
 tleman leaning back in the pulpit ! 
 
 Not that there was any thing strange 
 in the presence of an agent, for Chester- 
 wood received frequent calls from them ; 
 but this man would speak of Africa, that 
 wondrous land, "under the line," of 
 which Uncle Steve had told little Adeline 
 and me, where they raised lions and 
 elephants, and hump-backed camels, pic- 
 tures of which he used to make for us in 
 the wet beach-sand before his door, and 
 where the coast was bordered with a 
 beach of bright gold-dust. Had I not 
 spent hour after hour, when Miss Agnes 
 thought me conning my lesson in the 
 geography before me, open at the picture 
 of the sphinx, in traversing ^the Great 
 Desert, feeling its hot breath upon mj 
 cheeks, its burning sands scorching my 
 feet, boundless, vast, and silent as the 
 great, luminous sky over my head ? 
 
 Therefore, I listened eagerly to the 
 preacher's words that afternoon ; but oh, 
 what a different Africa was his from the 
 one Uncle Steve and my imagination had 
 pictured! My rich, warm, luminous im- 
 age was blotted out in the universal dark- 
 ness, moral and physical, in which the 
 speaker shrouded the "swart mother of 
 nations." With measured, sepulchral 
 tones, he dwelt upon the terrible retribu- 
 tion that would come upon those churches 
 which from sloth or selfishness withhold 
 
THE HEV. MARCUS TYLER. 
 
 37 
 
 the means of conversion from those per- 
 ishing millions, until I shuddered .from 
 terror, and expected to see Miss Agnes 
 and every one else tear off their jewelry 
 and rich clothing, and, wrapping about 
 them the mantle of sackcloth of which 
 the preacher spoke, lay them upon the 
 altar, as an offering to the cause. Miss 
 Agnes did no such thing. She wiped 
 away the tears which the preacher's 
 flowery peroration had drawn forth, and, 
 joining Fanny Moore when the service 
 was over, discussed the sermon as they 
 walked home ; the minister's style, looks, 
 manner, and small, white hands ; quoted 
 some passages from Dumas's "Sinai," a 
 copy of which, presented by Mr. Annes- 
 ley, lay upon the centre-table ; and Miss 
 Fanny rejoined with some stanzas from 
 Mrs. Hemans's " Traveller at the Source 
 of the Mle; " and that was all. 
 
 No ; for that week the reverend gen- 
 tleman attended Miss Agnes home from 
 the " sewing circle," and followed up the 
 acquaintance by frequent calls, whenever 
 he happened to be in our vicinity; re- 
 mained to dinner or tea, did ample jus- 
 tice to the good things set before him ; 
 while he enlarged, in that subdued, suave 
 voice of Ms, upon the beauty of self-sac- 
 rifice and devotion, and how remarkably 
 these qualities had been illustrated by 
 woman in all ages. 
 
 Miss Agnes early introduced me to 
 his notice,*related my story, and Mr. An- 
 ncsley's connection with it. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Ealph Annesley ! I had the 
 honor of meeting that gentleman at a 
 friend's house, during the anniversaries 
 in 'Sqw York, some years since. A gen- 
 tleman of a good deal of general culture 
 and observation, but tinctured with the 
 pernicious evil of our times — the pride of 
 human reason. But Providence some- 
 times chooses to work with strange in- 
 struments. I can scarcely conceive how 
 a person bound in the sweet tie of rela- 
 tionship with yourself, and enjoying the 
 inestimable advantage of your society,' 
 can hold such views," 
 
 Miss Agnes blushed, and said that 
 her cousin "had lived mostly abroad for 
 many years; that his errors of opinion 
 were indeed a source of grief to her, but 
 that he was one of the kindest-hearted 
 people in the world." 
 
 "Ah, the heart, my dear Miss La- 
 throp, if we could always judge people by 
 the heart ! But we know that the unre- 
 generate heart is deceitful and desper- 
 ately wicked. A man may be charitable, 
 virtuous, honest ; but, without religion, I 
 need not tell you that these are the poor, 
 filthy rags which self-righteous morality 
 wraps about its deluded victims," re- 
 turned Mr.. Tyler with a mournful sway 
 of the head, which gave an undulating 
 motion to his double chin behind the bar- 
 rier of his white cravat. "Now, in refer- 
 ence to this child," he went on, with a 
 wave of his soft, white hand toward me — 
 " the motives which actuated you were 
 as different from his as light from dark- 
 ness : his could be but a blind impulse of 
 our poor, fallen humanity ; yours the tru- 
 ly Christian yearning to save her — to 
 snatch her, as it were, as ' a brand from the 
 burning.' You must not confound them, 
 in your charming humility, dear friend." 
 
 The soft hand fell slowly, as if by ac- 
 cident, upon the small digits of Miss Ag- 
 nes, which rested upon the table by which 
 they were sitting; and the "brand," as 
 Mr. Tyler often afterward designated me. 
 was sent to the kitchen, not to be con- 
 sumed by the fire — before which Hannah 
 Smith was cooking a nice veal cutlet for 
 the reverend gentleman's supper, he hav- 
 ing "found his duties very arduous dur- 
 ing the past week, and having but a deli- 
 cate appetite at best," Miss Agnes said, 
 with a timid, blushing air, when she had 
 come to the kitchen to order it — no, not 
 to be burned, but to ensconce myself in a 
 corner out of Hannah's way, and recall 
 Mr. Annesley's dark face, his clear, keen 
 eyes, his full, distinct tones, and wonder 
 what made them say he was so wicked. 
 He certainly was not a bit like Granny 
 Hunt, or Polly Maria, or myself, the three 
 
38 
 
 KIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 types of wickedness with wMcli I was 
 most familiar. There was no question 
 about my state, for I felt, then, that I 
 would much rather live with Mr. Ealph 
 than Mr. Tyler, though the latter often 
 reminded me of the life from which I had 
 been snatched, and my obligations to Miss 
 Agnes, in that tone which he deemed 
 most impressive to a ''brand," and I 
 could recall no such proof of interest 
 from Mr. Ealph. 
 
 Somehow, Mr. Tyler's advent seemed 
 to disturb the current of our quiet life. 
 Hannah Smith no longer laid out her 
 work for weeks to come, but went about 
 the house with a look of patient endur- 
 ance upon her face, varied by glances of 
 commiseration at Miss Agnes, who was 
 constantly falling into reveries, seeming- 
 ly very pleasant, from which she would 
 start at the first word, with a blush and 
 a pretty, childish air of confusion, and beg 
 pardon, over and over again, for her in- 
 attention. Sometimes, when we were 
 alone, she read to me from "Memoirs of 
 Mrs. Yan Lenness " and other devoted 
 women, and would often pause and ex- 
 claim : 
 
 " Ah, what a precious jprivilege ! To 
 be permitted to devote one's life to the 
 nations sitting in darkness! " 
 
 Dear Miss Agnes, how her eye kin- 
 dled, and her pretty, delicate face gath- 
 ered strength and firmness, as she spoke ! 
 How her slender figure grew strong and 
 erect with the strength of a noble pur- 
 pose ! The frail, fading flower had taken 
 a draught from the perennial fountain 
 of life, and the subtle element brought 
 not only freshness and beauty, but also 
 strehgth and earnestness of purpose, and 
 that overflowing love which would have 
 all the world the happier for its happi- 
 ness — a woman's, experience, often, too 
 often, brief as the life of a rose, but its 
 fi»agrance and beauty still linger to bless 
 the weary after-life, hints of the immor- 
 tal and eternal beauty. 
 
 I needed not Miss Agnes's enthusiastic 
 words and look to enlist my most ardent 
 
 sympathy in behalf of missions. Ever 
 since .that Sunday, I had dreamed of be- 
 iiig a^ missionary, some day, when I had 
 become sufficiently good. No other way 
 of life seemed of such pressing necessity 
 and importance as this. Many a child 
 can look back to a similar experience, and 
 possibly recall, with a sigh or a smile, the 
 doubts and struggles which the discrep- 
 ancy between the words and practice 
 of those around him raised in Ms mind, f 
 There is no realism like that of child- 
 hood. 
 
 Part of this painful experience was 
 spared me by Miss Agnes and a few of 
 her friends. They became deeply im- 
 pressed with the duty of retrenchment 
 in dress, but they did not put on sack- 
 cloth. They only exchanged their dain- 
 ty bonnets and French flowers for those 
 of rich, white satin; their striped and 
 plaided silks and grenadines, for those 
 of solid colors or elegant satins, and In- 
 dia muslins guiltless of spot. To be sure^ . 
 they cost twice as much as the former — 
 three times as much as the gaudy out- 
 fit of the factor3''-girl for whose benefit 
 they had, in part, made this sacrifice — 
 but they meant well. Of this I am cer- 
 tain; and who shall say that the satins 
 of Miss Agnes, and the flimsy finery of 
 the operative, do not count»equal, in the 
 eyes of the angels, with the sackcloth of 
 St. Theresa or the hair-shirt of St. Igna- 
 tius? 
 
 Of course, the reader has already in- 
 ferred that Miss Agnes was about to 
 marry the Eev. Marcus Tyler, and go 
 out to Africa as a missionary, as soon as 
 arrangements could be made to that ef- 
 fect. The aflfair was duly discussed in 
 Chesterwood; and, while some thought 
 it a very suitable match, there were many 
 dissenters, even among her own particu- 
 lar circle, who were supposed to have 
 her interest most at heart, and the most 
 active of these was Miss Harriet Hart. 
 She did not joke her friend, like Miss 
 Beach, or sympathize in her happiness, 
 like tearful-eyed Fanny Moore ; she was 
 
MY STEP-FATHER. 
 
 39 
 
 too "superior for that," but slis over- 
 whelmed her with her responsibilitios ; 
 .humbled her to the dust, by pointing out 
 to her (all in her great love for the truth) 
 her weaknesses, dexterously hunting out 
 lier little foibles ; and ended with the sin- 
 cere hope that she had not mistaken a 
 mere human passion for that Christian 
 fortitude and devotion which could alone 
 support her in the position to which she 
 aspired — a position which sJie (how her 
 silk rustled as she spoke!), with all 
 her strength of character, "had always 
 shrunk from assuming." 
 
 Poor Miss Agnes ! would that, on thy 
 pretty head, self-esteem had risen like a 
 mountain ! But, after all, it would not 
 have made thee a more lovable woman 
 than the humble, trusting faith that an- 
 swered, amid tears : * 
 
 "I can suffer, Harriet dear. This 
 deep and abiding love, which I feel for — 
 for Marcus, will make me strong to do 
 that!" 
 
 "I am afraid you mistake, Agnes. 
 You are not of the stuff of which mar- 
 tyrs are made ! " 
 
 Another mistake of Miss Hart's. 
 Many a martyr is made of just such 
 stuff as Miss Agnes Lathrop, but they 
 do not go to Smithfield or Boston Com- 
 mon; neither do they cry, with Madame 
 Eoland, " Liberty, how many crimes 
 are committed in thy name ! " Some of 
 them may be even ignorant of that fa- 
 mous martyr's name ; but they are slow- 
 ly roasted, in private, before a domestic 
 lire, kindled by unthinking egotism, and 
 fed by morbid irritability ; suffocated by 
 the close atmosphere of a home . whose 
 narrow creed forbids them to follow 
 the leading of their own taste, or even 
 share in the . social life and labor of 
 the day ; or they suffer the slow torture 
 of a life of endless exactions and re- 
 proofs, dropping, at regular intervals, 
 like the water upon the heads of the vic- 
 tims of the Inquisition, until madness or 
 idiocy comes to their relief. 
 
 Yet these are the women whom men 
 
 admire and love — women who " are con- 
 tent to go through life, gracefully lean- 
 ing on the arm of man," as a reverend 
 gentleman recently said in a public lec- 
 ture — a sentiment worthy of the Eev. 
 Marcus Tyler. And they are worthy of 
 this love, even as Miss Agnes, with all 
 her weakness, was more lovable than 
 the hard, metallic Miss Hart ; only let all 
 good souls pray that they may find that 
 arm strong and steady — a support even 
 from their own weaknesses, as it should 
 be— and that they may have the wisdom 
 to see that this love (God be thanked for 
 it I) can not only make them strong to 
 endure,. but has the power, beyond aught 
 else, to make them noble, and place them 
 on a level with the best and noblest man 
 that ever lived — and that man was not 
 the Eev. Marcus Tyler ! 
 
 OHAPTEE Vni. 
 
 MY STEP-r ATHEE. 
 
 " Come here, Lina ! " 
 
 Miss Agnes is sitting in " the study," 
 with her writing-desk open before her, 
 upon which lies a letter with a few rose- 
 leaves scattered over it. Her long, flax- 
 en curls are put back carelessly behind 
 her ears, and she wears a morning-dress 
 of delicate pink lawn, with a chemisette 
 of plain muslin and a tiny apron of black 
 silk, and looks very bright and happy 
 when I enter from the porch, where I 
 had been studying my Sunday-school les- 
 son, and lay the book before her. 
 
 " Oh, it's not about the lesson, dear, 
 that I wish to speak now ; I wish to tell 
 you that I have received a letter which 
 — Lina, wouldn't you like some one to 
 share your plays sjiA studies — a little 
 brother to guard and protect you ? " 
 
 "What from?" I ask, unconsciously 
 looking round to see from what quarter 
 danger is to be apprehended. 
 
 " Why, from the dangers and trials, 
 the temptations and sufferings, which fall 
 
40 
 
 PJGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 upon woman. ' Her lot is on yon, si- 
 lent tears to weep ! ' my child." 
 
 "I gness I can do it pretty well my- 
 self, ma'am, bnt just as yon say." 
 
 "Quite rigM, dear. I do think it 
 best. I am going to give yon a papa in 
 Mr. Tyler, and a brother in his little boy, 
 Augustus. I suppose you may have 
 heard Hannah speak of my engage- 
 ment?" 
 
 "Hannah never said so, but Miss 
 Beach did one day, and she said Augus- 
 tus Tyler would 'put my nose out of 
 joint ! ' " 
 
 " "What a thoughtless creature ! You 
 must not mind Sara's jokes. But I am 
 about to change my condition sooner 
 than I had anticipated. Mr. Tyler will 
 consent to no longer delay, and what I 
 wish to say to you is this : my marriage 
 will make no difference with you — you 
 will still be my daughter, and I want you 
 to remember what I say, because there are 
 people who may try to make you think 
 differently; they have even made the 
 attempt already, it seems — but it has 
 ever been my lot to be misunderstood. 
 I'll show them their mistake, if I live," 
 she goes on talking rather to herself than 
 to me, while her cheek kindles with love 
 and pride. "I will make them confess 
 that Marcus's justice is as unimpeachable 
 as his love, and that forestalls my slight- 
 est wish." 
 
 It was true — if you took his word for 
 it, no man had a keener sense of justice 
 — it was a fertile subject with him ; he 
 would dilate most eloquently upon its 
 moral, political, and theological aspects ; 
 but, when he came to a personal applica- 
 tion of its principles to the daily events 
 of life. Justice, it would seem, never laid 
 aside her scales to dirty her fingers with 
 such common affaiiB as these. 
 
 They were married, the ceremony 
 being performed by Father Mason, in 
 Miss Agnes's parlor, in the presence of a 
 few of her parents' old friends, and the 
 ladies of her own circle. None of Mr. 
 Tyler's family were present. 
 
 The evening before this ceremony, 
 Miss Agnes came to my room after I was 
 in bed, and talked to me about their 
 plans. When they returned from their 
 wedding tour, which was to be a visit to 
 Mr. Tyler's dear mother, and became a 
 little settled, Augustus would come to 
 live with us, and go to school with me. 
 He was an excellent scholar, and would 
 help me so much. Then, if Mr. Tyler, 
 as they hoped and expected, should be 
 sent out to "Walla Basheeu," or any 
 other foreign station, Augustus and I 
 would be left at school, for, of course, 
 they would be obliged to renounce the 
 parental relation until we were old 
 enough to share their labors and trials. 
 
 She spoke rapidly, as if she was con- 
 scious that her time already belonged to 
 another, but, beft>re she left the room, 
 drew from her pocket a small gold locket, 
 and, touching a spring, showed me a set 
 of clear-cut features which there was no 
 mistaking. 
 
 "i)o you know it, Lina? " she asked, 
 letting the lamp-light fall full on the 
 face. 
 
 "It is Mr. Annesley — only it looks 
 like a boy." 
 
 "Yes; he was quite young when it 
 was taken. We were much together in 
 our childhood. I thought you would like 
 to keep it, because he was so kind to you, 
 and I suppose it will not be quite proper 
 for me to be keeping it now — at least, 
 Mr. Tyler might not think so — but — there 
 — he calls, he misses me in a moment ! " 
 Be a good girl! " and, with a kiss on my 
 forehead, she left the room. 
 
 "IJmph!" said Hannah, when I 
 showed her the locket, the day after the 
 wedding, and repeated Miss Agnes's 
 words, "so it's begun already. I wonder 
 where was the harm o' her keeping it ? 
 Well, there's one thing — if Mr. Ealpli 
 had been at home, she never'd a got mar- 
 ried—at least, just as she has ! " 
 
 "Why not, Hannah?" 
 
 "'Cause she wouldn't a durst to. 
 I've nothing to say again Mr. Tylsr-r- 
 
" Now, tell me who that lady is ? " 
 
 Righted at Last, p. 41o 
 
MY STEP-FATHER. 
 
 41 
 
 he's a good man, 1 s'pose, and a minister 
 o' tlie gospel, but she wouldn't a done 
 ,it." 
 
 "You mean she would have been 
 afraid ? " I asked, in some surprise. 
 
 "JSTo," she answered, pettishly, "not 
 that she'd be afear'd of his being cross 
 or unkind — but he would have told her 
 it wasn't suitable, and he would have 
 made her see it too ! " 
 
 "If you were going to bo married, 
 Hannah, and Mr. Ealph was to tell you 
 it was not suitable, would you give it 
 up?" I asked, after gravely considering 
 the subject awhile. 
 
 "Don't talk such nonsense, child ! 
 Them that's always known what's suit- 
 able always will, I hope ! " she replied, 
 loftily. 
 
 "Miss Agnes — " 
 
 " Is that the proper way of address- 
 ing my wife, child ? " 
 
 It was the morning after the arrival 
 of the newly-married pair ; and, with 
 childish eagerness, I had entered the sit- 
 ting-room with some request to Miss 
 Agnes, when Mr. Tyler, for whose com- 
 fort the large stuffed easy-chair of the 
 doctor had been brought forth, sudden- 
 ly laid down the JsFew- YorTc 01)server^ and, 
 crossing the skirt of his handsome new 
 dressing-gown over his knees, interrupted 
 me with the above query, followed by a 
 gleam of astonishment from above the 
 bows of his gold spectacles. 
 
 Thus checked, I began again, more 
 slowly, " Miss Agnes — " 
 
 The glance of astonishment turned to 
 one of rebuke, and, tapping with his fat 
 finger on the paper to command atten- 
 tion, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Do you hear, child? Is that the 
 proper way to address my wife ? Kow, 
 try again ! " 
 
 I glanced from him to Miss Agnes, 
 who was dusting some ornaments upon 
 the shelf. She looked a little troubled, 
 and was about to speak, but, with a lofty 
 motion, he warned her to keep silent. 
 
 Left to myself, and really not knowing 
 my offence, I rex)eated the name in a tone 
 scarce above a whisper. 
 
 He pushed his glasses down as far as 
 they would slide upon his fat nose, and, 
 drawing in his chin until it was quite 
 hidden within the folds of his cravat, gave 
 me a look which was intended to ex- 
 press not only reproof, but astonishment 
 and commiseration, while he mournfully 
 waved his head, saying : 
 
 " I fear we have here a great deal of 
 obstinacy or ignorance — perhaps both." 
 
 Miss Agnes stepped forward and be- 
 gan : 
 
 "My dear — " But he checked her 
 with a counter " my dear " and a defer- 
 ential wave of the hand, as he added : 
 
 " Don't let this little incident worry 
 you, my dear. We " — ^Mr. Tyler had at 
 one time been connected with a news- 
 paper, and the editorial plural stiU ad- 
 hered to him — " we perfectly understand 
 children. There are few of their tricks 
 and subterfuges with which we are not 
 familiar, it having pleased divine Provi- 
 dence to place us over them in the capa- 
 city of instructor as well as parent. — !N"ow, 
 Zerlina, come here ! " 
 
 He folded his hands, the backs of 
 which looked like pin-cushions, over his 
 knee, and, looking me in the eye fixedly 
 a moment as I stood by his side, said 
 sternly : 
 
 " IsTow, tell me who that lady is ? " 
 
 I had been frightened at first, now I 
 was irritated, and returned his look in 
 silence, until he added : 
 
 " Well, we are waiting. We know 
 how to manage obstinacy." 
 
 "It is Miss Agnes Lathrop, sir, and 
 she is married to you." 
 
 " Very well," lying back in his chaii 
 complacently; "we thought we should 
 succeed in getting a suitable or at least 
 an approximate answer. IsTow, remem- 
 ber, girl : this lady is my wife, and hence- 
 forth you are to address her as Mrs. Ty- 
 ler. We know nothing about ' Miss Ag- 
 nes ' any more. She has merged hei 
 
42 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 ncime with her being into mine — Mrs. 
 Tyler. Do you think you can remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 "I will try, sir." 
 
 "I think, my love," my mistress be- 
 gan, coming forward and timidly laying 
 her hand on his shoulder, "I am afraid 
 I am to blame — that is," she added, see- 
 ing him turn slowly in his chair, " I wish 
 to say that it was by my wish that the 
 child called me Miss Agnes, so you must 
 put part of the reproof upon me. The 
 change is so recent, you know ; but I am 
 sure henceforth Lina will remember." 
 
 . He gave her a look of unctuous fond- 
 ness. "Ay, of course, you are sure! 
 Your artless nature is so easily convinced 
 — and I trust you are right. We have 
 certainly no desire to mar the serenity 
 of this auspicious marriage morn, as we 
 may say, with any thing of a disagreeable 
 nature, but duty is duty, my love. There- 
 fore, we will give the child a lesson to 
 read, and dismiss her." 
 
 He opened the Bible at the chapter 
 which gives an account of the fate of the 
 ill-mannered children who mocked at the 
 prophet's baldness, and said : 
 
 " Go to your room and commit that 
 portion of divine truth to memory as a 
 warning of the fate of those who are dis- 
 respectful to their superiors." 
 
 "When I came down to dinner, I found 
 a new arrangement. Hitherto, Hannah, 
 who had been more like a mother to Miss 
 Agnes than a servant, had been accus- 
 tomed to take her meals with us, unless 
 when company was present and she was 
 needed to wait at table. iN'ow, her place 
 of course was vacant, and my plate, in- 
 stead of being laid next to that of Miss 
 Agnes, was put quite at the lower end 
 of the table, out of the neighborhood of 
 the others. But it was not beyond the 
 reach of her kind hand. Seeing that her 
 husband had helped me to nothing but 
 bread and vegetables, slie reminded him 
 of his oversignt by passing it back for 
 some of the nice boiled fowl before him. 
 He had helped himself bountifully to the 
 
 chicken and the various vegetables and 
 sauces, and was just raising his well-filled 
 fork to his mouth when she preferred her 
 request. He laid down his fork and sat 
 for a full second gazing at her with an 
 expression of mingled grief and pity, 
 which finally (the dinner was cooling) 
 found vent in words. 
 
 "Is it possible, my love, that you 
 have made the pernicious mistake of per- 
 mitting this girl to eat meats ! " 
 
 Miss Agnes looked confused, flushed 
 a little, but recovered herself and an- 
 swered gently : 
 
 "I may have been mistaken. I am 
 quite ignorant of dietetics ; besides, papa 
 used to say that growing children needed 
 animal food." 
 
 Again he bestowed upon her another 
 benignly commiserative look, which was 
 followed by a pitying smile. 
 
 '' A very common notion among the 
 professional men of his time, but falla- 
 cious, my dear, completely exploded by 
 the modern science of dietetics. Vegeta- 
 bles and farinaceous substances are the 
 only suitable food for children or — even 
 adults. But habit is strong with us of 
 older growth," he reachecl for the drawn 
 butter as he spoke, "we may — nay, we 
 must — always regret, my love, that our 
 parents v^ere not wise enough to rear us 
 on this simple, rational system. But this 
 subject vill only add another to the de- 
 lightful paths of knowledge, along which 
 we hope to lead you with a gentle hand. 
 Augustus has been trained under this sys- 
 tem, and, when he joins us, v>^e hope to 
 make some progress with this girl. His 
 example will be of great value to her." 
 
 Having delivered himself thus, his eye 
 fell upon my plate, which Miss Agnes, in 
 listening to him, had left standing where 
 she had placed it ; and, after denu.ding a 
 leg of almost all the flesh, he passed it to 
 me, adding : 
 
 "In the mean time, I have no objec- 
 tion to the child's picking a bone. It is 
 never best to make changes too suddenly. 
 Besides, bones are nutritious ; the French 
 
MY STEP-FATHER. 
 
 43 
 
 compound some of their most appetizing 
 dishes from them. A little more of the 
 cranberrj-sauce, mj dear. — Now, this is 
 an article," he continued, glancing benev- 
 olently down upon the crimson fruit in 
 the pretty glass dish which he balanced 
 in his hand, " of which children are very 
 fond, yet nothing is more injurious, it 
 being productive, in the tender stomach, 
 of flatulencies and acidities, and a long 
 train of evils." 
 
 He was evidently quite at ease as to 
 the state of his own stomach, for he half 
 emptied it, and, replacing it, continued : 
 
 " This is a very interesting topic in a 
 psychological view, proving, as I think it 
 does, conclusively, the perversion, not 
 only of the moral, but physical nature, by 
 the fall of man. "What were those lines 
 from Milton which you were repeating, 
 to this effect, yesterday, Mrs. Tyler ? " 
 
 " ' Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat, 
 Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woo 
 That all was lostl'" 
 
 quoted Miss Agnes. , 
 
 " That all was lost ! " echoed the gen- 
 tleman. " It is always a pleasure to find 
 Milton coinciding with one." 
 
 I was making my escape from the 
 room, when he recalled me with — 
 
 " Stop ! Can you tell me the name 
 and proper mode of addressing this 
 lady?" 
 
 "Mrs. Tyler, sir." 
 
 " Eight. Our lesson was not lost, it 
 seems. Can you repeat that Scripture 
 story?" 
 
 I did so, to his satisfaction, and he 
 added : " Don't you think those wicked 
 children were justly punished? " 
 
 "I don't know, sir. I would not liave 
 let the bears eat me. I would have run 
 away!" 
 
 "Child! I am astonished at you! 
 Run away from the penalty due to sin ! 
 You could no more have escaped than 
 you could have changed your depraved 
 nature! You might have been one of 
 the very first to fall into the power of 
 those ferocious animals ! " 
 
 I did not venture to reply, and the 
 gentleman, after a few more remarks, 
 such as he deemed applicable to my con- 
 dition as a "brand," and a few more to 
 my mistress on the necessity of a person- 
 al application of Scriptural truths, dis- 
 missed me. 
 
 For a person of such an adipose, 
 spongy look, or, as Miss Agnes expressed 
 it, one " so thoughtful and considerate 
 of the rights and happiness of others," 
 Mr. Tyler developed a remarkable degree 
 of executive force. He began with the 
 kitchen table. " The sin of waste and 
 the pampering of the appetite," was a 
 topic upon which he enlarged eloquently ; 
 and, either because his spongy body had 
 a tendency to absorb all sorts of good 
 things, or his great benevolence prompted 
 him to make a martyr of himself for Han- 
 nah's and my sake, few of the nice things 
 sent to the dining-room ever reached our 
 plates. 
 
 Love is a great strengthener of pa- 
 tience, but even the almost maternal love 
 which Hannah Smith felt for Miss Agnes 
 would never have induced her to put up 
 with these innovations, not to say insults, 
 or even so much as the " nose of a hen- 
 liussj " in her department, if she had not 
 looked upon her mistress as one doomed 
 to be eaten by the cannibals of " Walla 
 Basheen." She really believed that her 
 " time would be short " (why should not 
 she, hearing the subject discussed so of- 
 ten ?), and was determined that she would 
 bear any thing rather than trouble her. 
 Too conscientious to express her growing 
 dislike of Mr. Tyler, and too simple to 
 think she could betray it otherwise, she 
 went round at her work sighing : 
 
 "Ah, well, folks must live and learn, 
 'New masters, new times,' " etc. 
 
 But she was mistaken in her appre- 
 hension of Miss Agnes's nearness to mar- 
 tyrdom, or rather she mistook the loca- 
 tion and manner, thereby doing the na- 
 tives of " Walla Basheen " a great wrong ; 
 for, after Mr. Tyler had taken possession 
 of our pleasant old home, he manifested 
 
44 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 another sponge-like trait, by attaching 
 Mmself so tenaciously to it, that he 
 seemed to lay aside all thought of mov- 
 ing. Doubtless, he thought it his duty to 
 forsake all things, and " cleave unto his 
 wife — " . and her possessions, especially 
 wlien there were numbers of brethren, 
 unencumbered by domestic ties, who 
 could take his place. 
 
 There is no " sesame " like the posses- 
 sion of property to open one's eyes to the 
 beauty of stability, and the sacred nature 
 of responsibilities! . 
 
 N'ot that Mr. Tyler gave utterance to 
 any such thoughts ; but he suddenly be- 
 came aware of the delicacy of Miss Ag- 
 nes's constitution; and, though he still 
 talked of the "nations that sit in dark- 
 ness," andthe probability of their "burn- 
 ing out their feeble lights " among them 
 at no very distant day, it was in a very 
 indefinite manner, very much as Uncle 
 Steve used to talk about going " on a 
 long v^age " once more. 
 
 As to Miss Agnes, she was as w^ell as 
 usual, but I think she really felt disap- 
 pointed in seeing the realization of her 
 cherished hope postpoued, and not a lit- 
 tle annoyed at the frequent inquiries of 
 her friends as to how soon she "ex- 
 pected to sail." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MASTEE AUGUSTUS. 
 
 ISToT many weeks after Miss Agnes's 
 marriage, Mr. Tyler's mother came on, 
 hringing with her Master Augustus, the 
 "model child," whose example was to 
 prove such a blessing to me. 
 
 I had gone to the dress-maker's for 
 Miss Agnes when they arrived, and it 
 was about sunset when I reached home. 
 Miss Agnes was standing by the front 
 window of the chamber which she had 
 occupied from childhood when I came up 
 the walk, looldng rather sad, I fancied, 
 as she pointed out the church-spire, half 
 
 hidden by the trees, to an elderly female 
 in a cap beside her. I thought she felt 
 sorry to give up the room which her own 
 mother had arranged for her, and the 
 bed over which that mother had often 
 bent in silent prayer, for the room below, 
 in which she had seen both father and 
 mother breathe their last. I knew that 
 this change was to be made, for, in an- 
 ticipation of the arrival of " our vener- 
 able mother," the subject had come up 
 between the newly-wedded pair some 
 days before. Miss Agnes had expressed 
 her pleasure at being able to oiTer her a 
 room on the ground-floor, but Mr. Tyler 
 cast upon her such a look of surprise and 
 grief that she hesitated, and finally add- 
 ed that of course she should be guided 
 by his wishes in this, as well as every 
 thing else. 
 
 That look had a kind of magical effect 
 upon my mistress. I have often seen 
 her, while conversing with something of 
 her old enthusiasm, grow suddenly con- 
 fused at meeting it, catch at the most 
 plausible word, and, perhaps, give her 
 sentence a widely-different meaning from 
 that which she had intended. 
 
 Are women "deceitful and false, un- 
 reasonable and unreasoning," gentlemen ? 
 Then beware what lessons you teach 
 them in the sweet privacy of domestic 
 life! Remember that this "deceit and 
 double-mindedness " in women and chil- 
 dren is usually the result of fear or injus- 
 tice — of rights denied or perverted — and 
 neither lectures, nor sermons, nor quota- 
 tions from prophets or apostles will avail 
 to remedy the evil — nothing can, until 
 perfect justice shall permeate every heart 
 with a sense of the divine significance and 
 sacredness of individual rights, and thus 
 become synonymous with that perfect 
 love which casteth out fear. 
 
 Mr. Tyler would occupy the room be- 
 low, that was certain. ISTo one who knew 
 him, but his wife, would have questioned 
 it, any more than they would have ques- 
 tioned its proximity to the warm, cosy 
 sitting-room, or the fact that Miss Ag- 
 
MASTER AUGUSTUS. 
 
 45 
 
 nes's old room was up one fliglit of stairs, 
 with a cold landing above and below. 
 Of course, he did not give these facts as 
 ' reasons — he merely said it was " proper 
 for the head of the family to occupy the 
 lower room ; " and, as his sense of pro- 
 priety always seemed to be synonymous 
 with his convictions of right, he could 
 not be expected to violate his conscience 
 for the convenience of his mother ; there- 
 fore, when Miss Agnes suggested that 
 her age and feeble health seemed to make 
 a room below desirable, he very magnan- 
 imously assured her that his "mother's 
 presence in the house was never to inter- 
 fere with their domestic arrangements — 
 never — she might rely upon that ! " And 
 Miss Agnes really thought he had con- 
 ferred a favor on her, so full of impressive 
 condescension was his manner. 
 
 It is so easy to be magnanimous — at 
 otlier people's expense ! 
 
 Mother Tyler made no objection. In- 
 deed, there was hardly energy enough in 
 her whole body to make an objection to 
 any thing, but there was a great deal of 
 a certain kind of passive endurance that 
 would have led her to climb a dozen 
 flights of stairs, had her son so ordered 
 it, when once her inertia was fairly over- 
 come. Her leading traits seemed to be 
 devotion to her son — and the headache, 
 she being one of those people of whom it 
 is no misnomer to say that they " enjoy 
 poor health." 
 
 But I forget -that figure of my girl- 
 hood standing at the gate. Miss Agnes 
 saw me, and came down. I delivered my 
 package, and went to the kitchen with 
 the intention of reaching my room by the 
 back-stairs, but I paused at the upper 
 landing, for some child, evidently in my 
 own room, which adjoined that of Miss 
 Agnes's, was- saying, sulkily: 
 
 " I tell you I won't, and so— there ! " 
 
 "There — there — don't go to being 
 naughty — there's a dear!" replied a 
 drawling, coaxing voice. "I'm sure it's 
 a great deal prettier than your old room 
 at home." 
 
 " I don't care if 'tis ! I won't have it! 
 I won't sleep there — all alone — in the 
 dark ! " And the sulkiness nov/ changed 
 to a whimper. 
 
 " Well, well, you needn't cry ! The 
 dark won't hurt you. There's nothing 
 in the dark to hurt good boys. Yon 
 needn't be afraid I " 
 
 " Who said I was afraid ? But I won't 
 sleep there, that's flat! I'U have this 
 room close to yours." 
 
 "But it's the little girl's room, and 
 your new mother mightn't like it." 
 
 "What'll she care? The house is 
 pa's, ain't it ? You said 'twas, and I'd 
 have lots of nice things ! " 
 
 "Well, well! only wait till things get 
 settled a bit — ^there's a good boy. Oh, 
 my poor head ! " 
 
 "I won't wait — and — so — there — and 
 you may as well go down and tell 'em! 
 What's the use in having a new mother 
 and a new house, if I've got to go off, 
 alone, into that little room? I won't 
 stay here — I'll run away, and so! " 
 
 The boy began to sob, and Miss Ag- 
 nes came running Vip directly to see what 
 was the matter. 
 
 " Is that all ? " I heard her say, in 
 reply to Mrs. Tyler. "Of course, it's 
 quite natural he should have some such 
 feeling in a strange place. We ought to 
 have thought of it before. — Don't cry, 
 darling. Lina, I dare say, will willingly 
 exchange rooms with you. I will speak 
 to her about it — oh, here she comes ! " 
 for, hearing my name, I came hastily for- 
 ward. 
 
 "Lina, dear," she went on, "this is 
 our dear mother, Mrs. Tyler, and this 
 (patting the cheek of a boy of about my 
 age) is our dear Augustus, of whom I 
 have so often spoken to you." 
 
 I courtesied to the old lady, and 
 turned to the boy. He did not offer his 
 hand, but stood looking at me, from un- 
 der his half-shut eyelids, with pouting 
 lips, until Miss Agnes, laying her hand 
 on his head caressingly, said: 
 
 "Won't you shake hands with Lina, 
 
46 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 clear?" He just touched my liand, and 
 let his arm drop heavily to his side again. 
 It was very evident that this model child 
 could sullc. Perhaps Miss Agnes thought 
 so, for she said, pleasantly : 
 
 "Augustus is very tired, Lina ; be- 
 sides, he is feeling very badly, because 
 the room prepared for him is on the 
 other side of the house, quite away from 
 Ms grandmother, near whom he has been 
 accustomed to sleep. He is quite a stran- 
 ger, and we must consider his feelings ; 
 his father, to be sure, thought he would 
 prefer that room, but you won't mind 
 changing with him, Lina, or doing any 
 thing to make him happy? " 
 
 " I will do any thing to please you, 
 ma'am," I said, decidedly, for neither 
 Master Augustus's manner nor looks -in- 
 clined nie to make many sacrifices in his 
 favor. 
 
 " You mean you will be glad to do it 
 to please him, as well as me, I know, 
 Lina. You must remember to express 
 yourself more politely, dear. You are 
 naturally a little blunt." 
 
 "But that would not be the truth, 
 and you always tell me to speak the 
 truth, ma'am! " 
 
 " To be sure — but there are different 
 modes of — but we won't discuss this, 
 now. "We must consult my husband 
 about this change of rooms." 
 
 We descended to the sitting-room, 
 where Mr. Tyler was dozing in his easy- 
 chair, with a copy of the ISTeio- Yorh Oh- 
 servei' laid over his head, to shield its 
 bald apex from any current of air. He 
 y/as in the habit of solacing himself 
 daily with these "little naps," and, as he 
 usually placed that paper over his head, 
 I childishly inferred that there was some 
 soporific quality connected with that 
 sheet. If I erred, I humbly beg pardon. 
 
 He roused himself on our entrance, 
 and manifested a trait, not uncommon 
 even among people who have attained to 
 his stdte of perfectibility — a slight irrita- 
 tion at being disturbed — which showed 
 Itself in a disposition to snub Master 
 
 Augustus's wishes at once ; but, on a 
 clearer understanding of the case, he as- 
 sented to the change, not, as he solemnly 
 assured ns, from any desire to indulge 
 his own child — he sincerely hoped he 
 should be kept from such weakness — but • 
 because in the future there would, doubt- 
 less, arise little differences between us 
 children; concessions must be made, and 
 this was an excellent opportunity to en- 
 force the great duty of self-denial, in the 
 practice of which, he feared, owing to 
 the peculiar guilelessness and gentleness 
 of the person who had had the care of 
 me (with a look of tender pity at Miss 
 Agnes), I was sadly ignorant. He hoped 
 Augustus, too, would profit by this ex- 
 ample; we should overlook no example 
 which would tend to our profit. — "Au- 
 gustus, my son," he added, " what was it 
 you learned, when I was last with you, 
 to this effect?" 
 
 "Precepts are the chart with which 
 we start on the voyage of life, example 
 the beacon which teaches us to avoid the 
 sunken rocks npon which others have 
 foundered," promptly repeated the boy. 
 
 " Very well, very well, indeed. — It 
 has been a part of my system with my 
 children, dear, to insist npon their learn- 
 ing, daily, some moral or divine pre- 
 cept. The mind should be like a gran- 
 ary, well stored with moral and religious 
 truth." 
 
 With what an air of wisdom and be- 
 nevolence he glanced around the group, 
 and with vfhat a look of loving pride my 
 mistress regarded him! "So wise and 
 good, and to think he should have chosen 
 me ! " it seemed to say. 
 
 Such was my introduction to my 
 " little brother," as Miss Agnes had been ' 
 fond of calling him before her marriage, 
 though the fraternal title was soon 
 dropped. I took the chamber which 
 had been prepared for him, but I am . 
 afraid this example of self-denial was 
 lost on us both, for it had to be repeated 
 many times in the ensuing months, and 
 always at my expense. There did arise 
 
MASTER AUGUSTUS. 
 
 47 
 
 little and great differences between us ; 
 and, altboiigli Mr. Tyler always affected 
 a strict impartiality on weigliing the tcs- 
 • timony on both sides, yet, in viev»^ of my 
 questionable parentage, my pauperism, 
 and the condition of the people with 
 ■whom ray early years were passed, it 
 might be safely predicated that I would 
 be more likely to be guilty than his own 
 son, and therefore the case was invari- 
 ably prejudged. I felt the injustice of 
 these decisions, and resented them, fre- 
 quently, in a way that, unfortunately, 
 went far to sustain Mr. Tyler's assertion 
 that my mistress had been "wholly 
 blind to my true character and disposi- 
 tion." 
 
 One of the most sorrowful things in 
 human experience is the power of one 
 unjust act to call out evil in others, to 
 multiply and perpetuate itself through all 
 time. Under the training of Mr. Tyler, 
 and the example of his son, I became a 
 sad illustration of the truth of this ; yet, 
 let me do him justice. He did not see it ; 
 he was the victim of certain formularies 
 of life and thought ; thoroughly self-de- 
 ceived, and incapable of judging others. 
 
 If I had not told lies before I knew 
 Ollie, it vi^as from no particular sense of 
 their wickedness, Mrs. Hunt was not in 
 the habit of asking questions ; her blows 
 fell too suddenly for any attempt at pal- 
 liation, and it suited my nature to show 
 my scorn of her violence by my indiffer- 
 ence. But once, to save Ollie from pun- 
 ishment, I told her a downright lie ; I am 
 not sure but I should do it again under 
 like circumstances. I assumed the guilt, 
 and took the whipping, but his grief hurt 
 me far -worse than her blows, and he 
 would not be comforted until I had prom- 
 ised I would try never to be guilty of a 
 falsehood again. 
 
 But Augustus Tyler " made no bones 
 of lying," as Hannah Smith expressed it, 
 the consequences of which, owing to the 
 sins of my fathers, and his own consum- 
 mate adroitness in the business, were 
 ' visited upon me. As I look back to 
 
 that time, and recall his face and figure, 
 I am as much puzzled to understand 
 how he contrived to deceive his parents 
 as I was then. He was a fat, dull, 
 heavy-looking boy, with scarcely so much 
 muscular power in his whole body as a 
 lad of his age should have in his ten fin- 
 gers, the result, probably, of the stuffing 
 process by which his weak, doting grand- 
 mother tried to make up for the vege- 
 tarian diet imposed by his father. As a 
 consequence, he was always " munching," 
 and the habit of tucking the half-masti- 
 cated food away in his cheek, or of swal- 
 lowing it hurriedly, at the approach of 
 any one, or when addressed, often brought 
 tears to his eyes, and gave him a very 
 pitiable as well as grotesque look; and 
 this look, added to the imperturbable cool- 
 ness and obstinacy with which he per- 
 sisted in sticking to any falsehood he 
 chose to tell, must have been the secret 
 of his success. He looked stupidly in- 
 nocent, yet those cold gray eyes could 
 leer with malicious triumph when he 
 chose. 
 
 Mr. Tyler had spoken truly when he 
 likened his head to a granary. He had 
 a m3od verbal memory, and in all our 
 Sunday and weekly catechisings he was 
 ready with chapter and verse, but, for all 
 practical influence upon his character, 
 his acquisitions might as well have been 
 stored away in the granary of the Ph a- 
 raohs. 
 
 As his father seemed to mature no 
 plan for our training, save in what re- 
 lated to our diet, we were sent to school, 
 but I failed to profit by his example, of 
 course, much to Miss Agnes's disappoint- 
 ment. Indeed, I grew worse ; for, al- 
 tJiough not forbidden the sitting-room, I 
 was no longer called to Miss Agnes's 
 side to read to her, or questioned about 
 my lessons, all such questioning having 
 devolved upon Mr. Tyler, and I had a 
 kind of feeling that she wished to keep 
 me out of the way as much as possible, 
 though her manner to me was as kind as 
 ever when she did notice me. Perhaps, 
 
48 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 it was tlie kindest thing she could do for 
 me, but I did not think so then; I felt 
 slighted, and withdrew myself more and 
 more from her presence. Even the 
 kitchen was no longer the same place. 
 Between Mr. Tyler and his dietetics, and 
 old Mrs. Tyler's foraging expeditions after 
 tidbits for Augustus, Hannah Smith was 
 almost beside herself, so I went abroad 
 for amusement. I had, by this time, a 
 plenty of acquaintances among my school- 
 mates ; and many an hour, when Mrs. Ty- 
 ler thought me in my room busy with 
 my lessons, I w as sitting in Helen Hall's 
 pleasant chamber, devouring the contents 
 of an old copy of the " Arabian ISTights," 
 which belonged to her oldest sister. 
 
 Oh, for those hours of wonder and 
 delight! — of utter self-forgetfulness and 
 confiding faith, when I sat at the feet of 
 Soherazaide, and listened to her tales of 
 all that happened — 
 
 " In the golden prime 
 
 Of good Haroun-Al-EascMd I" 
 
 I dared not take the book home, for I 
 knew Mr. Tyler would not permit me to 
 read it. He was sternly opposed to what 
 he termed "light and profane" reading, 
 and classed every thing under this head, 
 except works of the heaviest, driest kind. 
 Yery soon after his marriage, he had ex- 
 amined the contents of the doctor's book- 
 case, and purged it of various works, 
 among which were some odd volumes of 
 old English plays, Scott's "Antiquary," 
 and " The Heart of Mid-Lothian," an old 
 copy of "The Scottish Chiefs," and filled 
 the vacant places with bound volumes of 
 "Eeligious Miscellany," "Disquisitions 
 on the Will," etc. 
 
 The condemned volumes had excited 
 my interest from certain peeps I had 
 taken of their contents, and Miss Agnes 
 had promised that, when I was a little 
 older, I should read them aloud to her. 
 "When I saw them consigned to the gar- 
 ret, therefore, with a strict injunction to 
 Augustus and myself not to touch them, 
 I felt not only disappointed but wronged ; 
 and the feeling was not at all lessened 
 
 when Miss Agnes showed me a bookcase 
 in the sitting-room, and told me that the 
 books it contained were expressly for the 
 use of Augustus and myself. 
 
 " Mr. Tyler is very particular to have 
 you read good and useful books, dear, 
 and he has selected these himself." 
 
 It was the small compact "Eeligious 
 Library" issued by the Tract Society, and 
 contained many a name dear to the cause 
 of truth and Christianity, Baxter, Dod-' 
 dridge, Mason, and Edwards, strong meat 
 for strong men, but little to interest a 
 girl of thirteen. My heart still clung to 
 the exiles in the garret, and, looking up 
 to Miss Agnes, I asked: 
 
 " Your father was a very good man, 
 wasn't he ? " 
 
 " Certainly, one of the best. Why do 
 you ask? " 
 
 "Because I was thinking of those 
 books you told me he used to like to read 
 so much — those- Mr. Tyler had carried to 
 the garret because they are so wicked. 
 Did he know they were such bad 
 books ? " 
 
 "IsTo, indeed, he did not think so. 
 Many good people think differently about 
 such reading," she said, thoughtfully, 
 "I remember hearing papa say that one 
 of our most distinguished divines, who 
 was a classmate of his, was particularly 
 fond of 'The Heart of Mid-Lothian,' but 
 Mr. Tyler disapproves of all fiction, and 
 thinks such an admission by a professed 
 Christian likely to lead to much evil. If 
 I had seen the subject as I do now, I 
 would never have promised that yon 
 should read those books. But Mr. Ty- 
 ler's conscientiousness is remarkable — 
 equalled only by his humility and good- 
 ness." 
 
 The closing sentence was a happy 
 soliloquy, rather than a sentence ad- 
 dressed to me. 
 
 I need not say how dry I found the 
 contents of those uniformly bpund vol- 
 umes in the small bookcase, or how 
 little I profited by reading them every 
 Sunday after church, taking alternate 
 
MASTER AUGUSTUS. 
 
 49 
 
 paragraphs with Augustus, v^hile Miss 
 Agnes listened reverently with an occa- 
 sional half-suppressed yawn, and Mr. 
 Tyler reclined in his easy-chair, with 
 closed eyes, "inwardly digesting the 
 words of truth," as he said, but the pro- 
 cess seemed to me more like digesting 
 his hearty dinner, especially when taken 
 in connection with his long, regular 
 breathing, which frequently culminated 
 in a loud snore. I could not understand 
 or appreciate what I read in this way ; 
 yet there were two books which proved 
 exceptions to this charge — "The Life of 
 Dr. Payson," and " The Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress." The first interested me, but in a 
 very different manner from the lasi. I 
 could find nothing of myself in Dr. Pay- 
 son, he was too good. His goodness, too, 
 was so constant and unvarying, that it 
 seemed to me a little unreal — as well as 
 a little tiresome, on this earth — but it 
 chimed admirably with my notions of 
 angels in white robes, with golden harps. 
 But, man or child, the heart clings to 
 that which has a touch of earth about it, 
 like itself, and I turned with delight from 
 the saintly Payson to the sinning, stum- 
 bling, doubting, fighting Christian. With 
 him I was at home ; T struggled by his 
 side through the " Slough of Despond," 
 mourned with him for his lost roll, fought 
 the terrible giant, descended into the 
 Valley of Humiliation, and svrelled bis 
 song of faith and trust : 
 
 " He that is down need fear no fall, 
 He that is low no pride ; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide." 
 
 The flames which consumed poor 
 Faithful scorched my cheek, and, letting 
 go the Pilgrim's hand on the banks of 
 the Dark Eiver, I leaned eagerly forward 
 with eager eyes and clasped hands, for, 
 amid the white-robed band on the farther 
 side, I always recognized one face — that 
 of little Ollie Lee. 
 
 Meantime, I had my own pilgrimage 
 to perform; neither Christian nor Ollie 
 could do that for me, and it lay through 
 
 Miss Agnes's garret straight into the pit 
 of falsehood. — I could not forget those 
 forbidden books, the names of which I 
 had caught when T had opened them. 
 Jeannie Deans, Effiie, Douce Davie, Monk- 
 barns, and Edie Ochiltree, haunted me, 
 Miss Agnes's old promise that I should 
 read them, rose between me and the 
 interdict; and, one day, I stole to the 
 attic and read the first chapters of " The 
 Heart of Mid-Lothian." I was in for 
 it then ! I took care of my own room 
 always, and, day after day, when I had. 
 hurried through my sweeping and dust- 
 ing, I stole to the garret and read awhile. 
 Presently I grew more bold, and brought 
 one of the volumes to my room. One 
 evening, when I sat with my book on 
 the window-sill, to catch the last rays of 
 daylight, I was startled by a noise, and, 
 turning suddenly, caught a glimpse of 
 Master Augustus retreating from my door 
 and heard him "scufiing" along through 
 the passages, for he always walked with 
 a kind of dragging step. I immediately 
 slipped the book beneath my pillow and 
 went down-stairs to meet my punishment, 
 for I thought he would betray me at once. 
 To my surprise, nothing was said about 
 it that night, and the delay proved my 
 rock of stumbling. I began to tamper 
 with my conscience : "He did not know 
 what the book was — you can put it back, 
 and they will never know any thing 
 about it," etc. 
 
 Who does not know the process? 
 Mean enough, sorrowful enough, in all 
 conscience ; I have no need to describe 
 it, else the Liturgy is a libel. We are aU 
 miserable sinners, or we make ourselves 
 miserable liars, every time we repeat "its 
 solemn responses. 
 
 I did not replace the book. I was 
 sent on an errand before going to school, 
 and had no opportunity to do so ; but I 
 was hardly over the threshold that even- 
 ing, when Augustus came to tell me with 
 a grin that his father wanted me in the 
 study — a room now wholly monopolized 
 by him. 
 
50 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Mi\ Tyler was sitting by the table, 
 and Miss Agnes stood looking out the 
 window, with her back to the door, when 
 I entered. She did not stir even when 
 Mr. Tyler addressed me sternly : 
 
 "Zerlina Day, what book were you 
 reading last evening? " 
 
 " Say ' Barnes's I^Totes,' " whispered 
 the Tempter. I obeyed. 
 
 "My dear, will you ask Augustus to 
 come here ? We may need him before 
 we get through." 
 
 Augustus was probably listening, for 
 my mistress barely crossed the threshold, 
 before she returned with him. 
 
 "My son, take your place by this 
 table. — 1:^0 w, Zerlina Day, I put the ques- 
 tion once more. What book were you 
 reading last evening ? " 
 
 " 'Barnes's K'otes,' " again whispered 
 the voice. " You know you looked over 
 some portions of your Sunday-school les- 
 son last night ; " and again I obeyed. 
 
 " — ^h ! 0—0 — h ! o — — oh ! what a 
 lie ! " cried Augustus, bringing his hands 
 to his mouth in a sort of funnel-shape as 
 if to prevent his astonishment and horror 
 from blowing him up. His father dropped 
 his arms nervelessly across his lap, as if 
 wholly overcome by the spectacle of such 
 wickedness, and my mistress sighed heav- 
 ily. That sigh was like a needle to my 
 conscience, and I turned to fling myself 
 at her feet and confess guilt, when Mr. 
 Tyler laid his hand on my shoulder. I 
 had always been susceptible to the touch, 
 and when his soft, damp, clammy hand 
 fell on my bare shoulder, I instinctively 
 recoiled. His face flushed with anger as 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 " Don't show temper like that to me 1 
 Why did you twitch away ? " 
 
 " Because I don't want you to touch 
 me, sir." 
 
 " She rejects the hand that would 
 save her. You must be convinced now, 
 my dear," turning to Miss Agnes. 
 
 She removed her handkerchief from 
 her face, for she was weeping, and. made 
 
 a step forward, but he motioned her back 
 by an authoritative gesture. 
 
 To my surprise she did not heed him, 
 but came forward, saying eagerly : 
 
 " Perhaps Lina can explain — " 
 
 He bestowed upon her one of his com- 
 passionate glances. 
 
 " We do not want explanations in this 
 case, my dear, but a direct categorical 
 answer ; and we have, just what I feared 
 — a downright falsehood. — l!^ow, Zerlina 
 Day, what book is this ? " 
 
 He drew the volume I had been read- 
 ing from beneath a paper and held it be- 
 fore me. 
 
 " ' The Heart of Mid-Lothian.' " 
 
 " How came it in your room ? " 
 
 " I took it there from the garret. '' 
 
 " To read ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Had you not been strictly forbidden 
 to read it ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " How dare you touch it, then ? " 
 
 " Miss Ag — Mrs. Tyler promised that 
 I should read them before you came here, 
 sir." 
 
 He seized me by the ear and drew me 
 toward him ; but in a moment Miss Ag- 
 nes was by my side, saying : 
 
 " I did indeed ; she speaks the truth ! " 
 
 He let go my ear and looked at her. 
 Immediately she began to color and 
 shrink in self-abasement, and went on in 
 a frightened manner : 
 
 " It was wrong, but I did not think 
 so then. Pray don't punish her for my 
 fault." 
 
 He didn't turn aside his eyes or alter 
 a muscle of his face for a full second ; then 
 said, with a deep sigh : 
 
 "It is very easy to see how you fell 
 into such an error. The fathers have 
 eaten sour grapes, and the children's 
 teeth are set on edge. I do not punish 
 her for that^ but because of her being 
 guilty of downright falsehood. If you 
 had faithfully used the rod, you might 
 possibly have cured her of this dreadful 
 
MASTER AUGUSTUS. 
 
 51 
 
 habit. I readily cured Augustus. — My 
 son, you go — " 
 
 He had seized me by tlie ear again, 
 but I liardly felt it, so intent was I on 
 watcliing my mistress, for the blood 
 rushed to her neck and cheek in a tor- 
 rent as he spoke, but the next instant she 
 was white as death. 
 
 " You will not beat her ? " she cried, 
 "Surely, Mr, Tyler, you cannot mean 
 it? Eemember, she is a girl — almost a 
 woman ! " and she burst into passionate, 
 convulsive weeping. 
 
 I can see the face even now, white 
 with suppressed anger, with which he 
 regarded her for a second before he re- 
 moved her hand from his arm, and said in 
 his hardest, most inflexible tone : 
 
 " You are nervous, Mrs. Tyler, You 
 had better retire until you can command 
 yourself — at least, before these children." 
 
 I coulduot see her face, but I fancy he 
 read something in it that either touched 
 or warned him, for he immediately added 
 in his softest tone of reproach : 
 
 " I had hoped that my experience as a 
 parent and instructor would have given 
 you confidence in my judgment, my dear, 
 even if your own observation has not, 
 but it seems I am mistaken," 
 
 He had not miscalculated the effect 
 of his tone. She hid her face upon his 
 shoulder sobbing, and begged to be for- 
 given, just as if she had been guilty of 
 some heinous crime. 
 
 It was accorded, magnanimously and 
 condescendingly ; and, to prove her con- 
 fidence, she proposed to retire and leave 
 him to deal with me as he thought best, 
 but this did not suit his present mood ; he 
 seated her, and entered into a disquisition 
 of the punishments best adapted to dif- 
 ferent dispositions with a critical acumen 
 that showed him to be master of the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " With Augustus, who is exceedingly 
 susceptible to physical sufifering," he 
 went on — "a peculiarity which he inher- 
 its from me, I have ever found corporal 
 punishment very efli'ective. Our strength 
 
 lies in the mind, my love ; any amount 
 of mental labor or anguish we can bear ; 
 but this child is of a different stamp. 
 You have quite mistaken her disposition 
 and character. Her heart is full of pride, 
 ambition, self-will, and vain, inordinate 
 affections. This will must be broken — 
 this pride hunabled,' these affections tem- 
 pered; and they can only be reached 
 through the heart. — Zerlina Day, do you 
 confess that you have been guilty of 
 falsehood and disobedience ? *' 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Are you ready to ask our pardon? ■' 
 
 " I will ask Mrs. Tyler's, sir. — Indeed, 
 indeed, ma'am, I am very sorry for my 
 wickedness ! " 
 
 " Very well. Isfow, ask pardon of us 
 — Augustus and myself." 
 
 I hesitated — at length, I said, " I am 
 sorry I told you a lie, sir." 
 
 " And Augustus ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ; he tells lies every day. Yester- 
 day, he stole the cake, and told Mrs. Ty- 
 ler the cat — " 
 
 " Zerlina Day ! " thundered Mr. Tyler, 
 " we want no accusations from an avowed 
 liar like yourself. It will not lessen your 
 guilt to accuse others. — Augustus, open 
 that Bible at Acts v., and read aloud the 
 punishment that overtakes liars, even in 
 this world ! " 
 
 Mr. Tyler sat with folded hands, and 
 reverently closed eyelids, though I felt 
 that he was watching me all the while. 
 Miss Agnes sat with her face bowed upon 
 her hands, but, from the convulsive mo- 
 tion of the cords in her white neck, I 
 knew she was weeping while Master Au- 
 gustus read in clear, emphatic tones. the 
 story of Ananias and Sapphira. 
 
 " Thus God punishes liars ! " said Mr. 
 Tyler, when the boy ceased to read, "and 
 such may soon be your fate. "Will you 
 confess your sin before my son now, and 
 ask forgiveness ? " 
 
 I do not know how it was, but, instead 
 of being softened by that terrible story, 
 my heart grew harder and harder all the 
 while the boy was reading. I felt that I 
 
52 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 did not care if I did die, and I answered 
 doggedly — 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then, until you can subdue your 
 wicked, rebellious spirit, you must not 
 be ;permitted to hold any intercourse 
 with this family or your school-mates. 
 Your teacher and they must be warned 
 of your character. — Mj dear, will you 
 hand me the key to the small room in 
 the attic?" 
 
 They would tell the whole school ! I 
 saw myself scorned, avoided, pointed at ; 
 and, unmindful of Mr. Tyler's order to 
 follow him up-stairs, I sprang past him, 
 and, clinging to Miss Agnes's dress, im- 
 plored her to have mercy on me. 
 
 " I will never ; never tell a lie again ! " 
 I cried. "Please don't hate me, and 
 make everybody else hate me, too! " 
 
 She put her arms around me, but they 
 were removed by her husband, who un- 
 clasped my hands from her gown, and, 
 without a word more, dragged me up- 
 stairs and thrust me into a small, dimly- 
 lighted room or large closet rather, to 
 which the unsold medical paraphernalia 
 of the doctor had been removed after his 
 death, locked the door, and left me. 
 
 For a long time I sat with my head 
 bowed on my hands, weeping bitterly, not 
 from sorrow because I had refused to ask 
 Augustus's pardon — I felt that I had not 
 sinned against him — but from a feeling of 
 miserable wretchedness that I had never 
 felt before, born froni the consciousness 
 of my guilt, and the conviction that every 
 one must loathe me as I loathed myself. 
 I thought of Ollie. He, too, must hate 
 me. If I should be struck dead like Ana- 
 nias and Sapphira, I should go away to 
 everlasting punishment, and never see 
 his face again. I shuddered at the 
 thought. A feeling of faintness over- 
 came me, partly caused by exhaustion, 
 and partly by the closeness of the room 
 and the suffocating odor of the drugs 
 upon the shelves, and I fell from my 
 crouching position to the floor. I have 
 no idea how long I lay there, or 
 
 whether I woke or slept, but the horrorg 
 of that time I shall never forget. The 
 old picture of the Last Judgment was be- 
 fore me, but so large that it filled all 
 space— the whole world was one mass of 
 darting, leaping, hissings flames, and the 
 hideous devils were multiplied to legions. 
 Above, on the luminous clouds, was the 
 " Son of Man," and on His right, close to 
 him, stood Ollie. I knew him at once, 
 though the deformity which had marked 
 him on earth was gone, but, oh, despair! 
 the faces of both were turned away froia 
 me ! The ears of both were deaf to my 
 imploring cries, as I clung to Miss Ag- 
 nes's skirts (for she, too, was there in the 
 lower rank of the blessed, and strove to 
 shake off the grinning devils that clutched 
 at my feet). There were Ananias and 
 Sapphira in the midst of the flames, draw- 
 ing me toward thera with such a look of 
 unutterable horror, woe, and anguish, in 
 their still human eyes ! And Sally Hunt 
 beckoned me with her hard, skinny hand, 
 and said mockingly, pointing to the 
 flames — 
 
 " "Went ter meetin', did ye ? Come an' 
 see your father, child ! " 
 
 And then there came a voice, hard, 
 stem, and unpitying, rising far above the 
 shrieks, and yells, and curses, echoing 
 like thunder amid the hills, and it said — 
 oh, how the cold, damp sweat started 
 from every pore in my body, and my soul 
 shrunk and trembled within me! — "All 
 liars shall have their part in the lake 
 which burnetii with fire and brim- 
 stone ! " 
 
 It did not seem to come from above, 
 for, although the faces of the Divine One 
 and His young disciple were still averted, 
 I felt that there would have been a strain 
 of compassion and sorrow in His tones ; 
 but, while I still shivered and shrunk, 
 sweeter than all music, hushing for one 
 moment the shrieks and the torments of 
 the bottomless pit, came a second voice, 
 saying : 
 
 " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these my brethren, 
 
IX HANNAH'S ROOM. 
 
 53 
 
 ye have done it unto me! " At these 
 words, Miss Agnes "was drawn up, as it 
 were ; but I, poor wretch, went falling — 
 fiilling — falling — struggling — gasping I — 
 oh, the unutterable agonj of that feel- 
 ing] clutching at the thin hot air as if 
 that could stay, me — sinking — sinking— 
 until, in unspeakable terror, I sprang up. 
 
 "What was this ? "Were those hideous 
 things real ? There were no flames there ! 
 The corner of the room where I sat was 
 dark as pitch, but the strong moonlight, 
 through the small skylight, fell upon the 
 shelves which lined the opposite side of 
 the room, transpiercing the glass jars 
 there, and revealing their contents, hide- 
 ous, contorted reptiles, bloated, swollen 
 toads and frogs, with white bellies which 
 gleamed with a kind of phosphorescent 
 light, lizards and human monstrosities — 
 thumbs and fingers and toes — trophies 
 of the old doctor's skill as a surgeon and 
 naturalist. 
 
 I had never seen these things, though 
 I had more than once heard Hannah 
 Smith speak of them, and my previous 
 dream or vision had so paralyzed reason 
 and memory that I sat staring blankly at 
 them until my frenzied imagination had 
 endued them with life and they began 
 to crawl. I had always had a horror of 
 spiders — and, now, the room was full of 
 these cold, slimy, crawling abominations. 
 I tried to shriek aloud, but it seemed to 
 me as if my paralyzed organs refused to 
 utter a word. But I was mistaken; 
 Hannah Smith heard me, and, when she 
 burst open my prison-door, I lay upon 
 the floor, to all appearnce, dead. It was 
 that good woman's first intimation of my 
 punishment, and, even in heaven, I think 
 it will be hard for her to speak of it 
 with patience. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DT Hannah's koom. 
 
