POPULAR TALES,
BY  TEE A UTOR OF' THIS VOL UHE.
I. —MARIAN GREY.
II. —'LENA RIVERS.
III.'-MEADOW BROOK.
IV.-HOMESTEAD on the HILLSIDE.
V.-DORA DEANE.
VI.-COUSIN MAUDE.
-0PRIoR $1 25 EACH.




MARIAN GREY;
OER THE
HEIRESS OF REDSTONE HALL.
BY
MRS. MARY Js, HOLMES,
AUTHOR OF'ILENA RIVES," " TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
Car/eton, Publisher, 4I3 Broadway.
M DCCC LXIII.




Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1863,
Br DANIEL  HOLMES,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of New York




TO
N. C. MILLER,
01 NEW YORK,
MY MUCH ESTEEMED FRIEND,
AND
FORVR PUBLISHER,
THIS STORY OF MARIAN GREY
IS RESPECTFULLY
DEDIOATED, 
THE AUTHOR.








MARIAN GREY.
CHAPTER  I.
GUARDIAN AND  WARD.
THE night was dark and the clouds black and heavy
which hung over Redstone Hall, whose massive walls
loomed up through the darkness like some huge sentinel keeping guard over the spacious grounds by which
it was surrounded. Within the house all was still,
and without there was no sound to break the midnight silence save the sighing of the autumnal wind
through the cedar trees, or the roar of the river, which,
swollen by the recent heavy rains, went rushing on to
meet its twin sister at a point well known in Kentucky,
where our story opens, as " The Forks of the Elkhorn."
From one of the lower windows a single light was
shining, and its dimn rays' fell upon the face of a whitehaired man, who moaned uneasily in his sleep, as if
pursued by some tormenting fear. At last, as the oldfashioned clock struck off the hour of twelve, he
awoke, and glancing nervously toward the corner,
whence the sound proceeded, he whispered, "Have
you come again, Ralph Lindsey, to tell me of my
sin?"
"What is it, 1Mr. Raymond I" and a young girl




8             GUARDIAN AND WARD.
glided to the bedside of the old man, who, tAking her
hand in his, the better to assure himself of her presence, said, "Marian, is there nothing in that corner
yonder-nothing with silvery hair?"
1" Nothing," answered Marian, " nothing but the
lamplight shining on the face of the old clock. Did
you think there was some one here?"
" Yes-no. Marian, do you believe the dead call
come back to us again-when we have done them a
wrong-the dead who are buried in the sea, I mean?"
Marian shuddered involuntarily, and cast a timid
look toward the shadowy corner, then, conquering her
weakness, she answered, "No, the dead cannot come
back. But why do you talk so strangely to-night?"
The old man hesitated a moment ere he replied."The time has come for me to speak, so that your father can rest in peace. He has been with me more
than once in this very room, and to-night I fancied he
was here again, asking why I had dealt so falsely with
his child."
" Falsely i" cried Marian, kissing tenderly the hand
of the only parent she had ever known. " Not falsely,
I am sure, for you have been most kind to me."
" And yet, Marian," he said, "I have done you a
wrong —a wrong which has eaten into my very soul,
and worn my life away. I did not intend to speak of
it to-night, but something prompts me to do so, and
you must listen. On that night when your father
died, and when all in the ship, save ourselves and the
watch, were asleep, I laid my hand on his forehead,
and swore to be faithful to my trust. Do you hear,
Marian-faithful to my trust. You don't know what
that meant, but I know, and I've broken my oath to
the dying-and from that grave in the ocean he comes
to me sometimes, and with the same look upon his
face which it wore that Summer afternoon when we
laid him in the sea, he asks why justice has not been
done to you. Wait, Marian, until I have finished,"
he continued, as he saw her about to speak; " I know




GUARDIAN AND WARD.             9
I have not long to live, and I would make amends;
but, Marian, I would rather —oh, so much rather, you
should not know the truth until I'm  dead.  You
will forgive me then more readily, won't you, Marian?
Promise me you will forgive the poor old man who
has loved you so much-loved you, if possible, better
than he loved his only son."
IHe paused for her reply, and half bewildered, Marian answered, " I don't know what you mean-but if,
as you say, a wrong has been done, no matter how
great that wrong may be, it is freely forgiven for the
sake of what you've been to me."
The sick man wound his arm lovingly around her,
and bringing her nearer to him, he said, " Bless you,
ilarian —bless you for that. It makes my deathbed
easier. I will leave it in writing-my confession. I
cannot tell it now, for I could not bear to see upon
your face that you despised me. You wrote to Frederic, and told him to come quickly?"
" Yes,"  returned Marian, "I said you were very
sick and wished to see him at-once."
For a moment there was silence in the room; then,
removing his arm from the neck of the young girl, the
old aman raised himself upon his elbow and looking
her steadily in the face, said, "' Marian, could you love
mly son Frederic?"
The question was a strange one, but Marian Lindsey was accustomed to strange modes of speech in her
guardian, and with a slightly heightened color she
answered quietly, " I do love him as a brother-"
"Yes, but I would have you love him as something
nearer," returned her guardian. "Ever since I took
you for my child it has been the cherished object of
my life that you should be his wife."
There was a nervous start and an increase of color
in Marian's face,.for the idea, though not altogether
disagreeable, was a &itw one to her, but she made no
reply, and her guardian continued, " I am selfish in
this wish, though not wholly so. I know you could
1*




10            GUARDIAN AND WARD.
be happy with him, and in no other way can my good
name be saved from disgrace. Promise me, Marian,
thlat you will be his wife very soon after I am dead,
and before all Kentucky is talking of my sin. You
are not too young. You will be sixteen ill a few
months, and many marry as early as that."
" Does hbe wish it? " asked Marian, timidly; and her
guardian replied, " He has known you but little of
late, but when he sees you here at home, and learns
how gentle and good you are, he cannot help loving
you as you deserve."
"Yes he can," answered Marian with childish simplicity. " No man as handsome as Frederic ever loved
a girl with an ugly face, and I heard him tell Will
Gordon, when he spent a vacation here, that I was a
nice little girl, but altogether too freckled, too redheaded, and scrawney, ever to make a handsome woman," and Marian's voice trembled slightly as she
recalled a speech which had wrung finom her many
tears.
To this remark Col. Raymond made no reply -for
he too, had cause to doubt Frederic's willingness to
marry a girl who boasted so few personal charms as
did Marian Lindsey then. Rumors, too, he had heard,
of a peerlessly beautiful creature, with raven hair
and eyes of deepest black, who at the north kept his
son a captive to her will.  But this could not be;
Frederick must marry MIarian, for in no other way
could the name of Raymond be saved fiom a disgrace, or the vast possessions he called his be kept in
the family, and he was about to speak again when a
heavy tread in the hall announced the approach of
some one, and a moment after, Aunt Diinah, the
housekeeper, appeared. "'She had come to sit up
with her marster," she said, " and let Miss Marian
go to bed, where children like her ought to be."
At first Marian objected, for' though scarcely conscious of it herself, slie was well enough pleased to
sit where she was and hear her guardian talk of Fred




GUARDIAN AND WARD.             11
eric and of what she had no hope-would ever be; but
when Aunt Dinahl suggested to her that sitting up
so much would make her look yellow and old, she
yielded, for Frederic was a passionate admirer of
beauty, and she well knew that she had none to lose.
Kissing her guardian good night, she hurried to her
charmber, but not to sleep, for the tumult of thought
which her recent conversation had awakened kept her
restless and wakeful.  Under ordinary circumstances
she would have wondered what the wrong could be
at which Col. Raymond had hinted, but now she
scarcely remembered it, or if it occurred to her at all,
she instantly dismissed it from her mind as some trivial thing which the weak state of her guardian's rmindmagnified into a serious matter.
Thirteen years before our story opens, Marian had
embarked with her father on board a ship which
sailed from Liverpool to New York. Of that father
she remembered little save that he was very poor,
and that he talked of his poverty as if it were something of which he was proud. Pleasant memories,
though, she had of an American gentleman who used
often to take her on his lap, and tell her of the land
to which she was going; and when one day her father
laid him down in his berth, with the fever as they
said, she remembered how the kind man had cared
for him, holding his aching head and watching by
him till he died;-then, when it was all over, he had
taken her upon his knee and told her she was to be
his little girl now, and he bade her call himn fathertelling her how her own dead parent had asked him
to care for her, who in all the wide world had no near
relative. Something, too, she remembered about an
old coarse bag, which had troubled her new father
very much, and which he had finally put in the bottom of his trunk, throwing overboard a few articles
of clothing to make room for it. The voyage was long
and stormy, but they reached New York at last, and
lie took her to his homIe —not Redstone Hall, but an




12            GUARDIAN AND WARD.
humble farm-house on the Hudson, where he had always lived. Frederic was a boy then —a dark haired
handsome boy of eleven, and even now she shuddered
as she remembered how he used to tease and worry
her. Still he liked lher, she was sure-and the first
real grief which she remembered was on that rainy
day when, with an extra pull at her long curls, lihe
bade her good-by and went off to a distant boarding
school.
Col. Raymond, her guardian, was growing rich,
and people said he must have entered into some fortunate speculation while abroad, for, since his return,
prosperity had attended every movement; and when,
six months after Frederic's departure, he went to
Kentucky and purchased Redstone Hall, then rather
a dilapidated building, Mrs. Burt, his housekeeper,
had wondered where all his money came from, when
he used to be so poor. They had moved to Kentucky
when Marian was five and a half years old-and now,
after ten years' improvement, there was not in the
whole county so beautiful a spot as Redstone Hall,
with its terraced grounds, its graveled walks, its plats
of grass, its grand old trees, its creeping vines, its
flowering shrubs and handsome park in the rear. And
this was Marian's home;-here she had lived a rather
secluded life, for only when Frederic was with them
did they see much company, and all the knowledge
she had of the world was what she gleaned from
books or learned from the negress Dinalh, who, "having lived with the very first families," frequently entertained her young mistress with stories of " the
quality," and the dinner parties at which her presence was once so indispensable. And Marian, listening to these glowing descriptions of satin dresses, diamonds and feathers, sometimes wished that she were
richl, and could have a taste of fashion. To be sure,
her guardian bought her always more than she needed-but it was not hers, and without any particular
reason why she should do so, she felt that she was a




GUARDIAN AND WARD.             13
dependent and something of an inferior, especially
when Frederic came home with h's aristocratic maniiers, his graceful mustache, an i the soft scent of perfumery he usually carried with him. He was always.
polite and kind to Marian, but she felt that there was
a gulf between them. He was handsome; she was
plain-he was rich; she was poor-he was educated,
and she —alas, for Marian's education —she read a
great deal, but never yet had she given herself up to
a systematic course of study.  Governesses she had
in plenty, but she usually coaxed them off into the
woods, or down by the river, where she left them to
do what they pleased, while she learned many a lesson from the great book of nature spread out so beautifully before her. All this had tended to make and
keep her a very child, and it was not until her fourteenth year that any thing occurred to develop the
genuine womanly qualities which she possessed.
By the death of a distant relative, a little unfortunate blind girl was left to Colonel Raymond's care, and
was immediately taken to Redstone Hall, where she
became the pet of Marian, who loved nothing in the
whole world as dearly as the poor blind Alice. And
well was that love repaid; for to Alice Marian Lindsey was the embodiment of everything beautiful, pure
and good. Frederic, on the contrary, was a kind of
terror to the little Alice.  "'He was so precise and
stuck up," she said; " and when he was at home Marian was not a bit like herself." To Marian, however,
his occasional visits to Redstone Hall were sources of
great pleasure.  Tro look at his handsome figure, to
listen to his voice, to anticipate his slightest wish and
minister to his wants so quietly that he scarcely knew
from whom the attention came, was happiness for
her, and when he smiled upon her, as he often did,
calling her " a good little girl," she felt repaid for all
she had done. Occasionally, since her guardian's illness, she had thought of the future when some fine
lady might come to Redstone Hall as its mistress, but




14            GUARDIAN AND WARD.
the subject was an unpleasant one, and she always
dismissed it from her mind. In her estimation, there
were few worthy to be the wife of Frederic-certainly
not herself-and when the idea was suggested to her
by his father, she regarded it as all utter impossibility. Still it kept her wakeful, and once she said softly
to herself, " I could love him so much if he would let
me, and I should be so proud of him, too." Then, as
she remembered the remark she had heard him make
to his college friend, she covered her face with her
hands and whispered, sadly,  "Oh, I wish I wasn't
ugly."  Anon, however/there came stealing over her
the thought that in theestimration of others she was
not as plain as in that of -Frederic Raymond. Every
body seemed to like her, and if she were hideous looking they could not.  Alice, whose darkened eyes
had never looked upon the light of day, and who
judged by the touch alone, declared that she was
beautiful, while old Dinah said that age would improve her as it did wine, and that in time she would
be the handsomest woman in all Kentucky.
Never befbre had Marian thought so much of her
personal appearance-and now, feeling anxious to
know exactly what her defects were, she arose, and
lighting the lamp, placed it upon her dressing bureau
-tllen throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she
sat down and minutely inspected the face which Frederie layinond called so homely. The features were
regular enough, but the face was very thin —
" scrawney," Frederic had said, and the cheek bones
were plainly perceptible. This might be the result of
eating slate-stones; Dinah, who knew everything,
said it was, and mentally resolving thereafter to abjure everything of the kind, Marian continued her
investigations.  It did not occur to her that her
complexion was surpassingly fair, nor yet that her
eyes were of a most beautifuil blue, so intent was she
upon the freckles which dotted her nose and a portion
of her face.  Slate-stones surely had nothing to do




GU&IRDIAN AND WARD.            15
with these, and she knew of no way of remedying
this evil-unless, indeed, poulticing should do it.Slhe would consult Dinah on the subject, and feeling a
good deal of confidence in the negress' judgment, she
passed on to what she considered h* crowning point of
ugliness- her hair! It was soft, luxuriant and curly,
but alas, it bore the color which, though accounted
beautiful in Mary Stuart's time, has long since been
proscribed by fashion as horrid andunbecoming. Turn
which way she would, or      lamp in any position
she chose, it was still r, decided red-and
the tears came to Mari        s she recalled the
many times when, as a  Wric taunted her with
being a " red-head" or a    k-top," just as the humor suited  ]Lim.  Suddenly she' remembered that
among her treasures was a lock of her mother's
hair, and opening a rosewood box she took from it a
shining tress which she laid upon the marble top of
her bureau, tnd then bent down to admire its color, a
beautiful auburn, such as is rar   seen-and which,
when seen, is sure to be admire 
"And this was my mother's," she whispered,
smoothing caressingly the silken hair. "I must resemble her more than my father, who my guardian
says was dark. I wish I was like her in everything,
for I believe she was beautiful," and into the mind of
the orphan girl there crept an image of a brighthaired, sweet-faced woman, whose eyes of lustrous
blue looked lovingly into her own-and this was her
mother. She had seen her thus in fancy many a time,
but never so vividly as to-night, and unconsciously
she breathed the petition, "Let me look like her
some day, and I shall be content."
The gray morning light was by thin time stealing
through the window, and overcome with weariness and
watching, Marian fell asleep, and when, two hours
later, old Dinah came in to wake her, she found her
sitting before the glass, with the lamp still burning at




16            GUTARDINr AND ERD.
her side, and her head resting on her arms, which lay
upon the low bureau.
" For the dear Lord's-:sake, what are you doing?"
was Dinah's exclamation, which at once roused Marian, who unhes*ftingly answered,
"I got up to look in the glass, WaI seeif I was so
very homely."
" Humbly I Nonsense, child," returned old Dinah.
"You look like a picter lyin' thar with the sun a shinin' on yer harl, and mit look like a piece of crimson satin."
The compliment      ubtful one, but Marian
knew it was well, without a word in reply, commenced herung  toilet. That day, somewhat to her disappointment, her guardian did not resume the conversation of the previous night. He was
convinced that Marian could be easily won, but he
did not think it wise to encourage her until he had
talked with his son; whose return he lofged for anxiously. But da ter day went by, and it was in
vain that Alice l' d, and Marian watched, for the
daily stage. It never stopped at the gate; and each
time that the old man heard them pay it had gone by,
he groaned afresh, fearing Frederic would not come
until it was too late.
" I can at least tell him the truth on paper,'ahe said
to himself at last,' and it may be le will pay more
heed to words, which a dead father wrote, than to
words which a living father spoke."' Marian was accordingly bidden to bring him his little
writing desk, and then to leave the room, for he
would be alone when he wrote that letter of confession. It cost him many a fierce struggle-the telling
to his son a stqret which none save himself and God
had ever known-aye, which none had ever need to
know if he would have it so-but he would not. The
secret had worn his life away, and he must make reparation now. So, with the perspiration dropping
from every pore, he wrote; and, as he wrote, in his




GUARDIAN AND WARD.              W7
disordered imagination, there stood beside, his pillow
the white-haired    o man, watching carefully to
see that justice w~    at last to Miarian. Recently
several letters had pa    between the father and his,
son concerning the rma    e of the latter with Marian
-a marriage every wa   stasteful to the young man,
who, in his answer, had said far harsher things of Marian than he really meant, hoping thus to put an end
to his father's plan. She was "rough, uncouth, uneducated and ugly," he said, "and if his father did Wot
give up that foolish fanwy, he9 should positivel::kts,
the red-headed fright."
All this the old man touched upon-quoting
verywordi his son had used, and whispering toihl
self, " Poor-poor Marian, it would break her hear'
to know that he said that, but she never will —she
inever will;" and then, with the energy of despair, he
wrote the reason why she must be the wife of his son,
pleading with him as only a dying man can plead,
that he would not disregard th  es of his father,
and begging him to forget tlkk-haired Isabel,
who, though perhaps mdre beautil, was not-could
not-be as pure, as gentle and as good as Marian.
The letter was finished, and'mid burning tears of
remorse and shame the old man read it through.
"Yes, that will do," he said. "Frederic will herd
what's written here. He'll marry her or else make
restitution;" and laying it away, he commenced the
last and hardest part of all —the confessing to Marian
how he had sinned against her.
Although there was no tie of blood between them,
the gentle young orphan had crept down into his inmost heart, where once he treasured a little goldenhaired girl, who, before Frederic was born, died on
his lap, and went to the heaven made for such as she.
In the first moments of his bereavement, he had
thought his loss could never be repaired, but when,
with her soft arms around his neck, Marian Lindsey
had murmured inohis ear how much she loved the




1s            GUARDIAN AND WARD.
only father she had ever known, he felt that the angel
he had lost was restored to I   fold in thle little
English girl. He knew that  erlieved that there
was in him no evil, and his  throbbed with agony
as he nerved himself to teller how for years he had
acted a villain's part, but it Es done at last, and with
a passionate appeal for her forgiveness, and a request
that she would not forget'him wholly, but come
some time to visit his lonely grave, he finished the
letter, and folding it up, wrote upon its back, "For.arian;" then, taking the one intended for Frederic,
Witenlpted to write, "For my Son," but the ink was
e from his pen, there was a blur before his eyes,
though he traced the words he left no impress,:nd the letter bore no superscription to tell to wholn
it belonged. Stepping upon the floor, he dragged his
feeble limbs to the adjoining room, his library, andA
placing both letters in his private drawer, retired to
his bed, where, utterly exhausted, he fell asleep.
When at last tke,  Marian was sitting by his
side, and to her b/municated what he had done,
telling her where tl~ letters were, and that if he died
ere Frederic's return, she must give the one bearing
the words "' For my Son" to him.
"You will not read it, of course," he said, "or ever
seek to know what its contents are."
Had Marian Lindsey been like many girls, the caution would have insured the reading of the letter at
once, but she fortunately shrank from anything dishonorable, and was blessed with but a limited share
of woman's curiosity; consequently, the letter was
safe in her care, even though no one ever came to
claim it. All that afternoon she sat by her guardian,
and when as usual the stage thundered down the turnpike, leaving no Frederic at the door, she soothed him
with the hope that he would be there to-morrow. But
the morrow came and went as did other to-morrows,
until Col. Raymond grew so ill that a telegram was




GUARDIAN AND WARD.            19
despatched to the truant boy, bidding him hasten if
he would see his father again alive.
"That will bring him," the old man said, while the
big tears rolled down his wrinkled face. "' He'll be
here in a few days," and he asked that his bed might
be moved near the window, where, propped upon pillows, he watched with childish impatience for the
coming of his boy.




CHAPTER Ii.
FATHER  AND  SON.
A TELEGRAM from Frederic, who was coming home
at last I He would be there that very day, and the
inmates of Redstone Hall were thrown into a state of
-unusual excitement. Old Dinah in jaunty turban and
clean white apron, bustled from the kitchen to the
dining room, and from the dining room back to the
kitchen, jingling her huge bunch of keys with an air
of great importance, and kicking from under her feet
any luckless black baby which chanced to be in her
way, making always an exception in favor of" Victoria Eugenia," who bore a striking resemblance to herself, and would one day call her " gran'mam." Dinah
was in her element, for nothing pleased her better
than the getting up a " tip top {inder," and fully
believing that Frederic had been half starved, in a land
where they didn't have hoe-cake and bacon three
times a day, she determined to give him one full meal,
such as would make his stomach ache for three full
hours at least!
MIr. Raymond, too, was better than usual to-day,
and at his post by the window watched eagerly the
distant turn in the road where the stage would first
appear. In her chamber, Marian was busy with her
toilet, trying the effect of dress after dress, and at
Alice's suggestion deciding at last upon a pale blue,
which harmonized well with her fair complexion.
"Frederic likes blue, I know," she thought, as




FATHER AND SON.             21
she remembered having heard him admire a dress of
that color worn by a young lady who had once visited
at Redstone Hall.
Dinah, when consulted as to the best method of
making red hair dark, had strongly recommended
"possum ile and sulphur, scented with some kind of
essence;" but to this dye Marian did not take kindly.
She preferred that her hair should retain its natural
color, and falling as it did in soft curls around her
facQ and neck, it was certainly not unbecoming. Her
toilet was completed at last-Alice's little hands had
decided that it was perfect-thq image reflected by
the mirror was far from being ordinary-looking, and
secretly wondering if Frederic would not think her
toleray pretty, Marian sat down to await his coming.
She had not been seated long when Alice's quick ear
caught the sound of the distant stage, and in a few
moments Marian from behind the half-closed shutter,
was watching the young man as he came slowly up
the avenue, which led fi'om the highway to the house.
His step was usually bounding and rapid, but now he
lingered as if unwilling to reach the door.
"'Tis because of his father," thought Marian. " He
fears he may be dead."
But not of his father alone was Frederic thinking.
It was not pleasant coming home; for aside from the
fear that his father might really die, was a dread of
what that father might ask him to do. For Marian as
a sister, he had no dislike, for he knew she possessed
many gentle, womanly virtues, but from the thoughts
of making her his wife he instinctively shrank. Only
one had the shadow of a claim to beai' that relation to
him, and of her he was thinking that September afternoon as he came up the walk. She was poor, he
knew, and the daughter of his landlady, who claimed
a distant relationship with his father; but she was
beautiful, and a queen might covet her stately bearing, and polished, graceful manner. Into her heart
he had never looked, for satisfied with the fair exte



22             FATHER AND SON.
rior, he failed to see the treachery lurking in her large
black eyes, or yet k detect the  erce, stormy passions,
which had a home within her breast.
Isabella Huntington, or " Cousin Bell," as he called
her, was beautiful, accomplished, and artful, and during the year that Frederic Raymond had been an
inmate of her mother's family, she had succeeded in
so completely infatuating the young man that now
there was to him but one face in the world, and that
in fancy shone upofi him even when it was far away.
He had never said to her that he loved her, for though
often tempted so to do, something had always interposed between them, bidding him wait until he knew
her better. Consequently he was not bound to her
by words, but he thought it very probable tt she
would one day be his wife, and as he drew near to
Redstone Hall, he could not forbear feeling a glow of
pride, fancying how she would grace that elegant
mansion as its rightful mistress. Of Marian, too, he
thought-harsh, bitter thoughts, mingled with softer
emotions as he reflected that she possibly knew
nothing of his father's plan. He pitied her, he said,
for if his father died, she would be alone in the world.
After what had passed, it would hardly be pleasant
for him to have her there where he could see her
every day; —she might not be agreeable to Isabel
either, and he should probably provide for her handsomely and have her live somewhere else-at a fashionable boarding school, perhaps I
Magnanimous Frederic  He was growing very
generous, and by the time he reached the long piazza,
Marian Lindsey was comfortably disposed of in the
third story of some seminary far away from Redstone
Hall i
The meeting between the father and son was an affecting one-the former sobbing like a child, and
asking of the latter why he had tarried so long. The
answer to this question was that Frederic had been
absent from New Hlaven for three weeks, and that Is



FATHER AND SON.               93
abel, who took charge of his letters, neglected to forward the one written by Marian. At the mention of
Isabel. the old man's cheek flushed, and lie said,
impatiently, "the neglect was an unpardonable one,
for it bore on its face' In haste.' Perhaps, though,
she did it puposely,  hoping thus to keep you from
me."
Instantly Frederic warmed up in Isabel's defence,
saying she was incapable of a mean act. He doubted
whether she had observed the words 1"In haste" at
all, and if she did she only withheld it for thke sake of
saving him from anxiety as long as possible.
At this moment there was the sound of little uncertain feet near the door, and Alice groped her way
into the room. She was a fair, sweet-faced little child,
and taking her upon his knee, Frederic kissed her
affectionately, and asked her many questions as to
what she had done since he was home six months
before. Seldom before had he paid her so much attention, and feeling anxious that Marian should be similarly treated, the little girl, after answering his questions, said to him, coaxingly,
"Won't you kiss Marian, too, when she comes
down? She's been ever so long dressing herself and
trying to look pretty."
Instantly the eyes of the father and son met-those
of the former expressive of entreaty, while those of
the latter flashed with defiance.
"Go for Marian, child, and tell her to come here,"
said Mr. Raymond.
Alice obeyed, and as she left the room, Frederic
said bitterly, "I see she is leagued with you. IVhad
thought better of her than that."
"No, she isn't," cried the father, fearing thatr hi,
favorite project was in danger. "I merely suggested
it to her once-only once."
Frederic was about to reply, when the rustling of
female garments announced the approach of Marian.
To Colonel Raymond she was handsome then, as with




24              FATHER AND SON.
a hightened bloom upon her cheek and a bashful light
in her deep blue eyes, she entered timidly and offered
her hand to Frederic. But to the jealous young man
she was merely a plain, ordinary country girl, bearing no comparison to the peerless Isabel. Still he
greeted her kindly, addressed to her a few trivial reremarks, and then resumed his conversation with little Alice, who, feeling that matters were going wrong,
rolled her eyes often and anxiously toward the spot
where she knew Marian was sitting-and when at last
the latter left the room, she said to Frederic, "Isn't
Marian pretty in her blue dress, with all those curls?
There are twenty of them, for I heard her count them.
Say she is pretty, so I can tell her and make her
feel good."
Frederic would not then have admitted that Marian
was pretty, even had he thought so, and biting his
lip with vexation, he replied, "I do not particularly
admire blue, and I detest cork-screw curls."
Marian was still in the lower hall, and heard both
the question and the answer.  Darting up the stairs,
she flew to her chamber, and throwing herself upon
the bed, burst into a passionate flood of tears. All in
vain had she dressed herself for Frederic Raymond's
eye —curling her hair in twenty curls, even as Alice
h'ad said. He hated blue-he hated curls-cork-screw
curls particularly. What could he mean? She never
heard the termr thus applied before.  It must have
some reference to their color, and clutching at her
luxuriant tresses she would have torn them from her
head, had not a little childish hand been laid upon
herb, and Alice's soothing voice murmured in her ear,
" Don't cry, Marian; I wouldn't care for him. He's
just as mean as he can be, and if I owned Redstone
all, I wouldn't let him live here, would you?"
"Yes-no-I don't know," sobbed Marian. " 1
don't own Redstone Hall. I don't own anything, and
I most wish I was dead."
Alice was unaccustomed to such a burst of passion,




FATHER AND SON.               25
and was trying to frame some reply, when the dinner
bell rang, and lifting up her head, Marian said, " Go
down, Alice, and tell Dinah I can't come, and if she
insists, tell her I won't i"
Alice knew she was in earnest, and going below she
delivered the message to Dinah in the presence of
Frederic, who silently took his seat at the table.
"'For the dear Lord's sake, what's happened her
now I" said Dinah, casting a rueful glance at Marian's
empty chair.
"She's crying," returned Alice, " and she dislikes
somebody in this room awfully;'taint you, Dinah,
nor'taint me," and the blind eyes flashed indignantly
at Frederic, who smiled quietly as he replied, "Thank
you, Miss Alice."
Alice made no reply, and the dinner proceeded in
silence. After it was over, Frederic returned to his
father, who had been nerving himself for the task
he had to perform, and which he determined should
be done at once.
"Lock the door, Frederic," he said, "and then sit
by me while I say to you what I have so long wished
to say."
With a lowering brow Frederic complied, and seating himself near to his father, he folded his arms and
said, " Go on, I am ready now to hear-but if it is of
Marian you would speak, I will spare you that trouble, father," and Frederic's voice was milder in its
tone. "I have always liked Marian very much as a
sister, and if it so chances that you are taken from
us, I will be the best of brothers to her. I will care
for her and see that she does not want. Let this satisfy you, father, for I cannot marry her.  I do not
love her, for I love another; one compared to whom
Marian is as the night to the day. Let me tell you of
Isabel, father," and Frederic's voice was still softer
in its tone.
The old man shook his head and answered mournfully, " No, Frederic, were she as fair as the morning
2




26              FATHER AND SON.
I could not wish her to be your wife. I have never
told yonu before, but I once received an anonymous
letter concerning this same Isabel, saying she was
treacherous and deceitful, and would lead you on to
ruin."
" The villain! It was Rudolph's doings," muttered
Frederic; then in a louder tone he said, "I can explain that, I think. When Isabel' was quite young,
she was engaged conditionally to Rudolph McVicar,
a worthless fellow whom she has since discarded. He
is a jealous, malignant creature, and has sworn to be
revenged. He wrote that letter, I am sure. It is like
him."
"It may be," returned the father, "but I distrust
this Isabel. Her mother, as you are aware, is a distant relative of mine. I know her well, and though I
never saw the daughter, I am sure she is selfish, ambitious, deceitful and proud, while Marian is so
good."
"Marian is a mere child," interrupted  Frederic.
"Almost sixteen," rejoined the father, "and before
you marry her she will be older still."
"Yes, yes, much older," thought Frederic, continuing aloud, "Listen to reason, father. I certainly do
not love Marian, neither do I suppose that she loves
me. Now if you have our mutual good at heart, you
cannot desire a marriage which would surely result in
wretchedness to both."
"I have thought of all that," returned the father.
"A few kind words from  you wofild win Marian's
love at once, and when once won she would be to you
a faithful, loving wife, whom you would ere long
learn to prize. You cannot treat any woman badly,
Frederic, imuch less Marian. I know you would be
happy with her, and should desire tile marriage even
though it could not save me from  dishonor in the
eyes of the world."
"'Father," said Frederic, turning slightly pale,




FATHER AND SON.              27
"what do you mean? You have in your letters hint.
ed of a wrong done to somebody. Was it to Marian i
If so, do not seek to sacrifice my happiness, but make
amends in some other way. Will money repair the
wrong - If so, give it to her, even to half your fortune, and leave me alone."
He had touched a tender point, and raising himself
in bed, the old man gasped, " Yes, yes, boy-but you
have no money to give her.  Redstone Hall is not
nine, not yours, but hers. Those houses in Louisville.
are hers-not mine, not yours. Everything you see
around you is hers-all hers; and if you refuse her,
Frederic-hear me —if you refuse AMarian Lindsey,
strict restitution must be made, and you will be a
beggar as it were. Marry her, and as her husband
you will keep it all and save me from disgrace.Choose, Frederic, choose."
Mr. Raymond was terribly excited, and the great
drops of perspiration stood thickly upon his forehead,
and trickled from beneath his hoary hair.
"Is he going mad!" thought Frederic, his own
heart throbbing with a nervous fear of coming evil,
but ere he could speak his father continued, " Hear
my story, and you will know how I came by these
ill-gotten gains," and he glanced around the richly
furnished room. " You know I was sent to England,
or I could not have gone, for I had no means with
which to meet the necessary expenses. In the streets
of Liverpool I first saw Marian's father, and I mistook
him for a beggar. Again I met him on board ship,
and making his acquaintance, found him to be a man
of no ordinary intellect. There was something about
him which pleased me, and when he became ill, I
cared for him as for a friend. The night he died we
were alone, and he confided to me his history. I-Ie
was an only child, and, orphaned at an early age, became an inmate of one of those dens of crueltythose schools on the Dotlheboys plan. From  this
bondage he escaped at last, and then for more than




28              FATHER AND SON,
thirty years employed his time in making and caving
money. He was a miser in every sense of the word,
and though counting his money by thousands —yes,
by tens of thousands, he starved himself almost to
death. No one suspected his wealth-not even his
young wife, Mary Grey, whom he married three years
before I met him, and who died when Marian was
born. She, too, had been an only child and an orphan; and as in England there was none to care for
him or his, lie conceived the idea of emigrating to
America, and there lavishing his stores of gold on
Marian. She should be a lady, he said, and live in
a palace fit for a queen.  But death overtook him,
and to me he entrusted his child with all his money
-some in gold, and some in bank notes. And when
lihe was dying, Frederic, and the perspiration was cold
on his brow, he made me lay my hand there and
swear to be faithful to my trust as guardian of his
child. For her, and for her alone, the money must
be used.  But, Frederic, I broke that oath. Thie Raymonds are noted for their love of gain, and when the
Englishman was buried in the sea, the tempter whispered that the avenue to wealth, which I so long had
coveted, was open now —that no one knew or would
ever know of the miser's fortune; and I yielded. I
guarded the bag where the treasure was hidden
with more than a miser's vigilance, and I chuckled
with delight whien I found it far more than he had
said."
"Oh, my father, my father!" groaned Frederic,
covering his white face with his hands, for he knew
now that lhe was penniless.
" Don't curse mne, boy," hoarsely whispered the old
man; "Marian will not. She'll forgive me-for Mariati is an angel; but I must hasten. You remember
how I gr'ew grladually rich, and people talked of nmy
good luck. Very cautiously I used the money at first
bo as not to excite suspicion, but when I came to Kentacky, where I was not known, I was less fearful, and