 "When I returned to consciousness, 
 the first thing I recognized in the dimly- 
 lighted room was a large bag of gay 
 chintz hanging against the white wall, 
 at the foot of the bed. I knew that bag 
 — it was Hannah Smith's ! I tried to turn 
 myself, in order to make out where I 
 was, but I was limp as water, and forced 
 to lie still, and contemplate that object, 
 assured, by its presence there, that I was 
 not beyond the reach of that good wom- 
 an's hand. The room was perfectly still, 
 and with a delicious feeling of safety 
 from some evil — what I could not tell, 
 for I was yet too weak to recall the past 
 — my heavy eyelids were again closing, 
 when I became conscious of the smell 
 of camphor. This was one of the odors, 
 or one of the combination of odors, that 
 had impregnated the air of my prison, 
 and I closed my eyes with disgust, though 
 old Mrs. Tyler's voice, asking if I was 
 awake, sufficiently accounted for the 
 smell. She seated herself by my bed, I 
 knew ; but, much as I wished to ask how 
 I came to be in Hannah's room, I could 
 not overcome my dislike of the woman 
 so far as to ask her. Presently steps ap- 
 proached from the kitchen, and some one 
 said in a whisper : 
 
 "You here, ma'am? Pray don't dis- 
 turb her." 
 
 Before the old lady could gather 
 breath for the long sigh with which she 
 usually prefaced a remark, I said : 
 
 "Pm not asleep, Hannah. How -did 
 I come here ? " 
 
 " My goodness, child ! Ain't I glad to 
 hear you speak once more? " 
 
 She came to the bedside with her 
 hands white with flour, and her kind face 
 red with heat, for she was baking, her 
 lip and forehead beaded with great drops 
 of perspiration, but it was as welcome 
 to me as that of an angel — ^indeed, more 
 
54 
 
 KIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 welcome, for I was longing for compan- 
 ionship of flesh and blood. 
 
 She looked at me intently a moment, 
 before she said, "You are sure you know 
 me, Lina 1 " 
 
 "To be sure! Why shouldn't I? And 
 why don't you tell me why I'm here, in 
 your bed." 
 
 " 'Cause 'twas handier for me to take 
 care of you here." 
 
 "Havel been sick? — I don't -remem- 
 ber." 
 
 "Yes^" interrupted Mrs, Tyler — 
 " you've been sick ever since you told 
 tliat lie ; don't you remember ? " 
 
 Hannah turned and faced the old 
 lady so suddenly as to make her start. 
 
 " There's some things that had better 
 not be remembered, Mrs. Tyler, and if 
 you had just as lief as not come in here — 
 why, it will be quite as agreeable, for I 
 ain't used to seein' all sorts of folks in 
 mj bedroom," she said, dryly. 
 
 "Dear me! You don't say so! I 
 only just dropped in to see how the girl 
 was. They'll be glad to know she's got 
 her senses again," said the old lady as 
 she left the room. 
 
 " Oome here, Hannah," I said, for the 
 old lady's words had quickened my fee- 
 ble memory, and brought back the events 
 of that day and night with fearful dis- 
 tinctness — " tell me about Miss Agnes — 
 will she never forgive me ? never speak 
 to me again ! " 
 
 I shuddered and trembled, and there 
 was a troubled look in the good woman's 
 face, while she smoothed back my hair 
 and arranged my pillows. 
 
 "There, don't worry, child. I have 
 no doubt Miss Agnes would come to you 
 if she could. But she's been sick herself, 
 an' its new times here. I have not seen 
 her for a week ! Mr. Tyler's sister has 
 come, an' she carries things with a high 
 hand. I little thought I'd ever live to be 
 told in this house that my opinion was 
 not wanted — an' about the dear child, 
 too, that I've nussed since she was a 
 baby!" 
 
 There was grief and indignation in 
 Hannah's voice, but I did not heed it. 
 Miss Agnes was sick, and I had doubtless 
 made her so. I might be a murderer as 
 well as a liar — that was why OUie's face 
 had been turned away from me, and I 
 felt deserted by God and man. I asked 
 no more questions — why should 1 1 but 
 covered myself with the bedclothes and 
 gave way to my grief and despair. 
 
 Oh the long weary days that followed I 
 The doctor said I needed nourishment 
 only — ^but it was for the soul rather than 
 the body, and, among all Hannah's broths 
 and syrups, there was none that could 
 do that! Tliat lie haunted me. "Why 
 shouldn't I be weak, when night after 
 night I started from my sleep with my 
 flesh creeping with fear, and wet with 
 perspiration, at the repetition of the fear- 
 ful scenes of that night of horror? All 
 that I had ever read of retribution or 
 punishment seemed to come back to me 
 in those nights of mental anguish and 
 physical weakness. Sometimes I was 
 with the strayed lamb, and the Good 
 Shepherd would not look at me, when He 
 drew the lamb to His bosom ; and some- 
 times it was no longer a lamb He bore^ 
 but OUie. Sometimes I was with Chris- 
 tian, passing through the valley and 
 shadow of death — striving to overtake 
 him — while the horrible, undefined 
 shapes that peopled the abyss on either 
 hand clutched at my garments and filled 
 my ears with mocking gibes and jeers. 
 
 Hannah tried to cheer me up, but it 
 was quite evident that her own heart 
 was heavy; besides, she was ignorant of 
 my sufferings, for I shrunk from acknowl- 
 edging them to any one. 
 
 Sometimes I heard a strange voice in 
 the kitchen, giving brief but decided or- 
 ders, which I took to belong to Mrs. 
 Eeed, Mr. Tyler's sister ; but I never 
 heard that of Mr. Tyler or Augustus, and 
 this seemed so unusual, that I asked Han- 
 nah about it. 
 
 "Augustus and Sara — for Mrs. Eeed 
 brought her girl with her — were sent 
 
m HANNAH'S ROOM. 
 
 55 
 
 away, the daj after slie came. Dr. Guth- 
 rie said the house must be kept per- 
 fectly still on account of Miss Agnes, an' 
 Fanny Moore took 'em home with her. 
 As to Mr. Tyler — there's no use in his 
 comin' — she's enough ! " 
 
 "She?" 
 
 "Mrs. Reed, child. She had not 
 been in the house a day, before she'd got 
 the keys, even of Miss Agnes's drawers, 
 an' she'd be glad to have nobody breathe, 
 without asking her leave. But there's 
 one that'll never knuckle to her. She'd 
 have the house to herself quick metre, if 
 'twarn't for Miss Agnes, poor child." 
 
 She had hardly ceased to speak, when 
 Mr. Tyler and his sister entered the 
 kitchen. Hannah hurried out, but their 
 business was not with her, for they came 
 on to my room. I have said I did not 
 like to have Mr. Tyler touch me, and 
 now it seemed as if I could feel his pres- 
 ence the moment he entered the kitchen, 
 and I involuntarily closed my eyes, that 
 I might not be obliged to see or speak 
 with him. I had no wish to deceive — no 
 farther thought about the matter, save 
 the one stated, but, when he spoke my 
 name, although I did not unclose my eyes, 
 I could not prevent a slight shudder from 
 moving my frame. 
 
 Mrs. Reed observed it, and said : 
 
 " The girl is as wide awake as you 
 are, brother. She is only shamming 
 sleep." 
 
 This charge, so wholly unexpected, 
 caused me to open my eyes at once, and 
 the dark, strong-featured woman before 
 me, with a triumphant, "There — I told 
 you so ! " added, before Mr. Tyler could 
 speak : 
 
 " Look here, miss. I've got something 
 to say to you. You have got one to deal 
 with, now, that .understands all such 
 tricks. You can't cheat or cajole me as 
 you have Mrs. Tyler, nor kill me, neither, 
 as you have come near killing her. I am 
 made of different material. I am neither 
 weak nor nervous, and, if you are ugly 
 and obstinate, I can be obstinate too ! " 
 
 I heeded but one portion of her words, 
 that which referred to Miss Agnes, and, 
 cut to the heart by the taunt, I burst into 
 tears, and begged to be permitted to see 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Tyler interrupted me with — 
 
 " I trust your grief is sincere, Zerlina ; 
 but, after such shocking conduct as you 
 have exhibited, you cannot expect to be 
 received into Mrs. Tyler's presence or fa- 
 vor at present. Your ingratitude and 
 wickedness have blasted her cherished 
 hopes, and brought her to the borders of 
 the grave ; and, were she weak enough 
 to v/ish it, I cannot permit you to see 
 her. You were warned of the fate of 
 liars in the example of Ananias, and for 
 a time a like fate seemed likely to over- 
 take you, for I can but view your illness 
 as the legitimate consequence of your sin. 
 You have been mercifully spared this 
 time, and I trust you will heed this warn- 
 ing, and remember that, although we 
 still bear with you, the day of reckoning 
 will surely come." 
 
 Oh, could he have known how I had 
 suffered — how, in sorrow, and anguish, 
 and ignorance, and darkness, T had al- 
 ready reckoned with my soul, would he 
 have spoken thus ? I cannot believe it. 
 Hard, and narrow, and selfish, as he was, 
 he was still human, and must have had 
 some pity. 
 
 I could only sob, and he had hardly 
 ceased to speak, when Hannah appeared 
 in the doorway, saying, indignantly : 
 
 " Mr. Tyler, if you want to get that 
 girl out of the world, you had better go 
 on in that way a little longer. I hope I 
 know my place ; if I don't, it won't be 
 for want of tellin' in these days ; but -I've 
 lived in this house fifteen years, and I'll 
 speak my mind now if I'm hanged for't. 
 This child's sickness is none of God's 
 sending, but your own ! I don't excuse 
 her fault — she told a lie, and she ought 
 to have been punished for't — but it was 
 a cruel, heathenish piece of business to 
 shut her up with all them nasty snakes 
 and buf?s. ITo wonder she went into a 
 
56 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 fit. — Mercifully spared ! If she hadn't 'a 
 been, I'd like to know whose reckoning'd 
 'a been hardest, your'n or her'n ! " 
 
 I opened my eyes, and hushed my 
 sobs in fear and astonishment. Mr. Tyler 
 seemed speechless from anger, while Mrs. 
 Reed only surveyed the defiant Hannah 
 with a cool, supercilious stare — then, 
 turning to her brother, she asked : 
 
 "Really, brother, I would like to 
 know what position this" — again her 
 hard, gray eyes were turned upon Han- 
 nah — " person has held in this house ? I 
 understood she was a servant." 
 
 " It's little matter what you call me," 
 returned Hannah, making a step forward, 
 and confronting Mrs. Eeed — " so long as 
 those whom it concerned were satisfied. 
 As I said before, IVe lived here fifteen 
 years, an', if I'd been a queen, I couldn't 
 have been treated with more kindness 
 and respect. The doctor wanted me to 
 stay with his child, and I have ; but I'll 
 never stand by and see a friendless child 
 driven out of her wits, without saying 
 what I think on't, if I have to budge the 
 next minute ! " 
 
 " And you shall ! " exclaimed Mr. Ty- 
 ler, for the first time finding his voice. 
 " You may depend upon that ! " 
 
 "Very well, when my mistress, Mrs. 
 Tyler, says the word, I'm ready to go ! " 
 and Hannah walked back to her baking. 
 
 Mrs. Reed looked after her with com- 
 pressed lips, but, mindful of my presence, 
 she did not give vent to her anger, other- 
 wise than by taking the phials of medicine 
 upon the table, and, after testing them 
 by taste and smell, flinging them out of 
 the window. 
 
 "There," she said, "no wonder you 
 don't gain strength. Drugged and dosed 
 with such stuff. A few homoeopathic 
 granules is all you want. — Brother, you 
 will send some down. — And, remember 
 this, girl, you must be up and out of this 
 room before the week is over. You can 
 do so if you choose. The will is all that 
 is needed, and you have a plenty of that, 
 if you choose to exert it ! " 
 
 They left the room, and the next mo- 
 ment I heard her giving orders to Han- 
 nah, in that same hard, inflexible voice, 
 as coolly as if the scene just related had 
 never occurred. 
 
 But Hannah's words had aroused 
 again a sense of wrong and injustice that 
 had been crushed into silence beneath 
 the weight of conscious guilt and self- 
 reproach. But it did not rise with the 
 passionate vehemence with which I used 
 to meet Granny Hunt's injustice — ^it only 
 added a new ingredient to my v/retched- 
 ness. 
 
 I brooded over what Mr. Tyler had 
 said about Miss Agnes, until I became 
 hopeless and wellnigh reckless. Mrs. 
 Reed's orders as to my getting up were 
 behind me, and I knew I must obey them. 
 I was trying to dress myself, one day, 
 and had partly succeeded, when Hannah 
 entered the room. 
 
 "What are you trying to do, child? 
 You ain't fit to get up! " 
 
 "I must get up, Mrs. Reed said so." 
 
 "Well, what if she did? She can't 
 put strength into a body's bones, nor 
 breath into their bodies, I guess, though 
 I've no doubt she thinks she can. Ac- 
 cordin' to her, nobody ever need be sick, 
 and she's driving that poor girl, Agnes, 
 just as she is you! Nothing but will 
 wantin' to give her strength to get up, 
 an' she frettin' so about her baby, poor 
 thing! " 
 
 "Her baby, Hannah! " 
 
 " Yes ; I never told you about it, be- 
 cause I thought 'twould worry you ; be- 
 sides, when 'twas born, you didn't sense 
 any thing. It didn't live but a few 
 hours, an' she can't help mournin' about 
 it, though it's better, perhaps, as it is, for 
 it's a world o' trouble to be born into." 
 
 "Is that why they sent for Mrs. 
 Reed?" 
 
 "Yes, I s'pose so — nobody said a 
 word to me about it, though." 
 
 " Is she going to stay, you think ? " 
 
 "Stay? Of course she will! Isn't 
 this a nice, pleasant home, and don't the 
 
IN HANNAH'S ROOM. 
 
 57 
 
 Bible say, where the carcass is the ea- 
 gles are gathered together? An' what's 
 more, she'll make Miss Agnes feel that 
 she's doin' her a great favor by staying." 
 
 " And will you stay, too, Hannah ? " 
 I asked, after a paase, during which I had 
 been reflecting upon these changes. 
 
 " As long as I can bear it for her sake 
 and yours, child ! " and the eyes she 
 turned on me were full of tears. 
 
 I don't know how it came about, for 
 the good woman was by no means de- 
 monstrative, least of all in evidences of 
 tenderness, but I found her arms around 
 me, and my cheek pressed close to her 
 breast, while she said slowly : 
 
 "You have no relations, they say — or 
 none that you know of, and if ever you 
 do go away from here — that is, if they 
 make it so hard that you can't stay, even 
 for Miss Agnes's sake, I'll do what I can 
 for you, for the sake of old times. But, 
 you must stay if you can, for I know she's 
 set to have you." 
 
 " Then she don't hate me ? She will 
 letme see her again, sometime! " I cried, 
 sobbing. 
 
 " Hate you? 'No ! — When did Agnes 
 Lathrop ever hate any thing, 'specially a 
 friendless child ! " 
 
 " Bub I made her sick ! I killed her 
 baby — ^Mr. Tyler said I made her sick ! " 
 I cried. 
 
 " But truth is truth, an' will stand ! " 
 said Hannah, solemnly. " 'Twas a dread- 
 ful thing for you to tell a lie, child, wicked 
 and mean, but it was not that which 
 made her sick — it was the sight of your 
 white face and starin' eyes, when I 
 brought you from that room. She does 
 not know how very sick you've been, I 
 would not tell her, but she asks after you 
 every time I see her. You were crazy as 
 a loon at first. It was a mean, cruel 
 thing to put you in that room, an' I be- 
 lieve in her heart she thinks so, though 
 she dursn't say it." 
 
 There was comfort for me in her 
 words, though I could not bnt feel that 
 i.t was my conduct that had given her the 
 
 first shock ; and, forgetful of Mrs. Reed's 
 orders, I lay there dreaming of that little 
 dead baby. 
 
 The next moment Mrs. Reed entered 
 my room, and, after feeling my pulse, 
 ordered me to get up. She had brought 
 some linen in her arms, and, turning to 
 Hannah who came in to remove my 
 breakfast- dishes, said : 
 
 " You will see that this girl gets up 
 to-day. Miss Smith. She will need no 
 medicine or waiting on any longer. Ex- 
 ercise is all she wants. In a day or two, 
 she will be able to turn these sheets 
 which I have brought down. They 
 ought to have been seen to before." 
 
 Hannah's face crimsomed deeply. 
 " Those sheets were Miss Agnes's moth- 
 er's, ma'am. She sets greatly by 'em be- 
 cause her mother spun'em herself. Per- 
 haps, you'd better not meddle with 'em 
 nntil she gets about, an' can see to 'em 
 herself." 
 
 Mrs. Reed drew herself up, and said 
 with the utmost deliberation : 
 
 " When I need your opinion, Miss 
 Smith, I can ask. Having accepted the 
 charge of this house, at the request of 
 my brother and his wife, I shall in all 
 things act as I think best. Any further 
 remarks or suggestions from you will be 
 quite unnecessary. — Zerlina, you will 
 turn those sheets. You can do a little 
 every day." 
 
 I shivered as if an iceberg passed me 
 when she left the room. Hannah looked 
 after her with compressed lips for a mo- 
 ment ; then, with a long sigh and a glance 
 at the fine linen on the table, went about 
 her work in silence. 
 
 I tried to obey. The sheets Were 
 heavy and my fingers weak, and I made 
 slow progress. One day, while I sat 
 thinking of Miss Agnes, a hand light as 
 a snow-flake was laid upon my bowed 
 head, and her own voice said: 
 
 " That work is too heavy for you, 
 Lina dear. Why do you try to sew ? " 
 
 She had come so softly that I had not 
 heard her footfall, and, as she stood there 
 
58 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 in her white wrapper and bright scarlet 
 shawl, with her cheeks so thin and white, 
 and her brown hair put away behind her 
 ears, I stared at her without speaking, as 
 if she had been a ghost. 
 
 "I have frightened you, Lina," she 
 continued, sinking into the chair from 
 which I had taken mj work — "but I 
 didn't find Hannah in the kitchen." 
 
 She was not angry with me, then ! 
 She could not have spoken more tender- 
 ly to her own dead baby, and I fl.ung my- 
 self beside her, crying : 
 
 " O Miss Agnes, you don't hate me, 
 then! I know I was wicked, but you 
 will speak to me again! " 
 
 She did not speak just then, but 
 bowed her head upon mine, . and I felt 
 her tears upon my forehead. I needed 
 no words ; I felt I was forgiven. 
 
 "Miss Agnes — dear child — you here! 
 Crying, too ! Dear me — we shall have 
 you down sick again ! " 
 
 "Let me alone, Hannah. I believe 
 it will do me good to cry — only I'm 
 ashamed to be so weak," she said, look- 
 ing up, and holding out her hand to that 
 faithful friend. " They are all gone out," 
 she went on, " and I longed so to come 
 down to the kitchen once more, and see 
 you and this sick girl. "What's the mat- 
 ter with her, Hannah? She is white as 
 a daisy; and what do you make her 
 work for ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Eeed said she must," was the 
 brief reply, as Hannah took the work, 
 and laid it out of sight. 
 
 "Mrs. Eeed, probably, does not con- 
 sider how weak she is," she replied. "I 
 have given her so much trouble of late, 
 that she has had no time to think of any 
 one else. But Lina must have been very 
 sick indeed." 
 
 "She's been a good deal down, and 
 don't gain strength as I wish she did. I 
 think some good syrup, or bitters, such 
 as your father used to give you, would be 
 good for her, but Mrs. Reed thinks them 
 little sugar mites '11 cure any thing. 
 Mebbe they will, but I should like to 
 
 know what your father would 'a said 
 about 'em." 
 
 " Sister Eeed is a very ardent believer 
 in homoeopathy, as well as my husband ; 
 it is, at least, a harmless practice, as papa 
 would say, I think, I think it agrees 
 with me, but something else may be 
 needed for Lina." 
 
 Hannah was called out by a neighbor, 
 and Miss Agnes, drawing me to her, 
 looked at me intently for some moments, 
 before she said : 
 
 " "What made you think I would hate 
 you — never speak to you, Lina? " 
 
 "Because I told that lie, and made 
 you sick — and — and — " 
 
 " And what ? " she asked, seeing me 
 hesitate. 
 
 "Because they said you wouldn't want 
 to see me, ma'am," I replied, slowly, for 
 I had a kind of instinct that my words 
 might wound her. 
 
 "They were mistaken," she replied, 
 using the plural pronoun in the same in- 
 definite way that I had; "they are so 
 strong and good themselves that they 
 hardly know how to make due allow- 
 ance for others. But I am weak, and 
 full of errors — I feel it daily, more and 
 more deeply — and it is not for one like 
 me to condemn another, especially a 
 child whom I am bound to love and pro- 
 tect. Did they think you made me 
 sick?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " Their great love for me has made 
 them over-anxious. It was not altogeth- 
 er that. I was deeply grieved, of course, 
 but many things conspired to make me 
 anxious; besides, I had not felt well for 
 some time." 
 
 Then she went on to speak to me of 
 her baby, and how much she had hoped 
 I would have loved it, if it had lived. "'I 
 thought its coming might help us to un- 
 derstand you better, Lina, for I, at least, 
 am very ignorant, and I have sometimes 
 thought that people who have never had 
 any girls of their own can hardly under- 
 stand them ; and Mr. Tyler has had only 
 
TROUBLE AND RELIEF. 
 
 69 
 
 boys, jou. know." Then slie talked to 
 me about my sin — of ber promise that I 
 should read the books, and took great 
 blame on herself for thus leading me into 
 temptation, as it were, until it seemed as 
 if the innocence and gentleness of that 
 little babe which she mourned had en- 
 tered into her own soul, so kind and 
 gentle and wise were her words. She 
 spoke of Augustus and Sara, saying 
 Mrs. Eeed would take charge of us all 
 for some time to come, for Mr. Tyler 
 could not consent to have her burdened 
 with any care in her present state of 
 health, and she hoped I would try to be 
 a good girl, and live pleasantly with 
 Sara and Augustus, and not make any 
 unnecessary trouble. As the eldest, she 
 expected me to set the example. "With a 
 kiss on my cheek she left the room, tell- 
 ing me not to follow, for Hannah would 
 help her up-stairs. 
 
 When her pale face disappeared, I 
 made a vow in my heart ; I felt the ener- 
 gies of my nature reviving, and I knew, 
 by God's help, I could keep it, and I did 
 try. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TEOTJBLE AND BELIEF. 
 
 Theee would be little use and no 
 pleasure iij recalling my life for the next 
 six months, if it were not that it devel- 
 oped in me a fixedness of purpose, and a 
 silent energy of will, for which I had 
 great reason to be thankfal in after-years. 
 I do not know what Miss Agnes said or 
 thought about it, but from the time of 
 Mrs. Reed's arrival it seemed to be de- 
 cided that my place was in the kitchen. 
 I felt quite content as long as Hannah 
 remained, but that good woman had ut- 
 tered words during that interview by my 
 bedside that could not be forgotten, and 
 the experience of each day made it more 
 and more apparent that she must leave. 
 
 A letter from her brother, in which 
 he spoke of the serious illness of his wife, 
 
 served as a plausible reason for a neces- 
 sity which she felt as strongly as did Mrs. 
 Reed. It was a sad day for me when 
 she left, and a sad one for my mistress 
 also. Hannah had an interview with her 
 before she left, and, when she bade me 
 good-by, she said : 
 
 " Keep up a good heart, Lina. I spoke 
 to her about you, for all he and sJie were 
 there. I told her it was no place for you 
 in the kitchen, with furrin' servant- girls, 
 after treatin' you as her own child so 
 long, and she said she'd do what was 
 right. I hope she will — I know she will 
 if they will let her. And you must do 
 your best for her sake ; for. Heaven for- 
 give me if I wrong them, but I do believe 
 some folks don't care how bad you do, 
 the worse the better. You must spite 
 them in this, child, and mebbe it '11 be 
 all for the best, though it's hard seein' or 
 sayin' it, with so many things stickin' in 
 one's crop. But if you can't stay — ^if 
 worse come to worse — come to me. Re- 
 member, Eli Smith, W , child I " and, 
 
 with a grasp that made my fingers tingle, 
 she departed. 
 
 JSTow, the old home was indeed gone, 
 and I was almost as solitary and friend- 
 less as when Miss Agnes brought me 
 there three years before. Hannah's place 
 was supplied by a series of Irish girls, for, 
 Mrs. Reed being one of those mistresses 
 who always act on the assumption that 
 all servants are dishonest, seldom kept 
 one more than four or five weeks, and I 
 had no time to make friends of them, if I 
 desired. I suppose Sara Reed was no 
 worse than other children, but, seeing 
 her mother treat me with dislike and 
 neglect, she improved upon her example, 
 and attempted to order me about at her 
 pleasure. Of course I refused to obey, 
 and there followed high words, of which 
 she gave her own version to her mother, 
 who solemnly assured Miss Agnes that I 
 was "the worst-tempered child she ever 
 saw." Augustus and Sara, though they 
 quarrelled constantly, were ready to be- 
 come close allies against me; and, know- 
 
60 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 mg there was no redress, I bore their 
 gibes and tricks with a stoicism I was 
 very far from feeling. I instinctivelj 
 shrunk from Augustus ; he knew it, and 
 delighted in ferreting me out from every 
 nook where I thought to hide myself, 
 during my moments of leisure, which, 
 after old Hannah left, "were few and far 
 between." Only in my own room was I 
 safe from his impertinence ; but not from 
 the insatiable curiosity and greed of Sara 
 Eeed. She made no scruple about enter- 
 ing my room when she chose ; peering 
 about among my things, and begging for 
 such as happened to suit her fancy. One 
 of the things she specially coveted was 
 Ollie's little trunk. It would just hold 
 her dissecting maps — wouldn't I give it 
 to her? "When I refused, she offered 
 several of her things in exchange ; but, 
 finding me firm, she flew into a passion, 
 and taunted me with being "town poor, 
 without a decent rag to my back when 
 her aunty took me! " 
 
 The hot blood rushed to my cheeks — 
 the angry words to my lips — but I re- 
 membered my interview with Miss Ag- 
 nes, and, choking back my anger, kept on 
 with my work in silence. 
 
 Seeing this, she said, with a sneer: 
 
 "You needn't sulk, miss ; though no- 
 body cares whether you speak or not. 
 I guess it will be as mamma says about 
 the trunk." 
 
 I made no reply, but, as soon as she 
 was gone, I burst into tears. I felt so 
 homeless, so friendless, and unprotected. 
 "Why had I no parents and friends like 
 Sara and Augustus ? Who were my par- 
 ents — where did they live or die? Sa- 
 ra's words had recalled Bradshaw — 
 Sally> Hunt, Uncle Steve, and little Ade- 
 line. I wondered if I could not find my 
 way back there — ^if Uncle Steve would 
 not let me live with them if I should. I 
 thought he would, but the experience of 
 the past two years had unsettled my con- 
 fidence in many things. Why did they 
 all hate me? Why did Miss Agnes so 
 seldom see me, and speak so hurriedly 
 
 when we did meet, as if she was afraid 
 some one would see her ? 
 
 Oh, how wearily, and in what a cha- 
 os of darkness and childish ignorance, I 
 brooded over these questions! Later, 
 when I was old enough to read the world, 
 I could have answered some of them, at 
 least those that referred to my position 
 in that house. I was in the way. I was 
 a present expense, and, in the future, I 
 might, as the adopted child of Mrs. Tyler, 
 come in for a share of her property. Be- 
 sides, I had nothing in common with 
 them, and they could not love what they 
 did not comprehend. 
 
 But my work waited in the kitchen, 
 and on my way there I met Miss Agnes 
 in the hall. I was nnwilling to have her 
 see the traces of my tears, and was pass- 
 ing her hastily when she laid her hand 
 on my arm, and, placing the other under 
 my chin, asked : 
 
 "What makes you so pale, Lina? — 
 And you have been crying, too! What 
 for?" 
 
 I made some hasty answer, for Mrs. 
 Eeed entered as she spoke, and she re- 
 leased me, but, from a few words I caught 
 as I went out, I suspected Miss Agnes 
 was speaking to her of me. I was right, 
 for half an hour later, when Mrs. Eeed 
 entered the kitchen, she said in her 
 sternest, most inflexible tones : 
 
 " Zerlina Day, if you choose to sniflSe 
 and cry all the while, I trust, henceforth, 
 you will keep out of Mrs. Tyler's presence. 
 She is still weak, and it seems as if you 
 took pleasure in distressing her. I won- 
 der how any one could be so ungrateful. 
 Don't let me have occasion to speak 
 again. I never cry." 
 
 I don't think she did, and it was the 
 last time she had the pleasure of repri- 
 manding me for a like evidence of weak- 
 ness, for a circumstance occurred a few 
 days later that made my expulsion from 
 the house a necessity. 
 
 I have said that Mr. Tyler was some- 
 thing of a gourmand, and that Miss Agnes 
 had delighted in preparing little deli- 
 
TROUBLE AND RELIEF. 
 
 Gl 
 
 cacies for him, particularly upon occa- 
 sions when his business or pleasure pre- 
 vented him from eating with the family. 
 Mrs. Eeed, who affected to consult his 
 comfort above all things, had continued 
 the practice, and since her arrival there 
 had been hardly a day in which, upon 
 plea of his fastidious appetite, we had 
 not prepared some extra dish for him, 
 and I used to wonder how he could 
 enjoy them, with the greedy eyes of 
 Augustus, who inherited all his father's 
 appetite, fixed upon him, for we chil- 
 dren were still nominally confined to a 
 vegetarian diet. 
 
 One day, toward the last of February, 
 some business had kept Mr. Tyler away 
 long after the family dinner-hour, and a 
 nice "porter-house" steak with fitting 
 accompaniments was prepared for him, 
 which I was ordered to carry to the 
 dining-room. I did so, and, seeing that 
 one of the blinds was loose, raised the 
 window, fastened it, and left the room. 
 I did not observe any one in the room, 
 but, a few moments after, Augustus came 
 out and stole softly up-stairs. I had gone 
 into the hall for something and saw him, 
 and saw also that his mouth, as usual, 
 was stuffed with something. The next 
 moment I heard Mr. Tyler and his sister 
 enter from the study, and his voice say- 
 ing angrily : 
 
 " How is this ? Some one has been 
 meddling with my dinner. Look at that 
 toast ! " 
 
 I did not hear Mrs. Eeed's reply ; it 
 was not necessary, for immediately she 
 opened the door and ordered me to come 
 in. 
 
 Mr. Tyler was very angry, I knew by 
 his flushed face and quick, spasmodic 
 breathing. 
 
 ■ "Come here!" he cried, as soon as 
 h^ could gather breath. " I want to 
 know how long I and my household are 
 to suffer from your wickedness! Look 
 at this," pointing to the half-emptied dish 
 — "how dare you steal the food prepared 
 for my necessities ? " 
 
 "I did not, sir." 
 
 "Beware! Don't think to deceive 
 me. You were ordered to place it here, 
 and no one else has entered the room ! " 
 Before I could reply, Mrs. Keed, who 
 had listened to his words with scornful 
 impatience, broke out : 
 
 " What earthly use is there in talking 
 to her in this way, brother! You can't 
 believe a word she says. You know she 
 did it, and it is not the first thing that 
 has been missing lately. Last week I 
 had some change. If I were you, I would 
 send her back where she came from." 
 
 Somehow, the woman's looks and 
 words stirred the passion of anger and 
 aversion so long fermenting within mo 
 to an explosion. Miss Agnes was not 
 present with her timid, pleading eyes 
 to restrain me, so I burst forth : 
 
 "I suppose you would, ma'am, but 
 that will be as Mrs. Tyler says, though. 
 If it were not for her, I would not care 
 how quick I go! " 
 
 "Just hear the impudent, ungrateful 
 hussy! " she exclaimed, with a malicious 
 smile. 
 
 " I am not ungrateful ; I would work 
 my fingers to the bone for Miss Agnes, 
 and I have as much right to be here as 
 you have ! " 
 
 " You little saucy wretch ! How dare 
 you speak so to me ? " 
 
 I was trembling from anger and ex- 
 citement. All the slights, wrongs, mis- 
 constructions, and coldness I had endured 
 for months past came rushing to my lips 
 to find expression ; and Mr. Tyler must 
 have read something of this in my face, 
 for he looked at me in perfect astonish- 
 ment while I retorted : 
 
 " Because it's the truth ! I wish Mrs. 
 Tyler would send you away, and bring 
 back Hannah. She don't seem one bit 
 as she used to before you came. It's 
 you who have made her sick ! " 
 
 "The girl is beside herself!" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Tyler. 
 
 " She's just as she always is, as you 
 would know if you saw her every day 
 
62 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 as I do. She is the worst-tempered, sly- 
 est, most deceitful child I ever saw ! " 
 returned Mrs. Eeed. 
 
 " I am not sly — I don't open drawers 
 and peek into other folks' things like 
 Sara, and I'm not deceitful, for I don't 
 pretend to like folks and then talk about 
 them when they are gone away, as you 
 do. I never pretended to like you, and I 
 could not if I tried ; but, if you want to 
 know "who eat that toast, ask Augustus. 
 I saw him come out of this room with 
 his mouth crammed full of something, 
 and there are the leaves of his Latin 
 grammar, under the table; and if you 
 want to know who took your change " — 
 I went on with a strange feeling of ex- 
 altation at Mr. Tyler's look of conster- 
 nation and Mrs. Eeed's lowering brow 
 and set teeth — " ask him where he got 
 the money he spent for oranges, the 
 day you went to the sewing-circle, and 
 how many he gave Sara not to tell ! " 
 
 "I will ask them both!" sh^ said 
 growing pale beneath her thick skin. 
 "But you need not think to get off by 
 accusing them ; for if — " 
 
 " Call them now ! " interrupted Mr. 
 Tyler, sternly; " and Zerlina Day," he 
 added, turning to me, " if it proves, as I 
 presume it will, that you have again been 
 guilty of falsehood, as well as dishonesty, 
 we shall be forced to send you away, as 
 my sister suggests. I cannot consent to 
 have my son and niece ruined by your 
 pernicious example; your language and 
 manner are utterly disgraceful, more 
 those of a fury than a young girl ! " 
 
 Half an hour later, when the ferment 
 of passion had subsided, I knew they were. 
 If it was the truth which I had uttered, 
 it was not for me, a child, to speak it in 
 that manner, but I did not feel it then, 
 and made no reply. 
 
 Augustus and Sara came ; the former 
 stoutly denied all knowledge of the food 
 or of being in the room, saying he had 
 been up-stairs studying his Latin. 
 
 " What is your lesson for to-day ? " 
 asked Mr. Tyler. 
 
 "Nouns of the fourth declension, 
 section 126," and he was going on with 
 some further assertion, when his father 
 thrust the stray leaf from his old gram- 
 mar containing that very section under 
 his eyes, saying in a voice that shook 
 with anger — 
 
 "Enough! Tell me, then, how came 
 this leaf here upon the floor ? " 
 
 The boy trembled in every limb, and, 
 at last, burst into tears. 
 
 " Now, sir, own the truth — did you 
 meddle with my dinner ? " 
 
 He blubbered forth a confession, and 
 begged for mercy. 
 
 I should have pitied Mr. Tyler's grief 
 and surprise at finding a flaw in his 
 model boy, if I had been in any mood to 
 pity. Besides, I had no time, for Mrs. 
 Eeed said, with a glance of mingled dread 
 and aversion toward me : 
 
 " Brother, there's no use in keeping 
 this girl here any longer. She has 
 brought trouble enough, for in Augustus 
 you see the fruit of her evil example. 
 If you choose to put up with such lan- 
 guage and conduct, you can, but, if she 
 stays, I quit the house I " 
 
 Mr. Tyler made a gesture for me to 
 go. Not a word of apology for their 
 false and degrading accusations — ^no ad- 
 mission of their mistake — only — " Go ! " 
 
 I left them with a hard, angry feeling 
 burning in my heart, but, when the fierce 
 flame cooled, I felt, as I have said, that 
 I had done wrong. No provocation 
 could excuse my intemperate, disrespect- 
 ful manner, and, instead of enjoying the 
 vindication of my innocence, I was very 
 wretched indeed. Many and many a 
 time had I longed to have Augustus and 
 Sara discovered at some of their tricks — 
 I had anticipated a fierce satisfaction — a 
 triumph; but, now, I could think of 
 nothing but my own violence. 
 
 I went to my room ; no one called 
 me, as usual, to take my share in the 
 work, and I sat there and thought of my 
 broken vow to Miss Agnes, while the 
 tears rolled slowly down my cheeks. I 
 
TROUBLE AND RELIEF. 
 
 63 
 
 thought of the fature. Would they send 
 me away ? I had a dreary kind of satis- 
 faction in thinking they would. Again 
 ,the thought of Uncle Steve and little 
 Adeline recurred to me, a light amid my 
 dark world. I was quite sure they would 
 shelter me. It was my first day of lib- 
 erty, but, like all liberty gained by vio- 
 lence and wrong, a curse clung to it, and 
 poisoned all its sweetness. 
 
 The next day I went down to the 
 kitchen, and performed my usual share 
 of the labor, but Mrs. Reed, when she 
 came, did not notice or speak to me. Had 
 I been a block or stone, she could not 
 have been, or affected to have been, more 
 unconscious of my presence, and my 
 half-formed resolve to ask pardon for my 
 violence was petrified by her indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 During the morning I saw Mr. Tyler 
 and Miss Agnes drive away, and I 
 watched the carriage witli a heavy heart, 
 for I felt that she would be told of my 
 violence, but not of the provocation, and 
 that she was lost to me forever. Augus- 
 tus and Sara, though they came, it seemed 
 to me, much oftener than usual to the 
 kitchen, followed Mrs. Eeed's example — 
 they even failed to make grimaces, and I 
 felt that I was banned beyond redemp- 
 tion. 
 
 Two more days passed, fall of sus- 
 pense, loneliness, and misgivings of the 
 future, when, on the third morning, I 
 was summoned to the study. 
 
 I thought I was prepared for any 
 thing, but certainly not for the kind look 
 which Miss Agnes gave me when I en- 
 tered. Mr. Tyler spoke to me pompously 
 — condescendingly of course, but not so 
 mry sternly. He had, as it seemed, de- 
 cided to permit his wife to introduce the 
 subject under consideration, for she said, 
 with a pleased expression, and much of 
 her old, kind manner : 
 
 "Lina, we have something to tell 
 you. How would you like to go away 
 to school?" 
 
 "Very much indeed, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Tyler—" she looked at 
 him, and he waved his hand, as if to say 
 "proceed" — "moved by his desire to 
 benefit you, and gratify me, has been 
 looking out for a suitable school for you. 
 We think we have found one at Oak- 
 lawn, a seminary for young ladies, near 
 M , the principal of which kindly con- 
 sents to receive you into her family." 
 
 "On certain conditions," Mr. Tyler 
 continued. " You will be expected to 
 perform certain portions of household 
 labor during your leisure hours, as an 
 equivalent for your board. The tuition 
 fees we shall discharge as long as you 
 give satisfaction to Mrs. Ellis. This ar- 
 rangement we think rather beneficial to 
 you than otherwise, as you will, in the 
 future, have to depend, in a great degree, 
 upon your own exertions for support. 
 Mrs. Tyler thinks you have capacities 
 for teaching — I am willing yt)u should 
 try." 
 
 "I had hoped that my cousin Ealph 
 would have returned before this, for I 
 would have liked to consult him — " be- 
 gan Miss Agnes, but Mr. Tyler raised his 
 eyebrows, and she grew confused, as 
 usual. 
 
 " Mr. Ealph Annesley's opinion in re- 
 gard to training an immortal soul could 
 be of but very little value, my dear. 
 Were it a dog, it might be otherwise." 
 
 Miss Agnes sighed. Perhaps she 
 thought of what he had said down by 
 the pond in Bradshaw. I did. 
 
 I thanked them earnestly, so earnest- 
 ly that Miss Agnes said, rather sadly : 
 "Then, you are very glad to go, Lina? " 
 
 "To be sure — she ought to be! " re- 
 turned her husband. "Few girls, of her 
 condition, have such advantages offered 
 them. — You will be prepared to take the 
 stage Monday morning, at five o'clock." 
 
 "So soon, dear? lam afraid we 
 shall hardly be able to get her ready on 
 such short notice. She will need some 
 new clothing! " 
 
 "Very little will be necessary. A 
 few plain, substantial garments will bo 
 
64 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 all that will be needed in that rural re- 
 treat." 
 
 So it was decided. The " brand " 
 was to be sent awaj, but did Miss Agnes 
 know why? I never could answer this 
 question, but I think she did not — I think 
 she saw in this plan only another evi- 
 dence of her husband's great kindness 
 and benevolence. 
 
 The three succeeding days were very 
 busy ones to me. My trunk was packed 
 very late on Saturday evening, and on 
 Sunday night Mr. Tyler ordered me to 
 take leave of Mrs. Tyler, as he did not 
 wish her to be disturbed at so early an 
 hour as that in which the stage would 
 stop for me. 
 
 I was struck dumb at this proposal, 
 or rather command, and so I think was 
 Id!iss Agnes, for she said something about 
 it being no trouble for her to rise at that 
 hour, but' Mr. Tyler silenced her by a 
 look ; so, kissing me tenderly, she whis- 
 pered her " Good-by," adding that I must 
 make her "happy by being a good girl." 
 
 But, before I fell asleep that night, she 
 came to my bedside, and, stooping over 
 me, let tears and kisses fall on my cheeks. 
 I lifted my arms (there was no fear of 
 crushing her collar then), and clasped 
 them around her neck without a word. 
 
 "Lina," she said, "I want to say to 
 you that if any thing should ever hap- 
 pen to me, that I could not look after 
 you, and help yon, I want you to apply 
 to Cousin Ralph — he will help you — that 
 is, if you should ever require help. I 
 have not heard from him these two 
 years, but I have written to Miss Annes- 
 ley to know when she expects him home, 
 and she says, 'Always, until he ar- 
 rives.' " 
 
 " Miss Annesley ! Has Mr. Ealph a 
 sister ? " 
 
 " E"o ; Miss Anne Annesley is a cous- 
 in of his father and my mother — old 
 enough to be his mother. He is very 
 fond of her, and since his mother's death 
 she has had the care of his house." 
 
 "Does he keep house?" I asked, for 
 
 I was very curious to learn something 
 more of this person, of whom I had so 
 often thought. 
 
 "Yes ; he has his house kept in just 
 the same way it was in his mother's life- 
 time, though he is seldom there b^ut a 
 few days at a time, even when in this 
 country. I have written down the ad- 
 dress on this card, which I wish you to 
 keep, in case you should ever need it. 
 It is 1^0. 90 Bleecker Street." 
 
 She was silent a moment ; then, gath- 
 ering my hands in hers, she said : 
 
 " I am afraid I have not done for you 
 all I ought — all Cousin Ealph hoped. I 
 think if we could live over again the 
 time — I mean the time before my mar- 
 riage — I could do better. I have thought 
 a great deal about those days, since my 
 little baby was born; it, somehow, seems 
 as if it had made me better acquainted 
 with young children — or else it has made 
 a child of me." 
 
 I felt her tears dropping upon my 
 hands ; every drop seemed to weigh down 
 my heart with a sense of my own failures 
 and ingratitude. I tried to tell her some- 
 thing of this, but not. the half of what I 
 felt, and so we parted. 
 
 Five o'clock was not, since the advent 
 of Mrs. Reed, an unusually early hour at 
 our house. She was an early riser, and 
 indulged no one in morning dreams, but 
 her brother and his wife. However, Mr. 
 Tyler, probably to please Miss Agnes, 
 was up this morning to see me off, and 
 put me into the coach himself, saying he 
 really hoped I would improve my time 
 and give satisfaction to Mrs. Ellis and the 
 teachers^ — that nothing could give him 
 more pleasure than to hear that I had 
 been able to overcome evil with good. 
 
 He spoke kindly, and I think now, 
 sincerely ; and I am grateful that I have 
 been permitted to live until I have learned 
 to see how sincerely and honestly a per- 
 son may pursue a mistaken course — to 
 separate the sin from the sinner, and for- 
 give him, as I have long since forgiven 
 the Rev. Marcus Tyler. 
 
OAKLAWN SCHOOL. 
 
 65 
 
 I need not describe my journev, the 
 
 excitement of tlie morning, or the weari- 
 ness of the latter portion of the route ; 
 for the state of the roads was horrible at 
 that season of the year, and the coach so 
 crowded that it was not until quite dark 
 that I was set down in front of Oaklawn. 
 The driver set my trunk, through the 
 gate-way, into the yard, mounted his seat 
 and drove on, leaving me standing at a 
 large, square, three-story building, in the 
 drizzling rain of a March evening. 
 
 At such an hour, and in such an 
 atmosphere, every thing looked dreary 
 enough. The long walk leading to the 
 front door was bordered with the black- 
 ened and mildewed stalks of the last 
 year's flowers, and the bare, pendant 
 branches of the elms, swaying in the 
 chilly east wind, had a most melancholy 
 appearance. I trembled as much from 
 a feeling of loneliness and dread, as from 
 cold, while I stood waiting, for I had ex- 
 pected that some one would meet me at 
 the gate. No one came, and I finally 
 mustered sufficient courage to walk to 
 the door and ring — nervously, and con- 
 sequently loudly, for I started to hear 
 how the sound reverberated through the 
 house. It answered my purpose, for 
 immediately a servant opened the door ; 
 I uttered the name of Mrs. Ellis, and was 
 ushered into a small room where there 
 was a fire, which was specially gratefal 
 to my chilled body. The servant saw me 
 seated, and went to announce my arrival 
 to Mrs. Ellis. Presently she entered, a 
 tall, erect, dignified lady of middle age, 
 who walked directly up to me and said ; 
 
 '.'The new pupil from Ohesterwood, I 
 presume ? " 
 
 Her voice was firm, clear, almost 
 sharp, but not unpleasant, and I answered 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 " You are earlier than I expected. 
 Mr. Tyler said the 20th — to-day is the 
 19th — yes, the 19th, he said," she added, 
 consulting her tablets. "But you are 
 weary and hungry." She rang the bell 
 and the same servant entered. 
 5 
 
 " Remove Miss — Miss — " 
 
 " I am Zerlina Lathrop," I said, giv- 
 ing the name by which it had been Miss 
 Agnes's wish that I should be known in 
 Ohesterwood, though Mr. Tyler seldom 
 honored me with it. 
 
 " Eemove Miss Lathrop's wet wraps," 
 she said. "It is past our hour for tea," 
 she added, turning to me, " but you will 
 foUovv Mary to the dining-room, where 
 she will provide you with refreshments ; 
 then she will show you to your room 
 — No. 10, Mary, next to Miss Nichols. I 
 will have your baggage sent up. The 
 rising-bell will ring at six, — the breakfast- 
 bell at half-past six. You will be ex- 
 pected to be punctual." 
 
 With a slight gesture she dismissed 
 me, and, an hour later, I had forgotten 
 Ohesterwood and Oaklawn, in a dream- 
 less slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OAKLAWN" SCHOOL. 
 
 " Who is there ? Open the door, and 
 you will have more light ! " 
 
 I had risen in the morning, without 
 waiting for the bell, and was groping 
 about in my dimly-lighted room, which 
 was rather a large closet which had at 
 some time been partitioned off from the 
 adjoining room, when I heard the above 
 words. Not supposing them addressed 
 to me, I kept moving about until the 
 same gentle voice said again. 
 
 "Who is it? Why don't you open 
 the door ? " 
 
 " It's me," I said, timidly opening the 
 door, for I was not quite sure that I was 
 the person addressed. 
 
 "Well, come forward and let me see 
 TTje," said the voice. 
 
 I entered, and advanced to the bed- 
 side, where some one lay supported by 
 pillows. A small night-lamp burned 
 upon the table near the bed, which the 
 
66 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 occupant extinguished with her thin 
 hand, saying : 
 
 " Please raise that shade, and let in the^ 
 light. I think it must be near sunrise." 
 
 I did so, and in the gray dawn of that 
 morning I looked into the eyes of one 
 whose memory, even now, is like the 
 presence of an angel, whose brief exist- 
 ence here has made all holy and beautiful 
 things possible to womanhood. It was 
 the face of a girl of twenty-two or three 
 years, though she seemed older, for there 
 was that expression of maturity and se- 
 rene self-poise about it which children 
 and young people are apt to associate 
 only with years ; still it was only an ex- 
 pression, for the face was fair — clear al- 
 most to transparency — ^toned down by 
 large eyes of deep, clear gray, which, in 
 the dim dawn, I mistook for black. She 
 had cast aside her cap, and her abundant, 
 fine hair, of that neutral brown so grate- 
 ful to the eye of an artist, was carelessly 
 folded round such a head and brow as 
 
 make 
 
 " The old Greek marble with the goddess glow I " 
 
 Her cheeks were thin and sunken, but 
 her eyes were like stars. She looked 
 steadily into my face for a few seconds, 
 but T neither turned away nor looked 
 down, for I felt that her look did me 
 good. Presently she smiled, and, sad and 
 lonely as I had felt a moment before, I 
 could not help returning her smile. 
 
 "I trust we shall be good friends," 
 she said, " for I suppose you know you 
 are to be under my care." 
 
 " JSTo, ma'am ; but I shall be glad of it." 
 
 " Why?" she asked, still smiling. 
 
 "Because — ^because — I can't exactly 
 tell why," I said, stammering and color- 
 ing, "but I feel that I shall." 
 
 " Well, I suppose that is about as'good 
 a reason as the wisest of us can give. 
 What is your name ? I have forgotten, 
 if my mother mentioned it." 
 
 I told her, and she repeated it, mu- 
 singly — "Zerlina does not sound much 
 like a New-England name, but I like it. 
 I am Michal Ellis, and you are to be 
 
 hands and feet to me for the present, 
 while I am to help you with my head 
 and heart, too, I hope." 
 
 "May I begin now? Shall I help 
 you to dress ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, not yet, for two long hours, and 
 then my toilet will be quickly made. 
 But you may open that blind, dear. I 
 like to see the level sunbeams strike the 
 tops of the trees yonder ; and then you 
 may go back to your room and put it in 
 order. You will have ample time before 
 the breakfast-bell rings. After breakfast 
 my mother will tell you what she expects 
 you to do." 
 
 Following the sound of the bell, I 
 went down. In the hall, several girls 
 passed me, smoothing their hair with un- 
 certain fingers, and yawning, as if not 
 yet quite awake. I followed on to the 
 dining-room, near the door of which I 
 paused timidly. Two or three teachers, 
 for such I judged them to be from their 
 age and air of authority, had already 
 taken their places at the long table. I 
 had scarcely time to note this when the 
 bell ceased to ring, and Mrs. Ellis stood 
 by my side. 
 
 "Ah, good-morning, miss," she said. 
 " Young ladies, this is Miss Zerlina La- 
 throp. — ^Miss Gay, she will take her place 
 next to you. — Miss Thatcher, will you see 
 that she is properly helped ? " 
 
 Miss Lathrop ! I had cared little for 
 that name before, but now it was very 
 pleasant to hear it. It seemed, as I have 
 no doubt it was, a proof that Miss Ag- 
 nes's love and care followed me still. 
 But I had no time for reverie. The thin, 
 nervous-looking lady, addressed as Miss 
 Thatcher, saw me seated between two 
 flaxen-haired misses, who seemed, as yet, 
 half asleep. Then there came a light tap 
 on the table, and every hand was folded, 
 while Mrs. Ellis said " grace before meat " 
 in a few brief, earnest words. The food, 
 of which, be it noted, there was an abun- 
 dance, was eaten in silence, and the pu- 
 pils filed out after the teachers. I was 
 the last, and Mrs. Ellis, who had remained 
 
OAKLAWN SCHOOL. 
 
 67, 
 
 standing near the head of the table, beck- 
 oned n)e to remain. 
 
 "You are an orphan — with no rela- 
 tives, I have been told," she said, as she 
 drew near the stove, whither I gladly 
 followed her, for the room was chilly 
 with the raw March air. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "And they say, also, that you are 
 bad-tempered and intractable." 
 
 She paused for an answer, and, with 
 a sinking heart, I replied : 
 
 " They say so, ma'am." 
 
 She stood for a second or so looking 
 down — for she was very tall — into my 
 eyes, and there was something in this 
 clear, direct look, that gave me courage ; 
 and when she added — 
 ' "But what do you say?" I replied 
 instantly : 
 
 "I would much rather you would try 
 me, ma'am." 
 
 The answer seemed to please her, for 
 she said : 
 
 " I will. I think it is a mistake. I 
 do not believe in intractable girls — we 
 don't have them here. Our pupils are 
 expected to be polite, orderly, and obe- 
 dient ; and such you must prove yourself. 
 You know you are taken on peculiar 
 terras?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " You will be required to wait upon 
 my daughter Michal, for the present, and, 
 at her special request, you will study 
 under her supervision, and recite to her. 
 She will examine you, and decide what 
 branches you had best pursue at present. 
 Wednesday and Friday afternoons are 
 devoted to short lectures by the teachers, 
 and a general review. On these occa- 
 sions, you will be expected to take your 
 place in the school-room. You will also 
 attend prayers there every morning; 
 then return to my daughter's room, where 
 I understand you have already been, and 
 obey her orders as you would mine." 
 
 In just so many words, my place in 
 the family at Oaklawn was decided, and, 
 for the next six months, I do not think I 
 
 " our principal," as she was always called, 
 addressed as many consecutive sentences 
 to me. But I had no reason to complain 
 — she was not a woman of many words. 
 Quiet, firm, direct, and strictly just, I 
 felt that I was cared for equally with the 
 rest, and the " peculiar terms " that con- 
 signed me to the service of Michal Ellis 
 brought advantages which no gold could 
 have purchased. It is not necessary for 
 me to describe this school ; it was, in 
 some respects, superior to many of its 
 class, for the conscientiousness of the 
 principal led her to fulfil, as far as pos- 
 sible, the terms of her circulars. Of 
 course, there were grumblings, for most 
 school-girls in their teens seem to think 
 it their business to grumble, and the 
 teachers looked jaded and nervous, as if 
 it would do them good to sleep a whole 
 year. There were three resident lady- 
 teachers: Mademoiselle Berthier, who 
 taught French and music, a lady of fine 
 presence and graceful manners; Misses 
 Stevens and Thatcher — the former al- 
 ways busy, but good-natured — ready to 
 put the fairest construction upon every 
 thing ; the latter nervously exact and 
 precise, always in a worry, and always 
 hurried. Our drawing-teacher walked 
 
 out from M daily ; and the teacher 
 
 of the more advanced classes in Latin 
 and mathematics was an old friend of 
 the principal, who resided at a short dis- 
 tance from Oaklawn, at a very pretty 
 place called "The Pines." The garru- 
 lous school-girl, who gave me these par- 
 ticulars the day after my arrival, said 
 that the latter was an odd sort of per- 
 son, who lived all alone, with the excep- 
 tion of an old housekeeper, who never 
 went anywhere, nor saw any one, though 
 sometimes a lady came there, and stayed 
 awhile ; some folks said she was the old 
 gentleman's sister, and that there was 
 something queer about her. 
 
 "Queer! How so?" 
 
 "Oh — queer — you know;" she re- 
 turned, with true school-girl indefinite- 
 ness. "That's what all the girls say. 
 
68 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Some think she's kind o' crazy because 
 he would not let her marry a foreign 
 gentleman, who used to visit there. 
 Mary Sherman saw him once, and she 
 says he was quite like a corsair, with 
 such magnificent eyes." 
 
 "Did you ever see the lady? " 
 
 " No ; I'm only here since last spring, 
 and, when she's here, he keeps her mostly 
 slmt up, they say, though they do, some- 
 times, walk for hours, in their own 
 grounds. They say the old gentleman 
 don't like it much when she goes off; at 
 any rate, he's queerer than ever then, 
 and sometimes even forgets to note 
 whether they answer correctly or not." 
 
 ''Goes off? I thought you said he 
 kept her shut up." 
 
 "So he does; hut she contrives to 
 get away from liim, I wonder she don't 
 stay away. I would." 
 
 " Is he a good teacher? " 
 
 " Yes, I s'pose so. He knows lots, 
 they say. But he's as full of points as a 
 chestnut-burr. "We think he breakfasts 
 on them occasionally. But there goes 
 Thatcher — I can tell you, you won't like 
 her — she's a regular fidget, always find- 
 ing fault, and you'll be in ber classes, I 
 think." 
 
 "I sha'n't, for I am to recite to Miss 
 Michal Ellis," I said; then, seeing her 
 look of surprise, I added, "I am poor, 
 and shall wait on Miss Michal to pay for 
 my board." 
 
 " Well, you are a queer one too ! " she 
 said, after a moment's silence. " I'm 
 poor, too, at least my guardian says so, 
 but should never thought of owning it 
 here. I don't believe there's another 
 girl in school that would have owned up 
 in that way. But I would not much care 
 if I could have Miss Michal for a teacher. 
 She's splendid, I tell you. Seemed as if 
 her looks helped me. I wish she'd get 
 well and take her classes again, for that 
 Thatcher — she's worse than the old pro- 
 fessor ! " 
 
 " What professor ? " 
 
 " Why, Cavendish — ^that we have been 
 
 talking about all this time ! Aren't you 
 a little bit stupid ? " And, with this com- 
 pliment to my mental perception, the 
 laughing girl ran away. 
 
 I felt the peculiar influence of which 
 Sophie May had spoken, every time Miss 
 Michal's clear eyes met mine. It was 
 magnetic, I suppose, and she did "help 
 me even by her looks," as every noble, 
 truthful human face does. Alas! that 
 they should be so disguised by the dusty 
 turmoil of life ! All my troubles, pas- 
 sions, vexations, and wrongs, as I held 
 them, grew to look poor and insignifi- 
 cant in her presence. 
 
 " How minutely and vividly you re- 
 member these things, and how keenly 
 you must have felt them ! " she said, 
 thoughtfully, one evening, looking, as it 
 seemeJ, right into my heart with her se- 
 rene eyes. 
 
 A week's acquaintance had worn off 
 the timidity and reserve I had felt in 
 the presence of strangers, and she had 
 led me to speak of my early life with 
 Sally Hunt, and my subsequent residence 
 Vfith Miss Agnes, and I had dwelt on the 
 petty tyranny of Augustus Tyler and 
 Sarah, and that night of horror in the 
 attic chamber, until my face flushed, and 
 my voice trembled with excitement. 
 
 "And why shouldn't I, Miss Michal? 
 I have nothing else to remember ! " I 
 replied, passionately. 
 
 " Are you not mistaken, dear? Even 
 by your showing, you have received 
 much love and kindness. Why not 
 dwell upon this with equal intensity ? 
 Surely it would be pleasanter." 
 
 I blushed, and my glance fell slowly 
 beneath hers in self-abasement. Then 
 she took one of my thin brown hands 
 in hers, and went on : 
 
 "Your lot has been hard and sorrow- 
 ful, Lina; but, it does not make it a bit 
 brighter or pleasanter to dwell upon its 
 wrongs. No one — not even the wisest 
 or most favored — can escape sin and suf- 
 fering, wrong and sorrow. But these 
 we know are transitory— passing away 
 
PROFESSOR CAVENDISH. 
 
 69 
 
 in the light of God's truth, while good 
 is eternal, blessing us even in its memo- 
 ries, and it is so much wiser to recall this." 
 
 "But there is so little good," I said, 
 despondinglj. 
 
 " So I thought once, but it was be- 
 cause I would not see it. I put my per- 
 sonal wrongs and grievances between 
 myself and that, and how could I expect 
 to see it ? I fancy you have done the 
 same. Think — ^have you really nothing 
 pleasant to recall ? " 
 
 I thought of Ollie, Uncle Steve, Miss 
 Agnes, and felt ashamed. 
 
 She smiled as she said : 
 
 "You need not look so distressed, 
 dear ; we are all alike in this — far readier 
 to see the trail and slime of the serpent 
 than the footprints of the angel." 
 
 " But how can I forget these things ? 
 How can I stop thinking of them ? " 
 
 " When you climbed that steep cliff 
 that overhangs the pond, and sat looking 
 down at those beautiful pictures of cloud 
 and tree and sky, mirrored in the clear, 
 3tiU waters which you described a few 
 moments since, did you think of the 
 roughness of the ascent — ^the stones and 
 briers that had impeded your way? " 
 
 "No, I forgot all about them- — only, 
 when I tore ray dress, I cared, for then 
 Mrs. Sally whipped me." 
 
 " But that did not keep yon from go- 
 ing again ? " 
 
 "JSTo, it was so beautiful! " 
 
 " Then, when we know that, before 
 US, it may be but a few hours' journey, 
 there lies another world, where, instead 
 of these shifting shows, we shall stand 
 in the presence of the real and eternal, 
 where all that has been dark or sad or 
 painful to us will not enter — all that has 
 been mysterious will be made clear — all 
 our aspirations realized, and even evil it- 
 self be seen to praise Him — why should 
 we think upon the stones, the brambles, 
 and briers, that beset the way? — why 
 darken the little light which falls upon 
 our path ?— There, it will be all light ! " 
 
 She was looking at a point in the 
 
 ' western sky where beautiful Hesper was 
 visible above the tree-tops, and, when 
 she again turned her eyes upon me, I 
 felt tlie resemblance between her face 
 and that star. The light of that world 
 of which she had spoken beamed from 
 them both. I never look at that star 
 now, without seeming to hear her sweet 
 low voice, saying : " Good is eternal — 
 blessing us even in its memories ; remem- 
 ber that, dear! " 
 
 It was so strange that she never once 
 seemed to think of my birth — that I was 
 "conceived in iniquity and born in sin," 
 a circumstance which Mr. Tyler deemed 
 it so necessary that I should bear in 
 mind; or that she did not remind me of 
 how grateful I should be for her atten- 
 tion. She even did not seem to think me 
 any ways different from herself — a minis- 
 ter's daughter — save in my lack of years 
 and experience ; and, what was quite as 
 strange, I seemed, when with her, to for- 
 get all these things myself, and to feel 
 that I really might become as noble and 
 good as herself. Perhaps, she felt that 
 self-respect is as much-the birthright of 
 the pauper as the king. 
 
 OHAPTEE Xm. 
 
 PEOFESSOE OAVEXDISH. 
 
 " I WILL not sit down ! Yon have con- 
 vinced me of the truth of the doctrine of 
 total depravity, Michal ! Haven't I told 
 you to let your book* alone — that there 
 is death in them ? And you mind me no 
 more than you do the hootings of an owl! 
 You might well teach perseverance" to 
 the saints. ISTo — I won't sit down. I 
 don't affect the company of suicides ! " 
 
 But he did sit down, even while he 
 spoke — that gray-haired, gray-eyed, long- 
 limbed, round-shouldered man, who 
 stood shaking his long, bony finger at 
 Miss Michal and her books, when I en- 
 tered her room and stole quietly to my 
 usual seat, within reach of her chair. 
 
70 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Miss Michal smiled pleasantly, as slie laid 
 her hand upon the shrivelled one that 
 continued to point ominously at her 
 hooks, and said something in a language 
 I did not understand. 
 
 "He who can look on death fears no 
 shadows! " repeated the gentleman, and 
 there was a hright twinkle on his deep- 
 set eyes, that helied his querulous tone 
 as he went on : 
 
 "Umph! So much for training a 
 house bantam like an eagle. I much 
 doubt if your wise father ever gave a 
 thought to your sex, Michal, and I, like a 
 fool, have followed in his steps. But I'll 
 not have manslaughter or womanslaugh- 
 ter on my conscience. Does not the wise 
 man say, ' He that increaseth knowledge 
 increaseth sorrow ? ' " 
 
 " Certainly, but you always say that 
 truth, to be of any value, must be tested. 
 Now, I must, like all who have gone 
 before me, prove the truth of the wise 
 man's words myself. Besides," she add- 
 ed, more gravely, " we are sure that death 
 will meet us somewhere, and there is so 
 much to learn, and so little time." 
 
 The twinkle in the gentleman's eye 
 softened into an expression of fondness 
 and admiration, yet it did not affect his 
 voice or words, for both were harsh and 
 impatient as he took a book from the 
 table, and, running his eye over a paper 
 that lay within, exclaimed : 
 
 " What's this ? Circles and attractive 
 forces; precession and recession of the 
 equinoxes ; zodiacal light — ay, the zo- 
 diacal light of March 20th was a most 
 beautiful phenomenon, Michal. The pyr- 
 amidical form, from base to apex, was 
 perfectly distinct. I wish you could 
 have seen it." 
 
 His face was glowing with enthusiasm, 
 and Miss Michal smiled a little mischiev- 
 ously as she answered : 
 
 "I did. .1 watched it for more than 
 an hour." 
 
 " You did ! You, Michal Ellis, with 
 that cough ! " 
 
 "Yes, you had so often described 
 
 it to me, and I wanted to see it so 
 much." 
 