FATHER AND)  ON.              u
launched into speculations, until now they say I am
the wealthiest man in Franklin county. But it's hers
-it's Marian's-every cent of it is hers. Your education was paid for with her money; all you have and
are you owe to Marian Lindsey, who, by every law of
the land, is the heiress of Redstone Hall."
He paused a moment, and trembling with emotion,
Frederic said, "Is there nothing ours, father ] Our
old home on the Hudson?  That, surely, is not
hers?"'You are right," returned the father; "the old
shell was mine, but when I brought Marian homne, it
was not worth a thousand dollars, and it was all I had
in the world.  Her money has made it what it is. I
always intended to tell her when she was old enough
to understand, but as time went by I shrank from it,
particularly when I saw how much you prized the
luxuries which money alone can buy, and how that
money kept you in the proud position you occupy.But it has killed me, Frederic, before my time-and
now at the last do you wonder that I wish restitution
to be made?  I would save you from\poverty, and
my name from disgrace, by marrying you to Marian.
She must know the truth, of course, for in no other
way can my conscience be satisfied-but the world
would still be kept in ignorance."
"And if I do not marry her, oh, father, must it
come-poverty, disgrace, everything?"
The young man's voice was almost heart-broken in
its tone, but the old man wavered not as lie answered
-" Yes, Frederic, it must come.  If you refuse, I
must deed it all to her. The lawyer, of course, must
know the cause of so strange a proceeding, and I have
no faith that lie would keep the secret, even if Marian
should. I left it in writing in case you did not come,
and I gave you my dying curse if you failed of restoring to Marian her fortune. But you are here —you
have heard my story, and it remains for you to choose.
You have never taken care of yourself-have never




30             FATIER AND SON.
been taught to think it necessary-and how can you
struggle with poverty. Would that Isabel join her
destiny with one who had not where to lay his head?"
"Stop, father! in mercy stop, ere you drive me
mad!" and starting to his feet Frederic paced the
floor wildly, distractedly.
A dark cloud had fallen upon him, and turn which
way he would it enveloped him in its dark folds. He
knew his father would keep his word, and he desired
that he should do so. It was right, and he shrank
from any further injustice to the orphan, Marian, with
whom he had suddenly changed places. He was the
dependent now, and hers the hand that fed him.Frederic Raymond was proud, and the remembrance
of his father's words, " EHer money paid for your education; all you have and are, you owe to Mlarian
Lindsey," stung him  to his inmost soul. Still he
could not make her his wife. It would be a greater
wrong than ever his father had done to her. And yet
if he had never seen Isabel, never mingled in the society of beautiful and. accomplished women, he might,
perhaps, have learned to love the gentle little girl,
whose presence, he knew, made the life and light of
Redstone Hall. But he could not do it now, and going up to-his father, he said hesitatingly, as if it cost
a bitter, agonized struggle to give up all his wealth,
" I cannot do it, father; neither would Marian wish
it if she knew. Send for her now," he continued, as
a new idea flashed upon him, " tell her all, here in my
presence, and let her choose for me; but stay," he
added, quickly, coloring crimson at the unmanly selfishness which had prompted the sending for Marian,
a selfishness which whispered that the generous girl
would share her fortune with him; " stay, we will not
send for her. I can decide the matter alone."
"Not now," returned the father. "Wait until tomorrow at nine o'clock. If you do not come to me
then, I shall send for Lawyer Gibson, and the writ



FATHER AND SON.              31
ings will be drawn. I give you until that:time to
decide; and now leave me, for I would rest."
He motioned toward the door, and glad to escape
from an atmosphere which seemed laden with grief;
Frederic went out into the open air, and Col. Raymond was again alone. His first thought was of the
letter —the one intended for his son. He could destroy
that now-f'or he would not that Marian' should ever
know what it contained. She might not be Frederic's
wife, but he would save her from unnecessary pain;
and exerting all his strength, he tottered to his private
drawer, and took the letter in his hand. It was growing very dark within the room, and holding it up to
the fading light, the dim-eyed old man read, or
thought lie read, "For my Son."'
" Yes, this is the one," he whispered -" the other
reads' For Marian,'" and hastening back to his bedroom he threw upon the fire burning in the grate, the
letter, but, alas, the wrong one-ior in the drawer
still lay the fatal missive which would one day break
poor lMarian's heart, and drive her forth a wanderer
fiorn the home she loved so well.
That night Frederic did not come down to supper.
He was weary with his rapid journey, he said, and
would rather rest. So Marian, who had dried her
tears and half forgotten their cause, sat down to her
solitary tea, little dreaming of the stormy scene which
the walls of Frederic's chamber looked upon that
night. All through the dreary hours he walked the
floor, and when the morning light came struggling
through the windows, it found him pale, haggard, and
older by many years than he had been the day before.
Still he was undecided. "Love in a cottage" with
Isabel, looked fair enough in the distance, but where
could lie get the "cottage?" To be sure, he was
going through the formn of studying law, but he had
never looked upon the profession as a means of procuring his livelihood, neither did he see any way by
which he could pursue his studies, unless, indeed, he




32             FATHER AND SON.
worked to defray the expense. He might, perhaps,
saw wood. Ben Gardiner did in college-Ben with
the threadbare coat, cowhide boots, smiling face and
best lessons in the class. Ben liked it well enough,
and so, perhaps, would he! He held his hands up to
the light; they were soft and white as a girl's. They
would blister with the first cut. He couldn't saw
wood-he couldn't do anything. And would Isabel
love him still when she knew how poor he was. It
seemed unjust to doubt her, but he did, and he
remembered sundry rumors he had heard touching
her ambitious, selfish nature. Anon, too, there crept
into his heart pleasant memories of a little, quiet girl,
who had always sought to do him good, and ministered to his comfort in a thousand unobtrusive ways.
And this was ]Marian, the one his father would have
him marry; and why didn't he? when the marrying
her would insure him all the elegances of life to
which he had been accustomed, and which he prized
so highly. She was a child yet; he could mold her
to his will and make her what he pleased. She might
be handsome some time. There was certainly room
for improvement. But no, she would never be aught
save the plain, unpolished Marian, wholly unlike the
beautiful picture he had formed of Redstone Hall's
proud mistress. He could not marry her, he would
not marry her, and then he went back to the question, " What shall I do, if I don't?"
As his father had said, the Raymonds were lovers
of wealth, and this weakness Frederic possessed to a
great degree. Indeed, it was the foundation of all his
other faults, making him selfish and sometimes overbearing. As yet he was not worthy to be the husband
of one as gentle and good as Marian, but he was passing through the fire, and the flames which burned so
iiercelyowould purity and make him better. He heard
the clock strike eight, and a moment after breakfast
was announced.
"' I am not ready yet; tell Marian not to wait," was




FATHER AND SON.              33
the message he gave the servant; and so another hour
passed by, and heard the clock strike nine.
His hour was up, but he could not yet decide. He
walked to the window and looked down on his home,
which never seemed so beautiful before as on that
September morning. He could stay there if he chose,
for he felt sure he could win Marian's love if he tried.
And then he wondered if his life would not be made
happier with the knowledge that he had obeyed his
ftther's request, and saved his name from dishonor.
There Was the sound of horses' feet upon the graveled
road. It was the negro Jake, and he was going for
Lawyer Gibson.
Rapidly another hour went by, and then he heard
the sound of horses' hoofs again, but this time there
were two who rode, Jake and the lawyer. In a moment the latter was at the door, and the sound of his
feet, as lie strode through the lower llall, went to the
heart of the listening young man like bolts of ice. He
heard a servant call Marian and say-that'his father
wanted her; some new idea had entered the sick
man's head. He had probably decided to tell her, all
before he died, but it was not too late to prevent it,
the young man thought; he could not be a beggar,
and with a face as white as ashes, and limbs which
trembled in every joint, he hurried down the stairs,
meeting in the hall both Marian and the lawyer.
" Go back," he whispered to the former, Inying his
hand upon her shoulder; " I would see my father first
alone."
Wonderingly Marian looked into his pale, worn
face and bloodshot eyes; then motioning the lawyer
into another room, she, too, followed him  thither,
while Frederic sought his father's bedside, and bending low whispered in the ear of the bewildered and
halftcrazed man that he would marry the Heiress of
Redstone Hall I




CHAPTER III.
DEATH  AT  REDSTONE  HALL.
FOR two days after the morning of which we have
written, Colonel Raymond lay in a kind of stupor
from which he would rouse at intervals, and pressing the hand of his son who watched beside him,
he would whisper faintly, " God bless you for making your old father so happy.  God bless you, my
darling boy."
And Frederic, as often as he heard these words,
would lay his aching head upon the pillow and try to
force back the thoughts which continually whispered
to him that a bad promise was better broken than
kept, and that at the last he would tell Marian all,
and throw himself upon her generosity.  Since the
morning when lie made the fatal promise he had said
but little to her, though she had been often in the
room, ministering to his father's comfort-and once
in the evening when he looked more than usually pale
and weary, she had insisted upon taking his place, or
sharing at least in his vigils. But he had declined
her offer, and two hours later a slender little figure
had glided noiselessly into the room and placed upon
the table behind him a waiter, filled with delicacies
which her own hand had prepared, and which she
knew from experience would be needed ere the long
night was over. He did not turn his head when she
came in, but he knew whose step it was; and in his
heart he thanked her for her thoughtfulness, and coin



DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL.         3 5
pelled himself to eat what she had brought because he
knew how disappointed she would be if in the morning she found it all untouched.
And still he was as far from loving her now as he
had ever been; and on the second night, as he sat by
his sleeping father, he resolved, come what might, he
would retract the promise made under such excitement. "When father wakes, I'll tell him I cannot,"
he said, and anxiously he watched the clock, which
pointed at last to midnight. The twelve long strokes
rang throngh the silent room, and with a short, quick
gasp his father woke.
"Frederic," he said, and in his voice there was a
tone never heard there before.  "Frederic, has the
light gone out, or why is it so dark? Where are you,
my son  I cannot see."
"Here, father-here I am," and Frederic took in
his the shriveled hand which was cold with approaching death.
"Frederic, it has come at last, and I am going
from you; but before I go, lay your hand upon nimy
brow, where the death sweat is standing, and say
again what you said two days ago. Say you will make
Marian your wife, and that until she is your wife she
shall not know what I have done, for that might infuence her decision. The letter I have left for her is
in my private drawer, but you can keep the key.Promise, Frederic-promise both, for I am going
very fast."
Twice Frederic essayed to speak, but the words "I
cannot" died on his lips, and again the faint voicefainter than when it spoke before, said, c" Promise, my
boy, and save the name of Raymond from dishonor I"
It was in vain he struggled to resist his destiny.The pleading tones of his dying father prevailed. Isabel Huntington-Marian Lindsey-Redstone Halleverything seemed as nought compared with that fa



86          DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL.
ther's wishes, and falling on his knees the young man
said, "Heaven helping me, father, I will do both."
"And as you have made me happy, so may you be
happy and prospered all the days of your life," returned the father, laying his clammy hand upon the
brown hair of his son. "Tell Marian that dying I
blessed her with more than a father's blessing, for she
is very dear to me. And the little helpless Aliceshe has money of her own, but she must still live
with you and Marian. Be kind to the servants, Frederic. Don't part with a single one-and-and — can
you hear me, boy? Keep your promise as you hope
for heaven hereafter."
They were the last words the old man ever spoke
-and when at last Frederic raised his head he knew
by the white face lying motionless upon the pillow,
that -he was with the dead. The household was
aroused, and crowding round the door the negroes
came, their noisy outcries grating harshly on the ear
of the young man, who felt unequal to the task of
stopping them. But when Marian came, a few low
spoken words from her quieted the tumult, and those
whose services were not needed dispersed to the kitchen, where, forgetful of their recent demonstrations of
grief, they speculated upon the probable result of
their "old marster's death," and wondered if with
the new one they should lead as easy a life as they
had done heretofore.
The next morning the news spread rapidly, not
only that Colonel Raymond was dead, but also that
he had died without a will-this last piece of information being given by Lawyer Gibson, who, a little
disappointed in the result of his late visit to Redstone
Hall, had several times in public expressed his opinion that it was all the work of Frederic, who wanted
everything himself, and feared his father would leave
something to Marian Lindsey. This seemed very probable; and in the same breath with which they deplored the loss of Colonel Raymond, the neighbors




DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL.         37
denounced his son as selfish and avaricious. Still he
was now the richest man in the county, and it would
not be politic to treat him with disrespect-so they
came about him with words of sympathy and offers
of assistance, all of which he listened to abstractedly, and when they asked for some directions as to
the arrangements for the burial, he answered, " I do
not know-I am not myself to-day-but go to Marian.
I will abide by her decision."
So to Marian they went; and hushing her own
great grief —for she mourned for the departed as for
a well loved father —Marian told them  what she
thought her guardian would wish that they should do.
It is not customary in Kentucky to keep the dead as
long as at the North, and ere the sun of the first day
was low in the west a grave was made within an enclosure near the river side, where the cedar and the
fir were growing, and when the sun was setting, a
long procession wound slowly down the terraced walk,
bearing with them one who when they returned came
not with them, but was res.ting quietly where the
light from the windows of his former home could fall
upon his peaceful grave.




CHAPTE R TIV.
KEEPI NG  THE  PROMISE.
FoUR weeks had passed away since Colonel Raymond was laid to rest.  The negroes, having finished
their mourning at the grave and at church on the
Sabbath succeeding the funeral, had gone back to
their old light-hearted way of living, and outwardly
there were no particular signs of grief at Redstone
Hall. But two there were who suffered keenly, and
suffered all the more that neither could speak to the
other a word of sympathy.  With Alice Marian
wept bitterly, feeling that she was indeed homeless
and friendless in the wide world. From Dinah she
had heard the story of the Will, and remembering
the events of that morning when Lawyer Gibson, as
she supposed, had come to draw it, she thought it
very probable. Still this did not trouble her one half
so much as the studied reserve which Frederic manifested toward her. At the funeral he had offered her his
arm, walking with her to the grave and back; but
since that night he had kept aloof, seeing her only at
the table, or when he wished to ask some question
which she alone could answer.
In the first days of her sorrow she had forgotten the
letter which her guardian had left for her, and when
she did remember it and go to the private drawer
where he said it was, she found the drawer locked. —
Frederic had the key, of course, and thinking that
if a wrong had indeed been done to her,- he knew it,
too, she waited in hopes that he would speak of it,




KEEPING THE PROMISE.           39
and perhaps bring her the letter. But Frederic Raymond had sworn to keep that letter from her yet
awhile, and he dared not break his vow.  On the
night after the burial he, too, had gone to the private *rawer, and, taking the undirected missive in
his hand, had felt strongly tempted to break its seal
and read. But he had no right to do that, he said;
all that was required of him was to keep it from Marian until such time as he was at liberty to let her
read it.  So, with a benumbed sensation at his
heart, he locked the drawer and left the room, feeling
that his own destiny was fixed, and that it was worse
than useless to struggle against it.  He could not
write to Isabel yet, but he wrote to her mother, telling her of his father's death, and saying he did not
know how long it would be ere tney saw him again at
New Haven. This done, he sat down in a kind of torpor,
and waited for circumstances to shape themselves.Marian would seek for her letter, he thought, and
missing the key, would come to him, and then-oh,
how lie hoped it would be weeks and months before
she came, for when she did he knew he must tell her
why it was withheld.
Meantime, Marian waited day after day vainly
wishing that he would speak to her upon the subject; but he did not, and at last, four weeks after
her guardian's death, she sought the library again,
but found the drawer locked as usual.
"It is unjust to treat me so," she said.  "'The letter is mine, and I have a right to read it."
Then, as she recalled the conversation which had
passed between herself and Colonel Raymond on that
night when he first hinted of a wrong, she wondered
if he had said aught to Frederic of her. Most earnestly she hoped not-and yet she was almost certain
that he had, and this was wily Frederic treated her so
strangely. "'He hates me," she said bitterly, " because he thinks I want him-but he needn't, for I
wouldn't have him now, even if he knelt at my feet,




40           XEEPING THE PROMISE.
and begged of me to be his wife; I'll tell him so, too,
the first chance I get," and sinking into the large arm
chair Marian laid her head upon the writing desk and
wept.
The day had been rainy and dark, and as she sat
there in the gathering night and listened to the low
moan of the October wind, she thought with gloomy
forebodings of the future, and what it would bring to
her.
" Oh, it is dreadful to be so homeless-so friendless, so poor," she cried, and in that cry there was a
note of desolation which touched a chord of pity in
the heart of him who stood on the threshold of the
door, silently watching the young girl as she battled
with her stormy grief.
He did not know why he had come to that room,
and he surely would not have come had he expected
to find her there. But it could not now be helped;
he was there with her; he had witnessed her sorrow,
and involuntarily advancing toward her he laid his
hand lightly upon her shoulder and said, " Poor child,
don't cry so hard."
She seemed to him a little girl, and as such he had
addressed her; but to the startled Marian it mattered
not what he said-there was kindneqs in his voice, and
lifting up her face, which even in the darkness looked
white and worn, she sobbed, "Oh, Frederic, you
don't hate me, then?"
"' Hate you, Marian," he answered, " of course not.
What put that idea into your head?"
"Because-becanse you a'7t so cold and strange,
and don't come near me when my heart is aching so
hard for him-your father."
Frederic made no reply, and resolving to make a
clean breast of it, Marian continned,'There's nobody
to care for me now, and I wish you to be my brother,
just as you used to be, and if your father said any
thing else of me to you he didn't mean it, I amn sure;
I don't at any rate, and I want you to forget it and not




=EEPING THIE PROMIS1E.        41
hate me for it. I'll go away from Redstone HIall if
you say so, but you mustn't hate me for what I could
not help. Will you, Frederic?" and Marian's voice
was again choked with tears.
She had stumbled upon the very subject uppermost
in Frederic's mind, and drawing a chair near to her,
lie said, "' I will not profess to be ignorant of what you
mean, Marian. My father had some strange fancies at
the last, but for these you are not to blame.  Did he
say nothing to vou of a letter.?"
"Yes, yes," answered Marian quickly, "and I've
been for it so many times. Will you give it to me now,
Frederic? It's mine, you know," and Marian looked
at him wistfully.
Frederic hesitated a moment, and misapprehending the motive of his hesitancy, Marian continued,
" Do not fear what I may think. He said a wrong
had been done to me, but if it has not affected me
heretofore, it surely will not now-and I loved him
well enough to forgive anything. Let me have the
letter, won't you?"
"Marian," and Frederic trembled with strong emotion, "' the night my father died, I laid my hand upon
his head and promised that you should not see that
letter until you were a bride."
"A bride I" Marian exclaimed passionately, "I
shall never be a bride-never-certainly not yours!"
and the little hands worked nervously together, while
she continued. "I asked you to forget that whim of
your father's. He did not mean it-he would not
have it so, and neither would I," and Frederic Raymond could almost see the angry flash of the blue eyes
turned so defiantly toward him.
Man-like he began to feel some interest now that
there was opposition, and to her exclamation "neither would I," he replied softly, " Not if I wish it,
]Marian?"
The tone rather than the words affected the~ young




42           KEEPING THE PROMISE.
girl, thrilling her with a new-born delight; and laying her hand again upon the desk, she sobbed
afresh, not impetuously, this time, but steadily, as if
the crying did her good. Greatly she longed for him
to speak again, but he did not. He was waiting for
her, and drying her tears, she lifted up her face, and
in a voice which seemed to demand the truth, she
said: " Frederic, do you wish it.? Here, almost in the
room where your father died, can you say to me truly
that you wish me to be your wife?"
It was a perplexing question, and Frederic Raymond felt that he was dealing falsely with her, but
he made to her the only answer he could-" Men seldom ask a woman to marry them unless they wish it."
"I know," returned Marian, " but-do-would you
have thought of it if your father had not first suggested
it?"
" Marian," said Frederic, "I am much older than
yourself, and I might never have thought of marrying you. He, however, gave me good reasons why.I
should wish to have it so-in all sincerity I ask you
to be my wife. Will you, Marian? It seems soon
to talk of these things, but lie so desired it."
In her bewilderment Marian fancied he had' said,
" I do wish to have it so," but she would know another thing, and not daring to put the question to him
direct, she said, "Do men ever wish to marry one
whom they do not love?"
Frederic understood her at once, and for a moment
felt strongly tempted to tell her the truth, for in that
case he was sure she would refuse to listen to his suit
and he would then be free, but his father's presence
seemed over and around him, while Redstone Hall
was too fair to be exchanged for poverty; and so
he answered, "I have always loved you as a
sister, and in time I will love you as you deserve. I
will be kind to you, Marian, and I think I can make
yolk happy"
lie spoke with earnestness, for he knew he was de



KEEPING THE PROMISE.          43
ceiving the young girl, and in his inmost soul he determined to repair the wrong by learning to love her,
as she said:
"And suppose I refuse you, what then?"
Marian spoke decidedly, and something in her manner startled Frederic, who now that he had gone thus
far, did not care to be thwarted.
"You will not refuse me, I am sure," he said."We cannot live together here just as we have done,
for people would talk."
" I can go away," said Marian, mournfully, while
Frederic replied,
" No, Marian, if you will not be my wife, I must
go away; Redstone Hall cannot be the home of us
both, and if yoa refuse I shall go-soon, very soon."
" Won't you ever come back.~?" asked Marian, with
childish simplicity; but ere Frederic could answer,
the door suddenly opened and old Dinah appeared,
exclaiming as her eye fell upon them, " For the dear
Lord's sake, if you two ain't settin' together in the
dark, when I've done hunted everywhar for you,"'and
Dinah's face wore a very knowing look, as setting
down the candle she departed, muttering something
about " when me and Philip was young."
The spell was broken for Marian, and starting up,
she said, "I cannot talk any more to-night. I'll answer you some other time," and she hurried into the
hall, where she stumbled upon Dinah, who greeted
her with " Ain't you two kinder hankerin' arter each
other,'case if you be, it's the sensiblest thing you ever
done. Marster Frederic is the likeliest, trimmest
chap in Kentuck, and you've got an uncommon heap
of sense."
Marian made no reply but darted up the stairs to
her room, where she could be alone to think. It
seemed to her a dream, and yet she knew it was a
reality. Frederic had asked her to be his wife, and
though she had said to herself that she would not marry
him even if he knelt at her feet, she felt vastly like




44            KEEPING THE PROMISE.
revoking that decision! If she were only sure he
loved her, or would love her; and then she recalled
every word he had said, wishing she could have
looked into his face and seen what its expression was.
She did not think of the letter in her excitement.She only thought of Frederic's question, and she
longed for some one in whom she could confide.
Alice, who always retired early, was already asleep,
and as her soft breathing fell on Marian's ear, she
said, "Alice is' much wiser than children usually are
at six and a half. I mean to tell her," and, stealing
to the bedside, she whispered, "Alice, Alice, wake up
a moment, will you?"
Alice turned on her pillow, and when sure she was
awake, Marian said impetuously, "' If you were me,
would you marry Fredaric Raymond?"
The blind eyes opened wide, as if they doubted the
sanity of the speaker; then quietly replying, "No,
indeed, I wouldn't," Alice turned a second time upon
her pillow and slept again, while Marian, a good deal
piqued at the answer, tormented herself with wondering what the child could mean, and why she - disliked Frederic, so much. The next morning it was
Alice who awoke Marian and said, "Was it a
dreanl, or did you say something to me last night
about marrying Frederic 8"
For a moment Marian forgot that the sightless eyes
turned so inquiringly toward her could not see, and
she covered her face with her hands to hide the
blushes she knew were burning there.
"Say," persisted Alice, "what was it?" arid half
willingly, half reluctantly, Marian told of the strange
request which Frederic had made, saying nothing,
however, of the letter, for if Colonel Raymond had
done her a wrong, she felt it a duty she owed his
memory to keep it to herself.
The darkened world in which Alice lived, had matured her other faculties far beyond her age, and
though not yet seven years old, she was in many




KEEPING THE PROMISE.          45
things scarcely less a child than Marian, whose story
puzzled her, for she could hardly understand how one
who had seemed so much her companion could think
of being a- married woman. Marian soon convinced
her, however, that there woa a vast difference between almost seven and almost sixteen, and still she
was not reconciled.
"Frederic is well enough," she said, "and I once
heard Agnes Gibson say he was the best match in the
county, but somehow he don't seem to like you.
Ain't he stuck up, and don't he know a heap more
than you?"
"Yes, but I can learn," answered Marian, sadly,
thinking with regret of the many hours she had played
in the woods when she might have been practising
upon the piano. or reading the books which Frederic
liked best. "I can in time make a lady perhapsand then you know if I don't have him, one of us
must go away, for he said so."
" Oh," exclaimed Alice, catching her breath and
drawing nearer to Marian, " wouldn't it be nice for
you and me to live here all alone with Dinah, and do
just as we're a mind to. Tell him you won't, and let
him go back where he came from."
"No," returned Marian, "if either goes away, it
will be me, for I've no right here, and Frederic has."
"You go away," repeated Alice. "What could
you do without Dinah?"
"I don't know." returned Marian mournfully, a
dim boreboding as it were of her dark future rising
up before her. "I can't sew-I don't know enough
to teach, and I couldn't do anything but die!"
This settled the point with Alice. She would rather Marian should marry Frederic than go away and
die, and so she said, "I'd have him, I reckon," adding quickly, "' You'll carry the keys, then, won't you,
and give me all the preserves and cake I want?"
Thus was the affair amicably adjusted between the
two, and when at. the breakfast table she met with




46            KEEPING THE PROMISE.
Frederic, she was ready to answer his question; but
she chose to let him broach the subject, and this' he
did do that evening when he found her alone in his
father's room.  He had decided that it was-useless to
struggle with his fate, aid he resolved to make the
best of it. How far Redstone Hall, bank notes, stock
and real estate influenced this decision we cannot say,
but he was sincere in his intention of treating Marian
well, and when he found her by accident in his father's
room, he said to her kindly, " Can you answer me
now I"
iMarian was notvyet enough accustomed to the world
to conceal whatever she felt, and with the light of a
new happiness shining on her childish face, she went
up to him, and laying her hand confidingly upon
his, she said, " I will marry you, Frederic, if you wish
me to."
A strange enigma is human nature.  When the
previous night she had hesitated to answer, Frederic
was conscious of a vague fear that she might say noand now that she had said yes, he felt less pleasure
than pain, for the die he knew was cast. A more observing eye than Marian's would have seen the dark
shadow which flitted over his face, and the sudden
paling of his lips, but she did not; she only saw how
he shook off her hand without even so much as touching it, and all the novels she had ever read would
surely have sanctioned so modest a proceeding as
that f But novels, she reflected, were not true, and
as she was an actor in real lifb, she must accept
whatever that life might bring.  Still she was not
quite satisfied, and when Frederic, fancying he should
feel better it the matter were well over, said to her,
"' There is no reason why we should delay-my father
would wish the marriage to take place immediately,
and I will speak to Dinah at once," she felt that with
him it was a mere form, and bursting into tears she
said passionately, "You are not obliged to marry me.
I certainly did not ask you to."




KEEPING THE PROMISE.           47
For a moment Frederic stood irresolute, and then he
replied, " Don't be foolish, Marian, but take a common sense view of the matter. I am not accustomed
to love-making, and the character would not suit me
now when my heart is so full of sorrow for my father.
Many a one would gladly take your place, but"-here
hepaused, uncertain how to proceed and still keep
truth upon his side-then, as a bright thought struck
him, he added, " hbut I prefer you to all the girls in
Kentucky. Be satisfied with this, and wait patiently
for the time when I can show you that I love you."
His manner both frightened and fascinated Marian,
and she answered through her tears, "I will be satisfied, and wait."
Frederic knew well that Marian was too much of
a child to manage the affair, and after his interview
with her, he sought out Dinah, to whom he announced his intentions.
"There is no need of delay," he said, " and two
weeks from to-day is the time appointed. There will
be no show-no parade-simply a quiet wedding in
the presence of a few friends, who will dine with
us, of course. The dinner, you must see to, and I
will attend to the rest."
Amid ejaculations of surprise and delight, old Dinah heard what he had to say-and then, boiling over
with the news, hastened to the kitchen, where she
was soon surrounded by an astonished and listening
audience, the various members of which were affected differently, just according to their different ideas
of what "marster Frederic's" wife ought to be.
Among the negroes at Redstone Hall were two distinct parties, one of which having belonged to Mr.
Higgins, the former owner of the place, looked rather
contemptuously upon the other clique, who had been
purchased of Mr. Sinithers, a neighboring planter,
and were not supposed to have as high blood in their
veins as was claimed by their darker rivals. Hence
between the democratic Smiitlierses and the aristocratic




48           ]KEEPING THE PRIOMISE.
Higginses was waged many a fierce battle, which was
usually decided by old Dinah, who, having belonged
to another family still, " thanked the Lord that she
was neither a Higginses nor a Smitherses, but wasa peg or so above such low-lived truck as them."
On this occasion the announcement of Master Frederic's expected marriage was received by the Smitherses with loud shouts of joy and hurrahs for Miss
Marian.  The Higginses, on the contrary, though
friendly to Marian, declared she was not high bred
enough to keep up the glory of the house, and Aunt
Hetty, who led the clan and was a kind of rival to
old Dinah, launched forth into a wonderful stream
of eloquence.'" Miss Marian would do in her place," she said, "but'twas a burnin' shame to set such an onery thing over
them as had been oncet used to the quality.'Twas
different with the Smitherses, whose old Miss was
bed rid with a spine in her back, and hadn't but one
store carpet in the house. But the Hiigginses, she'd
let'em know, had been'customed to sunthin' better.
Oh," said she, "you or'to seen Miss Beatrice the flst
day Marster brought her home. She looked jest like
a queen, with that great long switchin' tail to her
dress, a wipin' up the walk so clean that I, who was a
gal then, didn't have to sweep it for mor'n a week —
and them ars she put on when she curchied inter the
room and walkin' backards sot down on the rim of the
cheer —so"-and holding out her short linsey-woolsey
to its widest extent, the old negress proceeded to illustrate.
But alas for Aunt Hetty-her intention was anticipated by stuttering Josh, the most mischievous spirit
of all the Smithers clan. Quick as thought the active
boy removed the chair where she expected to land,
pushing into its place an overflowing slop-pail, and
into this the discomfited old lady plunged amid the
execrations of her partisans and the jeers of her opponents.




KEEPING THE PROMISE.            49
"You Josh —you villain —the Lord spar me long
enough to break yer sassy neck!" she screamed, as
with difficulty shle extricated herself from her position
and wrung her (lripping garments.
"Sarved you right," said Dinah, shaking her fat
sides with delight.  "Sarved you right, and the fust
one that raises thar voice agin Miss Marian'11 catch
suritlin' a heap wus than dirty dishwater."
But Dinah's threat was unnecessary, for with Hetty's downfall the star of the Higginses set, leaving
that of the Smitherses still in the ascendant!
Meantime Marian was confiding to Alice the storyx
of her engagement, and wondering if Frederic intended taking a bridal tour. She hoped he did, for she so
much wished to see a little of the world, particularly
New York, of which slle had heard such glowing
accounts. But nothing could be less in accordance
with Frederic's feelings than a bridal tour-and when
once Marian ventured to broach the subject, he said
that under the circumstances it would hardly be right
to go off and enjoy tlemselves, so they had better
stay quietly at home. And this settled the point, for
Marian never thought of questioning his decision. If
they made no journey, she would not need any additions to her wardrobe, and she was thus saved from
the trouble which usually falls to the lot of brides.Still it was not at all in accordance with her ideasthis marrying without a single article of finery, an&
once she resolved to indulge in a new dress at least.
She had ample means of her own, for her guardian had
been lavish of his money, always giving her far more
than she could use, and during the last year she had
been saving a fund for the purpose of surprising Alice
and the blacks with handsome Christmas presents.The former was to have a little gcld watch, which she
had long desired, because she liked to hear it tickbut the watchl and the dress could not both be bought,
and when she considered this, Marian, generously gave
up the latter for the sake of pleasing the blind girl.
3




60             KEEPING THE PROMISE.
Among her dresses was a neat, white muslin, given
her by Colonel Raymond only the Summer. previous,
and this she decided sllould be the wedding robe, for
black was gloomy, she said, and would almost seem
ominous of evil.
Anld so the childish bride elect made her simple arrungements, unassisted by any one save Dinah and
the little Alice, the latter of whom was really of tilhe
mnost service, for old Dinah spent the greater portion
of her time in grumbling because " Marster Frederic
didn't act more lover-like to his wife that was to be."
Marian, too, felt this keenly, but she would not
admit it, and she said to Dinah, "You can't expect
him to be like himself when he's mourning for his father."
" Mournin' for his fatler," returned Dinah,- " and
what if he is?  Can't a fellow kiss a gal and im'ourn a
aplenty too? Taint no way to do to mope from mornin' till night like you was gwine to the gallus. Me
and Phil didn't act that way when he was settin' to
me-but I'spect they've done got some new fangled
way of courtin' jest as they heyv for everything else —
but I'm satisfied with the old fashion, and I wish
them fetch-ed Yankees would Inind their own business and let well'nough alone."
Dinah felt considerably relieved after this long
speecll, particularly as she had that very morning
made it in substance to Frederic —and when that evening she saw the young couple seated upon tile same
sofa, and tolerably near to each other, she was sure
she had done some good by "' ginnen'ern a piece of
her mind."
Amongr the neighbors there was a great deal of
talk, and occasionally a few of them called at iRedstoiie
Hall, but these only came to go away again, alld'omment on Frederic's strange taste in marrying one
so young, and so wholly unlike himself.  It could
not be, they said, that he had really calured about the
Will, else why had he so soon taken IIarian to share




KEEPING THE PROMISE.            51
his fortune with him? But Frederic kept his own
counsel, and once when questiened on the subject of
his marriage and asked if it were not a sudden thing,
he answeled haughtily, " Of course not —it was decided years ago, when Marian first came to live with
Us."
And so amid the speculations of friends, the gossip
of Dinah, the joyous anticipations of Marian, and the
harrowing doubts of Frederic, the two weeks passed
away, bringing at last the eventful day when Redstone Hall was to have once more a mistress.