 "/.^ I wish my tongue had been 
 blistered before I ever mentioned the 
 thing before you ! But when did a wom- 
 an ever use any reason! An hour in 
 this raw, March air, just to look at a 
 light space in the heavens — a mere will- 
 o'-the-wisp. I was a fool to have watched 
 it myself." 
 
 Miss Michal took no notice of this 
 burst of irritation, but said, quietly : 
 
 "Little as I know of astronomy, I 
 believe I can comprehend the enthusiasm 
 with which men devote their lives to its 
 study. You remember telling us, in the 
 class, one day, how Eittenhouse fainted 
 from excess of emotion at witnessing the 
 last transit of Yenus. I think it the 
 most natural thing in the world. It 
 must be sublime to grasp with one's own 
 strong, untiring will at the comprehen- 
 sion of the mighty plans of God ; and, if 
 this comprehension grows wiser, more 
 and more perfect, to become at one with 
 Him — to grasp at God's secrets and 
 catch them ! The thought almost takes 
 away one's breath ! Ah, if we were not 
 such cowards — so weak and faithless! 
 It sometimes seems as if the child might 
 grasp the sunbeams, the man remove- 
 mountains, if he really comprehended 
 the power of a strong, persistent will ! " 
 ISTow the look of loving admiration 
 softened and brightened, for an instant, 
 every line of that worn face — but he 
 resolutely put it out. I could see the 
 effort to do so, by the working of the 
 muscles of his scraggy throat, and he 
 said, in a voice that seemed to me more 
 sad than tears : 
 
 "Ay, the old story of the moth and 
 the candle ; but suppose it were true^, 
 would the child or man be the happier for 
 what they had achieved? Would they 
 not always see before them, just beyond 
 their reach, other treasures far more 
 beautiful and more difficult to obtain ? " 
 
 "Yes, but what if it does seem the 
 task for ages, perhaps of eternity, to reach 
 
PROFESSOR CAVENDISH. 
 
 n 
 
 that point wliere one may stand face to 
 face with the great Centre of Light and 
 Truth, and read His secrets ! Surely, if 
 ,one strives, he can approximate toward 
 this, even here, and it is far better to 
 make the effort, than to sit down and 
 mourn because the task is so hard, the 
 way so difficult and far, or grumble be- 
 cause we cannot compass every thing by 
 one effort." 
 
 Again I was reminded of Hesperus — 
 the same clear, starry light was in her 
 eyes, and I felt -vexed that the iron- 
 gray head and the iron -muscled face 
 should turn away from her just then, to 
 mutter, as it seemed, only these words : 
 " Dreams — dreams ! " 
 "I:To, I will not believe it. I cannot 
 put my convictions into words, for it is 
 with the hearty not the intellect, that 
 * man believeth unto righteousness.' My 
 faith in God and the soul is assured — 
 then why should I distrust the deepest, 
 purest hopes and aspirations of the heart? 
 They may grow dim, they may seeming- 
 ly fail, but I know that nothing suffers 
 change unknown to God — nothing is 
 really lost, and, somewhere in His uni- 
 verse, I shall find for them a full and 
 complete realization, and I am content 
 to wait." 
 
 "It will not be here — not here, 
 child," murmured the guest. 
 
 " Perhaps not — but elsewhere^ then, 
 dear master, and I am not the less con- 
 tent." 
 
 I have never seen a look so full of 
 loving admiration, pity, and regret, as 
 that with which the master, as she called 
 him, regarded her, and his voice was full 
 of tenderness as he said : 
 
 " Ah, Michal, you should have been a 
 boy; you should have had the strong 
 vitality and steady nerves of our sex — 
 our unfailing egotism — our varied re- 
 sources and independence of the affec- 
 tions." 
 
 " Are men, indeed, so independent of 
 affection ? " asked Miss l^iQhal^ thought- 
 •fully. / 
 
 " Not always. But, between the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil, they 
 either learn to put up with empty husks, 
 or do without it ! " 
 
 " Well, why cannot I learn to do 
 without it, too? " 
 
 "Because you are a woman, with a 
 woman's heart and a man's head, and 
 your judgment will make sad work with 
 the cravings of your heart. But what 
 have you here ? Where did you pick up 
 that little brown gypsy? " 
 
 His eye had accidentally lighted on 
 me, and Miss Michal could not help smil- 
 ing at his comical look of surprise, while 
 she said hastily, as if fearful that his look 
 or manner might wound me : 
 
 "It is my new pupil. I forgot that 
 she came while you were away, and, 
 therefore, you had not seen her. For 
 various reasons, my mother has placed 
 her under my care, and we get on nicely. 
 — Come here, Zerlina, and speak with 
 Professor Cavendish," she added, turning 
 to me. " You need not mind his words, 
 for he is just as good as he can be." 
 
 " It's no such thing, Zingarella ! I 
 am — " 
 
 " I said Zerlina, sir," interrupted Miss 
 Michal. 
 
 " And I say Zingarella ! Don't 
 you think I know that look? I have 
 seen it in every country in Europe. 
 There are the true gypsy eyes and skin. 
 I don't know where you found her, but 
 her progenitors are, no doubt, swapping 
 mules and telling fortunes, this moment, 
 somewhere in Spain." 
 
 I laughed as I met his half-serious, 
 half-comic look. Instantly he seized 
 my arm, and, drawing me forward,. said 
 eagerly : 
 
 " Laugh again with just that look, 
 child!" 
 
 He might as well have told me to 
 fly. I was not one to laugh by order, 
 and instead I made an effort to elude 
 his grasp, which was none of the gen- 
 tlest. He felt it, and, shoving me from 
 him, said: 
 
72 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 "Contrary, as I migM have known 
 she would be ! " 
 
 Miss Michal laughed. "Lina is not 
 used to your autocratic ways, dear mas- 
 ter. But what was there peculiar about 
 her laugh ? " 
 
 " Nothing," he answered hastily ; " I 
 only fancied a passing resemblance to 
 one I once knew. 'Twas nothing; the 
 girl is eerie-looking enough to give rise to 
 any fancies." Seeing she still looked cu- 
 rious, he added, in a tone of testy impa- 
 tience : " What should I care for the gig- 
 gling of a girl ? "Where is the German 
 lesson for to-day ? " 
 
 He took a book from Miss Michal's 
 hand. His whole manner changed, as he 
 read in a voice deep-toned as the trum- 
 pets that called Egmont to the scaffold, 
 those heroic words with which the con- 
 demned prince greets them : 
 
 " Sorch ! liorcli ! Wie oft rief mich 
 dieser ScJiall zum freyen Schritt nacJi 
 dem Felde des Streits und des Siegs ! 
 Wie munter traten die GefdJirten mif 
 der gefdJirliclien rumlichen Balm ! Auch 
 icTi schreite einem eJirenvollen Tode aus 
 diesem Kerlcer entgegen ; icJi sterbe fur 
 die FreyTieit^ fur die ich ledte undfocht, 
 und der ich miclijetzt leidend opfre.'''' 
 
 He closed the volume, saying: 
 
 " Thus a true man meets death, Mi- 
 chal." 
 
 She answered only with a glance, but 
 I saw it, and thought of Miriam and Es- 
 ther, my old Bible heroines ; and then, 
 for an hour or more, they went on read- 
 ing those strange-sounding words, while 
 I sat and watched them. 
 
 Einally, the professor flung down the 
 book, and, with a grave command to Miss 
 Michal to " let reading alone, and mind 
 her netting," left the room, apparently 
 without remembering my presence. 
 
 This was my first introduction to 
 Eothsay Cavendish, and here for the 
 next six months our intercourse ended, 
 save what was required by my weekly at- 
 tendance on his lectures ; but not the ac- 
 quaintance, at least on my part, for I felt 
 
 drawn to study him just as I would any 
 of the strange animals Uncle Steve used 
 to tell me about years before. Whenever 
 he spoke to me, he used a tone of posi- 
 tive authority, which I could neither re- 
 sent nor disobey. Besides, he had called 
 me " eerie-looking," and I was at an age 
 when girls are somewhat sensitive about 
 such things. It was true, I knew. I 
 needed only to look in my glass for con- 
 firmation ; but, then, it was none of his 
 affair. If any one in the class was re- 
 proved, his eye always seemed to rest on 
 me ; and a failure on my part to answer 
 any question which he chose to ask, in 
 the course of his lectures on English his- 
 tory, would irritate him more than if 
 Sophie May or any of the other girls had 
 blundered a dozen times. I was con- 
 vinced that he disliked me, and I drew 
 myself within my shell of reserve, which 
 was growing quite hard by this time, and 
 was as stolid and indiff'erent as a turtle 
 whenever he came to read with Miss 
 Michal. 
 
 She knew nothing of my feeling, for 
 in this matter I kept my own counsel ; 
 but she was evidently annoyed that he 
 took no more interest in lier pupil, and 
 always tried to place my achievements 
 in the most favorable light. I had a 
 truer eye and a more facile use of the 
 pencil or crayon than herself, and, urged 
 on by her praises and the approbation of 
 our drawing-teacher, I had finished some 
 quite commendable sketches, for a school- 
 girl, of which I heard her speaking to 
 the professor one day. I vras in my own 
 room, and could not avoid hearing all that 
 was said. 
 
 " Clever I " he repeated. " Well, it 
 might be thought so, perhaps, if that 
 shot -tower — light -house, is it? well, 
 light-house, then — was not quite the 
 eighth of an inch out of the perpendicu- 
 lar ; and that gray space of sand — wa- 
 ter do you call it ? — well, then, that thing 
 in the distance is a ship I suppose. Eeal- 
 ly, Michal, your pupil's efforts are beyond 
 criticism ! " 
 
PROFESSOR CAVEXDISH. 
 
 73 
 
 It was my pet piece — a water-scene — 
 to which all my memories of the Cove had 
 lent an interest ; and it had been praised 
 by Herr Heller and Mademoiselle Ber- 
 thier, who was herself an accomplished 
 artist, and I drew my breath hard while 
 I mentally vowed that it was the last 
 time he should liave occasion to criticise 
 my drawing. I did not hear Miss Mi- 
 chal's reply, but the rejoinder was very 
 audible. 
 
 " Kemarkable ? Yes, as a child's first 
 attempts to walk. Zingarella is not a 
 genius, Michal. She has the ordinary 
 abilities of girls of her age — nothing 
 more, I assure you." 
 
 The next day I surprised my teacher 
 by requesting to go back to the rudimen- 
 tary lessons in drawing; and for sev- 
 eral weeks I worked at lines and circles, 
 angles and curves, with a zeal that de- 
 lighted him. It was good practice, and, 
 thanks to the professor's criticisms, I have 
 now a true and steady hand. 
 
 Our principal, after coming upon me 
 very suddenly during my dusting and 
 sweeping hours for the first few weeks, 
 was apparently, satisfied with my manner 
 of performing my work, and left me to 
 myself, though I never felt quite sure that 
 her eye was not on me, except when in 
 Miss Michal's room. She usually came 
 there in the morning to inquire after her 
 health, then went below to her duties ; 
 and so well did she know how to oil with 
 smooth words or to cut with keen, de- 
 cided ones any difl&culty that occurred 
 between the members of her large family, 
 that there were few more peaceful house- 
 holds to be found. She deferred to no 
 one but Mr. Cavendish ; his slightest sug- 
 gestions were listened to with respect, 
 and generally adopted. Some of the girls 
 insisted that she designed to make him 
 " our principal " by marriage, but there 
 were few that reaUy believed so. 
 
 As the weather grew warm, and the 
 days lengthened. Miss Michal was able to 
 go down-stairs, and, with my assistance, 
 to the lower end of the garden, where 
 
 there was an old-fashioned grape-arbor. 
 Here, when my lessons were over, I was 
 permitted to read to her, and our reading 
 was as varied as our moods. Science, 
 biography, history, poetry, each had its 
 turn, and opened to me a new world, to 
 which her rich and varied culture gave 
 an additional charm. One day she sent 
 me to the school-room for a manuscript, 
 which she thought I would find in a desk 
 formerly used by herself. She gave me 
 the key, and I ran to execute her com- 
 mission. It was after school-hours, and 
 the room was vacant, as I had expected. 
 I unlocked the desk, and v\^as laying aside 
 the papers in search of the manuscript, 
 when I observed among them a pencil- 
 sketch, and with an irrepressible excla- 
 mation of surprise I ran with it to the 
 window. It was a sketch of the Cedar 
 Pond ; a mere outline, faulty enough in 
 some respects as compared with the one 
 in my memory, but sufficiently accurate 
 for me to identify each locality. There 
 were Granny Hunt's house and barn, with 
 the loose boards hanging by the end on 
 the east side ; the old barn-yard gate, 
 with a stick set against it to keep it fast. 
 I had handled that stick hundreds of 
 times. There were the pond, the trees, 
 the bluffs — rocky shelves and rough seams 
 as familiar as life. The small figure by 
 the pasture-bars — ^might it not have been 
 OUie waiting for me ? And unconscious- 
 ly the tears began to mingle with the 
 smiles with which I had recognized each 
 object. 
 
 " It's wonderful ! The faces so like 
 and yet so unlike ! " 
 
 I had seen no one, heard no step, but 
 there was no mistaking the voice ; and I 
 turned to meet the eager, questioning 
 yet perplexed look of Mr. Cavendish — a 
 look that seemed ready to wrench from 
 the heart its most hidden secrets. Tor a 
 second I cowered before it ; then, raising 
 my eyes, I looked right into his face. 
 
 "There — that movement! " he mut- 
 tered, without withdrawing his eyes (I 
 had raised my hand and swept back my 
 
74 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 falling hair), "it's as like as life. Who 
 are you, girl ? " 
 
 His tall form was hent forward in 
 eager expectation, his tone hoarse from 
 suppressed feeling ; but I did not under- 
 stand it then, and, impatient at being de- 
 tained, I replied, a little maliciously : 
 
 " La Zingarella, sir." 
 
 He lifted his long finger and said im- 
 patiently : 
 
 " I am not trifling, child ! "Who are 
 you?" 
 
 "Zerlina Lathrop." 
 
 A black shade of disappointment dark- 
 ened his face, and he answered hastily, 
 contemptuously, as I thought : 
 
 "Yes, I know, adopted daughter of 
 Mrs. Lathrop Tyler, pupil at Oaklawn, 
 etc." 
 
 "Add pupil by the charity of Mrs. 
 Ellis, and pauper by birth, and the his- 
 tory will be complete," I said, quickly, 
 irritated by his tone. 
 
 He looked surprised a moment, then 
 stretched out his hand, saying in the gen- 
 tle, tender tone I had never heard him 
 use before, save when speaking to Miss 
 Michal : 
 
 " I did not mean to wound you, child. 
 I am sorry your lot has been so sad. 
 Let us be friends." 
 
 I touched his hand, and hastened 
 away. When I joined Miss Michal, with 
 the manuscript, she was coming up the 
 garden-walk with Mr. Cavendish. She 
 took the paper, saying we would read it 
 some other time. He did not notice me 
 at all — I doubt if he saw me, so absorbed 
 did he seem in some sad train of thought; 
 but, lingering in the porch for Miss Mi- 
 chal, I heard him say, as he turned to 
 leave her : 
 
 "No, child, there is no hope. Dr. 
 B thinks her days are numbered." 
 
 " God help them ! It is terrible ! " 
 she murmured, as she watched him go- 
 ing with long strides toward the woods. 
 
 CHAPTEE Xiy. 
 
 MOTHEE AND DAUGHTEE. 
 
 " YouE brother's coming. Miss Mi- 
 chal?" 
 
 " Yes, my mother's son, James San- 
 croft, and our brother Edward, born af- 
 ter her marriage with my father." 
 
 I resumed my work. I was putting 
 the trimming upon a travelling-dress for 
 Mrs. Ellis, and remained silent for some 
 moments. I had heard the girls speak 
 of Mrs. Ellis's sons, but this was the first 
 time that Miss Michal had spoken of 
 them to me, and the announcement that 
 they would spend part of the summer 
 vacation at home took me by surprise. 
 
 "It will be very pleasant for you, 
 Miss Michal," I said at length. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. Poor fellows, they 
 have not been home in a year ! " 
 
 "Why don't they come home every 
 vacation ? " 
 
 " Our mother does not think it best, 
 as long as she is at the head of such a 
 school. It is very hard for her, for she 
 dotes on her boys." 
 
 "She!" — Miss Michal looked up at 
 me, and I felt constrained to add — "I did 
 not think any thing hard for her." 
 
 "You misjudge her. Her manner is 
 undemonstrative — but she is a woman 
 of very strong afiiections. If their chan- 
 nel is narrow, it is deep — all the deeper 
 because they are never permitted to 
 overflow, but are met on all sides by 
 her idea of duty, backed by an inflexible 
 will. One must live with our mother to 
 know her. She is no dreamer like me, 
 but, if she is exacting with others, she is 
 no less so with herself" 
 
 She had let the dress v/hich she was 
 folding fall upon her lap, and seemed 
 lost in thought. I fancied my heedless 
 remark had stirred some memories not 
 altogether pleasant, but still I clung to 
 the subject, and said: 
 
 "You are not at all alike, I think." 
 
 "No; I have naturally no practical 
 
" His tall form Avas bent forward in eager expectation. " 
 
 Ttiirhtcil .It Last. [>. 74. 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 75 
 
 talent, and little executive force. Mj 
 mother has a great deal, and it was a 
 long, long time before we could under- 
 stanch each other — a time when I could 
 see nothing but the briers and thorns in 
 the way, Lina." 
 
 " Are your brothers like you? " 
 
 "IsTo; James, who is only brother by 
 courtesy, has much of« his mother's en- 
 ergy and business talent. He is a fine 
 scholar, took the 'Valedictory' two 
 years ago, at Amherst, when he gradu- 
 ated. He is now studying law. Our 
 mother has high hopes of him. Edward 
 is still a boy, preparing to enter college 
 — not much older than you, frank, truth- 
 ful, merry, and kind-hearted. You will 
 like him very much." 
 
 The school had closed for the long 
 summer vacation, the day before. All 
 the morning, the halls and stairways had 
 echoed with the bustle caused by the 
 departure of the pupils ; and it was in 
 the stillness that had succeeded, that 
 Miss Michal had spoken thus of her 
 brothers. "We were sitting in her room, 
 very busy in giving the last touch to 
 some di-esses, for, the next morning, she 
 and her mother were to leave for Spring- 
 field. It was Mrs. Ellis's native place, 
 and she felt quite sure that her old phy- 
 sician there would be able to restore 
 Miss Michal's health. The brothers were 
 to meet them there, and return with 
 them to Oaklawn. 
 
 The programme of my holidays had 
 been announced by Mrs. Ellis, the even- 
 ing before. 
 
 " Zerlina," she had said, " Mr. and 
 Mrs. Tyler wish you to spend your vaca- 
 tion here, if I can find any thing for you 
 to do that will remunerate me for the 
 trouble. It is not convenient for them 
 to receive you, but they express great 
 pleasure at hearing such a favorable 
 report of your progress and conduct. 
 Here is the key to the linen-closet ; you 
 will find a large basketful which needs 
 mending. I notice that you are a neat 
 sewer, and I want yon to look it all 
 
 over, and put it in perfect order. The 
 cook will remain in the house, as will 
 also Miss Eathburn, and I shall expect 
 you to look after her until I return." 
 
 I answered with a brief " Very well, 
 ma'am," for her whole air and manner 
 shamed me from showing the repug- 
 nance I felt to one part of my duty. I 
 would rather have mended or made up 
 all the linen ever spun by Penelope and 
 her maidens, or taken Irish Margaret's 
 place in the kitchen, than been compelled 
 to spend twenty-four hours with Ann 
 Eathburn, to say nothing of three weeks. 
 She was the half-witted daughter of a 
 very wealthy j^ew-York family, who 
 kept her at school in the country to 
 " keep her out of sight," paying lavishly, 
 it was said, for the extra care and atten- 
 tion she required. She was obstinate, 
 self-willed, and ungovernable by all save 
 Mrs. Ellis; and, indeed, it required all 
 her authority to make her keep her- 
 self personally decent. My "town-poor 
 breeding " held her and her habits in 
 infinite disgust, and something of this 
 feeling was visible in jny face, I sup- 
 pose, the following morning, when, after 
 watching Mrs. Ellis and Michal enter the 
 carriage and drive away, I turned and 
 met her grinning, leering face ; for, dur- 
 ing the next ten days, she made my life 
 a torment. I had studied very hard for 
 the past four months ; I had also worked 
 hard, at hours when other growing girls 
 were at play or asleep ; and now, when 
 the strain was relaxed, and my over- 
 tasked brain and irritable nerves cried 
 out for rest — mere physical rest — to be 
 obliged to look after that girl — to care 
 for her slatternly, ill-kept person — to see 
 her stolid eye and hanging lip — to watch 
 her at her meals, and see that she did not 
 overeat — to baiSe her sly malice, or 
 contend against her mulish obstinacy — 
 nearly drove me mad, and every day's 
 experience increased my horror and dis- 
 gust. 
 
 Margaret was little help to me, for 
 all her leisure was given to gossipping 
 
76 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 cousins, lybo took advantage of the mis- 
 tress's absence to visit her, or in trudging 
 into the citj to attend some ceremony or 
 fete of the Church, and I was left alone 
 for hours with this girl. I think I was 
 growing idiotic or insane myself, for my 
 head throbbed and ached as if all the 
 blood in my meagre body was centred 
 there; and, one afternoon, I grew so 
 dizzy that I could no longer see to sew. 
 I laid my head down upon the pile of 
 linen on the table before me, and fell into 
 a kind of stupor, I suppose, for, after 
 a while, I was aroused by a torrent of 
 Irish objurgations, among which I only 
 distinguished the name of Miss Kathburn. 
 
 "What of her? Where is she, Mar- 
 garet? " I said, rousing myself with diflS- 
 culty, for every bone in my body was 
 full of pain. 
 
 " Where is she ! An', shure, ain't she 
 in the pantry — an' hasn't she gone an' 
 made a baste o' herself, and eat all me 
 illigant leg o' mutton, and the beautiful 
 pears the misthress saved for the sweet- 
 mates, an' shure won't she be in purga- 
 tliory the morn, an' the divil don't help 
 her, for the saints never'll dirthy their 
 fingers wi' the likes o' her ! " 
 
 I followed Margaret to the pantry, 
 and there the miserable girl sat upon the 
 floor, still munching the pears. She 
 looked up at me, more like some wild 
 animal than any thing human, while Mar- 
 garet pointed to the roast joint, which 
 was all haggled up, saying : 
 
 "It's a divil a bit you or I'll be 
 touchin' the lave o' that, miss ! " 
 
 I told Ann to get up and come with 
 me. At first, she only swelled up, and 
 looked at me like an angry toad; but, 
 finally, by dint of coaxing, I got her to 
 her room, and turned the key on her, as 
 Mrs. Ellis had told me to do every night. 
 True, the sun was not yet down, but I 
 was glad to get rid of her, and glad when 
 Margaret left me — after assuring me, over 
 and over, that she only left the pantry- 
 key in the door for just a minit, while 
 she went to the door to speak to Bridget 
 
 rianaghan, an' the creyther slipped in un- 
 beknownst — for my head seemed bursting. 
 
 I flung myself on the lounge, and, 
 after tossing about for a while, fell into a 
 kind of drowse, in which the face of that 
 girl still haunted me. At length, a 
 strange noise startled me, and, with every 
 nerve throbbing, I sprang up. It came 
 again — a low, gurgling sound, as of one 
 choking, and from Miss Eathburn's room. 
 I hastened as fast as I could to the door, 
 and entered. I had no light, but the 
 mellow August moonbeams flooded the 
 chamber, and fell full upon the convulsed 
 features and writhing limbs of that un- 
 fortunate girl. She was in a fit. I had 
 heard that in her childhood she had been 
 subject to them, and I ran to call Mar- 
 garet — then returned to her bedside. 
 The white foam was about her lips — 
 flecked with blood — for she had bitten 
 her tongue badly, and her face was livid ; 
 but disgust was swallowed up in pity and 
 terror, and I hung over her, entreating 
 her to speak. Encouraged by a slight 
 cessation in her struggles, I bent lower, 
 and tried to raise her head, which lay all 
 awry, when she suddenly flung -up her 
 arms, seized me around tlie neck, and 
 drew my head down into the bed with 
 the force of a vice, while she fastened 
 her strong, yellow teeth in my arm. I 
 screamed — a faint, smothered scream — 
 for my position was suffocating, and that 
 might have been my last cry, had not 
 Margaret reached the room, and set up 
 such a howl as only Milesian lungs can 
 utter. I was just conscious of a crash 
 below — of a quick step along the hall — 
 and Margaret's emphatic "God save ye, 
 sir! " when, with a strong but futile ef- 
 fort to release myself, I fainted. 
 
 I was in my own room, and on my 
 own bed, when I again became conscious. 
 The door of Miss Michal's room was open, 
 and a lamp on the table there revealed 
 the features of two men standing by 
 my bed. The one with his fingers on my 
 wrist was Dr. Herrick, and the other 
 Prof. Cavendish. 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S FAMILY. 
 
 77 
 
 "Fever?" asked the latter, as tlie 
 doctor removed liis fingers. 
 
 "I am afraid so, but we will see what 
 can he done," was the reply, as he 
 walked into Miss Michal's room, and took 
 a pencil to write a recipe. 
 
 A spluttering, unearthly noise at the 
 other end of the hall, reminded me of 
 the horror there, and I shuddered from 
 head to foot. Mr. Cavendish's face, so 
 full of pity and almost motherly ten- 
 derness, changed at the sound, his eye- 
 brows sharpened, and he said to Dr. 
 Herrick, who entered, prescription in 
 hand : 
 
 "Doctor, that idiotic fiend will kill 
 her if she remains here." 
 
 Again the fingers were applied to my 
 wrist. 
 
 " I am afraid you are right, but, un- 
 less removed very early in the morning, 
 I will not answer for it. "Where are her 
 friends? " 
 
 " Too far off to be of any use. But 
 she can be moved now, without any ill 
 effect. Carried a half mile or so ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and it will be better than to 
 leave her here. Her nervous system 
 seems completely unstrung, and she 
 needs careful nursing, and great quiet." 
 
 A scream from Margaret, and a sup- 
 plication in the name of the saints, rang 
 through the hall, and the doctor hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Zingarella, poor child, will you go 
 home with me? My housekeeper will 
 look after you, and you cannot stay here. 
 That cannibal will eat you up. Will you 
 go, child ? " 
 
 I put my hand in his, and made an 
 eftbrt to rise. I should have gone to the 
 world's end in answer to a look and a 
 tone like that. 
 
 He smiled, went out of the room a 
 few minutes, then came back and began 
 wrapping the bed-coverings about me, 
 when I noticed, for the first time, my 
 arm. Below the short sleeve of my 
 dress, where Ann Kathburn had fastened 
 her teeth, it was bandaged with fine 
 
 white linen. I saw it with dismay, and 
 asked, instantly : 
 
 " Where did you find this bandage? " 
 
 "What, now! Where? "Why, on 
 the table, yonder. We tore up sorao 
 trash or other! " It was the old, testy, 
 impatient voice again. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! It was one of Mrs. Ellis's 
 best pillow-slips. What will she say ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Ellis be 1 " he muttered 
 
 something between his teeth, and I sank 
 back again, too deathly faint to care what 
 became of me, so that I was beyond hear- 
 ing the voice or seeing the face of Ann 
 Rathburn. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 THE PEOFESSOE's FAMILY. 
 
 " All man's days, he eateth in dark- 
 ness, and he hath much sorrow and 
 wrath in his sickness ! " 
 
 I was an exception to these words of 
 the Preacher, or they did not exactly ap- 
 ply to town poor in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury. It was very pleasant for me to be 
 watched over, cared for, and consulted 
 about, pleasant to listen to the hushed 
 tones and careful footfalls, pleasant to 
 feel that I was somebody in the univei*se, 
 cared for with love and tenderness, even 
 though it was only by an elderly woman, 
 and a man in middle life, who, with no 
 companion but his great dog, sat day af- 
 ter day in a room adjoining the one I oc- 
 cupied, surrounded by books, maps, manu- 
 scripts, telescopes, and quadrants, with 
 every muscle of his iron face corrugated 
 and seamed by intense thought, as he 
 pored over them, but ready, at my light- 
 est movement, to step to my bedside, 
 and discharge the duties of nurse with 
 womanly tenderness and skill; all the 
 pleasanter because God had mercifully 
 rendered me unconscious during the 
 hours of my greatest peril, as I learned 
 from Mrs. Ross. 
 
 " Mr. Rothsay, that is, the professor," 
 
78 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 she said, correcting herself, "drove up 
 here one evening, and brought you into 
 the house in his arms, just as I have 
 known him to carry a poor, motherless 
 lamb when he was a lad, and laid you 
 down there. It was ^all we could do to 
 keep the breath of life in you for more 
 than a week, and all the time he watched 
 you, and would let no one give the medi- 
 cine but himself. It is just his way al- 
 ways. But, by God's blessing, we con- 
 quered the fever, and you'll soon be about 
 again, I reckon." 
 
 iSTot a word of her own unwearied 
 care, only a face expressive of the utmost 
 thankfulness for my recovery ! I might 
 have been a child of the house all my 
 days, and she could not have spoken 
 more kindly or gratefully, and I took 
 her hand and covered it with kisses. 
 She withdrew it hastily, but not unkind- 
 ly, saying : 
 
 " I am only the housekeeper, miss," 
 
 " But none the less Eothsay Caven- 
 dish's friend, and Zingarella's friend, 
 Alice," said the professor, looking in at 
 the door. " A poor time she would have 
 had of it with gruels and broths if this 
 hand had had their stirring. — Come, let 
 us look at that arm, child." 
 
 He unbound my arm where the marks 
 of Ann Kathburn's teeth still showed red 
 and swollen, and dressed it carefully. 
 The bandage then in use was not Mrs. 
 Ellis's torn pillow-slip, but we both 
 thought of it, for, with a comical grimace, 
 he said : 
 
 "Alice Eoss has taken very good 
 care of it, Zingarella. She's a careful 
 woman, specially of old linen. I told 
 her that Mrs. Ellis set great store by that 
 piece, and she'll be careful of it, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " She was indeed very choice of those 
 covers, and you oughtn't to have torn 
 them, sir." 
 
 "Ko; I suppose we ought to have 
 left your arm undressed while I made a 
 journey to the tombs of the Pharaohs, 
 and stripped the mummies for a piece of 
 
 waste linen. Indeed, I suppose I ought 
 not to have burst through the back win- 
 dow that night, but have left that vam- 
 pire to eat you up. But I don't confess 
 daily that I have done those things I 
 ought not to have done, for nothing, 
 child." 
 
 I could not help smiling at his words, 
 and instantly he became very grave and 
 thoughtful. He turned slowly back to 
 his room, and for three or four days he 
 scarcely addressed to me as many words ; 
 yet, more than once, when I looked at the 
 still figure seated by the table, I knew 
 that his glance had been fixed upon me 
 with a look that seemed to search my 
 heart. 
 
 I was soon able to sit up and hUve on 
 my clothes, then I began to walk about 
 my room, which was in one of the angles 
 of the cottage, and to look with delight 
 upon the beautiful views from the win- 
 dows. The country wore a very differ- 
 ent look now from that which met my 
 eye that March evening when I stood at 
 the gate of Oaklawn in the rain. The 
 location of the house was very beautiful, 
 and, though the grounds contained but few 
 acres, they had been laid out by one who 
 had been content to follow Nature rather 
 than attempt to rival her. On the north 
 and east of the house circled that beauti- 
 ful growth of wood which I had so often 
 admired from Miss Michal's window. 
 Here and there an opening had been 
 made, through which one caught the sil- 
 very gleam of the waters of the Connecti- 
 cut, and glimpses of the line of rugged 
 hills beyond. To the south were fair 
 meadows, orchards, and cornfields, with 
 clusters of farm-buildings, overshadowed 
 by green trees. On the west, the garden 
 sloped down to a chattering mountain- 
 brook, that leaped upon you unawares 
 from beneath a fine growth of pines, and 
 went hurrying onward to lose itself in the 
 beautiful river. Beyond this stretched a 
 broad expanse of undulating country, 
 bounded by the hazy outlines of the Hart- 
 ford-County hills. Beautiful as it was 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S FAMILY. 
 
 79 
 
 then, witli tlie rosy fliisli of summer 
 deepening into the golden haze of au- 
 tumn upon the hills, I came to love it 
 none the less in its hare and wintry rug- 
 gedness ; for, when wearied of the tire- 
 some routine of school duties, I frequent- 
 ly turned my steps toward the grove of 
 pines, and sat, folded in my cloak, listen- 
 ing to their weird murmurs, in the hush 
 of the wintry sunset, until the farm-house 
 lights came out one after another, and 
 the pale gleam of the wintry moon tipped 
 the skeleton trees with silver. 
 
 But thoughts of my neglected duties 
 at Oaklawn hegan to haunt me ; and one 
 day, when Mr. Cavendish entered my 
 room, I spoke of my return. 
 
 "ISTot to-day, nor to-morrow, nor 
 next week, Zingarella. You are not 
 strong enough yet. You are a pale, 
 puny, good-for-nothing thing. You can't 
 go to Oaklawn yet. But, if you are weary 
 of this room, you may ramble over all 
 this wing of the house, which all con- 
 sists of but two rooms besides this ; the 
 one adjoining contains some things at 
 which you may like to look; the room 
 beyond, books — such as a young girl may 
 like to read. It's not an extensive prom- 
 enade, you see," he added, as he threw 
 open the door, " but it is better than a 
 tramp to Oaklawn." 
 
 I stood on the threshold for a moment 
 in surprise ; the room was long, running 
 the whole length of the building, east and 
 west, and lighted by a deep bay-window 
 in the west end, and skylights of soft, 
 ground glass above. A heavy curtain of 
 rich, crimson silk was looped away from 
 the window, one part flung carelessly 
 over the back of a large stuffed chair, as 
 if it were done with a hasty hand. A 
 low rocking-chair, covered with the same 
 rich material, stood near, with a hassock 
 to match. ISTear the great window was 
 an elegant piano, with the lid thrown 
 back, and the westering sunbeams fell 
 full upon the white keys, and made it 
 easy to read the name and notes of the 
 Scotch melody open against the music- 
 
 rack. The floor was covered with a car- 
 pet more beautiful than any that I had 
 ever seen, and the delicately-tinted walls 
 hung with pictures, with pieces of armor, 
 weapons of offence and defence, inter- 
 spersed. It was so different from any 
 thing I had anti-cipated — so different from 
 my own room, which was amply though 
 plainly furnished — that I looked round 
 for the professor, hoping for some word 
 of explanation, but he had disappeared. 
 I stole lightly forward to the piano, for 
 I was not sure that an extra jar would 
 not cause the whole scene to vanish. 
 The dust lay undisturbed upon the keys, 
 and upon the right, close by a vase of 
 withered flowers (spring flowers, I knew 
 by the leaves), lay a lady's glove, as if 
 the wearer, after arranging her flowers, 
 had flung it down to play out the melody 
 they had stirred in her heart. That glove 
 I thought must have belonged to the lady 
 of whom Sophie May had told me when 
 I first came to Oaklawn — ^his sister, I 
 knew now, from some words of Miss Mi- 
 chal's ; but where was she, and what 
 made her absence so terrible, as her words 
 that night had implied ? Busy with 
 these queries, I passed on to the other 
 end of the room, where a curtain of the 
 same hue and texture as that over the 
 bay-window depended from a wide arch ; 
 lifted it, and stood within a smaller room, 
 with a corresponding window, fitted up 
 as a library. Giving a hasty glance at 
 the books through the glass doors, I re- 
 turned to the other room to examine the 
 pictures. They were chiefly landscapes 
 — views of English and American sce- 
 nery, and, whatever I might think of them 
 now, they seemed masterpieces of art 
 then. I no longer wondered that the pro- 
 fessor had spoken so slightingly of my 
 drawing. At length, I paused before a 
 group of portraits, three of which were 
 of the usual proportions, the fourth what 
 is usually termed cabinet size. The two 
 at the right were evidently father and 
 son ; neither was handsome, as far as 
 regularity of feature and beauty of outline 
 
80 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 were concerned, bnt the deep-set gray- 
 eyes and square brows were instinct with 
 conscious power, while the strong jaw, 
 and close, firm lips, indicated courage to 
 perform, and strength to endure. That 
 thej represented the professor and his 
 father I did not doubt. On the next 
 canvas were two children, a boy and girl, 
 with arms interlacing, fair-haired, bliie- 
 eyed, with faces that seemed to light up 
 the dark background with sunshine. Both 
 were very beautiful, and, at first sight, as 
 unlike the former as possible, yet a closer 
 inspection detected the same look of la- 
 tent power which gave to them such 
 marked individuality, with this differ- 
 ence in the elder ones, it was power sub- 
 ordinated to reason and high principle ; 
 in the face of the handsome, self-willed 
 boy it was simply a laughing defiance, 
 "I will do as I please, if the heavens 
 fall ! " 
 
 The other frame encircled a face of a 
 different type from either of the above — 
 that of a boy, hardly beyond the first 
 stages of childhood, small, dark-eyed, 
 dark-haired, daring, resolute, and impetu- 
 ous. Something there was familiar about 
 this, I climbed upon a chair to get a 
 better view — I was not long at a loss — it 
 was very like the miniature of Mr. Annes- 
 ley, which Miss Agnes had given me on 
 her marriage. 
 
 " That face seems to interest you 
 greatly, Zingarella," said the professor, 
 who had entered the room unheard and 
 unobserved by me. " Naturally enough, 
 for he has something of a gypsy look, as 
 well as yourself, but let me assure you 
 he is ugly enough by this time." 
 
 " Are his ancestors even now swap- 
 ping mules in Spain? " I asked, gravely. 
 
 " ITo ; though he may be, for aught I 
 know," he answered, smiling. " Ealph 
 Saville's ancestors were rooted, for many 
 centuries, in the north of England ; but 
 some chance drew his father to this 
 country, where he died. But what of 
 the other faces, girl ? Speak out." 
 
 I told him my thought of the father 
 
 and son. "Eight!" he said, slowly; 
 "they did tryto do their duty honestly 
 and without murmuring, even if not al- 
 ways wisely — ^man proposes, but God dis- 
 poses — ^let us therefore take heart. — But 
 what of these, child? One would think 
 that face," pointing to the fair-haired boy, 
 " a,s worthy of your high consideration as 
 that little fire-eater — it was twice as 
 handsome, at least." 
 
 "Yes, sir; but — he thinks more of 
 having his own way than any thing 
 else." 
 
 "And what if he did? " he growled, 
 his eyebrows running up into angles and 
 working restlessly. " Who was to blame 
 for it, but those that petted and indulged 
 him, until he never knew the meaning 
 of self-denial? Poor Philip! — I wonder 
 how I could ever think you like him ? " 
 
 So this was the friend I was supposed 
 to resemble. I took another look at the 
 handsome face, and wondered too — not 
 if I was like the picture, but if my com- 
 panion was not a little insane — then 
 turned to the one he called Ealph Saville, 
 and asked : 
 
 " Were they brothers, these two boys 
 and that girl ? " 
 
 The momentary excitement had sub- 
 sided, and he answered pleasantly : 
 
 " 'No ; there was only a distant cousin- 
 ship between their families. We all had 
 Saville blood in our veins." 
 
 "Those children are your brother 
 and sister," I said. . 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Because they have something of the 
 same expression," I returned, glancing 
 again at the portrait of himself; "only 
 they are — " 
 
 " Are what ? " 
 
 "A great deal handsomer, sir." 
 
 "Wonderful, Zingarella! So, with 
 beauty and ugliness right before you, you 
 are able to tell the difference. Your 
 artistic perception is worthy of Michael 
 Angelo." 
 
 He spoke in that dry, ironical man- 
 ner which he sometimes used, but I had 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S FAMILY. 
 
 81 
 
 a feeling that lie was not angry, and I 
 said, bluntly : 
 
 "I suppose you are laughing at me, 
 sir ; but that face," pointing to the youth, 
 " is not ugly, neither is that of the gentle- 
 man. They are good, strong, honest 
 faces, and I like them." 
 
 " Well, how do you like one of them 
 now ? I suppose you will say age has 
 improved it ? " he returned, with one of 
 his odd grimaces, 
 
 "iSTo, sir. But I like you now very 
 much, if you would not make such ugly 
 shapes." 
 
 He laughed almost a meriy laugh as 
 he said : 
 
 " Truth from a gypsy. You are as 
 outspoken as you are odd, Zingarella." 
 
 He was turning away, when, anxious 
 to know more, I said, with a glance at 
 the brother and sister — " Are they still 
 living?" 
 
 He looked me intently in the face for 
 a moment, and, somehow, my own eyes 
 filled with tears as he said : 
 
 " One is dead, and the other — dying 
 in an insane retreat." 
 
 The hard-lined face quivered with 
 suppressed emotion, and, turning sudden- 
 ly he left me alon e. A few moments later, 
 I saw him pacing slowly back and forth 
 beneath the pines. 
 
 "Mrs. Eoss," I said, that evening, 
 when that good woman came, as usual, 
 to see if I was comfortable before she 
 slept — " is there no hope of Miss Caven- 
 dish's recovery ? " 
 
 She looked at me a second, in great 
 surprise, before she said : 
 
 " Is it Miss Helen you mean, miss? " 
 
 "Yes — Mr. Cavendish told me about 
 her himself." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes; we were looking at the por- 
 traits, and I asked him about them — he 
 has thought me like his brother, it 
 seems." 
 
 " You are not a bit like his brother, 
 miss, and so I told him ; but you some- 
 times have a look like Miss Flora Saville, 
 6 
 
 or like her portrait that used to hang in 
 the old hall at home." 
 
 " Where was that, Mrs. Eoss ? " 
 
 "Far enough from here, miss," she 
 said, with a sigh. "The Cavendish fam- 
 ily are English, and they lived at a place 
 called the Holm, and a beautiful place it 
 was, too." 
 
 " Was Mr. Cavendish born there? " 
 
 " IsTo ; he was born in the West Indies, 
 when his father went on his marriage, 
 but he and his mother spent some years 
 at the Holm, during his childhood." 
 
 " And where were the others born ? " 
 
 " In Jamaica, too — ^first Miss Helen, 
 then Master Philip." 
 
 " How did they come here? " 
 
 " Some business changes — I never- 
 knew Avhat rightly, made their father 
 move to New York, where he died just 
 after Mr. Eothsay entered college." 
 
 "Did their mother die too? I saw 
 no portrait of her," I said, recalling that 
 circumstance. 
 
 " 'No ; she soon married a gay young 
 officer ; not much older than Mr. Eothsay, 
 whom she had known in Jamaica. Mr. 
 Eothsay made Captain Eastlake a pres- 
 ent of her portrait." 
 
 " And the children, Mrs. Eoss ? " 
 
 " They stayed with Mr. Eothsay. He 
 sent for me to come over to this country 
 — I had been raised in the family, miss, 
 my old master was dead, my husband 
 too. I had no ties to keep me, for Mr. 
 Edwards's family were mostly abroad, so 
 I came." 
 
 " Here — to this house ? " 
 
 " Dear heart, no ! We had a beauti- 
 ful place just out of the city. Philip, 
 poor boy, fretted hard for his mother at 
 first ; he had been her idol, but he finally 
 got accustomed to the change. Dear, 
 dear, how merry they used to be ! " 
 
 "Did he die then? Mr. Cavendish 
 said he was dead." 
 
 "No; but I've sometimes thought 
 'twould have been better if he had. He 
 grew up brave, bright, high-spirited, and 
 handsome — generous, affectionate, but 
 
82 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 self-willed and passionate. He would 
 not liear to any one, not even his brother, 
 who would have laid down his life 
 for him — and — so — well-a-day — there 
 was trouble, and he went away — to In- 
 dia, we heard, for he never came to say 
 ' good-by ' to us, nor sent us so much 
 as a line ; and, a while after, we heard he 
 was killed in a skirmish with the natives 
 there, for it seemed he entered the 
 army." 
 
 " Did this make Miss Helen crazy ? " 
 
 " Fo ; though she began to be poorly 
 about that time, and Mr. Eothsay took 
 her to Europe, where they were absent 
 some years, travelling about. After we 
 had news of Master Philip's death, her 
 mind began to wander. Mr. Eothsay 
 had all the doctors far and near, and it 
 was a long time before he would consent 
 to send her away, though the doctors all 
 advised it. Finally, she grew so wild 
 that he decided to put her at the Eetreat 
 
 in H where the chief physician is his 
 
 friend and classmate. He bought this 
 place, and we came here to live, to be 
 near her. Sometimes, she seems as well 
 as ever, and she will stay with us weeks, 
 and they will read, and walk, and sing, 
 and it will seem quite like old times, if 
 he could only forget the terrible curse 
 that is likely to come back at any mo- 
 ment, and compel him to take her back 
 to the Eetreat. He watches a:gd waits 
 npon her, as if she were a little child, and 
 when I think of the place and honor he 
 has given up to be near her — O miss, 
 there's never another like him in the 
 whole world ! " 
 
 The faithful woman's eyes were full 
 of tears, and perhaps it was because she 
 saw mine were, also, that she lingered, 
 candle in hand, while I asked : 
 
 " He teaches at Oaklawn, I suppose, 
 to while away the time, then? " 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Ellis's husband was a dis- 
 tant relative of his family, and he is glad 
 to help her educate her children. He is 
 very fond of Master Edward and Miss 
 Michal — But, there — I hear his step. If 
 
 he has a fault in the world, it is being 
 so irregular about eating and sleeping. I 
 doubt if he eats a morsel to-night, but I'll 
 see. Strange he should have told yon 
 about the children, child ! " 
 
 In a day or two, I was out of doors 
 wandering about the garden among Alice 
 Eoss's old-fashioned flowers, or leaning 
 over the low wall, listening to the babble 
 of the brook, and the low murmur of the 
 pines. They reminded me of a project I 
 had decided to execute during vacation — 
 that of writing to Uncle Steve and little 
 Adeline. In term-time, all our letters 
 passed under the eye of our principal, 
 and I had a feeling that I could not write 
 to them like myself if Mrs. EUis's critical 
 eye was to scan the letter. The next 
 day, while I was waiting to ask for some 
 paper, the professer entered with an open 
 letter in his hand, and gave me a note 
 addressed in Miss Michal's writing, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " There's something for you, child." 
 
 I ran it over eagerly — ^then, more 
 slowly, for the contents took me by sur- 
 prise. At length I looked up, and met 
 his amused glance. 
 
 "Well," he said, "have you nothing 
 to say ? " 
 
 " I am very grateful to Mrs. Ellis, in- 
 deed—" 
 
 " Grateful to Mrs. Ellis ! " he inter- 
 rupted impatiently. "ISTobody doubts 
 that, but let me tell you, she never would 
 have made you the offer if she did not 
 expect to benefit herself as well as you ! 
 She is an excellent manager — circum- 
 stances have compelled her to be so, but 
 she never deals in humbug; therefore, 
 she will not expect any specific mark of 
 gratitude from you. Have you no feel- 
 ing about the matter personally, child ? 
 That is what I mean? " 
 
 " Yes, I am very glad to be indepen- 
 dent of Mr. Tyler — ^to be in a position to 
 take care of myself. You can't think 
 how I have longed to do this, sir! " and, 
 overcome by a crowd of memories, I 
 burst into tears. 
 
THE PROFESSOR'S FAMILY. 
 
 83 
 
 lie stared at me a inoment, in sur- 
 prise ; at length lie said : 
 
 "Look here, Zingarella, was not this 
 Mr. Tyler kind to you ? " 
 
 " I don't think he ever liked me, sir; 
 besides, he had a child of his own, and it 
 was natural that he should think more 
 of him than of me." 
 
 I was in no mood to enter into the 
 details of my life with Mr. Tyler, for Miss 
 Michal's words had made me somewhat 
 unsettled about it myself, and I was glad 
 my vague reply satisfied him, for he said : 
 
 " Very true ; but I had been thinking 
 how proud they would be of your suc- 
 cess — for it is a success, child, notwith- 
 standing what I said of Mrs. Ellis — for, 
 not even to serve herself, would she place 
 Any one in a position of trust whom she 
 did not thoroughly approve and respect." 
 
 " They will be glad, at least Mrs. Ty- 
 ler will, and so will two other friends, to 
 whom, with your permission, I wish to 
 write to-day." 
 
 In a few words, I told him of Uncle 
 Steve and little Adeline, and his consent 
 was readily given. 
 
 Reader, I was to be a teacher at " Oak- 
 lawn Seminary." Promoted to that honor 
 in consideration of my "scholarship), dil- 
 igence, discretion, and practical talent," 
 which, it pleased our principal to say, 
 were "beyond my years." 
 
 True, my department would only in- 
 clude the juveniles who were coming in 
 at the commencement of the term. It 
 had but a trifling salary beyond my board, 
 for the first term, but it was no less the 
 realization of a long-cherished dream. It 
 was probably well for my credit for dis- 
 cretion and practical talent that Mrs. 
 Ellis did not see the letter I wrote to lit- 
 tle Adeline Leete that day. 
 
 Two days later, I went back to Oak- 
 lawn, in compliance with the request of 
 Mrs. Ellis, to prepare for her arrival. I 
 was very sorry to leave the Pines, its odd 
 master, and Alice Ross; and the latter 
 really regretted my departure, I knew — 
 but .the master — it was just as if a stout 
 
 shag-bark hickory had given shelter to 
 some poor, stray, weary-winged bird for 
 awhile, and, when the storm was over, 
 had said : " Go, you have no further need 
 of me ; I never needed you ! " At least, 
 so I read the close, grim face that was 
 opposite me at the breakfast-table the 
 morning I left, and the quick voice that 
 
 said : " I am going to H to-day, so, 
 
 good-by, child ; " and I was ready to 
 cry, as I thanked him for his kindness, 
 and said I would like to come sometimes 
 to the Pines, to walk in the grove, if he 
 pleased. 
 
 " Come to the Pines, yes, you'll be 
 welcome ; but to walk in the grove, non- 
 sense ! What does such a girl as you 
 want of such a place ? Go out in the 
 sunshine, and among the roses, and let 
 the pines alone. They are not good for 
 you ! " 
 
 " I think they are, sir. I never had 
 any roses, but when I was a little girl I 
 knew the pines well, and they seem like 
 old friends. I like their murmur and 
 their strong aromatic smell. It makes 
 me strong." 
 
 " You are an odd child, Zingarella — 
 but come when you please — talk to the 
 pines, or to Alice, as you list, but come 
 alone. Remember, I will have none of 
 the other girls here." 
 
 Thus we parted. I had grasped Miss 
 Michal's hand, felt her kiss upon my 
 cheek, rephed to Mrs. Ellis's kind but 
 brief inquiry after my health, and been 
 presented to the young gentleman as Miss 
 Zerlina Lathrop, the junior teacher, and, 
 with a passing glance at them, was fol- 
 lowing Mrs. Ellis to the hall to receive 
 some orders about the baggage, Vv^hen I 
 overheard one of them saying : 
 
 " That your protegee^ Michal ! She 
 ought to possess the seven cardinal vir- 
 tues, for she's homely enough. Here I 
 have been conjuring up visions of a fairy- 
 like little mortal, and you introduce me 
 to a brownie, who gives one glance from 
 her eerie-looking eyes, and then van- 
 ishes ! " 
 
84 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 " Husli, Edward ! I never told you Li- 
 na was pretty, so you may thank your own 
 vain imagination for your mistake. But 
 I like her face — ^it is good, bright, and 
 very expressive. I know James will agree 
 with me." 
 
 " It indicates a good deal of character, 
 I should say," returned a voice I sup- 
 posed to be James Sancroft's, " but of 
 what quality I must be excused from de- 
 ciding, as I gave it only a passing glance. 
 Pretty it certainly is not." 
 
 His voice had all the clearness of his 
 mother's, but was much more carefully 
 modulated. 
 
 Edward Ellis laughed merrily. " There 
 spoke Judge Bancroft, that is to be, Mi- 
 chal. You have no idea how cautious 
 and sententious James is getting to be — 
 all his words are sifted and weighed be- 
 fore he speaks. He is already accounted 
 a ' rising man ' in Amherst ; his nod 
 will be equal to Lord Burleigh's one of 
 these days." 
 
 "Edward is rather hard upon us 
 law-students, sometimes, sister. We are 
 obliged to be very industrious, and, be- 
 sides, every one does not possess the for- 
 tunate privilege of saying just what 
 comes into one's head with impunity." 
 
 " Fortunate ! Is it not rather danger- 
 ous, James?" 
 
 "N"o, Michaldear," returned Edward, 
 "not if one feels friendly with all the 
 world. But that girl's name haunts me. 
 Zerlina — I have heard it somewhere, I'm 
 certain." 
 
 "Probably, in Mozart's opera," sug- 
 gested James. 
 
 " ISTo ; I remember now ; it was a 
 scene from the ' Beggars' Opera,' rather! 
 It must have been the name of that 
 funny-looking girl that Aunty Lester 
 and I encountered in Bradshaw Church, 
 when we were visiting at Eernside. Her 
 name was Zerlina or Zillah, or something 
 of the kind ! " 
 
 So here was a denoument. Edward 
 Ellis was the boy who had opened the 
 slip door for me in Bradshaw Church, and 
 
 the gentle lady was his aunt. She must 
 have made that sketch of the Pond, and 
 G-ranny Hunt's house, which Miss Mi- 
 chal had told me was drawn by a rela- 
 tive many years ago. I did not teU her 
 why the picture interested me, then, for 
 she was occupied, so I had no fear of be- 
 ing identified with that child, unless I 
 chose to avow the truth. 
 
 Should I doit? Should I drop the 
 shawls and satchels I had been slowly 
 gathering, and go into the parlor and 
 announce myself the heroine of that 
 scene ? 
 
 I did not ; no person, especially at 
 my age, likes to appear ridiculous in the 
 eyes of others, and I instantly decided 
 to keep my own counsel. By this time, 
 I had learned the value of Mr. Annesley's 
 advice. 
 
 Edward Ellis's opinion of my face 
 occurred to me rather unpleasantly that 
 night, but after all we were, perhaps, far 
 better friends for my lack of beauty. 
 JSTature had been no niggard in forming 
 him. Less intellectual than Michal or 
 James Sancroffc, he seemed to revel in the 
 perfection of physical life. Handsome, 
 affectionate, frank, buoyant, and self-con- 
 fident, his sanguine temperament craved 
 a confidante, and he chose me, probably, 
 because I was the best listener in the 
 family, and some one to talh to is gener- 
 ally a desideratum with boys of eigh- 
 teen. 
 
 There might have been danger to me in 
 this had I not been so often, unintention- 
 ally, been made to feel that my lack of 
 beauty was supposed to indicate a cor- 
 responding lack of sensibility. Yet, 
 so wholly unpremeditated were these 
 chance sayings, that I never thought 
 of being vexed or wounded, though I 
 sometimes wondered if the owner of 
 this or that pretty face which he de- 
 scribed to me so enthusiastically (he 
 had a half-dozen every vacation) really 
 did care more for him than my plain 
 self. 
 
 Mrs. Ellis herself, who shared in her 
 
THREE YEARS LATER. 
 
 85 
 
 son's admiration of beauty, held, I sus- 
 pect, to this theory in regard to plain 
 ■women ; for she never seemed to feel 
 any anxiety about our intimacy, though 
 if Sophie May's fair face, or Annie Fair- 
 man's roguish eyes, looked in upon us 
 while he was there, she was always on 
 the alert. Beyond the usual common- 
 places, my acquaintance with James San- 
 croft did not extend. He had no need 
 of me as yet, and never wasted time on 
 people whom he did not need. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 THEEE TEAES LATEE. 
 
 I AM conscious that I have dwelt 
 too minutely on the events of my child- 
 hood. I will now pass over three years, 
 premising that I am still at Oaklawn 
 Seminary. I have left the place but once 
 in that period, and then I went by re- 
 quest to Chesterwood, to attend the fu- 
 neral of Augustus Tyler. He was a 
 member of the Freshman class at Yale, 
 but his was not the kind of character to 
 withstand the temptations of college-life, 
 and several complaints had reached his 
 parent's ears, when he was drowned by 
 the sudden upsetting of a boat — drowned 
 on Sunday, with the sound of a sicore of 
 church-bells mingling with the rush 
 of water in his ears as he sank. The 
 brief note that recalled me to my old 
 home was signed by his father, and, dur- 
 ing the ride, I wondered much how he 
 would take the blow, and what special 
 lesson he would read me in view of this 
 terrible event. But when I returned the 
 distant bow of Mrs. Eeed and Sara, who, 
 in their heavy robes of deep mourning, 
 looked more impenetrable and unmalle- 
 able than ever, and, with Miss Agnes's 
 tears upon my cheek, followed her into 
 the well-remembered study, and saw 
 'that face, so shorn of its arrogant self- 
 conceit and self-righteousness, so shrunk- 
 en with horror, and wan with grief — 
 
 when I noticed his shrunken limbs and 
 his effort to greet me in the old conde- 
 scending, patronizing manner, which, 
 after a few syllables, broke into smoth- 
 ered sobs — I felt he was learaing a les- 
 son himself which would leave him little 
 time for others. In taking from him his 
 idol. Death had stripped him also of his 
 wrappings of creed and conventionality, 
 and left for the time the nerves of the 
 man bare. I stayed there two days, dur- 
 ing which there was no allusion to my 
 past, but much pleasure expressed by Miss 
 Agnes at my success ; and, when I took 
 my leave of Mr. Tyler, and he said, with 
 a kind of bewildered air : " I am glad 
 you came, Zerlina. I thought it would 
 be a comfort to Mrs. Tyler to see you, 
 for your course at Oaklawn has be>en 
 very commendable indeed, and I want 
 to say that I may have erred in my 
 method with you in the past. I fear I 
 did with Mm " — I felt that henceforth, 
 so far as I was concerned, there was 
 peace between us. 
 
 Miss Agnes whispers as she parts 
 from me with many tears: "He is so 
 conscientious, so self-exacting, and it's so 
 hard for men to bear trouble ! " while 
 I think that her sweet face is more than 
 ever like my pond-lilies, so fair and pale, 
 and ride back to Oaklawn half pitying 
 and half envying her simplicity. 
 
 A few months later, I received a let- 
 ter from her, saying that, as God in His 
 wisdom had left them without any very 
 near ties to bind them to home on earth, 
 they were about to dedicate themselves 
 anew to His service, and, in pursuance 
 of their long-cherished plan, would sail 
 in the spring as missionaries to the East. 
 "We go at the eleventh hour, my dear," 
 she went on, " and at times I tremble at 
 my own weakness and inefficiency ; but I 
 remember the parable of the laborers in 
 the vineyard, and I feel also that my lit- 
 tle dead baby will help me to find my 
 way to those poor heathen mothers' 
 hearts, and, for the rest, I seem to hear 
 His blessed voice saying, ' Zo, I am with 
 
86 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 you alway^ ^-y^^z^ unto the end of the 
 world ! ' That you may hear it and trust 
 it always, my dear child, will be ray ear- 
 nest prayer." 
 
 God forgive me that the thought 
 should ever have crossed my mind that 
 she vf as too weak for this sacred office ! 
 — that I should forget for one moment 
 who it was that " sat over against the 
 sepulchre " and watched out that night 
 of terror and despair — ^that it was a wom- 
 an, a repentant Magdalen, whom He se- 
 lected to bear to the chosen disciples the 
 blessed tidings, '•'' Se is not here; He is 
 risen ! " — tidings that have sounded down 
 the ages above the din of sin and strife, 
 bringing life and immortality to ligbt. If 
 a life of patient endeavor, of humility, 
 and humble, hopeful trust, have power to 
 win those heathen mothers to' the better 
 way. Miss Agnes will not have gone in 
 vain. She has already joined that noble 
 armj of martyrs who have laid down 
 their lives for the truth's sake, but not 
 without hope of success, for already 
 "the day is breaking in the East of 
 which the prophets told," and those lone- 
 ly scattered graves gleam like beacons 
 in the morning light. 
 
 Mr. Tyler was less single-minded and 
 unselfish, for it is only when the soul is 
 lifted out of and above self that we are 
 able to " see no man save Jesus only; " 
 less humble and devoted, yet "whatso- 
 ever is right he shall receive," therefore, 
 God be with him. 
 
 I received another letter about this 
 time, vs^hich contained news of great in- 
 terest to me. It was from little Adeline 
 Leete, and told of changes at the Cove, 
 which had brought certain families of 
 Methodists to reside there ; of an earnest- 
 minded, excellent man, who had been sta- 
 tioned near there to look after them, and 
 gather into the fold such stray sheep as are 
 usually found about sea-shore hamlets ; of 
 a camp-meeting in the woods^f^here many 
 had been converted, and among them lit- 
 tle Adeline herself. Her letter announ- 
 cing this was the Jubilate Deo of a young. 
 
 fervid soul, through which trembled the 
 low minor chord of humility and self-dis- 
 trust. I could feel the young heart palpi- 
 tating with alternate hope and fear as I 
 ran over the lines, and my own throbbed 
 in unison. I was not like her. Nature, 
 aided by circumstances, had made me less 
 impressible and sympathetic, cooler and 
 more cautious ; but I rejoiced greatly in 
 her joy, and many times the thought of 
 that letter — some word or sentence — 
 pierced the darkness and mistrust which 
 shrouded me, and sent me to my duties 
 with a patient if not a contented heart. 
 
 Does it seem strange that I am not 
 content, reader ? Eemember, I am back 
 at Oaklawn; teachers and pupils have 
 changed, but I am still " teacher of the 
 higher English branches," and consid- 
 ered by our principal, and sometimes by 
 myself (God help me !), a part of the mech- 
 anism of the institution, and am referred 
 to as a sort of walking compendium of 
 the rules and regulations of the place. I 
 have a salary which, if not large, suffices 
 for my necessities — a "home," which 
 means a room shared with another teach- 
 er, and am therefore considered respect- 
 able and independent. Our principal 
 says so ; she frequently says to our min- 
 ister, Dr. Smith, and others, that "Miss 
 Lathrop is quite indispensable — Oaklawn 
 would not be itself without her — she is 
 so useful ; " and, sinner as I know her to 
 be, it sometimes irritates me to hear it ; 
 and I often watch the birds and squirrels 
 when out with my division on our long 
 walks, and wonder if indeed the whole 
 end and aim of life is to be useful — won- 
 der, if compelled to go on thus year after 
 year, dispensing the treasures of the heart 
 and brain to the many, with no return 
 from any source beneath the sun, how 
 long one's individuality and amiability 
 wiU last. Not always, I fear ; for at 
 times I am conscious of such a hollow- 
 ness and craving within me that I know 
 well if there is that "which scattereth 
 yet increaseth," it is not always the heart 
 of a solitary woman whose right to be on 
 
THREE YEARS LATER. 
 
 87 
 
 earth is made to depend on her capacity 
 for being merely useful. The human 
 heart is a hungry thing, and it sometimes 
 seems to me no wonder that there are so 
 many that are fain to feed on husks. 
 
 Sometimes I send my thoughts beyond 
 Oaklawn, with the resokition to follow 
 them. But where ? I call to mind my 
 ignorance of life, my staid '' school-ma'am 
 manners," for I am conscious that I have 
 them, the reports teachers give of other 
 schools, and try to stifle my unrest. 
 
 Was it wrong that I had not learned, 
 in whatsoever state I was in, therewith 
 to be content ? It was not until his eyes 
 were smitten with blindness by excess of 
 light, and he lay prostrate at the feet 
 of the Hi'ghest, that the great Apostle to 
 the Gentiles could say this, and I — was a 
 girl of nineteen. 
 
 While Miss Michal remained at home, 
 this feeling slept ; but consumption had 
 set its seal upon her, and she, at last, far 
 too late, as my fears told me, had gone to 
 try the influence of a tropical climate. 
 It was only after much consultation as to 
 "ways and means," that she was per- 
 suaded to do this, for there was no super- 
 fluity of money among them ; the ex- 
 pense of educating the boys, for the sake 
 of which both she and their mother de- 
 oted themselves to a life of toil, necessi- 
 tated the most rigid economy. But this 
 difficulty was met in some way, and she 
 sailed with the family of a friend, with 
 far less of hope, and even less of fear, 
 than was felt by those she left behind. 
 