CHAPTER V.
THE BRID AL  DAY.
" IT was the veriest farce in all the world, the marriage of Frederic Raymond with a child of fit:
teen;" at least so said Agnes Gibson of twenty-five,
anJi so said sundry other guests who at the appointed
hour assembled in the parlor of Redstone Hall, to
witness the sacrifice-not of Frederic as they vainly
imagined, but of the unsuspecting Marian.
He knew what he did, and why he did it, while she,
blindfolded as it were, was about to leap into the uncertain future. No such gloomy thoughts as these,
however, intruded themselves upon her mind as she
stood before her mirror and with trembling fingers
made her simnple bridal toilet. When first the idea of
marrying Frederic was suggested to her nearly as
much pride.as love had mingled in her thoughts, for
Marian was not without her ambition, and the honor
of being the mistress of Redstone Hall had influenced
lher decision. But during the two weeks since her
engagement, her heart had gone out toward him with
a deep absorbing love, and had he now been the
poorest man in all the world and she a royal princess,
she would have spurned the wealth that kept her
from him, or gladly have laid it at his feet for the
sake of staying with him and knowing that he wished
it. And this was the girl whom Frederic Raymond
was about to wrong by making her his wife when he
knew he did not love her. But she should never




THE BRIDAL DAY.              53
know it, he said-should never suspect that nothing
l)ut his hand and name went with the words he was so
soon to utter, and he determined to be true to her and
faithful to his marriage vow.
Some doubt he had as to the effect his father's letter might have upon her, and once he resolved that
she should never see it; but this was an idle thought,
not to be harbored for a moment. He had told her
when she asked him for it the last time that she
should have it on her bridal day; for so his father'willed it, and he would keep his word. He had written to Isabel at the very last, for though he was not
bound to her by a promise he knew an explanation of
his conduct was due to her, and he forced himself to
write it. Not a word did he say against Marian, but
he gave her to understand that but for his father the
match would never have been made- that circumstances over which lie had no control compelled him
to do what he was doing. HIe should never forget
the pleasant hours spent in her society, he said, and
he closed by asking her to visit the future Mrs. Raymend at Redstone HIall. It cost him a bitter struggle
to write thus indifferently to one he loved so well. but
it was right, he said, and when the letter was finished
he felt that the last tie which bound him to Isabel was
sundered, and there was nothing for hiDm now but to
make the best of Marian. So when on their bridal
morning she came to him and asked his wishes concerning her dress, he answered her very kindly, " As
you are in mourning you had better make no change,
besides I think black very becoming to your fair
complexion."
This was the first compliment he had ever paid her,
and her heart thrilled with delight, but when, as she
was leaving the room he called her back and said,
still gently, kindly, "Would you as soon wear your
hair plain 8 I do not quite fancy ringlets," her eyes
filled with tears, for she remembered the corkscrew




54              THE BRIDAL DAY.
curls, and glancing in the mirror at her wavy hair,
she wished it were possible to remedy the defect:.
" I will do the best I can," she said, and returning
to her room, she commenced her operations, biut it
was a long, tedious process, the combing out of those
curls, for her hai' was tenacious of its riglits, and even
when she thought it subdued and let go of the end, it
rolled up about her forehead in tight round rings, as if
spurning alike both water and brush.
"I'd like to see the man what could make me yank
out my wool like that," muttered Dinah, who was
watching the straightening process with a lowering
brow, inismnuch as it reflected dishonor upon her own
crisped locks.  "It the Lord made yer har to curl,
war it so, and not mind every freak of his'n. Fust
you know, he'll be a-wantin' you to war yer face on
t'other side of yer head, but'taint no way to do. Youn
must begin as you can hold out. In a few hours
vou'll have as much right here as he has, and I'd show
it, too, by pitchin' inter us niggers and jawin' to kill.
I shall know you don't mean nothin' and shan't keer.
Come to think on't, thougll, I reckon you'd better let
me and the Smitherses be and begin with them Higginses. I'd give it to old Hetty good-she'sarves to
be took down a button hole lower, if ever a nigger
did, for she said a heap o' stuff about you."
Marian smiled a kind of quiet happy smile and
went on with her task, which was finished at last, and
her luxuriant hair was bound at the back of her head
in a large flat knot. The effect was not becoming and
she knew it, but if Frederic liked it she was satisfied,
even if Dinah did demur, telling her she looked like
"a cat whose ears had been boxed."  Frederic did
not like it, but after the pains slie had taken he would
not tell her so, and whlen she said to him, "I am
ready," he offered her his arm and went silently down
the stairs to the parlor, where guests and clergymen
were waiting.
The day was bright and beautiful, for the light of




THE BRIDAL DAY.              55
tile glorious Indian Summer sun was resting on the
Kentucky hills, and through the open window  the
murmuring ripple of the Elkhorn caine, while the
balmy breath of the south wind swept over the white
face of the bride, and lifted from her neck the few
stray locks which, escaping from, their confinement,
curled naturally in their accustomed place. But to
the assembled guests there seemed in all a note of
sadness, a warning voice which said the time for this
bridal was not yet; and years after, when the beautiful mistress of Redstone Hall rode by in her handsome carriage, Agines Gibson told to her little sister
how on that November day the cheeks of both bride
and btidegroom paled as if with mortal fear when the
words were spoken which made them one.
Whether it were the newness of her position, or a
presentiment of coming evil Marian could not tell, but
into her heart there crept a chill as she glanced timid(ly at the man who stood so silently beside her, and
thoughlt, "I-e is my husband."  It was, indeed, a
sonmbre wedding-" more like a funeral," the guests
declared, as immediately after dinner they took their
leave and commented upon the affair as people always will. Oh, how Frederic longed yet dreaded to
have them go. Ile could not endure their congratulations, which to him were meaningless, and he had
no wish to be alone. tie was recovering from his
apathy, and could yesterday have been his again, lie
believed lie would have broken his promise. But
yesterday had gone and to-morrow had come-it was
to-day, now, with him, and Marian was his wife.
Turn which way lie would, the reality was the same,
and with an intense loathing of himself and a deep pity
tfor her, he feigned some trivial excuse and went away
to his room, where, with the gathering darkness and
his own wretched thoughts, he would be alone.
With strange unrest IMlarian wandered from room to
room, wondering if Frederic had so soon grown
weary of her presence, and sometimes half wishing




c56             THE  BRIDAL DAY.
that she were Marian Lindsey again, and that the
new name by which they called her belonged to some
one else. At last, when it was really dark-when the
lamps were lighted in the parlor and Alice had wept
a bitter, passionate good night in her arms and gone
to sleep, she bethought her of the letter. She could
read it now. She had complied with all the stipulations, and there was no longer a reason why it should
be withheld. She went to Frederic's door; but he
was not there, and a servant passing in tile hall said
he had returned to the parlor while she was busy with
Alice. So to tile parlor Marian went, finding him
sitting unemployed and wrapped in gloomy thought.
lHe heard ther step upon the carpet, but standing in
the shadowv as she did, she could not see the look of
pain which flitted over his face at hler approach.
"Frederic," she said, "I may read the letter nowwill you give me the key?"
Mechanically he did as she desired, and then with a
slightly uneasy feeling as to the effect the letter might
have upon her, he went back to hlis reflections, while
she started to leave the room. When she reached the
door she paused a moment and looked back.  In giving her the key he had changed his position, and she
could see the suffering expression of his white face.
Quickly returning to his side, she said anxiously, "Are
you sick?"
i' Nothing but a headache. You know I am accustomed to that," he replied.
Marian hesitated a moment-then parting the damp
brown hair from off his forehead she kissed him timidly and left the room. Involuntarily Frederic raised
his hand to wipe the spot away, but something stayed
the act and whispered to hlim that a wife's first kiss
was a holy tlillng and could never be repeated!
Through the hall the nimble feet of Marian sped until she stood within her late guardian's room, and
there she stopped, for the atmosphere seemed oppressive and laden with terror.




THE BRIDAL DAY.                57
"'Tis because it's so dark," she said, and going out
into the hall, she took a lamp from the table and then
returned.
But the olden feeling was with her still-a feeling
as if she were treading some fearful gulf, and she was
half tempted to turn back even now, and ask Frederic
to come with her wlnlle she read the letter.
"I will not be so foolish, though," she said, and
opening the library door she walked boldly in; but
the same Marian who entered there never camne out
again I
3*




CHAPTER VI.
READING  THE  LETTER.
OH, how still it wzs in that room, and the click of
the key as it turned the slender bolt echoed through
the silent apartment, causing Marian to start as if a
living presence had been near.  The drawer was
opened, and she held the letter in her hand, while
unseen voices seemed whispering to her, "Oh, Mariall, Marian-leave the letter still untouched. Do not
seek to know the secret it contains, but go back to the
nan who is your husband, and by those gentle acts
which seldom fail in their effect, win his love. It will
be far more precious to yotl than all the wealth of
which you are the unsuspecting heiress."
But lMarian did not understand —lor know why it
was she trembled so.  She only knew she had the
letter in her hand-her letter-the one left by her
guardian.  It bore no superscription, but it was for
her, of course, and fixing herself in a comfortable position, she broke the seal and read:
" By l)ear Ch/ild:"
There was nothinog in those three words suggestive
of a mistake-and Marian read on till, with a quick,
nervous start, she glanced forward, then backwardand then read on aind on, until at last not even the fear
of death itself could have stopped her from that reading. That letter was never intended for her eye sllhe
knew that now, but hatd the cold lhand of her guardian
been interposed to wrest it fromn her, she would have




READING TIIE LETTER.            59
held it fast until she learned the whole.  Like coals
of livin(g fire, the words burned into her soul, scorchinlg, blistering as they burned-and when the letter
was finished she fell upon her face with a cry so full
of agony and horror that Fr'ederic in the parlor heard
the wail of human anguish, and started to his feet,
wondering whence it came.
With the setting of the sun the November wind had
risen, and as the young man listened it swept moaning past the window, seeming not unlike the sound he
had first heard.  " It was the wind," le said, and he
resumed his seat, while, in that little room, not Very
far away, poor Marian came back to consciousness,
and crouching on the floor, prayed that she might die.
She understood it now-how she had been deceived,
betrayed, and cruelly wronged. She knew, too, that
she was the heiress of untold wealth, and for a single
mIoment her heart beat with a gratified pride, but the
surprise was too great to be realized at once, and the
feeling was soon absorbed in the reason why Frederic
Raymond had made her his wife. It was not herself
lie had married, but her fortune-her Inoney-Redstone Hall. She was merely a necessary incumbrance,
which he would rather should have been omitted in
the bargain.  The thounglt was mnadde,,ing, and,
stretching out her arms, she asked again that she
might die.
" (h, why didn't he come to me?" she cried, " and
tell me?  I would gladly have given him  half my
fortune —yes, all —all-rather than be;Ihe wretched
thing I aml, and he would have been free to love and
marry this —"
She could not at first speak the name of her rivalbut she said it at last, and the sound of it wrung her
hleart with a new and torturing pain. She had never
heard of Isabel Huntington before, and as she tlhought
how beautiful and grand she was, she whispered to
herself,; " Why didn't he go back to her, and leave me,
the red. headed fright, aloune 9 Yes, that was what he




60             READING THE LETTER.
wrote to his father. Let me look at it again," and the
tone of her voice was bitter and the expression of her
face hard and stony, as taking up the letter she read
for the second time that " she was uncouth, uneducated and ugly," and if his father did not give up tlhat
foolish fancy, Frederic woul1d  positively "hate the red
headed fright."  Her guardian had not given up tile
foolish fancy, consequently there was but one infi:rence to be drawn.
In her excitement she did not consider that Frederic
had probably written of her harsher things than he
really meant. She only thought, "He loathes melie despises Ine —he wisles I was dead-and I dared
to kiss him too," she added.  "How he hated me for
that, but'twas the first, and it s!hill be the last, for I
will go away forever and leave him Redstone Hall,
the bride he married a few hours ago," and laying her
face upon the chair Marian thought long and earnestly
of the future. She had come into that room a happy,
simple-hearted, confiding qhild, but she had lived
years since, and she sat there now a crushed but selfreliant woman, ready to go out and contend with the
world alone. Gradually her thoughts and purposes
took a definite form.  She was ignorant of the knotty
paints of law, and she did not know but Frederic could
get her a divorce, but fiom this publicity she shrank.
She could not be pointed at as a discarded wife. Sile
would rather go away where Frederic would never
see not' hear of her again, and she fancied that by so
doing he would after a time at least be free to ruarry
Isabel. She had not wept before, for her tears seemed
scorched with pain, but at the thought of another cominrg tiere to take the place she had hoped to fill,
they rained in torrents over her white face, and clasping her little hands convulsively together, sle cried" How can I give him up when I love him so muchso much?"
Gradually there stole over her the noble, unselfish
thought, that because she loved him  so much, sile




READING THE LETTER.             61
would willingly sacrifice herself and all she had for the
sake of making him happy-and then she grew  calm
again and began to decide where she would go.  Instinctively her mlind turned toward New York city as
the great hiding place from  the worl(l. Mrs. 3Burt,
the woman who had lived with them in Yonkers. and
who had always been so kind to her, was in New York
she knew, for she had written to Colonel Raymond not
l1,ng before his death, askilng if tlhere was anything in
Kentucky for her son Ben to do. This letter her
guardian had answered alcd then destroyed with mainy
othlers, which lie said were of nlo consequence, and only lunlbered up his drawer. Consequently there was
no possibility that this letter would suggest Mrs. Burt
Lo Frederic, who had never seen hler, slie having come
and gone while lie was away at schol, and tlhus far
the project was a safe one.- But her nalne-she mnight
some time be recognized by that, and remembering
tllat her mnother's maiden name was Mfary Grey, and
that Frederic, even if lhe had ever kniown it, which
was doubtful, had pIobably forgotten it, she resolved
upon being hellcefortll MARIAN GREY, and she repeated it aloud, feeling the while that the change was well
— tor she was lio lonlger the same girl she used to know
as Marian Lindsey. Orlce slle said softly to herself,
" Mlarian Raymond," but the sound grated harshly, for
she tBet that she had no right to bear that name.
This settled, site turned her thoughlts upon the means
by which New York was to be reached, and she was
glad that she had not bought the dress, for now
slhe had ample fluIds with wlhich to meet the expense,
and she would go that very nigllt, before her resolution failed her. Redstonle Rlall was only two miles
f'roml the station, and as tile evenling train passed at
hlalt-past nlinie, thlere would be time to reach it, and
write a farewell letter, too, to Frederic, tor she must
tell hiin how, though it brioke her llheart to do it, she
willingly gave hiln everythling, and lloped he would
be happy wlhen she was gone forever. Marianl was




62            READING THE LETTER.
beautiful then in her desolation, and so Frederic Raymond would have said, could he have seen her with
tile light of her noble sacrifice of self shining in her
eyes, and the new-born, womanly expression on her
face. The first fearful burst was over, and calmly she
sat down to her task-but the storm rose high again
as she essayed to write that good-by, which would
seem to him who read it a cry of despair wrung from
a fainting heart.
"Frederic-dear Frederic," she began, "can Imay I say my husband once-just once-and I'll never insult you with that name again?
"I am  going away forever, Frederic, and when
you are reading this I shall not be at Redstone Hall,
nor anywhere around it. Do not try to find me. It
is better you should not. Your father's letter, which
was intended for you, and by mistake has come to me,
will tell yiou why I go. I forgive your father, Frederic-fully, freely forgive him —but you —oh, Frederic,
if I loved you less I should blame you for deceiving
lne so cruelly. If you had told me all I would gladly have shared my fortune with you.  I would have
given you more than half, and when you blroughlt that
beautiful Isabel horne I would have loved her as a
sister.
"Why didn't you, Frederic?  What made you
treat me so?  What made you break my heart when
you could have helped it? It aches so hard now as I
write, and the hardest pain of all is the loss of faith
in you. I thought you so noble, so good, and I may
confess to you here on paper, I loved you so muchhow much you will never know, for I shall never
come back to tell you.
"And I kisssed you, too. Forgive me for that,'rederic. I didn't know then how you hated me.Wash the stain fiom your forehead, can't you?-and
don't lay it up against me. If I thought I could make
you love me, I would stay. I would endure torture
fobr years if I knew the light was shining beyond, but




READING THE LETTER.             63
it cannot be.  The sight of me would make you hate
me more. So I give everything I have to you and
Isabel. You'll marry her at a suitable time, and when
you see how well she becomes your home, you will be
glad I went away. If you mInst tell her of me, and I
suppose you must, speak kindly of me, won't you? —
You needn't talk of me often, but sometimes, when
you are all alone, and you are sure she will not know,
think of' poor little Marian, who gave her life away,
that one she loved the best in all the world might
have wealth and happiness.
" Farewell, Frederic, farewell. Death itself cannot
be harder than bidding you good-by, and knowing it
is for ever."
And well might Marian say this, for it seemed to
her that she dipped her pen in her very }heart'hs blood,
when she wrote that last adieu. — Slie folded up the
letter and directed it to Frederic-then taking another
sheet she wrote to the blind girl:' DEAREST ALICE —Precious little Alice.  If my
heart was not already broken, it would break at leaving you. Don't mourn for me much, darling.  Tell
Dinah and Hietty, and the other blacks, not to cryand if I've ever been cross to them, they must forget
it now that I am gone. God bless you all. Good by
-good by."
The letters finished, she left them  upon the desk,
where they could not help being seen by the first one
who should enter-then stealing up the stairs to the
closet at the extremity of the hall, she put on her
bonnet, vail and shawl, and started for her purse,
whtich was in the chamber where Alice slept.  Careful, very careful were her footsteps now, lest shelo
should waken the child, who, having cried herself to
sleep, was resting quietly.  The purse was obtained,
as was also a daguerreotype of her guardian. which
lay in the same drawer-and then for a moment sthe
stood gazing at the little blind girl, and longing to
give her one mIore kiss; but she dared not, and glan



64             READING TIE LETTER.
cing hurriedly around the room which had been hers
so long, slie hastened down tile stairs alndl out upour
the piazza. She could see the light fiom tile parlor
window streaming out into the da!kness, and drawing
near she looked tthroughl blinding tears upon the solitary man, who, sitting there alone, little dreamed of
the whispered blessings breathed for limn but a few
yards away. It seemed to Marian in that moment of
agony that her very life was going out, and she leaned
against a pillar to keep herself from falling.' Oil, can I leave hlim?" she thought.  " Can I go
away forever, and never see his face again or listen
to his voice?" and looking up into tile sky she prayed
that if in heaven they should meet again, he might
know and love her there for what she suffered here.
On the withered glass and leaves near by there was
a rustling sound as if some one was comning, and Marian drew back for fear of being seen, but it was only
Bruno, the large watch dog. lie hlad just been released froin his kennel, and he came tearing up tile
walk, and with a low savage growl sprang toward the
spot where Marian was hiding.' Bruno, good Bruno," she whispered, and in an instant the fierce mastiff crouched at hier feet and licked
her hand with a whining sound, as if he suspected
somnething wrong.
One more yearning glance at Frederic-one more
tearful look at her old home, and Marian walked rapidly down the avenue, followed by Biuno, who could
neither be coaxed nor driven back. It was all in vain
that Marian stamped her little foot, wound her arms
round his shaggy neck, bidding him return; he only
answered with a faint whine quite as expressive of
obstinacy as words could have been. He knew Marian had no business to be abroad at that hoiur of tile
night, and, with the faithfulness of his race, was determnined to follow.  At lentil, as she was begrinningl
to despair of getting rid of him, she remembered hlow
pertinaciously he would guard any article which lie




READING THE LETTER.            65
knew belonged to the family-and on the bridge
which crossed the Elkhorn, she purposely dropped her
glove and handkerchief, the latter of which bore her
name in full. The ruse was successful, for after vainly attempting to make her know that'she had lost
somnething, the dog turned back, and, with a loud,
miournful howl, which Marian accepted as his farewell,
lie laid himself down by the handkerchief and glove,
turning his head occasionally in the direction Marian
had gone, and uttering low plaintive howls when he
saw she did not return.
Meantime Marian kept on her way, striking out into the fields so as inot to be observed —and at last, just
as the cars sounded in the distance, she came up to a
clump of trees glrowing a little to the left, and on the
opposite side of the road from that on which the depot
stood. By getting in here no one would see her at
the station, and when the train stopped she came out
from her concealment, and bounding lightly upon the
platform of the rear car, entered unobserved. As the
passengers were sitting with their backs toward her,
but one or two noticed her when she came in, and
these scarce gave her a thought, as she sank into the
seat nearest to the door, and drawing her vail over
her face trembled violently lest she should be recognized, or at least noted and remembered.  But her
fears were vain, for no one there had ever seen or
heard of her-and in a moment more the train was
moving on, and she, heart-broken and alone, Was taking her bridal tour I




CHAPTER VII.
THEE  ALARM.
IN her solitary bed little Alice slumbered on, moaning occasionally in her sleep, and at last when the
clock struck nine, starting up and calling "Marian,
Marian, where are youl?" Then, remembering that
Marian could not come to her that night, she puzzled
her little brain with the great mystery, and wept herself to sleep for the second time.
In the kitchen old Dinah was busy with various
household matters.  With Frederic she had heard in
the distance the bitter moan which Marian made when
first she learned how she had been deceived, and like
himn she had wondered what the sound could be-then
as a baby's cry came from a cabin near by, she had
said to herself, " some of them Higgins brats, I'll war.
rant. They're allus a squallin'," and, satisfied with
this conclusion, she had resumed her work.  Once or
twice after that she was in the house, feeling a good
deal disturbed at seeing Frederic sitting alone without his bride, who, she rightly supposed, " was somewhar. But'tain't no way," she muttered; " Phil anld
me didn't do like that;" then reflecting that " white
folks wasn't like'niggers," she returned to the kitchen
just as Bruno set up his first loud howl. With Dinalh
thile howl of a dog was a sure sign of death, and dropping her tallow candle in her fright, she exclaimed"for the Lord's sake who's gwine to die now a I hope
to goodness'taint me, nor Phil, nor Lid, nor Victory




THE ATLARM.                67
Eugeny," and turning to Aunt HIetty, who was troubled with vertigo, she asked if " she'd felt ally signs of
an afterplax fit lately?"
" The Lord," exclaimed old Hetty, "I hain't had a
drap o' blood in me this six month, and if Bruno's
howlin' for me, he may as well save his breath;" but
in spite of this self-assurance, the old negress, wheil
no one saw her, dipped her head in a bucket of water by way of warding off the danger.
Thus the evening wore away until at last Dinah,
standing in the doorway, heard the whistle of the train
as it passed the Big Spring station.
" Who s'posed'twas half-past nine," she exclaimed.
"I'll go this minit and see if Miss Mfarian wants
Me."
Just then another loud piercing howl from Bruno,
who was growing impatient, fell upon her ear and arrested her movements.
" What can ail the critter," she said-" and he's
down on the bridge, too, I believe."
The other negroes also heard the cry, which was
succeeded by another and another, and became at last
one prolonged yell, which echoed down the river and
over the hills, starting Frederic fiom his deep reverie
and bringing him to the piazza, where the blacks had
assembled in a body.
"'Spects mebbe Bruno's done cotched somethin'-or
somebody down thar," suggested Philip, the most
courageous of the group.
"' Suppose you go and see," said Frederic, and lighting his old lantern Philip sallied out, followed ere
long by all his comrades, who, by accusing each otlher of being "' skeered to death," managed to keep up
their own courage.
The bridge was reached, and in a tremor of delight
Bruno bounded upon Phil, upsetting the old man and
extinguishing the light, so that they were in total
darkness. The white handkerchief, hlowever, caughlt
Dinah's eye, and in picking it up she also felt the




68                 THE ALARM.
glove, which was lying near it.  But this did not explain the mystery-and after searching in vain for
man, beast or hobgoblin, the party returned to the
house, where their master awaited them.
" Thar warn't nothin' thar'cept tllis yer rag and
glove," said Dinah, passing the articles to him.
He took them, and going to the light saw the name
upon the handkerchief, " Marian Lindsey." The glove
too, he recognised as belonging to her, and with a
vague fear of impending evil, he asked where they
found them.
"'On the bridge," answered Dinah; " somebody
must have drapped'em.  That handkercher looks
mighty like Miss Marian's hem-stitched one."
"It is hers," returned Frederic —'" do you know
where she is?"
" You is the one who orto know that, I reckon,"
answered Dinall, adding that she " hadn't seen her
sense jest after dark, when she went up stars with
Alice."
Frederic was interested now. In his abstraction he
had not heeded the lapse of time, though he wondered
where Marian was, and once feeling anxious to know
what she would say to the letter, he was tempted to
go in quest of her. But he did not-and now, with a
presentiment that all was not right, he went to Alice's
hllamber, but found no Marian there. Neither was
she in any of the chambers, nor in the hall, nor in the
dining room, nor in his father's room, and he stood at
last in the library door. Tile writing-desk was open,
and on it lay three letters-one for Alice, one for him,
the other undirected. With a beating heart he took
the one intended for himself, and tearing it open, read
it through. When Marian wrote that " she gave her
life away," she had no thought of deceiving him, for
her giving hibl, up was giving her very life. But he
did not so understand it, and sinking into a chair he
gasped, " Marian is dead I" while his face grew livid
and his heart sick with the horrid fear.




THE ALARM.                  69'Dead, Marster Frederic," shrieked old Dinah —
"who dars tell me my chile is dead 1" and bounding
forward like a tiger, she grasped the arm of the
wretched man, exclaiming, " whar is she the dead?
and what is she dead for? and what's that she's writ
that makes yer face as white as a piece of paper? —
Read, and let us hear."
" I can't, I can't," moaned the stricken man. " Oh,
has it come to this? Marian, Marian-won't somebody bring her back?"
" If marster'11 tell me whar to look, I'll find her,
so help me, Lord," said uncle Phil, the tears rolling
down his dusky cheeks.
" You found her handkerchief upon the bridge,"
returned Frederic, "and Bruno has been howling
there-don't you see? She's in the river!-She's
drowned! Oh, Marian-poor Miarian, I've killed her
-but God knows I did not mean to;" and in the very
spot where not long before pool Marian had fallen on
her face, the desolate man now lay on his, and suffered in part what she had suffered there.
It was a striking group assembled there. The
bowed man, convulsed with strong emotion, and
clutching with one hand the letter which had done the
fearful work. The blacks gathered round, some weeping bitterly and all petrified with terror, while into
their midst when the storm. was at its hight the little
Alice groped her way-her soft hair falling over her
white night dress, her blind eyes rolling round the
room, and her quick ear turned to catch any sound
which might explain the strange proceedings.  She
had been roused from sleep by the confusion, and
hearing the uproar in the hall and library, had felt
her way to the latter spot, where in the doorway she
stood asking for Marlian.
"Bless you, honey, Miss Marian's dead-drownded," said Dinah, and Alice's shriek mingled with the
general din.
" Where's Frederic?" asked the little girl, feeling




70                THE ALARM.
intuitively that he was the one who needed the most
sympathy.
At the sound of his name Frederic lifted up his
head, and taking the child in his arms, kissed her
tenderly, as if he would thus make amends for his
coldness to the lost Marian.
"'Tain't no way to stay here like rocks," said Uncle
Phil at last. "If Miss Marian's in the river, we'd
better be a fishin' her out," and the practical negro
proceeded to make the necessary arrangements.
Before he left the room, however, he would know
if he were working for a certainty, and turning to his
master, said,' Have you jest cause for thinking she's
done drownded herself-'case if you hain't,'tain't no
use huntin' this dark night, and it's gwine to rain,
too. The clouds is gettin' black as pitch."
Thus appealed to, Frederic answered, " She says in
the letter that she's going away forever, that she shall
not come back again, and she spoke of giving her life
away. You found her handkerchief and glove upon
the bridge, with Bruno watching near, and she is
gone. Do you need more proof?"
Uncle Phil did not, though " he'd jest like to know,
he said, " why a gal should up and dround herself on
the very fust night arter she'd married the richest and
han'somest chap in the county —but thar was no tellin' what gals would do. Gener'ly, though, you could
calkerlate on thar doin' jest con-tra-ry to what you'd'spect they would, and if Miss Marian preferred the
river to that twenty-five pound feather-bed that Dinah
spent mor'n an hour in makin' up,'twas her nater,
and'twan't for him to say agin it. All he'd got to do
was to work!"
And the old man did work, assisted by the other
negroes and those of the neighbors who lived near to
Redstone Hall. Frederic, too, joined, or rather led
the search. Bareheaded, and utterly regardless of
the rain which, as Uncle Phil had prophesied, began
to fall in torrents, lie gave the necessary directions,




THE ALARM.                 71
and when the morning broke, few would lhave recognized the elegant bridegroom  of the previous day in
the white-faced, weary man, who, with soiled garments and dripping hair, stood upon the narrow
bridge, and in the grey November morning looked
mournfillly down tie river as it went rushing on, telling no secret, if secret, indeed, there were to tell, of the
wild despair which must have filled poor ~Marian's
heart and maddened her brain ere she sought that
watery grave.
Before coming out he lad hurriedly read his fatlier's letter, and he could well understand how its
contents broke the heart of the wretched girl, and
drove her to the desperate act which he believed she
had committed.
" Poor Marian," he whispered to himself, "I alone
am the cause of your sad death;" and most gladly
would he then have become a beggar and earned his
bread by the sweat of his brow, could she have come
back again, full of life, of health and hope, just as she
was the day before.
But this could not be, for she was dead, he said,
dead beyond a doubt; and all that remained for him
to do was to find her body and lay it beside his fathier.
So during that day the sealch went on, and crowds
of people were gathered on each side of the river, but
no trace of the lost one could be found, and'when a
second time the night fell dark and lheavy round Redstone Hall, it found a mournful group assembled there.
To Alice Frederic had read the letter left for her,
and treasuring up each word the child groped her way
into the kitclhen, where, holding the note before her
sightless e es as if she could really see, she repeated
it to the assemibled blacks,
"Lot' bless the child," sobbed Dinah from behind
lier uwoolen aprion, " I knowed she would remember
me."
"And me," joined in Hetty.'" Don't you mind
how I is spoke of, too 1 She was a lady, every inch




72                THE ALARM.
of her, Miss Marian was, an' if I said any badness
of her, I wamt you to forgive me, Dinah. Here's my
hand," and these two old ladies took each other's
hand in token that they were joined together now in
one common sorrow.
Indeed, for once, the Higginses and Smitherses forgot their ancient feud and united in extolling the virtues of the lost one. After reading the letter as many
as three times-for when their grief had somewhat
subsided, the blacks would ask to hear it again, so as
to have fresh cause for tears-Alice returned to the
parlor, where she knew Frederic was sitting.: Her
own heart was throbbing with anguish, but she felt
that his was a sorrow different from her own, and
feeling her way to where he sat she wound her little
arms around his neck, and whispered tenderly: "We
must love each other more now that Marian is gone."
He made no answer except to take her on his lap
and lay her head upon his bosom; but Alice was satisfied with this, and after a moment she said, "Frederic, do you know why Marian killed herself ]"
"'0Oh, Alice, Alice," he groaned. " Don't say those
dreadful words. I cannot endure the thought."' But," persisted the child, "she coulfln't have
known what she was doing, and God forgave her.Don't you think He did? She asked him to, I am
sure, when she was sinking in the deep water."
The child's mind had gone further after the lost
one than Frederic's had, and her question inflicted a keener pang than any he had felt before. He
lhad ruined Marian, body and soul, and Alice felt his
hot tears dropping on her face as lie made her no reply. Her faith was stronger than his, and putting up
her waxen hand, she wiped his tears away, saying to
him, " We shall mneet Marian again, I know, and then
if you did anything naughty which made her go
away, you can tell her you are sorlry, and she'll forgive you, for she loved you very much."
Alice's words were like arrows to the heart of the




THE ALARM.                73
young man, and still he felt in the first hours of his
desolation that she was his comforting angel, and he
could not live without her. More than once she
asked him if he knew why Marian went away, and at
last he made her answer, " Yes, Alice, I do know, but'
I cannot tell you now. You would not understand it."
"I think I should," persisted the child, " and I
should feel so much better if I knew there was a reason."
Thus importuned, Frederic replied, " I can only tell
you that she thought I did not love her."
" And did you, Frederic. Did you love her as.Marian ought to be loved?"
The large brown blind eyes looked earnestly into
his facet and with that gaze upon him Frederic Raymond could not tell a lie, so he was silent, and Alice,
feeling that she was answered, continued, "But you
would love her now'if she'd come back."
He couldn't say yes to that, either, for he knew he
did not love her even then, though he thought of her
as a noble, generous-hearted creature, worthy of a far
different fate than had befallen her-and had she come
back to him, he would have striven hard to make the
love which alone could atone for what she had endared. But she did not come-and day after day went
by, during which the search was continued at intervals, and always with the same result-until when a
week was gone and there was still no trace of her
found, people began to suggest that she was not in the
river at all, but had gone off ill another direction.Frederic, however, was- incredulous-she had no money that he or any one else knew of, or at least but
very little. She had never been away from home
alone, and if she had done so now, somebody would
have seen her ere this, and suspected who it was —for
the papers far and near teemed with the strange event,
each editor commenting upon its cause according to
his own ideas, and all uniting in censuring the husband, who at last was described as a cruel, unfeeling
4




THE ALAR M.
wretch, capable ot driving any woman from his house,
particularly one as beautiful and accomplished as the
unfortunate bride! It was in vain that Frederic
winced under the annoyance-he could not help itand the story went the rounds, improving with each
repetition, until at last an Oregon weekly outdid all
the rest by publishing the tale under the heading of
c" Supposed Horrible Murder."  So much for newspaper paragraphs.
Meantime Frederic, too, inserted in the papers advertisements for the lost one, without any expectation,
however, that they would bring her back. To him she
was dead, even though her body could not be found.
There might be deep, unfathomable sink-holes in the
river, he said, and into onc of these she had fallenand so, with a crushing weight upon his spirlts, and
an intense loathing of himself and the wealth which
was his now beyond a question, he gave her up as
lost and waited for what would come to him next.
Occasionally he found hitnself thinking of Isabel,
and wondering what she would say to his letter.When he last saw her, she was talking of visiting her
mother's half-brother, who lived at Dayton, Ohio, and
he had said to her at parting, " If you come as far as
that, you must surely visit Redstone Hall."
But he had little faith in her coming-and now he
earnestly hoped she would not, for if he wronged the
living he would be faithful to the dead; and so day
after day he sat there in his desolate home, brooding
over the past, trying to forget the present, and shrinking from the future, which looked so hopeless now.
Thoughts of Marian haunted him continually, and in
his dreams he often heard again the wailing sound,
which he knew must have been her cry when she
learned how she had been deceived. Gradually, too,
lie began to miss her presence-to listen for her girlis-h
voice, her bounding step and merry laugh, which he
had once thought rude. Her careful forethought for




THE ALARM.                75
his comfort, too, he missed-confessing in his secret
heart at least that Redstone Hall was nothing without
Marian.
And now, with these influences at work to make
him what he ought to be, we leave him awhile in his
sorrow, and follow the fugitive bride.




CHAPTER VIII.
MA R I A N.
ONWARD and onward-faster and faster flew the
night Express, and the wishes of nearly all the passengers kept pace with the speed. One there was, however, a pale-faced, blue-eyed girl, who dreaded the
time when the cars would reach their destination, and
she be in New York! How she had come thus far
safely she scarce could tell. She only knew that every
body had been kind to her, and asked her where she
wished to go; until now the last dreadful change was
made-the blue Hudson was crossed —Albany was far
belind, and she was fast nearing New York. Night
and day she had traveled, always with the same dull,
dreary sense of pain-the same idea that to her the
world would never be pleasant, the sunshine bright,
or the flwers sweet again.  Nervously she shrank
from observation-and once, when a lady behind her,
who saw that she was weeping, touched her shoulder
and said, " What is the matter, little girl?" she started with fear, but did not answer until the question
was repeated-then she replied, " Oh, I'm so tired
and sick, and the cars make such a noise!"'" Have you come far?" the lady asked, and Marian
answered, " Yes, very, very far," adding, as she rememrbered with a shudder the din and confusion of the
larger cities, " Is New York a heap noisier than Albany or Buffalo?"




MARIAN.                 7T
"Why, yes," returned the lady, smiling at the
strange question. " Have you never been there?"
" Once, when a child," said Marian, and the lady
continued, "You seem a mere child now. Have you
friends in the city?"
" Yes, all I have in the world, and that is only.one,"
sobbed Marian, her tears falling fast at words of synpathy.
The lady was greatly interested in the child, as she
thought her, and had she been going to New York
would have still befriended her, but she left at Newburgh, and Mariar was again alone. She had heard
much of New York, but she had no conception of itand when at last she was there, and followed a group
through the depot up to Broadway, her head grew
dizzy and her brain whirled with the deafening roar.
Cincinnati, Louisville, Buffalo and Albany combined
were nothing to this, and in her confusion she wou d
have fallen upon the pavement had not the crowd
forced her along. Once, as a richly dressed young lady brushed past her, she raised her eyes meekly and
asked where "Mrs. Daniel Burt lived?"
The question was.too preposterous to be heeded,
even if it were heard, and the lady moved on, leaving
Xarian as ignorant as ever of Mrs. Burt's whereaboouts. To two or three other ladies the same question was put, but -Mrs. Daniel Burt was evidently not
generally known in ZNew York, for no one paid the
slightest attention-except indeed to hold tighter their
purse-strings, as if there were danger to be apprehended from the slender little figure which extended its
ungloved hand so imploringly. After a time, a woman fiom the country, who had not yet been through
the hardening process, listened to the question-and
finding that Mrs. Daniel Burt was no way connected
with the Burts of Yates county, nor the Blodgetts of
Monroe, replied that she was a stranger in the city,
and knew no such person-but pretty likely Marian
would find it in the Directory-and as a regiment of




78                  MAR'IAN.
soldiers just then attracted her attention, she turned
aside, while Marian, discouraged and sick at heart,
kept on her weary way, knowing nothing where she
was going, and, if possible, caring less. When she
came opposite to Trinity Church, she sank down upon
the step, and drawing her vail over her face, half
wished that she might die and be buried there in the
enclosure where she saw  the November sunshine
falling on the graves. And then she wondered if the
roar of the great city didn't even penetrate to the
ears of the sleeping dead, and, shudderingly, she said,
" Oh, I would so much rather be buried by the river
at home in dear old Kentucky. It's all so still and
quiet there."
Gradually, as her weariness began to abate, she
grew interested in watching the passers-by, wondering
what every body was going down that street for, and
why they came back so quick! Then she tried to
count the omnibuses, thinking to herself, "Somebody's dead up town, and this is the procession."  The
deceased must have been a person of distinction, she
fancied, for the funeral train seemed likely never to
end. And, what was stranger than all, another was
moving up while this was coming down! Poor Marian! she knew but little of the great Babylon to
which she had so recently come, and she thought it
made up of carts, hacks, omnibuses and people —all
hurrying in every direction as fast as they could go.
It made her feel dizzy and cross-eyed to look at them,
and leaning back against the iron railing, she fell into
a kind of' conscious sleep, in which she never forgot
for an instant the roar which troubled her so much,
or lost the gnawing pain at her heart. In this way
she sat for a long time, while hundreds and hundreds of people went by, some glancing sideways at
her, and thinking she did not look like an ordinary
beggar, while others did not notice her at all.
At last, as the confusion increased, she roused up,
staring about her with a wild, startled gaze.  People




MARUIN.                 79
were going home, and she watched them as they
struggled fiercely and ineffectually to stop some loaded omnibus, and then rushed higher up to a more favorable locality.
"The funeral was over," she said. The omnibusses
were most all returning, and though she had no idea
of the lapse of time, she fancied that it might be coining night, and the dreadful thought stole over her"What shall I do then? Maybe I'll go in the church,
though," she added. " Nobody, I am sure, will hurt
me there," and she glanced confidingly at the massive
walls which were to shield her from danger and darkness.
And while she sat there thus, the night shadows
began to fall-the people walked faster and faster-the
omnibus drivers swore louder and dlonger-the crowd
became greater and greater-and over Marian there
stole a horrid dread of the hour when the uproar
would cease-when Wall street would be empty, the
folks all gone, and she be there alone with the bleareyed old woman who had seated herself near by, and
seemed to be watching her.
"I will ask once more," she thought. "Maybe
some of these people know where she lives." And,
throwing back her vail, she half rose to her feet, when
a tall, disagreeable looking fellow bent over her and
said —" What can I do for you, my pretty lass?"
For an instant Marian's heart stood still, for there
was something in the rowdy's appearance exceedingly
repulsive, but when he repeated his question, she answered timidly, " I want to find Mrs. Daniel Burt."
" Oh, yes, Mrs Daniel Burt.  I know the old lady
well-lives just round the corner. Come with me and
I'll show you the way," and the great red, rough hand
was about to touch the little slender white one resting
on Marian's lap, when a blow from a brawny fist
sent the rascal reeling upon the pavement, while a
round, good-humored face looked into Marian's, and a




sO                  MARTAN.
kindly voice said, " Did the villain insult you, little
girl?"
" Yes-I reckon not-I don't know," answered Marian, trembling with fiight, while her companion continued, "'Tis the first time he ever'spoke civil to a
woman then. I know the scamp well-but what are
you sittin' here alone for, when everybody else is goin' hlum?"
Marian felt intuitively that he could be trusted, and
she sobbed aloud, "I havn't any home, nor friends,
nor anything."
"-Great Moses!" said the young man, scanning her
closely, "you ain't a beggar-that's as sure as my
name is Ben Burt-and what be you sittin' here for,
any way?"
Marian did not -heed his question, so eagerly did
she catch at the name Ben Burt.
" Oh, sir," she exclaimed, grasping his arm, "are
you any way related to Mrs. Daniel Burt, who once
lived with Colonel Raymond at Yonkers 2."
"Wall, ra-ally now," returned the honest-hearted
Yankee, " if this don't beat all. I wouldn't wonder if
I was some connected to Mrs. Daniel Burt, bein' she
brung ine up from a little shaver, and has licked me
mor'n a hundred times. She's my mother, and if it's
her you're looking for we may as well be travelin', for
she lives all of three miles from here."
" Three miles!" repeated Marian, " that other man
said just around the corner.  What made him tell
such a lie?"
"Yeu tell," answered Ben, with a knowing. wink,
which however failed to enlighten Marian, who was
too glad with having found a protector to ask many
questions, and unhesitatingly taking Ben's offered arm
she went with him up the street, until she found the
car he wished to take.
When they were comfortably seated and she had
leisure to examine him more closely, she found him to
be a tall, athletic, good-natured looking young man,




MARIAN.                  81
betraying but little refinement either in personal appearance or manner, but manifesting in all he did'a
kind, noble heart, which won her good opinion at
once. Greatlr he wondered who she was and whence
she came, but he refrained asking her any questions,
thinking he should know the whole if he waited. It
seemed to Marian a long, long ride, and she was beginning to wonder if it would never end,- when. Ben
touched her arm and signified that they were to
alight.
" Come right down this street a rod or so and we're
there," said he, and following whither he led, Marian
was soon climbing a long, narrow stairway to the third
story of what seemed to her a not very pleasant block
of buildings.
But if it were dreary without, the sight of a cheerful
blazing fire, which was disclosed to view as Ben open
ed a narrow door, raised her spirits at once, and taking in at a glance the rag carpet, the stuffed rocking
chairs, the chintz-covered lounge, the neat-looking
supper table spread for two, and the neater looking
woman who was making the toast, she felt the pain at
her heart give way a little, just a little, and bounding
toward the woman, she cried, "You don't know mie,
I suppose. I am Marian Lindsey, Colonel Raymond's
ward."
Mrs. Burt, for it was she, came near dropping her
plate of buttered toast in her surprise, and setting it
down upon the hearth, she exclaimed, "The last person upon earth I expected to see.  Where did you
come firom, and how happened you to run afoul of
Ben?"
"I ran afoul of her," answered Ben. "I found her
a cryin' on the pavement in front of Old Trinity, with
that rascal of a Joe Black, makin' b'lieve he was well
acquainted with you, and that you lived jest round
the corner."
" Melcy me," ejaculated Mrs. Burt, "but do tell a
body what you're here for-not but I'm glad to see
4*




82                  MARTAN.
you, but it seems so queer. How is the old Cblonel,
and that son I never see-Ferdinand, ain't it-no
Frederic, that's what they call him?"
At the mention of Frederic, Marian gave a choking
sob and replied: " Colonel Raymond is dead, and Fredelic-oh, Mrs. Burt, please don't ask me about him
now, or I shall surely die."
" There's some bedivilment of some kind, I'll warrant," mnuttered Ben, who was a champion of all woman kind. "There's been the old Harry to pay, or
she wouldn't be runnin' off here, the villain," and in
fancy he dealt the unknown Frederic a far heavier
blow than he had given the scapegrace Joe.
"Well, never mind now," said Mrs. Burt, sooth'
ingly. " Take off your things and have some supper;
you mlust be hungry, I'n sure. How long is it since
you ate?"
"Oh, I don't know," answered Marian, a deathlike paleness overspreading her face; "not since yesterday, I reckon. Where am. Is Everything is so
confused!" and overcome with hunger, exhaustion
and her late fright, Marian fainted in her chair..Taking her in his arms as if she had been an infant,
Ben carried her to the spare room, which, in accordance with her New England habits, Mrs. Burt always
kept for company, and there on the softest of all soft
beds he laid her down; then, while his mother removed her bonnet and shawl, he ran for water and
camphor, chafing with his own rough fingers her little
clammy hands, and bathing her forehead until Marian
came back to consciousness.
" There, swaller some cracker and tea, and you'll
feel better directly," said Mrs. Burt; and, like a very
child, Marian obeyed, feeling that there was something delicious in being thus cared for after the dreadful days she had passed. " You needn't talk to us tonight. There will be time enough to-morrow," continued Mrs. Burt, as she saw her about to speak; and
fixing her comfortably in bed, she went back to Ben,




MARIAN.                  83
to whom she told all that she knew concerning Marian
and the family with whom she had lived.
"There's something that ain't just right, depend
on't," said Ben, sitting down at the table. "That
Frederic has served her some mean caper, and so
she's run away. But she hit the nail on the head
when she came here."
By the time supper was over, Marian's soft, regular
breathing told that she was asleep, and taking the
lamp in his hand, the curious Ben stole to see her.
Her face was white as marble, and even in her sleep
the tears dropped from her long eye-lashes, affecting
Ben so strangely that his coat-sleeve was more than
once called in requisition to perform the office of a
handkerchief.
" Poor little baby! You've been misused the wust
kind," he whispered, as with his great hand he brushed
her tears away, and then went noiselessly out, leaving
her to her slumbers.
It was a deep, dreamless sleep which came to Marian
that night, for her strength was utterly exhausted, and
in the atmosphere of kindness surrounding her, there
was something soothing to her irritated nerves. But
when the morning broke and the roar of the waking
city fell again upon her ear, she started up, and gazing
about the room, thought, "where am I, and what is
it that makes my heart ache so?"
Full soon shte remembered what it was, and burying
her face in the pillows, she wept again bitterly, wondering what they were doing far away at Redstone
Hall, and if anybody but Alice was sorry she had
gone. A moment after Mrs. Burt's kind voice was
heard asking how she was, and bidding her be still
and rest. But this it was impossible for MIarian to do.
She could not lie there in that little room and listen
to the din which began to produce upon her the same
dizzy, bewildering effect it had doine the previous
day, when she sat on the pavement and saw the omnibuses go by. - She must be up and tell the kind




84                  MARIAN.
people her story, and then, if they said so, she would
go away —go back to those graves she had seen yesterday, and lying down in some hollow, where that
horrid man and blear-eyed woman could not find her
she would die, and Frederic would surely never know
what had become of her. She knew she could trust
both Mrs. Burt and Ben, and when breakfast was
over, she unhesitatingly told them everything, interrupted occasionally by Ben's characteristic exclamations of surprise and his mother's ejaculations of
wonder.
Mrs. Burt's first impulse was, that if she were
Marian she would claim her property, though of course
she would not live with Frederic. But Ben said Vo
-" he'd work his finger-nails off before she should go
back. Iis mother wanted some one with her when
he was gone, and Marian was sent to them by Providence. Any way," said he, "she shall live with us a
while, and we'll see what turns up. Maybe this
Fred'll begin to like her now she's gone. It's nater to
do so, and some day he'll walk in here and claim her."
This picture was not a displeasing one to Marian,
who through her tears smiled gratefully upon Ben,
mentally resolving that should she ever be mistress otf
Redstone Hall she should remember him. And thus
it was arranged that liarian Grey, as she chose to be
called, should remain where she was, for a time at
least, and if no husband came for her, she should stay
there always as the daughter of Mrs. Burt, whose
motherly heart already yearned toward the unfortunate orphan. Both Mrs. Burt and Ben were noble
types of diamonds in the rough. Neither of themn
could boast of much education or refinement, but in
all the great city there were few with warmer hearts
or kindlier feelings than the widow and her son.
Particularly was this true of Ben, who in his treatient of Marian only acted out the impulse of nature;
if she had been aggrieved, he was the one to defend
her, and if she bade him keep her secret, it was as




MARIEAN.                 85
safe with him as if it had never been breathed into
his ear. Nearly all of Ben's life had been passed in
factories, and though now home on a visit, he was
still connected with one in Ware, Mass. Very carefully he saved his weekly earnings, and once in three
months carried or sent them to his mother, who, having spent many years in New York city, preferred it
to the country. Here she lived very comfortably on
her own earnings and those of Ben, whose occasional
visits made the variety of her rather monotonous life.
The other occupants of the block were not people with
whom she cared to associate, and she passed many
lonely hours. But with Marian for company it would
be different, aud she welcomed her as warmly as Ben
himnself had done.
"' You shall be my little girl," she said, laying her
hand caressingly on the head of Marian, who began
to think the world was not as cheerless as she had
tliought it was. Still the old dreary pain was in her
heart-a desolate, home-sick feeling, which kept her
thoughts ever in one place and on one single objectthe place, Redstone Htall, and the object, Frederic
Raymond. And as the days went by, the feeling
grew into an intense, longing desire to see her old
home once nlore-to look into Frederic's face-to listen to his voice, and know if he were sorry that she
was gone. This feeling Mrs. Burt did not seek to discourage, for though she was learning fast to love the
friendless girl, she knew it would be better for her to
be reconciled to Mr. Raymond, and when one day,
nearly four weeks after Marian's arrival, the latter said
to her, " I mean to write to Frederic and ask him to
take me back," she did not oppose the' plan, for she
saw how the great grief was wearing the young girl's
life away, making her haggard and pale, and writing
lines of care upon. her childish face.
That night there came to Marian a paper fiom Ben,
who, having far outstaid his time, had returned the
week before to Ware. Listlessly she tore open the




86                  MARIAN.
wrapper, and glancing at the first page, was about
throwing it aside, when a marked paragraph arrested
her attention, and, with burning cheeks and fast-beating heart, she read that "Frederic Raymond would
gladly receive any information of a young girl who
had disappeared mysteriously from Redstone Hall."
" Oh!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet, "I am
going home-back to Frederic. He's sent for mesee! and she pointed out to Mrs. Burt the advertisement.  "Can I go to-night?" she continued. "Is
there a train. Oh, I am so glad."
Mrs. Burt, however, was more moderate in her feelings. Mr. Raymond could scarcely do less than advertise, she thought, and to her this did not mean that
he wished the fugitive to return for any love he bore
her. Still, she would not dash Marian's hopes at once,
though she would save her from the cold reception
she felt sure she would meet, should she return to
Redstone Hall, unannounced. So, when the first excitement of Marian's joy had abated, she said: "I
should write to Mr. Raymond, just as I first thought
of doing. Then he'll know where you are, and he
will come for you, if he wants you, of course."
That " if he wants you " grated harshly on Marian's
ear; but, after her past experience, she did not care
to thrust herself upon him, unless sure that he wished
it, and concluded to follow Airs. Burt's advice. So
she sat down and wrote to him a second letter, telling
him where she was, and how she came there, and
asking him in her child-like way, to let her come back
again.
"Oh, I want to come home so much," she wrote;
"if you'll only let me, you needn't ever call me your
wife, nor make believe I am-at least, not until you
love me, and I get to be a lady. I'll try so hard to
learn. I'll go away to school, and maybe, after a good
many years are gone, you won't be ashamed of me,
though I shall never be as beautiful as Isabel. If you
don't want me back, Frederic, you must tell me so, I




MARIN.                   87
can't feel any worse than I did that day when I sat
here in the street and wished I could die. I didn't
die then, maybe I shouldn't now, and if you do hate
me, I'll stay away and never write again-never let
you know whether I am alive, or not; and after seven
years, Ben Burt says, you will be free to marry Isabel.
She'll wait for you, I know. She won't be too old
then, will she? I shall be almost twenty-three, but
that is young, and the years will seemn so long to me
if you do not let me return. May I, Frederic? Write,
and tell me Yes; but direct to Mrs. Daniel Burt, as I
shall then be more sure to get it. I dare not hope
you'll come for me, but if you only would, and quick,
too, for my heart aches so, and my head is tired and
sick with the dreadful noise. Do say I may come
home. God will bless you if you do, I am sure; and if
you don't, I'll ask Him to bless you just the same."
The letter closed with another assurance that she
gave to him cheerfully all her fortune-that she neither
blamed his father, nor himself, nor Isabel, nor anybody. All she asked was to come back!
Poor little Marian! The pain in her heart was not
so intense, and the noise in the street easier to bear
after sending that letter, for hope softened them both,
and whispered to her, "he'll let me come," and in a
thousand different ways she pictured the meeting between herself and Frederic. Occasionally the thought
intruded itself upon her, "what if he bids me keep
away," and then she said, "I'll do it if he'does, and
before seven years are gone, maybe I'll be dead. I
hope I shall, for I do not want to think of Isabel's
living there with him!"
She had great faith in the seven years, for Ben had
said so, and Ben, who was very susceptible to female
charms, believed it, too, and the thought of it was like
a ray of sunshine in the dingy, noisome room where
all day he worked, sometimes reckoning up how many
months there were in seven years-then how many
weeks —then how many das, and finally qalling him



88                   MARIAN.
self a fool for caring a thing about it. When the newspaper article came under his eye, the sunshine left the
dirty room, and after he had sent the paper to Marian
he cared but little how many montlIs or weeks or days
there were in seven years, and lie felt angry at himself
for having sweat so hard in making the computation!
And so, while Marian in the city waits and watches
for the message which will, perhaps, bid her come
back, and Ben, in the noisy factory, waits also for a
message which shall say she has gone, and his mother
is again alone, the letter travels on, and one pleasant
afternoon, when the clerk at Cincinnati makes up the
mail for Frankfort, he puts that important missive with
the rest and sends it on its way.




CHATER IX.
ISAB E L  HUNTINGTON.
ALL day and all night it rained with a steady, unrelenting pour, and when thle steamboat which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort stopped at the latter
place, two ladies from the lower deck looked drearily
over the city, one fiowning impatiently at the mud
and the rain, while the other wished in her heart that
she was safely back. in her old home, and had never
consented to this foolish trip. This wish, however, she
dared not express to her companion, who, though calling her mother, was in reality the mistress-the one
whose word was law, and to whose wishes everything
else must bend.
" This is delightful," the younger lady exclaimed,
as holding up her fashionable traveling dress, and
glancing ruefully at her thin kid gaiters, she prepared
to walk tile plank. "This is charming. I wonder if
they always have such weather in Kentucky."'"No, Miss, very seldom,'cept on strordinary'casions," said the polite African, who was holding an
umbrella over her head, and who felt bound to defend
his native State.
The lady tossed her little bonnet proudly, and turning to her mother, continued: " Have you any idea
how we are to get to Redstone Hall?"
At this question an old'ray-haired negro, who, with
several other idlers, was standing near, came forward
and said, " If it's Redstone Hall whar Miss wants to




90             ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
go, I's here with Marster Frederic's carriage. I come
to fotch a man who's been out thar tryin' to buy a
house of marster in Louisville."
At this announcement the face of both ladies brightened perceptibly, and pointing out their baggage to
the negro, who was none other than our old friend Uncle Phil, they went to a public house to wait until the
carriage camne round for them.
" What do you suppose Frederic will think when he
sees us'" the mother asked; and the daughter replied,': lie won't think anything, of course. It is perfectly
proper that we should visit our relations, particnlarljy
when we are as near to them as Dayton, and they are
in affliction, too. He would have been displeased if
we had returned without giving him a call."
From these remarks the reader will readily imagine
that the ladies in question were Mrs. Huntington and
her daughter Isabella. They had decided at last to
visit Dayton, and had started fob that city a few days
after the receipt of Frederic's letter announcing his
father's death: consequently they knew nothing of the
marriage, and the fact that Colonel Raymond was dead
only increased Isabel's desire to visit Redstone Hall,
for she rightly guessed that Frederic was now so absorbed in business that it would be long ere he came
to New Haven again; so she insisted upon coming,
and as she found her Ohio aunt not altogether agreeable, she had shortened her visit there, and now with
her mother sat waiting at the Mansion House for the
appearance of Phil and the carriage. That Isabel was
beautiful was conceded by every one, and that she was
as treacherous as beautiful was conceded by those who
knew her best. Early in life she had been engaged to
Rudolph McVicar, a mnali of strong passions, an iron
will and indomitable perseverance. But when young
Raymond came, and she fancied she could win him,
she unhesitatingly broke her engagement with Rudolph, who, stung to madness by her cold, unfeeling
conduct, swore to be revenged.'This threat, however,




ISABEL URTNTINGTON.            91
was little heeded by the proud beauty. If she secured
Frederic Raymond, she would be above all danger,
and she bent every energy to the accomplishrnent of
her plan. She knew that the Kentuckians were proverbial for their hospitality, and feeling sure that no
one would think it at all improper for her mother and
herself to visit their cousin, as she called Frederic, she
determined, if possible, to prolong that visit until asked
to stay with him always. He had never directly talked
to her of love, consequently she felt less delicacy
in going to his house and claiming relationship with
him; so when Phil came around with tile carriage, slie
said to him, quite as a matter of course, "How
is Cousin Frederic since his father's death?"
"' Jest tolable, thankee," returned the negro, at the
same time saying, " Be you marster's kin'"
"Certainly," answered Isabel, while the negro bowed low, for any one related to his master was a person
of distinction to him.
Isabel had heard Frederic speak of Marian, and
when they were half way home, she put her head from
the window and said to Phil, "Where is the young
girl who used to live with Colonel Raymond-Marian
was her name, I think?"
"Bless you," returned the negro, cracking his whip
nervously, "haint you hearn how she done got married to marster mighty nigh three weeks ago?"
" Married! Frederic Raymond married!" screamed
Isabel; " it is not true. Hlow dare you tell me such a
falsehood?"
"Strue as preachin', and a heap truer than some
on't, for I seen'em joined with these very eyes," said
Phil, and, glancing backward at the white face leaning from the window, he muttered, "'spects mebby she
calkerlated on catchin' him herself. Ki, wouldn't slhe
and Dinah pull har though. Thar's a heap of Ole Samn
in them black eyes of hern," and, chirruping to his
horses, Philip drove rapidly on, thinking he wouldn't




92            ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
tell her that the bride had run away —he would let
Frederic do that.
M3eantime, Isabel, inside, was choking —gaspingcrying-wringing her hands and insisting that her
mother should ask the negro again if what he had told
them were so.
"Man-sir"-said Mrs. Huntington, putting her
bonnet out into the rain, " is Mr. Fi-ederic Raymond
really married to that girl Marian?"
"Yes, as true as I am' sittin' here. Thursday'll be
three weeks since the weddin', was the reply, and
with another hysterical sob, Isabel laid her head in her
mother's lap.
Nothing could exceed lier rage, mortification and
disappointment, except, indeed, her pride, and this
was stronger than all her other emotions and that
which finally roused her to action. She would not
turn back now, she said. She would brave the villain
and show him that she did not care. She would put
herself by the side of his wife and let him see the contrast. She had surely heard from him that Marian
was plain, and in fancy, she saw how she would overshadow her rival and make Frederic feel keenly the
difference between them, and then she thought of the
discarded Rudolph. If everything else should fail, she
could win him back —he had some money, and she
would rather be his wife than nobody's I
By this time they had left the highway, for Redstone
Hall was more than a mile from the turnpike, and Isabel found ample opportunity for venting her ill-nature.
Such a road as that she never saw before, and she'd
like to know if folks in Kentucky lived out in the lots.
"No wonder they were such heathen! you nigger," she
exclaimed, as Phil drove through a brook; " are you
going to tip us over, or what?"
" Wonder if she'spects a body is gwine round the
brook," muttered Phil, and as the carriage wheels were
now safe from the water, he stopped and said to the
indignant lady, " mebby Miss would rather walk the




ISABEL HUNTINGTON.             98
rest of the way. Thar's a heap wus places in the
cornfield, whar we'll be pretty likely to get oversot."
"Go onl' snapped Isabel, who knew she could not
walk quite as well as the mischievous driver.
Accordingly they went on, and ere long came -in
sight of the house which even in that drenching rain
looked beautiful to Isabel, and all the more beautiful
because she felt that she had lost it. On the piazza
little Alice stood, her fair hair blowing over her face,
and her ear turned to catch the first sound which
should tell her if what she hoped were true. Old
Dinah, who saw the carriage in the distance, had said
there was some one in it, and instantly Alice thought
of Marian, and going out upon the piazza, sJle waited
impatiently until Phil drove up to the door.
"There are four feet," she said, as the strangers
came up the steps; "four feet, but none are Marian's," and she was turning sadly away, when she
accidentally trod upon the long skirt of Isabel, who,
snatching it away, said angrily, "child, what are you
doing-stepping on my dress?"
"it  didn't mean to; I'm blind," answered Alice, her
lip quivering and her eyes filling with tears.
" Never you mind -that she dragon," whispered
Uncle Phil, thrusting into the child's hand a paper of
candy, which had the effect of consoling her somewhat, both for her disappointment and her late reproof.
"Who is that ar?" asked Dinah, appearing upon
the piazza just as Isabel passed into the hall. "Some
of marster's kin!" she repeated after Uncle Phil.
", For the Lord's sake, what fotched'emr here this rainy
day, when we's gwine to have an ornery dinner —
no briled hen, nor turkey, nor nothin'. Be they
quality, think."
"'Spects the young one wants to be, if she ain't,"
returned Phil, with a very expressive wink, which
had the effect of enlightening Dinah with regard to
his opinion.
"Some low flung truck, I'll warrant," said she, as




V4            ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
she followed them into the parlor, where Isabel's
stately bearing and glittering black eyes awed her
into a low courtesy, as she said: " You'rd very welcome to Redstone Hall, I'm sure.  Who shall I tell
marster wants to see him?"
" Two ladies, simply," was Isabel's haughty answer,
and old Dinah departed, whispering to herself, "Two
ladies simple! She must think I know nothin''bout
grarmar to talk in that kind of way, but she's mistakened. I hain't lived in the fust families for nothin'," and knocking at Frederic's door, she told him
that "two simple ladies was down in the parlor and
wanted him."
"Who " he asked, in some surprise, and Dinah
replied:
" Any way, that's what she said —the tall one, with
great black eyes jest like coals of fire. Phil picked'em up in Frankford, whar they got off the boat.
They's some o' yer kin they say."
Frederic did not wish to hear any more, for he suspected who they were. It was about this time they
had talked of visiting Dayton, and motioning Dinah
from the room, he pressed his hands to his forehead,
and thought, " Must I suffer this, too? Oh, why did
she come to look at me in my misery?" Then, forcing an unnatural calmness, he started for the parlor,
where, as he had feared, he stood face to face with
Isabel Huntington.
She was very pale, and in her black eyes there was
a hard, dangerous expression, fiom which he gladly
turned away, addressing first her mother, who, rising
to meet him, said:
" We have accepted your invitation, you see."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and he was trying to
stammer out a welcome, when Isabel, who all the time
had been aching to pounce upon him, chimed,
"Where is M]rs. Raymond? I am dying to see my
new cousin " and in the eyes of black there was a red



ISABEL HUNTINGTON.            95
dish gleam, as if they might ere long emit sparks of
living fire.
"lMrs. Raymond!" repeated Frederic, the name
dropping slowly from  his lips. "Mrs. Raymond!
Oh! Isabel, don't you know   tHavn't you heard?"'
"Certainly I have," returned the young lady,
watching him  as a fierce cat watches his helpless
prey. " Of course I have heard of your marriage, and
have come to congratulate you. Is your wife well?"
Frederic raised his hand to stop the flippant speech,
and when it finished he rejoined: "But havn't you
heard the rest-the saddest part of all?  Marian is
dead.!-drowned-at least we think she must be, for
she went away on our wedding night, and no trace of
her can be found."
The fiery gleam was gone from the black eyes —the
color came back to the cheeks-the finger nails ceased
their painful pressure up6n the tender flesh —the shadow of a smile dimpled the corner of the mouth, and
Isabel was herself again.
"Dead! Drowned!" she exclaimed. "How did it
happen?  What was the reason? Dreadful, isn't it?"
and going over to where Mr. Raymond stood, she
looked him in the face, with an expression she meant
should say, "-I am sorry for you," but which really
did say something quite the contrary.
"I cannot tell you why she went away," Frederic
answered, "but there was a reason for it, and it has
cast a shadow over my whole life."
"Marian was a mere child, I had always supposed,"
suggested Isabel, anxious to get at the reason why he
had so soon forgotten herself.
" Did you get my last letter-the one written to
you.?" asked Frederic, and upon Isabel's replying that
she did not, he briefly stated a few facts concerning
his marriage, saying it was his father's dying request,
and he could not well avoid doing as he had done,
even if he disliked Marian. " But I didn't dislike her,"
he continued, and the hot blood rushed into his face.




96             ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
"She was a gentle, generous hearted girl, and had she
lived, I would have made her happy.'
If by this speech Frederic Raymond thought to deceive Isabel Huntington, he was mistaken, for, looking
into his eyes she read a portion of the truth and knew
there was something back of all-a something between himself and his father which had driven him
to the marriage. What it was she did not care then
to know. She was satisfied that the bride was goneand when Frederic narrated more minutely the particulars of her going, the artful girl said to herself,' She is dead beyond a doubt, and when I leave Redstone Hall, I shall know it, and mother, too!"
It was strange how rapidly Isabel changed from a
hard, defiant woman, to a soft, sparkling, beautiful
creature, and when, in her plaid silk dress of crimson
and brown, with her magnificent hair bound in heavy
braids about her head, she came down to dinner, Aunt
Dinah involuntarily dropped another courtesy, and
whispered under her teeth, "The Lord, if she ain't
quality after all." Old Hetty, too, who from a side
door looked curiously in at their guests, received a
like impression, pronouncing her more like Miss Beatrice than any body she had ever seen. To Alice,
Isabel was all gentleness, for she readily saw that the
child was a pet; so she called her darling and dearest, smoothing her fair hair and kissing her once when
Frederic was looking on. All this, however, did not
deceive the little blind girl, or erase from her mind
the angry words which had been spoken to her, and
that evening, when she went to Frederic to bid him
good night, she climbed into his lap and said: " Is that
Miss Isabel going to stay here always?"
"Why, no," he answered. "Did you think she
was?"
"I did not know," returned Alice, "but I hoped
not, for I don't like her at all. She's very grand and
beautiful, Dinah says, but I think she must look like
a snake, and I want her to go away, don't you?"




ISABEL HUNTINGTON.             97
Frederic would riot say yes to this question, and lihe
remained silent. Had he been consulted, he would
rather that slhe had never come to Redstone Hall, but
now that she was there, he did not wishl her away. It
would be inhospitable, he said. and when next morning she came down to breakfast, bright, fresh and elegant in her tasteful wrapper, he felt a pang, as lie
thought, "had I done right, she might hlave been tlre
mni:tress of Redstone Hall," but it could not be now, lie
said, even if Marian were dead, and all that day lie
struggled manfully between his duty and his inclination, while Isabel dealt out her lhighest card, ingrafting
herself into the good graces of the Smitherses by
speaking to them pleasant, familiar words, exalting
herself in thle estimation of the Higginses by her lofty,
graceful bearing, and winning Dinah's fi'iendship by
praising Victoria Eugenia, and asking if that fine
looking man who drove the carriage was her husband.
Thenl, in the evening, when the lamps were liglited ill
the parlor, she opened the piano and filled the house
with thle rich melody of 1h r cultivated voice, singinrg a
sad, plaintive strain, which reminded Alice of poor,
lost Marian, and carried Frederic back to other days,
when, with a feelinlg of pride, lie had watched her
snowy fingers as they gracefully swept the keys. He
could not look at them now-he dared not look at
her, in her ripe glowing beauty, and he left the room,
going out upon the piazza, where he wipe-d great
drops of sweat from his face, and almost cursed the
fate which had made it a sill for him to love the darkhaired Isabel. She knew that he was gone, and rightly
divining the cause, she dashed off into a stirring
dancing tulle, which brought the negroes to the door,
where they stood admiring her playing and praising
her queenly form.
"That's somethin' like it," whispered letty, beating
time to the lively stl'ain. " That sounds like Mits Beatrice did when she done played the pianner. I'clare
for't, I- eenamost wish Marster Frederic had done
5




98             ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
chose her.'Case vou know t'other one done drowned
herself the fust niglkt," she added quickly, as she met
Dinah's rebuking rlance.
Dinah admired Isabel, but she could not forget Marian; though like her sex, whether black or brown,
she speculated upon the future, when "Marster Frederic would be done mournin'," and she wondered if
"old miss," meaning Mrs. Huntington, would think it
necessary to stay there, too. Thus several days went
by, and so pleasant was it to Frederic to have some
one in the house w]ho could  divert limn from his
gloomy thoughts, that he began to dread the time
when lie would be alone again. But could he have
looked into the heart of the fair lady, lie would have
seen no inmmediate cause of alarmn.  Isabel did not
intend to leave her present quarters immediately, and
to this end her plans were laid. From what she had
heard she believed Marian Lindsey was deadl, and it
so, she would not again trust Frederic away froln
her influence. Redstone Hall needed a lhead -a housekeeper-and as her another was an old lady, and also
a relative of Frederic, she was just the one to fill
that post. Their house in New Haven was only reiited
until March, and by writing to some friends they
could easily dispose 6f their furniture until such time
as they might want it. Alice needed a governess, for
she heard Frederic say so; and though the little pest
(this was what she called her, to herself) did not seenm
to like her, she could teach her as well as any oiie. It
would be just as proper for her to be Alice's govelness as for any one else, and a little more so, for her
mother would be withi her.
And this arrangement she brought about with tale
most consummate skill, first asking Frederic if lie
knew of any situation in Kentucky which slle could
procure as a teacher. That was one object of lier visit,
she said. She must do somethinlg for a living, and as
she would rather teach either in a school, or in a pr;vate family, she would be greatly obliged to hiln if lihe




ISABEL HUNTINGTON.            99
would assist her a little. Hardly knowing what he
was doing, Frederic said something about Alice's
having needed a governess for a long time; and
quickly catching at it, Isabel rejoined, "Oh I but you
know I couldn't possibly remain here, unless mother
staid with me. Now, if you'll keep her as a kind
of overseer-in-general of the house, I'll gladly undertake the charge of dear little Alice's education. She
does not fancy me, I think, but I'n sure I can win her
love. I can that of almost any one-children I mean,
of course;" and the beautiful, fascinating eyes looked
out of the window quite indifferently, as if their owner
were utterly oblivious of the fierce struggle in Frederic's bosom.
He wished her to stay with him-oh, so much r But
was it right? and would he not get to loving her?
No, he would not, he said. He would only think of
her as his cousin-his sister, whose presence would
cheer his solitary honle. So he bade her stay, and she
bade her mother stay, urging so many reasons why she
should, and must, that the latter consented at last, and
a letter was dispatched to New Haven, with directions
for having their furniture packed away, and their house
given up to its owner.  This arrangement at first
caused some gossip among the neighbors, who began
to predict what the end would be, and, also, to assert
more loudly than ever their belief that Marian was not
dead. Still, there was no reason why Isabel should
not be Alice's governess, particularly as her mother
was with her; and when Agnes Gibson pronounced
her beautiful, accomplished, and just the thing, the
rest followed in the train, and the health of the " northlern beauty " was drunk by more than one fast young
man.
In the kitchen at Redstone Hall there was also a
discussion, in which the Higginses rather had the preference, inasmuch as the lady in question was after
their manner of thinking. Old Dinah wisely kept si
lent, saying to herself, "a new broom sweeps clean,




100            ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
and I'll wait to see what'tis when it gets a little wore.
One thing is sartin, though, if she goes to put on ars,
and sasses us colored folks, I'll gin her a piece of my
mind. I'll ask her whar she come from, and how many
niggers she owned afore she colne from thar."
It was several days before Alice was told of the arrangement, and then she rebelled at once.  Bursting
into tears, she hid her face in Dinah's lap, and sobbed,
"I can't learn of her.  I don't like her.  What shall
I do?"
" I wish to goodness I had larning'," answered Dinalh, "and I'd hear you say that foolishness'bout the
world's turnin' round and makin' us stan' on our heads
half the time, but I hain't, and it I's you I'd make the
best on't. I'll keep my eye on her, and if she makes
you do the fust thiing you don't want to, I'll gin her a
piece of my mnind.  I ain't afraid on her. Why, Gibson's niggers say how they hearn Miss Agnes say she
used to make her own bed whar she camle from, and
wash dishes, too! Thlink o' that!"
Thus colbforted, Alice dried her tears, and hunting
up the books from which she had once recited to Marian, she declared herself ready for her lessons at any
time.
" Let it be to-morrow, then,'" said Isabel, who knew
that Frederic was going to Lexington, and that she
could not see him. even if she were not occupied with
Alice.
So, the next morning, after Frederic was gone, Alice
went to the school-room, and drawing her little chair
to isabel's side, laid her books upon the lady's lap, and
waited for her to begin.
"You must read to me," she said, "until I know
what'tis, and then'11 recite it to you."
But Isabel was never intended for a teacher, and she
found it very tedious reading the same thing over and
over, particularly as Alice seemed inattentive and not
at all inclined to remember.  At last shle said, impa.