 Another face was missing, also ; one 
 which I had come to regard much as one 
 does some friendly rock, within whose 
 shadow the frail wild-flowers and help- 
 less animals creep for protection — that 
 of Professor Cavendish. At the com- 
 mencement of the fall term, Mrs. Ellis 
 had announced that he would no longer 
 take his place . among us — that a gentle- 
 man from the university in M would 
 
 fill his position. This change filled me 
 with surprise and disappointment, none 
 the less because, as I told myself, I had 
 
 no just cause to complain. " I was not in 
 the confidence of either our principal or 
 the professor, but this knowledge did 
 not reconcile me to the change, or dis- 
 pose me to join in James Bancroft's 
 praises of the new lecturer, who was his 
 friend. Mr. Bancroft had now opened a 
 
 law-oflice in M , and boarded with 
 
 his mother, and seemed to have a gen- 
 eral oversight of the whole household. 
 Whether he still remained undecided as 
 to my character, I do not know ; but 
 lately he had given me a much greater 
 share of his attention than was either 
 pleasant or desirable ; not the spontane- 
 ous and graceful attention common from 
 his sex to mine — for that I should have 
 been grateful ; nothing that denoted a 
 warmer interest — that I should have dep- 
 recated ; but a kind of polite espionnags- 
 which was easier felt than described, 
 coupled with a kind of diplomatic smooth- 
 ness that would seek to lure me on to 
 lay myself open, and- let those cold, keen 
 blue eyes read me through and through. 
 I had not much to conceal, but I was not 
 to be scrutinized, least of all by him, so 
 I shut my " school-ma'am" reserve about 
 me as an oyster does it shell. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Lathrop, I came near for- 
 getting that there came a package for 
 you by express to-night," said Mrs. Ellis, 
 one evening, when I lingered longer than 
 usual in the parlor, to discuss something 
 connected with my classes. " Pardon my 
 neglect," she added, as she laid the pack- 
 age on the table; "but it is so unusual 
 for you to order things by express." . 
 
 There was a little, just a little curi- 
 osity in the tone, if not in the face ; and, 
 more from a spirit of contrariety than 
 any thing else, I kept back any expres- 
 sion of ray own surprise, and took the 
 package as coolly as if I were accustomed 
 to receive one every day. 
 
 She turned away, and, being quite 
 alone, I beg£&i to untie the cord, for the 
 address was in a hand I did not recognize. 
 It contained, as I had thought, books 
 — Euskin's "Modem Painters," and Mrs. 
 
88 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Browning's, "Wliittier's, Bryant's, and 
 Longfellow's poems. I suspected whose 
 hand had opened for me this new foun- 
 tain by my lonely wayside, and felt that 
 I, was still within the shadow of that 
 presence I so much missed. 
 
 " That selection must be a fine one," 
 said a low voice near me. I started, for 
 Mr. Sancroft had entered so softly (all his 
 movements were stealthy and feline) that 
 I had not heard him, nor did I dream 
 that he stood opposite me at the table. 
 
 "Mr. Cavendish's taste is unquestion- 
 able," he added, as if he had not observed 
 my movement. 
 
 "I do not see that Mr. Cavendish's 
 taste is called in question," I said, short- 
 ly. " This address is certainly not his 
 writing." 
 
 I pushed the paper across- the table, 
 and glancing at it he said, slowly : " No, 
 but I inferred it was from him, because 
 it would be so like him." 
 
 "You can make such inferences as 
 you please, sir ; I believe it is a part of 
 your profession," I said, provoked at his 
 impertinence, as I took up my books to 
 leave the room. 
 
 "MissLathrop is disposed to be se- 
 vere, I see, but " — ^lie took from the ta- 
 ble a slip of paper, which must have fallen 
 from the package when I opened it, and 
 passing it to me said, with an air of mock 
 humility, "possibly I may retrieve my 
 character when she reads this." 
 
 It bore only the words " For Zingai^el- 
 la,''"' but there was no mistaking those 
 letters, more like Hebrew in their regu- 
 lar, square outlines, than any thing else, 
 and I said hastily : 
 
 " You are right, sir. It is the vf rit- 
 ing of Mr. Cavendish." 
 
 " Miss Lathrop will seldom find my 
 penetration at fault in reading hand- 
 writing or — character," he returned, 
 with a peculiar smile. 
 
 The words were nothing,,the tone, as 
 usual, soft and low, but the expression 
 was that of one who had, or thought he 
 had, read my character, and summed up 
 
 its most latent possibilities ; and, with 
 an indignant and but half-suppressed — 
 "Who cares for your penetration?" I 
 passed him and left the room. 
 
 I had not seen Alice Eoss for some 
 weeks, and the next day, about an hour 
 before sunset, I set out to walk to the 
 Pines. It was a bleak November day, 
 heavy racks of dark, leaden-hued clouds 
 swept at intervals across the heavens, 
 filling the air with fine particles of snow. 
 But my rapid walk kept me warm, and I 
 fully enjoyed these alternations of sun- 
 light and shadow, and the reedy piping 
 of the wind as it swept across the dry 
 stubble and withered herbage. Some- 
 times it drove the great, dark clouds 
 eastward, and in the hush which followed 
 I could hear the muffled roar of the Con- 
 necticut, sw^ollen now by the late au- 
 tumn rains, and the fainter soughings of 
 the brooks that circled upland and mead- 
 ow. It was almost sunset when I reached 
 the house, where I found the good wom- 
 an suffering severely from an attack of 
 rheumatism. She seemed delighted to 
 see me, and I soon learned that Mr. Cav- 
 endish's absence was caused by the rapid 
 decline of his sister. As her physical 
 strength failed, the dark shadows seemed 
 to be lifted at intervals from her brain, 
 and he stayed by her constantly, watching 
 these fitful rifts which he well knew be- 
 tokened the coming of the friendly angel, 
 Death. 
 
 "While she spoke, we heard the ring- 
 ing of a horse's feet upon the frozen 
 ground. It paused before the door, 
 and, almost before we could speak, the 
 bell was rung by an impatient hand. 
 
 "Dear, dear, some bad news, I fear," 
 said the faithful woman, striving to rise 
 and reach for a light, for we had been 
 sitting in the pleasant twilight of a. wood- 
 fire. 
 
 "Let me go to the door, Mrs. Ross, I 
 do not need a light," I said, and, hurry- 
 ing along the hall, I reached the door 
 just as the person without gave another 
 impatient pull at the bell. I unlocked 
 
THREE YEARS LATER. 
 
 89 
 
 the door, and the person, whose face 
 -was so muffled by his fur collar and cap 
 that I could not distinguish a feature, 
 flung the bridle of his horse over one of 
 the clipped cedars, which supported a 
 wistaria, and entered the house, asking 
 for Professor Cavendish as he closed the 
 door. 
 
 "He is not at home, sir." 
 
 "I suppose Alice Ross is," was the 
 reply, as he strode along the hall to the 
 pleasant room which, after her English 
 fashion, she called "the housekeeper's 
 room." I had left the door slightly ajar, 
 and a bright gleam of light from that 
 direction assured me that she had suc- 
 ceeded in getting a light. The gentle- 
 man entered without ceremony, saying : 
 
 "Ah, Alice, old friend, I knew I 
 should find a warm corner here." 
 
 She was peering at him through her 
 glasses, with her candle raised high in 
 her hand, when I passed in and slipped 
 into a chair in the corner. 
 
 "Am I,. then, so changed, Alice? I 
 should have known you anywhere ! " 
 
 His voice was no longer muffled by his 
 fur, which he flung aside as he spoke, 
 and I looked eagerly from my shadowed 
 corner, while the old lady dropped her 
 light upon the table, and cried, eagerly : 
 
 " Master Ealph ! Surely it is Master 
 Ralph Saville himself!" 
 
 "It's what's left of him, anyway, Al- 
 ice. But where is Rothsay? " 
 
 • Alice began to speak of Miss Helen ; 
 the guest listened attentively. " Poor 
 Rothsay ! " he said, as the old woman 
 paused ; " so I've been within a mile of 
 him to-day, and did not know it ! " 
 
 He was standing now with his back 
 to the fire, slowly unfastening his loose 
 overcoat with his left hand, and the 
 light fell full on his face. It was thin, 
 dark, and imperious; would have been 
 sarcastic, had it not been softened by 
 memories stirred by Alice's words. 
 There were lines about the firm mouth, 
 but whether of sorrow, passion, or re- 
 morse, I could not tell ; but, as I con- 
 
 tinued to gaze, I began to identify it 
 with the one I had seen at the Pond, 
 with the miniature in my possession, and 
 I was satisfied that Ralph Saville and 
 Ralph Annesley were the same person. 
 
 Presently he started from his musing 
 posture, and a twinge of pain contracted 
 his features as he attempted to draw off 
 his coat. Alice's eye, which had been 
 perusing his face with tender interest, 
 observed it at once. 
 
 • 
 
 " What is it, Master Ralph ? Are you 
 hurt?" 
 
 "A trifle, Alice. We had a smash- 
 up this morning on the cars, and my arm 
 got jammed somewhat ; I didn't notice it 
 then, but the pace of that beast they sad- 
 dled for me at M has not helped it. 
 
 Where's Mark ? Is he living ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I will ring for him." 
 
 In a moment the old negro man en- 
 tered, and his wrinkled face shone with 
 joy at the sight of the guest and his 
 hearty greeting. 
 
 "ISTow, Mark, bear a hand, and help 
 me off with this coat. There," he con- 
 tinued, when the heavy overcoat was re- 
 moved, "now, you must look after that 
 horse ; you haven't forgotten how, I sup- 
 pose, though it's a long time since you 
 used to saddle Kelpie for me." 
 
 "Ah, der's no horses nowadays. 
 Mass Ralph, like what der was in de old 
 times, an' no boys nudder," said the old 
 negro, with a grim shake of his head, as 
 he went out to obey orders. 
 
 "Kow, Alice, if you will — " began 
 the guest, "but you are lame," he- inter- 
 rupted, seeing her limp forward. 
 
 " Can I be of any assistance ? " I said, 
 coming out of the shadow. 
 
 "Oh, it's so fortunate! Miss Lina 
 will help you, sir," said Alice. " She's 
 so handy." 
 
 Without another word, I helped him 
 remove his coat ; and he rolled up his 
 shirt-sleeve, and began to press his fin- 
 gers on his arm, which was badly bruised 
 and discolored above the elbow. 
 
 " Mr. Ralph, your arm is broken ! " 
 
90 
 
 KIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 cried Alice. " Do let me send Mark for 
 tlie doctor." 
 
 "No, Alice; it is only bruised badlj. 
 Have jou any of yonr liniment ? Yon 
 see I haven't forgotten its wonderful 
 virtues, or tlie time I sprained my shoul- 
 der in trying to make old Samson leap 
 the gate, and your liniment cured it. 
 The famous balsam of Don Quixote was 
 nothing to it, I know." 
 
 The old dame brought out her lini- 
 ment, and proceeded to apply it. But 
 her hand was unsteady from excitement, 
 and, after a few moments, the gentleman 
 said pleasantly : 
 
 " IsTow, Alice, you sit down, right 
 there, where I can see you, and let this 
 young woman finish the job. You are 
 too lame to be kept standing." 
 
 He evidently took me foi* a servant, 
 and I had no fear that he would identify 
 the thin, dark person, with demure face 
 and close-braided hair, with the half- wild 
 child he had found sobbing on the bauk 
 of the Pond, so many years ago, even if 
 he was, as I believed, Mr. Annesley ; so 
 I again came forward and applied the 
 emollient, while he went on chatting 
 with Alice. 
 
 " Hungry? yes," he said, in reply to 
 Alice, as I finished binding up his arm. 
 " That beast's pace is conducive to an 
 appetite. Just bring a tray in here, and 
 I'll make myself comfortable." 
 
 I remember thinking him not far 
 from it, then, lying back in a deep- 
 cushioned chair, with his feet on the 
 fender, looking into the fire, while, with 
 his left hand, he thrust back the tumbled 
 black hair from his forehead. The fire- 
 light softened the hard lines of his face, 
 and gave him more the look of my Mr. 
 Annesley than ever, and I was passing 
 into the kitchen to assist Alice, and set- 
 tle this question, when old Kep came 
 rushing in, almost knocking me over, and 
 with one bound was at the gentleman's 
 Bide, with his black muzzle on his knee. 
 I glanced back, saw the haughty head 
 raised quickly from the cushion, the left 
 
 arm thrown caressingly around the dog's 
 neck, heard the joyful words of recog- 
 nition, and I walked into the kitchen 
 where Alice was preparing some refresh- 
 ments, and, instead of questioning her, 
 said, quietly : 
 
 " Mr. Ealph Saville Annesley has taken 
 you quite by surprise, Mrs. Eoss." 
 
 "Yes, it's his way! But — you aren't 
 going, miss ? I was just thinking I didn't 
 tell who you were. I wa« so flurried at 
 seeing him. I hope you will excuse me." 
 
 " Certainly. Old ISTep seems delight- 
 ed," I added, for the dog's joyful whim- 
 pers, mingled with the caressing tones 
 of the gentleman, were now distinctly 
 audible. 
 
 " Yes ; Ealph Saville was always fond 
 of dogs, and he sent JSTep to Mr. Eothsay 
 three or four years ago. I wonder the 
 creature knew him ! " 
 
 I did not. 
 
 "It's almost like seeing Master 
 Philip," she said, arranging the slices 
 of bread with mathematical precision; 
 "for, after Mr. Ealph's father died, he 
 was much with us, and he took greatly 
 to Master Philip, though he was some 
 years younger. What madcaps they 
 were ! Dear heart, it seems but only yes- 
 terday since I had them all about me I " 
 
 She hastily brushed away a tear, and, 
 lifting the tray, she added : 
 
 " I wish you would go in now, and, 
 let me tell him who it is that has bound 
 up his arm so nicely." 
 
 "I will carry that tray in for you 
 gladly; but I would much rather you 
 would not mention me to him at all, or 
 only as a teacher from Oaklawn, if ho 
 asks, which is not likely." 
 
 I was quite sure he would not, and 
 now that I was certain it was Mr. Annes- 
 ley, I felt a strong aversion to thrusting 
 myself upon his notice. He had proba- 
 bly never thought of me since he left 
 me with his cousin in New Haven, and 
 why should I compel him to do so now ? 
 
 " I am glad I have seen his face again," 
 I thought, as I walked rapidly across the 
 
UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS. 
 
 91 
 
 fields to Oaklawn, "for, if it is haughty 
 and proud, it is the pride of conscious 
 superiority and self-reliance, not of in- 
 solence or arrogance — a face with man- 
 hood behind it, and that is something 
 worth looking upon, even if there are 
 some traces of the old archenemy there 
 also." 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 ■UNEXPECTED EEVELATIONS. 
 
 This meeting with Mr. Annesley caused 
 a break in my monotonous life. I liked 
 to recall his face, so unlike the boyish 
 portrait in the gallery at the Pines, far 
 less handsome than the one in my locket, 
 more haughty, stern, and wilful, with 
 something of the granite look that 
 marked Mr. Cavendish's features crop- 
 ping out about the jaw and mouth. I 
 liked also to speculate upon his character. 
 It was the one mysterious picture hang- 
 ing among, my gallery of commonplace, 
 still-life portraits, and of course created 
 a sort of charmed atmosphere. I deter- 
 mined to ask Mr. Cavendish about him, 
 and tell him of our meeting, years ago, by 
 the Pond. But that gentleman was ab- 
 sent until after Miss Helen's death, which 
 occurred in February, and when I met 
 him again, and saw the sad, suffering look 
 in his eyes, I could not bear to trouble 
 him with words. 
 
 The school was unusually full this 
 term, and my duties proportionally se- 
 vere; therefore, I availed myself more 
 than ever of the interval, between tea 
 and prayers, for exercise, and my feet in- 
 stinctively turned toward the Pines, al- 
 though I did not often venture into the 
 house, fearful of seeming to intrude on 
 their sorrow. 
 
 On several of these occasions, I either 
 met or was joined by James Sancroft ; 
 once or twice under circumstances that 
 led me to think he watched my steps, 
 and yet the idea was too absurd to be 
 entertained ; so the next time I met him 
 
 I paused, determined to treat him cour- 
 teously. I was standing by the gate 
 leading into Mr. Cavendish's grounds 
 admiring the delicate and intricate net- 
 work of interlacing boughs against a 
 background of clear sky, when he came 
 up, and, after admiring the effect, be- 
 gan to speak of the fine taste indicated 
 by the arrangement of the professor's 
 grounds, the grouping of the trees, etc., 
 
 He spoke well, and I listened with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Edward thinks," he went on, " that, 
 if yonder group of beeches and hickory 
 
 was removed, the view toward M 
 
 would be finer ; but I do not agree with 
 him, and I hope, when he comes in pos- 
 session, his respect for Mr. Cavendish 
 will prevent him from making the change, 
 even if his own taste does not." 
 
 " Edward! " — Surprise got the better 
 of discretion, I knew, as soon as the 
 word was uttered, and I saw his peculiar 
 smile. It vanished, however, in a mo- 
 ment, and he added, carelessly, switching 
 the silvery-gray umbels of the everlast- 
 ing, by the fence, with his cane. 
 
 "Yes; and I ought to have united 
 Michal's name with his. I did not know, 
 however, that I was betraying family 
 secrets when I spoke, for you have been 
 so long a member of our mother's family 
 — quite in her confidence, and on such a 
 friendly footing at the Pines, I thought 
 you could hardly be ignorant of this fact." 
 
 "What soft, insinuating tones! what 
 apparent frankness ! — and yet, he did not 
 believe six of those daintily-uttered words. 
 Strict justice, unvarying politeness, for- 
 mal and monotonous — ^necessarily, per- 
 haps — I had received from Mrs. Ellis, but 
 confidence never, as no one knew better 
 than James Sancroft. But, if he wished 
 to assume it, I wished to know for what 
 end ; I, therefore, led him on by asking : 
 
 "What fact?" 
 
 " That Michal and Edward are to be 
 Mr. Cavendish's heirs." 
 
 "And yourself?" 
 
 " I have none of the Cavendish blood 
 
92 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 in my veins, and witli no one is tlie old 
 adage more true, that 'blood is thicker 
 than water,' than with the professor. I 
 have no reason to complain, however, 
 for he has already done much for us all. 
 It is only since his sister's death that the 
 business has been definitely arranged, 
 and the papers signed." 
 
 "Was it by his liberality Miss Michal 
 went to Europe ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and he wishes her to remain 
 until her health is completely estab- 
 lished." 
 
 " I hope she ' will, and that she will 
 live long to enjoy her good fortune." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you speak so 
 warmly. Indeed, I thought the arrange- 
 ment would meet your approval." 
 
 I hardly knew whether the words 
 conveyed a sneer or a compliment ; it 
 Vi^as too dark to read his face, so I an- 
 swered briefly, as I made a movement to 
 walk on : 
 
 *'Ky approval or disapproval can be 
 of little consequence. But I rejoice in 
 any thing which will add to Miss Michal's 
 comfort and happiness." 
 
 He bowed, and proceeded toward the 
 Pines, while I retraced my steps, musing 
 on the motives which could have led him 
 to communicate this matter to me. 
 
 Two weeks later we had a half-holi- 
 day, and I walked into M to make 
 
 some necessary purchases. This was soon 
 done, and with my package in my hand, 
 I went to the post-office to inquire after 
 letters, at Mrs. Ellis's request. 
 
 " N"one for Mrs. Ellis, but one ad- 
 dressed to Oaklawn, for Miss Z — mena 
 
 "Zerlina D. Lathrop," I said. 
 
 " Yes, that must be it," said the clerk, 
 Imnding me a great, awkwardly-folded 
 letter, bearing my name, evidently writ- 
 ten by a hand unused to the pen. 
 
 I did not know the hand, and the post- 
 mark was illegible. I thrust it into my 
 pocket, and went round by the Pines to 
 see Alice Eoss. Mr. Cavendish was on 
 the lawn, giving Mark some directions 
 
 about clearing off the old year's withered 
 herbage, and he called me to him to see 
 the hyacinths and crocuses that were 
 just pushing through the ground, and, 
 with some words more in his own vein 
 than any I had heard of late, bade me 
 " run into the house and see Alice Eoss, 
 who would be glad enough to hear the 
 sound of a woman's tongue." 
 
 Alice was not in her room, and I sat 
 down by the fire to read my letter. It 
 was from Polly Maria; something un- 
 usual, I knew, must have occurred to call 
 forth such an effort from her, and I ran 
 my eye over the cramped, ill-spelled lines 
 with a foreboding heart. It was not death, 
 it was marriage : little Adeline was mar- 
 ried to a Mr. Heath, of New York. She 
 referred to a letter which little Adeline 
 had written me a few weeks ago, "tell- 
 ing all about it," which I had failed to 
 receive, and, between the prolixity which 
 uneducated people seem to think essen- 
 tial to letter-writing, and scriptural quo- 
 tations, observations about "carnal affec- 
 tions " and "days of probation," it was 
 difficult to get any definite idea of the 
 man she had married. She "did not 
 know much about the young man," she 
 wrote ; he seemed a well-disposed per- 
 son enough, quite serious-like, and she 
 hoped he wouldn't prove a castaway, for 
 Birdie's sake ; but men, at best, were but 
 broken reeds ; we could be sure of noth- 
 ing in this vale of tears, etc. 
 
 Of Uncle Steve she wrote this : 
 " Brother was quite downhearted about 
 tbe marriage, at first, but he picked up a 
 bit after Birdie went away with her hus- 
 band, and now had made her write to 
 give you his love, and say as how he had 
 concluded to go on a v'yage up the straits 
 once more, cause he'd like to be able to 
 do a little something for Bluebird vv^hen 
 she went to housekeeping, and the Mag- 
 nolia, Captain Hood, was about ready to 
 sail." 
 
 I laid down the letter, for the thought 
 of the lone, loving old sailor, in his sol- 
 itary house, striving to hide his sore 
 
UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS. 
 
 93 
 
 heart hj planning and working for his 
 darhng's happiness, though another had 
 taken from him her heart, brought the 
 tears to my eyes, and, for the moment, I 
 felt almost angry with little Adeline for 
 leaving him. 
 
 " Bad news, Zingarella ? " said the 
 professor, when he entered, and. began 
 poking the fire, as usual. 
 
 " No ; I suppose it oughtn't to be, for 
 this letter tells me of thie marriage of a 
 friend." 
 
 "And this, I suppose, is the certifi- 
 cate ? It's yellow and old enough to be 
 the quitclaim Laban gave to Jacob," he 
 remarked, picking from the floor a bit of 
 paper, stained and worn, and handing it 
 to me. 
 
 "Then it must belong to you, sir, I 
 think. It would be too precious a docu- 
 ment for the children of the bondwoman 
 to inherit. What is it?" 
 
 He carelessly unfolded it, and, with a 
 sharp exclamation of surprise, made a 
 long stride to the window. I watched 
 him a moment, then started up, for his 
 gaunt frame shook with some strong 
 emotion, and his face turned white as a 
 woman's. 
 
 " Where in Heaven's name did you 
 get this paper ? Speak, girl ! " 
 
 " I don't know any thing about it. 
 Indeed, I don't. Perhaps the letter will 
 explain," I said, startled by his vehe- 
 mence. 
 
 I ran it over; it was the paper that 
 Mrs. Barnes had spoken of as being in 
 the old tobacco-box which Uncle Steve 
 had bid off at the sale of my grandfa- 
 ther's effects. The honest old soul had 
 persuaded Polly Maria to write and send 
 it to me. I hastened to explain, and the 
 gray old face, looking down into mine 
 with siich trembling eagerness, began to 
 light up as with some untold hope or joy. 
 
 "Day! Day! Was your mother's 
 name Harriet Day ? " His fingers griped 
 my arm convulsively. 
 
 " I have heard Mrs. Hunt and others 
 say so, sir." 
 
 " And your father ? — they call you La- 
 throp — was that his name ? " 
 
 " N"o ; I went by my grandfather's 
 name until Miss Lathrop took me. I 
 never knew my father's name." 
 
 " It was Cavendish, child ! my own 
 brother, Philip Cavendish ! O God, I 
 thank Thee ! " 
 
 The long arms were folded about me, 
 the grim face was bowed upon my head, 
 while his tears fell fast upon my cheek. 
 
 Suddenly he lifted his head, and, put- 
 ting me from him a little space, though 
 one arm still encircled me, he scanned 
 my wondering face with a look of wom- 
 anly tenderness, while he muttered : 
 
 " I felt it — I felt it from the very first, 
 chUd, but I thrust the thought out. I 
 strangled it as a phantasm of a diseased 
 brain — the spawn of incipient insanity. 
 God forgive me ! " 
 
 I stood like one in a dream. I felt 
 the clasp of his arm, I heard his words. 
 I knew it was Eothsay Cavendish who 
 spoke — the odd, harsh, stern professor — 
 his face that bent over me quivering witli 
 emotion, and yet I dared not stir, lest it 
 should vanish away. But my eye fell on 
 that time-stained paper, which he still 
 held fast. That was something tangible, 
 and I asked : 
 
 " That paper — does it speak of my 
 father ? " 
 
 " It is the certificate of his marriage 
 with one Harriet Day ! " 
 
 He spread it before me on the table, 
 and I read the brief lines which certified 
 that, " on the 18th of October, 164-, at 
 the Catholic Mission, in the State of 
 Michigan, Philip Cavendish and Harriet 
 Day were legally married by Father Fran- 
 cois Dupre." Andre Leudru and James 
 Gibson's names were signed as witnesses. 
 But I could scarcely realize its impor- 
 tance to me. Those pale, faded words — 
 were they what I had needed to give me 
 a right to be in the world ? Would they 
 give me name and family, home and 
 friends ? Would they fill my hungry 
 heart ? 
 
94 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 But, wlieii I looked up and met Mr. 
 Oavendisli's face, I doubted no more ; for 
 the first time in my life, I wept from ex- 
 cess of joy, while my father's brother 
 drew me closer to him, and passed his 
 hand caressingly over my hair, as he 
 muttered : 
 
 " Poor, homeless child ! "What a 
 weary time you must have had of it, 
 drudging away down there, and I hard- 
 ening my heart like Pharaoh all the 
 while ! " 
 
 Alice Koss entered, but he did not 
 stir, only answered her look of astonish- 
 ment by bidding her " Come and wel- 
 come Philip's child ! " 
 
 She was bewildered and incredulous 
 at first, but he soon convinced her, and 
 she grew almost wild in her joy, not 
 only because God had remembered them 
 just then, when their hearts were so sad 
 and sore, but it was Miss Lina who had 
 already made herself a home in their 
 hearts with her Saville look ! 
 
 Sitting between them, I listened while 
 Mr. Cavendish told how my father, while 
 still a mere boy — hardly twenty — ^liad 
 accompanied a friend of the family to 
 the "West as his assistant in surveying 
 certain lands for government ; that after 
 a while they received letters from that 
 friend, telling of an intimacy which he 
 had formed with a young girl of that re- 
 gion, speaking of the connection as dis- 
 graceful and disreputable, and urging Mr. 
 Cavendish to recall him home. The 
 gentleman's interest in Philip was beyond 
 dispute, and the elder brother wrote, 
 urging the younger to return home. He 
 refused, but, after some weeks, his su- 
 perior, Mr. Morris, induced him to go 
 down to Louisiana on some business, and 
 contrived to detain him there several 
 months. Finally, he returned to Michi- 
 gan without leave, but the surveying- 
 party had already left that region. Some 
 weeks later he suddenly made his ap- 
 pearance at home, in a state bordering 
 on insanity, and demanded of his brother 
 his wife, whom he insisted Mr. Morris 
 
 and Eothsay had carried off and concealed 
 somewhere, in order to keep him from 
 her. It was a terrible scene, I knew by 
 the look of Mr. Cavendish's face and 
 Alice Eoss's low sobs, and it ended by 
 the young brother's leaving the house in 
 anger, never to return. He went back to 
 Michigan in search of her whom he called 
 his wife, followed by his brother and Sa- 
 ville Annesley, who had hitherto been his 
 dearest friend ; but he utterly refused to 
 see them or hold any communication 
 with them. They kept trace of him un- 
 til he returned to New York, and took 
 passage for India, where he entered the 
 British service, as they afterward learned, 
 and fell in a bloody but obscure contest 
 with the natives. 
 
 They could find no proof of his mar- 
 riage, and Mr. Morris always doubted it. 
 They ascertained, however, that the 
 girl in question was the only child of an 
 elderly man, who, a short time before 
 the advent of the surveying-party, had 
 located in the region of Grand Traverse 
 Bay, and whence he had suddenly dis- 
 appeared, taking his daughter with him. 
 The girl was said to have been very 
 delicate and beautiful, and the atten- 
 tions of the handsome young surveyor 
 had been a matter of gossip among the 
 settlers, and there were hints that she 
 was obliged to flee to conceal her shame. 
 Others, more charitable, held the father 
 to be partially insane, and likely to make 
 sudden changes. 
 
 " That mission of the French fathers 
 is some twenty miles from the point 
 where the surveying-party made head- 
 quarters," said Mr. Cavendish, after a 
 pause. " Some of the persons who wit- 
 nessed that marriage may be still alive, 
 and, God wiUing, I shall see them soon. 
 Now, my child, let us know where you 
 have stayed your little weary feet, before 
 you came to Oaklawn. Not inside the 
 gates of paradise, I'll wager." 
 
 I told him briefly of my early life, 
 leaving »out much that I knew would 
 pain him. He questioned me closely 
 
UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS. 
 
 95 
 
 about the ring whicli liad been found in 
 tbe box with the certificate, and be- 
 stowed several muttered anathemas upon 
 the town magnate's wife, who had got it 
 at a bargain. 
 
 "It was, doubtless, your mother's 
 wedding-ring, and we must have it, 
 child," he said, noting down Mrs. Barnes's 
 address. "To-morrow morning I shall 
 start for Bradshaw — but go on." 
 
 I obeyed, and spoke of the meeting 
 with Miss Agnes and Mr. Annesley. 
 
 "Ealph Annesley! Ealph Saville 
 Annesley!" he exclaimed. "Are you 
 quite sure of the name, child ? " 
 
 "I think it was the same person I 
 saw here some weeks since, whom Mrs. 
 Eoss called Ealph Saville; but his cous- 
 in, Miss Lathrop, always called him Ealph 
 Annesley." 
 
 "You think! Didn't you speak to 
 him? Make yoarself known, child! " 
 
 "No, sir; he has doubtless forgotten 
 all about me long ago, and I did not like 
 to obtrude myself upon his notice." 
 
 "Obtrude! A real school-ma'am's 
 whim. What if he had forgotten ? Do 
 you suppose that any man whose nature 
 has become coated over with the hard 
 larvse of sin, to say nothing of the shards 
 of broken hopes and good intentions, will 
 not bless the hand that breaks through 
 it, and holds up before him some evi- 
 dence that he was once, as Moses hath 
 it, a limng soul ? There is no surer way 
 of casting out devils, child, and a woman 
 can do it as well as an angel. Besides, 
 Ealph Saville would have been glad to 
 see a dog that retained a kind memory 
 of him!" 
 
 "Indeed, he was very glad to see 
 Nep, sir." 
 
 " To be sure he was, and !Nep had no 
 fear of seeming intrusive, but acted out 
 his dog nature honestly. But you needn't 
 look so grave. N'ep has never been un- 
 der the protection of the select-men of 
 Bradshaw, and that makes a world of 
 difference." . 
 
 I then spoke of my life at Cmester- 
 
 wood. lie listened intently, knitting 
 his eyebrows, and interrupting me at 
 times by a kind of running commen- 
 tary. 
 
 "Lathrop! I remember to have 
 heard the name — a good woman — likely, 
 I should judge, to exchange her senti- 
 mentalism for those real trials ' whereby 
 men live, and in all of which is the life 
 of the spirit,' as Xing Hezekiah found 
 out ages ago. Eev. Marcus Tyler — ay, 
 I know the species ; a walking formula, 
 bridging the way to heaven with his 
 own narrow creed, a mighty man at 
 ' fighting extinct Satans,' but blind as a 
 bat to the real devils of modern civiliza- 
 tion. It's a long time since his infernal 
 majesty confined his operations to the 
 Thebaid. Lied, did you! That was a 
 sin against your own soul, and, if the fear 
 of punishment was but the fear of sin, I 
 should say he served you right. Kever 
 lie, child. I despise a liar as I do the 
 devil." 
 
 " So do I; therefore, I must go back 
 to Oaklawn. It is already past the hour 
 when I ought to have been at home." 
 
 "Go to Oaklawn? I'll not hear of 
 it ! — Just look at her, Alice Eoss ! She 
 comes in here, and gladdens our hearts 
 with a joy we never hoped to feel this 
 side of heaven, and then gets up and 
 talks quietly of going ! — Would you real- 
 ly leave us, child ? " 
 
 For answer, I silently placed my 
 hand in his. He smiled, and drew me 
 to him, saying : 
 
 " Old folks hold their blessings with 
 a close grasp. Alice and I can't afford 
 to lose you." 
 
 It was very pleasant to hear these 
 words, and, for a moment, I rested my 
 hand against his breast, and enjoyed the 
 happiness they brought ; but I did not 
 forget that I was still with the " English 
 teacher at Oaklawn," that there were 
 duties to be performed before I slept, 
 and, gently as I could, I explained this. 
 
 "You are right, child. I would not 
 have you false to your duties, but I will 
 
96 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 go down myself — or send Mark with a 
 note." 
 
 " I would rather you would not. It 
 would take long to explain ; besides, if you 
 leave for Bradshaw to-morrow, I would 
 much rather that things remain as they 
 are until you return. It will save a great 
 deal of gossip and explanation." 
 
 " Possibly you are right, but I shall 
 not be gone a moment longer than is ne- 
 cessary, I assure you ; and then we will 
 have done with lessons and recitations. 
 So, I loas right — you are a regular tramp- 
 er, a true Zingari, after all ! " he added, 
 with a grin, as I put on my bonnet and 
 shawl. 
 
 " Yes ; and I am about to prove it by 
 begging." 
 
 " Beg away, then, and see what you'll 
 get." 
 
 " Please say nothing of this change 
 in my affairs to the people at Bradshaw. 
 Uncle Steve Leete is the only one whom 
 I would wish to be told, and he has prob- 
 ably sailed long before this." 
 
 " Do you suppose I am a garrulous 
 old woman, to go gossiping about my 
 affairs from house to house ? — 'No offence, 
 Alice ; I wish that old man was at home. 
 I could not die easy without grasping his 
 hand. That's a poor beginning! Beg 
 again." 
 
 "Well, then, I beg permission to 
 come to the Pines, while you are absent, 
 just as often as my duties will permit. 
 'I want to help Mark trim the roses." 
 
 " "Worse and worse ! That's not beg- 
 ging. Isn't it your own home — roses and 
 all ? You'll have to try again ! " 
 
 "Let me look at your hand, then." 
 
 " There ! But I'll have no palmistry, 
 girl. It's forbidden by Scripture, and 
 Alice and I call ourselves Christians." 
 
 I took the thin, large-veined hand in 
 mine, and raising it to my lips, kissed it 
 again and again ; then, dropping it, and, 
 leaving a kiss on old Alice's cheek, I 
 made for the door. 
 
 "Zerlina!" 
 
 I paused, while he came forward, and. 
 
 laying his hand on my head, stood for a 
 moment as if in silent prayer. All that 
 was audible was, "God bless and protect 
 you, my child! " 
 
 A kiss sealed the benediction, and I 
 left the house. 
 
 What a walk was that over the oft- 
 trodden path to Oaklawn! I was no 
 longer alone — a waif and a stranger in 
 the world ! The thought filled my heart 
 with joy unspeakable, and clothed the 
 gray, damp fields with beauty. 
 
 "You are late, to-night, Miss Lathrop 
 — a full half hour," said Mrs. Ellis, when 
 I entered the parlor, after attempting by 
 a dash of cold water to remove all traces 
 of recent excitement. 
 
 "I beg pardon. I was unavoidably 
 detained." 
 
 " ' Unexpectedly ' would be the better 
 word. Miss Lathrop. I do not like my 
 ladies to find things unavoidable. Few 
 things are, save death." 
 
 I had occasion to recall these words 
 vividly before the close of the coming 
 twenty-four hours ; then, I only bowed 
 and took up my work, while one of the 
 teachers read aloud from some work on 
 education, which task, always weari- 
 some enough, now seemed to me more 
 so than ever ; so much did I long to get 
 away by myself, to think over this new 
 era in my life. At length, yawning 
 teachers and pupils were dismissed. I 
 lingered a moment to give Mrs. Ellis 
 some trifles I had purchased for her, half 
 expecting some more serious rebuke for 
 my lack of punctuality, but she seemed 
 willing to let it pass. ISTot so Mr. San- 
 croft ; he looked up from his book, and 
 said, in a low under-tone : 
 
 " You look excited. I trust your de- 
 lay was caused by nothing unpleasant. 
 You came round by the Pines, I think." 
 
 "Yes." I closed the door, but his 
 words recalled our conversation that 
 evening, by the gate leading into Mr. Cav- 
 endish's grounds. I hurried to my room. 
 Fortunately, my room-mate, a person of 
 soporific temperament, was already half 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES. 
 
 97 
 
 asleep, and, putting out the light, that I 
 might not be guilty of a double breach of 
 the rules in one day, I wrapped my shawl 
 about me, and sat down to think. In 
 my joy at finding my kindred, and such 
 kindred, I had entirely overlooked the 
 change which this discovery would make 
 in the prospects of Mrs. Ellis's family ; 
 but James Sancroft's words, or rather his 
 look, reminded me of it, and I could not 
 help feeling troubled at the thought of 
 their disappointment. Many chance ex- 
 pressions of Edward's, and even some of 
 Miss Michal's, recurred to me, and I was 
 convinced that Edward, at least, expected 
 to succeed to an inheritance, which he 
 would not only enjoy, but grace. He 
 and Michal, nay, even Mrs. Ellis, had al- 
 ways treated me not only with kindness, 
 but as an equal ; and should I now step 
 between them and their long-cherished 
 hopes ? The thought seemed mean and 
 selfish. "What I craved was not money, 
 but love, and I determined to persuade 
 my uncle to consider us as equally his 
 children, and, kneeling before "Our Fa- 
 ther " in gratitude for which my words 
 were but a poor expression, I sought my 
 rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 CHANGES AND CHAlSrCES. 
 
 "Will ye step into the mistress's 
 room? Mr. James is after wishing ye, 
 miss." 
 
 I met the chambermaid with this 
 message, when I came to breakfast next 
 morning, and went at once to Mrs. Ellis's 
 room. James Sancroft was leaning over 
 her bed, and, without raising his head, or 
 moving, he signed for me to approach. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " I asked— 
 but I needed no reply when I looked 
 upon her face, the vacant eyes, the con^ 
 torted mouth, the flaccid, speechless lips. 
 It was paralysis. 
 
 " When did it occur, sir ? " 
 
 " I found her in this state, a few mo- 
 7 
 
 ments since, when, knowing it to be 
 beyond her usual time of rising, I came 
 to inquire the cause. I sent for you, 
 because she is used to you, and you have 
 more nerve and firmness than the others. 
 I wish you to stay by her while I go for 
 a physician, and allow no one to enter 
 the room. I wish to alarm the house as 
 little as possible. You can call Margaret, 
 if you really need any one." 
 
 He spoke as quietly as if she were 
 only sleeping, but I saw his lip tremble 
 as he arranged the pillow, and the yearn- 
 ing look with which he turned away 
 was more expressive than words. 
 
 It was two ddys before she spoke, and 
 then with great diflBculty, and in mono- 
 syllables. In the mean time, it was said 
 in the house that "our principal was 
 suffering from a severe attack of liver- 
 complaint, with slight numbness in the 
 limbs," etc. My duties were willingly 
 assumed by the other teachers, and, aided 
 by Mr. Sancroft, I passed day and night 
 by Mrs. Ellis's couch, save when I went 
 out for a breath of fresh air. 
 
 It was the fourth day after the attack,, 
 when, in quite her natural voice, she 
 asked her son, who spent all his leisure 
 moments in her room, to whom he was 
 writing. 
 
 " To Michal, mother." 
 
 " You have not told her — " She did 
 not finish the sentence, but a look of 
 pain and distress clouded her face. 
 
 "1:^0, mother," he replied, rightly 
 interpreting that look. " I would not 
 distress her or Edward, or write until I 
 could tell them you were better." 
 
 "Don't tell them at all — at least, not 
 Michal." 
 
 He looked at her with a penetrating 
 glance for a moment, and seemed about 
 to speak, when he was called out of tlie 
 room. 
 
 • "Let him be," she murmured ; theG^ 
 seeing her make an effort to turn herself 
 I came forward to assist her,. and, looking^ 
 up in mj face,, she asked : 
 
 " What was\ it: my daughter Michal] 
 
98 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 said, in lier letter to you, about being 
 happjj Miss Latbrop ? " 
 
 Micbal bad recently sent me an un- 
 sealed note enclosed in a letter to ber 
 motber, but I was not before aware tbat 
 Mrs. Ellis bad read it. Sbe was in Flor- 
 erice wben sbe wrote, and seemed to 
 revel in its delicious atmospbere, its 
 associations, artistical and bistorical, like 
 some bird set free. I bave tbe note now, 
 and tbis is tbe passage : " N'ow, for tbe 
 first time, I truly live, Lina, for my 
 nature is no longer tbwarted, my tastes 
 cramped and contravened by tasks at 
 once irksome and disagreeable. Yet 
 tbese tasks were dignified by a noble aim ; 
 and some of tbe saddest bours of my life 
 bave been tbose in wbicb I scorned and 
 loatbed myself for tbat weakness, pbysi- 
 cal and mental, wbicb could not elevate 
 tbem to tbe rank of joys." 
 
 I briefly repeated tbe substance of 
 tbis to tbe motber, not daring to do 
 otberwise, but I doubted if sbe compre- 
 bended me, for sbe seemed to be sinking 
 into one of her fits of letbargy. But I 
 was mistaken ; presently sbe muttered, 
 "Tastes contravened; irksome tasks; 
 I never compelled ber ; 'twas necessity; 
 sbe would bave written verses, poor 
 cbild ! not knowing tbat none of us do 
 wbat we would^ but what we must^ in 
 this world. — James ! " 
 
 He entered, just then, and went to 
 ber side. He bad a paper in his hand, 
 and sbe said, sharply, "I told you not to 
 write." 
 
 "I have not written, mother; you 
 will soon be able to write yourself." 
 
 "I shall never write again, James, 
 never. I have finished my work. My 
 sons are educated men. I have secured 
 for them position, influence, and wealth 
 — Eothsay Cavendish would never have 
 chosen a boor for his heir. Michai said 
 it was a noble end to work for, but she 
 has gone among strangers to be happy. 
 — Duty should be happiness, biTt, per- 
 haps, all cannot see it." 
 
 Thus, for some days, I caught glimpses 
 
 of tbe vforkings of that resolute soul 
 — betokening doubts of the infallibility 
 of her theory of life — sometimes, regret ; 
 then, as her strong constitution gained 
 upon the disease, sbe sat up again, weak, 
 but cool and reticent as ever. 
 
 More than a week had elapsed, and I 
 bad found no time to visit the Pines. I 
 knew old Alice would excuse me, for James 
 Sancroft had, as he told me, called there 
 tbe day after bis mother's attack, to in- 
 form them, and found that the professor 
 had left, at an early hour, for New Ha- 
 ven. I felt very anxious and sad. I 
 longed for my uncle's return, yet dreaded 
 tbe effect the announcement of my kin- 
 ship to him would have on Mrs. Ellis, in 
 her present state, and half regretted that 
 I did not let him avow it, that night, as 
 he proposed. 
 
 I found, at length, a leisure hour. It 
 was the 25th of April, but tbe day had 
 been gray and chilly, with, now and 
 then, a passing gust of wind and rain. 
 As I went down the walk, something in 
 its aspect reminded me of tbe first time I 
 saw it, and I was leaning upon the gate 
 thinking of tbe change " 'twixt now and 
 then," when James Sancroft came up the 
 street rapidly. He seemed unusually ex- 
 cited, but, not caring to meet him, I was 
 hurrying in tbe opposite direction, when 
 be called out and asked if I was going 
 to the Pines. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then please defer your visit for the 
 present. I bave sad news for Alice Eoss 
 — indeed, for us all." 
 
 I felt wbat was coming; an over- 
 shadowing presentiment of sorrow chilled 
 my heart and palsied my tongue. I made 
 a sign for him to speak. 
 
 " Mr. Cavendish is dead! " 
 
 I could not speak nor stir; I only 
 shivered as if I felt the cold wind of 
 desolation again beating upon my path. 
 
 When I could command myself, I 
 looked up to find his keen eyes fixed 
 upon me. 
 
 " I am glad to see you bear this sud- 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES. 
 
 99 
 
 den shock witli sucli composure," he 
 said. "I anticipated as much, and, for 
 that reason, desire your assistance in 
 breaking it to my mother." 
 
 I, with the knowledge of my loss— 
 my earthly all knelling in my heart !— 
 I comfort others ! Why, what was he to 
 her? What her loss to mine, that I 
 should speak commonplaces of resigna- 
 tion, with the waters of bitterness flood- 
 ing my soul ? 
 
 The words pressed to my lips, hut I 
 thought of that pale, weak woman in her 
 room alone, and, with a forced " I am 
 ready, sir ! " followed him to the house. 
 But I took no part in the preliminary 
 words with which he prefaced his news, 
 and he seemed content. 
 
 After a few tears of genuine sorrow, 
 the mother signified her wish to know 
 when and where he died, questions 
 which I had been vainly trying to school 
 my lips to utter. 
 
 He had learned of his death through 
 Mr. Spencer, Mr. Cavendish's friend and 
 lawyer in l^ew York. It seemed that, a 
 week previous, Mr. Spencer had received 
 a brief note from Mr. Cavendish, dated 
 at New Haven, saying he should be in 
 New York in a day or two, and might 
 possibly wish that gentleman to accom- 
 pany him to Michigan. He reached New 
 York on the 22d, and called at Mr. Spen- 
 cer's office. Not finding his friend, he 
 appointed an hour for calling next day, 
 and returned to his hotel. He did not 
 keep his appointment, and, fearing he 
 might be ill, Mr. Spencer called to see 
 him. He found his room locked, and, 
 upon forcing the door, discovered him 
 dead in his bed — having apparently 
 passed away without a struggle. 
 
 How coolly and deliberately he spoke, 
 and how every low word seemed like a 
 nail fastening down — encoffining the 
 dearest hopes of my life ! 
 
 There was a pause — a space for the 
 mental " dust to dust, ashes to ashes " — 
 before he added : 
 
 "He will be buried at Greenwood, by 
 
 the side of his sister, and, being aware of 
 his intentions toward our family, Mr. 
 Spencer thinks it advisable that Edward 
 and myself should attend the funeral, 
 both if possible, as Mr. Ralph Annesley, 
 his only blood-relation, is absent from 
 the country. If you approve, I will tele- 
 graph to Edward to-night to start imme- 
 diately. I will go down to-night. There 
 may be some business matters to talk 
 over, though the will is all right." 
 "It is best." 
 
 "In that case I must beg our friend 
 Miss Lathrop to break the news to Alice 
 Ross. It will be a heavy blow to the old 
 dame, but none will know how to soften 
 it better than Miss Lathrop, who has been 
 such a friend to both — that is," turning 
 to me, " if she will accept the sad of- 
 fice?" 
 
 I bowed — I felt, if I attempted to 
 speak, the words would choke me. I 
 thought of my uncle's look that night, 
 when he blessed me on his threshold, of 
 his kiss on my cheek, and that man talk- 
 ing so decorously of business and death 
 — daring to speak of "softening" the 
 blow to that faithful old friend and ser- 
 vant — of walking as chief mourner to 
 his grave ! 
 
 I was glad, however, of the privilege 
 of meeting old Alice alone. If my words 
 bowed that white old head with grief, I 
 alone, of all on earth, had the best right 
 to mingle my tears with hers. To her I 
 represented the house which she, and her 
 father before her, had so long served, 
 and she clung to " Master Philip's child," 
 with all the tenacity of her class. 
 
 "Thank God, I'll not be left to die 
 alone in this strange land ! " she said, 
 between her sobs. "My master's child 
 will close my eyes and lay me in the 
 grave. You will come here to live soon. 
 Miss Lina — come home ! " 
 
 "Home!" How pleasant the word 
 sounded ! With that pale, sad face before 
 me — ^those faded, blue eyes looking so 
 fondly and trustfully into mine, I shrank 
 from speaking what I knew would pain 
 
100 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 her so deeply. She saw me hesitate, and, 
 mistaking the cause, said : 
 
 " I know, dear, it'll not be the same 
 place, with his step no more on floor or 
 stair — but, I think, it would please him. 
 He fretted sore that he didn't keep you 
 that night." 
 
 " Alice," I said, pressing her withered 
 hand to my cheek, "I will do all for you 
 that Philip Cavendishes daughter can do 
 — but I am afraid I shall have to go far 
 from here to find a home." 
 
 She sighed. " Well, well, child, it's 
 natural for one so young to like a gayer 
 life — ^but you always seemed so quiet- 
 like. But it's all one to old Alice, city 
 or country, so that her master's child is 
 content." 
 
 It was evident that she did not con- 
 ceive of the possibility that any person 
 save "Master Philip's child" should suc- 
 ceed to Eothsay Cavendish's property, 
 and I was forced to explain to her in so 
 many words. 
 
 "1:^0 will! " she interrupted, when I 
 spoke of the suddenness of his death ; 
 "the Cavendishes needed no wills; the 
 property went from parent to child, 
 brother to sister ! " 
 
 " No will in my favor, Alice. I have 
 reason to think that, very soon after Miss 
 Helen's death, having no near relative, as 
 he supposed, he made a will in favor of 
 Mrs. Ellis's children, and the property 
 will go to them." 
 
 " To them! They sit here, sleep be- 
 neath this roof, walk these rooms ; and 
 you, Philip Cavendish's child, driven out, 
 a hireling? You, with Miss Flora Sa- 
 ville's own eyes ! " 
 
 She had risen, and stood before me, 
 trembling with excitement. 
 
 "Dear Alice, it's little good Miss 
 Flora's eyes will do me in this case, I 
 fear. They cannot break a will, or undo 
 what is done." 
 
 "I don't believe it! I don't believe 
 Rothsay Cavendish ever made such a 
 will, and said nothing about Master Phil- 
 ip ! He would say he was dead, but I 
 
 Imow he always hoped that the story 
 would prove untrue. I don't believe he 
 ever quite gave him up. I have heard 
 him and Ealph Saville talk it over many 
 times, and I don't believe he would give 
 away his property to strangers, without a 
 word of him." 
 
 " Possibly not ; but, Alice, my uncle 
 died without acknowledging me, and it 
 may be utterly impossible for me to prove 
 my birth — ^my right to bear my father's 
 name." 
 
 "Prove! Didn't I hear him say it? 
 Don't I mind his very look and tone, 
 when he called me to welcome Philip's 
 child ? Let me go to these folks. Miss 
 Lina ! I will tell them the truth, and the 
 word of an honest woman should be be- 
 lieved." 
 
 Again I tried to explain to her that, 
 even if there should be a clause in the 
 will relating to my father, the law would 
 require other proofs of my right than 
 her assertion ; but all I could gain from 
 her was an impatient — 
 
 " What need of law, Miss Lina, among 
 honest folks?" 
 
 What need, indeed ! But my chief 
 object was to keep her from going to 
 Oaklawn to "right her child." Possibly, 
 very probably, my father was not men- 
 tioned in that will ; in that case, I had 
 no wish to set the gossips of the place 
 busy by asserting a claim I could not 
 prove. If it were, I must have time to 
 think well, before I took any decided 
 step ; and, finally, more through her ha- 
 bitual reverence for my right to her obe- 
 dience, as her master's niece, than the 
 force of argument, I won her promise to 
 be silent. 
 
 I also ascertained that she had a niece 
 residing in Westchester County, New 
 York, to whom her thoughts had some- 
 times turned, when a chance expression 
 of her master had suggested the possi- 
 bility of her surviving " the family," and 
 I was certain that Mr. Cavendish had 
 signed no will that did not make ample 
 provision for her. 
 
CHANGES AND CHANCES. 
 
 101 
 
 By Mrs. Ellis's request, I took charge 
 of the school during her son's absence, 
 and was too much occupied to give more 
 than a passing glance at the strange path 
 which I mentally saw leading far away 
 from there, and along which, something 
 whispered me, I must walk before many 
 days. 
 
 On the fourth evening of Mr. San- 
 croft's absence, when I went into Mrs. El- 
 lis's room with my report, I found Ed- 
 ward with her. James would follow with 
 Mr. Spencer, he said, in a few days. 
 
 He was speaking rapidly, and his 
 handsome face was flushed with a pleas- 
 ant excitement when I entered. I would 
 have withdrawn, but Mrs. Ellis bade me 
 enter, saying, with much of her old, de- 
 cided manner : 
 
 " "Wait, my son, until I have looked 
 over Miss Lathrop's report." 
 
 He left his position by the grate, and, 
 crossing to his mother's side, said, with 
 that pleasant air of confident self-trust 
 that sat so graciously upon him : 
 
 " No reports to-nightf mother. It is 
 doubtless all right if it is Miss Lathrop's 
 work; so lay it on the table, or under it, 
 I beg. Thank Heaven, we have done 
 with reports and such drudgery! Be- 
 sides, I want Miss Lathrop to congratu- 
 late me. Mother, you must give a holi- 
 day to-morrow, and Miss Lathrop shall 
 make the announcement. I want every 
 one to share my happiness." 
 
 "Then you will have to speak a little 
 more rationally. You have puzzled Miss 
 Lathrop already." 
 
 "Well, now for the effort." He 
 tossed back his waving brown hair, and, 
 assuming a grave look, said : 
 
 "By the will of Professor Cavendish, 
 made some months before his decease, 
 Michaland I inherit the bulk of his 
 property, amounting, Mr. Spencer says, 
 to fifty thousand or more. ISTow, as I 
 have my doubt^ as to money's being the 
 root of all evil, and cannot, of course, 
 feel the weight of all the responsibilities 
 with which mother here says wealth is 
 
 burdened, I want you to congratulate 
 me on my good fortune." 
 
 How proud, and handsome, and hap- 
 py were the deep-blue eyes bent on me ! 
 I think they exercised a mesmeric power, 
 for I felt compelled to speak, and began 
 to stammer something, but broke down. 
 
 Mrs. Ellis looked at me wonderingly, 
 as if one of her well-tried rules had sud- 
 denly proved faulty ; but Edward sprang 
 forward, and placed a chair for me (I 
 had remained standing), saying : 
 
 "Pardon me; I ought to have re- 
 membered that Mr. Cavendish was your 
 friend also, and you must miss him sadly, 
 just as Michal would if she were here. 
 I did not mean to speak lightly of his 
 death. God knows I honored every 
 hair of his head ; but I was thinking, just 
 as you came, of what a life of constant 
 care and toil mother had had, and how 
 fortunate it is that now, when she needs 
 rest and change so much, I have such 
 ample means to give it." 
 
 "Yes, sir." I spoke the Avords as 
 mechanically as I had spoken them to 
 Polly Maria so many years ago. 
 
 " Stay ! I wished to speak to you of 
 a pet project of mine, which I am sure 
 will meet even James's approval — of 
 mother's I am certain. It relates to you 
 and Oaklawn. "We owe you much for 
 your unwearied care during her illness ; 
 James speaks of it in the highest terms. 
 — But, how pale you are ! How thin and 
 care-worn you look! You are ill. — 
 Mother, James has been putting too much 
 upon Miss Lathrop. It's just his way — 
 he is iron himself, and he uses every one 
 else, or every one that wiU let him, just 
 as if that person were a tool or machine, 
 made for his special use." 
 
 "Edward! " said Mrs. Elhs, reprov- 
 ingly, " we will, if you please, leave your 
 brother until he is here to answer for 
 himself. — Miss Lathrop, if, during my ill- 
 ness, I have borne too heavily upon you, 
 and it may well be — forgive me. It is 
 human to bear heavily where one trusts. 
 Are you really iU ? " 
 
102 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Bj this time I had called up mj will 
 to school my faltering tongue, and I an- 
 swered, clearly: 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 > She put on her glasses and observed 
 me closely. " You are anxious," she 
 said, " ill at ease. That is not your usual 
 look!" 
 
 "Possibly; but be assured it is not 
 from overwork. A dependent woman 
 has cause enough for anxiety always." 
 
 " Not unless she be weak or ambi- 
 tious. But no woman who can command 
 the means of honorable seif-support, how- 
 ever humble, can really be termed de- 
 pendent ; and duty conscientiously per- 
 formed should, to a well-governed mind, 
 be a sufficient reward." 
 
 There spoke " our principal " as in 
 the days of her prime — there was the 
 same measured, didactic tone — there the 
 Oaklawn measure of woman's needs ; but, 
 dear Heaven, how weak and ill-governed 
 must have been my mind, for her words 
 touched me no more than if she had said, 
 " The whole is greater than a part," or 
 any other axiom. 
 
 I could not reply, and Edward relieved 
 me from that necessity. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "in view of all 
 these changes, it is quite natural that 
 Miss Lathrop should feel a little unsettled, 
 but my plan will lay all these anxieties 
 like a charm. Just listen : I wish her to 
 succeed you as principal of Oaklawn. 
 The school, you say, is prosperous and 
 profitable ; your connection with it must 
 cease at the close of the present term, or 
 before, if she consents. It will be a nice 
 situation for her, and she can have the 
 house and furniture at the same nominal 
 rent we have been accustomed to pay 
 Mr. Cavendish. Miohal, I know, will be 
 pleased; and it seems to me just the 
 thing' for us all. "What do you say, 
 mother ? " 
 
 "It has my approval," she replied, 
 thoughtfully. "I should be very sorry 
 to see the school go down. — ^Miss La- 
 throp," she continued, turning to me, 
 
 " since you have been with me, you have 
 proved yourself honest, efficient, faithful, 
 and capable ; you are fully competent to 
 fill the position, and I willingly give 
 place to you, as my son suggests. As 
 you have been faithful to me, may your 
 assistants prove faithful to you, and God 
 prosper you in all ! " 
 
 I was surprised — ^touched deeply by 
 her solemn manner, and, taking the hand 
 she extended to me, I bowed my face 
 upon it a moment — a liberty I should have 
 hardly dared to take under other circum- 
 stances — then, moving back to my former" 
 position, I said : 
 
 " I thank you both from my heart, 
 more for the kindness your offer shows, 
 and the trust it implies, than for any 
 mere worldly advantage it might bring ; 
 but I must decline it. I must leave Oak- 
 lawn at the close of this term." 
 
 " Leave Oaklawn, when I have set my 
 •heart on having you for a neighbor ! 
 You are not serious. Miss Lathrop ! you 
 have not had time to secure a situation 
 elsewhere ? " < 
 
 "Edward, my son, you are speaking 
 hastily, if not officiously. If Miss La- 
 throp declines our offer, it is doubtless be- 
 cause she has something she deems more 
 advantageous in view. Do our past rela- 
 tions warrant me in asking what your 
 plans are ? " 
 
 The tone vras measured and con- 
 strained. I had wounded her ; I had re- 
 fused to adopt a plan which she had sanc- 
 tioned — to accept a favor which she had 
 offered — and, deeply troubled at the 
 thought, I said, hastily : 
 
 "I have no definite plan — no situa- 
 tion in view. The idea is so recent — in- 
 deed, I have only thought of change." 
 
 "Then think of it no more. Miss 
 Lathrop 1 It will be so pleasant to Mi- 
 chal, with whom you were always a fa- 
 vorite, to find you here when we return 
 next spring. I say we^ for I am deter- 
 mined to leave business affairs to James, 
 and take mamma to Europe. You need 
 not compress your lips, and take that in- 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM OAKLAWN. 
 
 103 
 
 dependent air ; there is no favor in tlie 
 case, I assure you ; we owe you this 
 much and more! " 
 
 I shook my head. " It cannot be, Mr. 
 Edward. I could not live here — ^life 
 must have a new setting ; besides, I must 
 have leisure — time to think." 
 
 " And is there any thing in tlie air of 
 Oaklawnto prevent that ? " exclaimed he, 
 laughing. " I wish there was, and we 
 should be gayer. To look at you, one 
 would think that this fortune with its 
 responsibilities and temptations had fallen 
 on your shoulders instead of mine. You 
 are tired out — ^morbid from grief and 
 fatigue. Take time to rest, and stay at 
 Oaklawn — do ! " 
 
 Before I could reply, Mrs. Ellis said, 
 with a slight touch of impatience in her 
 tone — a weakness seldom betrayed until 
 since her illness : 
 
 "Edward, there is nothing remark- 
 able in the mere love of change, a desire 
 of novelty ; and such is, as I understand 
 her, Miss Lathrop's only reason for refus- 
 ing what, in our judgment, seems a per- 
 manent good — a position of usefulness, 
 honor, and profit, in which I have spent 
 the best years of my life." 
 
 " You mistake ! " I broke in, shrink- 
 ing from the cool irony of her manner, 
 and with difficulty restraining my tears. 
 "It is not from mere love of novelty, 
 or fickleness, that I refuse. It is because 
 I must go. I cannot remain ; my whole 
 nature cries out against it." 
 
 "Miss Lathrop, a simple ' yes ' or ' no ' 
 would be much more intelligible and to 
 the point, especially as I do not claim 
 any right to inquire into your reasons. 
 It is to be hoped that they are valid, but 
 melodramatics are unnecessary." 
 
 Her look and tone nerved me at once, 
 and I said, calmly and decidedly : 
 
 " Then, with all gratitude to you 
 both, I say no ! ''"' 
 
 She muttered the word " Weak," and 
 I turned away. 
 
 Edward opened the door for me, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Well, here's disapi^ointment number 
 one; but remember, Miss Lina, the ofi'er 
 is open yet, and, whatever may be your 
 decision, there will always be a cosy cor- 
 ner for you at the Pines, or anywhere 
 else where I am master." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DEPARTUEE FEOM 0AKLAW2\'. 
 
 DuEixa the two succeeding days, I 
 pondered over the course suggested by 
 old Alice, without coming to a decision. 
 
 " You can live alone," said Reason, 
 when, in the gathering twilight of the 
 second day, I lingered over my desk in 
 the deserted school-room. "You are ac- 
 customed to a life of isolation, labor, and 
 self-denial ; why should you start up here, 
 like some ugly Kobold^ to disappoint the 
 hopes which this family have, with good 
 reason, cherished for years ? To be sure, 
 you have the right, but rights are not 
 always easy to vindicate or establish in 
 this world. These people have been 
 your friends ; will your path be any the 
 brighter because you have darkened 
 theirs? — ^brought Michal back to a life 
 of drudgery, and shut the sunlight of 
 hope from Edward's future? — You will 
 still have the memory of Rothsay Caven- 
 dish's loving words, of his kiss on your 
 cheek, and his tears on your forehead, 
 and that should be able to lift you above 
 mere selfish ends." 
 
 Then uprose the heart. "Ay," it 
 said, "and by that memory, that kiss, 
 and those tears, it seems mean, cowardly, 
 wanting in reverence to him, to forego 
 your birthright, your father's name, even 
 though the attempt to claim it should 
 cover you with doubt and suspicion, and 
 darken your life still more." 
 
 Thus, the heart had the last word, 
 and I looked up to the wide, dumb sky, 
 with a silent cry for help, forgetting that 
 God sends no angels down to make for* 
 us the decisions of life, but that now, as 
 
104 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 of old, the question is to us — "Choose 
 ye this day whom ye will serve ! " 
 
 Presently, I became aware of the 
 presence of some one in the room. A 
 stealthy footstep crossed the floor and 
 paused hy one of the desks, and, although 
 unaware of his return, I was certain that 
 step was James Bancroft's. I was right, 
 for in a few moments, with the same cat- 
 like tread, he drew near one of the win- 
 dows, to make out, as it seemed, hy the 
 fast-fading daylight, the contents of a 
 paper which he held in his hand. 
 
 I could see him very plainly from my 
 seat, and, hoping to escape his observa- 
 tion, I drew back as far as possible be- 
 hind my desk, and sat as quiet as a mouse, 
 while I scanned his handsome face, and 
 wondered what could have brought him 
 there. Suddenly he turned, approached 
 me, and, leaning carelessly over my desk, 
 said: 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Lathrop. Are 
 you inditing a sonnet to the moon, that 
 you sit here so silent ? " 
 
 " Fo, sir." 
 
 " Concise, as usual, I see," he replied, 
 blandly. "Most young ladies like you 
 would have given a little shriek or start 
 of surprise at the sudden appearance of 
 one supposed to be absent." 
 
 " I have been aware of your presence 
 some time, Mr. Sancroft ; besides, I am 
 not nervous." 
 
 " No, nor affected, either. But people 
 who are above these frailties do some- 
 times find a civil word wherewith to 
 welcome home a friend." 
 
 Friend ! I was curious to know what 
 he was aiming at, and answered, some- 
 what bluntly : 
 
 "Possibly; but I have never been 
 quite sure whether we are friends or — 
 enemies." 
 
 "There is some comfort in talking 
 with you. Miss Lina; you always speak to 
 the point," he said, with a smile. " I have 
 had that same feeling myself with regard 
 to you, but we never doubt where we 
 are wholly indifferent ; therefore, I accept 
 
 it as a sure proof that we were born to 
 be friends." 
 