ISABEL HUNTINGTON.            101
tiently, " For the pity's sake how many more times
must I read it. Can't you learn anything "
" Dont-don't speak so," sobbed Alice. " I'm thinking of Marian, and how she used to be with me.  It's
jllst six weeks to-day since she went away.  Oh, I
wisil she'd come back. Do you believe she's dead 9"
Isabel was interested in anything concerning Marian,
and closing the book, she began to question the child,
asking her among other things, if Marian did not leave
a letter for Mr. haymond, and if she knew what was
in it."
" No one knows," returned the child; "he never
told-but here's mine," and drawing from  her bosom
the soiled note, she passed it to Isabel, who scrutinized
it closely, particularly the handwriting.
" Of course she's dead, or she would hlave been heard
from ere this," said she, passing the note back to Alice,
who, not feeling particularly comforted, made but little progress in her studies that morning, and both
teacher and pupil were glad when the lessons of the
day were over.
Before starting for Lexington, Frederic had sent
Josh on some errand to Frankfort, and just after dinner the negro returned.  Isabel was still alone upon
the piazza when he came up, and as she was expecting news from New Haven, she asked if he stopped at
the post-office.
" Ye-e-us'in," began the stuttering negro, "an' I
d-d-d-one got a h-h-eap on'em, too," and Josh gave
her six letters-one for herself and five for Frederic.
Hastily breaking the seal of her own letter, she read
that their matters at home were satisfactorily arranged
-a tenant had already been found for their house, and
their furniture would be sately stowed away.  Hearing her mother in the hall, she handed the letter to her
and then went to the library to dispose of Frederic's.
As she was laying them down shle glanced at the superscriptions, carelessly, indifferently, until she came
to the last, the one bearing the New York postmark;




102            ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
then, with a nervous start she caught it up again and
examined it more closely, while a sicken.ing, horrid
fear crept through her flesh —her heart gave one fearful throb and then lay like some heavy, pulseless
weight within her bosom.  Could it be that she had
seen that handwriting before?  Had the dead wife returned to life, and was she coming back to Redstone
Hall? The thought was overwhelming, and for a moment Isabel Huntington was tempted to break that
seal and read. But she dared not, for her suspicion
might be false; she would see Alice's note again, and
seeking out the child she asked permission to take the
letter which Marian had written.  Alice complied
with her request, and darting away to the library Isabel compared the two. They were the same.  There
could be no mistake, and in the intensity of her excitement, she felt lher black hair loosening at its roots.
" It is from her, but he shall never see it, never 1"
she exclaimed aloud, and her voice was so unnatural
that she started at the sound, and turning saw Alice
standing in the door with an inquiring look upon her
face, as if asking the meaning of what she had heard.
Isabel quailed beneath the glance of that sightless
child, and then sat perfectly still, while Alice said,
" Miss Huntington, are you here? Was it you who
3poke?"
Isabel made no answer, but trembling in every limb,
shrank farther and farther back in her chair as the little, groping, outstretched arms came nearer and nearer
to her. Presently, when she sawono escape, she forced
a loud laugh, and said, "Fie, Alice. I tried to frighten
you by feigning a strange voice. You want your letter, don't you? Here it is. I only wished to see if in
reading it a second time I could get any clue to the
mystery," and she gave the bit of paper back to Alice,
who, somewhat puzzled to understand what it all
meant, left the room, and Isabel was again alone.
Three times she caught up the letter with the intention
of breaking its seal, and as often threw it down, for,




ISABEL HUNTINGTON.            103
unprincipled as she was, she shrank from that act, and
still, if she did not know the truth, she should go mad,
shle said, and pressing her hands to her forehead, she
thought what the result to herself would be were Marian really alive.
" But she isn't," she exclaimed. "I won't have it
so. She's dead-she's buried in the river." But who
was there in New York that wrote so much like her?
She wished she knew, and she might know, too, by
opening the letter. If it was from a stranger, she could
destrov it, and he, thinking it had been lost, would
write again. She should die if she didn't know, and
maybe she should die if she did.
At all events, reality was more endurable than suspense, and glancing furtively around to make sure
that no blind eyes were near, she snatched the letter
i,'om the table and broke the seal! Even then she
dared not read it, until she reflected that she could not
give it to Frederic inl this condition-she might as well
see what it contained; and wiping the cold moisture
fromt her face she opened it and read, while her flesh
seemed turning to stone, and she could feel the horror
creeping through her veins, freezing her blood and
petritying her very brain..Marian Lindsey lived!
She was coming back again-back to her husband,
and back to the home which was hers. There was
enough in the letter for her to guess the truth, and slhe
knew why another had been preferred to herself. For
a monment even her lip curled with scorn at what she
felt was an unmairly act, but this feeling was soon lost
in the terrible thought that Marian might return.
"Can it be? Must it be?" she whispered, as her
hard, black eyes fastened themselves again upon tile
page, blotted with iMarian's tears. "Seven yearsseven years," she continued, "I've heard of that before," and into the wild tumult of her thoughts there
stole a ray of hope. If she withheld the letter from
Frederic, and she must withhold it now, lhe would
never know what she knew. Possibly, too, Marian




104            ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
might die, and though she would have repelled the
accusation, Isabel Huntington was guilty of murder in
hler heart, as she sat there alone and planned what she
awould do. She was almost on the borders of insanity,
for the disappointment to her now would be greater
and more humiliating than before. She had no home
to go to —her arrangements for remaining in Kentucky
were all nmade, and Redstone tHall seemed so fair that
she would willingly wait twice seven years, if,t; at the expiration of that time, shle were sure of being its nistress.  It was worth t. ying f)1r, and though she had
but little hope of success, the beautiful demon bent
her queenly head and tried to devise some means of
effectually silencing Marian, so that if there really
weie an thing, in the seven vears the benefit would
accrue to heir.
"'She's a litle silly fool," she said, " and this Mrs.
Daniel Burt she talked about is just as silly as herself.
Tlhey'll both believe what is told to them. I may never
marry Frederic, it is true, but I'll be revenged on Marian. What business had she to cross my path, the
little red-headed jade 1"
Isabel was growing excited, and as she dared do
anytlling when angry, she resolved to send the letter
back.
"I can imitate Iiis handwriting," she thought; "' I
can do anything as I feel now," and going to her room,
she found the letter lie had written to her mother.
This she studied and imitated for half ain hour, and
at tile end of that time wrote on the blank page of
Ma,'ian's letter, "Isabel Huntington is now the mistress of Redstone Hall."
"That will keep her still, I reckon," she said, and
taking a fresh envelope, she directed it to " Mrs. Daniel Burt," as Marian had biddeu, Frederic do. "'Twas
a fortunate circumstance, her telling himn that, for' Marian Lindsey' would have been oblserved at once,"
she thought; and then, lest her resolution should fail
hler, she found Josh and bade him take the letter to




.ISABEL HUNTINGTON.           105
the post-office at the Forks of Elkhorn not very far
away.
Nothing could suit Josh better than to ride, and
stuttering out something which nobody could understand, he mounted his rather sorry-looking horse and
was soon galloping out of sight. In the kitchen Mrs.
Huntington heard of Josh's destination, and when next
she met her daughter, she asked to whom she had been
writing.
"To some one, of course," answered Isabel, at the
same time intimating that she hoped she could have a
correspondent without her mother troubling herself
The rudeness of this speech was forgotten by Mrs.
Huntington in her alarm at Isabel's pale face, and she
asked anxiously what was the matter I
" Nothing but a wretched headache-teaching don't
agree with mne," was Isabel's reply, and turning away,
site ran up the stairs to her room, where, throwing herself upon the bed, she tried to fancy it all a dream.
But it was not a dream, and Marian's anguish was
scarcely greater than her own at that moment, when
she began to realize that Frederic and Redstone Hall
were lost to her forever. There might be something
in the seven years, but it was a long, dreary time to
wait, with the ever-haunting fear that Marian might
return, and she half wished she had not opened the
letter. But her regrets were unavailing now, and resolving to guard her secret carefully and deny what
she had done, if ever accused of it, she began to consider how she should hereafter demean herself toward
Frederic. It would be terrible to have him making
love to her, she thought, for she would be compelled
to tell him no, and if another should become her rival,
she could not stand quietly by and witness the unlawful deed.
" Oh, if I or Marian had never been born, this hour
would not have come to me,"' she cried, burying her
face in the pillows to shut out the fast increasing darkness which was so hateful to her.
6. 




106             ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
Already was she reaping the fruit of the transgression, and when an hour later she heard the voice of
Frederic in the hall, she stopped her ears, and, buryitlg her face still closer in the pillows, wished again
that either Marian or herself had never seen the light
of day.




CHAPTER X
F RDER I   AN D  ALIO I. a 
ALL the day long Frederic had thought of Marian
-thought of the little blue-eyed girl, who just six
weeks before went away from him to die.  To die.
Many, many times he said that to himself, and as often
as he said it, he thought, "perhaps she is not dead,"
until the belief grew strong in him that somewhere he
should find her, that very day it might be. He wished
he could, and take her back to Redstone Hall, where
she would be a barrier between himself and the beautiful temptation which it was so hard for him to resist.
Manfully had he struggled against it, going always
from its presence when the eyes of lustrous black
looked softly into his own, an(d when he heard, as he
often did, the full rich-toned voice singing merry
songs, he stopped his ears lest the sweet music should
touch a chord which he said was hushed forever.
"'It might have been," he thought sometimes to
himself, but the time was past, and even if Marian
were dead, he must not take another to share the
wealth so generously given up. And Marian was dead,
he had always believed until to-day, when she seemed
to be so near, that on his return at night to Redstone
Hall he had a half presentiment that he might find her
there, or at least some tidings of her.
All about the house was dark, but on the piazza a
little figure was standing, and as its dim outline was
revealed to him, he said, involuntarily: " That may be
MIarian, and I am glad, or at least I will be glad," and




108            FREDERIC AND ALICE.
he was hurrying on, when a light from the hall streamed
out upon the figure, and he saw that it was Alice waiting for him. Still the impression was so strong that
after kissing her, he asked if no one had been at the
IIall that day.
"No one," she answered, and with a vague feeling
of disappointment, he led her into the house.
Alice's heart was full that night, for accidentally she
had heard old Hettty and Lyd discussing the probable
result of Isabel's sojourn among them, and the very
idea shocked her, as if they had trampled on ]Marian's
grave.
" I'll tell Frederic," said she to herself, "and ask
lirm is he going to marry her," and when after his suppsr he went into the library to read the letters which
MVrs. Huntington told him were there, she followed
him thither.
It was not Frederic's nature to pet or notice children much, but in his sorrow he had learned to love
the little helpless girl dearly, and when he saw her
standing beside him with a wistful look upon her face,
he smoothed her soft brown hair and said: " What
does my blind bird want!"
" Take me in your lap," said Alice, " so I can feel
your heart beat and know if you tell me true."
He complied with her request, and laying her head
against his bosom, she began, "be we much related'"
"Second cousins, that's all."
"But you love me, don't you?"
"Yes, very much."
" And I love you a heap," returned the little girl.
"I didn't use to, though-till Marian went away.
Frederic, Marian isn't dead 1" and, lifting up her head,
Alice looked at him with a truthful, earnest look,
which seemed to say that she believed what she asserted.
Frederic gasped a short, quick breath, and Alice
continued, "wouldn't it be very wicked for you to love
anybody else. I don't mean me-because I'm a little




FREDERIC AND ALICE.           109
blind girl —but to love somebody and marry them with
Marian alive a?"
"Certainly it would be wicked," he replied; and
Alice continued, " Aunt tIetty said you were going to
marry Isabel, and it almost broke my heart. I never
tlouglht before that Marian wasn't dead5 but I knew
it then.  I felt her right there with us, and I've felt
her ever since. Dinah, too, said it seemed to her just
like Marian was alive, and that she hoped you wouldn't
make —perhaps I ought not to tell you, but you don't
care for Dinah-she hoped you wouldn't make a fool
of yourself. Frederic, do you love Isabel Huntington?"
Yes," dropped involuntarily from the young man's
lips, for there was something about that old little child
which wrung tile truth from him.
" Did you love her before you married Marian?"
"Yes," he said again, for lie could not help himself.
There was silence a mnoinent, and then Alice, who
had been thinking of what he told her once before,
said, interrogatively, " Marian found it out, and that
was why she thought you didn't love her and went
away?"
"That was one reason, but not the principal one."
"Do you think Isabel as good as Marian?"
" No, not as good-not as good," and Frederic was
glad that he could pay this tribute to the lost one.
After a moment Alice spoke again:
"Frederic, do you believe Miarian is dead?"
I have always thought so," he answered, and Alice
replied: " But you don't know for certain; and I want
you to promise that until you do you won't make love
to Isabel, nor marry her, nor anybody else, will you,
Frederic?" and putting both her little hands upon his
forehead, she pushed back his hair and waited fuar an
answer.
Many times the young man had made that resolution, but the idea of thus promising to another was
unpleasant, and he hesitated for a time; then he said:




110           FREDERIC AND ALICE.
"Suppose we never can know for certain-would
you have me live all my life alone I"
" No," said Alice, "and you needn't, either; but I'd
wait ever so long, ten yearsa, anyway, and before that
time she'll come, I'm sure.  Dinah says maybe she
will, and that perhaps we shan't know her, she'll be so
changed-so handsome," and as if the power of prophecy were on her, Alice pictured a beautiful woman
who might come to them sometime as their lost Marian, and Frederic, listening to her, felt more willing
to promise than he had been before.
A glow of hope was kindled within his own bosom,
and when she finished he said to her:
"I will wait, Alice —wait ten years for Marian."
Blessed Alice! When the mother, whose grave
was grass-grown now and sunken, first knew her only
child was blind, she murmured against the dealings of
Providence, and in the bitterness of her heart asked:
" Why was my baby born? and what good can it
ever do?".She who had questioned thus was dead, while the
good the little girl was to do was becoming, each day,
more and more apparent. Helpless and blind though
she was, she would keep the strong man from falling,
and when his heart grew faint with hope deferred, her
gentle, earnest words would cheer him on to wait a little longer. ]Marian was not dead to her, and so sure
of it did she seem that when the interview was ended,
and Frederic was left alone, he bowed his head reverently and said:
" If Marian be, indeed, alive, will the good Father
send me some tidings of her, and so keep me fromn
sin?"
Oh! could the writing desk before him have told
how only that afternoon there had lain upon its velvet cover a message from the lost one-a sweet, childlike petition for him to take her back, even though he
could not love her-he would have gone for her then,
and, bringing her to the home which was not his, but




FREDERIC AND ALICE.          111
hers, he would have placed her between himself and
the temptation, yielding to her all honor and respect
until his heart should say it loved her. But the time
was not yet, and he must suffer longer-must pass
through deeper waters; while Marian, too, must be
molded and changed into a bride who, far better than
the queenly Isabel, could do the honors of Redstone
HalL




CHAPTER X1.
THE  LETTER  RECEI VED.
IT was baking-day at Mrs. Burt's, and the good lady
bustled in and out-her cap strings pinned over her
head, her sleeves tucked up above her shoulders, and
her face, hands and apron covered with flour. Occasionally as she rolled out the short pie crust, or sliced
the juicy apple, she glanced at the rain-drops pattering against the window, and said encouragingly, "I
don't care for the rain, for I've get a big umbrella and
the best kind of overshoes;" and- as often as she related the cheering words, they brought a smile to the
thin, white face of the young girl who sat in the large,
stuffed easy-chair, and did notoffer to share the labors
of her aunt, as she called her.
Marian was sick. Strong excitement had worn her
strength away, and since she had sent the letter to
Frederic, her restless anxiety for the answer had made
her so weak that she kept her bed nearly all the time,
counting the days which must elapse ere she could
possibly hope to hear; and then, when the full tinme
was out, bidding Mrs. Burt wait one more day before
she went to the office, so as to be sure and get it. S'ie
had made due allowance for delays, and now she M ds
certain that it had come. She would sit up that df y,
she said, for she felt almost well; and if Frederic t( Id
her to come home, she should start to-morrow and get
there Saturday night, and she fancied how peol le
would stare at her, and be glad to see her, too, on St nday, when she first went into church, for she "shot Id




THE LE TTER RECEIVED.          113
go, any way." Alice, too, would be delighted, and
kiss her so many times; and then she wondered if
Frederic wouldn't kiss her, too —she thought he
might just once, she'd been so long away, and she said
to herself that " she would draw back a little, and let
him know she wasn't so very anxious."
Poor Marian, how little was she prepared for the cruel
blow awaiting her! The pies were made at last, as
was the ginger-bread and crispy snaps; the apple dumplings, Marian's favorite dessert, were steaming on the
stove; the litter was cleared away, the carpet swept,
the oil-cloth washed, the chairs set back; and then
exchanging her work dress for a more respectable delaine, Mrs. Burt put over the kettle to boil, "for after
her wet walk, she should want a cup of tea," she said,
and, leaving Marian to watch the pie baking in the
oven, she started on her errand.
"I mean to have the table ready when she gets
back," said Marian —   for if I don't make her think
I'm  well, she won't let me start so soon;" and, exerting all strength, she set the table for dinner in the
ineatest possible manner, even venturing upon the extravagance of bringing out the best white dishes,
which Mrs. Burt only used on great occasions. " When
I get some, I'll send her a new set with gilt bands," the
little girl said, as she arranged the cups, and then
stepped lack to witness the effect.'11Oh! I wish she'd
come," 9lhe continued, glancing at the clock; but it
was not time yet, and, resuming her rocking-chair, she
tried to wait patiently.
But it seemed very long and very tiresome, sitting
there alone, listening to the rain and the ticking of tile
clock. It is strange how the most trivial circumstance
will sometimes stamp itselt indelibly upon the memory. The steam from the dumplings, which Marian
thought she should enjoy so inuch, filled the room with
a sweet, sickly odor, and for many, many years she
remembered now faint it made her feel. But'twas
a pleasant faintness now; everything was pleasant, for




114            THE LETTER RECEIVED.
wasn't she going home, back to Redstone Hall-back
to Frederic, who, if he didn't love her now, would
learn to love her, for Mrs. Burt said so; Mrs. Burt, who
knew almost as much as Dinah, and who, even while
she thought of her, was coming up the narrow stairs.
lMarian heard her put her dripping umbrella beside
the door, but for her life she could not move. If she
should be disappointed after all, she said, and she
tried to see how many she could count before she
knew for certain.
" A letter-oh, have you a letter for me?" she attempted to say, when Mrs. Burt came in, but she could
not articulate a word, and the good lady, wishing to
tease her a little, leisurely took  off her overshoes,
hung up her shawl, wiped her damp bonnet with a
handkerchief, and looked at the dumplings and thenl
said, as indifferently as if the happiness of a young life
was not to be crushed by what she had in her pocket,
"it rains awfully down street!"
" I know-but the, letter-was there a letter?" and
iMalrian's blue eyes looked dark with excitement. "Yes,
child, there was, but where it was mailed I don't know.'Tis directed to me, and is from Kentucky, but I can't
make out the post mark mor'n the dead. It's some
kind of Forks, but the postmaster will never set the
Hudson on fire with his writing."
" Forks of Elkhorn," cried IMarian, snatching at the
letter. " It's Frederic's superscription, too, and dated
ever so many days ago. Dear Frederic, he didn't
wait a minute before he wrote," and she pressed to
her lips the handwriting or Isabel Huntington!
The envelope was torn open —the enclosed sheet
was withdrawn, but about it there was a strangely
familiar look. Was there a film before Marian's eyes?
Was she growing blind, or did she recognize her own
letter-the one she had sent to Redstone Hall? It
was the same —for it said " Dear Frederic " at the top,
and " Marian" at the bottom I And he had returned it
to her unanswered-not a word-not a line-nothing




THE LETTER RECEIVED.           115
but silence, as cold, as hard and as terrible as the feelinog settling down on Marian's heart. But yes-there
was one line-only one, and it read-oh, horror, could
it be that he would mock her thus-that he would
tear out her bleeding heart and trample it beneath his
feet, by offering her this cruel insult.
"Isabel Huntington is now the mistress of Redstone
Ila ll."
This was the drop in the brimming bucket, and if
she had suffered death when the great sorrow came
upon her once before, she suffered more now a hundred
fold. In her ignorance she fancied they were married,
for how else could Isabel be mistress there, and shle
comprehended at once the shame-the disgrace such
a proceeding would bring to Frederic and the wrong,
the dishonor, the insult it brought to hier. There was
a look of anguish in her eye and a painful contraction
of the muscles about her mouth. There were purple
spots upon her flesh, which seemed wasting away
while-she sat there, and a note of agony, rarely heard
by human ear, was in her voice, as she cried, "No,
no, no —it is too soon-too soon —anything but that,"
and the little Marian who, half an hour before, had
heard the ticking of the clock and listened to the rain,
lay in the arms of Mrs. Burt, a white, motionless thing,
unconscious of pain, unconscious of everything. She
had suffered all she could suffer, and henceforth no
sorrow which could coine to her would eat into her
heart's core as this last one had done.
Mrs. Burt thought she was dead, as did those who
came at her loud call, but the old physician said there
was life, adding, as he looked at the blue pinched lips
and shrunken face: " The more's the pity, for she has
had some awful blow, and if she lives she'll probably
be a raving maniac."
Poor Marian! As time passed on the physician's
words seemed likely to be verified. For days she lay
in the same death-like stupor, and when at last shle
roused from it,'twas only to tear her hair and rave in




116            THE LETTER RECEIVED.
wild delirium. At first, Mrs. Burt, who had examined
the letter, thought of writing to Frederic and telling
hirn the result of his crulel message, the truth of which
she did not believe; but she seldomn acted without advice, so she wrote first to Ben, who came quickly, crying like a very child, and wringing his great rough
hands when he saw the swaying, tossing form upon
the bed and knew that it was Marian.
"' No, mother," he said, " we won't write. It's a lie
the villain told her, but we will let him be till slhe's
dead. God will find him fast enough, the rascal!" and
Ben struck his fist upon the bureau as if' lle would like to
take the managemnent of Frederic into his own hands.
It was a long and terrible sickness which came to
Marian, and when the deliriurn was on, the very elements of her nature seemed changed. For her hair
she conceived an intense loathing; and clutchling at
her long tresses, she would tear them from her head
and shake them from her finlgers, whispering scornfully:
"Go, you vile red things! He hates you, and so
do I."
" Better shave the hull concern and not let her yank
it out like that," said Ben; and when she became
more and more ungovernable, he passed his arms
around her arid held fast her little hlands, while her
head was shorn of the locks once so displeasingto
Frederic Raymond.
Ben's taste, however, was different, and putting
thenl reverently together, he dropped great tears upon
them, and then laid them carefully away, thinking:
"'Twill be something to look at when she's gone. Poor
little picked bird," he would say as he watched by
her side and listened to her moaning cries for thome,
"you'll be out of your misery afoie long, and go to
a'nough sight better hum than Red stun Hall; but I
hev my doubts'bout meetin' himt there. Poor little
girl, if you hadn't been born a lady and I hadn't beein
born a fool, and we'd been brung up together, nmabby




THE LETTER RECEIVED.           117
you wouldl't be a lyin' here a biting your tongue and
wringin' your hands, with your head shaved slick and
clean," and the sweat dropped from Ben's face, as he
thought of what under widely different circumstances
might hlave been. " But it can't be now," he said, " for
even it she wan't jined to this villain she loves so
mulch, she's as far above Ben Burt as the stars in
Heaven."
This, however, did not lessen Ben's attentions in the
least, or stay his tears when he thought that she would
die. "She should be buried in Greenwood," he said;' lhe'd got more'rt two hundred dollars in the bank at
Ware, all arnt honest, with hard work; and if there
was such a thing as a stun forty feet high she should
have it, and he'd get som o' them that scribbled for a
living to write a piece; there should be a big funeral,
too —he could hire carriages as well as the best of'em —and he'd have a procession so long that fiolks
would stop and stare, and Frederic Raymond wouldn't
be ashamed on't either, thle scalliwaq. —he hoped when
he and Isabel came to die they'd be pitched into the
canalt where the water was considerable kind o' dirty,
too!"
This long speech relieved Ben somewhat, and fully
determined to carry out his promise, he staid patiently
by Marian, nor experienced one feeling of regret when
lie beard that, owing to his prolonged absence, his
place in Ware had been given to another.
*" Nobody cares," he said, " I can find something to
do if it's nothin' but sawin' wood."
So he remained at loine through all the winter
days, and watched by the sick girl, who talked piteously of her home, of Alice, and that man who
hated her so. Slhe never spoke his name, but she
sometimes begged of hian to coime and take her away
where it didn't thunder all the time. The roar of the
city disturbed her, and she frequently besought Ben to
go and stop it so that she could sleep and be better in
the morning; and Ben, had it been in his power,




118           THE LEITER RECEIVED.
would have stayed the busy life around them, and let
the weary, worn-out sufferer sleep. But this could
not be, and so, day after day the heavy, incessant roar
came through the curtained window into the darkened
room, where Marian lay moaning in her pain. Once
in her unconsciousness she folded meekly her thin
hands and prayed, " Will God stop that noise and let
mne sleep just once?" then with an expression of childish trust upon her face, she said to those around her,
"He will stop it to-morrow, I reckon."
And when the winter snows all were fallen, and the
early March sun shone upon the kitchen walls, the
to-mor row so much longed for came, and Marian
woke at last to consciousness. She was out of danger,
the physician said, though it might be long ere her
health was fully restored. To Marian, this announceinent brought but little joy. " She had hoped to die,"
shile said, "and thus be out of the way." and then she
spoke of Redstone Hall, asking if any tidings had
come from there since the dreadful message she had
received.  There was none, for Isabel Huntington
guarded her secret well, and Frederic Raymond knew
nothing of the white, emaciated wreck which prayed
each day that he might be happy with the companion
he had chosen.
" If he had only waited," she said to Mrs. Burt and
Ben, one day when she was able to be bolstered up in
bed, "if he had waited and not taken her so soon, I
shouldn't care so much, but its awful to think of his
living with lier after I wrote that letter."
" Marian," said Ben, a little impatiently, "I'm naturally a fool, so every body says, but I've sense
enough to know that Mr. Raymond never went and
married that woman so quick after you came away;'tain't reasonable at all. Why, they'd mob him-tar
and feather him —for you ain't dead, and lie's no business with two wives."
Marian's face was whiter than ever when Ben finished speaking, and a bright red spot burned on her




THE LETTER RECEIVED.            119
cheek as she gasped, " You didn't,-you can't believe
she's there and not his wife. That would be worse
than everything else."
"Of course Idon't," returned Ben. "My'pinion is
that she ain't there at all, and he only writ that to
make a clean finish of you. or'tany rate, so't you
wouldn't be coming back to bother him. He calkerlates to have her bimeby. I presume-say in
seven years."
" Oh, I wish I knew," said Marian, and Ben replied,'Would you rest any easier nights if you did?"
" Yes, a heap," was the answer, and the great, blue
eyes looked wistfully at Ben, as if anxious that he
should clear up the mystery.
"You  might write," suggested Mrs. Burt; but
Marian shook her head, saying, "I wrote once, and
you know my success."
" You certainly wouldn't go back," continued Mrs.
Burt; and Marian answered indignantly, " Never! I
aml sure he hates me now, and I shall l'ot trouble himi
again. Perhaps he thinks ine mean because I read
the letter intended for himn, and so found it all out.
But I thought it was mine until I read a ways, and
then I could not stol,. My eyes wouldn't leave the
paper. Was it wrong in me, do you think?"
t is wlat anybody would hlave done," answered
Mrs. Burt, and, changing tile subject entirely, Marianm
rejoined, " Oh, I do wish I knew about this Isabel.'
For a time Ben sat thinking; then striking his
hands together, lie exclaimed, "I've got it, and it's
jest the thing, too. I don't want no better fun than
that. I've lost mny place to Ware, and tlhough I might
get another, I've a notion to turn pedlle/'. I allus
thought I should like travellin' and seeill' the world.
I'll buy up a lot of jinlcracks and take a bee line for
RIedstnii Hall, and learn just how the matter stands.
I can put on a little more of the Down East Yankee,
if you think I hain't got enough, and I'll pu-ll the wool
over their eyes. What do you say, wee one?"




I 0            THE LETTER RECEIVED.
"Oh, I wish you would," said Marian, adding in
the same breath, "what will you do, if you find him
the husband of Isabel?"
"Do!" lie repeated. "String'em  both up by the
neck on one string. Whlat do you'spect I'd do?
Honest, though," he continued, as he saw her look of
alarm; " if she is his wife, which ain't at all likely,'tis because he s'posed you're dead, but he knows better now, and I shall tell the neighboi's that you're
alive and breathin', and they can do withl him what
they choose-and if they ain't married, nor ain't
nothin', I'll just do what you say."
"Come bick, and -don't tell Frederic you ever saw
or heard of me," said Marian. "I shall not live a
great while, and even if I do, I'd rather not trouble
limn.. It would onrly make him hate me worse, and
that I couldn't bear. Ile knows now where I am, and
it he ever wants me, he will come. Don't tell him,
nor ally one, a word of me, Ben, but do go, for I long
to hear froln home."
To, Mrs. Burt this project seemed a wild and foolish
on-, but she rarely opposed her son, and when se saw
that he was determined, slhe said nothing, but helped
him all she could.
"You'll be wantin' to send some jinlcrack to that
blind gal, I guess," he said to Marian one day, and she
replied, "I wish I could, but I havn't anything, and
besides you mustn't tell her of me."
"Don't youl worry," answered Ben. "I've passed
my word, and I never broke it yet. I can manage to
give her somethin' and make it seem natural. What
do you say to makin' her a bracelet out o' themn curls
of yourn tthat we shaved off?"
"' That red hair!  Frederic would know it at once,"
and Marian shook her head ruefully. but Ben persisted.''Tw,ould look real pretty, just like gingerbread when'twas braided tight," and bringing out the curls, he
selected the longest one, and hurried off.
The result proved his words correct, for when a few




TIE LETTER RECEIVED.           121
days after he brought home the little bracelet, which
was fastened with a neat golden clasp, Marian exclaimed with delight at the soft beauty of her hair:
"Darling Alice," she cried, kissing the tiny ornament, "I wish she could know that my lips have
touched it-that it once grew on my head-but it
wouldn't be best. She couldn't keep the secret, and
you mustn't tell."
"Don't worry, I say," returned Ben. " I've got an
idee in my brains for a wonder, and I'm jest as'fraid
of tellin' as you be. So cheer up a bit and grow fat,
while I'm gone, for I want you to be well when I come
back, so as to go to school and get to be a great
scholar, that Mr. Raymond won't be ashamed on when
the right time comes," and Ben spoke as cheerfully as
if within his heart there was no grave where during
the weary nights when he watched with Marian he
buried his love for her, and vowed to think of her only
as a cherished sister.
Marian smiled pleasantly upon him, watching him
with interest as he made up his pack, consisting of
laces, ribbons, muslin, handkerchiefs, combs and jewelry, a little real, and a good deal brass, "for the niggers," lie said. Many were the charges she gave him
concerning the blacks, telling himn which ones to notice
particularly, so as to report to her.
" Jelhosiphat!" he exclaimed at last,' how many is
there?  I shall never remember in the world," and
taking out a piece of paper, he wrote upon it, " Dinah,
Hetty, Lid, Victory, Uncle Phil, Josh, and the big
dog. There!" said he, reading over the list, " if I don't
)bring you news of every one, my name ain't Ben
Burt. I'll wiggle myself inter their good leelin's and
get'em to talkin' of yolu, see if I don't."
Marian had the utmost confidence in Ben's success,
and though she knew she should be lonely whe'n he was
gone, she was glad when, at last, the morning came
for him to leave them. Ben, too, was equally delight6




122           THE'LETTER RECEIVED.
ed, for the novelty lent a double charm to thileproject;
and, bidding his mother and Marian good-by, he gathered up his large boxes, and whistling a lively tune,
by way of keeping up his spirits, started for Kentucky.




CHAPTER XII.
THE  YANKEE  PEDDLER.
THE warm, balmy April day was drawing to a
close, and the rays of the setting sun shone like
burnished gold on the western windows of Redstone
Hall. It was very pleasant there now, for the early
spring flowers were all in blossom, the grass was
growing fresh and green upon the lawn, and the creeping vines were clinging lovingly to the time-worn pillars, or climbing up the massive walls of dark red
stone, which gave the place its name. The old negroes
had returned from their labors, and were lounging
about their cabins, while the younger portion looked
wistfully in at the kitchen door, where Dinah and
letty were busy in preparing supper. On the back
piazza several dogs were lying, and as their quick
ears caught the sound of a gate in the distance, the
whole pack started up and went tearing down the
avenue, followed by the furious yell of Bruno, who
tried in vain to escape fiom his confinement.
"Thar's somebody comin'," said Dinah, shading her
eyes with her hand, and looking toward the highway;
" somebody with somethin' on his back. You, Joskh,
go after them dogs, afore-they skeer him to death."
Stuttering out some unintelligible speech, Josh
started in the direction the dogs had gone, and soon
came up to a tall six-footer, who, with short pantaloons, a swallow-tailed coat. stove-pipe hat, sharppointed collar, red necktie, and two huge boxes on his




124           THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
back, presented a rather ludicrous -appearance to the
boy, and a rather displeasing one to the dogs., who
growled angrily, as if they would pounce upon him at
once. The club, however, with which he had armed
himself kept theIn at bay, until Josh succeeded in
quieting them down.
" Ra-ally, now," began our friend Ben. who vainly
imagined it necessary to put on a little, by way of
proving himself a genuine Yankee-" ra-ally, now
boot-black, what's the use of keepin' sich a'tarnal lot
o' dogs to worry a decent chap like me."
It was Josh's misfortune to stammer much more
when at all excited, and to this interrogatory he
began,  "Caw-caw-caw-cause  ma-ma-mars wa-wawant   "
" Great Heaven!" interrupted the Yankee, setting
down his pack and eyeing the stuttering negro as if
he had been the last curiosity from Barnum's —"    will
you tell a fellow what kind of language you speak."
" Spe-pe-pe-pects sa-sa-same ye-e-e you dlo," returned the negro, failing wholly to enlighten Ben, who rejoined indignantly, "You  go to grass with your
lingo;" and, gathering up his boxes, lhe started for the
house, accompanied by Josh and the dogs, the first of
which made several ineffectual attempts at conversation.
"Some nateral born fool," muttered Ben, thinking
to himself that he would like to examine the boy's
mouth and see what ailed it.
After a few minutes they entered the yard, and
came up to the other blacks who were curiously
watching the new corner. Seating himself upon the
steps and crossing one leg oyer the other, Bet swung
his cowhide boot forward and back, and greeted theln
with, " wall, uncles, and ants, and cousins, how do you
dew, and how do you find yourselves this afternoon a"
" Jest tolerable, thanky," answered uncle Phil, and
Ben continued, "wall, health is a great blessing to tlleu




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.            125
that hain't got it. Do you calkerlate that I could stay
here to night? I've got lots o' gewgaws," pointing to
his boxes -" hankerchers, pins, ear-rings anld a red and
yeller gownd that'll jest suit you, old gall," nodding to
Dinah, who muttered gruffly, "if he calls me old
what'll he say to Hetty?"
Ben saw he had made a mistake, for black women
no more care to be old than their fairer sisters, and lie
tried to make amends by complimenting tire indignant lady until she was somewhat mollified, whenl he
asked again if he could stay all night?
"You, Josh," said Uncle Phil, "go and tell yer
master to come here."
"Whew-ew," whistled Ben, "if you're goin' to send
that stutterin' critter, I may as well be joggin', for no
hunlan can mnake out his riglnarle."
But Ben was mistaken. Josh's dialect was well understood by Frederic, who camte as requested, and,
standing in the door, gazed inquisitively at the singular looking object seated upon his steps, and apparently oblivious to everything save the sliver he was
trying to extract from his thumb with a large pin, ejacniating occasionally, "gaul darn the pesky thing."
Nothing, however, escaped the keen grey eyes
which frotn time to tile peered out from beneath the
stove-pipe hat. Already Ben had seen that Redstone
Hall was a most beautiful spot, and he did not blame
Frederic for disliking to give it up. He had selected
Dinah and Phil from, the other blacks, and had said
that the baby, who, with a small white dog, was disputing its right to a piece of fat bacon and a chicken
one, was Victoria Eugenia. Josh he identified by' his
name, and he was wondering at Marian's taste in caring to hear from him, when Frederic appeared, and
all else was forgotten in his efgerness to inspect the
man " who could make a gal bite her tongue int two
and yank her hair out by the roots, all for the love of
himn."
Frederic seemed in po harry to commence a con



126           THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
versation, and during the minute that he stood there
without speaking, Ben had ample time to take him
in from his brown hair and graceful mustache down to
his polished boots.
" Got up in considerable kind of good style," was
Ben's mental comment, as he watched the young man
carelessly scraping his finger nail with a pen-knife.
" Did you wish to see me?" Frederic said at last,
and with another thrust at the sliver, Ben stuck his
pin upon his coat sleeve, and reversing the position of
hlis legs, replied, "wall, if you're the boss, I guess I
dew;']in Ben Butterworth from down East, and I've
got belated, and bein' there ain't no taverns near I
want to stay all night, and pay in money or notions.
Got a lot on'em, besides some tip top muslin collars
for your wife, Mrs., what do you call her?" and the
gray eyes glistened themselves upon the face, which
for a single instant was white as marble-then the
hot blood came rushing back, and Frederic replied,
" there is no wife here, sir, but you can stay all night
if you please. Will you walk in?" and he led
the way to the sitting-room, followed by Ben, who had
obtained what to him was the most important infornmation of all.
The night was chilly, and in the grate a cheerful
coal fire was burning, castingr its ruddy light upon the
face of a little girl, who, seated upon a stool, with
her hair combed back froim her sweet face, her waxen
hands folded together and her strange brown eyes
fixed upon the coals as if she were looking at something far beyond them, seemed to Ben what lie had
fancied angels in heaven to be.   was not needful fol
Mr. Raymond to say, "Alice, here is a peddler come
to stay all night," for Ben knew it was the blind girl,
and his heart gave a great throb when he saw her sitting theie so beautiful, so helpless, and so lonely, too,
for he almost knew that she was thinking of Marian,
and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her of
the lost one.




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.            127
Motioning him to a chair, Frederic went out, leaving
them together. For some minutes there was perfect
silence, while Ben sat looking at her and trying hard
to keep from crying. It seemed terrible to him that
one so young should be blind, and he wanted to tell
her so, but he dared not, and he bat so still that Alice
began to think she was alone, and, resuming her former thoughts, whispered softly to herself, " oh, I wish
she would come back."
"Blessed baby," Ben had almost ejaculated, but
he checked himself in time, and said instead, " little
gal."
Alice started, and turning her ear, seemed waiting
for him to speak again, which he did soon.
"' Little gal, will you come and sit in my lap?"
His voice was gentle and kind, but Alice did not
care to be thus free with a stranger, so she replied,
" I reckon I won't do that, but I'll sit nearer to you,"
and she moved her stool so close by him that her head
alnmost rested on his lap.
" You must'scuse me," she said," if I don't act like
other children do- I'm blind."
Very tenderly he smoothed her silken hair, and as
he did so, she felt something drop upon her forehead.
It was a tear, and wiping it away, she said:
" Man, be you hungry and tired, or what makes you
c YV
I'm  cryin' for you, poor, unfortunate lamb;" and
the tender-hearted Ben sobbed out aloud.
"Oh, I wouldn't, I wouldn't," said the distressed
ch:ld —" I'm used to it., I don't mind it now."
The ice was fairly broken, and a bond of sympathy
established between the two.
a "He must be a good man," Alice thought; and
when he began to question her of her home and friends,
shie replied to him readily.
" You haven't no mother, nor sister, nor a'nt, nor
nothin', but Mr. Raymond and Dinah," said Ben, after




128           THE YAIKEE PEDDLER.
they had talked awhile. " Ain't there no white women
in the house but you?"
" Yes, Mrs. Huntington and Isabel. She's my governess," answered Alice; and, conscious of a pang,
Ben continued:
"Mr. Raymond sent for'em, I s'pose?"
"No," returned Alice. "They came without sending for-came to visit, and he hired them to stay. Mrs.
Hluntington keeps house."
At this point in the conversation there was a rustling of garments ill the hall, and a splendid, queenly
creature swept into the room, bringing with her such
an air of superiority that Ben involuntarily hitclied
nearer to the wall, as if to get out of sight.
"' Je-ru-sa lem! ain't she a dasher?" was his mental
exclamation; andl, in spite of himself, he followed her
ovemnents with an admiring glance.' Tasking a chair, she drew it to the fire, and, without deigning to notice the stranger, she said, rather
reprovingly,
"Alice, come here."
The child obeyed, and Ben, determined not to be
ignored entirely, said:
"Pretty well this evenin', miss?"
"IHow, sir?" and the black eyes flashed haughtily
upon him.
Nothing abashed, he continued ~ "As't you if you're
pretty well, but no matter, I know you to be by your
looks. I've got a lot of finery that I know you want."
And on opening his boxes, lie spread out upon the
calrpet the collars and under-sleeves, which had been
bought with a view to this very night. Very disdaiiinfully Isabel turned away, saying she never traded with
peddlers.
" I wonder if you don't," returned Ben, with imperturb)able gravity.  " Wall, now, seein' it's me, buy
somethin', dew. Here's a bracelet that can't be beat,"
and he held up to view Marian's soft hair, which, in
the bright firelight, looked singularly beautifill.




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.             129
Isabel did unbend a little now. There was no sham
about that, she knew, and, taking it in her hand, she
tried to clasp it on her round, white arn; but it would
inot come together. It was not made for her!
"' It isn't large enough," said she; "it must have
been intended for some child."' Shouldn't wonder if you'd hit the nail right on the
]lead," returned Ben, and taking the bracelet he con
tinued, " Mebby'twas meant for this wee one-who
knows?" and he fastened it on Alice's slender wrist.
" Fits to a T," said he, " and you have it, too. Them
clasps is little hearts, do you see?"
Frederic now entered the room, and holding up her
arm, Alice said,'" Look, is it pretty?"
"Yes, very," he replied, bending down to examine
it, while Ben watched him narrowly, wondering how
he would feel if he knew from whose tresses that braid
was made.
" Harnsome color, ain't it, Square a" he said, holding Alice's hand a little more to the light, and continuing, " Now there's them that don't like red hair,
but I swan I've seen some that wan't so bad. Now
when it curls kinder-wall, like a gimblet, you know.
I've got a gal to hum I call my sister, and her hair's as
nigh this color as two peas, or it was afore'twas shaved.
She's been awful sick with the heart disorder, and
fever, and I tell you, Square, if you'd o' seen her pitchin' and divin', and rollin' from one end of the bed to
t'other, bitin' her tongue and yankin' out her hair by
han'fuls, I rather guess you'd felt kinder streaked. It
made a calf of mne, though I didn't feel so bad then as
when she got weaker, and lay so still that we held a
feather to her lips to see if she breathed."
i' lOl, did she die?" asked Alice, who had been an
attentive listener.'" No," answered Ben, "shle didn't, and the thankfullest prayer I ever prayed was the one I made in the
buttery, Iehind the door, when the doctor said slQo
would get well."
6*




130            THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
Supper was annunnced, and putting up his muslins,
Ben followed his host to the dining-room. Alice, too,
was at the table, the bracelet still upon her wrist, for
slhe liked the feeling of it. "And she did so wish it
was hlers"
"I shall have to buy it for you, I reckon," said Frederic, and he inquired its price.
" Wall, now,' returned Ben, " if'twas any body but
the little gal, I should say five dollars, but bein' it's
hers, I'd kinder like to give it to her."'This, however, Frederic would not suffer. Alice
would not keep it, he said, unless he paid for it, and
he put a half eagle into the hand of the child, wtho
offered it to Ben. For a moment, the latter hesitated,
tlhen thinking to himself, " Darnt il all, wlhat's the use.
If Marian goes to school, as I mean she shall, she'll
need a lot of money, and what I get out o' him is clear
gain," he pocketed the piece, and the bracelet belonged to Alice.
After supper, Ben sat down by' the fire in the diningroom, hoping the family would leave him with Alice,
and: this they did ere long, Isabel going to the piano,
and Frederic to the library to answer letters, while
Mrs. Huntington gave some directions for breakfast.
These directions were merely nominal, however, for
Dinah, to all intents and purposes, was mistress of the
household, and she caine in to see to the supper dishes,
which. were soon cleared away, and Ben, as he wished,
was alone with Alice.'l'he bracelet seemed io be a
connecting link between them, for Alice was not in the
least shy of him now, and when he asked her again to
sit in his lap, she did so readily.' That Miss Isabel is a dreadful han'some gal," he began; "I should s'pose Mr. Raymond would fall in love
with her."
No answer from Alice, whose sightless eyes looked
steadily into the fire.
"Mebbv he is in love with her."
No o answer yet, and mentally chiding himnself




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.            131
for his stupidity in not striking the right vein, Ben
continued:
" I wonder he hain't married afore this. He must be
as much as twenty-five or six years old, and so han'
some too I"
"He has been married," and the little face of the
speaker did not move a muscle.
" Now you don't say it," returned Ben. " A widower, hey? How long sence he was married?"
"A few mouths," and the long eye-lashes quivered
in the firelight just a little.
"I want to know-died so soon-poor critter. Tell
me about her, dew. You didn't know her long, so I
s'pose you couldn't love her a great sight?"
The brown eyes flashed up into Ben's face, and the
blood rushed to Alice's cheek, as she replied " Me not
love Marian! Oh, I loved her so much!"
The right chord was touched at last, and in her own
way Alice told the sad story-how Marian had left
them on her bridal night, and though they searched
for her everywhere, both in the river and through the
country, no trace of her could be found, and the conviction was forced upon them that she was dead.
-" Je-ru-sa-lem! I never thought of that 1" was Ben's
involuntary exclamation; but it conveyed no meaning
to Alice, and when he asked if they still believed her
dead, she answered:
" I don't quite believe Frederic does. I don't, any
way. I used to, though, but now it seemsjust like she
would come back," and turning her face more fully
toward him, Alice told how she had loved the lost one,
and how each day she prayed that she might come
home to them again.
" I don't know as she was pretty," she said, "but
she was so sweet, so good, and I'm so lonesome without
her," and down Alice's cheeks the big tears rolled,
while Ben's kept company with them  and -fell upon
her hands.
".Man, don't you cry a heap.?" she asked, shaking the




182           THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
round drops off and wondering why a perfect stranger should care so much for Marian.
"I'm so plaouy tender-hearted that I can't help
it," was Ben's apology, as he blew. his nose vigorously upon his blue cotton handkerchief.
For a time longer he talked with her, treasuring up
l)lessed, words of comfort for the distant Marian, and
learning also that Alice was sure Frederic would never
marry again until certain of Marian's death. He might
like Isabel, slle admitted, but he would not dare make
her his wife till he knew for true what had become of
Marian.
"'And he does know it, the scented up puppy,"
thought Ben. "H e jest writ her that last insultin' thing
to kill her out and out; but he didn't come it, and till
he knows he did, he dassent do nothin'."
This reasoning was very satisfactory to Ben, who,
having learned from Alice all that he could, began to
think it was time to cultivate the negroes, and putting
the child from his knee, he said " he guessed he'd go
out and see the slaves —nebby they'd like to trade a
little, and he must be off in the mornin'."
Accordingly he started for the kitchen, where his
character had been prettv thoroughly dissected. A
negro from a neighboring plantation had dropped in on
a gossiping visit, and as was very natural, the conversation had turned upon the peddler, whose peculiar appearance had attracted much attenlion at the different
places where he had stopped. Particularly was this the
case at the house the black man Henry lived.
" He done ask a heap of questions about us colored
folks," said Henry; " how many was there of us, how
old was we, and what was we worth, and when marster
axed him did he want to buy, he said " no, but way off
whar he lived he allus spoke in meetin', ard them folks
was mighty tickled to hear suffin''bout niggers.' Ole
Miss say how't she done b'lieve he's an abolution come
to run some on us of,' case he look like one o' then
chaps dpwn in the penitentiary."




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.             133'Oh. Lord,"ejaculated Dinah, involuntarily hitching
her chair nearer to Victoria Eugenia, who lay in her
cradle.
Old Iletty, too, took alarm at once, and glancing
nervously at her own grandchild Dudley, a little boy
two years of age, who was stretchedupon the floor,
" she hoped to goodness he wouldn't carry off Dud."
"Jest the ones he'll pick for. He could hide a dozen
on em in them big boxes," said Henry, and feeling
pleased at the interest lie had awakened in the two old
ladies he proceeded to relate the stories he had heard
"'bout them fetched Yankees mneddlin' with what didn't
consarn'em,' and he advised Dinah and Hetty both
not to let the peddler get sight of the children for fear
of what Inight happen.
At this point Ben came out of the house with his huge
boxes.  lie was first discovered by Josh, who, delighted
with the fun, pointed mnysteriously toward himn and stuttered,' Da-da-da'e co-co-colnes."
"The Lord help us," said Dinallh and quick as thought
she seized the sleeping Victoria Eugenia and thrust
hler into the churn as the nearest place of concealment.
The awakened baby gave a screech bnt Dinall stopped its mouth with a piece of the licorice she always
carried in her pocket with her tobacco box and pipe.
Meantime Hetty, determined not to be outdone, caught
up Dud, and, opening the meal chest, tumbled hitm in,
telling him in fierce whispers "' not to stir nor wink, for
thar was a nlan comin' to cotch him."
Snatching a newspaper which lay on the floor, she
rolled it together and placed it under the lid, so as to
allow the youngster a breathing place. This done, she
resumed lier seat just as Ben appeared, who, throwing
down his pack, accosted her with"Wall, a'nt, got your chores done.'Cause if you have
I want to trade a little. I won't be hard on you," he
continued, as lie saw tile forbidding expression of her
face. "I'll dicker cheap an I take most any kind o'
dud for pay."




134           THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
Dicker and chores were Greek to old Hetty, but she
fully comprehended the word Dud. He meant her
DUD- the one in the meal chest-and she grasped
the handle of the frying pan, so as to be ready for what
might follow next.
"Let me sholt you some breastpins," said Ben, looking round for a chair.
They were all occupied, and as the mischievous Josh
pointed to the chest, Ben crossed over, and ere Hetty
was aware of his intention, seated himself quite as a
matter of course. But not long, for Hetty's dusky fist
flourished in the air, and, more than all, the smothered
cry of " Granny, granny, he done sot on me," which
came from beneath him, landed him on the other side
of the room, where he struck against the churn; whereupon, Victoria Engenia set up another yell, which sent
hlim back to the spot where Josh's cowhides were performillg various evolutions by way of showing his delighlt.
"' Thunder!" ejaculated Ben,looking first at the skirts
of his swallow-tail, then at the chest, from which Dud
was emerging, covered with meal, and then atthe churnl,
over the top of which a pair of little black hands and
a piece of licorice were visible, "what's the meaning
of all this?"
No explanation whatever was vouchsafed, and, to
this day, Ben does not know the reason why those negroes were stowed away in such novel hiding places.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided, len
returned to his first intention, behaving so civilly that
the fears of the negroes gave way, and Dinah was so
well pleased with purchasing a brass pin at half price
that Ben ventured, at last to say:
"That little gal, Alice, has been tellin' me about
Mr. Raymond's marriage.  Unlucky, wasn't he?
Shouldn't wonder though, if he had a kind of hankerin'
after that black-eyed miss. She's han'some as a picter."
Dinah needed but this to loosen her tongue. She




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.            135
had long before made up her mind that " Isabel was no
kitnd o''count;" and once the two had come to open
hostilities, Isabel accusing Dinah of being a " lazy, gossiping nigger," while Dinah, in return, had told her
" she warn't no better'n she should be stickin''round
after Mars. Frederic, when nobody knew whether Miss
Marian was dead, or not. "
rlhis indignity was reported to Frederic, who reproved old Dinah, sharply; whereupon, she turned toward
him, and, to use her favorite expression, " gin him a
piece of her mind."
After this it was generally understood that between
Dinah and Isabel here existed no very amicable state of
feeling, and when Ben spoke of the latter, the former
exploded at once.
":Twas a burnin' shame," she said, "and it mortified
her eels-a-most to death to see the trollop a tryin' to
set to marster, when nobody know'd for sartin if his
fast wife was dead,"
"Marster's jest as fist as she," interposed Hetty,
who seldom agreed with Dinah.
A contemptous sneer curled Dinah's lip as she said
to Ben, ill a whisper:
"Don't b'lieve none o' her trash. Them Higginses
alius would lie. I hain't never seen Marster Frederic
do a single thing out o' the way,'cept to look at her,
jest as Phil used to look at ine when he was sparkin'.
1 don't think that was very'spectable in him, to be
sure, but looks don't signify. He dassen't marry her
till lie knows for sartin t'other one is dead. He done
told Alice so, and she told me;" and then Dinah launcihed out into praises of the lost Marian, exalting her
so highly that Ben tossed into her lap a pair of earrings whiicl she had greatly admired.
"Take them," said he, " for standin' up for that poor
runaway. I like to hear one woman stick to another."
Dinah cast an exulting glance at Hetty, who, noth.
ing daunted, came forward and said:
"M' iss Marian was as likely a gal as thar was in Ken



136            THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
tuck, and she, for one, should be as glad to see her back
as some o' them that made sich a fuss about it."
"Playin''possum," whispered  Dinah.  "Them
Hiigginses is up to that."
Ben probably thought so too, for he paid no attention to Hetty, who, highly indignant started for Isabel,
and told her " how Dinah and that fetch-ed peddler
done spilt her character entirely."
"Leave the room," was Isabel's haughty answer.
"I am above what a poor negro and an ignorant Yankee can say."
" For' the dear Lord's sake," muttered the discomfited
Hetty; "wonder if she ain't a Yankee her own self:'Spects how sloe done forgot whar she was raised," and
I-letty returnedto the kitchen a warmer adherent of
Malian tllan Dinah had ever been.
She, to,, was very talkative nlow, and before nine
o'clck Ben had learned all that he expected to learn,
and much more.  He had ascertained that no one hlad
the slightest suspicion of the reason why Marian went
away; that both Frederic and Isabel seemed unhappy;
that Dinah and Hetty, too, believed " thar was somnetlhin' warin' on tllhr minds;" that Frederic was discontented, and talked seriously of leaving Redstone Hall
in care of an overseer, and moving, in the Autumn to
to his residence on the Hudson; that Hetty hoped he
would, and Dinahl hoped he wouldn't, "'case if he did,
it would be next to impossible to get a stroke o' work
out o' them lazy Higginses."
"I've got all 1 come for, I b'lieve," was Ben's mental comrnent, as he left the kitchen and returned to the
dining room, where he found Frederic alone. -" I'll poke
his ribs a little," lie thought, and helping himself to a
cha:r, lie begitn:'Wall, Square, I've been out seein' your niggers.
Got a fine lot on'emn, and I shouldn't wonder if you
was wo'th considerable. Willed to you by your dad,
or was it a kind of a dowry come by your wife?
You're a widoler, they tsay;" and the gray eyes looked




THE YANKEE PEDDLER.             131
out at their corners, as Ben thought, "Tllat'll make
him squirm, I guess."
Frederic turned very white, but his voice was natural as he replied:' 1My father was oalled the richest man ih the county, and I was his only child."
" Ah, yes, come to you that way," answered Ben,
continuing after a moment. "There's a big house up
on the Hudson-to'Yonkers-that's been shet up and
rented at odd spells for a good while, and somebody
told me it belonged to a Colonel Raymond, who lived
South. Mabby that's yourn?"
" It is," returned Frederic, "and I expect now to go
there in the Fall."
" I want to know. I shouldn't s'pose you could be
hired to leave this place."
"I couldn't be hired to stay. There are too many
sad memories connected with it," was Frederic's answer, and he paced the floor hurriedly, while Ben continned: Mabby you'll be takin' a new wife there?"
Friederic's cheek flushed as he replied:
"If I ever marry again, it will not be in years.
Would you like to go to bed, sir?
Ben took the hlint and replying, "I don't care if I
dew," followed the negro, who came at Frederic's call,
up to his room, a pleasant, comfortable chamber, overlooking the river and the surrounding country.
" Golly, this is grand!" said Ben, examining the different articles of furniture, as if he had never seen anything like it befire.
The negro, who was Lyd's husband, made no reply,
but, hurrying down stairs to his mother-in-law, he told
her, "Thar was sornethin' mighty queer about that
man, and if they all found themselves alive in the mornin.' he should be thankful."
Unmindful of breast-pin and ear-rings, Dinah became
again alarlned, and, bidding Joe see that Victoria Eugenia was safe, she gathered up the forks and spoons,
and rolling them in a towel, tucked them inside her




138            THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
straw tick, saying: "I reckon it'll make him sweat
some to hist ine and Phil on to the floor;" which was
quite probable, considering that the united weight
of the worthy couple was somewhat over three hundred!
The morning dawned at last, and, with her fears
abated, Dinah washed the silver, made the coffee,
broiled the steak and fried the corn-meal batter-cakes,
which last were at first respectfully declined by Ben,
who admitted that they "might be fust-rate, but he
didn't b'lieve they'd set well on his stomach."
Hetty, who was waiting upon the table, quickly divined the reason, and whispered to him': " Lord bless
you, take some; I done sifted the meal!"
This argument was conclusive, and helping himself
to the light, steaming cakes, Ben thought, "I may as
well eat'em, for'taint no wus, nor as bad as theml Irish
gals does to hum, only I happened to see it!"
Breakfast being over, he offered to settle his bill,
which he found was nothing.
"' Now, ra-ally, Square," he said, as Frederic refused
to take pay, "I allus hearn that Kentuckians was
nighty free-hearted, but I didn't'spect you to give me
mry livin'. I'm much obleeged to you, though, and I
shall have more left to eddicate that little sister I was
tellin' you'bout. I mean to-. give her tip-top larnin',
and mebby sometime she'll come here to teach this
wee one," and lie laid his hand on Alice's hair.
The little girl smiled up in his face, and said, " Come
again and peddle here, won't you?"
"Wouldn't wonder if I turned up amongst you some
day," was his answer; and bidding the family goodbye, he went out into Bruno's kennel, for until this
mninute he had forgotten that the dog was to be remlembered.
"' Keep away from dar," called out Uncle Phil, while
Br3unl growled savagely and bounded against the bars
as if anxious to pounce upon the intruder.
"I've seen enough of him," thoughoit Ben, and shak



TIE YANK1EE PEDDLER.          139
ing bands with Uncle Phil, he walked rapidly down
the avenue and out into the highway.
Marian, he knew, was anxious to hear of his success,
and not willing to keep her waiting longer than was
necessaryT he determined to return at once.  Accordingly, while the unsuspecting inmates of Redstone
Hall were discussing histate visit and singular appearence, he was on his way to the depot, where he took
the first train for Frankfort, and was soon sailing down
the Kentucky toward home.




CHAPTE  XIIm.
PLANS.
MARIAN was sitting by the window of her little room,
looking out into the busy street below, and thinking
how differently New York seemed to her now from
what it did that dreary day when she wandered down
Broadway, and wished that she could die. She was
getting accustomed to the city roar, and the sounds
which annoyed her so much at first did not trouble
her as they once had done. Still there was the same
old pain at her heart-a restless, longing desire to
hear fi-orn home, and know if what she feared were
true. She had counted the days of Ben's absence, and
she knew it was almost time for his return.  She did
not expect him to-day, however, and she paid no attention to the heavy footstep upon the stairs, neither
did she hear the creaking of the door; but when Mrs.
Burt exclaimed, "Benjamin Franklin! where did you
come from?" she started, and in an instant held both
his hands in hers.
Wistfully, eagerly she looked up into his face, longing, yet dreading, to ask the important question.
"Have you been there?" she managed to say at
last; and Ben replied, " Yes, chicken, I have, I've
been to Redstun Hall, and seen the hull tribe on'ema
That Josh is a case. Couldn't understand him no more
than if he spoke a furrin tongue."
"But Frederic —did you see him, and is he-oh,
Ben, do tell me-what you know I want to hear?" and
Marian trembled with excitement.




PLANS.                  141
" Wall, I will," answered Ben, dropping into a chair,
and coming to the point at once.'Frederic ain't
married to Isabel, nor ain't a-goin' to be, either."
"W' hat made him write mne that lie?" was Marianl's
next question, asked so mournfully that Ben replied:
" A body'd s'pose you was sorry it warn't the truth
lihe writ."
" I am glad it is not tre," returned Mariah, "' but it
hurts me so to lose confidence in one I love. How
does Frederic look?"
"1 White as a sheet and poor as a crow," said Ben.
"It's a wearin' on him, depend on't. But she-I tell
you she's a dasher, with the blackest eyes and hair I
ever seen."
"Who~]" fairly screamed Marian.  "Who?   Not
Isabel?  Oh, Ben, is Isabel there?" And.Marian grew
as white as Ben had described Frederic to be.
" Yes she is," returned Ben. " She's pretendin' to
teach that blind gal, but Frederic ain't makin' love to
her-no such thing. So don't go to fabintin' away, and
I'll begin at the beginning and tell you the hull story."
Thus re-assured, Marian composed herself and listened, while Ben narrated every particular of his recent visit to Redstone Hall.
"I stopped at some of the houses in the neighborhood," said he, "but I never as't a question about the
Raymonds, for fear of bein' mistrusted.  Come to
think on't, though, I did inquire the road, and they
sent me through corn fields, and hemp fields, and
mercy knows what; such a way as they have livin' in
the lots?  But I kinder like it.  Seems like a story,
them  big housen way off among the trees, with the
whitewashed cabins round'em lookin' for all the world
like a camp-meetin' in the woods    — "
"Yes,- ye," interrupted Malani; "but Frederic —
won't you ever reach him?"'"Not till I tell you about the dogs, and that jaw.
breakin' chap they call Josh, with his cow hides, big




142                  PLANS.
as a scow-boat, I'll bet," was Ben's answer; and finding it useless to hurry him, Marian summoned all her
patience and waited while he waded through his
introduction to the blacks, his attempt to be more of
a Yankee than he really was, his sliver in his thumb,
and, finally his addressing Frederic as Square and inquiring for his wife!
Marian was all attention now, and held her breath,
lest she should  lose a single word.  When. -he
calne to Isabel, and described her glowing, sparkling
beauty, she trembled in every joint, and felt as if she
were turning to stone; but when he spoke of Alice,
and the sweet, loving words she had said of the lost
one, the cold, hard feeling passed away, and, covering
heri face with her hands, she wept aloud. Everything
which Ben had seen or heard he told, omitting not a
single point, but lengthening out his story with surnises and suspicions of his ownl.
"Alice and Dinah both," said lie, "told me Frederic wouldn't marry till they knew for certain you was
dead, and as he does know for certain, you can calkerlate on that Isabel's bein' an old maid for all of him."
" I never supposed they'd think me drowned when
I dropped my glove and handkerchief," said Marian.' Did they inquire at the depot."
"Yes-so Alice said," returned Ben, "and nobody
knew nothin' of you; so it was nateral they should
think you drownded: but, no matter, it makes it more
like a novel, and now I'll tell you jest what'tis, wee
one, I don't mean no offense, and you must take it all
in good part. You are a great deal better than Isabel,
I know; but, as fur as looks and manners is concerned,
you can't hold a candle to her, and a body knowin' nothing about either would naterally say she was most befittin' Redstun Hall; but, tell'eln to wait a spell. -You
hain't got your growth yet, and you are gettin' betterlookin' every day. That sickness made a wonderful
change in you, and shavini' your hair was jest the
thing. It's comin' out darker, as it always does, and




PLANS.                 143
in less than a year I'll bet my hat on its bein' a beantiful auburn. You must cllirk up and grow fat, for
I'm goin' to send you to school, and have you take lessons on the pianner, and learn French and every thing,
so that by the time you're twenty you'll be thie best
educated and han'somest gal in the city, uld then
when the right time comes, if Providence don't contrive to fetch you two together, Ben Burt will. I shall
keep my eye on hlim, and if he's gettin' too thick with
Isabel, I'll drop a sly hint in his ear. They're goin'
to move up on to the Hudson to the old place-did I
tell you?-and mebby you'll run afoul of him in the
street some day."
"' Oh, I hope not-at least, not yet-not till the time
you speak of," said Marian, who. had listened eagerly
to Benls- suggestion, and already felt that there was
hope for her in the future. She would study so hard,
she thought, and learn so fast, and if she only could
be thought handsome, or even decent-looking, she
would be satisfied, but that was impossible, she feared.
She did not know that, as Ben had said, the severe
illness through which she had passed had laid the
foundation for a softer, more refined style of beauty
than she would otherwise' have reached. Her entire
constitution seemed to have undergone a change, and
now, with hope to buoy her up, she grew stronger,
healthier, and, as a natural consequence, handsomer
each day. She could not erase from her memlory the
insult Frederic had offered her, by writing what she
believed he did, but her affection for him was strong
enough to overlook even that, and she was willing to
wait and labor years if at the end of that time she
could hope to win his love.
Whatever Ben undertook he was sure to accomplish
in tle.shortest possible time, and before starting upon
another peddling excursion, the name of "MAuRIx
GREY" was enrolled amllong the list of pupils who attended Madam Harcourt's school. At first she was
subject to mlany annoyances, for, as was Guite natural,




144                    1 I PLANS.
lher comnpanions inquired concerning her standing, and
when they learned that her aunt was a sewing woman,
anlld that the queer, awkward fellow who catne with lher
the first day was lier cousin and a peddlerl, they
treated her sliglhtingly, and laughed at her plain dress.
13ut Marian did,not care.  One thought-one feelinl
alone actuated her; to make herself something of which
Frederic Raymond should not be ashamned was lher
airn, and for this she studied early and late, winning
g,,lden laurels inl the opinion of her teachers, and comin(r ere long to be respected and loved by her coin]atnions. whlo little suspected that she was the heiress,f untold wealth.
Thus the Summer and a part of the Autumn passed
aIway, and when the semi-annual examination calne,
Marian Grey stood first in all her classes, acquittiilg
hlerself so creditably and receiving so much. praise,
that Ben, who chanced to be present, was perfectly
oveijoyed, and evinced his pleasure by shedding teals,
his usual way of expressing feeling.
Friom this tilne forward Marian's progress was rapid,
nntil even she herself wondered how it were possible
for her to learn so fast wlmhen she had formerly cared so
little fo,r books. Hope, and a joyful anticipation of
wlhat would possibly be hers in the future, kept her up
anlld hlelped her to endulre th}e mental labors which
ilight otllerwise lhave overtaxed her strength.. Gradually, too, the old soreness at her heart wore away,
and she recovered in a measure her former light-heartedness, until at last her merry laugh was often heard
ringing out loud and clear just as it used to do at homne
in days gone by. Very anxiously Ben watched her,
and when on hlis return from  his excursions he found
her, as he always did, improved in looks and spirits,
he rubbed his hands togetller and whispered to himself, " SIhe'll set up for a beauty, yet, and no mistake.
That hair of hern is growin' a splendid color."
He did not always express these thoughts to Marian,
but thle little mirror which hung on the wall in her




PLANS.                 145
room sometimnes whispered to her that the face reflected there was not the same which had looked at her so
mournfully on that memorable night when she had left
her pillow to see what her points of ugliness were!
The one which she had thought the crowning defect of
all had certainly disappeared. Her red curls were
gone, and in their places was growing a mass of soft
wavy hair, which reminded her of the auburn tress she
had so much admired and prized, because it was her
mother's. She had no means of knowing how nearly
they were alike, for the'ringlet was far away, but by
comparing her present short curls with those which
had been shorn from her head, she saw there was a
difference, and she felt a pardonable pride in brushing
and cultivating her young hair, which well repaid her
labor, growing very rapidly and curling anout her
forehead in small, round rings, which were far from
unbecoming.
Toward the last of November, Ben, who found his
peddling profitable, took a trip through Western New
York, and did not return until February, when, somewhat to his mother's annoyance, he brought a sick
stranger with him. He had taken the cars at Albany,
where he met with the stranger, who offered him a
part of his seat and made himself so generally agreeable that Ben's susceptible heart warmed toward him
at once, and when at last, as they drew near New
York, the man showed signs of being seriously ill,
Ben's sympathy was roused, and learning that he had
no friends in the city, he urged him so strongly to accompany him home for the night, at least, that his invition was accepted, and the more readily, perhaps, as
the stranger's pocket had been picked in Albany, and
he had nothing left except his ticket to New York.
This reason was not very satisfactory to Mrs. Burt, who
fronm the first had disliked their visitor's appearance.
He was a powerfully built young man, with black
bushy hair, and restless, rolling eyes, which seemed
ever on the alert to discover something not intended
7




146                  PLANS.
for them  to see. His face wore a hard, dissipated
look; and when Mrs. Burt saw how soon after seating.
himself before the warm fie, he fell asleep, she rightly
conjectured that a fit of drunkenness had been the
cause of his illness. Still, he was their guest, and she
would not treat him uncivilly, so she bade her son to
take him to his room, where he lay in the same deep,
stupid sleep, breathing so loudly that he could be
plainly heard in the adjoining room, where Marian and
Ben were talking of the house at Yonkers which was
not finished yet, and would not be ready for the family
until sometime in May.
Suddenly the loud breathing in the bed-room ceased
-the stranger was waking up; but Ben and Mariana
paid no heed, and talked on as freely as if there were
no greedy ears drinking in each word they said-no
wild-eyed man leaning on his elbow and putting together, link by link, the chain of mystery until it was
as clear to him as noonday. The fiilt sentence which
he heard distinctly sobered him at once. It was Marian
who spoke, and the words she said were, " I wonder
if Isabel Huntington will come with Frederic to
Yonkers."
"Isabel!" the stranger gasped. "What do they
know of her?" and sitting up in bed, he listened until
he learned what they knew of her, and learned, too,
that the young girl whom Ben Burt called his cousin
was the runaway bride from Redstone Hall.
Fiercely the black eyes flashed through the darkness, and the fists smote angrily" together as the
stranger hoarsely whispered:
" The time I've waited for has come at last, and the
proud lady shall be humbled in the very dust I"
It was Rudolph McVicar who thus threatened evil
to Isabel Huntington. He had loved her once, but
her scornful refusal of him, even after she was his
promised wife, had turned his love to hate, and he had
sworn to avenge the wrong should a good chance ever
occur. Ille knew that she was iin Kentucky-a teacher




PLANS.                 14 7
at Redstone Hall-and for a time he had expected to
hear of her marriage with thle heir, but this intelligence
did not come, and weary of New Haven, he at last
made a trip to New Orleans, determining on his way
back to stop for a time in the neighborhood of Redstone Hall, and if possible learn the reason why Isabel
had'not yet succeeded in securing Frederic Raymond.
On the boat in which he took passage on his return
were three or four young people from Franklin county,
and among them Anges Gibson and her brother.
They were a very merry party, and at once attracted
the attention of Rudolph, who, learning that they were
from the vicinity of Frankfort, hovered around them,
hoping that by some chance he might hear them speak
of Isabel. Nor was he disappointed; for one afternoon when they were assembled upon the upper deck,
one of their number who lived in Lexington, and who
had been absent in California for nearly two years, inquired after Frederic Raymond, whom he had formerly
known at school.
"Why," returned the loquacious Agnes, "did no
one write that news to you?" and oblivious entirely
of Rudolph McVicar, who at a little distance was listening attentively, she told the story of Frederic's
strange marriage and its sad denouement. Isabel, too,
was freely discussed, Miss Agnes saying that Mr.
Raymond would undoubtedly marry her, could he
know that Marian was dead, but as there were some
who entertained doubts upon that point he would
hardly dare take any decisive step until uncertainty
was made sure.
"When Miss Huntington first came to Redstone
llall'" continued Agnes, " she took no pains whatever
to conceal her preference for Mr. Raymond; but latterly a change has come over her, and she hardly
appears like the same girl. There seems to be something on her mind, though what it is I have never been
able to learn, which is a little strange, considering that
she tells -me everything,."