 " You found friendship on a doubt, 
 then?" 
 
 "Yes ; a much better foundation than 
 impulse or the usual sentimental rub- 
 bish. You have refused to become Prin- 
 cipal of Oaklawn, I hear ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You did well — another proof that 
 we were meant to be friends." 
 
 "Perhaps — but — at a distance. A too 
 close proximity might bear hard on such 
 a foundation, you know." 
 
 "]!To — ^not at a distance; and I say 
 ' well,' because. Miss Lathrop, I would 
 draw you still nearer to me." He leaned 
 over the desk and laid his hand on mine, 
 as he added : "I rejoice at your refusal 
 to accept this position, because I wish to 
 win you for my wife." 
 
 "Your wife!" I exclaimed, eluding 
 his hand, and springing to my feet. "Do 
 you come here to mock me, sir ? " 
 
 "Mock you? Is it so very strange 
 that I, a man, should make such a pro- 
 posal to you — a woman? Such things 
 have been done before, I believe, without 
 incurring the charge of mockery. Were 
 it another, I might think her nervous.'^'' 
 
 I fancied I could detect something 
 like triumph in his quiet, subdued tone, 
 and, vexed at myself, I answered : 
 
 "Perhaps not, but such a relation 
 should be based on something besides 
 doubt. There is a wide difference be- 
 tween friendship and marriage, I believe, 
 and, but a moment since, you doubted if 
 we were even friends." 
 
 "The recent doubt was yours, not 
 mine. I spoke of mine in the past tense. 
 What you say of the difference between 
 friendship and marriage, shows simply 
 that you speak without due reflection. 
 Eecall the married people of your ac- 
 quaintance, and see what the usual love- 
 matches amount to. You have let the 
 romance of your pupils becloud your 
 own clear vision." 
 
 " You mistake, sir. I have not yet 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM OAKLAWN. 
 
 105 
 
 learned to doubt, for one instant, tlie ex- 
 istence or truth of that love which has 
 its root in the necessities and yearnings 
 of the heart; or not to dread, as I would 
 God's curse, the union that would seek 
 to consummate itself without it. Your 
 ideal is far too high or far too low for 
 me to hope to realize it, seeing you do 
 not even profess to love me. " 
 
 " A very woman, after all, Miss Lina," 
 he said, pleasantly. "It's not mj forte 
 to sigh and rhyme and play Eomeo with 
 'white, up-turned eyes.' I leave that to 
 Edward, as you know. The very reason 
 why I have not professed to love you, is 
 the highest compliment I can pay you — 
 because I think or thought you preferred 
 truth to flattery — and to say I love you, 
 in the common, sentimental acceptation 
 of the word, would be to speak falsely." 
 
 "May I ask with what motive you 
 do approach me, sir?" I said, after a 
 moment's silence, for his apparent frank- 
 ness puzzled me. " I have neither beauty 
 nor position of connections to attract a 
 young man like you." 
 
 " ISTo ; personally, you are but pass- 
 able, though your face, under different 
 influences, would not be without a pecu- 
 liar beauty of its own. But you have 
 that which to me is more essential than 
 beauty — intelligence, firmness, self-reli- 
 ance, and self-control — ^remarkable for a 
 woman ; acute perception and keen in- 
 sight, with indomitable perseverance in 
 carrying out your plans ; else, believe me, 
 you would never have won your present 
 footing with the Principal of Oaklawn. 
 I have studied you somewh&t, you see, 
 and I say frankly that, to one like me, 
 these qualities are of more value than 
 wealth or beauty. I have my way to 
 make in the world, and you yours. Be- 
 come my wife, and trust me for wealth, 
 position, and all they include." 
 
 "If I understand you aright, you 
 want a wife for use, and you think I pos- 
 sess just the qualities most needed to 
 hoist you up the hill of ambition, or 
 scotch your wheels when weary ? " 
 
 " You put it plainly, but I answer, 
 yes ; with this difference : we will rather 
 breast the hill side by side." 
 
 " Mr. Bancroft, you are aware that I 
 am a pauper by birth ? " 
 
 "Yes ; but why refer to that? " 
 
 " Because, I wish to assure you that 
 God did not make me, as your words 
 seem to imply, a pauper in soul, that I 
 should sell myself for such husks as 
 these ! Let me pass, sir I " 
 
 He looked a little surprised as I con- 
 fronted him, but made room for me, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "Most men would take that as a re- 
 fusal, I suppose, but I, too, am very per- 
 severing ; and a woman who admits of 
 no intermediate ground between friends 
 and enemies should not make her deci- 
 sions hastily." 
 
 All at once a light broke in upon me. 
 I was no longer perplexed over this pro- 
 posal, and, vexed at my previous stupid- 
 ity, I exclaimed : 
 
 " You have seen Alice Ross, Mr. San- 
 croffc ? You know who I am ! " 
 
 " I have seen Alice Ross. I left Mr. 
 Spencer to come on alone, and walked 
 round by the Pines. I do know who you 
 pretend to be." 
 
 "You doubt it, then?" 
 
 "Members of my profession have a 
 way of doubting things until they are 
 proved. I need hardly tell a person of 
 your discrimination that there is quite a 
 difference between the assertions of an 
 old, doting servant, and a young, am- 
 bitious, and, what some of my brethren 
 of the bar, knowing her antecedents, 
 would term, needy woman, and a well- 
 established fact." 
 
 "Your own discrimination does you 
 credit, sir," I courtesied gravely, glad 
 that he could not see the hot blood flush- 
 ing my cheek. "But the case is not yet 
 in court. I asked you if you doubted 
 it." 
 
 "Excuse me, as you observe, the case 
 is not yet in court. "When it is, I shall 
 be there to give my opinion." 
 
106 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 "You found tlie name of my father 
 in the will ? " 
 
 " The name of Philip Cavendish is in 
 the will, hut it is a mere matter of form. 
 Mr. Spencer says he never married, and 
 has heen dead many years." 
 
 "Mr. Spencer is mistaken. He did 
 marry, and I hold the certificate — " I 
 paused, for the recollection that the only 
 proof I had of my parents' marriage had 
 heen in Mr. Cavendish's possession when 
 he died, and was probably lost to me 
 forever, filled me with dismay. 
 
 "You vv^ere about to speak of a mar- 
 riage-certificate, I infer ; but the posses- 
 sion of such a certificate is no proof that 
 the holder is the child, or legal heir, of 
 the parties therein named. As the ad- 
 viser of Michal and Edward, I shall sub- 
 ject all such evidence to the severest 
 scrutiny." 
 
 "You speak plainly, sir, and I thank 
 you. But the disinterestedness that 
 would wed a woman with one hand, 
 while with the other it branded her as a 
 needy impostor, is quite beyond my ap- 
 preciation. "We will drop the subject, 
 sir." 
 
 " As you please, but remember, hence- 
 forth, you and I recognize but two classes 
 in the wOYidi^f fiends and enemies^ 
 
 I left the room with that feeling of 
 relief which we often feel when we un- 
 expectedly stumble on the solution of 
 some question that has perplexed us. I 
 was no longer at a loss to understand 
 James Sancroffc's motives or character. 
 He was ambitious of power and position, 
 rather than of wealth ; by marrying me, 
 he might achieve both ; by opposing and 
 disgracing me, as I knew he would do 
 remorselessly, he would attain nearly the 
 same end, but with much more trouble 
 and expense, for no one, who knew the 
 family, would doubt that he would have 
 the whole management of the business 
 affairs. 
 
 "Friends and enemies! " The words 
 rung in my ears above the heavy breath- 
 ing of my room-mate that night, as I sat 
 
 in judgment on myself. Had I done well 
 in rejecting his oifer? He was hand-, 
 some and talented; he could establish 
 my birth as no one else could ; and Mi- 
 chal and Edward would not refuse to 
 share the wealth proffered by a sister's 
 hand. With him, were ease, afiiuence, 
 respectability, honor — more : for, when I 
 recalled the tone in which he had spoken 
 of the certainty of his future success, I 
 was conscious of a real sympathy and 
 admiration, which justified his assertion 
 of a likeness between us. Besides, there 
 was a kind of charm in the tribute he had 
 paid to my abilities. I was but a woman, 
 young, and not overwise, and the voice 
 of worldly wisdom whispered in my ears, 
 as in those of my old hero. Christian: 
 " Hear me ; I am older than thou. Thou 
 art like to meet with, in the way thou 
 goest, wearisomeness, painfulness, hunger, 
 perils, nakedness, swords, lions, dragons, 
 darkness — ^in a word, death ! " 
 
 But the very words, as I recognized 
 them, defeated their aim. I knew the 
 voice of the tempter, and I said : " Get 
 thee behind me ! I will not consent to 
 a lie ! I do not love this man. I do not 
 respect him. I will not face God or man 
 with a lie in my mouth ! Neither will I 
 conceal my birth or parentage ! I will 
 speak what I believe to be true, lot the 
 consequences be what they may." 
 
 I slept well that night. James San- 
 croft and I met, as usual, at the table, 
 next morning, where T met, also, Mr. 
 Spencer, a nice-looking gentleman, of 
 about Mr. Cavendish's age. When we 
 rose from the table, Mr. Sancroft said : 
 
 " Stay, Miss Lathrop. — Mr. Spencer, 
 this is the person to whom your envelope 
 is addressed." 
 
 "Ay, indeed ! " returned the lawyer, 
 who took from his pocket an envelope, 
 and, looking at the address, and then at 
 me, observed : 
 
 "This sealed envelope was found in 
 Mr. Cavendish's pocket-book after his 
 death. It bears the somewhat -singular 
 address — For ' La Zingarella, OoMawn!" 
 
" 'None save these,' I said, as I laid the ring and certificate t^efore him." 
 
 IMR-htod at Last, p. 107. 
 
THE DEPARTUKE FROM OAKLAWN. 
 
 107 
 
 Mr. Sancroffc and his brother say that-he 
 ■was wont to designate you by that name. 
 I am happy, therefore, to transfer it to 
 you." 
 
 I took the paper and opened it on the 
 spot. It enclosed a heavy ring of plain 
 gold, and the marriage-certificate. I 
 glanced at them, then looked at James 
 Bancroft. He smiled a quiet, cool, self- 
 possessed smile, while Edward, who had 
 caught a glimpse of the ring, begged to 
 know what it meant. 
 
 "Please interpret, Miss Lathrop," he 
 said, gayly. " Some information is due 
 Mr. Spencer. Who knows but it is an 
 engagement-ring, enclosing all sorts of 
 hopes and joys- in its narrow circle ? " 
 
 "Edward never sees but the bright 
 side ; but the Sybil," said James Sancroft, 
 fixing his eyes on me with a significance 
 I well understood, " is wiser. She can 
 see that it may enclose also trouble, dis- 
 appointment, and possibly disgrace." 
 
 " She will not shrink from speaking 
 the truth, nevertheless, at the proj)er 
 time," I said, quietly. 
 
 Mr. Spencer laughed, and Mrs. Ellis, 
 who had appeared at the table in compli- 
 ment to him, said, reprovingly: "Come, 
 boys, you trifle while business waits." 
 
 I had heard the class in history, when 
 a message came from Mrs. Ellis, request- 
 ing my presence in the parlor for a few 
 minutes. I fancied the crisis had come, 
 and, summoning all my courage, I walked 
 into the room. Her first words unde- 
 ceived me. I 
 
 " Miss Lathrop," she said, " will you 
 do me the favor to witness some business 
 papers between Mr. Spencer and James ? 
 I prefer som.e one besides my own family," 
 
 I walked up to the table, about which 
 they were grouped, glanced over the 
 paper which Mr. Spencer placed before 
 me, and, taking the pen ofiered by James 
 Sancroft, wrote deliberately — " Zerlina 
 Cavendish^ 
 
 " Cavendish ! you must be dreaming, 
 miss! " Mr. Spencer's exclamation drew 
 the attention of the others ; James San- 
 
 croft said nothing, but Edward laughed 
 merrily, saying: 
 
 "What a blunder for you to make, 
 Miss Lina! " 
 
 "It is no dream or blunder," began 
 James Sancroft ; "I have recently learned 
 that Miss Lathrop claims this name as 
 her own." 
 
 "Her own! Miss Lathrop! James, 
 are you mad ! " exclaimed his mother, 
 while Edward stared in astonishment, 
 and the lawyer quietly surveyed me from 
 head to foot. 
 
 "By what right, miss? " inquired the 
 latter, without waiting James Sancroft's 
 reply. " As a relative of the late Eoth- 
 say Cavendish ? " 
 
 "As his niece — the daughter of his 
 brother Philip, sir." 
 
 There was an almost breathless si- 
 lence in the room as he went on : 
 
 " Whrt proofs have you of the truth 
 of this assertion? " 
 
 " ITone save these,' whose authentici- 
 ty Mr. Cavendish acknowledged, and his 
 own words," I said, as I laid the ring and 
 certificate before him. 
 
 He read the certificate over aloud 
 amid that silence ; he examined the ini- 
 tials upon the ring, pronouncing them 
 very slowly "P. C— H. D.; " then laid 
 them down, and looked around the si- 
 lent, waiting faces until his eyes again 
 rested upon me. 
 
 "You claim to be the child born of 
 that marriage ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "The late Mr. Cavendish believed 
 you to be so — acknowledged you as 
 such?" 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " Before whom ? " 
 
 "His housekeeper, Alice Eoss, and 
 myself." 
 
 "How long since the discovery of 
 this relationship ? " 
 
 "Since the 12th of April; the night 
 before he left home on his last journey; 
 and that journey was undertaken to ob- 
 tain proofs of what I have stated." 
 
108 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 " Then lie doubted the claim? " 
 
 "]!Tot ia the least. But I told him of 
 this ring, which I had reason to helieve 
 belonged to mj mother, and he wished 
 to obtain it." 
 
 " "Why did he not make known this 
 relationship — at least, to his and your 
 friends here? " 
 
 " Because I begged him not to do so, 
 until his return. He told me he should 
 be absent but a few days, and I was so 
 confused — I wanted time to collect my 
 thoughts." 
 
 "So you knew this all the while, 
 Lina!" cried Edward. "You knew it 
 when I insisted on your congratulating 
 me for taking away your inheritance? 
 You let me urge upon you the privilege 
 of gaining your bread by a life of toil 
 under my patronage ! O Lina ! was it 
 right to treat me thus ? " 
 
 I would have replied, but Mrs. Ellis 
 said quickly and decidedly: "Edward, 
 you are interrupting business. I wish, 
 for the sake of all concerned, to have 
 this singular claim made clear, if possible. 
 — Mr. Spencer, I beg you to assist us. 
 "What is your opinion? " 
 
 The gentleman again examined the 
 certificate. 
 
 "It is, indeed, a singular affair,", he 
 began, slowly; "but I see do reason to 
 question the validity of this certificate, 
 especially as the date corresponds with 
 the time when there were reasons for 
 believing, as he himself asserted, that 
 Philip Cavendish had married a young 
 person of the same name, I think, as the 
 one herein mentioned— Day. Of the 
 credibility of this young person's claim, 
 I cannot judge at present. If she can 
 pro'oe that she is the child born of that 
 marriage, she will, of course, succeed to 
 the property, to the exclusion of all oth- 
 ers, for the terms of the will are : ' To 
 Philip Cavendish or his heirs, provided 
 they appear and prove their claim within 
 the space of two years from the death of 
 the testator.' This paper, of course, is 
 but the first link in the chain of evidence 
 
 necessary to establish her claim ; yet it 
 may be done." 
 
 Here James Sancroft arose. " I wish 
 to say," he remarked, " that, as one of 
 the executors of the will, I shall subject 
 every proof advanced to the strictest 
 scrutiny of the law, it being well known 
 that the late Mr. Cavendish was a some- 
 what eccentric person, and liable to be 
 deceived.'''' 
 
 "Of course," replied the lawyer, 
 blandly ; but, stung by the insinuation, I 
 said, with all the firmness I could com- 
 mand: 
 
 "Mr. Sancroft speaks of deception. 
 "Whether I am one likely to attempt such 
 a part, I leave hfs mother and brother to 
 decide. My life, for more than four 
 years, has been passed in their family, 
 and will answer for me, I think. Eor 
 the rest, in speaking of my claim, you un- 
 derstand one thing, and I another : you 
 think only of the property ; I, of my right 
 to bear my father's name, and be recog- 
 nized as his child. You cannot under- 
 stand this feeling, you, whose lives have 
 been set round with sweet household af- 
 fections. Had you been friendless and 
 homeless from your birth, kept by your 
 poverty and loneliness outside of the 
 happy family circles which you might 
 look in upon, but not enter ; had you been 
 made to feel that you were born for use^ 
 and nothing else, you might have grown 
 ahungered like me! "We do not cheat 
 and juggle about things we hold sacred, 
 sir. That certificate of my parents' mar- 
 riage was accidentally discovered in the 
 town where she was born, and where her 
 father died, and sent me by a friend. Mr. 
 Cavendish saw it by mere chance, and 
 acknowledged and blessed me as his 
 brother's child. Such I honestly believe 
 myself to be, and, of all that he left, I 
 claim nothing as mine, but that blessing, 
 and the right to bear his name." 
 
 Before James Sancroft could speak, 
 Edward was by my side. "I believe it, 
 too ! " he cried — " not only your right to 
 the name, but the inheritance ; and here. 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM OAKLAWN. 
 
 109 
 
 , in tlie presence of these witnesses, I re- 
 linqmsh my claim ! " 
 
 " But your sister? " said Mr. Spencer. 
 
 "I speak for Michal as well as myself, 
 sir I " he said, proudly. 
 
 " Your impulsive temper and generous 
 spirit make you unjust to yourself as well 
 as others," said James Bancroft, gently. 
 "You cannot answer for Michal, and 
 it would he well to have our mother's 
 opinion hefore we discuss this matter 
 further." 
 
 " I speak just what I helieve, James," 
 returned Edward, warmly, "and I know 
 Michal will feel the same. — Pardon me, 
 mother," he continued, turning his glow- 
 ing face to her, "for forestalling you 
 thus, but I know I spoke your sentiments 
 as well as my own. We are not robbers, 
 thank Heaven! " 
 
 We all turned to Mrs. Ellis, who had 
 risen to her feet at Edward's sudden 
 movement, and was still standing, but 
 — dear Heaven, what a face ! It was as 
 if we could see the life slowly fading 
 out of it, leaving behind that strange, 
 awful ghastliness which I had seen on 
 it once before. Yet, as if conscious of 
 what was coming, the will still struggled 
 for the mastery, for, when Ed.ward sprang 
 forward to support her, she put him fee- 
 bly back, while her lips worked painfully 
 in. the effort to articulate something. 
 One by one, we caught the words as 
 they came in gasps : 
 
 " Not — a — cent ! — Work — beg — but — 
 let — ^her — prove — it." 
 
 She fell into Edward's arms, and 
 James Bancroft, with a look at me that 
 said, plainly, "This is your work! " as- 
 sisted his brother in bearing her to her 
 room. 
 
 Of course, all business was postponed 
 for the present. James and Edward re- 
 mained with their mother, and Mr. Spen- 
 cer went to M , where he had some 
 
 business to attend to. Instead of return- 
 ing to the school-room, I went to my 
 own room, and sat wondering if old Sally 
 Hunt had not been right when she said I 
 
 had " no right to be in the world ! " I had 
 been sitting there some little time ; when 
 the chamber-maid brought me a slip of 
 paper. It bore, in James Sancroft's writ- 
 ing, these words : "The class in natural 
 philosophy await their teacher." 
 
 Here was a duty. From my earliest 
 memory, every one around me had im- 
 pressed upon me my obligations to per- 
 form my duty. Had I, then, no rights ? 
 I thought of Sally Hunt and Mrs. Ellis — 
 so different, and yet both practically 
 teaching the same thing — and I wondered 
 if it was the "turpitude of the carnal 
 heart," upon which Mr. Tyler used to 
 lecture me, that had all these long years 
 been nttering silent protests and yearn- 
 ing for something else ! I knew not, but 
 Mr. Bancroft's note was plain; duty 
 called, and I descended to the recitation- 
 room. 
 
 That night I met Edward in the hall. * 
 I think he had been looking for me, for 
 he came hastily forward, as soon as he 
 saw me, saying : 
 
 "I thought you would be anxious 
 about mother. Miss Lina. The doctor says 
 the shock is less severe than the former 
 one — the result of over-excitement, prob- 
 ably. She is already conscious, and can 
 speak intelligibly." He paused, then add- 
 ed, earnestly : " Don't mind what James 
 says, Lina. He is a lawyer, and Bees 
 things only after the manner of his pro- 
 fession. Whether you can prove it or 
 not, I believe, as I said before, that you 
 are the heir, and so will Michal, I am 
 sure, when she knows all the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 The next morning Mr. Spencer called, 
 and requested to see me a few minutes in 
 the parlor. 
 
 His manner was kind and friendly ; 
 he referred to my singular position ; said 
 he had seen Alice Eoss, and was con- 
 vinced that, whatever might be the re- 
 sult, I was guiltless of any intention to 
 deceive ; that both Mr. Cavendish and 
 Mrs. Eoss believed me Philip Cavendish's 
 child, etc. He wished, if I' did not ob- 
 
110 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 ject, to know tlie history of that certifi- 
 cate — how it came into my possession. 
 
 I told him briefly — also of Mr. Cav- 
 endish's intention of looking up the 
 witnesses. 
 
 " That accounts for his projected jour- 
 ney "West, and his anxiety to have me go 
 with him. Pity he couldn't have lived 
 to settle this business himself! The 
 chances are, that one of the witnesses is 
 living ; the next step would be to find 
 the place of your birth, and your mother's 
 death ; then to trace your grandfather's 
 wanderings — ^um, um! It's a pity this 
 young Sancroft is interested on the other 
 side ; he has the kind of talent needed 
 for this — your grandfather crazy — it will 
 cost time and money, and you have — " 
 
 " IsTeither ! " I said, seeing him hesi- 
 tate. 
 
 " Just so ; therefore, let me give you 
 an honest piece of advice : compromise 
 with these people." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but I have nothing 
 to compromise." 
 
 " Do you still adhere to what you said 
 yesterday morning ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. I ask nothing but the 
 name." 
 
 " You are either a very proud or a very 
 foolish woman. Here is property enough 
 to make you all comfortable, but each 
 party refuses to take it until it has been 
 dragged through the law, and decimated 
 by half a score of lawyers. Who shall 
 say we lawyers stir up strife, after this? " 
 
 " You mistake ; if such was their wish, 
 and I might take my share as an acknowl- 
 edged right, I would do so gladly. Mr. 
 Edward and Miss Michal, I doubt not, 
 would consent to this; but Mrs. Elhs, 
 while she will not permit them to touch 
 a dollar that is not clearly theirs, will 
 require the most indubitable proof of my 
 right; and — " 
 
 " Mr. Sancroft? " queried the lawyer. 
 
 ""Will be even more exacting, and in 
 the end contrive to bring them all to 
 adopt his views— or all but one." 
 
 " The sister ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "I wish she were here, then, for I be- 
 lieve there is some truth in your character- 
 drawing. But will you give me leave to 
 propose a compromise; not as coming 
 from you," he said, seeing my gesture 
 of dissent, "but as a suggestion of my 
 own?" • 
 
 " As you please, sir." 
 
 He did so, and, after some preliminary 
 discussion, apparently succeeded. There 
 was to be a compromise, the exact terms 
 of which could not be arranged until 
 Michal had been consulted. In the mean 
 time, I was to bear my father's name, 
 and go on Y,^ith my duties as usual, for 
 the present. 
 
 Mr. Spencer returned to New York, 
 pleased with his diplomacy, and I re- 
 mained to watch, day by day, the fulfil- 
 ment of my prophecy — to feel the subtle 
 insinuations and suspicions of James San- 
 croft infecting thie atmosphere around 
 me ; to hear Mrs. Ellis's daily allusions 
 to the want of the "necessary proof; " 
 to know that Edward's faith in me, if 
 not shaken, was sometimes troubled ; to 
 be required to unroll my past life to 
 James Bancroft's scrutiny, and listen to 
 his cool, cutting comments ! — 
 
 " Being observed 
 When observation is not sympathy, 
 I just being tortured ; " 
 
 but being constantly watched, from lack 
 of confidence, by those who call you 
 friend, is rack and thumb-screws to boot. 
 I could not endure it. 
 
 One evening, when I entered Mrs. 
 Ellis's room, I found her looking over a 
 letter with a troubled face. Her face was 
 easily troubled nowadays, and always 
 fearful of bad news from Miss Michal. I 
 ventured to ask if she had heard from 
 her. 
 
 "ISTo," she replied, querulously. "I 
 suppose you are impatient. It is natural, 
 perhaps, for one so ambitious of wealth 
 and independence." 
 
 I was weary — jaded by a hard day's 
 work — in one of those moods where a 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM OAKLAWN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ,kind word is of more value than "apples 
 of gold," and it was some time before I 
 could summon courage to reply : 
 
 "You entirely mistake the purport 
 of my question, madam," I said, finally, 
 " and the taunt conveyed in your words 
 is unmerited. If I have sometimes longed 
 for a freer life— if it has seemed hard that 
 all my days must he spent in barely pro- 
 viding for the body, it has not been from 
 overweening . ainbition or greed. The 
 terms on which I have remained here 
 prove that, and, if you refer to Mr. Cav- 
 endish's property, you will please remem- 
 ber that I claimed nothing bnt the right 
 to bear my father's name." 
 
 " True ; but, knowing the generous, 
 impulsive disposition of Michal and Ed- 
 ward, you, probably, felt quite safe in 
 making that display." 
 
 "Display!" 
 
 " The act of declining that to which 
 one has no legal right can hardly be 
 called any thing else, whatever preten- 
 sions it may assume." 
 
 I felt the force of her words, and for 
 a brief space stood silent, humiliated be- 
 fore the image they presented, but, con- 
 scious of my integrity of purpose, I said : 
 
 "It certainly was not intended as 
 such ; moreover, the proof in my posses- 
 sion was sufficient to induce your lawyer 
 and your sons to offer a compromise." 
 
 " Edward, you mean ; neither my son 
 James nor myself favored the proposal." 
 
 " Yet you preferred that they should 
 work or beg, rather than accept the 
 property that I renounced ! " 
 
 "Yes; I scorn to have my children 
 take that to which .they have not a clear, 
 undisputed right ! " 
 
 " You think me mean, then ! " 
 
 "I did not say so; the inference is 
 yours, not mine. But I do think, when 
 one in your circumstances makes such a 
 claim, and, what is very singular, defers 
 speaking of it until the only person, 
 whose slightest word could have settled 
 the matter beyond dispute, is dead, she 
 Dhould make some effort to prove it. 
 
 Money — is a sore temptation ; there 
 are few who can pass its ordeal scath- 
 less." 
 
 " It is, indeed, and a sore curse too, 
 since it has the power to make poverty 
 synonymous with baseness," I said, indig- 
 nantly. " But it will not tempt me to bear 
 a life made intolerable by degrading sus- 
 picion and insinuation. And here, Mrs. 
 EUis, our relations end. Michal and Ed- 
 ward will believe me ; and possibly, when 
 we meet again, I shall not lack the proof 
 of which you speak." 
 
 She looked at me quietly a second, 
 before she said : 
 
 " I think I have had occasion to re- 
 mind you once before. Miss Lathrop — I 
 beg pardon. Miss Cavendish — that these 
 tragedy airs are unnecessary. The 
 window is raised in the hall, I think. 
 You will please close it as you pass." 
 
 Was this my dismissal ? — or had she 
 really not understood me ? 
 
 I went to my room and tried to settle 
 upon some plan for the future. Stay 
 there I would not. 
 
 " What ! Go and leave James Bancroft 
 master of the field ? " said Pride. 
 
 " Yes ; better do that, than stay to 
 endure scorn, suspicion, and contempt ! — 
 and I will go at once," I said, for I heard 
 the voice of Edward in the hall — "go 
 before he learns to despise me ! " 
 
 I took no counsel of calm Eeason, 
 but immediately folded such clothes as I 
 could put in my satchel, placed it by the 
 side of Ollie's little trunk, and went to 
 bed. Miss Roe soon came up, and, think- 
 ing me asleep, crept quietly down by my 
 side, and was soon sound in slumber. 
 Toward morning I arose, dressed, put the 
 small sum remaining of my last quarter's 
 salary into my pocket, and, taking my 
 satchel and the little trunk, made my 
 way down-stairs and out into the silent 
 night. 
 
 I paused for a moment, and looked 
 up at Miss Michal's window with a si- 
 lent blessing ; then, stood looking at the 
 diverging roads, uncertain, as Ilagar in 
 
112 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 the wilderness, which to take. A breath 
 of wind moved the tree-tops ; I fancied I 
 could distinguish the murmur of the 
 Pines, and I struck across the fields tow- 
 ard them. The house with its quaint 
 gables looked beautiful in the moonlight, 
 and, for a brief while, I fancied myself 
 its mistress. I paced its rooms, trained 
 its roses, planted its flower-beds, enjoyed 
 its sunsets, but always alone. Then, I 
 put Edward there, with some fair young 
 wife, whose loving hands only left his 
 arm, as they strolled through the walks, 
 to caress the dimpled little children that 
 frolicked around them, or paused from 
 their play at sunset, to listen, with 
 hushed voices and large, round eyes, to 
 the solemn murmur of the pines ; I saw 
 refinement, graceful hospitality, domes- 
 tic happiness, in the place of isolation ; 
 and my decision was made. I did not 
 awaken dear old Alice, but, with a silent 
 benediction, I turned and went away. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 IX A NOVEL SITTJATION". 
 
 "Whither? This was the question 
 that occupied my thought when I en- 
 tered the solitary " ladies' room " at the 
 
 depot in M and looked out on the 
 
 diverging tracks. Anywhere beyond the 
 reach of Edward Ellis, who, I felt sure, 
 would leave no means untried to find me. 
 The parting words of Hannah Smith had 
 recurred to me more than once. Of her 
 they knew nothing. And late in the 
 afternoon of that day I stood in the 
 streets of the busy manufacturing town 
 
 of "W , making inquiries for her 
 
 brother's house. 
 
 A rosy-cheeked lad, who sat on a box, 
 whistling a popular negro melody, un- 
 puckeredhis lips long enough to reply, 
 and, tempted by the offer of a trifling re- 
 muneration, agreed to show me the way 
 to the house. He resumed his melody, 
 and we marched on for a mile or more, 
 
 when he halted, and to one of a row of 
 two-story buildings broke off with a de- 
 cided staccato and a — " There, that's the 
 house ! " took his fee, and, taking up his 
 strain again, went down the street, clink- 
 ing his money as an accompaniment. I 
 looked after hira a moment with envi- 
 ous eyes, then mounted the steps, and 
 knocked. 'No one answered, but several 
 children left their play on the sidewalk, 
 and stared at me. I knocked again, but 
 my effort not seeming suflSciently ener- 
 getic for Young America, one of them 
 ran up the steps, saying : 
 
 "Let me give it a thump — I'll raise 
 'em I " 
 
 He did, for he had barely time to run 
 back and hide his laughing face among 
 his companions, when the door was 
 opened ; a young woman, of no very be- 
 nignant aspect, thrust out her head, cry- 
 ing : 
 
 " You young rascals ! — " but, seeing 
 me, she drew back with a hardly more 
 amiable — 
 
 "I don't want any thing. I never 
 trade with pedlers." 
 
 I looked down at Ollie's little trunk, 
 which I carried in my hand, and could 
 not help smiling, but, seeing her about to 
 close the door, I asked : " Does Miss Han- 
 nah Smith live here ? " 
 
 "She stays here, when she's in this 
 place." 
 
 "Can I see her?" 
 
 "She ain't here. She went to live 
 with Sally's children in Ohio, last fall." 
 
 I suppose something of my disap- 
 pointment was visible in my face, for 
 she added, in a softer tone: "Did you 
 want to see her?" 
 
 "Yes, very much, indeed. Can I 
 see her brother's wife ? " 
 
 She bridled a little and said, with a 
 siUy laugh: "I s'pose I answer to that 
 name. Will you walk in ? " 
 
 Heaven knows I was faint and weary 
 enough to accept even a more grudging- 
 ly-given invitation than this, and I fol- 
 lowed her into a room, where several 
 
IN A NOTEL SITUATION. 
 
 ii; 
 
 ■ women were tacking a quilt. She gave 
 me a chair, sat down at the frames, 
 and, for a few minutes, thej went on 
 with their work in silence. Presently, 
 they began to whisper and giggle ; then, 
 one remarked aloud, " That's a piece of 
 Aunt Hannah's dress." 
 
 "Yes," said the bride, "she gin' it to 
 me when I was nussin' his wife." 
 
 " She'd 'a kep' it till doomsday if she'd 
 thought you'd ever been mistress here ! " 
 said another, laughing. 
 
 "Yes; an' here's a woman come ter 
 see her. I s'posed everybody knew she 
 was gone, an' why she went." 
 
 "Sure enough! Everybody does 
 know, about here. Did I ever tell you 
 what Betsey Blake said ? " 
 
 A tirade of neighborhood gossip here 
 set in, while I waited to gain some more 
 definite information, if possible. The con- 
 dition of the room and the tone of the 
 conversation made it very evident to me 
 why Hannah had left. At length, I asked 
 if there was a quiet, respectable hotel 
 near there, where I could obtain lodg- 
 ings for the night. 
 
 "None nearer than the one by the 
 depot," was the reply. 
 
 I arose to go, when it occurred to 
 me that the brother of my old friend 
 would be able to tell me of her move- 
 ments and address, and I asked for "Mr. 
 Smith." 
 
 The woman turned shortly around 
 with — "What do you want of him?" 
 
 " I wish to speak with him." 
 
 The guests tittered, and Mrs. Smith's 
 red cheek grew redder still as she said : 
 
 "If that's all you want, you can say 
 what you've got to say to me. I'm mis- 
 tress here, and, if you are what you should 
 be, it'll answer just as well." 
 
 Had I been less weary, I should have 
 laughed at the look of virtuous suspicion 
 which she bestowed upon me and my 
 baggage. As it was, I merely said : 
 
 " Of that I must be the judge, and I 
 think not.". 
 
 "Just as I s'posed! That's the door. 
 
 madam! " she said, angrily, as I turned to 
 make my way out. 
 
 " Why, Sally, you are not jealous, are 
 you, so soon?" exclaimed one of the 
 women. "The woman looks respecta- 
 ble — indeed, quite a lady, I should say." 
 
 " I dare say she is a lady I " I heard 
 the bride rejoin; "for honest women 
 don't tramp round the country after other 
 folks' husbands. I've seen such ladAes 
 afore ! " 
 
 Great as was my disappointment, I 
 think this absurd termination of my in- 
 terview with Mrs. Smith did me good. 
 It turned my thoughts from myself to old 
 Hannah and her trials; it set me to spec- 
 ulating upon her brother and his nev,- 
 wife. I felt that Hannah could never have 
 lived with her, and, by the time I reached 
 ther hotel, I was quite reconciled to my 
 disappointment. I obtained supper and 
 a comfortable room, and then sat down to 
 consider what I should do next. Uncle 
 Steve, with whom I might have found 
 shelter, was away beyond the Gates of 
 Hercules; besides, Edward and Michal 
 would be sure to seek me there. I had 
 little Adeline's address in INew York, but 
 her husband was a stranger, and I was 
 not willing to burden him, even had he 
 the will and the means to aid me. I took 
 out my money and counted it : I had 
 seven dollars and a half ; it would keep 
 me, perhaps, a week, and, in the mean 
 time, I must find something to do. I re- 
 called, with what comfort I could, the 
 theory I had so often heard advanced, by 
 Mr. Tyler and Mrs. Ellis, that "no really 
 deserving person need suffer for food or 
 shelter who v^as willing to work ; " and, 
 in order to test it, I began with the land- 
 lady, a motherly, pleasant-voiced woman, 
 and asked her at once if she could assist 
 me in finding employment. 
 
 She gave me a critical glance, and 
 asked : "What sort of employment 2 Most 
 young women about here go into facto- 
 ries." 
 
 I had visited a cotton-mill in Bubble- 
 ton with Miss Agnes once ; I remembered 
 
114 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 the noise, and the smell of rancid oil, and 
 said, quicklj: "Plain sewing, children's 
 nurse, housework, any thing by which I 
 can gain my bread honestly." 
 
 "Most people, in a place like this, do 
 their own sewing, and take care of their 
 own children. If you can fit dresses — " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 ""Well, then, about housework. Are 
 you a good cook ? " 
 
 "I should not like to pledge myself 
 as such. I know something about it, and 
 can learn." 
 
 "That's a pity, for Squire Martin's 
 wife wants a cook ; she was here yester- 
 day to see if I could recommend any one. 
 But she's very particular." 
 
 Here she gave me another look, let- 
 ting her eyes drop slowly from my face 
 over my dark delaine dress, white linen 
 collar and cuffs, to the toe of my gaiter ; 
 then they trembled back until they rested 
 on my hands. 
 
 "Your hands don't look much like 
 cooking," she observed. "May I ask 
 what you are used to doing? " 
 
 " I have been teaching for some years 
 past." 
 
 " Why don't you teach still ? I dare 
 say you could get a situation here, if you 
 are competent, and can bring the neces- 
 sary testimonials." 
 
 "Because I have not those testimo- 
 nials, ma'am." 
 
 She drew back a step, and the shade 
 of distrust which I anticipated came over 
 her face, while she said : 
 
 " But you know such things are re- 
 quired. People, in these days, don't take 
 servants without knowing something of 
 them." 
 
 She made a movement as if to leave 
 me, but paused when I said, rapidly but 
 firmly : 
 
 "I do, and it is doubtless wise, but 
 there may be exceptions, niadam, and my 
 case is one. I am willing to tell you as 
 much of my affairs as is consistent with 
 my own welfare. Through no fault of 
 my own, but to secure my peace of mind 
 
 and self-respect, I felt compelled to leave 
 the place where I have been teaching 
 some years, and to leave it suddenly, 
 taking with me only the baggage I have 
 with me, and the few dollars I had in my 
 purse. I expected to find an old friend 
 in this place, who would aid me by her 
 wisdom and experience. I am disap- 
 pointed ; she left the place months since. 
 I know no one, and I thought I would 
 apply to you, thinking you might possi- 
 bly help me ; at least, that you would 
 believe me for the sake of our common 
 womanhood." 
 
 She seemed puzzled, as her words im- 
 plied, for she said, thoughtfully : 
 
 "I don't want to be hard or unjust, 
 and you look and speak like an honest 
 woman ; still, we people who keep a pub- 
 lic-house see so many — well, will you 
 tell me the name of the friend you ex- 
 pected to find here? " 
 
 " Hannah Smith, the sister of Eli 
 Smith." 
 
 Her face brightened at once. "Pm 
 glad, for your sake, it was Hannah. I 
 know her well, and no one who had done 
 any thing to be ashamed of would be 
 likely to come to her for help. My girls, 
 who are away on a visit now, do the 
 sewing mostly, but you are welcome to 
 stay and help about the house until we 
 see what can be done. Have you no rel- 
 atives or friends? " 
 
 "!N"o relatives living, ma'am, and no 
 friends in this country ; at least, none to 
 whom I can apply." 
 
 " Poor thing ! How should I feel if 
 it were my Ellen, or Jane ? " she said, as 
 she hastened away at a call from her 
 husband. I went into the kitchen, and 
 wiped the dishes for the Irish cook, in- 
 wardly thanking God that, even in this 
 noisy, dusty place, He had kept fresh 
 and green the plant of human kindness, 
 strengthening it, at need, by the deep 
 experiences of maternity. 
 
 I was still in the kitchen when a train 
 thundered into the depot, a few rods dis- 
 tant; presently, several people entered 
 
IN A NOVEL SITUATION. 
 
 115 
 
 , the house ; there were much talking and 
 some confusion ; then the landlady put 
 her head into the kitchen, and bade me 
 "bring fresh water to No. 9 — quick. The 
 train had met with an accident, and a 
 ladj had been seriously injured." I 
 obeyed, and found a dozen people around 
 the bed, talking of the "narrow escape," 
 while an elderly gentleman stood with 
 his fingers on the wrist of the injured 
 person, with a look that betokened anx- 
 iety and impatience. I made my way to 
 the bedside, and began to bathe the 
 lady's dusty and grazed face with the 
 tepid water. 
 
 " That's sensible," said the gentle- 
 man, "she begins to revive. I think she 
 had fainted." 
 
 "She needs more air," I said, with a 
 glance at the crowd. 
 
 " Eight! " he turned to those present, 
 saying: "I thank all here, in the name 
 of my friend Mrs. Lloyd, for their sym- 
 pathy and kindness. She begins to re- 
 vive, and I think we had better leave her 
 with the women of the house until the 
 doctor arrives. Before the train leaves, I 
 hope to be able to assure you that she is 
 not seriously injured." 
 
 He left the room, and the others fol- 
 lowed, leaving only Mrs. Burbank, the 
 landlady, and myself, to loosen the lady's 
 dress and bind up, as well as we could, 
 her mass of strong black hair, slightly 
 streaked with gray. She seemed a wom- 
 an of forty-five or more, Avitli a mag- 
 nificent bust and shoulders, and features 
 and complexion that reminded me of 
 my old Jewish, heroines. Before we 
 had finished, the doctor entered, and his 
 applications soon restored her to con- 
 sciousness. She was able to reply to his 
 questions, and I inferred, from her air 
 and manner, that she was une grande 
 dame^ at least, in her own opinion, for 
 she was very haughty and supercilious, 
 and seemed filled with horror "at being 
 obliged to stay " in such a place." But 
 stay she must, for, although she was not 
 seriously injured, the bruises and con- 
 
 tusions were so severe that the physician 
 assured her she could not travel under 
 several days; and, as pride could not 
 salve her wounds, she was obliged to 
 submit. 
 
 I slept on a lounge in her room that 
 night, to minister to her wants ; and in 
 the morning, when I went to my break- 
 fast, Mrs. Burbank told me that the gray- 
 haired gentleman, whom I had seen the 
 evening before, desired to speak with mo 
 in the parlor. 
 
 " I think he wants you to take care 
 of Mrs. Lloyd until she is able to travel, 
 and I shall be glad if you will, for she 
 seems to be one of those folks who don't 
 know as there is anybody else in the 
 world but themselves," she said, pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 She was right. "When I entered the 
 parlor, the gentleman looked at me a 
 second, not inquisitively, but as if he were 
 not quite certain how to address me ; then 
 he asked me to be seated, and said : 
 
 " The doctor tells me that Mrs. Lloyd's 
 injuries will detain her here some days. 
 My business compels me to go on, and, as 
 she was under my care, and has no ser- 
 vant with her, I feel anxious to provide 
 for her comfort as far as I can. The 
 landlady thinks I may induce you to 
 remain with her until she is able to 
 travel ? " He paused, and looked at me 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " I shall be very glad, indeed, to do 
 so, sir ; for, at present, I am without em- 
 ployment." 
 
 " Thank you. Mrs. Lloyd is the "wid- 
 ow of a distinguished gentleman, and has 
 resided much abroad. She has been ac- 
 customed to a good deal of attention, 
 and you may find her somewhat difficult 
 and exacting, but -I think you will suc- 
 ceed." 
 
 " I will try, sir." 
 
 " That is all I ask." He took from 
 his pocket-book a bank-note, and offered 
 it to me, saying, " Here is a trifle in ad- 
 vance." 
 
 I declined to receive it, saying, " When 
 
116 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 mj wages are due, I shall receive tliem 
 from Mrs. Lloyd." 
 
 He smiled, and asked me to attend 
 Mm to that lady's room, where he ex- 
 plained the arrangement. She looked at 
 me as if I were an inevitable evil to be 
 endured, like her bruises, thanked him, 
 and gave him some messages for her 
 daughters, who were in 'New York. 
 
 Thus I found myself installed as nurse, 
 and my patient kept me very busy. But, 
 if she was exigeante, I was very patient ; 
 if haughty, almost to insolence (and ladies, 
 I found, could be.insolent), I was indiffer- 
 ent, not caring enough about her to re- 
 sent it ; so the time passed quietly. Mean- 
 time, she received letters from her daugh- 
 ters, and, one day, on the arrival of the 
 western train, there came sweeping into 
 our dim room such a vision of elegance 
 and fashion — ay, and of beauty, too, for 
 the face was very beautiful, the youthful, 
 unfurrowed image of the mother — as I 
 had never seen before. 
 
 It was Miss Lloyd, and, kissing her 
 mother, she said, gayly : 
 
 "Now, just own, mamma, that for 
 once yon are taken by surprise? " 
 
 "I am ! When Miss Julia Lloyd 
 takes to travelling alone, like a com- 
 mon servant-girl, it is time to be sur- 
 prised," said the lady, gravely. "But I 
 •presume it was a suggestion of Cousin 
 Anne's." 
 
 " Yes ; and to tell the truth, mamma, I 
 rather enjoyed it, for, of course, nothing 
 could happen to me — ^nothing improper, I 
 mean." 
 
 She drew herself up, as if, by the 
 very motion, she set herself above the 
 common incidents and accidents of life, 
 and her face assumed the same haughty 
 look that distinguished her mother's, 
 only not so deeply ingrained in every 
 line. 
 
 The mother smiled proudly as she 
 surveyed the tall, superb figure. 
 
 " Certainly not, but it is not the cus- 
 tom of people of our position, and a dis- 
 regard of the laws of society argues a 
 
 lack of self-respect. But cousin never 
 rightly understood such matters." 
 
 "liro; she was much troubled about 
 you, and insisted on my coming, and, to 
 confess the truth, mamma, I was a little 
 distrait, and, moreover, was curious to 
 see how the Hon. Mrs. Lloyd looked in a 
 country tavern." 
 
 She gave a glance around the room, 
 and, with an expressive shrug of the 
 shoulders, added: "Really, mamma, it's 
 too bad. I don't see how yOn have con- 
 trived to exist.-' 
 
 I had approached to take her wraps, 
 which she removed and threw over my 
 arm, with no more apparent conscious- 
 ness of my presence than if I had been a 
 clothes-rack, and went on with the con- 
 versation. It turned upon family affairs, 
 and, not receiving any intimation from 
 Mrs. Lloyd to leave the room, I retired 
 to the window, but the room was not 
 large, and I heard every word. 
 
 But they were not so unmindful as I 
 thought ; for, when Mrs. Lloyd began 
 urging pecuniary reasons for refusing to 
 spend the coming season at Saratoga, 
 Miss Lloyd, with a glance at me, replied 
 in French, and the conversation was car- 
 ried on in that language, which they 
 both spoke admirably. 
 
 Having been accustomed to the fluent 
 tongue of Mademoiselle Bertliier, I had 
 no difficulty in understanding them ; 
 therefore I arose, and, coming to Mrs. 
 Lloyd's side, said : 
 
 "Excuse me, madam, but I think I 
 ought to tell you that my knowledge of 
 French enables me to understand all you 
 say." 
 
 They looked at me a second with 
 an expression which, had it been on the 
 face of a common mortal, I should have 
 called surprise; then Miss Lloyd said, 
 carelessly : 
 
 " A French 5c>?i?ie, mamma ! Quite a 
 coup de theatre, though I wondey how 
 she ever strayed here? " 
 
 "I am not French, miss, only familiar 
 with that language." 
 
IN A NOVEL SITUATION. 
 
 117 
 
 " Your feeling is quite correct," said 
 Mrs. Lloyd, loftilj. "You can go down 
 and tell them to send up dinner for two. 
 I will ring wlien I want you." 
 
 When the bell again summoned me to 
 her presence, the saturnine composure of 
 the elder lady seemed undisturbed ; but 
 the daughter's cheek was flushed, and her 
 tone irritable and impatient, as she said : 
 
 " To think of staying shut up at that 
 horrid old country place ! No society, 
 no amusements. I shall die of ennui be- 
 fore the summer is half over! If the 
 master were only at home, it would be a 
 different thing." 
 
 " Yes, I wish he were. But I have 
 stated my reasons ; besides, you seem to 
 forget Grace. She must spend her vaca- 
 tion somewhere." 
 
 "Let her go to Highcliff with Cousin 
 Anne, or accept the invitation of the 
 Pyncheons to visit ISTorthampton. Or, if 
 you choose to remain with Cousin Anne, 
 I can go with the Howards. But, apro- 
 pos of Cousin Anne, did you find a com- 
 panion for her ? " 
 
 "No. She must be getting into her 
 dotage, or she never would have sent 
 such a request to me ! The person she 
 spoke of is married. I know nothing of 
 such people, and I certainly did not ex- 
 pect to look up servants for her, when I 
 accepted her invitation. But she always 
 lacked judgment." 
 
 The young lady smiled satirically. 
 
 " Yes ; I thought when she spoke of 
 it, that it would a new role for the Hon. 
 Mrs. Lloyd to be exploring Yankee lodg- 
 ing-houses in pursuit of reduced gentlewo- 
 men ; people who have seen better days, 
 as they term it. But, mamma, we must 
 humor her, and, though I detest that 
 sort of people, I really hope she will find 
 some one, for, if we are to go to Highcliff 
 for the summer, I have no idea of play- 
 ing the part of companion myself, and 
 reading to her by the hour." 
 
 Mrs. Lloyd yawned as if tired of the 
 subject, but my thoughts naturally re- 
 verted to it. Some lady wanted a com- 
 
 panion: would she accept me? Would 
 she require the usual credentials ? If so, 
 would my week's service with Mrs. Lloyd 
 sufiSce ? Who was Cousin Anne ? Should 
 I be brought into close and daily contact 
 with these Lloyds, whose intolerable and 
 intolerant pride might become unendur- 
 able? 
 
 All these queries, save the last, were 
 solved on the following day : Mrs. Lloyd 
 announced herself well enough to travel, 
 and, when she came to pay me, I referred 
 to the above conversation, and asked if 
 she would be so kind as to recommend 
 me to fill the place. 
 
 She lifted her eyebrows, and said, 
 haughtily: " You might also have heard 
 that it is a lady my cousin needs — a per- 
 son of education and refinement — not an 
 ordinary servant." 
 
 "I did, madam, but, haviag passed 
 the last six years in school, either as pu- 
 pil or teacher, I thought I might possess 
 the requisite amount of culture." 
 
 " Mamma," said Miss Julia, " perhaps 
 you had better give her a trial. It will 
 save some explanations. If she does not 
 suit, it's not your affair." 
 
 " Have you a character? " 
 
 "None, save such as my week's ser- 
 vice with you may entitle me to. The 
 only friend in this place to whom I could 
 refer is absent, and I must trust to your 
 kindness." 
 
 She looked at her daughter, who an- 
 swered, with a curl of her rich, red lip : 
 
 "It's not essential, mamma. Your 
 word will be sufiicient. These charac- 
 ters are simply humbug — excuse me, 
 cMre maman, but it's just the word — au 
 reste^ she looks quiet and unpresuming — 
 so engage her." 
 
 The matter was speedily settled. I 
 was to receive a salary of one hundred 
 and fifty dollars per annum, provided I 
 gave satisfaction, Mrs. Lloyd assuming 
 that her word would render any testimo- 
 nials unnecessary. 
 
 I had sufiicient money for my travel- 
 ling-expenses, and an inspection of the 
 
118 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 contents of my satcliel led me to think 
 that the -under-clothing and black-silk 
 dress it contained might, with the de- 
 laine I had on, be made to cover me re- 
 spectably until my first quarterly pay- 
 ment became due ; and, with a lighter 
 heart than I had known for many days, 
 I bade the landlady " Good-by," and fol- 
 lowed the ladies to the station. 
 
 GHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 COUSIN ANNE. 
 
 It was almost dark when the carriage 
 containing Mrs. and Miss Lloyd, and, by 
 sufierance, the "humble companion," 
 drove np to a handsome bnt old-fashioned 
 house in Bleecker Street, New York. A 
 man-servant met us and conducted us 
 across the hall into a pleasant apartment 
 that opened into the dining-room, where 
 the servants were laying the table for 
 dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Lloyd and her daughter left the 
 room very soon, bidding me wait until I 
 was sent for. I had v/aited, it seemed to 
 me, a long time, when a smartly-dressed 
 young woman came tripping in, and, with 
 rather a contemptuous look at me and 
 my little baggage, said : 
 
 "Mrs. Lloyd desires to see you in Miss 
 Annesley's room, miss." 
 
 " Miss Annesley ! Miss Anne Annes- 
 ley ! " I exclaimed. It was the first time I 
 had heard my new mistress's family name, 
 the Lloyds always having spoken of her 
 as Cousin Anne, and I had thought it best 
 to ask no questions. I stood, therefore, 
 staring the girl blankly in the face. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm sure I spoke it plainly 
 enough ! " she said, impatiently. " You 
 had better hurry, miss, for Mrs. Lloyd 
 isn't fond of waiting, and the dinner-bell 
 will ring soon. You can leave your bun- 
 dles in the hall." 
 
 I did as she directed, and followed her 
 up a flight of stairs, like one walking in 
 a dream, through a small anteroom into 
 
 a large chamber, where Mrs. Lloyd and ^ 
 her daughter, in perfectly fresh costumes, 
 sat talking with some one whose face, 
 and almost her whole figure, was hidden 
 from me by the high back of the capacious 
 easy-chair in which she reclined. At* a 
 sign from Mrs. Lloyd, I advanced toJ|ier 
 side, and, with a very perceptible abate- 
 ment of her usual hauteur, she said : 
 
 "Anne, dear, this is the young person 
 of whom I was speaking — Eay — Lina Eay 
 is the name, I think. Of course, you 
 take her only on trial, f6r of that class of 
 people I absolutely know nothing." 
 
 During the week passed at the hotel, 
 Mrs. Lloyd had persisted in calling me 
 Eay, and, after one or two attempts to 
 correct her, I had let it pass as a matter 
 of no account; now, I felt inwardly 
 grateful for an error which would leave 
 me to conceal or disclose my real name, 
 as circumstances might dictate. I bowed, 
 therefore, and the small, delicate, elderly 
 lady in the chair said, with a pleasant 
 smile : 
 
 " Thank you, cousin ; the young lady 
 is very welcome. You look weary, my 
 dear ; sit down, and I will ring for Jane 
 to ftttend to you." 
 
 There are moments when the most 
 complete self-control is hardly proof 
 against a simple word uttered in a loving 
 tone, and I felt the tears spring to my 
 eyes while the lady spoke. Nor were 
 they frozen by the knowledge that Mrs. 
 Lloyd elevated her eyebrows and chin 
 with marked significance at the tone, 
 nor by Miss Julia's emphatic shrug of her 
 fair shoulders, as she said : 
 
 "Mamma, with Gousin Anne's per- 
 mission, we will retire. I wish to give 
 Laura some directions about unpacking, 
 before we go to dinner." 
 
 Both ladies arose, and Miss Annesley 
 said, hastily : 
 
 "Don't let me detain you, ladies. 
 Cousin Lloyd, I trust you will find your 
 rooms comfortable. If there is any thing 
 wanting, let Mrs. Price know. Make 
 yourself entirely at home, and don't 
 
COUSIN ANNE. 
 
 119 
 
 trouble yourself about me. I didn't in- 
 vite you here to keep you sbut up with 
 a. cripple. For the present, you must be 
 tlia hostess, and I the guest, and some 
 evening, before long, I shall come down 
 and take tea with you. 'Now, I eat here, 
 and this young lady shall be my guest 
 to-night." 
 
 She rang a silver bell upon the table 
 within her reach, as the ladies swept out, 
 and a servant entered and waited for 
 my hat and cape. My fingers were 
 strangely tremulous, and, seeing me pull 
 vainly at the string of my veil, Miss An- 
 nesley bade the girl help me. 
 
 " ]^ow," she began, but, interrupting 
 herself with a smile, she said: "Pardon 
 me, dear, I forgot that you had been kept 
 waiting while my guests dressed. — Jane, 
 show Miss Eay to bar room, the one for- 
 merly occupied by Miss Lee, and see that 
 she has every thing she needs. — When 
 you have dressed, child, you Will return 
 to this room and dine with me. Dinner 
 will be sent up," she turned her eye to 
 lier w^atch upon the table, "in just twen- 
 ty-five minutes. — Jane, you see that her 
 baggage is carried up." 
 
 My baggage! I could not but smile 
 wben I thought of it. Unwilling that it 
 should be the subject of further comment 
 by the servants, I said to Jane as the 
 door closed upon us, that I would go for 
 my satchel myself. 
 
 " 1^0, Miss. Miss Annesley would be 
 displeased if I permitted it. If you have 
 nothing but a satchel, I will bring it up." 
 
 I told her where I had left it with my 
 smaU bundle, and was amused at seeing 
 her bring them to my room, and put 
 them down as respectfully as if they had 
 contained a queen's outfit. I was glad to 
 be left alone a moment, that I might con- 
 sider the peculiar circumstances in which 
 I was placed; for that this was the old 
 Annesley house, and the lady in yonder 
 room, awaiting my return, was the rela- 
 tive of whom Miss Agnes had spoken as 
 always residing there, I had not the 
 slightest doubt. 
 
 I did not forget that her words had 
 been : " When you are dressed," but, 
 fortunately, my toilet did not require 
 much thought, and all the w'hile I was 
 binding up my hair, and brushing out the 
 obstinate crimps, I was querying whether, 
 in "devising my own way," I had not 
 walked very nearly, if not right, into the 
 lion's mouth. Ealph Annesley was one 
 of the executors of my uncle's will ; he 
 was the dear friend and cousin of both 
 Eothsay and Philip Cavendish, and 
 would he not, when a knowledge of the 
 circumstances reached him, strain every 
 nerve to ferret out the missing claimant, 
 and make her either prove her claim or 
 cover her with ignominy as an impostor? 
 I had not thought of this before, and now 
 I half wished that I had stayed at Oak- 
 lawn and faced him there, if necessary, for 
 he would never understand the mood in 
 which I left that place ; and the very fact 
 of my leaving as I did would be con- 
 strued as an evidence of my guilt. Should 
 I remain under this roof to be discovered 
 and impaled by his keen eyes as swindler 
 — a deliberate cheat ? I let my black-silk 
 dress, from which I was smoothing the 
 folds, fall from my hands, body and soul 
 shrinking before that thought. It may 
 be that — 
 
 " To tliose Avho are sad already, it seems sweet, 
 By clear foreknowledge, to make perfect pain ; " 
 
 but I had not attained that state, and, for 
 some moments, I sat dumbly pitying my- 
 self. Then, half in shame of my coward- 
 ice, I rose up, saying to myself: 
 
 " You acted for the best, Lina, and 
 you must not shrink from tlie result. He 
 may not return before you have earned 
 money enough to be able to procure the 
 proof, if proof there be, of your birth, 
 and, if he does, men don't seek the miss- 
 ing at their own hearth- stones; besides, 
 he believed you once without pledge or 
 witness, why should he not again ? If 
 he does not, the truth will remain the 
 same, and with truth and toil you can 
 still continue to live." 
 
120 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Tlie black-silk dress went on, and I 
 was ready for Miss Annesley. 
 
 She received me with the same pleas- 
 ant smile ; a servant brought np the din- 
 ner, the girl Jane arranged the traj upon 
 a small table, by the side of her mistress, 
 placed a chair for me, and withdrew. 
 
 During dinner, my mistress questioned 
 me about my journey, not curiously, but 
 from a simple desire to put me at ease. 
 Then she spoke of herself, and my duties. 
 By a fall, last autumn, she had injured her 
 knee, and been confined to the house all 
 Y/inter in consequence. Just before that 
 accident, the young lady, who bad been 
 T/itb her several years, sickened and 
 died, while on a visit to her parents, and 
 she had been alone, until Miss Julia Lloyd 
 came on with, her sister Grace, who was 
 a member of Madame Chegary's school. 
 She liked to have young ladies about her ; 
 they made a stir of life in the old house ; 
 and, as her mother had broken up her 
 establishment, she had invited them to 
 spend the summer with her. She had 
 hoped to be able to go down-stairs to re- 
 ceive Mrs. Lloyd herself, but that, she 
 had found, was out of the question. She 
 was so glad that Cousin Lloyd had been 
 able to bring me with her ! "Was I fond 
 of reading aloud ? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Was I sure it did not tire me — in- 
 jure my chest? " 
 
 " Quite sure. It had been a part of 
 my duties for several years." 
 
 " That was fortunate. Her eyes vrere 
 poor, and she was so fond of reading. 
 Miss Lloyd read well — remarkably well, 
 as, indeed, she did every thing she under- 
 took, but she could not think of pressing 
 her guests into her service. But we 
 should not do much until we got settled 
 at HighclifP. — That was another thing. 
 Mrs. Lloyd had, of course, told me that 
 she spent her summers in the country — 
 perhaps I did not like the country ? " 
 
 "I did, indeed; my whole life had 
 been passed there." 
 
 " Ay, then, I must be fond of garden- 
 
 ing. I could help her ; she was so fond 
 of flowers, and she had so many at High- 
 cliff — old-fashioned things like herself; 
 but she liked them, and she thought I 
 would — they might remind me of my 
 mother's garden." 
 
 "I had no mother ! " I might have 
 added that my dreams of what a moth- 
 er's voice might be had been more near- 
 ly realized than ever before, while she 
 was speaking, but I kept silent. 
 
 She looked at me pityingly. " That 
 was sad — she knew all about that ! So 
 young, too ! "Would I have a peach ? 
 Her peaches were raised at Highcliff. 
 Peter told her, when last in town, that 
 the trees had been full of blossoms this 
 spring ; please Heaven, we would watch 
 their ripening ourselves." 
 
 "Is Highcliff far from here?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " ITo ; it's among the Bedford hills in 
 Westchester County, a place that had 
 belonged to Mr. Annesley's father — Mr. 
 Ealph Saville Annesley I mean, to whom 
 this place also belongs." 
 
 " Is he often here, ma'am ? " 
 
 " ISTot often ; I always keep his rooms 
 ready, for no one knows when he may 
 come— perhaps from Egypt or Lapland, 
 for Cousin Ealph is a great traveller." 
 
 " Where is he now ? " 
 
 " He spent the winter in Paris, I hear 
 from his lawyer, Mr. Spencer. He never 
 writes except on business, and then to 
 Mr. Spencer." 
 
 " He has no family ? " 
 
 " Fo ; he and I are the last of our 
 race." She pushed back her plate with 
 a sigh, and was silent for some minutes, 
 saddened, as it seemed, by the thought ; 
 then, rousing herself, she added : 
 
 " It is sad to contemplate the extinc- 
 tion of an old family, like ours ; but Mr. 
 Annesley has never married, and proba- 
 bly never will." 
 
 " Is he so very fastidious, then? " 
 
 " Not more so, perhaps, than any gen- 
 tleman of his age and experience. He is 
 a great favorite with the ladies, but as 
 
COUSIN ANNE. 
 
 121 
 
 soon as lie leaves their presence lie for- 
 gets all about them, and is, in reality, 
 more devoted to an old woman like me 
 than to the most brilliant of them all. 
 I don't think he cares much for domestic 
 life, and perhaps the unfortunate expe- 
 rience of his youth has made him skep- 
 tical." 
 
 I wondered what that experience 
 was. Had he been "dis'p'inted," like 
 Polly Maria ? If so, he certainly did not, 
 as Uncle Steve said, " take to it nat'ral- 
 ly." But the lady did not seem inclined 
 to speak, so I ventured to ask : 
 
 " Has he suffered, then, very much? " 
 
 " I hardly know. When quite young, 
 he became very much attached to a young 
 lady, but was superseded in the good 
 graces of the parents, and, it was said, 
 in the affections of the lady, by a half- 
 brother, some years his senior, whose 
 great wealth, inherited from his mother, 
 weighed largely in his favor. Ealph 
 went to England, but, before the mar- 
 riage took place, he was recalled by 
 his brother's sudden death. Then, the 
 parents of the lady were very cour- 
 teous to him, and it was even said that 
 their daughter's feelings toward him had 
 remained unchanged, her acceptance of 
 the brother having been in obedience to 
 filial duty ; but he treated them with the 
 most friendly but profound indifference, 
 and the lady soon married into one of 
 our wealthiest families. They are on 
 friendly terms, and most of his friends 
 doubt if he ever cared for her at all." 
 
 " I should not think her worth caring 
 for," I said, bluntly. 
 
 She smiled. " That is the judgment 
 of youth, and, at your age, I should have 
 thought so too. But her chief fault was 
 one which older eyes are inclined to view 
 with more leniency — deference to her 
 parents' will. She is one of the most 
 elegant ladies in the city, and her house 
 .the centre of attraction." 
 
 " And you think this is the reason of 
 Ms remaining unmarried ? " 
 
 " It is the only reason I can give for 
 
 his restless, wandering life — so unlike the 
 habits of his family; and when I see 
 Mrs. Lincoln — that is the lady, dear — I 
 cannot but think how different his life 
 would have been if he had married 
 her." 
 
 Slie rang for Jane to remove the 
 table, asked me to replenish the wood- 
 fire in the grate, a task which I had only 
 just performed, when the Lloyds came 
 up from dinner, and, receiving no orders 
 to withdraw, I took a low seat, and sat 
 trying to picture to myself Mr. Annesley, 
 with his keen eyes and abrupt, indepen- 
 dent speech and manners, as the husband 
 of that elegant lady, dispensing the hon- 
 ors of a mansion which was the " centre 
 of attraction " to the most aristocratic 
 and fashionable people in the city. But, 
 somehow, I did not succeed ; the sur- 
 roundings, though I painted them gor- 
 geously enough, were too light and con- 
 ventional — his dark face and lithe figure 
 would not harmonize with them ; and to 
 satisfy myself, I had to place him alone, 
 beneath an Eastern palm, with no back- 
 ground save the line of the distant hori- 
 zon, where limitless expanse of sky came 
 down to meet the limitless expanse of 
 arid desert-sand below, with no acces- 
 sories save the group of Arab attendants 
 and their patient camels. Had I had 
 crayon and paper, I could not have 
 drawn the lines or worked in the shades 
 more carefully; and so intent was my 
 thought on this, that I scarcely noted 
 aught of the presence of the ladies, save 
 the intermediate ripple of their low 
 voices, until they rose to withdraw, and 
 Miss Lloyd said, laughing : 
 
 "Don't be too sanguine, cousin Anne. 
 Perfection does not usually take that 
 form ! " 
 
 Miss Annesley glanced hurriedly tow- 
 ard me ; the lady shrugged her shoul- 
 ders and swept out of the room, followed 
 by her mamma. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Miss An- 
 nesley turned to me and said : 
 
 " Pardon me, dear. I ought to have 
 
109 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 dismissed you before. You must be so 
 •weary." 
 
 " Is tliere nothing I can do for you, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 "No, Jane attends to me. To-mor- 
 row, we will talk over our plans. Good- 
 night." 
 
 When I entered my room and saw 
 the (to me) elegant furniture — the bed 
 with its snowy drapery — and thought 
 how recently I had been houseless and 
 homeless, my heart was filled with grati- 
 tude to " Our Father " for this haven of 
 rest. All my doubts seemed to vanish ; 
 I felt that I could leave my future in 
 His hands, only praying for grace and 
 strength to meet its trials and perform its 
 duties, whatever they might be ; and 
 very sweet and sound was the rest I en- 
 joyed that first night in my new home. 
 
 OHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 A HUMBLE COMPAN^IOIT. 
 
 It is not necessary that I should enter 
 into the details of the life of a " humble 
 companion," and mine, in the service of 
 Miss Annesley, must have been a pleas- 
 ant exception to the general rule. She 
 was kind and just, very much devoted to 
 the usages and traditions of her family, 
 very fond of old friends and old books ; 
 and the reader must fancy me reading 
 aloud Milton, Shakespeare, Cowper, and 
 Thomson, but much oftener from the vol- 
 umes of the Barribler and Spectator^ her 
 smile growing sweeter, and her eyes 
 brighter at the stately courtesy of good 
 old Sir Eoger de Ooverley, until I came to 
 take her for the living representative of 
 the lady whose perfections drew from 
 him that most graceful of all compliments : 
 
 " She is as inimitable by all women, 
 as she is inaccessible to all men! " 
 
 The house contained a large and valu- 
 able library, to which I had free access ; 
 and here, among works of rare wisdom, 
 I found those lighter tales which, under 
 
 Mr. Tyler's rule, had tempted me into 
 the pit of falsehood, many of which I now 
 read aloud as a part of my duty. But 
 the apartments on the first floor pre- 
 sented quite a contrast to our quiet life. 
 Miss Annesley, v/ith rare generosity, had 
 left her guests free to enjoy themselves. 
 They had many friends and acquaintances 
 in the city, and the house was often full 
 of company. I often amused myself by 
 watching from the window the elegantly- 
 dressed ladies and gentlemen who came 
 to call on the Lloyds. Sometimes I caught 
 the subdued murmur of their voices, or a 
 burst of silvery laughter, as I passed 
 through the hall ; and I used to wonder 
 if they were really born to a life of doubt, 
 and care, and sorrow, like myself. The 
 Lloyds usually passed an hour or so in Miss 
 Annesley's room after dinner, but as they 
 never, after that first day, seemed to no- 
 tice me any more than they did any 
 other piece of furniture, I gladly availed 
 myself of my mistress's permission to 
 take this time for a walk, and my first 
 thought was to find little Adeline Leete. 
 I had her address, 160 Mulberry Street, 
 and, not caring to take a servant with 
 me, I studied the great plan of the city 
 hanging in one of the back halls, until I 
 felt quite sure I could find my way there 
 alone. I knew notljiog of the city save 
 a few streets in the vicinity of Bleecker, 
 leading to "Washington Square, and Broad- 
 way, and, when I had crossed that great 
 thoroughfare, and turned into Mulberry, 
 my heart almost failed me. Broken pave- 
 ments ; tumbling, old houses ; filth of all 
 description; stenches of all odors; ghoul- 
 like swine, that ought long ago to have 
 perished in the water, like their devil- 
 infested progenitors in Galilee ; lean, hun- 
 gry-eyed, snarling curs, hunting for bones ; 
 reeking gutters — could any human being 
 live in such a place as this ! — especially 
 Uncle Steve's Bluebird — that little tender 
 thing — who, as he once told me, "need- 
 ed broodin' so much ! " 
 
 I thought of the Cove, the fresh sea- 
 breeze, the broad, yellow beach, tho 
 
A HUMBLE COMrANION. 
 
 123 
 
 gleaming, glittering, blue water, the tidy 
 cottage overshadowed by the giant pine, 
 and grew sick and faint at the contrast. 
 I . paused before one of the houses, and 
 said: "She is dead; you might as well 
 expect to find here the wind-flower of 
 the woods." But there were children 
 there — dirty, scrofulous, pale-faced, little 
 creatures ; and, on a window-ledge, away 
 up near the roof of one of these houses, 
 was a pot, containing some kind of plant. 
 Children and flowers, but, dear Heaven, 
 what a new sense of the possibilities of 
 life I gained during that walk! The 
 sight of these gave me courage, and I 
 pushed on until I stood before the house 
 bearing the number I sought. A slat- 
 ternly-looking woman opened the door, 
 and, in answer to my inquiry, directed 
 me to the "third floor, front." I gave a 
 glance of dismay at the filthy stairs, whicli 
 seemed but a continuation of the street, 
 but, with Birdie so near, I was not to be 
 turned back. I ascended rapidly, and 
 knocked at the number which the woman 
 had indicated. A voice said, " Come 
 in," but the tone was so nnlike the glee- 
 ful one I remembered, that I hesitated, 
 and opened the door very carefully. But 
 there she stood, the darling, and as I put 
 back my veil, and walked forward to 
 meet her, I saw a flash of surprise steal 
 over her face; her drooping eyelids 
 raised wide with wonder, just as was her 
 wont when Uncle Steve told some tale 
 more marvellous than any that had gone 
 before, and the next instant she was in 
 my arms, her face buried on my shoulder, 
 crying : 
 
 "OLina— Lina!" 
 
 I could have wept also, but I knew 
 that would not do ; so I half carried her 
 across the room, no great distance, to a 
 miserable old lounge, and let her weep, 
 while I began to give an account of my 
 endeavors to find her ; I hardly knew or 
 cared what I said, so that it calmed and 
 diverted her mind from the direction I 
 knew it must have taken. 
 
 At last she lifted her head, but, with- 
 
 out the slightest eflfort to move otherwise, 
 said : 
 
 " I must cry, Lina ; I am so glad, you 
 can't think how glad, to see you ! It re- 
 minds me so of Uncle Steve and the dear 
 old days! " 
 
 "Yes, they were indeed dear old 
 days," I said, involuntarily. 
 
 Again her head was laid on my shoul- 
 der, but it was as quickly raised, and, 
 dashing away her tears, she said, quickly : 
 
 " You must not think, because I cry, 
 that I'm not happy, Lina. Of course, I 
 am, and ought to be, but it's so difibrent. 
 One can never be a child but once, and I 
 suppose that's what makes one feel so 
 sad when thinking about it." 
 
 She withdrew from my arms, and sat 
 erect with a little attempt at wisdom and 
 dignity, which poorly hid from my eyes 
 the little trembling heart ; but now, for 
 the first time, I got a full view of her 
 face. It was fair, sweet, childish, lova- 
 ble still, but thinner and f>aler, and there 
 was a shadow about her eyes, and a 
 tremulous curve to her lip, that con- 
 vinced me that something more than re- 
 grets for a vanished childhood had been 
 at work within. I took this in at a 
 glance, for I could not bear that she 
 should suspect my thoughts, while I 
 asked : 
 
 "How do you busy yourself. Birdie? 
 Have you made many acquaintances ? " 
 
 " Ko ; some people whom Henry knew 
 called here, and we have been out a few 
 times, but city people seem different from 
 those I knew at home ; besides, I haven't 
 cared to go out much, lately. I haven't 
 been very well." 
 
 "Well, now I am in the city, I shall 
 look after you," I said, cheerfully, for the 
 attempt at matronly dignity was all gone, 
 and in its place a look of weariness that 
 made me inexpressibly sad. "Do you 
 like boarding ? " 
 
 " 'No ; I would rather keep house, and 
 we mean to as soon as Henry can find 
 suitable rooms — such as we can afford to 
 take, for rent is so high here, Lina." 
 
124 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. But if you 
 could keep house, you would liave more 
 to occupy you, though I suppose Mr. 
 Heath spends all his leisure with you, 
 now." P 
 
 It was a home question, I knew, hut 
 I must know something of this hus- 
 hand. 
 
 " Oh, yes — ^that is, when he can. But 
 he is very much confined, poor fellow, 
 and when he has a leisure evening it 
 seems hard to keep him cooped up hei»(. 
 Men can't content themselves as easily 
 as we do ; hesides, I am afraid I am some- 
 times stupid, especially of late — you 
 know, I never was remarkahly hright, 
 dear — hut, hy-and-by, I suppose — I be- 
 lieve, we shall have something to keep 
 us both busy." 
 
 The blushing face was again hidden, 
 and the blush and the action more sig- 
 nificant than the words. 
 
 She a mother ! I gave a glance around 
 the narrow room. I thought of the vile 
 street without, the nauseous smells and 
 vitiated atmosphere — of her loneiy life, 
 for her simple excuses could not deceive 
 me, if they did herself — and did not 
 wonder that she grew sick and faint, 
 thinking of dear Uncle Steve and the 
 clear blue sea. For some seconds I sat 
 with my arms folded closely about her 
 with a yearning wish to shelter her from 
 all sorrow and harm, before I could com- 
 mand my voice to say, firmly : 
 
 "Indeed, Birdie, is it so? Then I 
 must come to you so much the oftener. I 
 am so glad to be near you ! " 
 
 ISTow the face was raised, and, with a 
 still heightened color, and the light of a 
 new hope in her eyes, it had more the 
 look of my old pet's than before, and she 
 went on to say : 
 
 "And I'm so glad too, Lina ! I've 
 wanted some one to talk to so much, and 
 these women are all strangers. I s'pose 
 it's silly, I know Henry thinks it is, but 
 I cannot bear to talk to one of them 
 about this. But I shall feel better now. 
 It's almost like seeing Uncle Steve ; bet- 
 
 ter for me, I s'pose, though I'd give so \ 
 much to see him! " j 
 
 " When will he be home? " \ 
 
 "Il^ot until some time next faU. They 
 had some bad luck going out, and were ' 
 obliged to stop at some island — Madeira, 
 I believe — for repairs. Henry read it in 
 the newspaper. He is very careful to ! 
 look about the ships, because I am so ; 
 anxious." | 
 
 Sitting there together, we talked i 
 over old days, and much that had hap- 
 pened since. I told her that I had left -i 
 Oaklawn, and was residing in the city, ; 
 and she was too well pleased with the i 
 news to trouble me with questions. I 
 Steps were now heard on the stairs, and j 
 she started, turning her head Vv'ith a \ 
 bird-like motion toward the door, her j 
 whole face flushing with pleasure while 1 
 she listened. I 
 
 "It's Henry's step. Kow, you will | 
 see him, Lina! I am so glad he has 
 come so early." 
 
 She went to the door, flung it open, \ 
 but instantly recoiled and drew behind ■ 
 it when she saw that there were two I 
 men on the landing instead of one. They 
 saw the movement, for one of them made 
 some remark, at which the other laughed j 
 heartily as he entered the room, while ^ 
 the speaker passed on to the flight above. ; 
 But I heard his voice, and saw his face 
 before the door closed, and recognized j 
 them at once — it was Tom Hunt — older, 
 more bloated, and sensual-looking, if 
 possible, less flashily dressed, but that ' 
 face and voice were too deeply impressed 
 upon my memory for me to mistake them. 
 Something of my old, childish dread came 
 over me at the sight, and I sat staring at \ 
 the door, half expecting him to turn i 
 bacli and call out, " Little devil ! " with an . I 
 oath, as of old, while little Adeline stood \ 
 by my side, saying : 
 
 "Yes — Uncle Steve's Blackbird, he '' 
 used to tell you*about. — Lina, this is Hen- 
 ry. — He knows all about you, dear." I 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and he is very glad to 
 see you here," replied the husband, smil- ' 
 
A HUMBLE COMPANION. 
 
 125 
 
 ing, as I ros3 and gave liim mj hand. 
 " A fine time you two have had of it, no 
 doubt, talking over your old days. Ada, 
 here, thinks there is nothing in New- 
 York to compare with that bit of beach, 
 and the old shanty." 
 
 " O Henry ! It was the nice, fresh 
 air, and Uncle Steve I spoke of! You 
 are not quite fair." 
 
 "And I agree with- her, Mr. Heath," 
 I said; "for, as yet, I have seen nothing 
 in this great wilderness of houses that 
 will compare with the beauty and fresh- 
 ness of the Cove. So, you see, you have 
 two against you now, instead of one." 
 
 " And both ladies," he returned, with 
 a graceful boAV. " I hope, however, your 
 judgment is not formed from this locality. 
 Ada and I are going to get out of it as 
 soon as we can. — Ada, dear, will you see 
 if my cigar-case is not on the shelf? I 
 forgot it this morning," he added, loung- 
 ing indolently into a chair. 
 
 Birdie found and brought the missing 
 case, while he went on to speak to me 
 of the city and my residence in it. 
 
 I replied courteously but cautiously, 
 and, in the mean time, had a good view 
 of his face. It was what would gen- 
 erally be called handsome; the features 
 were regular, the hair soft and curling, 
 complexion smooth and fair, but the 
 brown eye wa^blank and shallow, the 
 smooth, narrow Tporehead wore no look 
 of thought or power, the straight nose 
 no energy, the small mouth and short chin 
 no firmness or self-control — the whole 
 impression was weak, and, the more I 
 studied it, the more that impression 
 was confirmed ; and, while fully appre- 
 ciating the attractions that had charmed 
 little Adeline, as they wonld most any 
 other young girls of like knowledge of the 
 world, I trembled for her future. He 
 would be the foot-ball of circumstance, 
 and how soiled and broken miffht her 
 plumage be in the race ! 
 
 Promising to come again soon, and 
 urging her to come to see me, I took 
 my leave. Mr. Heath offered to walk 
 
 with me as far as Broadway, and, to please 
 her, I accepted the offer. 
 
 More than once, while I sat there, I 
 had been tempted to ask about Tom Hunt, 
 but the memory of the look on little Ad- 
 eline's face, when she drew back behind 
 the door, withheld me ; but, as soon as wo 
 were in the street, I put the question. 
 
 " Yes ; it was Tom. His family live 
 in Broome Street, near Centre." 
 
 " Have you known him long ? " 
 
 "Well, for some time. I was in a 
 saloon where he was employed at one 
 time ; I believe he had formerly been the 
 proprietor, but got into some trouble, 
 and was obliged to sell out." 
 
 That was enough. I did not wish to 
 excite his curiosity, so turned the con- 
 versation upon Uncle Steve, of whom he 
 spoke in the warmest terms. As we 
 turned into Broadway, we passed two 
 very showily-dressed girls, who bowed 
 to my companion, and stared boldly at 
 my closely-veiled face. Mr. Heatli 
 seemed annoyed at their rudeness, for he 
 walked more rapidly, saying : " That 
 black-eyed girl was Tom Hunt's daughter, 
 Fan. An impudent girl, as you see." 
 
 So that was the girl for whose long 
 curls and gay dresses I had almost for- 
 gotten my Ollie ! There was something 
 ominous to me in the connection of these 
 people with little Adeline's husband, and 
 I was glad when he left me. 
 
 It was near the hour of dinner when 
 I reached home, and I hurriedly changed 
 my dress and arranged my hair, to be in 
 time for Miss Annesley's table, for I still 
 continued to take my meals with her. 
 
 She made some inquiries about my 
 walk, remarked that I looked fatigued 
 and must rest myself upon the sofa, for 
 Miss Grace Lloyd was here to dinner, 
 and was coming up to play for her. She 
 wanted me to hear her ; she played and 
 sung so beautifully. 
 
 " Better than Miss Lloyd ? " I asked ; 
 for I had often leaned over the balustrade, 
 when there was company below, to listen 
 to Miss Lloyd's brilliant playing, or to 
 
126 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 her riclj, powerful, perfectly-trained mez- 
 zo-soprano voice, mingling with the bass 
 of some gentleman guest. I noticed that 
 she never played save on such occasions, 
 but, as Miss Annesley said of her reading, 
 " she did every thing well." 
 
 "IsTo, not as well," she replied, "none 
 but a professed artist could; but Julia 
 does not like to, unless she has some one 
 to accompany her. Grace is always 
 ready to oblige one, and has always 
 something new for me. She is a charm- 
 ing girl." 
 
 "When the young lady came running 
 up -stairs after dinner, I felt the truth of 
 Miss Annesley's words ; she was charm- 
 ing ; quite a contrast to her mother and 
 sister — a blonde, with a jjrofusion of 
 light, wavy hair ; small, but regular fea- 
 tures ; childlike, naive manners, and no 
 hint of the hauteur of mother or sister, 
 save in an occasional curve of the lips. 
 She bowed when Miss Annesley an- 
 nounced my name, and chatted on with 
 her old friend, until the latter pointed 
 significantly to the piano which stood in 
 the room. 
 
 She played well — some things which I 
 had heard worn out at Oaklawn — others 
 less hackneyed, especially some of Schu- 
 bert's "Songs without "Words," which 
 were delicious as morning dreams. Pres- 
 ently Mrs. Lloyd and Miss Julia came up, 
 and the music at once became a lesson. 
 Miss Lloyd seated herself near the win- 
 dow with the air of 6ne who expected to 
 be bored, but at every other bar ob- 
 served, without turning her head : " You 
 take that altogether too fast, child," or, 
 "That is not the expression at all," or, 
 "Is that a dirge, Grace? One would 
 suppose so from your manner of playing 
 it " — until the young girl arose and pet- 
 tishly declared that " Julia should play 
 herself." 
 
 Miss Annesley drew the pouting girl 
 down beside her, and, turning to Miss 
 Lloyd, seconded her request, but the lady 
 excused herself, saying that they knew 
 she " needed the excitement of a room 
 
 full of company to make playing any 
 thing but a bore." 
 
 " Then this young lady must play," 
 said Miss Grace, turning to me, " I am de- 
 termined that some one shall amuse me." 
 
 Mrs. Lloyd said "Grace!" in her 
 most imperative tone, and Miss Julia's 
 lip curled satirically, as she said, with a 
 sneer: "She doubtless would. That is 
 quite a bright thought, Grace." 
 
 Tranquil Miss Annesley saw nothing 
 but an opportunity for me to do credit to 
 myself, and said, eagerly : 
 
 "Yes, Miss Kay plays very well in- 
 deed." (I had sometimes practised a lit- 
 tle when I knew the Lloyds were out.) 
 "Will you oblige us, dear ? " 
 
 I had won self-possession, if nothing 
 else, since the old days when Miss Harriet 
 Hart's stare and rustling dress could con- 
 fuse me ; and, regardless of the smile that 
 still curved Miss Lloyd's lips, I sat down 
 at the piano, and began the prelude to 
 the old Scotch song that I had found ly- 
 ing open on Miss Helen Cavendish's piano 
 at the Pines— "The Scottish Widow's 
 Lament." I had studied that music thor- 
 oughly, and now, as I sung, memories of 
 the days when I first saw it came over 
 me — thoughts of all that had happened 
 since — and the sorrows and loneliness 
 of my own life — were mingled with the 
 touching pathos of the bereaved wife and 
 mother. 
 
 When I ceased, there was silence for 
 a second, which Miss Grace Lloyd broke 
 with school-girl impulsiveness. 
 
 " O mamma, isn't that lovely ? So 
 sweet and sad! And she sings it fine- 
 ly! I must learn it — indeed, I must. 
 It is better than all the waltzes ever 
 written." 
 
 Miss Julia never turned her head, 
 but sat waving her fan (it was a warm 
 spring day), but the mother said, reprov- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Grace, when will you learn that 
 repose and quiet self-possession which 
 mark the manners of a lady ? I did hop© 
 that, under Madame Ohegary's training, 
 
A HUMBLE COMPANIOK 
 
 127 
 
 you would overcome your tendency to 
 exaggeration." 
 
 Grace pouted and blushed, while I 
 arose and resumed my former seat. As 
 I passed Miss Annesley, she said : 
 
 "Thank you, my dear.. That song 
 has brought back the light of many a 
 vanished summer. — Cousin Lloyd, you 
 remember Helen Cavendish ? You met 
 her here about the time of your marriage. 
 That song was her favorite, and she sung 
 it as no one else could." 
 
 " Yes, I remember her well. What 
 did I hear happened to her or her broth- 
 er?" 
 
 "Helen was insane, or partially so, 
 for several years before her death, which 
 occurred about a year ago." 
 
 " And her brother — is he living ? I 
 remember him as quite a distinguished 
 man — wealthy, too, I believe." 
 
 "Eothsay Cavendish died three 
 months since, quite suddenly, at the 
 Astor House. They are all gone now, 
 not one of the name living." 
 
 Miss Annesley's eyes were full of 
 tears, but Mrs. Lloyd went on in her ex- 
 cathedra manner : 
 
 " The extinction of our families of 
 wealth and distinction is not only very 
 sad, but a positive wrong against society. 
 Mr. Cavendish should have married as a 
 matter of duty toward his class, if not 
 for himself. "What disposition did he 
 make of his property ? " 
 
 " He gave it by will to the children 
 of a distant relative — a person of the 
 name of Ellis, I think. The family is 
 very respectable, I hear." 
 
 " "Why, they must be the EUises of 
 Oaklawn! " said Grace Lloyd, opening 
 wide her blue eyes. " It was a Mr. Cav- 
 endish who left them quite a fortune not 
 long since. You remember, mamma, I 
 told you Fanny Pyncheon was engaged 
 to a Mr. Ellis ? But the queerest thing 
 has happened ! Sophie Pyncheon wrote 
 mo about it last week. I should have 
 forgotten to tell you, if Cousin Anne had 
 not mentioned that name." 
 
 " Docs Madame Chegary teach her 
 pupils to use such words as queer^ 
 Grace ? " asked Miss Julia, sternly. 
 
 " "Well, strange, then ! " returned the 
 little beauty, too eager to respond to Miss 
 Annesley's — " What is it, pet ? " to be an- 
 gry. 
 
 I did not need to ask. I knew what 
 was coming, but I closed the book of en- 
 gravings, which I had been ostensibly 
 looking over, and sat with folded arms, 
 curious to know what the world said of 
 the affair. 
 
 " Why, Sophie says the old gentleman 
 left them all his property, that is, to Ed- 
 ward, Fanny's suitor, and his sister; but 
 there was something said in the will 
 about a brother, who died abroad a great 
 many years ago, when quite a boy. It 
 was a mere matter of form, the lawyers 
 say — a whim of the old gentleman's. 
 But, what should one of the teachers 
 (Mrs. Ellis the mother conducts a semi- 
 nary for young ladies-) do — a poor girl, a 
 pauper, Sophie says, whom Mrs. Ellis 
 took and educated out of charity — but 
 step forward and claim to be the daugh- 
 ter of that dead brother and the heir ! " 
 
 " What unparalleled impudence ! " ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Lloyd. " I hope they sent 
 her back to the almshouse where she 
 came from, or, what is better, gave her 
 into the hands of the officers of justice ! " 
 
 " I don't see why you should be sur- 
 prised at any thing from people of that 
 sort, ma'am ; after your experience with 
 our governesses, I should think you 
 would be prepared for any thing. I am. 
 They are a needy, artful, unscrupulous 
 class, and this one only acted out her 
 true character ! " said Miss Julia, whisk- 
 ing a fly from her fresh spring silk with 
 her fan. 
 
 " Grace laughed. Ay, Julia- never 
 can forgive Miss Littell, my governess, 
 
 for marrying Senator E . It was a 
 
 real romance, Cousin Anne ! " 
 
 Miss Julia bit her lips, and shot a 
 glance of anger at the laughing girl ; the 
 mother gave her one of her blackest 
 
128 
 
 KIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 frowns ; but Miss Annesley, "unmindful of 
 their displeasure, said, thoughtfully : 
 
 " It is barely possible that what this 
 teacher asserts may be true ; for Philip 
 Cavendish, though very young, was not a 
 mere boy when he left the country, and 
 there was a rumor of his marriage at the 
 time. I have heard Ealph Saville speak 
 of it. — But go on, dear. "What came of 
 it?" 
 
 " The girl, I believe, had a document 
 which gave some color to her story, and 
 there was an old housekeeper who said 
 Mr. Cavendish acknowledged her as his 
 niece in her presence, before he died, 
 and there was talk of a compromise, for 
 the Ellises are very honorable people ; but 
 the girl showed out what she was by 
 running away in the night, after trying 
 to bribe an elder half-brother of Edward 
 Ellis to marry her." 
 
 There was James Sancroft's trail ! I 
 might have smiled at the absurdity of his 
 report, if I had not known that Edward 
 Ellis himself must have told it to Fanny 
 Pyncheon, whose grace and beauty I 
 had often heard him describe. He must 
 have believed it — Mrs. Ellis believed it — 
 and these ladies believed it ! This was 
 mj guerdon for renunciation, suffering, 
 loneliness, and toil. They had not told 
 of the coldness, mistrust, and suspicion; 
 the changed looks and degrading insinu- 
 ations, that made my life there, on their 
 terms, intolerable ! I was poor, there- 
 fore dishonest ; homeless, therefore base 
 and unwomanly; friendless, therefore 
 any thing in the shape of a man with 
 friends and family, or, for aught I knew, 
 without them, might slander me with 
 impunity ! And this was civilization in 
 the nineteenth century ! 
 
 Is it strange that I paid little heed to 
 the remainder of the tale — " the shock 
 the creature's ingratitude " had given to 
 Mrs. Ellis's nerves ; the disinterestedness 
 of herself and son in trying to trace the 
 fugitive — the probable postponement of 
 Edward's marriage, or the emphatic de- 
 nunciations of " such baseness " by Mrs. 
 
 Lloyd, echoed faintly by gentle Miss An- 
 nesley ; the eloquent shrug of Miss Julia's 
 shoulders — but sat recalling some words 
 of Mr. Ealph Annesley's uttered long ago, 
 by the Cedar Pond, about the children 
 of the Hindoo women, and the river 
 Ganges ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 AT HIGHCLIFF. 
 
 "We are at Highcliff once more, enjoy- 
 ing the fair miracles of sunrise and sun- 
 set, with still delicious noontides be- 
 tween. Yf e are alone, for the Lloyds are 
 going to Saratoga ; Miss Julia has carried 
 her point, and they are whiling away the 
 time, before the season commences, with 
 some friends on the banks of the Hud- 
 son, somewhat to my mistress's disap- 
 pointment. The father of these young 
 ladies had been her favorite cousin, and 
 she had transferred her affection to his 
 children after his death. Her love for 
 them completely, as it seemed, blinded 
 her to Miss Julia's arrogant, overbearing 
 spirit, or perhaps it did not seem out of 
 place in one of her position, for she could 
 not be expected to see it from the stand- 
 point of the poor companion. 
 
 But her disappointment was soon ef- 
 faced by the sunshine and fresh air, and 
 she spent hours in the garden, some- 
 times leaning on my arm, for she was 
 now able to walk with a little assistance, 
 or seated in her garden-chair, beneath 
 the great peach-tree at the end of the 
 alley, planning the arrangement of flow- 
 er-beds, and overlooking the labors of 
 Peter's boy, Jim, her m.aid Jane, and my- 
 self. Sometimes, Peter and one of the 
 men gave us their assistance, and, by 
 midsummer, the old garden was a wil- 
 derness of beauty — old-fashioned beauty 
 — for there were the flowers my mistress 
 had loved and tended in her youth — 
 white lilies, sweet-williams, larkspurs, 
 columbines, marigolds, pinks in endless 
 varieties, roses of all colors, sweet-scent- 
 
AT HIGHCLIFF. 
 
 129 
 
 ed shrubs, lilacs, sjringas, Guelder roses, 
 lIo\7ering almonds, with beds of thyme, 
 mignonette, summer savory, and fennel, 
 all bordered by the evergreen, ever fresh- 
 looking box, thick hedges of which 
 screened the lawn from the country road, 
 and lined the walks about the grounds. 
 This was a new feature to mo ; all that I 
 had seen of this shrub before had been 
 the small, dust-colored specimens divid- 
 ing the mathematically-drawn flower- 
 beds in some city yard, as unlike this 
 strong, green, stalwart thing as possible ; 
 and these hedges were to me a constant 
 source of delight, standing up so firm, and 
 strong, and undaunted, defying summer's 
 heat and winter's cold. 
 
 But a word about Highciiif. It was 
 nothing more than a large, well-built, 
 old-fashioned farm-house, standing on a 
 plateau of some acres in extent, about 
 half-way up a ridge of hills, that encircle 
 the town of Bedford. It faced the 
 south, and, from the front windows, or 
 the long piazza, the eye ranged over 
 ground famous in the annals of the Rev- 
 olution, until it rested on a long line of 
 hazy blue, which my heart leaped to see, 
 for it was the distant water of Long- 
 Island Sound. Behind the house rose 
 the hills, not high enough to be dignified 
 by the name of mountains, but rough 
 and steep, and almost perpendicular in 
 some places, seamed by deep ravines, at 
 the bottom of which gurgled and dashed 
 swift mountain-brooks, which united in 
 the plain below, and rolled onward to 
 mingle their waters with that of the 
 sound. 
 
 Immediately back of the house was 
 an orchard, beyond an open meadow ; 
 then a piece of woodland, where the flat 
 ceased, and the ground began to ascend, 
 until it terminated in a high ledge or cliflf 
 of rock, which overhung one of these 
 swift streams. This, I presume, gave the 
 place its name. On the top of this cliff 
 stood a tower, now evidently going to 
 decay, and, a few yards beyond, the re- 
 mains of a rustic bridge that had once 
 9 
 
 spanned the gorge. Its place was now 
 supplied by a stout plank. The tower 
 was locked, but the view from the cliff 
 was much more extensive and beautiful 
 than that from the house, for, on the 
 northwest, far over the Croton, loomed 
 the summits of the Highlands, Sugar-loaf, 
 Crow's-Nest, Dunderberg, and the rest 
 of the Titans ; while to the south, like a 
 line of silver, gleamed the waters of Tap- 
 pan Bay. On the north was Bedford, 
 nestled amid the hills, and surrounded 
 by countless villages and farms. 
 
 I questioned old Peter about the tow- 
 er and bridge one day, and he told me 
 they had been built by old Mr. Annesley, 
 Highcliff having been his favorite resi- 
 dence. 
 
 *' Times are changed, miss, since the 
 old master's day," he said, leaning on his 
 hoe amid the hills of corn, where I had 
 joined him. " Then, at this season, the 
 house was full of company, and the sta- 
 bles full of horses. He was a master- 
 man for horses; you should have seen a 
 pair of bays he used to drive. An'a^ 
 mighty particular man he was, too ! Lit- 
 tle went on here that he did not see, for 
 all he was so fond o' sittin' perched up 
 in the old tower yonder." 
 
 "Isn't the present owner a good mas- 
 ter?" 
 
 " Mr. Ealph ? Yes, miss, some would 
 call him better'n his father, for that mat- 
 ter, for he's seldom here, and mighty 
 easy when he does come. But I like to 
 have the master here, to see what's 
 done." 
 
 " I would like to go into that tower, 
 Have you the key ? " 
 
 "Yes, it's at the house, and if Misa 
 Annesley don't object ; but nobody hai 
 been there for years but Mr. Ealph. He 
 fitted up the lower room, some years 
 ago, in the trouting-season. But you 
 must ask the mistress." 
 
 I did, and received at once the per- 
 mission I craved ; and I spent many an 
 hour in the upper room of the old tower, 
 reading or dreaming dreams as little 
 
130 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 likely to l)e realized as those wMcli used 
 to float through my brain in the whortle- 
 berry-pastures of Bradshaw ; picturing a 
 life, not devoid of trials and sorrows, but 
 so replete with all that mine had lacked, 
 that it set my heart to throbbing, until 
 reason came, and, half in anger, half in 
 grief, made me blush for my own folly. 
 
 I was happy here, even if I did build 
 chateaux en Espagne altogether too costly 
 for the child of the almshouse ; happier 
 than I had ever been, since those child- 
 ish visits to the Cove, for I had books 
 and leisure, and, better than all, was 
 treated as an equal, a companion, by my 
 mistress, in the truest sense of the word. 
 Indeed, in intellectual culture, I was Miss 
 Annesley's superior, and my mind trav- 
 elled leagues while hers -only beat round 
 and rou.nd the old accustomed track. 
 This was unfortunate for me, for I needed 
 some one to guide if not share my life of 
 thought ; and, to tell the truth, much as 
 I admired and appreciated the gentle 
 goodness and benevolence of my mistress, 
 there were times wl;en it affected me as 
 did the " Life of Payson " in my childhood. 
 It was good, but I wanted something less 
 negative, something that had doubted, 
 and struggled, and overcome. 
 
 One thing troubled me. I heard 
 nothing from little Adeline Heath. She 
 never called at Bleecker Street ; and, 
 v/hen I went to tell her of our removal 
 to Highcliff, she was out with her hus- 
 band. Since then, I had written to her 
 twice and received no rej)ly. I persuad- 
 ed myself that she had gone to the Cove, 
 perhaps, or to visit her husband's friends, 
 and looked forward to a happy meeting 
 in the autumn, glad to think that, when 
 her hour of trial came. Uncle Steve and 
 I should both be near her. 
 
 I often spent some hours in the kitch- 
 en, where Miss Annesley and Katty 
 Brown, old Peter's wife, held long dis- 
 cussions on the best methods of pickling 
 and preserving. One morning, when I 
 entered, I found old Peter talking to 
 Miss Annesley about some one whom he 
 
 had heard was very ill, "nigh to her 
 end," as he expressed it. My mistress 
 was much concerned, for she kept flut- 
 tering her hands about nervously, and 
 saying : 
 
 " Poor thing ! What will become of 
 her ? Tvf children, did you say ? " 
 
 "Yes; an' the girl's big enough to 
 help some, an' there's an old woman 
 there, some relation, they say, that takes 
 care of her, but they be poorly off, I 
 reckon, an' it's a long way from neigh- 
 bors." 
 
 " You and Katty must drive up there, 
 Peter. "We must not let them suffer." 
 
 "Drive, miss! I doubt if a wagon 
 can be driven there, unless you go clean 
 round by Bedford. The road on this 
 side was all torn to pieces by the great 
 March storm, and has never been mended 
 at all. If 'twas a rainy day, I could foot 
 it up there, or maybe ride old Bony part 
 of the way — but it^s a fine hay-day, 
 miss." 
 
 A fine hay-day was sacred from all 
 outside interruptions with old Peter, and, 
 as he turned doggedly away, I inquired 
 who needed help, and if I could be of 
 any assistance. 
 
 " A "Widow Joyce, who lives on the 
 top of the ridge yonder, where you see 
 those tall Lombardy poplars. She was a 
 servant in the family years ago, and 
 Peter heard in town, to-day, that she is 
 very ill. I am afraid they will suffer." 
 
 " I will go up there, if you please. I 
 can easily walk there and back lieforo 
 night." 
 
 "You, child? "Why, it's m.ore than 
 four miles ! " 
 
 " That's nothing, ma'am. I have of- 
 ten walked farther than that since I came 
 here. I like to walk." 
 
 It was decided that I should go, and, 
 to avoid the heat of the day, I set off im- 
 mediately, with the lad Jim for a guide, 
 and the poplars for a landmark. , I am 
 not sure that the boy did not diverge 
 from the direct path, occasionally, to 
 show me where the crows built their 
 
AT HIGHCLIFF. 
 
 131 
 
 nests, or some deep, still pool, famous for 
 trout, but we reached our destination in 
 time, and, leaving him to amuse himself 
 outside, I entered the house. 
 
 A -vvoman who was stirring something 
 over the fire, heard mj step, and, without 
 turning her head, said, in a low tone : 
 
 "Be quiet, Jenny, for she's asleep." 
 
 I started, looked at her a second to be 
 sure I was not mistaken, then crossed the 
 floor lightly, and, laying my hand on her 
 shoulder, said, in the same low tone : 
 
 "It's not Jenny, but don't be fright- 
 ened, Alice dear." 
 
 She sprang up, stared at me in aston- 
 ishment for a few moments, then clung 
 to me, sobbing : 
 
 " O my child, Master Philip's child ! 
 Then you didn't go away to die like him, 
 as I feared? Thank God, I see you 
 again ! " 
 
 I made her sit down, and briefly ex- 
 plained where I was, and why I had left 
 Oaklawn, as I did, without seeing her. 
 She shook her head mournfully, saying : 
 
 "It was just like your father, child. 
 One who knew him and them, would 
 need no other proof of your birth. But 
 it wasn't right. I don't think Mr. Eoth- 
 say would have liked it." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Alice, but it's done, 
 and I must depend on you to keep my 
 secret. You must be more careful than 
 you were with James Sancroft." 
 
 "Did he say I told him? — the false 
 knave! " she exclaimed, flushing up as I 
 had never seen her before. 
 
 "He certainly led me to think so, but 
 it's no matter now, Alice." 
 
 "Yes it is. Miss Lina," she replied, 
 " because it is not the truth. I promised 
 you not to tell, and I didn't ; but I could 
 not tell a lie, and when he came there 
 and asked in so many words if you 
 were 'Master Philip's child,' I said noth- 
 ing. But when he spoke slightingly of 
 Mr. Eothsay, I told him he might find 
 out yet that he and his wasn't as crazy 
 as he thought." 
 
 Again I made her promise to keep 
 
 my secret, and drew from her some ac- 
 count of herself and Oaklawn. 
 
 As soon as she heard I had left Oak- 
 lawn, she went down there and had an 
 interview with Mrs. Ellis. She told her 
 all that had been said at the Pines on the 
 evening of the discovery of the certificate, 
 and assured them that I was "Master 
 Philip's child." But she had no proof 
 to ofier ; she could not be made to see 
 that my sudden and secret departure 
 proved me an impostor, and she returned 
 home with a heavier heart than when 
 she left. 
 
 A few weeks later, Mr. Sancroft told 
 her that the executors wished to close 
 the house, that the annuity left herself 
 and Mark would be paid them regularly, 
 and she could have a home with his 
 mother as long as she pleased. But she 
 could not serve strangers, least of all 
 them ; and Mr. Edward Ellis, the best of 
 them all, had himself brought her to New 
 York — ^her and old N"ep. 
 
 " Nep ! "What did you do with him ? " 
 
 " Left him at Mr. Spencer's office ; I 
 think he wanted him." 
 
 "And Mark?" 
 
 "Went to live with his son in 
 H ." 
 
 So the cottage was deserted — shut up. 
 Weil, what did it matter ? They would 
 have the wealth, I the love of an old 
 woman and a dog ; but I felt rich and 
 glad. 
 
 I explained my errand, and learned 
 that her niece was suffering from a low 
 fever, brought on by overwork and ex- 
 posure. She was better, and would be 
 proud that the family at Highcliff re- 
 membered her, though, thank Heaven, 
 through Mr. Eothsay 's kindness, she her- 
 self could make them comfortable now. 
 
 I saw the girl Jenny, a rosy-cheeked 
 lass of twelve ; but the boy had gone to 
 IsTew York with his uncle, who had just 
 returned from a long voyage. 
 
 I had brought a basket containing 
 things likely to tempt the appetite of an 
 invalid; and, when Mrs. Joyce awoke, I 
 
132 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 went in to see her, and assured her of 
 Miss Annesley's syrapathj. She seemed 
 mnch pleased, and thanked me warmly 
 for coming. 
 
 Leaving Jenny with her mother, and 
 sending Jim (whom I found on his hands 
 and knees, by the spring beneath the 
 poplars, watching for frogs) ahead, Alice 
 and I walked down the hill. She kept 
 on until she could see the chimneys and 
 gables of High cliff house, when she 
 stopped and said, with a sigh : 
 
 "Many a time have I been there 
 with the children, in the old days, and 
 I'm glad to know that you are there now, 
 though it's little I ever thought that Mas- 
 ter Philip's child would live there as 
 a—" 
 
 " Servant? " I said, seeing her hesi- 
 tate, " but, as you say, I am glad to be 
 there — twice glad, now I know you are 
 here. I shall come up here often ; but, 
 remember, I am Miss Lina — Lina Eay, 
 now." 
 
 " Have you given up the name ? They 
 said you kept it." 
 
 " Only for the present. As soon as 
 I have earned money enough, I am going 
 "West, to find, if possible, the proof of 
 my right to bear it." 
 
 "Go now! Take my money! Indeed, 
 we can do without it — we need so little 
 here." 
 
 " 1^0, Alice, at least not now ; but if 
 ever I do need help, be sure I shall come 
 to you ; " and, kissing her cheek, I said 
 " Good-by," and ran down the hill. 
 
 I soon overtook my guide, and, glad- 
 dened by this meeting with old Alice, 
 and invigorated by my day among the 
 •hills, I ran races with the boy across 
 the open fields, and enjoyed them, too, 
 with a zest which the Oaklawn teacher 
 would hardly have thought possible six 
 months before. 
 
 " I am going over the cliff, Jim ; I want 
 to see the sunset," I said, as we drew 
 near home. 
 
 " Then, I'm going, too, and I know 
 who'll get to the bridge first." 
 
 He passed me like an arrow, while I 
 followed leisurely, in time to see him 
 stumble when within a few feet of the 
 bridge, and fall headlong. Thinking he 
 might be hurt, I ran forward, but sprang 
 back at the fierce growl of a large dog 
 that came bounding over the rocks. I 
 called to the boy to know if he was hurt, 
 but he was already on his feet, and, run- 
 ning to my side, pointed to the bridge, 
 saying : 
 
 " See, miss ! — it's the master, Mr, 
 Ealph." 
 
 A rapid glance showed me that he 
 was right, but I had no time to look, for, 
 at the sound of my voice, the dog, who 
 had planted himself at the end of the 
 plank, as if to prevent us from trespassing 
 on his master's privacy, sprang forward, 
 and came fawning around me, uttering 
 low cries of joyful recognition. It was 
 Neptune — old Nep, of the Pines, and with 
 difiiculty I repressed the answering cry 
 of delight that rose to my lips. As it 
 was, I could not afford, save by a mute 
 caress, or some softly-uttered words, to 
 recognize even the love of my uncle's 
 dog, for fear it might betray me. Mis- 
 taking, as his words indicated, the cause 
 of my delay, the gentleman came across 
 the plank, saying : 
 
 " Down, Nep, down I — The dog will 
 not harm you. Is the lad much hurt ? " 
 
 ' ' Wot a bit, sir, " sp oke up, Jim . " "We 
 were running races. Miss Lina and me." 
 
 "Indeed! I was not aware that 
 young ladies of the present day practised 
 such classical feats. The dog's instincts 
 are keener, for he seems to appreciate an 
 accomplishment so much in his own line, 
 and desires to make friends. — Down, sir, 
 I say!" 
 
 I scarcely knew whether the smile 
 and tone were intended to be compliment- 
 ary or sarcastic, and I said bluntly, as I 
 moved toward the bridge : 
 
 "I thank him, for neither a dog's 
 friendship nor lightness of foot is to be 
 despised, to my thinking." 
 
 " Very true," he replied, with a quick 
 
RALPH ANNESLEY. 
 
 133 
 
 glance at my face ; then lie moved on by 
 my side, adding, by way of explanation : 
 *' This old plank looks hardly safe, even 
 for one who runs races. Let me go first 
 and try it with my heavier foot." 
 
 He stalked across the worm-eaten 
 plank, as if it were a matter of indiffer- 
 ence whether it held together or not, and 
 satisfying himself, by a glance, that Jim 
 and I had followed, ascended the rocks 
 in the direction of the tower. Presently 
 he paused, and stood looking over the 
 wide landscape, apparently forgetful of 
 our proximity, though we were obliged 
 to pass very near him, to gain the nar- 
 row foot-path which led to the wood 
 below, old N"ep running on before, and 
 the lad expatiating on the necessity of 
 his father's bridging the ravine " with a 
 first-rate, new plank," when the gentle- 
 man turned suddenly and asked : 
 
 " Who is your father, my lad ? " 
 
 " "Why, Peter Brown, Mr. Annesley I 
 Didn't you know me, sir? I know'd you 
 in a minit, I'm Jim, sir." 
 
 " Ay, I see now, and — " He paused, 
 but his glance had caught the boy's eye, 
 and, child-like, proud of having any thing 
 to tell, he went on : 
 
 " This is Miss Lina, sir. She came up 
 with Miss Annesley, and reads to her, 
 and helps us make garden and goes with 
 me to salt the sheep and bring the cows, 
 and — " 
 
 "Euns races," interrupted the mas- 
 ter, slightly lifting his hat at this intro- 
 duction. " Miss Annesley is fortunate in 
 possessing such a friend." 
 
 " Yon mistake, sir. I am only Miss 
 Annesley's hired companion." 
 
 "Ay, I forgot; a pleasant walk to 
 you," and with a grave bow he ascended 
 the steps that led to the tower; and I 
 hurried home, musing upon his sudden 
 appearance, and what it might portend 
 to me. 
 
 " He has come ! " said Miss Annesley, 
 whom I met in the hall in a flutter of 
 excitement — " Cousin Ralph, Miss Ray. 
 It is only for a few days, he says, but 
 
 what a pity the Lloyds are not here ! He 
 will find it so lonesome." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 RALPH ANNESLEY. 
 
 He did not seem to find it lonely, 
 however, even though the days ran into 
 weeks. At first, he was too busy over 
 accounts and matters connected with the 
 farm, to be dull, at least all the morn- 
 ings; and after dinner, as soon as the sun 
 began to decline, it became quite impos- 
 sible to go out for a walk without meet- 
 ing him on the rocks, or in the fields, or 
 catching a glimpse of him cantering 
 along the country roads, on a beautiful 
 bay horse which he had had sent up 
 from the city. He was seldom visible 
 in-doors, save at meal-time, and I con- 
 trived to avoid meeting him at the table 
 as often as possible, without seeming to 
 contravene Miss Annesley's expressed 
 wishes. 
 
 About a week after his arrival, I was 
 in my own room, making the most of 
 the last rays of sunlight to finish a 
 sketch of Widow Joyce's cottage, v^^hen 
 Miss Annesley, who had quite recovered 
 from the injury consequent upon heir 
 fall, came in, to say she expected me to 
 be down to tea punctually, Mr. Annesley 
 having asked for me at dinner. 
 
 "You need not be afraid, child," she 
 said, with a touch of her family pr'ide 
 (almost her only foible), slightly elevat- 
 ing her head, and stirring the delicate 
 lace that bordered her cap ; " Saville An- 
 nesley is a gentleman by birth and breed- 
 ing, and appreciates intelligence and hon- 
 est worth wherever he finds it. Smooth 
 your hair, and dress as quickly as you 
 can. That corn-colored lawn will do; 
 the shade is almost as becoming to you 
 as to Julia Lloyd." 
 
 The gentle lady hastened away, and I 
 thrust aside, from some undefined feel- 
 
134 
 
 KIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 ing wLicii I did not stay to analyze, the 
 pretty lawn, and put on a chambre of 
 neutral brown, and, thus apparelled, I 
 went down, and found the gentleman 
 discussing some proposed improvements 
 about the place, with my mistress. He 
 bowed slightly when she introduced 
 me, and went on speaking, while I took 
 a seat as far out of the range of his ob- 
 servation as possible. I might have 
 saved myself this precaution, however, 
 for he sat chatting with Miss Annesley, 
 quite unconscious of my presence, leav- 
 ing me ample time to study his face, 
 which had lost nothing of its imperious 
 character under the influence of a Paris- 
 ian winter. 
 
 "When the tea and candles were 
 brought in, I was obliged to come for- 
 ward and take my place at the table, 
 where my mistress, from behind the mas- 
 sive silver urn, still pursued her favorite 
 topic — ^the attractions of the Lloyds and 
 her regret at their absence — ^until her 
 sweet, monotonous voice, or perhaps it 
 was the subject, grew rather tiresome. 
 I think the gentleman's thoughts went 
 wool-gathering as well as mine, for, at 
 some direct question of hers, he roused 
 himself and said : 
 
 " The Lloyds, did you say ? I am glad 
 you find them such pleasant people, 
 cousin." 
 
 "Pleasant, Ealph! " she repeated, a 
 little piqued at his indifference. "You 
 should see Julia ! I do not believe, in all 
 your travels, you have ever met her su- 
 perior. Such a brilliant intellect, such 
 beauty, wit, and grace, such dignity! In- 
 deed, she is perfect." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," he returned, with a 
 look that reminded me of his face when 
 talking to Miss Agnes down by the Pond. 
 "Another proof that the world does 
 move, cousin, since we find so common 
 what Solomon with all his experience 
 pronounced so rare. But you always 
 see your friends through your heart, 
 Cousin Anne ; therefore, I will appeal to 
 a less prejudiced observer," He turned 
 
 suddenly to me. " Miss Eay, is Miss Julia 
 Lloyd very beautiful ? " 
 
 "She is very handsome, sir." 
 
 He gave me a quick glance. " Yon 
 discriminate, I see ; but, her mind — what 
 of that?" 
 
 " Yery brilliant, I should say," 
 
 "Manners?" 
 
 I could not help smiling at his cate- 
 gorical manner, as I replied : 
 
 "Miss Annesley has described them 
 as dignified — perfect." 
 
 "Humph! You are non-committal, 
 I see, Kow, about her moral qualities^ 
 Is she good?" 
 
 "Indeed, sir, I must decline answer- 
 ing. I know too little of the lady to de- 
 cide." 
 
 "Yet you answered my former que- 
 ries." 
 
 "Because those qualities are ad- 
 dressed to the eye, sir, and I am not 
 blind," 
 
 "Isfo, I perceive not. But you have 
 formed some opinion upon this subject, 
 which you do not choose to disclose." 
 
 "Upon what grounds do you base 
 that assertion, sir ? " I was getting a lit- 
 tle curious. 
 
 "Upon my skill in reading faces. 
 Yours is less cautious than your tongue. 
 Am I not right ? " 
 
 Here Miss Annesley came to my re- 
 lief with her "Indeed, Cousin Ealph — '* 
 but he immediately interrupted, with — 
 
 "Your pardon, Anne; but let Miss 
 Eay answer for herself. She has a 
 tongue, as well as eyes." 
 
 " But she is not obliged to use it at 
 your command," I thought. 
 
 He had not boasted of his skill in 
 reading faces idly, for my eye met his 
 as I looked up, and he answered, with a 
 smile, as if to my spoken words : 
 
 " True, she is not obliged to answer, 
 and I might have expressed myself in a 
 different manner. If I sometimes am 
 forgetful of the conventionalities and for- 
 malities of drawing-room speech, it is 
 not from lack of respect, Miss Eay, but 
 
RALPH ANNESLEY. 
 
 135 
 
 because a large portion of my life has 
 been passed in lands, and under circum- 
 stances, where the scriptural ' Go, and 
 he goeth,' is of much more practical 
 value. Will you accept this in excuse 
 for all such shortcomings? " 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 "And answer my question? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 His forehead contracted slightly, but 
 the next instant he smiled, as if at him- 
 self, and said: 
 
 "You are wilful. Miss Eay, and I 
 cion't like to be thwarted in the pursuit 
 of knowledge. But let it pass. I had a 
 reason for wishing to hear your opinion 
 of my cousin's guest. You needn't ask 
 why — I can be wilful too. I thought, 
 from what I saw of you the other day, 
 on the cliff, that you would speak the 
 truth." 
 
 " You met Lina on the cliff, Ealph ! — 
 Why, child, you never spoke of it," said 
 Miss Annesley, turning to me with a puz- 
 zled look. 
 
 "I met Mr. Annesley, the day ho ar- 
 rived here, on my way home from Widow 
 Joyce's. He was kind enough to stand 
 surety for his dog, which seemed inclined 
 to dispute our passage across the ravine. 
 I did not think it necessary to mention 
 it," I said, gravely. 
 
 " And the dog left me for her. Cousin 
 Anne. That fact, coupled with the 
 knowledge that she had been running 
 races among the hills with a lad who 
 might have been her familiar, led me to 
 scrutinize her closely. I fancied I had 
 stumbled upon a witch, that had strayed 
 across the line from Connecticut, where 
 they used to flourish — or, at least, a fairy 
 — for, when the lad spoke of her sheep- 
 tending, and cow-bringing habits, I re- 
 membered their sometime freaks of use- 
 fulness, and I thought one of the race 
 might Avell have a friendly feeling for 
 you, cousin. But, when I questioned 
 ' the creature, it answered in plain, prosaic 
 English. It was Miss Annesley's com- 
 panion, forsooth ! " 
 
 I was greatly amused at his serious 
 air, as well as Miss Annesley's perplexed 
 look. She caught at his closing sentence, 
 however ; it was, probably, the only one 
 she comprehended. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she said ; " Miss Eay 
 is my companion, my friend, rather, and 
 I have reason to thank Providence, every 
 day, for giving me such a one." 
 
 "Ah, but when I suggested friend,^'' 
 returned the gentleman, somewhat to 
 my annoyance, "the — well — I suppose I 
 must say i^erson, ignored the relation, 
 and said, expressly, Jiired companion." 
 
 "That's just like Lina. She is as 
 proud, in her v/ay, as Julia Lloyd is in 
 hers ; but she is never presuming." 
 
 " And Miss Lloyd is ? " He gave me 
 a look that said: "I shall get my an- 
 swer, after all." 
 
 "Presuming! Oh, no ; Miss Julia is 
 very independent, and that makes her, 
 sometimes, a little forgetful of thosp 
 around her. It is only natural, petted 
 and admired as she has been, and accus- 
 tomed to command from her cradle. I 
 have sometimes feared that Lina, not 
 knowing her well, might feel hurt, at 
 times, by her careless way of speaking, 
 but I see she does not, by her manner of 
 answering you. She is right, for no one 
 can, in a strict sense, be called good. It's 
 hardly polite for you to press her so hard, 
 Ealph." 
 
 "I have already explained to Miss 
 Eay that I am not what would be called 
 a polite man, cousin, and the young lady 
 has, doubtless, faults enough of her own, 
 to make her merciful to the shortcom- 
 ings of others." 
 
 He arose and took his newspaper, 
 leaving me to discuss, with my mistress, 
 the best method of preparing brandied 
 peaches. 
 
 For several succeeding days, I saw 
 little of.him. His arrival was the occa- 
 sion of numerous calls from the gentle- 
 men of the neighborhood. Then came 
 trouting expeditions to the hills, calls to 
 be returned, and long rides on Don, with 
 
136 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 only ISTep for a companion. Sometimes, 
 he had a v/ord, or a pleasant smile (and 
 his smile conld be very pleasant) for me, 
 when I chanced to meet him, but, more 
 frequently, he passed me with a nod, or 
 no sign of recognition at all. I was daily 
 convinced that I had acted wisely in re- 
 maining beneath his roof. I wondered 
 if he knew that Alice Boss was so near, 
 and determined to go to the Eidge as 
 soon as possible, to impress upon her the 
 increased necessity of keeping my secret. 
 
 But Miss Annesley was deep in the 
 mysteries of blackberry-jam that week, 
 and my presence was indispensable; be- 
 sides, a severe thunder-storm had changed 
 to a settled rain, which made the hill- 
 ^aths any thing but safe and comfortable 
 "walking. 
 
 One day, while I stood by the win- 
 dow, anxiously "seeking for a sign" of 
 fair weather, I saw Mr. Annesley, who 
 had ridden away the day before, come 
 dashing up the road at full speed. I 
 went up-stairs to bring down some draw- 
 ings which my mistress wished to see, 
 and, when I returned, encountered both 
 Mm and Nep in the hall, dripping with 
 water and bespattered with mud. He 
 smiled when he saw me, and called out, 
 gayly : 
 
 , " Don't be frightened, Miss Eay. 
 Nep and I have a fancy for racing some- 
 times, as well as yourself, and care as lit- 
 tle for a soaking as his namesake of old; 
 and we've caught it this time ! " 
 
 I was not disposed to grieve, for I 
 thought Miss Annesley would have am- 
 ple time to look over the drawings be- 
 fore he could change his*^ dress and join 
 us. I was mistaken. In what seemed to 
 me an incredibly short space of time, he 
 entered in fresh habiliments, and, loung- 
 ing into an arm-chair, began talking to 
 my mistress of some affairs in the city, 
 where, it seemed, he had spent the 
 night. 
 
 Interested in his conversation, she 
 forgot the drawings which I quietly laid 
 aside on the table behind her, and re- 
 
 sumed my netting. My movement did 
 not escape him, for presently he said : 
 
 "ISTow, Miss Eay, we will look at 
 those drawings, if you please." 
 
 I did not dare to refuse, though I 
 remembered with dismay that the little 
 sketch of the Cedar Pond was among 
 them. But he laid it aside with a pass- 
 ing glance, as he did most of the others, 
 until he came to some three or four in 
 which I had attempted to embody my 
 conceptions of some of the scenes in 
 Shelley's " Eevolt of Islam." These he 
 examined closely for some time before 
 he remarked : 
 
 "You have studied Shelley to some 
 purpose, it seems. Did you understand 
 that poem ? " 
 
 "Not wholly, but I liked it very 
 much." 
 
 " A woman's answer. I see you 
 liked it, or you never would have exe- 
 cuted these. The conception is good, and 
 the execution— passable, for a school-girl. 
 But who can hope to do justice to Shel- 
 ley ? You might as well attempt to seizo 
 the tremulous radiance of a star I Yon 
 have left the combatants " (lie had re- 
 turned to the sketch illustrating the 
 opening of the first canto) " ' a speck — a 
 cloud, a shape,' I observe, as the poet 
 first conceived them. Why did you not 
 represent them in their distinct forms — 
 
 ' An eagle and a serpeat "wreatlied in Sght f ' " 
 
 " I did try, but the effort satisfied me 
 still less than this." 
 
 "Very hkely," he returned, with one 
 of his quick, penetrating glances, " and 
 it's hardly to be regretted. What should 
 you, whose life has been as quiet as a 
 nun's, know of the fierce combats of 
 Good and Evil ? To you they are like 
 that cloudy shape. Let them remain so.'* 
 
 " But, if the battle-ground be within 
 the heart, it may rage as fiercely in the 
 nun's cell as the king's palace — may it 
 not, sir?" I was thinking of what Mr. 
 Cavendish had once said about temp- 
 tation. 
 
RALPH ANNESLEY. 
 
 137 
 
 He gave me another searching look 
 before he replied : 
 
 " Therefore, you would say that the 
 * power of circumstances,' which we 
 make the scape-goat for our false, wasted 
 lives, is but the subterfuge by which the 
 devil juggles us into self-complacency? " 
 
 "The inference is yours, sir — not 
 mine." 
 
 "But you believe it. I read it in 
 your eye. Are you as severe as you are 
 sententious, Miss Eay ? " 
 
 " I don't believe that Circumstance is 
 a god before whom men should sink su- 
 pinely, but rather an earth-born Titan 
 from whom he may wring a blessing, as 
 Jacob did at Penuel, if he will. As for 
 myself, I have, as you were pleased to 
 observe the other night, faults enough 
 of my own to make me humble." 
 
 He smiled. " You have a good mem- 
 ory, it seems, and, what is more rare, can 
 hear truth without losing your temper ; 
 a rare thing in a woman — ay, let us be 
 just — or, a man either." 
 
 " Show Mr. Annesley this, dear," said 
 Miss Annesley, handing over a sketch 
 she had been examining. "I think he 
 wiU be pleased with it." 
 
 "Ah, the Eidge and the old poplars ! 
 That reminds me, cousin, of another 
 thing I heard to-day. Spencer says that 
 Alice Eoss, Eothsay Cavendish's old 
 housekeeper, is living with Widow Joyce. 
 Have you heard or seen any thing of 
 her?" 
 
 " ITo, but I wonder I have not. I 
 remember her well. — Lina, you were at 
 the Eidge a few days since ; did you see 
 or hear of such a person? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " And I have been here a fortnight 
 without seeing her! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Annesley impatiently. " I wonder Spen- 
 cer didn't mention it at Saratoga! " 
 
 "Saratoga! Have you been to Sara- 
 toga, Cousin Ealph ? " Miss Annesley 
 opened wide her fine blue eyes. 
 
 " Yes ; on my arrival in ISTew York, 
 I found Spencer had gone to the Springs. 
 
 I followed, instanter, and, if it had not 
 been for the illness of his wife, we should 
 have gone "West, and thus spared you the 
 infliction of my presence here. But I 
 have that to add," he continued, with a 
 quizzical smile, " which will reconcile you 
 to a much greater evil. I met Mrs. and 
 Miss Lloyd, who are so disgusted with 
 the pomps and vanities of Saratoga, and 
 so full of yearnings for rural seclusion 
 and pastoral sweets, as they contrived to 
 make me feel, during my brief interview 
 with them, that I could not do otherwise 
 than second the invitation to HighclifF, 
 which I found you had given them, and, 
 unluckily, forgot all about it, until I saw 
 Spencer yesterday. They will be here 
 the beginning of the month." 
 
 "jSTow, that was so like you, Saville 
 Annesley, to come home and go to quiz- 
 zing me and Lina about Julia, just as if 
 you had never seen her ! But, isn't she 
 beautiful?" 
 
 " Superb ! I suppose ; but, really, I 
 was too much occupied with business to 
 think much about her." 
 
 "But you will be at leisure, now. 
 How fortunate ! " 
 
 " ITot for me, Cousin Anne, fori hope 
 to be on my way "West before that time. 
 I must see Alice Eoss. Is the road to 
 the Eidge passable — for any thing Chris- 
 tian, I mean?" he inquired, turning ab- 
 ruptly to me. 
 
 "For your horse, sir, although he 
 may not come within that catalogue." 
 
 "Beware of the vice of slander, Miss 
 Eay! 
 
 more right there than 
 
 Don has 
 
 many men, judging him by the Scriptural 
 text, the use of the gifts given him. But 
 how did you get there ? Did you walk 
 or did you take the ancient mode of con- 
 veyance peculiar to your people ? " 
 
 "I walked, sir — as I shall again to- 
 morrow morning," I mentally added, 
 with a glance at the breaking clouds. 
 
 " Speaking of Alice," said Miss Annes- 
 ley, "reminds me of something little 
 Grace Lloyd told us, before we left the 
 city, about Eothsay Cavendish's property. 
 
138 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 She said he gave it, by will, to some 
 relatives : and some person, a teacher, I 
 think, in the family of these relatives, 
 claimed it as the daughter of his brother 
 Philip. There was a great deal of trouble 
 about it, in consequence, and the person 
 ran away, I think Gracie said. — Didn't 
 she, dear? " turning to me. 
 
 " She did." 
 
 " A pretty sure proof of the justice of 
 her claim," observed the gentleman. " I 
 have heard this story before, for I am 
 one of the executors of the will ; and the 
 strangest thing is, that Spencer seems in- 
 clined to credit her story. He is not the 
 man to be humbugged by a pretty face ; 
 besides, he says the girl is plain. I don't 
 understand it. I met the brother of the 
 legatees, this morning, in Spencer's of- 
 fice." 
 
 " What sort of a person is he, sir? " 
 
 I could not resist the temptation to 
 know his thought of James Sancroft, 
 though I was conscious that my voice 
 sounded harsh and unnatural. 
 
 He turned suddenly. " Come away 
 from that window. You are taking cold." 
 
 I obeyed, and put Miss Annesley 
 between me and his keen eyes, while he 
 went on: 
 
 "One of the 'rising men' of whom 
 we hear so much in these days. Do you 
 know the species. Miss Eay ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 ""Well, they are usually made up of 
 brains, oninus heart and conscience. 
 This fellow's manner has a velvety soft- 
 ness, significant of cats' claws. I distrust 
 him, and, if his family are like him, there 
 must be some truth in his assertion that 
 Eothsay Cavendish was easily deceived. 
 Another strange feature of the case is, the 
 girl's refusal to take the property." 
 