148                 PLANS.
Not a word of all this story was lost by McVicar.
There was no reason now for his leaving the boat at
Louisville. He knew why Isabel was not a bride, and
secretly exulting as he thought of her weary restlessness, he kept on his way till he reached Albany, where
a debauch of a few days was succeeded by the sickness
which had awakened the sympathy of the tender-hearted Ben, aldf induced the latter to offer him shelter for
the night. He was glad of it, now —glad that he had
met with Ben, for by that means he had discovered the
hiding-place of Frederic Raymond's wife. He did not
know of her fortune, bat he knew that she was Marian
Lindsey; that accidentally, as he supposed, she had
stumbled upon Mrs. Burt and Ben, who were keeping
her secret frorn the world, and that was enough for
him. That Isabel had something to do with her he
was sure, and long after the conversation in the next
room had ceased, he lay awake thinking what use he
should make of his knowledge, and still not betray
those who had befriended hit..
Rudolph McVicar was an adept in cunning, and
before the morning dawned he had formed a plan by
which he hoped to crush the haughty Isabel. Assumning an air of indifference to everything around him,
lie sauntered out to breakfast, and pretended to eat,
while his eyes rested almost constantly on Marian.
She was very young, he thought, and far prettier than
Agnes Gibson had represented her to be. She was
charnging in her looks, he said, and two or three years
would ripen her into a beautiful wAman of whom
Frederic Raymond would be proud. Much he wished
he knew why she had left Redstone Hall, but as this
knowledge was beyond his reach, he contented himself with knowing who she was, and after breakfast
was over, he thanked his new acquaintances for their
hospitality, and went out into the city, going first to a
pawnbroker's, where lie left his watch, receiving in
exchange money enough to defray his expenses in the
city for several days.




PLANS.                 149
That night, in a private room at the St. N'icholas, he
sat alone, bending over a letter, which, when finished,
bore a very fair resemblance to an uneducated woman's
h'lndwriting, and which read as follows:
M. RAYMOND —  now take my pen in hand to inform
you that A young Woman, calling herself Marian
lindsey has ben staying with me awhile And she said
you was her Husband what she came of and left you
for I don't know and I spose its none of my Biznes all
I have to do is to tell you that she died wun week ago
come sunday with the cankerrash and she lnade me
Promise to rite and tell you she was ded and that she
forgives you all your Sins and hope you wouldn't wate
long before you marred agen it would of done your
Hart good to hear her taulk like a Sante as she did.
I should of writ soonner only her sicknes hindered me
about gettin reddy for a journey ime goin to take my
only Brother lives in scotland and ime goin out to live
with him i was most reddy when Marian took sick if
she had lived she was coming back to you I bleave
and now'that shes ded ime going rite of in the
which sales tomorrough nite else ide ask you to come
down and see where she died and all about it. i made
her as coinfitable as I could and hopin you wouldnt
take it to hard for Deth is the Lot of all i am your
most Humble Servant             SAiaH GREEN.
"There," soliloquized Rudolph, reading over the
letter. "That covers the whole ground, and still gives
him no clue in case he should come to New York.
The       does sail the very day I have named, and
though'Sarah Green' may not be among her passengers, it answers my purpose quite as well. I believe I've steered clear of all doubtful points which
might lead him to suspect it a forgery. He knows
Marian'would not attempt to deceive him thus, and he
will, undoubtedly, think old Mrs. Green some good
soul, who dosed the patient with saffron tea. and then




150                rPLANS.
saw her decently interred  He'll have a nice time
hunting up her grave if he should undertake that. But
he won't —he'll be pleased enough to know that he is
free, for by all accounts he didn't love her much, and
in less than six weeks he'll be engaged to Isabel. But
I'll be on their track. I'll watch them narrowly, and
when the day is set, and the guests are there, one will
go unbidden to the marriage feast, and the story that
uninvited guest can tell will humble the proud beauty
to the dust. fie will tell her that this letter was a
forgery, and Sarah Green a myth: that Marian Lindsey lives, and Frederic Raymond, if he takes another
wife, can be indicted for bigamy; and when he sees
her eyes flash fire, and her cheek grow pale with
rage and disappointment, Rudolph McVicar will be
avenged."
This, then, was the plan which Rudolph had formed,
and, without wavering for an instant in his purpose,
he sealed the letter, and directing it to Frederic, sent
it on its way, going himself the next morning to New
Haven, where he had some money deposited in the
bank. This he withdrew, and after a few days started
for Lexington, where he intended to remain and watch
the proceedings at Redstone Hall, until the denouement of his plot.




CHAPTER XIV.
T HE  E  F FE C T.
NOT quite one year has passed away since the warm
Spring night when Ben Burt first strolled leisurely up
the long avenue leading to Redstone Hall. It was
April, then, and the early flowers were in bloom, but
now the chill March winds are blowing, and the brown
stocks of the tall rose-tree brush against the window,
from which a single light streams out into the darkness. It is the window of the little library where we
have seen Frederic before, and where we meet him
once again.  He has changed somewhat since we saw
him last, and there is upon his face a sad, thoughtful
expression, as if far down in his heart there were
a haunting memory which would follow him through
all time, and embitter every hour.
Little by little, step by step, he had come to hate
the wealth which had tempted him to sin —to loathe
the beautiful home he once loved so well-and this
had prompted him to leave it and go back to the old
house on the river, where his early boyhood was
passed. There were not so many mournful memories
clustering around that spot, he thought, and if he once
were there, he might perhaps forget the past, and be
happy again. He would open an office in the city, and
if possible earn his own living, so as not to spend more
of Marian's fortune than was necessary. He could not
tell why he wished to save it. He only knew that he
could not bear to use it, and he roused himself at last,
determining to do something for himself. This plan




152               THE EFFECT.
Of moving to the Hudson was opposed by Isabel, who
liked the easy, luxurious life she led at Redstone Hall;
but, for once, Frederic would not listen to her, and lihe
had made his arrangements to leave Kentucky in May,
at which time his house would be in readiness to receive him. Isabel would go with him, of course-she
was necessary to him now, though, faithful to the promise made to little Alice, he had never talked to her
of love. And she was glad that he had not; for, with
the knowledge she possessed, she would not have dared
to listen to his suit, and she often questioned herself
as to what the end would be.
One year or more of the dreary seven was gone, but
the future looked almost hopeless to her, and she was
sometimes tempted to go away and leave the dangerous game at which she was so hazardously playing.
Still, when she seriously contemplated such a proceeding, she shrunk from it-for, even though she were
never Frederic's wife, she would rather remain where
she was, and see that no other came to dispute the little claim she had. All her assurance was gone, and
in her dread lest Frederic should say the words she
must not hear, she assumed toward him a half distant,
half bashful manner, far more attractive than a bolder
course of conduct would have been, and Frederic,
while watching her in this new phase of character,
struggled manfully against the feeling which sometimes pronipted him to break his promise to the blind
girl. She was faulty, he knew-far more so than he
had once imagined-but she was brilliant, beautiful,
accomplished, and he thought that he loved her.
But not of her was he thinking that chill March
night when he sat alone in the library watching the
flickering of the lamp, and listening to the evening
wind, as it shook the bushes beneath his window. It
was Marian's seventeenth birth-day, and he was thinking of her, wondering what she would have been had
she lived to see this day.  She was surely dead,
he thought, or some tidings of her would have come to




THE EFFECT.               153
him ere this, and when he remembered how gentle,
how pure and self-denying her short life had been. he
said involuntarily, " Poor Marian-she deserved a better fate, and should she come back to me again I would
prove to her that I am not all unworthy of her love."
There was a shuffling tread in the hall, and Josh
appeared bringing several letters.  One bore the
Louisville post-mark —one was from New Orleans —
one from Lexington, and one from Sarah Green I
"Who writes to me from New York?" was Ferderic's mental query, and tearing open the wrapper he
drew nearer to him the lamp and read, while there
crept over him a nameless terror as if even while he
was thinking of the lost, the grave had opened at his
feet and shown him where she lay; not in the moaning river-not in the deep, dark woods, nor on the
western prairies, ashe had sometimes feared, but far
away in the great city, where there was no one to pity
-no eye to weep for her save that of the rude woman
who had written him the letter.
There Marian had suffered and died for him. His
Marian-his young girl-wife! He could call her so
now, and he did, saying it softly, reverently, as we
speak always of the departed, while the tears he was
not ashamed to weep, dropped upon the soiled sheet.
He did not think of doubting it. There was no reason
why he should, and his heart went out after the dead
as it had never gone after the living. It seemed to
him so terrible that she should die among strangers, so
far from home; and he wondered much how she ever
chanced to get there. She had remembered him to
tile last, " forgiving all his sins," the woman said, and
knowing how much those few words meant, he said
again, "Poor Marian," just as the door opened and
Alice came slowly in.
There was a grand party that night at the house of
Lawyer Gibson, and at Isabel's iequest Alice had come
to ask how long befbre the carriage would be ready.
Dinah had told her that Frederic was in the library.




154               T'ME EFFECT.
bat he sat so still she thought he was not there, and she
said inquiringly, " Frederic "
"Yes, darling," was his answer in a tone which
startled the sensitive child, for she detected in it a
sound of tears, and hurrying to his side she passed her
hand over his face to assure herself that she heard
aright.
"  as something dreadful happened?" she asked, as
she felt the moisture on his eye-lids.
Taking her on his lap, and laying his burning cheek
against her cool forehead, Frederic said to her very
tenderlly and low:
"Alice, poor Marian is dead! Here is the letter
which cane to to tell us," and he placed it in her hand.
There was a sudden upward flashing of the brown
eyes, and then their soft light was quenched in tears,
as, burying her face in the young mnatn's bosom, the
blind girl sob)led, " Oh, no, no, Frederic, no."
For several minutes she wept passionately, while her
little frame shook with strong emotion. Then lifting
up her head and reaching toward the spot where she
knew the letter lay, she said:
"Read it to me, Frederic," and he did read, pausing
occa'sionally as he was interrupted by her low moaning cry.
"Is that all?" she asked, when he had finished.' Didn't you leave out a word a?"
" Not one," was his reptly, and with quivering lips
the heart-broken child continued, "Marian sent no
message for poor blind Alice to remember-she never
tlhouglht of me who loved her so much. Why didn't
she, Frederic?" and the sightless eyes looked beseechingly at him as if he could explain the mystery.
Poor child! Rudolph McVicar did not know how
strong was the affection between those two young
girls, or he would surely have sent a message to one
who seemed almost a part of Marian herself, and it
was this very omission which finally led the close reasoning child to doubt the truth of the letter. Bult she




THE EFFECT.              155
did not doubt it now. Marian was really dead to her,
and for a long time she sat with Frederic, saying nothing, but by her silence manifesting to him how great
was her grief at this sudden bereavement.
At last remembering her errand, she told him why
she had come, and asked what she should say to
Isabel.
"Tell her I shall not go," he said, "but she need'
not remain at home for that. The carriage can be
ready at any time, and Alice will tell her the rest?
You'll do it better than I."
Alice would rather that some one else should carry
to Isabel tidings which she felt intuitively would be
received with more pleasure than pain, but if Frederic
requested it of her she would do it, and she started to
return. To her the night and the day were the sanle,
and ordinarily it mattered not whether there were
lamps in the hall or not, but now, as she passed from
the library into the adjoining room, there came over
her a feeling of such utter loneliness and desolation
that she turned back and said to Frederic:
"Will you go with me up the stairs, for now that
IMarian is dead, the night is darker than it ever was
before."
He appreciated her feelings, and taking per by the
hand, led her to the door of Isabel's room. Very impatiently Isabel had waited for her, wishing to know
what hour Frederic intended starting, and if there
would be time for Luce, her waiting maid, to curl her
long, black hair. Accidentally she had overheard a
gentleman say that if she wore curls she would be the
most beautiful woman in Kentucky, and as he was to
be present at the party she determined to prove his
assertion.
" I hope that young one stays well," she said, angrily,
as the moments went by, and at last, as Alice did not
come, she bade Luce put the iron in the fire, and commence her operations.
The negress accordingly obeyed the orders, and six




156               THE EFFErT.
long curls were streaming down the lady's back, while
a seventh was wound around the hissing iron in close
proximity to her ear, when Alice came in, and hurrying up to her side, began:
"( Oh, Miss Huntington, poor, dear Marian wasn't
dead all the time they thought she was. She was in
New York, with Mrs.
She did not finish the sentence; for, feeling certain
that her treachery was about to be disclosed, the guilty
isabel jumped so suddenly as to bring the hot iron
directly across her ear and a portion of her forehead.
Maddened with the pain, and a dread of impending
disgrace, she struck the innocent girl a blow which
sent her reeling across the floor.
" Oh, Lordy!" exclaimed Luce, untwisting the hair
so rapidly that a portion of it was torn from the head
--  oh, Lordy! Miss Isabel, Alice never tached you;"
and, throwing the iron upon the hearth, she hurried to
the prostrate child, who had thrown herself upon the
lounge and was sobbing so loud and hysterically that
Isabel herself was alarmed, and while bathing her
blistered ear, tried to stammer out some apology for
what she had done.' I supposed you carelessly ran against me," she
said; "and it hurt me so I didn't know what I was
doing. Piay, don't cry that way. You'll raise the
house;" and she took hold of Alice's shoulder.
" I wish she would," muttered Luce; and, stooping
down, she whispered: " Screech louder, so as to`fotch
Marster Frederic, and tell him jest how she done
sarved you!"
But nothing could be further from Alice's mind than
crying for effect. It was not so much the indignity
slle had suffered, nor yet the pain of the blow which
made her weep so bitterly. It was rather the utter
sense of desolation, the feeling that her last hope had
drifted away with the certainty of Marian's death, and
for a time she wept on passionately; while Isabel, with
a hurricane in her bosom, walked the floor, wondering




THE EFFECT.               157
if her perfidy would ever be discovered, and feeling
that she cared but little now whether it were, or not.
Suspense was terrible, and when the violence of Alice's
sobs had subsided, she said to her:
"Where is Marian, and when is she coming home?"
" Oh, never, never 1" answered the child. "She
can't come back, for she's dead now, Marian is;" and
Alice covered her face again with her hands.
"Dead I" exclaimed Isabel, in a far different voice
from that in which she had spoken before. " What do
you mean?" and passing her arm very caressingly
around the little figure lying on the lounge, she continued: "I am sorry I struck you, Alice. I didn't
know what I was doing, and you must forgive me, will
you, darling? There, dry your eyes, and tell me all
about poor Marian. When did she die, and where?"
As well as she could for her tears, Alice told what
she knew, and satisfied that she was in no way implicated, Isabel became still more amiable, even speaking
pleasantly to Luce and telling her she might do what
she pleased the remainder of the evening.
" Of course I shouldn't think of attending the party
now, even if I were not so dreadfully burned. Poor
Frederic! how badly he must feel 1"
"He does," said Alice, " and he cried, too."
Isabel curled her proud lip contemptuously, and dipping her handkerchief again in the water, she applied
it to her blistered ear, thinking to herself that he
would probably be easily consoled. It would be proper, too, for her to commence the consoling process at
once, by expressing her sympathy; and leaving Alice
alone she went to the library where Frederic still was
sitting, so absorbed in his own sad reflections that he
did not observe her approach until she said, " Alice
tells me you have heard from Marian," then lie started
suddenly, and turning toward her, answered, "Yes,
you can read what is written here if you like," and lihe
passed her McVicar's letter.
It did seem to Isabel that there was something fa



158               THE EFFECT.
miliar about the writing, particularly in the formation
of the capitals, but she suspected no fraud, and accepted
the whole as coming from Sarah Green.
"This is some new acquaintance Marian picked
up," she thought. " The woman speaks of having
known her but a short time. Probably she left Mrs.
Daniel Burt and stumbled upon Sarah Green," and
with an exultant smile upon her beautiful face, she put
the letter down, and laying her hand very lightly on
Frederic's shoulder, said, "I am sorry for you, Prederic, though it is better, of course, to know just what
did become of the poor girl."
Frederic could not tell why it was that Isabel's
words of sympathy grated harshly on his ear. lie only
knew that they did, and he was glad when she left him
alone, telling him she should not, of course, attend the
party, and saying in reply to his question as to what
ailed her ear, that Luce, who was curling her hair,
carelessly burned it.' By the way," she continued, "when I felt the hot
iron, I jumped and throwing out my hand accidentally
hit Alice on her head, and, if you'll believe me, the
sensitive child thinks I intended it, and has almost
cried herself sick."
This falsehood she deemed necessary, in case the
truth of the matter should ever reach Frederic through
another channel, and feeling confident that she was
safe in every respect, and that the prize she so much
coveted was nearly won, she left him and sought her
mother's chamber.
In the kitchen the news of Marian's, certain death
was received with noisy demonstrations-old Dinah
and Itetty trying hard to outdo each other, and see
which should shed the most and the biggest tears.
The woollen aprons of both were brought into constant
requisition, while Hetty rang so many changes upon
the virtues of the departed that Uncle Phil became
disgusted, and said " for his part he'd hearn enough'bout dead folks. He liked Miss Marian as wal-AW




THE EFFECT.               159
anybody, but he did up his mournin' them times that
lie wet hisself to the skin a tryin' to fish her out of the
river. lIe thought his heart would bust then, though
he knew all the time she wasn't thar, and he told'em
so, too. He knew she'd run away to New York, acid
lhe allus s'posed they'd hear she died summers at the
South. He wan't disappointed. He could tell by his
feelin's when anything was gwine to happen, and for
more'n a week back hl'd had it on his mind that Miss
Mnarian was dead-they couldn't fool him I" and satisfied that he had impressed his audience with a sense
of his foreknowledge, Uncle Phil pulled off his boots
and started for bed, leaving Dinah and Hetty to discuss the matter at their leisure and speculate upon the
probable result.
" I can tell you," said Dinah, "it won't be no time
at all afore Marster'll be settin' to that Isabel, and if
he does, I'clar for't I'll run away, or hire out, see if I
don't. I ain't a goin' to be sassed by none of yer low
flung truck and hey'em carryin' the keys. She may
jest go back whar she come from, and I'll tell her so,
too. I'll gin her a piece of my mind."
"She is gwine back," suggested Hetty, who, faithful
to the memory of Miss Beatrice, admired Isabel on account of a fancied resemblance between the two.
" Don't you mind how Marster is a gwine to move up
to sonlewhar?"
"That's nothin'," returned Dinah., "They'll come
back in the Fall, but I shan't be here. I'll hire myself out, and you kin be the head a spell."
This prospect' was not an unpleasant one to Hetty,
who looked with a jealous eye upon Dinah's rather
superior position, and as a sure means of attaining the
object of her ambition and becoming in turn the favorite, she warmly espoused the cause of Isabel, aid
waged many a battle of words with Dinah, who took
no pains to conceal her dislike. Thus two or three
weeks went by, and as nothing occurred to cause
Dinah immediate alarml, her fears gradually subsided,




160                THE EFFECT.
until at last she forgot them altogether, while even
Marian ceased to be a daily subject of conversation.
To Frederic reality was more endurable than suspense, for he could look the future in the tface and
think what he would do. He was free to marry Isabel, he believed; but, as was quite natural, he cared
less about it now than when there was an obstacle in
his way. There was no danger of losing her, he was
sure, and he could wait as long as he pleased I Once
he thought of going to New York to make some
inquiries, and if possible find Marian's grave, but when
lie reflected that Sarah Green was on the ocean, even
before her letter reached Kentucky, he decided to defer the matter until their remnoval to Yonkers, which
was to take place about the middle of May. Isabel,
too, had her own views upon the subject. There no
longer existed a reason why Frederic should not address her, and in her estimation nothing could be more
proper than to christen the new home with a bride.
So she bent all her energies to the task, smiling her
sweetest smile, saying her softest words, and playing
the amiable lady to perfection.  But it availed her
nothing, and she determined at last upon a bolder
movement.
Finding Frederic alone in the parlor, one day, she
said:
"I suppose it will not affect you materially if
mother and I leave when you remove to Yonkers.
Agnes Gibson, you know, is soon to be married, and
she has invited nme to go with her to Florida, where,
she says, I can procure a good situation as musicteacher, and mother wishes to go back to New Haven."
The announcement, and the coolness with which it
was made, startled Frederic, and he replied, rather
anxiously:
"I have never contemplated a separation. I shall
need your mother there more than I do here, for I
shall not have Dinah."




TEE EFFECT.               161
"Perhaps you can persuade her to stay, but I think
it best for me to go," returned Isabel, delighted with
her success.
Frederic Raymond did not wish Isabel to leave
him, and, after a moment, he said:
"Why must you go, Isabel?  Do you wish for a
larger salary?  Are you tired of us-of me?"  And
the last words were spoken hesitatingly, as if he
doubted the propriety of his saying them.
"Oh, Frederic!" and in the soft, black eyes raised
ior an instant to his face, and then modestly withdrawn,
there was certainly a tear! "Oh, Frederic!" was all
she said, and Frederic felt constrained to answer:
"What is it, Isabel? Why do you wish to go?"
"I don't-I don't," she answered, passionately;
"but respect for myself demands it.  People are
already talking about my living here with you; and
now poor Marian is dead and you are a widower, it
will be tenfold worse. I wish they would let us alonre,
for I have been so happy here and am so much
attached to Alice. It will almost break my heart to
leave her!"
Isabel Huntington was wondrously beautiful then,
and Frederic Raymond was sorely tempted to bid her
stay, not as Alice's governess, nor yet as the daughter
of his housekeeper, but as his wife and mistress of his
house. Several times he tried to speak, and at last,
crossing over to where she sat, he began-" Isabel, I
have never heard that people were talking of you;
there is no reason why they should, but if they are I
can devise a method of stopping it and still keeping
you with us. I have never spoken to you of-" love,
lie was going to say, and the graceful head was already
bent to catch the sound, when a little voice chimed in,
"Please, Frederic, I am here," and looking up they
saw before them Alice.
Shle had entered unobserved and was standing just
within the door, where she heard what Frederic said.
Intuitively she felt what would follow next, and




162               TEE EFFECT.
scarcely knowing what she did, she naa apprised them
of her presence.
"The brat!" was Isabel's mental comment, while
Frederic was sensible of a feeling of relief, as if he had
suddenly wakened from a spell, or been saved from
some great peril. For several moments Isabel sat,
hoping Alice would leave the room, but she did not,
and in no very amiable mood the lady was herself constrained to go, by a call from her mother, who wished
to see her on some trivial matter.
When she was gone, Alice groped her way to the
sofa, and climbing upon it said to Frederic, "Won't
you read me that letter again which Mrs. Green wrote
to you?"
He complied with her request, and when he had finished, the child continued, " If Marian had really died,
wouldn't she have sent some message to me, and
wouldn't that woman have told us how she happened
to be way off there, and all about it 2"
" If iMariatn really died!" repeated Fredteic. " Do
you doubt it?"
" Yes," returned the child, " Marian loved me most
as well as she did you, and she surely would have
talked of me and sent me some word; then, too, is
there much difference between scarlet fever and canker-rash?  Don't some folks call it by both names?"
"I I believe they do," said Frederic, wondering to what
all this was tending.
"Marian had the scarlet fever, and I, too, just after
I camne here," was Alice's next remark. "You were
at college, but I remember it, and so does Dinah, for I
asked her a little while ago. Can folks have it twice?"
and the blind eyes looked up at Frederic, as if sure
that this last argument at least were proof conclusive
of Marian's existence.
" Sometimes, but not often," answered Frederic, the
shadow of a doubt creeping into his own mind.
"And if they do," persisted Alice, who had been
consulting with Dinah-" if they do, they seldom have




THE EFFECT.               163
it hard enough to die, so Dinah says; and I don't believe that was a good, true letter. Somebody wrote it,
to be wicked. Marian is alive, I almost know."
"Must you see her dead body, to be convinced?"
asked Frederic, a little impatiently; and Alice rejoined:
"No, no; but somnehow it don't seem right for you
to-to-oh, Frederic!" and, bursting into tears, she
came at once to the root of the whole matter.
She had thought a great deal about the letter, wondering why Marian had failed to speak of her, and at
last rejecting it as an impossibility. Suddenly, too,
she remembered that once, when she and Marian were
sick, she heard some of the neighbors speak of their
disease as scarlet fever, while others called it the canker-rash; and all united in saying they could have it
but once. This had led to inquiries of Dinah, and had
finally resulted in her conviction that MIarian might
possibly be living. Full of this new idea, she had hastened to Frederic, and accidentally overheard what he
was saying to Isabel. She comprehended it, too, and
knew that but for her unexpected presence he would,
perhaps, have asked the lady to be his wife, and she
felt again as if Marian were there urging her to stand
once more between Frederic and temptation. All this
she told to him, and the proud, haughty man, who
would have spurnled a like interference from any other
source, listened patiently to the pleadings of the childish voice, which said to him so earnestly:
"Don't let Isabel be your wife!"
"What objection have you to her?" he asked; and
when she replied, " She isn't good," he questioned her
further as to the cause of her dislike-" was there
really a reason, or was it mere prejudice?"
" 1 try to like her," said Alice, "and sometimes I do
real well, but she don't act alone with me like she does
when you are round. She'll be just as cross as fury,
and if you come in, she'll smooth my hair and call me'little pet.'"




164              TIlE EFFECT.
" Does she ever strike you?" asked Frederic, feeling
a desire to hear Alice's version of that story.
Instantly tears came in Alice's eyes, and she replied,
"Only once —and she said she didn't mean that-but,
Frederic, she did," and in her own way Alice told the
story, which sounded to Mr. Raymond more like the
truth than the one he had heard fromn Isabel.  Gradually the conviction was forcing itself upon him that
Isabel was not exactly what she seemed. Still he
could not suddenly shake off the chain which bound
him, and when Alice said to him in her odd, straightforward way, " Don't finish what you were saying to
Is-lbel until you've been to New York and t'ound if the
letter is true," he answered, " Fie, Alice, you are unreasonable to ask such a thing of me. Marian is dead.
I have fo doubt of it, and I am free from the promise
made to you more than a year since."
"' May be she isn't," was Alice's reply, " and if she
is, we shall both feel better, if you go and see. Go,
Frederic, do. It won't take long, and if you find she
is really dead, I'll never speak another naughty word
of Isabel, but try to love her just as I want to love
your wife. Will you go, Frederic?  I heard you say
you ought to see the house before we moved, and
Yonkers is close to New York, isn't it V"
This last argument was more convincing than any
which Alice had offered, for Frederic had left the entire management of repairs to one whom he knew
understood subh matters better than himself, consequently he had not been there at all, and he had
several times spoken of going up to see that all was
right. Particularly would he wish to do this if he
took thither a bride in May, and to Alice's suggestion
he replied, "I might, perhaps, do that for thesake of
gratifying you."
" Oh, if you only would!" answered Alice. "' You'll
find her somewhere-I know you will-and then you'll
be so glad you went."
Frederic was not quite so sure of that, but it. was




TEE EFFECT.              165
safe to go, and while Isabel had been communicating
to her mother what he had been saying to her, and
asking if it were not almost a proposal, he was deciding
to start for New York immediately. Alice's reasons
for doubting the authenticity of the letter seemed more
and more plausible the longer he thought of them,
and at supper that night he astonished both Mrs.
Huntington and daughter by saying that he was going
North in a few days, and he wished the former to see
that his wardrobe was in a proper condition for traveling. Isabel's face grew dark as night, and the wratlhfill expression of her eyes was noticable even to him.
"' There is a good deal of temper there," was his mental
comment, while Isabel feigned some trivial excuse and
left the room to hide the anger she knew was visible
upon her face. He had commenced proposing to her,
shle was sure, and he should not leave Redstone Hall
until he explained himself more fully. Still it would
not be proper for her to broach the subject —her
mother must do that. It was a parent's duty to see
that her daughter's feelings were not trifled with, and
by dint of cajolery, entreaties and threats, she induced
the old lady to have a talk with Frederic, and ask him
what his intentions were.
Mrs. Huntington was not very lucid in her remarks,
and without exactly knowing what she meant, Frederic
replied at random that he was in earnest in all he had
said to Isabel about her remaining there, that he did
not wish her to go away for she seemed one of the
family, and that he would sleak with her further upon
the subject when he came back. This was not very
definite, but Mrs. Huntington brushed it up a little ere
repeating it to Isabel, who readily accepted it as an intimnation that after his return, he intended asking her
directly to be his wife. Accordingly she told Agnes
Gibson confidentially what her expectations were, and
Agnes told it confidentially to several others, who had
each a confidential friend, and so in course of a few
days it was generally understood that, Redstone Hall




166               THE EFFECT.
was to have another mistress  Agnes in particular was
very busy disseminating news, hoping by this means
to turn the public gossip from herself and the whitehaired man, or rather theplantation in Florida, which
she was soon to marry. In spite of her protestations
to the contrary people would say that money and not
love actuated her choice, and she was glad of anything
which would give her a little rest. So she repeated
Isabel's story again and again, charging each and every
one never to mention it and consulting between-times
with her bosom friend as to what her arrangements
were, and suggesting that they be married on the same
day and so make the same tour. On the subject of
bridal presents Agnes had a kind of mania, and knowing this, some of her friends, who lived at a distance
and could not be present at the ceremony, sent their's
in advance-several of them as a matter of course deciding upon the same thing, so that in Agnes' private
drawer fhere were now deposited three fish knives and
forks, all of which were the young lady's particular
aversion. She would dispose of one of them at all
hazards, she thought, and receive more than an equivalent in return, so she began to pave the way for a
costly bridal present from the future Mrs. Frederic
Raymond, by hinting of an elegantfish knife andfork,
which in its satin-lined box would look handsomely
upon the table, and Isabel, though detesting the article
and thinking she should prefer almost anything else,
said she was delighted, and when her friend came
home fiorn the south, she should invite her to dinner
certainly once a week.
This arrangement wae generally understood, as were
many others of a similar nature, until at last even the
bridal dress was selected, and people said it was making in Lexington, where Frederic was well known,
and where the story of his supposed engagement circulated rapidly, reaching to the second-rate hotel where
Rudolph McVicar was a boarder.  Exultingly his
wild eyes fashed, and when he heard, as he did, that




THE EFFECT.               167
the wedding was fixed for the 20th of May, which he
knew was Isabel's birthday, he counted the hours
which must elapse ere the moment of his tritumnph
came. And while he waited thus, and rumor, with
her lying tongue, told each day some fresh falsehood
of "that marriage in high life," Frederic Raymond
went on his way, and with each milestone passed, drew
nearer, and nearer to the lost one —the Marian who
would stand between him and Isabel.