 " What do you intend to do ? " asked 
 my mistress. 
 
 " Find her, if she be above-ground ! " 
 he replied, starting from a fit of musing, 
 " and find out who she is. Let her de- 
 ceive me, if she can! I think I should 
 know Philip's child ! Poor Phil ! " 
 
 CHAPTEE XXy. 
 
 THE SHIP-FEVEE. 
 
 1 AEOSE very early next morning for 
 my walk to the Eidge, but found that Mr. 
 Annesley had the start of me. When I 
 went into the garden to gather my flowers 
 for the breakfast-table, I heard him giving 
 some order about the horses to one of 
 the men. I did not hear what he said, 
 but supposed that he was, probably, 
 going to ride to the Eidge, and I almost 
 wished for that power of locomotion 
 which he had ascribed to me the evening 
 before, for, by the shortest foot-path, I 
 could not hope to forestall Don's speed, 
 even if I dared risk meeting him in Alice 
 Eoss's presence. 
 
 I had now seen enough of him to 
 know what old Hannah Smith meant 
 when she said, " if Mr. Ealph said a thing 
 wasn't proper, she should like to know 
 who would say it was," and I felt sure 
 that he would draw my secret from Alice, 
 in spite of herself. 
 
 " And why not? " I said, pausing from 
 my work, and facing the rising sun. 
 "Because he thinks me an impostor — be- 
 cause, when he gets hold of me, he will 
 compel me to prove who I am. Before 
 two years expire, I will do it, if possible, 
 but not now." 
 
 I took up my basket to go in, and 
 found him leaning over the garden-gate. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Eay! You are 
 early among your flowers. Were they 
 cropped by magic moonlight ? " 
 
 "No, sir. I have just gathered 
 them." 
 
 " They are harmless, then," he said, 
 taking my basket. "Here are carna- 
 tions, gillyflowers, phlox, marigolds — 
 
 ' These are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and I think are given 
 To men of middle age.' " 
 
 He selected several, and returned the 
 basket, but without manifesting the 
 slightest intention to let me pass. 
 
 "What a glorious morning, Miss 
 
THE SHIP-FEVER. 
 
 139 
 
 Lina! See how the sunbeams light up 
 the face of the old cliff ujd yonder. The 
 whole country looks bright and fresh as 
 a boy's dream of life — and will fade as 
 soon." 
 
 " Not fade, but change — deepen into 
 the rich, genial, fructifying heat of noon- 
 day. "Why should not the boy's dream do 
 the same? " 
 
 "Because of the world, the flesh, and 
 the devil ! But, I forget — you are no be- 
 liever in the god Circumstance, and, on 
 such a morning as this, I feel half in- 
 clined to defy him myself. But I'm no 
 longer a boy. At this late day, ' Le jeu 
 ne vaut pas la chandelle.'' Is it not so. 
 Miss Ray?" 
 
 " I think not. Few people complete- 
 ly exhaust their capacity for happiness 
 or usefulness at your age, and the strength 
 born of a struggle is, in itself, a rich re- 
 ward." 
 
 " "What a Quaker preacher you would 
 have made ! So you really think there 
 is hope for one like me, who have, espe- 
 cially on such a morning as this, the 
 pleasant consciousness of having wasted 
 the best years of my life in a round of 
 petty, selfish, idle, commonplace pleas- 
 ures — call them sins if you choose, which 
 the elite call life ! " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "But the means?" 
 
 "Faith in God and yourself." 
 
 He lifted his hat reverently, and stood 
 for some seconds, with the wind stirring 
 his black locks. 
 
 "True," he said, at length, "but I 
 am human. Am I to have no human 
 aid?" 
 
 " The- warm wishes and prayers of 
 all who love you, sir." 
 
 "The aid will be feeble enough, then, 
 my friend, for most of those are beneath 
 the sod." 
 
 "They may not be the less efficient 
 helpers, for that, sir ! " I said, earnestly, 
 touched by the change in his voice. 
 "Besides, you are still young; you have 
 health, energy, courage, and persever- 
 
 ance, a keen intellect, and a kind heart, 
 and we are told that our ' valors are our 
 best gods.' " 
 
 lie looked at me searchingly, until I 
 shrunk a little at the thought that I had 
 been speaking from my early conception 
 of him, and not from recent, personal 
 knowledge. 
 
 "I believe you are right," he said, 
 thoughtfully. " Were you thinking of 
 that apothegm when you rose from gath- 
 ering flowers, and stood facing the sun, 
 with such a firm, set mouth, and decided 
 pose of the head? " 
 
 " Yes, I often have occasion to think 
 of it, sir. Will you please to let me 
 pass?" 
 
 He opened the gate, and passed up 
 the box-edged walk by my side. 
 
 "You should like this stout ever- 
 green, Miss Ray," he observed, breaking 
 off a spray. " It preaches your doctrine 
 — self-reliance." 
 
 "And trust," I added, taking the 
 twig he offered. 
 
 " You like Highcliff ? " he rejoined, 
 pausing, and looking back over the broad 
 valley. 
 
 "Yes. I never enjoyed the country 
 so much before." 
 
 "Yet you have always lived in the 
 country, I understand? " 
 
 "Yes, but for some years in a 
 school." 
 
 " And saw it only from the pons asi- 
 7iorum, or through a microscope, I sup- 
 pose. There comes Elliott's boy, and, in- 
 stead of a gallop to the Ridge, I shall 
 have to attend that cursed .meeting of 
 stockholders ! " 
 
 I felt no sympathy with his vexation, 
 so, leaving him with the messenger, I 
 went in with my flowers, secured a cup 
 of coffee and a mouthful of breakfast in 
 the kitchen, and set off for the Ridge. 
 
 I had crossed the ravine, when I saw 
 a young girl coming rapidly to meet me. 
 It was Jenny Joyce, and she was crying so, 
 that it was some time before I could get 
 any intelligible account of her trouble : 
 
140 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Aunt Alice and little Billy were both, 
 sick, oh, so sick ! Aunt Alice kept talk- 
 ing so crazy-like, calling for sQmebody, 
 and her mother thought it might he me. 
 Would I be so good as to go home w^ith 
 hernow? 
 
 I went back to the woods, where I 
 knew I should find Jim Brown, and bade 
 him tell Miss Annesley that Alice Eoss 
 was sick, and I should not, probably, be 
 at home as early as I anticipated. 
 
 I found Alice and the boy in a high 
 fever, and delirious. Alice had been 
 taken first, and the boy the next day. 
 They had been ill three days, but there 
 was no one to go for the doctor in the 
 storm ; they had sent for him the night 
 before by the Morris boys, and expected 
 him this morning. Alice had kept talk- 
 ing about her old master, Mr. Rothsay, 
 and Master Philip's child. Sometimes 
 she called for Miss Lina, and Mrs. Joyce 
 thought it must be for me, and, there- 
 fore, sent ofi" little Jenny as soon as the 
 storm was over, to ask me to come up. 
 
 Mrs. Joyce seemed completely over- 
 come, but little Jenny gathered courage 
 and composure from my presence, and 
 was a most efficient helper. The phy- 
 sician reached the place soon after I did, 
 and, after a minute examination of the 
 patients, he questioned Mrs. Joyce close- 
 ly as to where they had been, and whom 
 they had seen. 
 
 They had been nowhere, and seen no 
 one but the Morris boys when they 
 came np to work, for more than a week. 
 " 'Twas good eight days since Billy re- 
 turned from the city." 
 
 The physician seemed perplexed. 
 
 " You say the woman was attacked 
 first?" he inquired again. 
 
 "Yes, she had been helping me make 
 a suit of clothes for Billy. His uncle 
 sent him up some that were most as good 
 as new, but she had to give up before 
 they were finished." 
 
 "Do you know where the clothes 
 came from ? " 
 
 " No ; brother George often sent such 
 
 things up for Billy. He a'most clothed 
 him." 
 
 The doctor beckoned me out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Young lady," he said, gravely, " I 
 feel it right to tell you that this disease 
 is, I think, ship- fever — brought here, 
 probably, in those clothes. -I may be 
 mistaken — I hope I am; but it is nnwise 
 for you to remain here." 
 
 " Do you think they will die ? " 
 
 "I can't say. I shall do what I can, 
 but I fear it is too late." 
 
 "The disease is very contagious, is it 
 not?" 
 
 "It is so considered." 
 
 " Then it will be equally unsafe for 
 me to return to Highclifi^, for I have al- 
 ready been here some hours. I will re- 
 main, and assist Mrs. Joyce. If you 
 will have the goodness to send a note to 
 High cliff for me, I shall be very grate- 
 ful." 
 
 " InTo, miss, you must not do this. 
 There are many chances for escape now, 
 hardly one if you remain." 
 
 "But I have no right to expose oth- 
 ers, sir. It is better for me to remain 
 and meet whatever result there may be. 
 I am not afraid." 
 
 " But your friends, young lady ? " 
 
 "I have none. I am alone in the 
 world, or none but my mistress, Miss An- 
 nesley, and she can very easily supply 
 my place." 
 
 He took three or four strides across 
 the patch of greensward, for we had 
 gone out of the house, then came up to 
 me, and placed his finger on my wrist. 
 
 "Pulse, firm and even. You are a 
 brave girl, and there is some reason in 
 what you say ; but — " 
 
 He dropped my hand, and again com- 
 menced his walk. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, seeing him not in- 
 clined to speak, " in case your fears are 
 realized, will you have the goodness to 
 look after me to— the end? I have suffi- 
 cient means in Miss Annesley's hands to 
 repay you." 
 
THE SHIP-FEVER. 
 
 141 
 
 He came up to me again. He was a 
 tall man, with gray hair and whiskers, 
 reminding me of Mr. Cavendish, and 
 said, earnestly : 
 
 " That I will, if I have to nurse you 
 myself I But you must promise me to put 
 yourself under my care from this mo- 
 ment, and implicitly obey my directions 
 as to diet and exercise." 
 
 I promised, and we went within, 
 where I wrote a few lines with a pencil, 
 briefly stating my reasons for not return- 
 ing, or such as I might state, for I could 
 not speak of my desire to be near old 
 Alice ; then the doctor departed, leaving 
 me to my task. 
 
 It was well for me that I knew noth- 
 ing of the disease. To me, it was like 
 any other fever, to be avoided if possi- 
 ble ; if not, to be met with a brave face 
 and trust in God ; therefore, I could not 
 share the doctor's apprehensions. Be- 
 sides, I was young and strong, with a 
 nervous system in perfect health, and, to 
 such, death always seems an anomaly — 
 an accident, rather than an inevitable 
 fate. But I had little time to think of 
 myself — my patients claimed all my time, 
 and it was near sunset before I could go 
 out for a breath of fresh air, as I had 
 promised the doctor. I wandered over 
 the hill, and sat down on a rock, to 
 watch the sun set, but was soon roused 
 by the measured tread of a horse's feet 
 upon the other side of the hill. "It is 
 Mr. Annesley," I said, and I hurried back 
 in time to meet him just as he sprung 
 from the saddle, beneath the poplars. 
 
 "Well met, Miss Eay!" he said. 
 " So the lad's talk was true ; you have 
 not joined your own folk, ' the good peo- 
 ple o' the greenwood,' but are caring for 
 my old friend Alice Ross, like a veritable 
 sister of mercy, as you are. I thought 
 to meet you on the road. I hope her ill- 
 ness is not serious, that you stay so 
 late?" 
 
 He spoke pleasantly, almost gayly, 
 and I thought I had never seen his face 
 wear such a bright, genial look before. 
 
 "She is very ill," I replied, pur- 
 posely leaning upon the little gate that 
 gave entrance to the yard, "and I sent 
 Miss Annesley a note by Dr. Clark, to 
 say that I should not return to-night, I 
 hoped it would reach her before this," 
 
 " I don't think it had ; she only spoke 
 of your message brought by the boy. I 
 am sorry to hear bad news of Alice 
 Eoss," he added, with a look of concern. 
 " She is a very old friend, and it's kind 
 of you to stay by her. I wanted to speak 
 with her very much, but, if she is so ill, 
 I'll only look in upon her, and postpone 
 my talk to another time," 
 
 I made no reply, but was trying to 
 devise some excuse to prevent him from 
 entering the house, as I felt he would, if 
 he knew of her danger. 
 
 Noting my silence, he said, with a 
 significant smile : " Do you bear malice, 
 Miss Eay, for my impudence this morn- 
 ing, that you thus keep me waiting for 
 admittance. It is growing late, and Don 
 and I may chance to find ourselves at 
 the bottom of one of these gullies, unless 
 we wait for the moon." 
 
 " You cannot see Alice to-night, Mr. 
 Annesley; indeed, you must not enter 
 the house at all," I said, hastily, for his 
 hand was already on the gate. 
 
 "Must not! What is to prevent 
 me ? " he replied, impatiently. "Let me 
 pass. Miss Eay? " 
 
 " ]^o ; Alice Eoss and the little boy 
 are dying of ship-fever, and she will not 
 recognize you. You must not peril your 
 life, and the lives of others, unnecessa- 
 rily." 
 
 "Ship-fever! — and you here! My 
 God ! were you mad, girl, that you must 
 come here? " 
 
 His voice was deep, almost stern, and 
 I spoke at once to the point where his 
 thought, as I supposed, tended. 
 
 " I was not coming back to High cliff, 
 sir. I would not bring danger there for 
 the world. I explained to Miss Annesley 
 in my note. Indeed, sir — " But, stung 
 by the misapprehension of me which his 
 
142 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 words implied, I found it impossible to 
 go on. He did not seem to heed my si- 
 lence, but broke in eagerly : 
 
 "Worse and worse. It's not tbat, 
 but that you should be here at all ! Not 
 going back to Highcliff ? You will go, 
 and with me, to-night." 
 
 He put out his hand to remove me 
 from the gate. 
 
 " !N'o, sir ; I shall not return," I said, 
 without heeding the movement. "I 
 came here in ignorance, but, had I known 
 the nature of the disease, I hope I should 
 have had the courage to come ; otherwise, 
 these people must suffer for lack of care. 
 I shall take every precaution against in- 
 fection, for life is all I possess, and I am 
 not ready to give it up yet ; but, at the 
 worst, there is no one to whom my death 
 would bring more than a passing regret. 
 "With you, sir, it is different. You must 
 not go in. You can do Alice no possible 
 good, only expose your own valuable life 
 to danger." 
 
 " Mj valuable life ! Much you know 
 of it. "Who taught you to estimate lives? 
 Am I to understand that you will not go 
 home with me? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then, stand aside." But he gave 
 me no time to deliberate, for, with one 
 hand he put me gently aside, and, pass- 
 ing through, strode into the house. 
 
 He hung long over the bed of old Al- 
 ice, Nvho was in one of the fits of stupor 
 that usually followed her raving delirium. 
 He did not speak, but his face grew very 
 sad, as he laid his hand on her forehead, 
 and turned away. He walked to the 
 bedside of the boy, looked at him a mo- 
 ment ; then, with a kind word to Mrs. 
 Joyce, asked me to walk with him to the 
 gate. 
 
 " You are right," he said, as we went 
 slowly down the yard. "Alice Eoss is 
 dying; I am too late. You have been 
 with her all day. Miss Eay ; has she had 
 her reason at all? " 
 
 " ISTo, sir. She has been delirious, or 
 stupid, as you see her now." 
 
 "What does she talk about in her de- 
 lirium? Does she mention the Caven- 
 dish family, with whom she lived so many 
 years?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I wish, then — but you will have 
 enough to do, and, after all, she could 
 tell me only what I know already. — 
 Kow, what is needed for your comfort 
 and theirs ? They must want many 
 things." 
 
 " I presume so, for Mrs. Joyce has 
 but recently recovered from a long ill- 
 ness, and there are no prophets in these 
 days to fill the widow's cruse." 
 
 "No, but money is still potent, and I 
 will see that they want for nothing." 
 
 We were at the gate ; he lingered, 
 looked at me seriously a moment, pity- 
 ingly, as I thought, before he added : 
 
 " Miss Eay, I do not often ask favors, 
 but I beg you to return to Highcliff, and 
 let me get one or a half-dozen nurses 
 from the city to care for these people. I 
 will go down for them to-night." 
 
 I shook my head. " You forget, sir. 
 I have the safety of others to consult." 
 
 He turned abruptly away, I feared in 
 anger, but, immediately retracing his 
 steps, took my hand, and said, in a tone 
 that made my heart glow : 
 
 "God bless you! You are a brave 
 little girl." 
 
 The next moment he had sprung upon 
 his horse, and was urging him down the 
 hill at his usual break-neck pace. 
 
 It was a weary task that I had as- 
 sumed, rendered still more so by the 
 terror and grief of Mrs. Joyce. Little 
 Jenny tried to keep up a brave heart, 
 and Dr. Clark was attentive and kind, 
 but, next to God, my chief help and sup- 
 port was Mr. Annesley. Not content 
 with sending up every thing needful for 
 our comfort, he would persist in coming 
 himself, daily, in spite of my entreaties 
 and commands, which I did not fail to 
 urge, though I could not repress a feeling 
 of .pleasure at the sight of his face and 
 the grasp of his hand. His manner was 
 
THE SHIP-FEYER. 
 
 143 
 
 frank and cordial, a little imperious at 
 times, when I crossed Mm, but that did 
 not trouble me, and it was a rare pleas- 
 ure for mo to listen to bis conversation. 
 His mind was original, vigorous, and 
 bigblj cultivated ; and I tbink tbe con- 
 versations, at first begun to amuse and 
 interest me, during my moments of lei- 
 sure, were often continued as much for 
 bis own pleasure as mine ; for be pos- 
 sessed tbe rare faculty of being able to 
 communicate bis ideas and present ob- 
 jects clearly and vividly, andbe seemed to 
 take pleasure in describing, to one so un- 
 sophisticated as myself, the strange coun- 
 tries he had visited, and opening to me 
 glimpses of a world so different from 
 mine. Then, he was so gentle and pa- 
 tient with tbe sick ones, so careful of 
 their wants, that I often wondered if he 
 was indeed the same person as the impa- 
 tient, sometimes exacting, master of High- 
 cliff. 
 
 On the morning of the sixth day, ©""i 
 Alice ceased to breathe. I think, for a 
 half hour before she died, she was fully 
 conscious, but unable to speak, happy in 
 the knowledge that her master's child 
 would close her eyes. 
 
 " True friend and faithful servant ! " 
 said Mr. Annesley, as we stood by her 
 grave that night, after the few men who 
 had assisted at her interment had de- 
 parted. "If Philip Cavendish left a 
 child, as she believed, this spot shall be 
 to her sacred ground." 
 
 From that day, the symptoms of the 
 boy seemed more favorable, and the con- 
 test between Mr. Annesley's will and my 
 sense of right began again. He would 
 have me go liome immediately. Had he 
 known the magic power of that word ut- 
 tered by his lips, he might have spared 
 me the temptation. But I was firm, and 
 he went away annoyed, and even angry. 
 He did not return for two days, and the 
 time passed heavily indeed. I knew, 
 then, how much I had relied on him ; 
 but, on tbe third day, he came up with 
 Dr. Clark, and brought me a note from 
 
 Miss Annesley, saying : " Read, and dis- 
 obey at your peril! " 
 
 It was a request for me to come home. 
 If I felt that there was still any danger, 
 I might have the east bedroom, which 
 was quite away from the rooms usually 
 occupied by tbe family, though Ealph 
 and the doctor assured her that the criti- 
 cal period for me was passed. Jane had 
 offered to take care of me, if I should be 
 ill, and she should feel much less anxious, 
 if I were at home, than if I remained 
 with Joyce, where Ealph was sure that I 
 could not be comfortable. 
 
 It was like my kind mistress, but I 
 felt the impetus had been given by an- 
 other mind, and I suppose my face ex- 
 pressed something of my thought, for 
 when I looked up from my note, Mr. An- 
 nesley was watching me, and said, smil- 
 ing : 
 
 " Ask Clark here, yourself, Miss Lina! 
 Then, if you believe not Moses and tbe 
 prophets, I shall use my authority as 
 patriarch of the family, and take you by 
 force. Those old Jewish laws worked 
 admirably in some cases." 
 
 Tbe doctor laughed, and reaffirmed his 
 opinion as stated by Miss Annesley. He 
 thought the disease would have shown 
 itself before, had I taken it ; he had 
 faith in the precaution which I had 
 taken. I had best keep quiet for a day or 
 two, and get rested ; be should look in 
 and see me, etc. 
 
 Miss Annesley had had the fore- 
 thought to send me a fresh suit of cloth- 
 ing. My toilet was soon made, and, 
 breaking from the widow and little Jenny, 
 whom Mr. Annesley promised should 
 not be left long alone, I found myself 
 suddenly lifted into the carriage and 
 driven at a rapid pace over what was to 
 me a new and circuitous road to High- 
 cliff. Our drive was a silent one, for my 
 companion seemed occupied with his 
 own thoughts, and I was too busy recall- 
 ing the ride I had taken with him ten 
 years before, to disturb him, had I dared 
 to do so. The day was rather chilly for 
 
144 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 tlie season, or seemed so to me, and once 
 or twice he turned to ask me if I were 
 cold, as tlie wind swept over the hills, 
 or muttered a curse at his folly in not 
 . bringing another shawl. 
 
 When we drove up to the house, Miss 
 Annesley tossed me a kiss and a bouquet 
 of flowers from her window. We passed 
 round to the side-door that led to my 
 new quarters, which I was glad enough 
 to gain, the rapid motion of the carriage 
 having made me a little sick and dizzy. 
 I did not like to mention it to Mr. An- 
 nesley, when he came to the door to ask 
 if I were comfortable, thinking that the 
 cup of tea which Jane had brought, would 
 drive it away. One thing I missed from 
 the room, Ollie's box, and, before I dis- 
 missed Jane, I made her bring it. My 
 ride had stirred deeply the memories of 
 those childish days, and I had a strange 
 longing to look at the mementos it con- 
 tained, before I slept. But the pictures 
 in the " Whale Book " grew dim before 
 my dizzy head and aching eyes, and Mr. 
 Annesley's boyish face in the miniature 
 was blurred and indistinct. I remember 
 getting up in the night for water to 
 quench the burning thirst that consumed 
 me, of attempting to reach the pitcher 
 upon the table, that it slipped from my 
 trembling hands as I grasped it, and — no 
 more ! 
 
 CHAPTEK XXYI. 
 
 THE FEVEE OF LOVE. 
 
 Again God is merciful ; the fever 
 with its wild fantastic visions has left me, 
 and I lie " clothed in my right mind," 
 but too weak to speak. I hear hushed 
 voices in the room ; one is strange to me, 
 but the others are those of Dr. Clark 
 and Mr. Anne^;ley, and often I am con- 
 scious that he stands beside me, and it is 
 his hand that raises me while some one 
 presses to my lips the cool and refresh- 
 ing drink. 
 
 Then I miss him, for I am able to sit 
 
 up, and Mary Kane, the nurse, takes* the 
 whole care of me. Presently I am able 
 to. go out at the door, and every day itis 
 his arms that bear me out to the lounge 
 in the vine-shaded piazza, his arm that 
 supports me along the old garden- walks, 
 when I am strong enough for that effort, 
 his hands that arrange the cushions and 
 shawls in the old arbor, and bring mo 
 fruit and flowers— -his voice that reads to 
 me, or, in a few felicitous words, brings 
 before me the solemn grandeur of Kar- 
 nac and Luxor, the wild magnificence of 
 the Indian forests, or the polished grace 
 and factitious splendor of European life. 
 I say little — what need? — Here is the 
 life — the communion of which I had 
 dreamed — a mind acute, vigorous, ener- 
 getic, noble, recognizing me as its equal, 
 appreciating my qualities, not after the 
 utilitarian standard of Oaklawn, but for 
 themselves, and my whole being expands 
 under its influence, like the resurrection- 
 flower at the touch of water. Miss An- 
 nesley is at Mr. Elliott's, where he and Dr. 
 Clark had insisted upon her going when 
 I was taken ill, but every day she sends 
 messages in little notes ; then, one day, 
 he drives over and brings her home, and 
 the old life begins again. "No — not the 
 old life — it can never be the old life to 
 me again. I am conscious of this. I 
 know that in thus sunning myself in his 
 presence, a spark from the divine flame 
 has fallen into my heart, which will live 
 and glow through all my solitary life, 
 because it is eternal. Pain it must bring, 
 but shame, by God's help, never! 
 
 "Do not be a fool," I said, as, in the 
 solitude of my own room, I arraigned 
 myself at the bar of common-sense. 
 " You are not so silly as to mistake kind- 
 ness and courtesy for evidences of a more 
 particular regard. There is no shame in 
 loving a worthy object — it is far better 
 than to starve the heart by feeding it 
 upon husks as so many wamen do, and 
 then challenge canonization for the act. 
 But beware how you let this spark be- 
 come a burning flame to devour you ! 
 
THE FEVER OF LOVE. 
 
 14o 
 
 "Ro dallying with vain dreams or regrets, 
 but shut down the valves of the heart 
 firmly upon all such, and do your duty 
 patiently, and trust God for the rest. 
 And the heart — the woman's quick, sen- 
 sitive, yearning heart — quivered and 
 moaned beneath the stern decision, but 
 Reason was unyielding, and forced it to 
 lie quiet but very sore. 
 
 " Miss Ray ! — Lina ! — child ! — Where 
 are you ? " 
 
 I was on the back porch, shelling 
 beans with old Mrs. Brown, when, with 
 an open letter in her hand, and her blue 
 eyes sparkling with pleasure, my mistress 
 made her appearance with the above 
 query. 
 
 "A note from the city — from Cousin 
 Ralph, child?" 
 
 " Is Mr. Annesley in New York still ? 
 I understood he had gone "West." 
 
 " No ; he has changed his mind, and 
 is coming up with the Lloyds. They 
 will be here on the evening of the 6th — 
 that is, the day after to-morrow. The 
 Knights and the Lincolns are coming up 
 to visit the Elliotts next week, and we 
 shall have gay times. Mrs. Brown, Mr. 
 Annesley will send up Honor and James 
 to-morrow, and, if you need more help, 
 he will bring up Ann." Then, turning 
 again to me, she added : " The Lloyds 
 are delighted with Ralph. I have a note 
 from Julia ; she says he is magnifique. 
 I hope she will make him feel her power 
 yet, just for teasing you so that evening 
 with his questions. And he right from 
 Saratoga! He deserves it, and stranger 
 things have happened." 
 
 " I thought you considered Mr. An- 
 nesley proof against all such attrac- 
 tions ! " 
 
 " Yes, but then he has never come 
 under the spell of Julia Lloyd ; though 
 he must have felt something of it, even 
 in that brief interview at Saratoga, or 
 he never would have questioned you so 
 closely. Indeed, I have noticed a change 
 in him ever since he came home. I never 
 knew him so interested in things about 
 10 
 
 the place, or so contented here, before. 
 Peter was speaking of it yesterday. — 
 Well, well," she went on, with a little 
 diplomatic smile and nod, " a little pru- 
 dent forethought, under Providence, some- 
 times, effects a good deal." 
 
 "So that is the plan?" I thought— 
 "and why not? Why should not the 
 high-bred, beautiful,* brilliant, and accom- 
 plished Miss Lloyd become the wife of 
 Saville Annesley, spite of the fulness in 
 your throat at the thought? — Because, 
 notwithstanding all this, she lacks hu- 
 manity, lie is impatient only of stu- 
 pidity and conceit ; she despises all who 
 are, or whom she deems, beneath her; 
 she is not earnest, sincere, or truthful ; she 
 is in no way like him ! 
 
 "Hold, there! Are marriages only 
 between those of responsive sympathies 
 and like natures ? Are these not rather 
 the exception than the rule ? Moreover, 
 she holds a different position from you ; 
 were you of her set, you might see her 
 with different eyes. The wisest thing 
 you can do is, to look after the arrange- 
 ment of the curtains, in the guest-cham- 
 bers, as you promised, and not attempt 
 to pronounce Star-Ohamber decisions on 
 other people's characters. There you 
 will make fewer mistakes." 
 
 I did ; for the next twenty-four hours, 
 I worked busily, and had the satisfaction 
 of knowing that I could listen to Miss 
 Annesley's oracular hints without dan- 
 ger of suffocation ; only my heart was a 
 little heavy, for it was hard to sink back 
 to my old sphere, and become a mere 
 tool for others to use. 
 
 If I had been fool enough to cher- 
 ish any hope that it might be otherwise, 
 the arrival of the Lloyds would soon 
 have dispelled it. It seemed a part of 
 Miss Annesley's " wise forethought " to 
 refer every thing to Miss Julia's taste 
 and judgment, and the lady assumed the 
 responsibility as by right divine. Was 
 there a dinner-party to be given, a 
 picnic or a drive in question, the " who 
 and the when and the where " wero all 
 
146 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 referred to her, while she consulted no 
 one hut Mr. Annesley, "so happy if her 
 arrangements were so fortunate as to 
 meet his approval." They invariably 
 did ; I could not deny that ; hut the ex- 
 pression of his face, the shrewd gleam in 
 his eye, the sardonic smile that some- 
 times lurked about his mouth as he 
 turned from her on- such occasions, per- 
 plexed me. Had he received her homage 
 with any of the pleasure that mature 
 manhood so often manifests at the atten- 
 tions of youth and beauty, or, even with 
 the dignified courtesy that claimed it as 
 a right, I should quietly have dropped the 
 subject. But I had seen enough of him 
 now, to know that he was very Tiuman^ 
 tenacious of the rights of his sex, suscep- 
 tible to both admiration and reverence, 
 and I could not reconcile his manner 
 with this. It kept recurring to me as an 
 unsolved problem, making me restless 
 and uneasy. 
 
 The Lloyds, both mother and daugh- 
 ter, seemed to have quite forgotten my 
 position in the household, and treated 
 me just as they did the other servants. 
 This did not trouble me half so much 
 as it did Miss Annesley, whose gentle 
 manosuvriug to make Miss Julia con- 
 scious of her mistake often provoked a 
 smile from me, and a very decided eleva- 
 tion of that young lady's eyebrows. I 
 disposed of her orders quite summarily. 
 If I was at leisure and it suited my 
 mood, I sometimes did what she re- 
 quired, but if occupied, or disposed to 
 read or walk, I simply said so, and of- 
 fered to ring for one of the girls to at- 
 tend her pleasure. After one or two 
 trials of this kind, I found her look of 
 haughty astonishment, which threatened 
 to transfix me at first, very harmless. 
 Mr. Annesley, if he happened to be pres- 
 ent, appeared to neither hear nor see, but 
 wore a face as impenetrable as marble. 
 
 It was not long before I had the 
 pleasure of seeing Mrs. Lincoln, the ideal 
 of his youth, according to Miss Annesley. 
 There was a dinner-party at Highcliff, 
 
 and she came with the Elliotts. I had 
 declined Miss Annesley's invitation to 
 come into the parlor after dinner, but, 
 there being several quite young people 
 present, some one suggested dancing, and 
 Miss Annesley sent for me to come and 
 play for them. "We were in the back- 
 parlor, but the doors were drawn back, 
 and I could see most of the guests very 
 well. Mrs. Annesley, however, came 
 herself, and pointed Mrs. Lincoln out to 
 me. She must have been at least thirty- 
 five, but time had touched her lightly, 
 for she was still very beautiful — a com- 
 plexion like a white rose with the blush 
 at. its heart, features delicate and regu- 
 lar, large dewy blue eyes, a profusion 
 of sunny hair worn in long curls in front 
 and gathered back by a loop of pearls, a 
 figure 'petite^ but beautifully rounded, 
 every motion of which seemed to me 
 the perfection of grace. I longed to hear 
 her speak, and, after the young people 
 were tired of their dancing, I took a 
 secluded seat, and was soon gratified. 
 
 One of the Miss Elliotts spoke of a 
 new poem which had come upon the pub- 
 lic like a jet of "spring-water unawares," 
 and the lady took up the subject with 
 great animation. To one like me, who 
 knew nothing of what is termed the 
 "art of conversation," and no use of lan- 
 guage save to express my thought in the 
 simplest, clearest manner possible, the 
 ease and fluency with which she spoke, 
 the readiness and extent of her quota- 
 tions, seemed marvellous. I listened at- 
 tentively, but this was ail; there was 
 nothing original or individual in her re- 
 marks, nothing in her sweet, infantine 
 face, her manner, or, best of all tests, 
 her voice, to indicate that she had actu- 
 ally Iwedi or felt one of the truths or 
 experiences of that inner life upon 
 which she expatiated so cleverly. She 
 evidently had read much and had a good 
 memory, but her mind was second rate 
 and her ideas second hand, and, in her 
 delicate azure robe, she reminded me of 
 the beautiful blue - and - gold chrysalis 
 
THE RETURN FROM THE CITY. 
 
 147 
 
 which I used to find hanging under the 
 edges of the clapboards or along the 
 mossj rail-fences. I could well under- 
 stand how she might have charmed the 
 beauty- worshipping heart of Ralph An- 
 neslej at twentj-two — the duration of 
 the spell was what I doubted. His man- 
 ner toward her was perfectly free and 
 unembarrassed, grave or gay as the mood 
 happened to be, and I dismissed her for 
 Miss Lloyd, who was in one of her most 
 brilliant moods that day, and was de- 
 cidedly the belle of the company. Elat- 
 ed by the admiration she excited, and 
 the marked attention of Mr. Annesley, 
 she exerted her powers of pleasing to the 
 utmost. She sang and played with the 
 taste and execution of an artist, and her 
 satire, wit, and repartee, made her the 
 centre of attraction. 
 
 It was a phase of life wholly new to 
 me, and I watched it with great interest, 
 just as I would a group of statuary or 
 fine pictures. One group I well remem- 
 ber. They were talking of Highcliff, and 
 its capabilities for improvement. Miss 
 Lloyd and Mrs. Lincoln were the princi- 
 pal speakers ; I could not hear all they 
 said, but I saw that Mr. Annesley listened 
 attentively, sometimes assenting, and at 
 others raising objections, as I judged, un- 
 til, in reply to something. Miss Lloyd 
 rose, and said, gayly : 
 
 " Difficulties ! I, for one, ignore the 
 word ! If you will step to the piazza, I 
 will give you ocular demonstration of the 
 feasibility of my plan." 
 
 Mr. Annesley gallantly ofi'ered his 
 arm, and they passed out of the French 
 windows, opening on the piazza, followed 
 by the others. She was dressed in pure 
 white, with the exception of a corn-col- 
 ored sash, and a Solfataire-rose in her 
 hair. The light, airy texture of her 
 dress, and the amplitude of the skirt and 
 train, seemed to add to her stately pro- 
 portions, as she stood, with one finely- 
 rounded arm raised, pointing with her 
 jewelled hand to a certain portion of 
 the grounds, while, with the animation 
 
 of conscious belleship, she indicated the 
 line of a new carriage-way, which would 
 greatly enhance the beauty of the place ; 
 he listening the while, with a quiet, hap- 
 py smile, that gave his dark face an in- 
 describable charm. 
 
 " JSTow, what say you, sir? " flashing 
 upon him a brilliant smile. " Have I not 
 made it clear ? "" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and I owe you a thou- 
 sand thanks. Your suggestions shall be 
 carried out to the letter." 
 
 I saw the smile of triumph wreath 
 her lips. Miss Annesley's look of de- 
 light, heard Mr. Elliott's " Bravo, An- 
 nesley ! under the supervision of Miss 
 Lloyd's fine taste, Highcliflf" will soon be 
 perfect. I never, in fact, appreciated 
 half its beauties before ! " and Mr. An- 
 nesley's quiet, " Certainly, it has never 
 seemed half so pleasant to me," and felt 
 it was time for me to withdraw. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIL 
 
 THE EETUE:5r TO THE CITT. 
 
 It was the middle of September, 
 and we were stiU at Highcliff. The El- 
 liotts, and several other families, remained 
 in the country also, for the weather was 
 still warm, and there were rumors of 
 cholera in the city. I regretted this only 
 because I heard nothing from little Ade- 
 line Heath. I feared some evil had over- 
 taken her, and should have gone down 
 to the city myself, had I not been afraid 
 of meeting Mr. Annesley there (he was 
 down two or three times a week), and, by 
 some inadvertence, giving him a clew to 
 my history. Miss Annesley said we 
 should all go by the first of October, so I 
 withdrew as much as possible from the 
 gay life about me, and sought to make 
 my old shell of reserve cover my sore 
 and foolish heart. But some words of 
 Mr. Annesley's, one morning, came near 
 crushing in that covering, and laying my 
 secrets bare. He was sitting with the 
 
148 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 ladies, when tlie mail was brought in ; I, 
 who never received any letters, was ar- 
 ranging flowers in the vases, at a little 
 distance from them, smiling at the desul- 
 tory, disconnected remarks elicited by 
 their letters, when he laid down the one 
 he had been reading, and said to Miss 
 Lloyd : 
 
 " You spoke of Mr. Bancroft the other 
 day. Did you know his brother or sis- 
 ter?" 
 
 " 'No. "We met Mr. Bancroft at Sara- 
 toga with Mr. Spencer. — You remember 
 him, mamma, the gentleman you and 
 Amy Clayton thought so handsome ? His 
 brother is engaged to one of Grace's 
 friends. He gave us such an amusing ac- 
 count of that beggarly protegee of his 
 mother's, who claimed to be Mr. Caven- 
 dish's heir ; and the trouble and anxiety 
 she had caused them. It was very fool- 
 ish for them to notice her, or try to find 
 her. The brother is to be married as 
 soon as his sister reaches home, and 
 Grace is to be one of the bridesmaids." 
 
 "They wait in vain, then, for Miss 
 Michal Ellis is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " The exclamation was Miss 
 Annesley's, for my lips refused to utter a 
 sound, but the crash of the vase, as it fell 
 from my trembling hands, drew all eyes 
 upon me. 
 
 " One of that exquisite pair of an- 
 tiques ! Such carelessness is intolerable ! " 
 exclaimed Miss Lloyd ; " I wonder. Cous- 
 in Anne, that you can endure it." 
 
 " Don't be so frightened, child," said 
 my good mistress, seeing my blanched 
 face. — "Of course, it was an accident. 
 Miss Julia. — ^Why, you look ready to 
 faint, Lina ! Eun out in the fresh air, 
 and I will ring for Honor to clear up this 
 litter." 
 
 As I turned to leave the room, I met 
 Mr. Annesley's eye, and, for a second, its 
 singular expression held me fast ; then, I 
 hurried away across the lawn and or- 
 chard, into the woods — I seldom ven- 
 tured to the cliff now, unless the master 
 was absent — and gave way to my tears. 
 
 ]!Tot for her, for, selfish as I was, I knew 
 that "she had outlived the shadow of our 
 night," and stood face to face with the eter- 
 nal truth she had so worshipped here, but 
 that she had died before I could see her — 
 died, probably, doubting me ! I had been 
 looking forward to the time when I 
 should see her and tell her all; and, 
 knowing as she did her mother's peculiar 
 character, I felt sure she would under- 
 stant my position, and appreciate, if she 
 could not approve, the feeling that led mc 
 to leave so suddenly. 
 
 Then, I recalled my intercourse with 
 her — her patience, her wisdom, her good- 
 ness — clear insight, and deep religious 
 faith, and slowly but clearly I began to 
 apprehend that what I so selfishly de- 
 plored was a blessing even to me ; for 
 there was no need of stammering expla- 
 nation and cloudy speech, now that she 
 could discern truth with the clear eyes 
 of an angel of God ; and I rose up com- 
 forted, seeming to hear again, mingling 
 with the murmur of the leaves above, 
 her own words : " God is eternal, bless- 
 ing us even in our memories — remember 
 that, child!" 
 
 I walked slowly homeward, and, just 
 as I entered the orchard, I saw Mr. An- 
 nesley leaning over the fence and watch- 
 ing the gambols of a couple of colts in a 
 small paddock adjoining. These colts 
 were the special pets of Peter and his 
 boy, and usually very gentle, but to-day 
 they seemed bent on a frolic, and had 
 showed Jim their heels, while the master 
 stood laughing at the lad's discomfiture. 
 I hoped to pass him unobserved, but he 
 saw me, and called out : 
 
 " Come here. Miss Ray, and see these 
 beauties. What grace, what freedom, 
 what conscious but honest pride ! "What 
 a comment on the conventionalities and 
 proprieties which have ruled at Highcliff 
 for the past six weeks ! Ugh ! if it were 
 not for an occasional hour spent with 
 these fellows, or Don, I should be a fit 
 subject for a strait-jacket." 
 
 "Yet that life seems very beautiful 
 
THE RETURN TO THE CITY. 
 
 149 
 
 and attractive to me," I said, drawing 
 ray sun-bonnet more closely over my 
 eyes. 
 
 " That's because you have never been 
 behind the curtain ; it's the glamour of 
 the foot-lights, child. It's none the less 
 slavery because the chain is gilded or 
 wreathed in flowers. Not one, I dare be 
 sworn, of the hearts beating under those 
 silken bodices, at Highcliff, yesterday, 
 but went to its rest more weary and dis- 
 contented than ever yours was, even after 
 a scolding from some crabbed old teacher. 
 So you really think all these people hap- 
 py, myself included ? " he added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I'To, not exactly ; but it seems to 
 me that people who hold in their hands 
 so many facilities for making themselves 
 and others happy — who are so richly en- 
 dowed with all that can win the eye and 
 heart, can hardly be — unhappy. The 
 certainty of being able to give pleasure 
 to others — the knowledge that one's life 
 is necessary to the happiness of others 
 — must, in itself, be happiness, I think." 
 
 He turned suddenly, and his whole 
 face glowed brightly, as he said : 
 
 "Then you — " He paused, took out 
 his cigar-case, deliberately lit one, and, 
 without so much as saying, "By your 
 leave," drew two or three long puffs, be- 
 fore he added, in his driest tone, " you 
 must think Miss Lloyd supremely blest. 
 Rumor has doubtless informed you, be- 
 fore this, that she is necessary to the 
 happiness of the master of Highcliff, 
 though this was not needed, for every 
 movement of her frank and independent 
 nature discloses her assurance of it." 
 
 His tone was certainly not that of a 
 happy lover, but I did not feel called up- 
 on to answer, and he went on : 
 
 "Such evidence of pure and disinter- 
 ested attachment is very gratifying to a 
 man of my experience, for, until very 
 recently, I have been quite skeptical of 
 the existence of such a thing in your sex. 
 You look surprised, but at your age I 
 was as green as yon, and had faith enough 
 
 to have removed Dunderberg yonder. I 
 put women among the beatitudes, tlje 
 possession of which made heaven. Well, 
 I found mine in Louise Ashmead — you 
 know her as Mrs. Lincoln — and, boy-like, 
 thought my life or death lay in her hands. 
 She was gracious, she granted me life, 
 and assured me that I possessed a like 
 power over her, which I religiously be- 
 lieved until — 
 
 "When, sir ? " I ventured to ask, see- 
 ing him pause. 
 
 "The jingle of the gold in my broth- 
 er's breeches-pocket made her deaf to my 
 voice — oblivious to my presence." 
 
 " Did you suffer much ? '' 
 
 "Suffer? ISTo — yes, that is, when I 
 got overmy jealous rage, I was conscious 
 of that regret one always feels for a 
 vanished dream." 
 
 "What did you do then?" I was 
 curious to know if his version would tally 
 with that of my mistress, though I ex- 
 pected a rebuff. 
 
 "Tried a dose of sea-sickness (let me 
 assure you, Miss Eay, it's an excellent 
 remedy), crossed the Atlantic, returned 
 in a few weeks to bury my brother, and 
 find the lady and her family disposed to 
 follow the old Hebrew custom, of brother 
 succeeding brother in marital rights. I de- 
 clined, returned to Europe, ran the tread- 
 mill round of folly common to the rich 
 and the idle, offered lip-service at many 
 shrines, and found them, as I deserved, 
 fair and false, until, disgusted with every 
 thing, myself included, I became a wan- 
 derer, sometimes returning to find my- 
 self more of a stranger in my father's 
 house than in the midst of the Great 
 Desert or a Siberian steppe, and glad to 
 return to my Ishmaelitish life again, un- 
 til this summer. Summoned home by 
 business, I returned to find light, and 
 hope, and life, faith in my early dream, 
 harried by doubt at times, but still faith 
 in one word — regeneration ! " 
 
 "May you accept it as God's blessing, 
 sir, and be very — very happy ! " I could 
 hardly steady my voice, for the tone in 
 
150 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 wMcli lie pronoimced the last words, so 
 different from tlie scornful sarcasm that 
 marked it in the beginning, moved me 
 almost to tears — it was so heart-felt, so 
 earnest. 
 
 " As such I do accept it ! " he replied, 
 reverentlj. "But I want you to help 
 me. You see, I have a great respect for 
 your judgment ; it's like the sunbeams 
 yonder, clear and direct. "What shall be 
 done for the one whom the king delighteth 
 to honor ? " 
 
 " If it be a woman, as I infer " (I could 
 not bring myself, just then, to pronounce 
 Miss Lloyd's name), " do not clothe her in 
 royal apparel, or proclaim her abroad in 
 the streets, but crown her with your 
 love, give her a home in your heart of 
 hearts, and, trust me, if ^he be a true 
 woman, she will be content." 
 
 His eye sparkled, his face again glow- 
 ed with that bright, joyous light, as he 
 said, fervently: 
 
 "I will! and may God so deal by 
 me as I by her ! " 
 
 Some further word seemed trembling 
 upon his lips, but he repressed it, and 
 said, in his usual tone : " Will you walk 
 to the house with me, Miss Eay, or does 
 your path lie another way ? " 
 
 I had already been absent a long 
 time, and I walked back with him in si- 
 lence. 
 
 "When we reached the lawn, he said, 
 suddenly : 
 
 " You had been crying when you 
 joined me. "Will you tell me why ? " 
 
 " ISTo, sir. It was about nothing that 
 concerned any one but myself." 
 
 " ISTot for the broken crockery, cer- 
 tainly," he said, with a smile. "I did 
 not suppose it. But it is something un- 
 usual to see you thus moved — ah, I forgot 
 — ^Miss Lloyd's anger ! "Well, I am sorry 
 to say that she is not quite perfect ; entre 
 nous, I have observed in her a disposition 
 to snub you occasionally, as to-day, all 
 owing to an excess of that quality by 
 which, according to Milton, the angels 
 fell. But I am a man of leisure, and it 
 
 will be a delightful occupation to mould 
 her plastic mind to my standard. I did 
 intend, when I married, to keep a corner 
 of my heart for one or two friends, your- 
 self among them. Miss Lina ; but, if she 
 is to be enthroned there, you'll find it 
 rather a tight squeeze, I am afraid, a taste 
 of the old punishment by pressure, with 
 which some of your forbears were prob- 
 ably acquainted in the old days of witch- 
 craft." 
 
 Ridiculous as was his way of stating 
 it, I knew it was the truth, and it struck 
 my heart like ice. 
 
 Miss Lloyd was on the veranda when 
 we crossed the lawn and ascended the 
 steps, and the look she gave me proved 
 the truth of his words. I think he no- 
 ticed it, for there was a curious expres- 
 sion about his mouth when he addressed 
 her with some common phrase of gallan- 
 try ; but I did not stay to analyze it, be- 
 ing glad to escape to my room. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Annesley left 
 for the city, to be absent for some weeks, 
 as I understood from my mistress. In 
 his absence the country lost all its charms, 
 for the Lloyds and Miss Annesley were 
 easily persuaded that the mornings were 
 getting too cool for them ; so, two weeks 
 earlier than we had anticipated, we were 
 settled in our city home. 
 
 Miss Annesley, having quite recovered 
 from her lameness, went into society 
 much more than she had during the first 
 months I was with her, and my office of 
 companion became almost a sinecure, or 
 would have become such, if Mrs. and 
 Miss Lloyd had not seemed bent upon re- 
 ducing it to that of seamstress and lady's- 
 maid. Sometimes I found it quite diffi- 
 cult to baffle their plans without coming 
 to an open rupture which might end in 
 my dismissal — a result which I fancied 
 would not be unpleasing to Miss Julia, 
 for my indifference to her authority at 
 Highcliff, as well as here, was a crime 
 not to be overlooked by one of her dispo- 
 sition. 
 
 But I was not quite ready for this — I 
 
THE RETURN TO THE CITY. 
 
 151 
 
 ■knew I must go, for nothuig would tempt 
 me to remain there if she became the 
 wife of Mr. Annesley ; hut it required 
 more strength to breat, at one strain, the 
 ties that bound me to the place where I 
 had first trulj tasted life, because no 
 longer repressed bj narrowness or for- 
 mality. I tried to ascertain from Miss 
 Annesley when the marriage would take 
 place; but, notwithstanding her oracular 
 "perhapses " and diplomatic nods, I was 
 convinced she was really as ignorant on 
 the subject as myself, and I was weak 
 enough to cherish a feeling of relief at 
 the indefiniteness that still left me the 
 shelter of his roof. 
 
 As soon as possible after my return, 
 I went to Mulberry Street to find little 
 Adeline Leete, and was told by the wom- 
 an of the house that the " Heaths left 
 the first of July, and took rooms in 
 Sheriff Street near the corner of Delan- 
 cey, she believed — the number she did 
 not know." 
 
 It was useless to ask if she had re- 
 ceived my letters ; so I turned slowly 
 homeward, pondering upon the best 
 course to find her, for I dared not attempt 
 to explore that portion of the city alone. 
 I might, doubtless, hear of her through 
 Tom Hunt, but I shrunk with horror from 
 the thought of renewing my acquaintance 
 with him or his mother. There was one 
 of the old servants. Honor, who had been 
 born, and always had lived in the city ; 
 I was quite a favorite with her — might I 
 not take her into my confidence and ask 
 her advice or aid ? I was thinking this 
 over one afternoon, about two weeks af- 
 ter our return to the city, while unpack- 
 ing and arranging some books in the 
 library according to my mistress's wish, 
 she having gone out to dinner some- 
 where with the Lloyds. My work pro- 
 gressed slowly, for my heart and my fin- 
 gers were both heavy. Finally, I opened 
 one of the volumes, and sat listlessly 
 looking it over, when I heard a voice in 
 the hall, which sent the blood tingling 
 through my whole frame, saying : 
 
 " This way, sir. TVe will go into the 
 library, if you please." 
 
 There was no time nor way to escape, 
 for the only other door communicating 
 with that room was locked ; and the nest 
 instant, Mr. Annesley opened the door, 
 and ushered in — James Bancroft. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Lina," he said, carelessly, 
 as if he had come home after a three- 
 hours' instead of a three-weeks' absence, 
 " you are busy as ever, I see. Don't let 
 us disturb you. — Mr. Sancroft, Miss Eay. 
 Please be seated, sir, while I let in a lit- 
 tle more light. This ' dim, religious' 
 medium may do for women, but not for 
 lawyers." 
 
 I have a memory of standing bolt 
 upright, stiff and unbending as the statue 
 of the commander at the famous supper 
 in " Don Giovanni," while James Sancroft 
 saluted me with as perfect sang froid as 
 if he had never met me before in his 
 life. 
 
 But while Mr. Annesley swept back 
 the heavy curtains and attempted to raise 
 a sash to fiing back the blind, muttering 
 anathemas at its obstinacy, Mr. Sancroft 
 uttered a few low words that put life in- 
 to that statue. They were these : 
 
 "So you thought to hide from me! 
 What folly ! I traced you long ago, and 
 have sought you, now, to say that, being 
 a patient man, as I once told you, the 
 conditions for peace are still open. Do 
 you accept ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " As you please — you know the con- 
 sequences. Betray your identity even by 
 so much as a hint to that man, and you 
 will soon learn what the word enemy 
 means ! " 
 
 The words were hissed in my ear, and, 
 before I could recover from my surprise, 
 he had advanced to meet Mr. Annesley, 
 and was complimenting him on his li- 
 brary with the utmost grace and suavity 
 of manner. 
 
 I immediately left the room, and sat 
 for a long time, thinking over his words, 
 and what new evil to me his presence in 
 
152 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 the house betokened. Finally, Honor 
 appeared with Mr. Annesley's compli- 
 ments, and a request that I would come 
 down to the library. 
 
 James Bancroft was gone. I made 
 sure of that before I ventured down, and 
 Mr. Annesley sat in a large easy-chair, 
 with Kep at his knee, vividly recalling, by 
 his position, the night I had seen him at 
 the Pines. He greeted me Vv^ith a bright 
 smile, saying, as he pointed to the sofa: 
 
 " Please be seated, Miss Eay. I be- 
 lieve my life at Highcliff has spoiled me, 
 for Kep and I are lonely. What have 
 you been doing these three weeks? " 
 
 "Sewing, chiefly, sir ; helping to make 
 the ladies' dresses." 
 
 " Humph ! Yfhat possessed you to 
 turn seamstress ? You look as if you had 
 been making your own shroud. Are you 
 sure you are not going to have fever 
 again ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Don't attempt to cheat me. I am 
 aomewhat skilled in the pathology of 
 disease, and I say you are either ill or in 
 trouble. But, sit down there — you will 
 have the more sympathy for me, for I 
 am troubled too, not merely because, up- 
 on coming home after an absence of 
 three weeks, I find that bird of paradise, 
 the queenly Julia, on the wing, but by 
 another matter in which I have a fancy 
 your common-sense can help me." 
 
 I obeyed, sitting as far back in the 
 shadow as possible. But he seemed to 
 forget all about me and his trouble, and 
 sat for some time silent, occasionally 
 passing his hand slowly over old Kep's 
 head. Finally he roused himself, and said : 
 
 " Miss Eay, you have heard some 
 talk about the estate of my old friend 
 Eothsay Cavendish, and the young girl 
 who, after his death, suddenly laid claim 
 to it, as the child of his brother, and then 
 quite as suddenly disappeared? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." The reply was hardly 
 above my breath, but he did not seem to 
 notice it, and went on : 
 
 " That brother was the dear friend 
 
 of my boyhood, and, as soon as I learned 
 these facts, I gave Spencer, Mr. .Caven- 
 dish's lawyer and mine, orders to spare no 
 effort or expense in trying to find this 
 strange claimant. He set liis agents to 
 work, and more than once thought he had 
 succeeded, but the scent proved false, or 
 the game turned out something quite differ- 
 ent from that he sought, and he has been 
 disappointed. The fact that a mere girl, 
 not older than yourself, I judge, ignorant 
 of the world, who never went twenty 
 miles, it seems, from the place where she 
 was brought up, could, for so many 
 months, baffle and elude the search of one 
 of the shrev/dest lawyers in the city, 
 added to the interest I already felt in the 
 case, and I have actually caught myself, 
 this summer, staring divers ugly girls out 
 of countenance (Spencer says she is plain), 
 or chasing down some algebraic-looking 
 figure, with a zeal deserving of better 
 success. For the past three weeks, I have 
 been searching the State of Michigan, to 
 find, if above-ground, the witnesses to Phil- 
 ip Cavendish's marriage, Spencer having 
 made a copy of the certificate upon which 
 the girl founded her claim." 
 
 He paused, and I drew still farther 
 back iato the corner of the deep sofa, 
 almost breathless in my eagerness to hear 
 the next words. 
 
 " I was successful : the Catholic jnis- 
 sion, where they were married, has long- 
 been abandoned for a more eligible locality, 
 still farther West; but, after much fruit- 
 less inquiry, I unearthed an old French- 
 man, who proved to be the very man I 
 wanted. He witnessed the marriage, and 
 grew garrulous in his recollections of 
 the handsome young couple. But, I for- 
 got — to understand this, you should know 
 something of the circumstances of this 
 marriage." 
 
 He briefly related the story I had 
 heard from Mr. Cavendish, and again 
 took up the account of his search : 
 
 "From this man I gained a clew to the 
 poor girl's fate. It seems, when up in 
 the region of Mackinaw, some years after- 
 
TEE RETURN TO THE CITY. 
 
 153 
 
 ward, ho learned, from the wife of an old 
 comrade, that the old man and his daugh- 
 ter had found shelter in their cabin, and 
 that she had died there in giving birth to 
 a child. The good woman kept the baby, 
 and tlie old man, whom the Frenchman 
 described as a little unsound in mind, 
 wandered about the country, returning 
 at intervals to see the child. "When it 
 was about three years old he stole it, 
 and left poor Margot Lefranc desole, 
 
 "I went to the place and heard the 
 storj from the lips of Margot herself. 
 That poor young thing, who hid her shame, 
 as she thought, on the extreme verge of 
 civilization, was the idolized wife for 
 whom Philip Cavendish was searching. 
 You weep, MissEay, and, indeed, it is a sad 
 story; the only fault of the young people 
 seems to have been in concealing their 
 marriage from their friends. The knowl- 
 edge of his daughter's condition seems 
 to .have driven the father wild, and, be- 
 lieving herself deceived and deserted, she 
 was but too ready to follow him into the 
 wilderness and die." 
 
 He paused, and seemed lost in some 
 sad reminiscence, while I, by a strong 
 effort, repressed my tears. 
 
 "I could not hope to trace the old 
 man's wanderings after so many years," 
 he added, " neither was it necessary. I 
 was satisfied that the child, born under 
 the roof of that French cabin, was the 
 daughter of my friend, for the mother 
 bore the name of Harriet Day ; and the 
 name which Margot's husband, who had 
 once belonged to the chorus of an opera- 
 troupe, insisted upon giving her child, was 
 identical with that of this Oaklawn teach- 
 er — ^Zerlina. And one of the most sin- 
 gular circumstances in the whole story 
 is, that upon comparing notes and col- 
 lating evidence with Spencer, I find that 
 this same child was thrown into my 
 hands some years ago. I was just ready 
 •to sail for Europe, and transferred her to 
 the care of a cousin, who took it into her 
 head to marry some little time after, and 
 the girl proving stiff-necked and rebel- 
 
 lious, it is said, and, quite likely, a stum- 
 bling-block in the way of the husband's 
 children (he was a widower, I hear), she 
 was sent as a sort of charity-scholar to 
 this Oaklawn school. !My cousin left the 
 country after her marriage, but I have 
 written to her, to make confirmation 
 sure." 
 
 '• I think I heard you once say that you 
 should recognize your friend's child," I 
 said, as steadily as I could. 
 
 "Well, I certainly did not, though 
 for some time I recalled the spirited, elf- 
 ish, tawny imp (you need not wince, 
 Miss Eay, she was twice as dark as you, 
 without your transparency), with a 
 strange interest, and felt glad that she 
 had a home with gentle Agnes Lathrop. 
 One thing is certain — she must have 
 developed a character of some strength 
 and originality, for she was, it is ad- 
 mitted, a favorite with Eothsay Caven- 
 dish ; moreover, was' early promoted to 
 a position of trust and responsibility in 
 the school, which she continued to hold 
 up to the hour of her leaving. Found 
 she must be, and I have a kind of faith 
 that your woman's wit may suggest some 
 way in which it may be done." 
 
 Should I do it? Should I yield to 
 the almost uncontrollable impulse that 
 moved me to kneel at the feet of my fa- 
 ther's friend — my own friend — and say, 
 "It is done! I am Philip Cavendish's 
 child! " — Had there been, in his face or 
 manner, the slightest indication that he 
 suspected this, I should have yielded, 
 but there was not, and that reflection 
 saved me. I thought of Edward's ap- 
 proaching marriage, of the change soon 
 to take place in his own household, and 
 I said : " When I make this confession, I 
 will hold the lines of my destiny in my 
 own hands ; I will be my own mistress, 
 and make it deliberately, and not from 
 impulses; I have plenty of time yet." 
 These thoughts occupied but a moment, 
 but he was getting impatient, and said : 
 
 "Have you nothing to suggest, Miss 
 Lina?" 
 
154 
 
 EIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 "I hardly feel competent, sir. Of 
 course, she changed her name." 
 
 " Yes, and, if we ever hear of her, it 
 will he as Hannah, or Dehorah, or Eu- 
 nice, I dare swear ! " 
 
 "She might have gone "West on the 
 same errand as yourself." 
 
 "I thought of that, and we have 
 made every possible inquiry. Besides, 
 Spencer says she had no means, for she 
 left the pittance owing to her in the 
 hands of Mrs. Ellis. That seems like 
 Philip ! Poor girl ! there was doubtless 
 some sharp filing under their apparent 
 kindness, or she would never have left 
 as she did. I distrust that Sancroft, I 
 was tempted to kick him, just now, 
 when he ventured to insinuate that the 
 girl wanted to marry him^-Philip Cav- 
 endish's daughter! " 
 
 "I wish, from my soul, you had, 
 sir ! " The words broke from me un- 
 consciously, but I recollected myself, 
 and added : " I think any man who 
 says such a thing, or even assumes it, 
 ought to be kicked ! " 
 
 "Bravo! Miss Lina! I like to see 
 you fire up on that will-o'-the-wisp way 
 when any thing touches you ! Then I 
 get a glimpse of you as you really are ; I 
 look right into your heart and see — " 
 
 "See what?" 
 
 "A brave, true, womanly spirit; the 
 same that spoke to me one bright morn- 
 ing at Highcliff", of faith in God and man, 
 as if the words had a meaning — were a 
 reality." 
 
 "So they are, sir, and I trust you feel 
 it." 
 
 "It's growing clearer, my friend. 
 But the power to discern such things is 
 not quite as clear at forty as at nineteen. 
 The fogs that arise from the debris of a 
 misspent life would be respectable even 
 in Egypt. But with such a spirit as — " 
 He paused, bit his lip, and added in a to- 
 tally different tone — "Miss Eay, I be- 
 lieve you were about to suggest some- 
 thing with reference to the business of 
 which I have been speaking." 
 
 Curious as I was to know what the 
 words so suddenly and forcibly repressed 
 might be, I was obliged to answer : 
 
 " I think the wisest plan would be to 
 give over the search, for the present. 
 The fugitive is probably aware of it, and 
 has taken her measures accordingly. 
 Drop your search, and she will be likely 
 to drop her caution." 
 
 "Exactly! It shall be done. How 
 is it you always contrive to say just the 
 right word. Miss Lina? " 
 
 "I don't know, but I am very glad if 
 I am able to assist you in any way," I 
 said, as I arose to go. 
 
 " Yes ; I believe that, and I somehow 
 find my intractable self quite disposed to 
 accept your help. But you needn't be 
 in such a hurry, when, very likely, I shall 
 not have another opportunity to speak 
 to you before I leave for England." 
 
 " Are you going to England, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, immediately." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "Yes; I should be glad to take my 
 wife with me, but it is necessary for me 
 to go immediately, and I shall have to 
 postpone that pleasure, possibly, until 
 next spring. It is a great trial to me, my 
 friend, and I would not go if it were not 
 for some information brought me by the 
 last foreign mail. But, I shall return all 
 the sooner for leaving my treasure be- 
 hind — probably, in about six or eight 
 weeks." 
 
 So the time was fixed — in the spring, 
 at the latest. I must go, and go before 
 he returned. My limbs began to fail me, 
 and I had hard work to keep back the 
 tears, while I said hurriedly, and not very 
 steadily, I fear : , 
 
 "Then, good-by, sir; and, as I may 
 not have another opportunity to say it — 
 God bless you for all your kindness to 
 me! " 
 
 IsTow the tears would no longer be 
 repressed, but it was too dark for him to 
 see them ; he rose hastily, and confront- 
 ed me, saying : 
 
 "N"ot see me? "What nonsense is 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 155 
 
 this ? Are you going to run into ship- 
 fever again? " 
 
 " JSTo, sir ; but the changes of which 
 you have been speaking will make it 
 necessary for me to find a new home." 
 
 " You'll find the Northwest passage ! 
 Have not I just said that I shall return 
 in two months, when I intend to be mar- 
 ried, Deo volente, and take my bride to 
 Europe ? You can surely stay until 
 then." 
 
 " I would rather not, sir." 
 
 He went on without heeding me : 
 " The woman whom you bade me crown 
 with my love, and treasure in my heart 
 of hearts." 
 
 " Yes, sir — Miss Lloyd." 
 
 "Miss Lloyd be hanged I " was the 
 impetuous, uncivil answer. "Miss Ray 
 — Lina ! " H-e came toward me, his 
 whole face kindling with intense, pas- 
 sionate emotion, " you must know — your 
 heart has surely divined the truth ! Who 
 should that woman be, but yourself — the 
 dearest — " 
 
 There was a bustle, the sound of foot- 
 steps in the hall, and Miss Annesley's 
 voice was heard saying, in glad surprise : 
 " Ralph ! Mr. Annesley in the library ! " 
 and his sentence was not finished in 
 words, but I was suddenly gathered close 
 to his breast, and his lips pressed to 
 mine. The next instant, I had struggled 
 from his arms, and had barely time to 
 escape, before I heard the ladies enter 
 and welcome him home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIIL 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOE. 
 
 " Miss, Rat, a person below desires 
 to see you." 
 
 It was well Jane came with that mes- 
 sage — well that something occurred to 
 break the spell that had held me for the 
 past twenty-four hours, lest I should 
 grow selfish in my unspeakable happi- 
 ness. 
 
 I knew he was gone — ^my master — I 
 might never see him again — I might be a 
 stranger and a hireling all my days, but 
 I did not think .of this ; only that the 
 dream, that I had set myself to overcome 
 as something hopeless, was realized. I 
 was beloved — beloved by the noblest, 
 truest man I knew ; and, henceforth, nei- 
 ther the sorrows of life nor the agonies 
 of death could take me from that blessed 
 consciousness. Fear and doubt were, as 
 yet, outside the gates of my paradise ; 
 but I found them both in the honest old 
 face waiting for me in the hall. 
 
 There was no mistaking that blue 
 roundabout and tarpaulin, and, in an 
 instant, I had the two horny hands in 
 mine, crying : 
 
 " Uncle Steve ! dear Uncle Steve, how 
 glad I am to see you ! " 
 
 "Yes, Blackbird, I knew you'd be! 
 An' I'm glad," with a loving glance at my 
 face, "ter see you're all right, an' how 
 you've grow'd a good' bit. But do you 
 know where Birdie is ? I can't find her, 
 nor I can't make nothin' out o' the folks 
 where she lived." 
 
 I drew him into a small anteroom 
 which I knew would be vacant at that 
 hour, but he would not be seated, evi- 
 dently seeming to think he should lose . 
 time by so doing. So he stood restlessly 
 moving his feet, while I told him of my 
 one interview with little Adeline, and 
 my subsequent efforts to find her. 
 
 " The woman there said somebody 
 had come to look for her, and she give 
 this ticket, else I shouldn't a' known your 
 bearin'," he said, holding out the card on 
 which I had written only the word, 
 "Blackbird," with Miss Annesley's ad- 
 dress, and left it with the woman in Mul- 
 berry Street, in case little Adeline should 
 come back. " She was well, and havin' 
 a good time, Lina, when you saw her ; 
 flyin' about, just as she used to be, of 
 course? " 
 
 Dear old soul, how the anxious face 
 and restless foot contradicted that "of 
 course! " I could not impart to him my 
 
156 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 misgivings ; I had no right to contradict 
 her own assertion that she was happy ; so 
 I spoke only of her health, and her long- 
 ing for the pure air and blue sea of the 
 Oove. 
 
 " 'So wonder, for it does seem to me. 
 Blackbird, that 'ere place where she lived 
 ain't right wholesome for anybody, I 
 hain't nothin' ag'in cities ; they are well 
 enough for 'em that likes 'em, but I never 
 can see how folks can bear to live jammed 
 together thicker 'n black muscles, when 
 there's a plenty of room on the airth and 
 sea." 
 
 I agreed with him, and went on to 
 tell him about Mr. Heath's acquaintance 
 with the Hunts, and my thought of ap- 
 plying to them for information. 
 
 " I guess I'lf try Sheriff Street first," 
 he said, thoughtfully. "JSTot that there's 
 any reason why I shouldn't put an honest 
 question to an old neighbor, but Birdie 
 never sot much by 'em, nor I don't think 
 the lad would, arter he came back here, 
 for you see, Polly, she kinder bore down 
 on him about the Hunts, but he didn't 
 seem to think much more on 'em than 
 she did, arter all." 
 
 " Very well, and, if you will wait a 
 minute, I will go with you to Sheriff 
 Street." 
 
 "Sartinly, child; that's just what I 
 wanted ter ask, 'cause she'd be so glad 
 to see us together. But, if it don't mat- 
 ter, I'll wait outside; it won't seem so 
 long out there." 
 
 "When I joined him, he was walking 
 up and down the pavement energetically, 
 as if every step brought him nearer the 
 goal. During our walk, I tried to learn 
 from him something of little Adeline's 
 husband, but lie seemed to be almost as 
 ignorant on that subject as myself. 
 
 He had made one of a party of young 
 men who had come up from the city to 
 shoot ducks, and encamped for some 
 weeks on the islands in the vicinity of the 
 Cove. On one of his visits to shore, he 
 had met Birdie, and "they took to each 
 other 'mazin'ly." 
 
 Without any definite address, we were 
 forced to make many inquiries, and my 
 forebodings were by no means lightened 
 by the appearance of the dwellings or the 
 manners of their inmates. At last, we 
 stumbled upon the right house ; a woman 
 met us at the door, a coarse, bedizened 
 creature, who, in reply to our inquiries, 
 burst into a tirade of abuse and impreca- 
 tion worthy of a fiend. I clung to Uncle 
 Steve in affright, while, for a few seconds, 
 he stood as if stunned and bewildered ; 
 then, hearing his darling's name again 
 coupled with epithets, vile as the breath 
 that uttered them, his face grew almost 
 bloodless, and, shaking my arm from his, 
 he confronted the virago with a look of 
 simple, manly anger, that had power, for 
 an instant, to check even her tongue. 
 
 " Woman! " he said, " that child is as 
 innocent of the things you talk about as 
 her little unborn baby. She's his wife^ I 
 tell you! I saw 'em married, with my 
 own eyes ; an' if he had another wife — 
 Lina! I can't believe it! — 'twill kill 
 her ! " 
 
 Oh, the sorrow and anguish of that look 
 and tone. It reached even that v/ Oman's 
 heart through the crust of sin and vice, 
 for, in language still coarse, but free from 
 foul indecency, she said : 
 
 "Believe it or not, the woman who 
 came here claimed him as her husband, 
 and she had her papers in black and 
 white, and, what's more, he hadn't the 
 face to deny it, but sneaked off, owing 
 me ten dollars for a week's board." 
 
 Uncle Steve took out his pocket-book 
 and placed the money in her hand, say- 
 
 " Where is she ? Where did she go, 
 then ? " 
 
 "Back to where she come from, I 
 s'pose — 'twas some place in "New Hamp- 
 shire, where they lived afore he quit 
 her." 
 
 The old man groaned, and turned an 
 appealing look to me. 
 
 " The wife we know," I said, in reply 
 to that look. " The young girl he brought 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOK. 
 
 157 
 
 liiere, from Mulberry Street, whom he 
 married in Connecticut. "Where did she 
 go?" 
 
 "I don't know. I didn't turn her 
 out; she didn't wait for that. She'd 
 spunk enough, for all she seemed so soft. 
 At first, she flared up in that woman's 
 face like a tiger, but when the woman 
 faced Hen. down, and made him own the 
 truth, she walked right out of the house 
 without a word, and I've never seen nor 
 heard of her since." 
 
 "We turned away, and had reached the 
 corner of Broadway, before I ventured 
 to break in upon the anguish that was 
 rending that old man's heart, by again 
 suggesting the possibility of tracing her 
 through the Hunts. 
 
 "No, no, Lina, she'd never go to the 
 likes o' them in her trouble. They were 
 Ms sort, and I — 't wouldn't be well for me 
 to see him or them just now. I'm going 
 home, for where should the homeless 
 little thing go to but the old place — to 
 them as loved her better 'n their hearts' 
 blood, an' she knew Polly an' the children 
 did that, and IlTat, too ? O Lina ! to think 
 of it's bein' our Birdie ! " 
 
 He completely broke down, and, catch- 
 ing at the possibility his words suggested) 
 I tried to encourage him to hope. 
 
 " ISTo, Blackbird, I know she couldn't 
 stand it. She'd set her heart on him, an' 
 ter have such a thing come on her now 
 when she's jist as you say, 'twill kill her 
 sure, an' there's nothin' to hope about." 
 I felt that words were, indeed, useless, 
 and so we parted, he promising to have 
 Polly Maria write if the child were there ; 
 if not, he would come back and we would 
 search the city together. 
 
 There was no letter, and on the third 
 day he returned, but looking so changed — 
 so worn and haggard, that it seemed as if 
 those brief days had done the work of 
 years. 
 
 I had explained to Miss Annesley that 
 some friends of my early childhood were 
 in trouble, and, with her usual kindness, 
 she had given me permission to go out, 
 
 so that Uncle Steve and I soon found our- 
 selves at Tom Hunt's door. It was a tip- 
 pling house of the lowest class, a very 
 gate-way to hell, judging from the ap- 
 pearance of its patrons and their conver- 
 sation, but we did not shrink back. Be- 
 hind the counter, or bar, a couple of taw- 
 drily-dressed girls were gossiping in the 
 corner, and a man making change. "We 
 applied to the latter, and asked for Mr. 
 Hunt. Our inquiry brought all eyes upon 
 us, and one of the girls, coming forward — 
 the one whom I had met when with Ade- 
 line's husband — said : 
 
 "He's out, but, if you owe him any 
 thing, you can pay me." 
 
 "No, no, Pan, you don't come that 
 game," said the man by her side, with an 
 oath. " I am chief clerk here, and if 
 you've any thing to pay," turning to us, 
 " you must deal with me ! " 
 
 "Thank ye, sir ; we only want to see 
 Mr. Hunt," said Uncle Steve. 
 
 " Well, he's out, and will be for some 
 time," returned his daughter, turning to 
 pour out a dram for a customer. 
 
 " Yes, he's gone on a tour," said the 
 other girl, with a laugh. 
 
 Uncle Steve turned hopelessly to me, 
 and made a movement to go, but I had 
 determined to appeal to the girl, so, rais- 
 ing my veil, I said : 
 
 "Miss Hunt, since we cannot see 
 your father, perhaps you will be so kind 
 as to give us a few minutes' conversation 
 in a more private place." 
 
 She stared at first, but my respect- 
 ful tone was not without efiect, for, pass- 
 ing out from behind the counter, she 
 opened a door into a private roolh, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Yes, indeed, if it will be any satis- < 
 faction to you. Walk in." 
 
 The room was small, and the furni- 
 ture reminded me of Sally Hunt's fa- 
 vorite adjective — "hogged out." Uncle 
 Steve remained standing, but I took the 
 seat she offered, saying : 
 
 "You are acquainted with a Mr. 
 Heath, I believe, who lived, not long 
 
158 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 since, in Mulberry Street, and more re- 
 cently in Sheriff ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I tell you beforehand, if 
 you are going to arrest him, I'll have 
 - nothing to do with it ! " she exclaimed 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Our business does not relate to him, 
 but to the young girl he married in Brad- 
 sbaw, and brought here as his wife. You 
 probably know, some two weeks ago a 
 woman appeared here who claimed to 
 be his wife by a former marriage, and 
 the young girl left the house in Sheriff 
 Street alone. Have you heard any thing 
 about her ? "Where she went ? — or where 
 she may be found ? " 
 
 "Didn't she go back to the Cove ? " 
 
 "No.'' 
 
 "Then Hen. was mistaken. He 
 thought — " She paused, and, eying us 
 suspiciously, said, "You aren't trying to 
 bamboozle me ? " » 
 
 "No, no, we don't want any thing of 
 him ! " exclaimed IJncle Steve, impatient- 
 ly. " "We never desire to set eyes on him 
 ag'in." 
 
 "Not that I care a red for Hen. 
 Heath," she returned, "but I despise to 
 'peach. There's a warrant out for his 
 arrest, but I'll not get him into trouble. 
 I've seen him once, since the fray in 
 Sheriff, and he was taking on terribly 
 about that girl, little Adeline as he called 
 her. We all thought she'd go straight 
 home, and finally got him off, but, Lord, 
 he's too sappy to keep out of the way 
 long. He didn't even deny that he mar- 
 ried t'other woman, but said she made 
 him do it, when he was nothing but a 
 boy, aad she old enough to be his moth- 
 er." 
 
 " Then you can give us no clew to her 
 at aU ? " I said, rising. 
 
 "No; though, if she didn't quit the 
 city, most likely she's been picked up 
 by the police, and sent to the alms- 
 house or hospital." 
 
 I thanked her, and we were turning 
 away when I heard some one in an ad- 
 joining room cry out: 
 
 "Fan, you idle slut, bring me some 
 water ! " 
 
 I recognized the voice at once, though 
 it was weak and somewhat tremulous, 
 and I did not need the girl's angry — 
 " Hold your tongue, granny ! " to tell 
 me that it was my old mistress — and I 
 said to the girl : 
 
 " Your grandmother is living, then ? 
 Can we see 'her ? "We knew her once — 
 this man is, or was, her neighbor." 
 
 Her bold, rude manner had returned 
 at the sound of that voice, and she re- 
 torted, angrily, " See her ! You wouldn't 
 want to if you had her to live with! 
 She's the crossest old torment that ever 
 breathed ! " 
 
 She flung open the door of a small 
 room or closet, and there, upon her bed, 
 lay my old mistress. She was emaciated 
 to a skeleton, and it was fortunate that 
 she was "blinder than a bat," as her 
 granddaughter said, for the room, the 
 bed, and her person, were filthy beyond 
 description. I confess, my first impulse 
 was to turn away, but the look of pity 
 on IJncle Steve's face withheld me. 
 
 "Granny!" yelled the girl, "here's 
 somebody from your old place come to 
 see you ! " 
 
 The bleared eyes stared straight at 
 us, but evidently without recognition, 
 and I drew as near to her as I could bear 
 to, and said : 
 
 " It is Steve Leete from the Cove, and 
 another friend. You remember Steve 
 and Polly Maria, Mrs. Hunt ? " 
 
 She made an effort to raise herself 
 upon her elbow, but fell back, muttering 
 querulously : 
 
 "Steve Leete!" 
 
 " Yes. I'm right sorry to see you so 
 poorly," said the old man. 
 
 "No, you ain't! It's a lie!" she 
 screamed. "You all want me to die. 
 But I won't, I tell you ! I'm only sixty- 
 eight, and sixty-eight's young. I'll not 
 die yet ! " 
 
 "No; no such good news as that," 
 said the girl, mockingly. 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 159 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you blasted — " 
 a fit- of coughing interrupted the anathe- 
 ma, and threatened to shake the life from 
 her. Catching breath again, she rolled 
 her eyes toward Uncle Steve, saying : 
 
 " Where did you come from ? What 
 do you want? " 
 
 "I come here to find my little gal, 
 Adeline. • You remember her, Miss 
 Hunt? " said the old man, kindly. 
 
 "More fool you ! Children are noth- 
 ing but a cuss. When Tom was a baby, 
 an' had the scarlet fever, I carried him 
 night arter night in my arms ; if I'd 
 known he'd a' lived to sarve me as he 
 has, I'd a helped him to die ! " 
 
 The old, white head shook with im- 
 potent rage ; and, feeling how truly the 
 sins of youth become the fate of age, 
 I turned away sick at heart. She ob- 
 served the movement, and asked : 
 
 " Who's that ? You've got somebody 
 with you, Steve Leete ! " 
 
 "Why, I s'posed you knew. It's 
 Lina, Miss Hunt — Lina Day, that used to 
 live with you." 
 
 " Lina Day ! Who said she was rich ? 
 — some great man's child? — Are you 
 rich, girl? " 
 
 " No ; I am almost as poor as when 
 I left your house, Mrs. Hunt." 
 
 " I'm glad on't. I told the man that 
 come here to pump me 'twas all a lie. 
 What right had Harri't Day's come-by- 
 chance to be rich, an' I poor, cheated 
 out o' my just rights? " 
 
 • "So you are the girl that used to 
 live with granny," said the granddaugh- 
 ter, eying me curiously. " And you didn't 
 get a fortune, after all ? " 
 
 " ITo. Who came here to inquire for 
 me?" 
 
 " A lawyer fromup-town. He wanted 
 to find out something about your folks, 
 but granny was a match for him, as she 
 is for the devil himself! I'm sorry you 
 didn't get the money, for I believe it 
 would have killed her right off," she re- 
 turned, with an unfeeling laugh, as we 
 left the room. 
 
 When we reached the pavement, we 
 looked silently and hopelessly in each 
 other's face. The almshouse, or hospi- 
 tal, the girl had said, but we were both 
 strangers, and to whom should we apply 
 for aid. I thought of Mr. Spencer ; to 
 seek him would be to betray myself, but 
 what was that to the sorrow of that poor 
 old man ; and I was about to suggest this 
 to him, when a cheery voice, that I rec- 
 ognized at once, said : 
 
 "Shure an' it's Miss Lina! an' aren't 
 I glad to see your face once more! " 
 
 It was Mary Kane, the nurse Mr. 
 Annesley had brought from the city, to 
 care for me in my illness, and I immedi- 
 ately told her our trouble. 
 
 " It's to Bellevue they'd be after tak-. 
 ing the poor thing," she said, her hon- 
 est face aglow with sympathy. "I was 
 nurse there for more than a twelvemonth 
 myself, and I'll go with you. Many's 
 the poor young thing that finds shelter 
 there, in her anguish' and trouble." 
 
 She led the way, with rapid steps, to 
 that quarter of the city where the hos- 
 pital, so inaptly named, overlooks the 
 East Eiver. The officials recognized her, 
 and our inquiries met with a courteous 
 answer : 
 
 "Adeline Leete Heath," said the 
 clerk, running a finger down the pages 
 of the record. "E"o such person — ay, 
 Adeline Leete, entered ISTovember 5th, 
 child born on the 8th — dead — woman 
 delirious, escaped November 20th, elud- 
 ing vigilance of the nurse. Subsequent 
 fate unknown." 
 
 "She's dead, poor little Birdie!" 
 groaned Uncle Steve, turning away with 
 a look I shall never forget. 
 
 " No, not so bad as that sir," replied 
 hopeful Mary Kane. "If she's crazy, 
 she'd be the more likely to hold out. It's 
 the 25th now, most likely she's gone 
 home. Wait till I speak to one of the 
 nurses." 
 
 Permission was given, and, while de- 
 taining my impatient companion by the 
 hand, my eye feU upon the following 
 
160 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 news item, in the daily paper lying on 
 the desk before me : 
 
 " An old fisherman of Sonthport, upon 
 going down to the beach very early, a 
 few mornings since, was surprised to find 
 a young, delicate-looking girl cowering 
 beneath the sail of his boat, where she 
 had evidently passed the night. She 
 was supposed to be a lunatic who had 
 escaped from her friends. She was kind- 
 ly cared for by the family, but contrived 
 to escape the next night." 
 
 I seized the paper, and read the item 
 to IJncle Steve. His face brightened, and, 
 without waiting for me to finish, he 
 started for the street, saying : 
 
 " 'Twas her, Lina ! She thought 'twas 
 the Dart, poor thing! I know'd she'd 
 steer for the old place.^" 
 
 I followed, and we were soon over- 
 taken by Mary, who had learned nothing 
 further from her friend, save that the 
 patient "had been very quiet-like, and 
 moaned constantly to go home." 
 
 "To be sure," said the old man hurry- 
 ing on at a pace that left us breathless in 
 the attempt to follow ; "an* she'll be so 
 taken aback to find the old house shut up. 
 We must hurry. Blackbird." 
 
 His we expressed just my own feeling. 
 I must go too. I could not leave him to 
 face what I feared alone. When we 
 reached the vicinity of the ISTew Haven 
 Depot, I seized his arm and spoke to him 
 of the necessity of my notifying Miss An- 
 nesley of my intended absence. He sim- 
 ply turned his haggard, anxious face tow- 
 ard me, without slackening his pace, 
 and said, with such an imploring look : 
 
 " But she may be waitin', child! " 
 
 "It will not delay us a moment. I 
 shall have ample time to go home and 
 back before the next train leaves. If you 
 do not choose to go with me, you can 
 wait at the station. I will be back in 
 half an hour." 
 
 "If you mind leavin' him alone, miss," 
 whispered my Irish friend, with a look 
 of commiseration at his haggard face, 
 " I'll just step into the depot with him 
 
 myself. He's a good bit distraught, I 
 fancy." 
 
 She had laid her hand on my arm as 
 she spoke, and, turning to reply, I looked 
 right into the faces of Miss Lloyd and 
 James Sancroft. Although our eyes met, 
 the gentleman betrayed no evidence of 
 recognition, save a rapid, sneering glance 
 at my companions; but the look with 
 which the lady surveyed us was one of 
 unspeakable disdain. I hardly noted it, 
 however, for, just a little in advance, as- 
 sisting a fair young girl into a carriage, 
 was Edward Ellis. He was too much oc- 
 cupied to observe me; Miss Lloyd and 
 his brother entered the carriage, and, 
 parting from my humble friends, I 
 walked rapidly toward Bleecker Street, 
 and reached the house just as the empty 
 carriage drove from the door. 
 
 "Miss Annesley had gone to the par- 
 lor to see some friends of the Lloyds," 
 Jane said, in answer to my inquiries, and 
 I waited in the upper hall, what seemed 
 to me an age, but there was no cessation 
 to the murmur of voices in the parlor be- 
 low. At length, I ventured to send Jane 
 down to beg permission for me to speak 
 with my mistress a moment. My heart 
 beat fast when I heard some one step in- 
 to the hall, and I was about to run down 
 when I heard Miss Lloyd give Jane some 
 order, and when the girl explained that I 
 had sent her, she replied, sharply : 
 
 " Let Miss Eay deliver her own mes- 
 sages henceforth." 
 
 I hurried down, and said, respect- 
 fully: 
 
 " I do not like to disturb Miss Annes- 
 ley, ma'am, but it is of the utmost impor- 
 tance to me that I should see her at 
 once. I wiU detain her but one mo- 
 ment." 
 
 She drew herself up haughtily, gath- 
 ering back the ample folds of her heavy 
 gros grain, as if there was contamination 
 in my touch, for, in my eagerness, I had 
 advanced quite near her, and said : 
 
 " The company in which I .saw you, 
 not an hour since, accounts, I suppose. 
 
THE SEARCH FOR BIRDIE. 
 
 161 
 
 for your neglect of your duties for tlie 
 past week, miss. It is perfectly conge- 
 nial, I learn, however, from one who 
 knows something of your past life, and 
 Miss Annesley will be duly informed. At 
 present, she is engaged." 
 
 She turned into the parlor, and closed 
 tlie door behind her. So James Sancroft 
 had spoken! But how much — and 
 what ? Should I go into the parlor and 
 confront him, trusting to the candor and 
 honor of Edward Ellis to support me ? I 
 glanced at the clock on the landing. I 
 had but half an hour left, and it would 
 take twice that time to set this matter 
 right, and the thought of that sorrowful 
 old face, watching for me at the depot, si- 
 lenced all feeling of self, and, returning 
 to my room, I wrote a brief note explain- 
 ing my absence, left it on Miss Annesley's 
 table, descended to the street, and hur- 
 ried to the station. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIX. 
 
 THE SEAE'OH FOE BIEDIE. 
 
 It Avas quite dark when we got off at 
 the lonely little station put up to accom- 
 modate visitors at the " Beach " and 
 *' Cove ; " a gloomy November night, 
 with a sky threatening rain ; a raw, east 
 wind which, sweeping right off from the 
 water, seemed to penetrate to the bones. 
 "We were two miles from the Cove, and, 
 as soon as we touched the ground, the 
 old man started with those long strides, 
 upon the well-remembered path, while I 
 followed, doing my best to keep up. 
 Presently, he seemed to remember, for 
 pausing, he said, in a tone of humble 
 apology : 
 
 " I'm tiring you to death, Lina. I 
 didn't mean ter, but I don't mind any 
 thing when I think mebbe she's waitin' 
 for Uncle Steve. You'll kinder think 
 how it is, child." 
 
 I did, and there was a strange excite- 
 ment for me in that rapid night-walk. 
 11 
 
 The old man's expectation of finding her 
 grew more reasonable to me, and more 
 than once, when the moon struggled 
 through the driving clouds, I found my- 
 self starting at some fancied resemblance 
 to a human figure or the flow of female 
 drapery among the rocks and white 
 birches that lined our path. The excite- 
 ment was too deep for words, and we 
 pressed on in silence until the light from 
 Nat Frisbie's kitchen-window gleamed 
 athwart the darkness. Then we paused 
 to take breath, and I could see by the 
 dim moonlight that the old man's eyes 
 were fixed — not on that, but on a point 
 beyond, where the pyramidal form of the 
 old pine was dimly outlined against the 
 sky — with an intentness that seemed to 
 pierce the darkness and the distance, 
 while the hand that I took in mine trem- 
 bled like an aspen-leaf Seeing he did 
 not move, I suggested that we should 
 call on Polly Maria. 
 
 " Yes, " he murmured, and we started 
 on. In a few minutes, we stood in Nat's 
 long, narrow kitchen. Polly Maria was 
 alone ; she dropped her knitting upon her 
 open Bible and came toward us, every 
 line of her dark, melancholy face alive 
 with grief and foreboding. Uncle Steve 
 glanced at it and sank into a chair. She 
 pressed my hand in silence, and turning 
 to him, while natural grief, struggling 
 with her unquestioning faith, gave a 
 deep, solemn pathos to her voice, said : 
 
 " It's the hand of God, Stephen, and 
 though He slay me, yet will I put my 
 trust in Him ! Last night the warnin' 
 came ag'in. ^ I see her as plain as I see 
 you, standin' by my bed,_ tlie water a 
 streamin' from her hair and dress just as 
 it did when she fell over the Dart. It was 
 the third time, and I know now that 
 she is drownded as well as if I see it." 
 
 Uncle Steve moaned like a child, 
 while I briefly told her of our search, and 
 our hope to find her here. 
 
 She shook her head hopelessly. 
 " Some folks may slight such things, 
 miss, but I've never known 'em fail. 
 
162 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 Nobody dies without a warning, if they 
 or their friends would have the grace to 
 heed it" 
 
 "Polly," said Uncle Steve, impatient- 
 ly, "lallers know'd. you was great on 
 dreams, but this one can't be true, be- 
 cause, you see, Birdie ain't on the water. 
 But your head allers run on her bein' 
 drownded." 
 
 " Wait and see, brother. But you 
 must stay here to-night. You can't be 
 comfortable down there." 
 
 He glanced at me anxiously. — " She's 
 tired out, poor girl, mebbe she'd better 
 stay." 
 
 " I shall go with you. Uncle Steve ; 
 but if Aunt Polly will give us a bit of 
 food, I'll be glad — she may be hungry, 
 you know," I added, seeing how impa- 
 tient he looked. 
 
 A small basket was filled, Polly prom- 
 ised to come down early in the morning, 
 and. we turned away. We had not gone 
 above two rods when, as if to second 
 Mrs. Frisbie's warnings, there came from 
 the back yard the long, startling howl of 
 a dog, wailing through the air, and died 
 mournfully away. We did not speak, 
 but I felt the old man's fingers tighten 
 on my wrist, and we hurried as if drawn 
 by some invisible power. The old cabin 
 was dark and silent, and the unbroken 
 stillness without and within soon con- 
 vinced him that she did not wait. I was 
 thankful for the darkness, for I felt that, 
 at that moment, it would be almost sac- 
 rilege to look upon that old man's face. 
 
 I do not think he attempted to sleep 
 or even rest that night, for, long after I 
 had flung myself upon the bed in her 
 room, I heard him moving about, some- 
 times in the house and sometimes on the 
 beach. He said little to his sister or my- 
 self the next day; the excitement that 
 had buoyed him up for the past few 
 days had left him, and he seemed weak 
 and trembling. When I saw him bring 
 out all her old treasures and playthings, 
 the box of shells, the "History of 
 Beasts," "John R. Jewett's Narrative," 
 
 and the volume of "Shipwrecks," and 
 arrange and rearrange them with his 
 trembling hands, I began to fear for his 
 reason. Yet a moment's reflection 
 taught me that the intuitions of that 
 loving heart were better than my highest 
 wisdom, for if our poor wronged Birdie 
 had, as the nurse said, " moaned so con- 
 stantly for home " at the hospital, what 
 home would her poor, crazed brain be 
 so likely to recognize as the one of her 
 happy childhood? All deep emotion is 
 electric, and the tremor in the old man's 
 hands was communicated to mine when 
 I brought from the beach the little " sil- 
 ver shells " and the smooth, variegated 
 pebbles in my apron as of old, and be- 
 gan to lay them down upon the sand by 
 the door in the quaint patterns we were 
 wont to fashion years before. The old 
 man smiled faintly when he saw them, 
 saying : 
 
 "That's right. Blackbird; we must 
 make it seem as nat'ral as we can. If 
 we could only coax her to forget ! " 
 
 Forget! No need of that! The 
 cruel, pitiless east wind, laden with sea- 
 spray, and driving before it long racks 
 of clouds, that seemed to almost touch 
 the green, yeasty wave, was preparing a 
 Lethe for all her troubles — even Death ! 
 
 The night set in dark and gusty, with 
 showers of rain which the wind caught 
 and beat into a blinding, driving mist, 
 which soon shut out from sight the fish- 
 houses and the great reels, and left the 
 black stakes of the nearest fish-pound 
 visible only at intervals. I shuddered 
 at the thought of our darling exposed to 
 such a storm, and bitterly regretted that 
 I had not searched every town and ham- 
 let on the coast between there and 
 Southport, instead of yielding to what 
 now seemed a mere monomania in Uncle 
 Steve — the expectation of finding her at 
 home. But I could not speak of this to 
 that bowed and broken man, who sat 
 gazing out into the darkness with such a 
 look of unutterable anguish ; I could not 
 so much as let a hint of a mistake touch 
 
THE SEARCH FOR BIRDIE. 
 
 163 
 
 that sore and quivering heart ! I could 
 only pace the room and shudder at the 
 mournful wailing of the old pine, and the 
 long wash of the rising tide, which had 
 now come to add new strength to the 
 turbulent water. As my eye rested again 
 and again on the motionless figure of the 
 old man, it struck me that his whole 
 appearance was that of one who waits 
 and listens intently. Once or twice he 
 went out into the storm, to return in a 
 brief space, with dripping hair and gar- 
 ments, and resume his watch. At last, 
 he roused himself, and begged me to go 
 to bed. Knowing a refusal would only 
 add to his trouble, I consented and went 
 into the small room, and, seating myself 
 by the window, with my head resting on 
 a small pine table, I waited for the morn- 
 ing light. I suppose I must have fallen 
 into a drowse, for I was again with little 
 Adeline in the boat off the island — again 
 I saw her go over the side, clutching at 
 the fronds of the waving sea-weed, and, 
 just as I sprang forward to catch her, a 
 cry of— "O Lina! Lina!" uttered in 
 fear and deathly anguish, rang in my ears 
 with startling distinctness, and I sprang 
 to my feet, shivering, trembling, and ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 All was still, save the surging of the 
 waves and the moaning of the old pine- 
 tree ; the violence of the storm had abated, 
 the clouds were broken, and the scene 
 without was made dimly visible by the 
 moonbeams that struggled from behind 
 the fast-flying scuds. Not being able to 
 realize then, nor even now, that the cry, 
 so awfully distinct, was a mere delusion 
 of the imagination, I flung open the door 
 into the next room. It was unoccupied, 
 and the outside door was wide open. 
 Without staying for hood or shawl, I ran 
 out and joined Uncle Steve on the beach. 
 
 "Did you hear anything?" I cried, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " Nothin' but the fallin' of the big 
 dead limb of the old bass-wood on the 
 p'int, yonder ; an' I kept watch ever sin' 
 you went ter sleep." 
 
 He had not heard it; I must have 
 been dreaming. What ear so likely as 
 his, to catch the agonized cry of his dar- 
 ling ! It was thus I reasoned, but reason 
 did not bring conviction, and, feeling it 
 impossible to stay in the house, I ran 
 back for some covering, and then drew 
 the old man on, along the curving beach, 
 peering into the moaning waves, with 
 the expectation of seeing — I dared not 
 whisper to myself wliat. 
 
 The tide was now on the ebb ; and, 
 keeping close to the water, with the wet 
 sea-weed clogging my feet, and clinging 
 to my ankles, I went on, across the slip- 
 pery old timber that spanned the narrow 
 creek, between our beach and the fish- 
 houses — beyond these, to the extreme 
 verge of the rocky point, on the west. 
 I dared not hint my thought to the old 
 man who followed my lead in patient, 
 unquestioning silence ; so, with a mental 
 " Thank God ! " I retraced my steps. We 
 had reached the creek, and were again 
 crossing the timber, when my eye fell 
 upon a portion of an old, long-disused 
 weir, which was still standing near the 
 mouth of the creek. Many a time had 
 little Adeline and myself waded off to it 
 at low tide, in our childhood; but now, 
 the sight filled me with horror, for, lodged 
 against it, rising and falling with the mo- 
 tion of the waves, was a dark object, 
 something like a human figure. Speech- 
 less from terror, I caught Uncle Steve's 
 arm, and pointed to it. In an instant, 
 he was in the water, and I knew our 
 long watch was over. In a few moments, 
 our darling lay stretched upon the beach, 
 not a dozen rods from her old home, but 
 deaf to our anguish, cold, and white, and 
 still. So changed, too — so worn and thin 
 with the shipwreck of all her earthly 
 hopes ! 
 
 Oh, was it not in mercy rather than 
 wrath, that God had called her to follow 
 her little baby thus, rocking her poor 
 crazed brain to its long rest in the waters 
 which had cradled, as it were, her child- 
 hood! 
 
164 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 We bore her home just as the dawn 
 was breaking. Friendly hands wrung 
 the water from her long, fair hair, and 
 straightened her shrunken limbs for the 
 grave. A dark, discolored wound on her 
 temple proved that her death had not 
 been premeditated — that in crossing the 
 timber she must have lost her footing 
 and struck against some sharp, shell-in- 
 crusted rock. - 
 
 I hardlj.know how the weary day 
 wore away. The house was full of people, 
 but I thought but for two ; that bowed 
 old man who seemed to see nothing, to 
 be conscious of nothing but the white 
 figure stretched upon the old pine table, 
 and Polly Maria, whom this great sorrow 
 had suddenly taken out of the atmosphere 
 of commonplace quotations, and set face 
 to face with simple, natural grief. 
 
 She remained and occupied part of 
 my bed that night, for no entreaties could 
 induce Uncle Steve to let us take his place 
 by the dead. "Worn out by excitement 
 and lack of rest, I slept soundly, until 
 suddenly awakened by the touch of Polly 
 Maria and her startled " Hark ! " 
 
 There were voices in the out-room ; 
 some one was speaking earnestly in tones 
 of entreaty, and I hurriedly dressed my- 
 self, and opened the door. 
 
 I shall never forget that scene. At 
 the head of that still form, whose outlines 
 were distinctly visible beneath the white 
 sheet, stood Uncle Steve; his face was 
 ghastly, but there was a fire in his eyes 
 that I never saw there before, and his 
 whole face and figure, even to the out- 
 stretched arm, were rigid with anger, 
 scorn, and immitigable resolve, while 
 cowering before him, by the side of the 
 corpse, was a man, who pleaded in a voice 
 hoarse from anguish and remorse. 
 
 " Curse me ! you can't do it worse 
 than I curse myself! Kick me — trample 
 on me ! but, for the love of God, let me 
 see her once more ! only this once ! " 
 
 It was Henry Heath, the miserable, 
 conscience-stricken husband of the poor 
 girl, that cowered there ; but there was 
 
 no relenting of that look of awful stern- 
 ness in the old man's face, only a spas- 
 modic movement of the fingers, as he 
 replied : 
 
 "I never cuss'd livin' cre'tur yet, God 
 be thanked; so don't tempt me now! 
 Go away, out of my sight. You had her 
 livin'." Now the voice began to trem- 
 ble, the iron nerves to relax. " I giv' 
 her to you 'cause you said you loved her, 
 an' I thought you'd be tenderer of her— - 
 make her happier than I could. She 
 went away from here innocent, happy, 
 and loving — she has come back — that — " 
 
 "With a motion toward the dead body 
 of his child, he covered his face with his 
 hands, and groaned aloud. 
 
 By this time I had gained his side, 
 followed closely by Polly Maria. Eecog- 
 nizing me, the youug man clutched at 
 my dress, pleading : 
 
 " Miss Lina, let me see her this 
 once ! I was false, and mean, and wick- 
 ed — false in all but my love for her, for I 
 call Heaven to witness that I never would 
 have taken her away if I hadn't believed 
 myself a free man. They told me that 
 curse of my boyhood was dead ! " 
 
 I glanced at my companions. Uncle 
 Steve's face was still buried in his hands, 
 but the anger and abhorrence that had 
 gleamed from Polly Maria's black eyes, 
 when she first recognized the man, were 
 fast giving place to a look of sorrowful 
 commiseration. Suddenly she sunk on her 
 knees, in doubt of all save the wisdom 
 and love of the Highest, and exclaimed : 
 
 "Our Father which art in heaven, 
 we are poor, and weak, and sinful; 
 teach us, we pray Thee, to forgive ! " 
 
 I interpreted the expression of the 
 old man's face, as the hands were slowly 
 removed, and raised the covering from 
 the face of the dead. 
 
 The young man arose, looked for a 
 moment with widely-distended eyes at 
 the calm, cold face ; then, with a groan 
 of agony, turned and went out into the 
 night. 
 
 We buried her on the following day. 
 
A MEMORABLE INTERVIEW. 
 
 165 
 
 ■ For a brief space the coffin rested on the 
 bank above the house, while friends and 
 neighbors took the last look of her face ; 
 and the voice of the minister, as it rose 
 in prayer, mingled with the murmur of 
 the pines and the swell of the sea. Then 
 we bore her to the small district burial- 
 ground and laid her in the grave. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A MEMOEABLE INTERVIEW. 
 
 In the note left on my mistress's table 
 I had spoken of a necessary absence for a 
 few days. ITearly six weeks elapsed be- 
 fore I could think of leaving that desolate 
 old man to go back to my duties ; but I 
 had written her briefly meantime, and 
 thought that I could trust to her kind- 
 ness. The parting with Uncle Steve and 
 his sister was very sad ; but, as the train 
 bore me along, thoughts, and queries, 
 and anticipations, which had lain quiet 
 under this sudden weight of grief, began 
 to stir again. I wondered if Mr. Annes- 
 ley had arrived ; I recalled our last inter- 
 view — ^his look, his words, the passionate 
 tenderness of his embrace — and a new 
 feeling, strange as delightful, sent a warm 
 thrill of joy through my frame, the feel- 
 ing that I was going home — Tiome^ for the 
 first time in my life. It may seem selfish 
 — I know it did to me at ihe time, in the 
 shadow of the terrible scene through 
 which I had just passed — but that could 
 only temper it. The human heart is a 
 curious thing, and Joy treads too close on 
 the heels of Sorrow, in most experiences, 
 
 " To keep a dream or grave apart." 
 
 Fast as was the speed of the cars, my 
 longings travelled faster. Yet, when I 
 sprang from the coach at Miss Annesley's 
 door, and heard the clock upon the 
 neighboring church-tower strike three, 
 I was conscious of a sudden feeling of 
 relief at the thought that I should not, 
 probably, meet any of the family until 
 
 after dinner. I hurried to my room and 
 flung off my dusty travelling-suit, and 
 dressed myself in a perfectly fresh me- 
 rino. The house was unusually quiet, so 
 much so that the silence seemed to op- 
 press me. For the first time a doubt as 
 to the wisdom of the anticipations in 
 which I had permitted myself to indulge 
 crossed my mind, but I shut it out as un- 
 worthy of the atmosphere of that house, 
 and went down to Miss Annesley's room 
 to wait her coming, as was usual, after 
 dinner. In crossing the hall I met Jane, 
 and the warmth of my greeting seemed 
 to surprise and gratify her ; I was so glad 
 to be at home ! 
 
 "Won't the mistress be glad to see 
 you back? " she said ; " she's been rather 
 poorly of late." 
 
 " Has she been ill, Jane ? " 
 
 "IsTo, not exactly, but a little low- 
 spirited. But I'll tell her you have 
 come, miss." 
 
 "Stop, Jane! Is there company to 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " N"o ; only the family, miss." 
 
 " The Lloyds and Mr. Annesley ? " I 
 said, as carelessly as I could. 
 
 "Not Mr. Annesley. I think he went 
 away before yon did, miss, and has not 
 returned. The mistress has been quite 
 lonely, after having him here so long." 
 
 He had not returned. "Well, what 
 then ? Six weeks is surely a short space 
 of time in which to cross the Atlantic 
 Ocean twice ; that is not a woman's heart 
 to be swayed by Saville Annesley's eyes 
 or voice. Beware of the sin of idolatry, 
 Lina!" 
 
 Still waiting for m.j mistress's step on 
 the stairs, I sat musing thus, striving to 
 collect my wandering thoughts and feel- 
 ings and hold them under the strong 
 leash of common-sense. I was too much 
 occupied to note the time, but I think a 
 half hour or more must have passed, 
 when Miss Lloyd's maid appeared to say 
 that the ladies desired to see me in the 
 library. 
 
 The girl's maimer was always pert 
 
166 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 and self -sufficient, therefore a rather un- 
 usual display of these characteristics did 
 not surprise me ; and, with a feeling of 
 annoyance at being forced to explain my 
 absence in the presence of the Lloyds, I 
 obeyed. 
 
 But one glance at the group in the 
 library, especially at the faces of Mrs. 
 Lloyd and her daughter (Miss Annesley's 
 was turned away) convinced me that this 
 feeling was unnecessary. I should not 
 be permitted to explain, for there was 
 unalterable decision in every line of Mrs. 
 Lloyd's face, every knot and fold of her 
 head-dress and heavy black-satin dress. 
 For a moment, I paused — not in fear of 
 that Semiramis figure in the arm-chair in 
 the foreground, but in memory of the 
 last time I had stood in that room ; and, 
 as I did so, I saw Miss Julia smile and 
 glance at her mother. The smile and 
 movement were the perfection of im- 
 measurable disdain, slightly modified by 
 impatience and sarcasm. It acted like a 
 tonic on me, and, collecting myself, I gave 
 a hasty glance around the room before 
 advancing to my mistress's side. The mise 
 en scene was perfect. Miss Lloyd, looking, 
 as I could not but confess, magnificent in 
 a heavy purple silk, was lounging on a 
 sofa, a little to her mother's right, just 
 below a bracket, upon which stood an 
 exquisite copy in marble of the head of 
 Juno, looking scarcely more stately in its 
 lofty self-poise than the lady below. To 
 the left sat my mistress, a little more 
 bowed, I thought, than was necessary to 
 overlook the illustrated volume that lay 
 on the table before her. 
 
 One glance took in the scene as well 
 as a conception of its meaning. I made 
 a movement to reach Miss Annesley's 
 side, but Mrs. Lloyd motioned me back 
 with a sweep of her jewelled right arm, 
 saying : 
 
 "Keep your place, Miss Eay. I will 
 detain you but a few minutes." 
 
 It was evident there was to be a 
 scene of some sort, but it did not suit my 
 present mood, and I determined to avoid 
 
 it if possible ; so, waiting until she had 
 settled back against the damask cushions 
 of her chair, I said, quietly : 
 
 "I merely wish to speak with Miss 
 Annesley and explain the reasons of my 
 long absence." 
 
 Before Mrs. Lloyd, who was ever de- 
 liberate in her movements, could reply. 
 Miss Annesley turned quickly toward 
 me, saying: 
 
 "Yes, yes, let her speak, cousin. Per- 
 haps she can explain." 
 
 "As you please. Cousin Anne," re- 
 turned the lady, haughtily; "doubtless 
 she will, but I must beg you, in that 
 case, to dispense with the presence of my 
 daughter and myself. I have never been 
 accustomed to permit, much less accept, 
 explanations for remissness or neglect 
 of duty from my servants ; and, had I not 
 felt personally implicated by introducing 
 her into your service without any defi- 
 nite knowledge of her character, I should 
 not consent to be present here at all. ISTo 
 explanations can change the facts with 
 which we are already acquainted." 
 
 She half rose from her seat, and Miss 
 Annesley said, hastily : 
 
 "Don't mistake me. Cousin Lloyd. I 
 am truly grateful for your interest and 
 advice in this matter, and beg you not to 
 reproach yourself for any remissness in 
 bringing Lina into my service. She has 
 been a good, faithful girl, an intelligent 
 companion, and-r-these charges — I do not 
 know what to make of them ! " 
 
 Miss Annesley looked really dis- 
 tressed ; but, before I could ask what the 
 "charges" were, Mrs. Lloyd said, with 
 a slight smile of contempt : 
 
 "If so good and faithful, she should 
 also be truthful; and she may be able 
 to make you see that it is right and fit- 
 ting that a person introduced by me into 
 this house, aS a companion for Miss Anne 
 Annesley, should frequent some of the 
 lowest and most infamous houses in this 
 city — that she should associate with 
 sailors and Irish vagabonds, even leave 
 her place without permission, to go trav- 
 
A MEMORABLE INTERVIEW. 
 
 167 
 
 elling about with the same disreputable 
 set!" 
 
 The tone, so ironical at first, was re- 
 plete with concentrated scorn and anger 
 as she went on. My conduct had cast 
 an imputation on her judgment — a sin 
 beyond redemption with Mrs. Lloyd ; but, 
 nothing daunted by this knowledge, I 
 said, calmly : 
 
 " If she cannot make it right and fit- 
 ting, she can and will tell the truth. To 
 one such place, perhaps, two, she has 
 been ! " 
 
 There was a grim smile of triumph on 
 Mrs. Lloyd's face, and a look of surprise, 
 disappointment, not unmixed with dis- 
 pleasure from my mistress, but I was too 
 much in earnest to heed them. 
 
 " Not from any improper motives, but 
 to help those whom she was bound, from 
 gratitude, to assist. So much of the 
 charge is true. That which touches the 
 character of my companions — one, the 
 nurse, which Mr. Annesley selected for 
 me in my illness — the other the friend of 
 my childhood, an old man and an honest 
 one, is falsehood itself! " 
 
 " Will you tell me why you went to 
 such places, Miss Kay ? " said Miss An- 
 nesley, with a look of wounded dignity. 
 
 " To seek some tidings of that old 
 man's niece, the playmate and friend of 
 my childhood, madam." 
 
 " Who had been living for months in 
 a disreputable and criminal connection 
 with a married man," interposed Mrs. 
 Lloyd. 
 
 "That is not true!" I said, indig- 
 nantly. " She was married to him in the 
 presence of her family, and believed her- 
 self his lawful wife. The knowledge that 
 she had been deceived crazed her brain, 
 and broke her heart. The week I went 
 from here, we laid her in her grave as 
 pure, and innocent, and stainless, as are 
 your own daughters, Mrs. Lloyd. It was 
 pity for the sorrow of that poor old man, 
 who had been a father to her from her 
 birth, that kept me so long from my duty 
 here, as I told Miss Annesley in my let- 
 
 ter," I said, trying to keep back the 
 tears. 
 
 "Did you write, Miss Ray?" asked 
 my mistress. 
 
 *' I did, explaining the cause of my 
 absence." 
 
 " I never received the letter. Had 
 it reached me, it would have ex- 
 plained the motives of your conduct, not 
 excused its impropriety in a young, un- 
 married girl, and one, as Mrs. Lloyd justly 
 observes, holding such an intimate rela- 
 tionship to this family. That is, I regret 
 to say, inexcusable." 
 
 It was not my mistress that spoke 
 thus, but the family pride of whole gen- 
 erations of Annesleys. It was her one 
 foible, and I forgave it. 
 
 "I was not aware," she continued, 
 " until a few days since, of the circum- 
 stances under which Mrs. Lloyd engaged 
 you. She was so kind as to take you, after 
 a week's trial, and your recent conduct has 
 grieved me deeply. ' I trusted you so 
 fully — " here the woman began to break 
 through the ancestral shell — " O Lina, if 
 you must needs have any thing to do with 
 such people, why did you not consult 
 me?" 
 
 Her emotion touched me, and I said 
 hurriedly: " Because I could not ; there 
 were reasons, circumstances, which I was 
 not free to explain. Indeed, Miss An- 
 nesley, I could not." 
 
 " Then that must be true which we 
 have heard hinted," she said, sadly. " That 
 you are not what you seem — that you 
 have imposed upon us all. I say Tiinted^ 
 for the person who spoke of this was too 
 delicate and generous to betray you, or 
 do more than express a very natural sur- 
 prise at seeing you here under a name 
 which he felt sure you yourself would not 
 deny was false. Is this true, Miss Ray ? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 Even Miss Lloyd started and looked 
 up from the copy of BlacTcwood^ with 
 which she affected to be busy, at this 
 direct avowal. 
 
 " But," I added, " the name of Ray is 
 
168 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 a mistake of Mrs. Lloyd's. Slie persisted 
 in calling me by that name, and, as it 
 suited me as well as any other, I have 
 continued to answer to it." 
 
 "What unparalleled impudence ! Dear 
 cousin, will you ever forgive me for bring- 
 ing you in contact with such a person ? I 
 shall never forgive myself. — Julia, my 
 love — " 
 
 "Excuse me, mamma," interrupted 
 that young lady. "I protest against 
 being mixed up with this absurd farce. 
 This person, Eay, or whatever her name 
 may be, has the tastes and vices of her 
 class, as is natural, and she has showed 
 them out. I'm not surprised in the least. 
 The only thing to be done is for Cousin 
 Anne to show her the door at once; 
 though, if you get a dozen in her place, 
 cousin, it will only be a choice of evils. 
 They are all alike — canaille .'" 
 
 "It may be so, Julia," said Miss An- 
 nesley, sadly ; " but you must admit that 
 Lina has great natural refinement, and 
 a well-cultured mind. I thought — " she 
 interrupted herself, arose, and came to- 
 ward me, saying earnestly — " if I could 
 only understand tbis ! Girl, will you tell 
 me your real name ? " 
 
 My limbs trembled, and the words 
 rose to my lips, so much did her sad, 
 anxious, troubled face move me ; but I 
 thought of the Lloyds, and the storm of 
 incredulity which would follow such an 
 avowal, and I answered, faintly — 
 
 " No." 
 
 She came to my side, placed a roU of 
 bills in my hand, saying : 
 
 "Such persistence in concealment 
 argues something wrong, especially in 
 one so young. I feel that I ought not to 
 countenance it, and the relation between 
 us must cease. You will find your salary 
 there, and something more. I could not 
 rest in peace, if I thought you were ex- 
 posed to want." 
 
 She did not withdraw the hand I 
 took, and I pressed it to my lips, before I 
 replied : 
 
 " I can take gifts only from those who 
 
 love or trust me, madam, therefore I can 
 retain of this only my salary. Have no 
 fear for me. The same honest old sailor 
 of whom Mrs. Lloyd thinks so meanly 
 will give me food and shelter until I can 
 find employment." 
 
 Miss Lloyd arose, saying: "Eeally, 
 Cousin Anne — ^mamma you must excuse 
 me. The farce grows tiresome as they 
 always do, unless you have some one to 
 laugh with you ! If Mr. Annesley were 
 only here — " 
 
 " I wish he were ! " eagerly interrupt- 
 ed Miss Annesley. 
 
 "Thank you, ladies!" said a voice 
 that thrilled through every nerve in my 
 body. " The man who meets such good 
 wishes on his threshold may count him- 
 self fortunate." 
 
 The door which had been left ajar 
 had been flung open, and Mr. Annesley 
 stood on the threshold. Miss Julia, with 
 a flushed cheek and proud smile, came 
 forward to greet him. He returned their 
 congratulations briefly and gravely, I 
 thought, walked to the fire, and, leaning 
 on the mantel, looked round the room 
 with a quick, curious glance. JFor a sec- 
 ond, it rested on me, but was instantly 
 withdrawn, and he remarked, carelessly : 
 
 "In spite of the old adage, it is well 
 to be a listener sometimes, ladies ; for, if 
 I had not overheard your wish for my 
 presence, I should suppose I had intruded 
 on some solemn and secret conclave, met 
 to discuss some vexed point in feminine 
 ethics, and expect the just indignation of 
 the gods to folio v/ my presumption. But 
 in what can my masculine wisdom aid 
 you?" 
 
 Miss Lloyd made a grimace expres- 
 sive of weariness and disgust, but my 
 mistress burst into tears, saying : 
 
 "0 Ealph, it's about that girl there! 
 She has deliberately deceived us all — 
 and you know how I trusted her ! " 
 
 "Deceived! "What has the girl done? 
 Broken another Etruscan vase, and de- 
 nied it ? " he asked, gravely. 
 
 Before Miss Annesley could reply, 
 
A MEMORABLE INTERVIEW. 
 
 169 
 
 Mrs. Lloyd began in her most magisterial 
 manner : 
 
 "It is no matter for jesting, let me 
 assure you, sir. I speak, because I feel 
 responsible for having introduced her 
 into this house. She has disgraced her- 
 self and us all, by not only associating 
 with the lowest and most vulgar people, 
 but has actually frequented, in their 
 company, some of the worst places in the 
 city. Our dear cousin is altogether too 
 kind-hearted and sensitive to deal with 
 such characters, and your arrival is op- 
 portune. It is no very agreeable task to 
 any one of refined mind, but duty is duty, 
 and must be done." 
 
 It was hard to keep back the burning 
 words that struggled for utterance, but I 
 did it, waiting impatiently for his next 
 words. 
 
 They came after a brief silence, dur- 
 ing which his face, or what I could see 
 of it, was as unreadable as that of the 
 Sphinx. 
 
 "Very true, Mrs. Lloyd, but what 
 reasons does the young girl give in ex- 
 cuse for such conduct? " 
 
 "Oh, as usual, disinterested friend- 
 ship ! Some worthless associate in trouble. 
 These people never look for reasons; 
 but you and I know the world, Mr. An- 
 nesley! " 
 
 " Cousin Lloyd, you forget. She says 
 these people were kind to her in her 
 childhood," interposed Miss Annesley. 
 
 "No, indeed, Anne! I would have 
 no one ungrateful, but, when we con- 
 descended to employ her, we took her 
 out — away from that low set, and duty 
 to us should have taught her to ignore 
 them. The injury that the mere recog- 
 nition of them would bring her, in her 
 present position, would more than coun- 
 terbalance any favors they could ever 
 have bestowed. She should have quietly 
 dropped them ! " 
 
 Mr. Annesley bowed gravely. "A 
 very lucid statement, madam ; but I was 
 thinking, as you spoke, of a certain his- 
 torical personage whose teachings upon 
 
 this subject have, somehow, contrived 
 to get a pretty strong footing in the 
 world. He not only associated with the 
 poor and the outcast, the leper and the 
 Magdalen, but actually sat down to eat 
 with publicans and sinners. To be sure, 
 he was only a mechanic, the son of a 
 carpenter, a despised Nazarene, but as 
 he is historical, as I said, you may have 
 heard of him, Mrs. Lloyd — at Grace 
 Church and elsewhere." 
 
 She could not but feel the mocking 
 irony of the tone, through all its seeming 
 gravity, and her dark cheek flushed witli 
 anger, and in a manner more measured 
 than usual she replied: 
 
 ""We will not speak lightly of sacred 
 things, Mr. Annesley, and I confess I 
 should be surprised at your, to say the 
 least, bad taste, did I not know how 
 much of your life has been spent abroad, 
 where the general laxity on such sub- 
 jects is notorious.' The girl has ac- 
 knowledged herself to be an impostor, 
 besides ; we have it from unquestionable 
 authority that — Julia, my dear, will you 
 tell—" 
 
 "Mamma, pray have some mercy on 
 Mr. Annesley, if not on me ! " cried Miss 
 Julia, laughing. "Here, he has just ar- 
 rived after such a weary absence" — he 
 might have been the Man in the Iron 
 Mask for all the impression that look of 
 languishing softness had upon him — " and 
 you bore him to death with such non- 
 sense. The truth is," she continued, cross- 
 ing over and taking a position at the op- 
 posite corner of the grate, " the girl is an 
 impostor, and Miss Annesley has very 
 properly dismissed her. — Better join with 
 me, mamma, and beg Mr. Annesley to 
 forgive us for bringing such a person be- 
 neath his roof." 
 
 "There is no necessity. TJiat was 
 done long ago." The words were for her, 
 but the look was mine, and I stood erect 
 and unshrinking. 
 
 He was silent a moment, and Mrs. 
 Lloyd gave me a look that said very 
 plainly that my presence there was un- 
 
170 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 necessary. I did not heed it ; and Miss 
 Annesley, observing this, said : 
 
 " Cousin Ealph, Miss Eay refuses to 
 accept any thing from me hut the small 
 sum due her for the past quarter. I wish 
 you would talk with her. I fear she may 
 he driven to continue these low associa- 
 tions from lack of means. She always 
 seemed grateful for your kindness when 
 she was so ill ; perhaps she will listen to 
 you." 
 
 " I trust she will, cousin ; be at rest," 
 he returned, with a curious smile ; " but, 
 first, I wish to say a few words to 
 you ladies on my own affairs. You are 
 all such kind friends that I find it a pleas- 
 ure as well as duty to speak to you on a 
 subject which so nearly concerns my 
 happiness." 
 
 Turning round until he faced his audi- 
 tors, he continued : 
 
 " You, Cousin Anne, as well as Mrs. 
 Lloyd, have often told me that it was my 
 duty to marry; and even Miss Julia, 
 though so careful to keep clear of the 
 fetters herself, thinks it not amiss for a 
 person of my age to settle — I believe that 
 is the phrase." 
 
 He paused, and that queer, mischiev- 
 ous smile changed to an expression of 
 deep and serious feeling. I doubt whether 
 he even noted Miss Lloyd's blush and 
 self-conscious manner — for, looking 
 straight in Miss Annesley's surprised 
 face, he continued : 
 
 " There was little hope of my acting 
 upon your advice at first, for I felt my- 
 self a world-wearied, pleasure-surfeited 
 man ; what had I to offer in exchange 
 for the love of a good and pure woman, 
 and such I must have, if any; and, to 
 tell the truth, I had never lost faith in 
 the possibility of such a thing, in spite 
 of my general and avowed atheism in 
 matters of the heart. But I mistook my- 
 self. I met a woman, whose simple inde- 
 pendence, frank truthfulness, nawe^ saga- 
 cious mind, and unaffected manner, had 
 for me a strange fascination. I studied 
 her, and found no trace of the selfishness, 
 
 hardness, or littleness, that had so often 
 disgusted me in others of her sex. Have 
 patience, ladies; it is not often, you 
 know, that I confess. All was bright, 
 serene, and clear, and her presence be- 
 came to me like dew to the desert, l^ew 
 hopes, thoughts, and feelings awoke — or, 
 rather, old ones became conscious of a 
 miraculous resurrection. I was a man 
 again, with all a man's best hopes and 
 joys before me. I know that I love her 
 with my whole heart ; and I think, I be- 
 lieve, my love is returned." 
 
 He paused, came to my side, and 
 whispered a word in my ear that made 
 my veins to throb with tumultuous joy. 
 I replied by placing my hand in his, and 
 he led me up to Miss Annesley, saying, 
 while his voice trembled from intense 
 emotion : 
 
 " Cousin Anne, permit me to present 
 to you my bride ! " 
 
 "Ealph, Ealph Saville! " stammered 
 the lady in amazement. 
 
 " Bride ! " exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd, an- 
 grily ; " you are carrying this jest too far, 
 sir! Such things are beneath you^and 
 your guests, Mr. Annesley! " 
 
 A dark frown knotted his forehead, 
 and I felt the quickened throbbing of his 
 heart, when, drawing me still closer to 
 him, he said, sternly : 
 
 " I do not jest, Mrs. Lloyd ! It should 
 be enough for you that I take this young 
 girl to my heart without a question of 
 those absurd charges. She is poor and 
 friendless ; I care not : I can shelter her 
 in my heart, and I will stake my life on 
 her purity and truth ! " 
 
 Hastily, almost frantically, I broke 
 from his clasp, and knelt at his feet, 
 crying : 
 
 "Forgive me, sir! It is true — I am 
 not what I seem ! I am Zerlina Day, the 
 Oaklawn teacher, Agnes Lathrop's ward, 
 whom you have sought so long ! " 
 
 "Philip Cavendish's child!" he ex- 
 claimed, as he raised me again, his face 
 radiant with joy. "My Philip's child! 
 Oh, but this is wonderful! " 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 171 
 
 "Mamma," said Julia Lloyd, with a 
 discordant laugh, "this is really getting 
 absurd as well as tiresome. Let us with- 
 draw." 
 
 They swept out of the room, but I 
 doubt if he heard the words or noted 
 their departure ; for he had put me from 
 him a little, and was eagerly scanning 
 my face, and saying : 
 
 " Yes, — I see it now, in the forehead, 
 and mouth, and the deep-set eye ; " then 
 turning to Miss Anne, who had been 
 watching hira with a look of hopeless 
 bewilderment, he said, solemnly : 
 
 " Anne, it was God Himself who sent 
 this girl, Philip Cavendish's friendless 
 child, to you ! To be with us when he 
 returns, for he is not dead, but on his 
 way home even now, after an absence of 
 so many years. It was to satisfy myself 
 of the truth of this, that I went to Eng- 
 land so suddenly. Will you not bless her 
 as my wife ? " 
 
 "Not only as your wife, Ealph, but 
 as my own faithful friend with whom I 
 have been hasty and unjust. — Will you 
 forgive me, dear ? " 
 
 I kissed her hand, I could not speak ; 
 then laying her hands on my head, she 
 stood a moment, while her lips moved 
 inaudibly ; while Mr. Annesley withdrew 
 his arm from my waist, and stood with 
 bowed head and clasped hands. 
 
 Then she glided from the room, and 
 we were alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 coxcLusioiir. 
 
 Saville Annesley made good his 
 promise. He took his wife to Europe 
 with him in less than two months, but 
 our wedding-trip was to the Cove, for he 
 could not rest until he had clasped hands 
 with IJncle Steve. In Paris we met my 
 father, whose solitary heart seemed to 
 revel in an atmosphere of silent joy at the 
 night of his friend and child thus united. 
 
 After an absence of six months, we 
 
 began to yearn for home. It was strange? 
 as pleasant to me, to hear those two wan- 
 derers talking so earnestly of home, and 
 laying plans for the future. 
 
 After a brief winter in New York, we 
 came out to Highcliff, which, with the 
 exception of a few weeks in midwinter, 
 and midsummer, has been our permanent 
 home. My father's return, of course, set- 
 tled the succession of the Cavendish es- 
 tate, but, at my request, the Pines, with 
 the exception of the pictures, and some 
 other mementos, was settled upon Ed- 
 ward Ellis, whose joy in my happiness 
 was unmistakable. Mrs. Ellis is helpless 
 from paralysis ; and James Sancroft, I 
 see by the papers, has just been elected 
 to a seat in Congress by one of our latest- 
 born "Western States. This is fortunate, 
 for I hear, through Cousin Anne, who 
 spends most of her time with us, that the 
 Lloyds are in Washington, Miss Julia still 
 unmarried, and it is- always pleasant to 
 meet friends. 
 
 Every summer we visit the Cove. My 
 father, between whom and Uncle Steve 
 there exists a bond of sympathy as deep 
 as it is silent, has amused himself by 
 building a summer-residence on the bank 
 beneath the great pine. It is a curious 
 affair, half Oriental in its construction 
 and arrangements, but very comfortable 
 as we find, when the heat at Highcliff 
 becomes unendurable, and we join him 
 at midsummer. He usually precedes us 
 by several weeks, for he is as fond of the 
 fisherman's quiet craft as IJncle Steve, 
 and in the evening they sit together on 
 the bench by the old cabin-door, smoking 
 silently, until enveloped in clouds of their 
 own making. 
 
 But when the children come, then 
 there is a stir. There are lines to rig for 
 Master Philip Eothsay, who boasts the 
 mature age of four years ; stories to be 
 told him of mamma's childhood; the 
 wonderful picture of the Dart, which 
 still hangs in its old place to be exhib- 
 ited ; shells to be gathered for baby 
 Ealph ; albeit IJncle Steve's eyes grow 
 
172 
 
 RIGHTED AT LAST. 
 
 so dim and misty in the effort tliat many 
 a diogy pebble is brought in among them. 
 He never plays at porpoises or kangaroos 
 now — that part of the programme falls 
 upon Saville Annesley, who is ready to 
 transform himself into any thing, no mat- 
 ter how absurd, to please his boys ; and 
 to be honest, reader, his wife only loves 
 him the better for his folly. 
 
 But within the past year we have had 
 a little girl added to our family ; a small, 
 quiet, blue- eyed girl of sis ; the child of 
 Agnes Lathrop, and her dying legacy to 
 my husband and myself. So Mr. Tyler 
 wrote, and as such we thankfully received 
 
 her. She is very dear to us all, but Uncle 
 Steve manifests, if possible, a tenderer 
 love for her than for my bold boys. My 
 husband and I often speak of this, with 
 grateful hearts, as we watch him leading 
 her about the beach, or carefully lifting 
 her over the rocks. Kecent information 
 of her father's marriage to the widow of 
 a missionary has relieved us of the fear 
 of losing her, and now we hold her en- 
 tirely as our own. 
 
 Of my married life I need not speak. 
 "Where there is perfect love, there must 
 be perfect accord. Keader, may a like 
 blessing be thine ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
MORTON HOUSE, 
 
 By the Author of "VALERIE AYLMEE." 
 
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