CHAPTER XV.
THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
" MARIAN," said Ben, one pleasant April morning,
"Frederic's house is finished in tip-top style, and if
you say so, we'll go out and take a look. It will do
you good to see the old place once more and know
just how things are fixed.'
"Oh, I'd like it so much," returned Marian, "but
what if I should fall upon Frederic?"
-" No danger," answered Ben; " the man who has
charge of everything told me he wasn't comin' till
May, and the old woman who is tendin' to things
knows I have seen Mr. Raymond, for I told her so,
and she won't think nothin'; so clap on your clothes
in a jiff, for we've barely time to reach the cars."
Marian did not hesitate long ere deciding to go, and
in a few moments they were in the street. As they
were passing the.   IHotel, Ben suddenly left her,
and running up the steps spoke to one of the servants
with whom he was acquainted. Returning ere long,
he said, by way of apology, "I was in there last, night
to see Jim, and he told me there was a man took sick
with a ravin' fever, pretty much like you had when you
bit your tongue most in two."
Marian shuddered involuntarily, and without knowing why, felt a deep interest in the stranger, thinking
how terrible it was to be sick and alone in a crowded,
noisy hotel.
"Is he better i" she asked, and Ben replied, "No,




THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.         169
ten times wus-he'll die most likely. But hurry uphere's the omnibus we want," and in the excitement
of securing a seat, they both forgot the sick man.
Tie trip to Yonkers was a pleasant one, for to Marian it seemed like going home, and when, after reaching the station, they entered the lumbering stage and
wound slowly up the long, steep hill, she recognized
nmany familiar way marks, and drawing her vail over
her face, wept silently as she remembered all she had
passed through since the night when Col. Raymond
first took her up that same long hill, and told her by
the way, of his boy Frederic, who would be delighted
with a sister. The fond old man was dead now, and
she, the little girl he had loved so much, was a sad
lonely woman, going back to visit the spot which had
been so handsomely fitted up without a thought of
her.
The house itself was greatly changed, but the view
it commanded of the river and the scenery beyond
was the same, and leaning against a pillar Marian
tried to fancy that she was a child again and listening
fir the bold footsteps of the handsome, teasing boy,
once her terror and her pride.  But all in vain she
listened: the well-remembered foot-fall did not come:
the handsome boy was not there, and even had he
been, she would scarcely have recognized him in the
haughty, elegant young man, her husband. Yes, he was
her husband, and she repeated the name to herself, and
when at last Ben touched her on the shoulder, saying,
" I have told Mliss Russell my sister was here, and she
says you can go over the house," she started as if waking from a dream.
" Let us go through the garden first," she said, as
she led the way to the maple tree where summers
before che had built her little play-house, and whero
on the bark, just as high as his head then came, the
name of Frederic was cut.
Far below it, and at a point which her red curls
had reached, there was another name-her own-and




170         THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
Frederic's jack-knife had made that, too, while she
stood by anld said to him, " I wish I was Marian Raymond, instead of Marian Lindsey."
How distinctly she remembered the characteristic
reply:
" If you should happen to be my wife, you would be
Marian Raymond; but pshaw, I shall imarry a great
deal prettier woman than you will ever -be, and youn
mnay live with us if you want to, and take care of the
children. I mean to have a lot!"
She had not thought of this speech in years, but it
come back to her vividly now, as did many other
things which had occurred there long ago.  Within
the house everything was changed, but they had no
trouble in identifying the different rooms, and she lingered long in the one she felt sure was intended for
Frederic himself, sitting in the chair where she knew
he would often sit, and wondering if, while sitting
there, he would ever think of her.  Perhaps he might
be afraid of meeting her accidentally in New York, and
so he would seldom come there; or, if he did, it would
be after dark, or when she was not in the street, and
thus she should possibly never see him, as she hoped
to do. The thought was a sad one, and never before
had the gulf between herself and Frederic seemed so
utterly impassible as on that April morning when, in
his room and his arm chair, the girl-wife sat and questioned the dark future of what it had in store for her.
Once she was half tempted to leave some monmelto
-something which would tell Iim she had been there.
Sne spurneT the idea as soon as formed.  She would
not intrude herself upon him a second time, and rising
at last, she arranged the furniture more to her taste,
changed the position of a picture, moved the mirror
into a perfect angle, set Frederic's chair before the
window looking out upon the river, and then, standing
in the door, fancied that she saw him, with his handsome face turned to the light, and his rich brown hair
shading his white brow. At his feet, and not far away




THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.          171
was a little stool, and if she could only sit there once,
resting her head upon his knee and hear him speaking
to her kindly, affectionately, she felt that she woull
gladly die, and leave to another the caresses she could
never hope to receive.
Isabel's chamber was visited next, and Marian's
would have been less than a woman's nature could
she have looked, without a pang, upon the costly furniture and rare ornaments which had been gathered
there. In the disposal of the furniture there was a
lack of taste-a decidedly Mrs. Russell air; but Marian had no wish to interfere.  There was something
sickening in the very atmosphere of her rival's apartment, and with a long, deep sigh, she turned away
-Qpening the door of an adjoining chamber, she stood
for a moment motionless, while her lips moved nervously, for she knew  that this was Alice's room,  It
was smaller than the others, and with its neat white furniture, seemed well- adapted to the pure, sinless child
who was to occupy it.  Here too, she tarried long,
gazing, through blinded tears, upon the1ittle rockingchair just fitted to Alice's form, looping up the soft
lace custains, brushing the dust from the marble mantle, and patting lovingly the snowy pillows, for the
sake of the tfair head which would rest there some
night.
i' There are no flowers here," said she, glancing at
the tiny vases on the stand. "Alice is fond of flowers, and though they will be withered ere she comes,
she will be sure to find them, and who knows but their
faint perfume may femind her of me," and going out
into the garden she gathered some hyacinths and violets which she made into boqnets and placed them ill
the vases, and bidding the old worlan change the
water every day, until they began to fade, and then
leave them to dry until the blind girl caine.  "Ben
told me of her; he once staid at Redstone 1all all
night," she said, in answer to the woman's inquiring




172         THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
look. "I e says she is a sweet young creature, and I
thought flowers might please her."
"Fresh ones would," returned Mrs. Russell "but
them that's withered ain't no use. S'pose I fling'em
away when they get old and put in some new the day
she comes?
" No, no, not for the world, leave them as they are,"
and Marian spoke so earnestly that the old lady promised compliance with her request.
"Be you that Yankee peddler's sister," she asked,
as she followed Marian down the stairs. "If you be,
nater cut up a curis caper with one or t'other of you,
for you ain't no more alike than nothin'."
" I believe I do not resemble him much, was Marian's evasive answer, as with a farewell glance at the
old place, she bade Mrs. Russell good-by and went
with Ben to the gate where the stage was waiting to
take them back to the depot.
It was dark wheel they reached New York, and as
they passed the       Hotel a second time, Marian
spoke of the sick man, and wondered how he was.
"I might go in and see," said Ben, "but it's so
late I guess I won't, particularly as he's nothin' to us."
"' But he's something to s6rnebody," returned Marian,
and as she followed on after Ben, her thoughts turned
continually upon him, wondering if he had a mother
— a sister-or a wi'e. and if they knew how sick he
was.
While thus reflecting they reached home, where
they found MIrs. Burt entertaining a visitor-a Martha
Gibbs, who for some time had been at the      Hotel, in the capacity of chamber-maid, but who was to
leave there the next day. Martha's parents lived in
the same New England village where Mis. Burt had
foibrnerly resided, and the two thus became acquainted,
ilartha mlaking Mrs. Burt the depository of all her little secrets and receiving in return much motherly advice. She was to be married soon, and though her
destination was a log house in the West, and her bri



THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.        173
dal trousseau consisted merely of three dresses-a silk,
a delaine and a calico-it was an affair of great consequence to her, and she had come as usual to talk it
over with Mrs. Burt, feeling glad at the absence of Ben
and Marian, the latter of whom she supposed was an
orphan neice of her friend's husband. The return of
the young people operated as a restraint upon her, and
changing the conversation, she spoke at last of a sick
man who was up in the third story in one of the
rooms of which she had the charge.
"He had the typhoid fever," she said, "and was
raving distracted with his head. They wanted some
good experienced person to take care of limn, and had
asked her to stay, she seemed so handy, but she
couldn't. John wouldn't put their wedding off, she
knew, and she must go, though she did pity the poor
young mani-he raved and took on so, asking theln if
anybody had seen.Marian, or knew where she was
buried!"
Up to this point Marian had listened, because shu
knew it was the same man of whom Ben had told her
in the morning; but now the pulsations of her heart
stopped, her head grew dizzy, her brain whirled, and
she was conscious of nothing except that Ben made a
hurried movement and then passed his arm around her,
while he held a cup of water to her lips, sprinkling
somne upon her face, and saying, in a natural voice,
" Don't you want a drink? My walk made me awful
dry."
It was dark in the room, foro the lamp was not yet
lighted, and thus Martha did not see the side-play
going on.  She only knew that Ben was offering Marian some water; but Mrs. Burt understood it, and,
when sure that Marian would not faint, she said:
"' Where did the young man come from, and what is
his name?  Do you know 2"
"He registered himself as F. Raymond, Franklin,
County, Kentucky," returned the girl; " and that's the
bother of it. Nobody knows where to direct a letter




174:        THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
to his friends. But how I have staid. I must go this
minute," and greatly to the relief of the family, Martha
took her leave.
Scarcely had the door cl! sed after her, when Marian
was on her knees, and, with her head in M'rs. Burt's
lap, was begging of her to offer her services as nurse
to Frederic Raymond!
"He must not die there alone," she cried. "Say
you will go, or mly heart will burst. They know
Mlartha for a trusty girl, and they will take you on her
recommendation. Help me, Ben, to persuade her,"
slhe continued, appealing to the young man, who had
not yet spoken upon the subject.
He had been thinking of it, however, and as he
could see no particular objection, he said, at last:
" May as well go, I guess. It won't do no hurt, any
how, and mebby it'll be the means of savin' his life.
You can tell Martha how't you s'pose he'll pay a good
price for nussin', and she'll think it's the money you
are after."
This suggestion was so warmly seconded by Marian,
that Mrs. Burt finally consented to seeing Martha,
and asking her what slhe thought of the plan. Accordingly, early the next morning, she sought an interview
with the young woman, inquiring, first, how the stranger was, and then, continuing"What do you think of my turning nurse awhile
and taking care of him? I am used to such folks, and
I presume the gentleman is plenty able to pay."
She had dragged this last in rather bunglingly, but
it answered every purpose, for Martha, who kniew lier
thrifty habits, understood at once that money was the
inducement, and she replied, -" Of course he is. Iis
watch is worth trio hundred dollars, to say nothing of
a diamond pin. I for one shall be glad to have you
come, for. am going away some time to-day, and
there'll be nobody in particular to take care of hiln.
1'11 speak about it right away."
The result of this speaking was that Mrs. Burt's




THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.         175.
offered services were readily accepted, for Martha was
known to be an honest, faithful girl, and any one
whom she recommended must, of course, be respectable and trusty. By some chance, however, there was a
misunderstanding about the name, which was first construed into Burton and then into Merton, and as Martha, who alone could rectify the error, left that afternoon, the few who knew of the sick man and his nurse,
spoke of the latter as a " Mrs. Merton, frown the country, probably."  So when at night Mrs. Burt appeared
and announce herself as ready to assume her duties,
she was surprised at hearing herself addressed by her
new name, and she was about to correct it when she
thought, " It doesn't matter what I'm called, and perhaps on the whole,'d rather not be known by my real
name. I don't believe much in goinl' out nussin' any
way, and I guess I'll let'em call me what they
want to."
She accordingly made no explanation, but followed
the servant girl up three long flights of stairs, and
turning down a narrow hall, stood ere long at the door
of the sick room.




CHAPTER XVI.
T H E  F E V E.
NIGHT and day Frederic Raymond had traveled,
never allowing himself a minute's rest, nor even stopping at Yonkers, so intent was he upon reaching New
York and finding, if possible, some clue to Marian. It
was a hopeless task, for he had no starting pointanothing which could guide him in the least, save the
name of Sarah Green, and even that was not in the:Directory, while to inquire for her former place of
residence, was as preposterous as Marian's inquiry for
Mrs. Daniel Burt! Still, whatever he could do he did,
traversing street after street, threading alley after
alley, asking again and again of the squalid heads
th}rust from the dingy windows, if Sarah Green had
ever lived in that locality, and receiving always the
same impudent stare and short answer, " No."
Once, in another and worse part of the city, he fancied he had found her, and that she had not sailed for
Scotland as she had written, for they had told him
that " Sal Green lived up in the fourth story," and
climbing the crazy stairs, he knocked at the low, dark
door, shuddering involuntarily and experiencing a
feeling of mortified pride as he thought it possible that
Marian —his wite-had toiled up that weary way to
die. The door was opened by a blear-eyed, hardfaced woman, who started at sight of the elegant
stranger, and to his civil questions replied rather
gruffly, " Yes, I'm Sal Green, I s'pose, or Sarah, jest
which you choose to call me, but the likes of Marian
Lindsey never came near me," and glancing around




THE FEVER.                177
the dirty, wretched room, Frederic was glad that it
was so. He would rather not find her, or hear tidings.
of her, than to know that she had lived and died ill
suclh a place as this, and with a sickening sensation he
was turning away, when the woman, who was blessed
with a remarkable memory and never forgot anything
to which her attention was particularly directed, said
to him, " You say it's a year last Fall sence she left
home."
"' Yes, yes," he replied eagerly, and she continued,
"You say she dressed in black, and wore a great long
vail."
"The same, the same," he cried, advancing into the
room and thrusting a bill into the long hand, " oh, my
good woman, have you seen her, and where is she
nlow?"
"The Lord knows, nlebby, but I don't," answered
the woman, who was identical with the one who had
so frightened Marian bvy watching her on that day
when she sat in front of Trinity and wished that she
could die, "'I don't know as I ever seen her at all,"
she continued, "but a year ago last November suchl a
girl as you described, with long curls that looked red'
in the sunshine, sat on the steps way down by Trinity
and cried so hard that I noticed her, and knew slhe
warn't a beggar by her dress. It was gettin' dark, and
I was goin' to speak to her when Joe Black came upl
and asked her what ailed her, or somethin'. He ain t
none of the likeliest," and a grim smile flitted over the
visage of the wrinkled hag.
" Oh, Heaven," cried Frederic, pressing his hands
to his head, as if to crush the horrid fear.' God save
her from that fate.  Is this all you know?  Can't you
tell me any more?  I'll give you half my fortune if
you'll bring back my poor, lost Marian, just as she was
when she left me."
The offer was a generous one, and Sal was tempted
for a moment to tell himn some big lie, and thus receive
a companion to the bill slhe clutched so greedily, but




17T8               THE FEVER.
the agonizing expression of his white face kindled
a spark of pity within her bosom, and she replied, i' I
did not finish tellin' you that while Joe was talking
and had seemingly persuaded her to go with him, a
tall chap that I never seen before knocked him flat,
and took the girl with him, and that's why I remember
it so well."
"' Who was he, this tall man? Where did he go?"
and Frederic wiped from his forehead the great drops
of sweat forced out by terrible fear.
" I told you I never seen him before," was Sally's
answer, "but he had a good face-a milk and water
face-as if he never plotted no mischief in his life.
She's safte with him, I'n sure. I'd trust my daughter
with him, if I had one, and know he wouldn't harm
lier. He spoke to her tender-like, and she looked glad,
I thought."
Frederic felt that this information was better than
none, tfor it was certain it was Marian whom the woman
had seen, and, in a measure comforted by her assurallce
of Ben Burt's honesty, he bade her good morning, and
walked away.
At last, worn out and discouraged, he returned to
his hotel, where he lay now burning with fever, and,
in his delirium, calling sometimes for Isabel, sometimes
for Alice, and again for faithful Dinah, but never asking why Marian did not come. She was dead, and he
only begged of those around him to take her away
from Joe Black, or show him  where her grave was
imade, so he could go home and tell the blind girl he
ihad seen it. Every ray of light which it was possible
to shut ont had been excluded firomn the room, for he
had complained much of his eyes, and when Mrs.
lBulrt entered, she could discover only the outline of a
ghastly face resting upon the pillows, scarcely whiter
thaan itself. It was a serious case, the attending physician said, and so she thought wheil she looked-into his
W-ild, bright eyes, and felt his rapid pulse. To her he
8*




TEE FEVER.                1i79
put the same question he had asked nearly of every
one:
"Do you know where Marian is?"
" Marian!" she repeated, feeling a little uncertain
how to answer.
" Humor him I say you do!" whispered the physician, who was just taking his leave. And very truthfully Mrs. Burt replied:
" Yes, I know where she is!  She will come to you
to-morrow."
"No!" he answered mournfully. "The dead never
come back, and it must not be, either. Isabel is coming then, and the two can't meet together here, for-.
Come nearer, woman, while I tell you I loved Isabel
the best, and that's what made the trouble. She is
beautiful, but Marian was good-and do you know
Marian was the Heiress of Redstone Hall; but I'm
not going to use her money."
"Yes, I know," returned Mrs. Burt, trying to quiet
him, but in vain.
He would talk —sometimes of Marian, and sometimes of Sarah Green, and the dreary room where he
had been.
" It made Marian tired," he- said, "to climb those
broken stairs —tired, just as he was now. But she was
resting so quietly inl Heaven. and the April sun was
shining on her grave. It was a little grave-a child's
grave, as it were —for Marian was not so tall nor so old
as Isabel."
In this way he rambled on, and it was not until the
mruing dawned that he:fell into a heavy sleep, and
Mrs. Burt had leisure to reflect upon the novel position in which she found herself.
"It was foolish in me to give up to them children,"
she said, "but now that I aml here, I'll make the best
of it, and do as well as I can. Marian shan't come,
though! It would kill her dead to hear him  going,n."'rs. Burt was a little rash in makiing this assertion,




ISO                THE FEVER.
for even while she spoke, Marian was in the reception.
room below, inquiring for the woman who took care
of Mr. Raymond. Not once during the long night had
she eyelids closed in sleep, and with the early morning
she had started for the hotel, leaving Ben to get his
breakfast as lie could.
"Say lMarian Grey wishes to see her," she said, in
answer to the inquiry as to what name the servant was
to take to No.
" My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Burt; " why didn't
Ben keep her at home?" and, gliding down the stairs,
she tried to persuade Marian to return.
But when she saw the firln, determined expression
in tile young girl's eye, she knew it was useless to reasonl with her, and saying, rather pettishly, " You mu-t
expect to hear some cuttin' things," she bade her follow up the stairs. Frederic still lay sleeping, his face
turned partly to one side, and his hand resting beneath
his head. His rich brown hair, now damp with heavy
moisture, was pushed back from his white forehead,
which, gleaming through the dusky darkness, first
showed to Marian where he lay. The gas light hurt
his eyes, andi the lamrp, which was kept continually
burning, was so placed that its dim light did not fall
on him, and a near approach was necessary to tell her
just how he looked. He was fearfully changed, and,
with a bitter moan, she laid her head beside him on
the pillow, so that her short curls mingled with his
darker locks, and she felt his hot breath on her cheekl
" Frederic -dear Frederic!" she said, and at the
sound of her voice he moved uneasily, as if about to
waken.
"Come away, cotne away," whispered Mrs. Burt.
"He may know you, and a sudden start would kill
But Marian was deaf to all else save the whispered
words dropping from the sick man's lips. They were
of home, of Alice, of the library, and oh, joy! could
it be she heard aright-did he speak of her? Was it




THE FEVER.                181.Xarian he said? Yes, it was M2arian, and with a cry
of delight, which started Mrs. Burt to her feet, and
penetrated even to the ear of the unconscious Frederic,
sloe pressed her lips upon the very spot which they
had touched before on that night whien she gave him
her first kiss. Slowly his eyes unclosed, but the wildness was still there, and Mrs. Burt, who stood anxiously watching him, felt glad that it was so. Slowly
they wandered about the room, resting first upon the
door, then on the chandelier, then on the ceiling
above, and dropping finally lower, until at last they
met and were riveted upon Marian, who, with clasped
hands, stood breathlessly awaiting the resfilt.
" Will he know her? Does he know her?" was the
mental query of Mrs. Burt; while Marian's fast-breathing heart asked the same question eagerly. There was
a wavering, a fierce struggle between delirium  and
reason, and then, with a faint smile, he said:
" Did you kiss me just now?" and he pointed to the
spot upon his forehead.
Marian nodded, for she could not speak, and he continued:
" Marian kissed me there, too! Little Marian, who
went away, and it has burned and burned into niy
veins until it set my brain on fire. Nobody has kissed
me since, but Alice. Did you know Alice, girl "
" Yes," answered Marian, keen disappointment swelling within her bosom and forcing the great tears from
her eyes.
She had almost believed he would recognize her,
but he did not; and sinking down by his side, she buried her face in the bed clothes, and sobbed aloud.
" Don't cry, little girl," he said, evidently disturbed
at the sight of her tears.  "I cried when I thought
Marian was dead, but that seems so long ago."
"' Oh Frederic-" and fbrgetful of everything, Marian sprang to her feet. "Oh, Frederic, is it true?
Did you cry for me 2'
At the sound of his own name the sick man looked




182                THE FEVER.
bewildered, while reason seemed struggling agail to
assert its rights, and penetrate the misty fog by which'it was enveloped. Very earnestly he looked at the
young girl, who returned his gaze with one in which
was concentrated all the yearning love and tenderness,
she had cherished for him so long.
" Are you Marian?" he asked, and in an instant the
excited girl wound her arms arotnd his neck, and laying her cheek against his own, replied:
"Yes, Frederic yes.  Don't you know me, your
poor lost Marian."
Very caressingly he passed his hand over her short
silken curl — pushed them back from her foreheadexamined them more closely, and then whispered
mournfully,
"c No, you are not Marian. This is not her hair. But
I like you," he continued, as he felt her tears drop on
his face; " and I wish you to stay with me, and when
the pain comes back charm it away with your soft
hands. They are little hands," and he took thein between his own, "'but not so small as Mariall's were
when I held one in my hand and promised I would
love her. It seemed like some tiny rose leaf, and I
could have crushed it easily, but I did not; I only
crushed her heart, and she fled from me forever, for'twas a lie I told her," and his voice sunk to a lower
tone.  "I didn't love her then —I don't know as I
love her now, for Isabel is eo beautiful. Did you ever
see Isabel, girl?"
"1Oh, Frederic," groaned Marian, and wresting her
hands from his gaasp, she tottered to a chair, while he
looked after her wistfully.'Will she go away?" he said to Mrs. Burt. "Will
she leave me alone, when she knows Alice is not here
nor Isabel? I wish Isabel would come, don't you?"
There was another moan of anguish, and, rolling his
bright eyes in the direction of the arm chair, the poor
man whispered:
"Hark! that's the sound I heard the night Marian




THE FEVEr.                1.S3
went away! I thought then'twas the wind, but I knew
afterwards that it was she, when her soul parted with
her body, and it's followed me ever since. There is not
a spot at Redstone Hall that is not haunted with that
cry. I've heard it at midnight, at noon-day —in the
storm and in the rushing river-where we thought shA
was buried. All but Alice —she knew she wasn't,
and she sent me here to look. She don't like Isabel,
and is afraid I'll marry her. Maybe I shall, sometime!
Who knows?"
And he laughed in delirious glee.
"Heaven keep me, too, from going mad?" cried Marian. " Oh! why did I come here'"
"I told you not to all the time," was Mrs. Burt's
consolatory remark; which, however was lost on Marian, who, seizing her bonnet and shawl, rushed from
tile room, unmindful of the out-stretched arms which
seemed imploring her b. stay.
The fresh morning air revived her fainting strength,
but did not cool the feverish agony at her heart, and
she sped onward, until she reached her home, where
she surprised Ben at his solitary breakfast, which he
had prepared himself.
" Oh! Ben, Ben!" she cried, coming so suddenly
npon him that he upset the coffee-pot into which he
was pouring some hot water. " Would it be wicked
for you to kill me dead, or for me to kill myself."
" What's to pay now?" asked Ben, using the skirt
of his coat for a holder in picking up the steaming
coffee-pot.
Very hastily Marian related her adventures in the
sick room, telling how Frederic had talked of marrying Isabel before her very face.
"Crazy as a loon," returned Ben.  "I shouldn't
think nothin' of that. You say he talked as though he
thought you was dead, and of course he don't know
what lie's sayin'. Have they writ to his folks?"
"Yes," returned Marian, who had made a similar
inquiry of Mrs Burt. "They directed a letter to




184                THE FE:VER.'Frederic Raymond's friends, Franklin Cotnty, Kentucky,' but that may not reach them in a long time."
"Wouldn't it be a Christian act," returned Ben "for
us, who know jest who he is, to telegraph to that critter, and have her come? By all accounts he wants to
see her, and it may do him good."
Marian felt that it would be right, and, though it
cost her a pang, she said, at last:
" Yes, Ben, you may telegraph; but what name will
you append?"
"Benjamin Butterworth, of course," he replied.
"They'll remember the peddler, and think it nateral
I should feel an interest."  And leaving Marian to
take charge of the breakfast table, he started for the
office.
Meantime the sick room was the scene of much excitement —Frederic raving furiously, and asking for
"- the girl with the soft hands and silken hair."  Sometimes he called her Marian,i and begged of them to
bring her back, promising rnot to make her cry again.
"' There is a mystery connected with this Marian he
talks so much about," said the physician, who was
present, "and he seems to fancy a resemblance between
her and the girl who left here this morning.  What
may I call her namne'?"
"Marian, my daughter," came involuntarily fromn
Mrs. Burt, whose mental rejoinder was, " God forgive
me for that lie, if it was one.  Names and things is
gettin' so'twisted up that it takes more than me to
straighten'em 1"
"Well, then," continued the physician, " suppose
you send for her. It will never do for him to get so
excited. Hle is wearing out too fast."
"I will go for her myself," said Mrs. Burt, who
fancied some persuasion might be necessary ere Marian could be induced to return.
But she was mistaken, for when told that Frederic's
life depended upon his being kept quiet, and his being
kept quiet depended upon her presence, Maxrian conl




THE FEVER.                185
sented, and nerved herself to hear him talk, as she
knew he would, of her rival.
" If he lives, I will be satisfied," she thought, " even
thoughl he never did or can love me," and with a
strong, brave heart, she went back again to the sick
man, wlho welcomed her joyfully, and folding his feeble arms around her neck, stroked again her hair, as
he said, "You will not leave me, Marian, till Isabel is
lere. Then you may go —back to the grave I cannot
find, and we will go home together."
Marian could not answer him, neither was it necessary that she should.  He was satisfied to have her
there, and with her sitting at his side, and holding his
hand in hers, he becalne as gentle as a child.I Occasionally he called her " little girl," but oftener " MariaD," and when he said that name, he always smoothed her hair, as if he pitied her, and knew he had done
her a wrong.  And Marian felt each day more and
more that the wound she hoped had partly healed was
bleeding afresh with a new pain, for while he talked
of Marian as a mother talks of an unfortunate child,
lie spoke of Isabel with all a lover's pride, and each
word was a dagger Lo the heart of the patient watcher,
who sat beside hitn day and night, until her eyes were
heavy, and her cheeks were pale with her unbroken
vigils.
~' Do you then love this Isabel so much?" she said
to him one day, and sinking his voice to a whisper he
replied, " Yes, and I love you, too, though not like
lier, because I loved her first."
"And Marian?" questioned the young girl, " Don't
you love her."
Oh, how eagerly she waited for the answer, which
when it came almost broke her heart.
"Not as I ought to-not as I have prayed that I
might, and inot as I shouild, perhaps, if she hadn't been
to me what she is. Poor child," he continued, brushing
away the tears which rolled like rain down Marian's
cheeks, " poor child, are you crying for Marian?"




186                THE FEVER.
"Yes-yes, for Mariain-for poor heart-broken me;"
and the wretched girl buried her face in the pillow
beside him, for he held her firmly by the wrist, and
slIe could not get away.
In this manner several days went by, and over the
intellect so obscured there shone no ray oi reason,
while the girlish face grew whiter and whiter each
morning light, and at last the physician said that she
must rest, or her strength would be exhausted.' Let me stay a little longer," she pleaded-" stay at
least until Miss Huntington arrives."
" Miss who?" asked the doctor. " Do you then know
his famrnily?"'
"A friend of mine knows them," answered Marian,
a deep flush stealing over her cheek.
"I hope, then, they will reward you well," continued the physician.  " The young man would have
died but for you, It is remarkable what control you
have over him."
But Marian wished for no reward. It was sufficient
for her to know that she had been instrumental in saving his life, even though she had saved it for Isabel. The
physician said that Frederic was better, and that afternoon, seated in the large arm-chair, she fell into a
refreshing sleep, from which she was finally aroused
by Mrs. Burt, who bending over her, whispered in her
ear:
"' Wake up. She's come-she's here-Miss Huntington!"
Ttlere was magic in that name, and it roused the
sleeping girl at once, sending a quiver of pain through
her heart, for her post she knew was to be given to another. Not both of them could watch by Frederic,
and shle, who in all the world had the best right to
stay, must go; but not until she had looked upon her
rival and had seen once the face which Frederic called
so beautiful. This done, she would go away and die, if
it were possible, and stand no longer between Frederic
and the bride he so much desired. She did not under



THE FEVER.                187
stand why he had so often spoken of herself as being
dead, wlhen he knew that she was not. It was a vagary
of his brain, she said —he had had many since she came
there, and she hoped he would sometimes talk of her
to Isabel, just as he had talked of Isabel to her. There
was a hurried consultation between herself and Mrs.;Burt, with regard to their future proceedings, and it
was finally decided that the latter should remain a few
days longer, and so report the progress of affairs to
Marian, wllo, of course, must go away. This arrangeient being mnade they sat down and rather impatiently waited for the coming of Isabel, who was in
her room resting after her tiresome journey.
" Oh how can she wait so long?' thought Marian,
glancing at Frederic, who was sleeping now more
quietly than he had done before for a long time.
She did not know Isabel Huntington, and she could not
begin to guess how thoroughly selfish she was, nor how
that selfishness was manifest in every movement. The
letter, which at last had gone to Frahlfort, was received the same' day with the telegram, and as a natural consequence, threw the inmates of Redstone Hall
into great excitement. Particularly was this the case
with Isabel, who unmindtfil of everything, wrang her
hands despairingly, crying out, " Oh! what shall I do
if he dies?"
" Do!" repeated Dinah, forgetting her own grichf in
her disgust. " For the Lords sake, can't you do
what you allus did?  Go back whar you come from,
you and your Inmther, in course."
Isabel deigned no reply to this remark, but hurried
to her chamber, where she commenced the packing of
her trunk
" Wouldn't it look better for me to go?'" suggested
Mrs. Huntington, and Isabel answered:
i" Certainly not, the telegramn was directed to me. No
one knows me in New York, and I don't care what
folks say here. If he lives I shall be his wvife, of course,
else why should he send for me. It's perfectly natural




1T8                 THE FEVER.
that I should go." And thinking to herself that she
would rather Frederic should die than to live for another, she completed her hasty preparations, and was
on her way to the depot before the household had
time to realize what they were doing.
In passing the house of Lawyer Gibson she could
not forbear stopping a moment to communicate the sad
news to her particular friend, who, while condoling
with her, thought to herself," He does care more for
her than I supposed, or he would not have not sent for
her."
"When will you come back?" she asked, and Isabel
replied, " Not until he is better or worse. Oh, Agnes,
what if he should die. Imagine Mr. Rivers at the
point of death and you will know just how I feel."
"' Certainly, very, indeed," was the meaningless answer of Agnes, who, as the day of her bridal drew near,
began to fancy that she might be easily consoled in case
anything should come between herself and the white
haired Floridan. " Perhaps you will be married before you return," she suggested, and Isabel, who had
thought of the same possibility, replied, " Don't, pray,
speak of such a thing-it seems terrible when Frederic
is so sick."
"You won't cotch the cars if you ain't keerful,"
chimed in Uncle Phil, and kissing each other a most
affectionate good-by, the-young ladies parted, Agnes
thinking to herself, " I reckon I wouldn't go off to
New York after a man who hadn't really proposedbut then it's just like her," while Isabel's mental comment was, "It's time Agnes was married, for she's
real ly beginning to look old; I wouldn't have my grandfather though I
So much for girlish fiiendships!
Distressed and anxious as Isabel seemed, it was no
part of her intention to travel nights, for that would
give her a sallow, jaded look; so she made the journey
leisurely, and even after her arrival, took time to rest
and beautify ere presenting herself to Frederic.  She




THE FEVER.                 189
had ascertained that he was better, and had the best
of care, so she remained quietly in her chamber an
hour or so, and it was not until after dark that she
bade the servant show her the way to the sick room.
"I will tell them you are coming," suggested the
polite attendant, and, going on before her, lie said to
Mrs. Burt that "Miss Huntington would like to come
in.'
In the farthest corner in the room, where the shadows were the deepest. and where she would be the
least observed, sat Marian, her hands clasped tightly
together, her head bent forward, and her eyes fixed inltently upon the door through which her rival would
enter. Frederic was awake, and, missing her froln
her post, was about asking for her, when Isabel appeared, looking so fresh, so glowin,% so beautiful, that
for an instant Marian forgot everything in her admiration of the queenly creature, who, bowing civilly to
Mrs. Burt, glided to the bedside, and sank upon her
knees, gracefully-very gracefully-just as she had
done at a private rehearsal in her own room I Tighlter
the little hands were clasped together, and the Phead
which had dropped before was erect now, as Marian
watched eagerly for what would follow next.'"Dear Frederic," said Isabel, and over the white
face in the arm-chair the hot blood rushed in torrents
for it seemed almost aln insult to hear him  thus addressed-" Dear Frederic, do you know  ne? I am Isabel:" and, unmindful of Mrs. Burt, or yet of the motionless figure sitting near, she kissed his burning forehead, and said again; " Do you know me?"
Tile nails were mlarking dark rings now in the tender
flesh, while the blue eyes flashed until they grew almost as black as Isabel's, and still Marian did not
move. She could not, until she heard what answer
would be given.  As the physician had predicted,
Frederic was better since his refreshing sleep, and
through the misty vail enshrouding his reason a glimmer of light was shining. The voice was a familiar




190                THE FEVER.
one, and though it partly bewildered him, he knew
wh,, it was that bent so fondly over himn. It was somebody from home, and with a thrill of pleasure akin to
what one feels when meeting a fellow countryman far
away on a foreign shore, he twined his arms around her
neck, and said to her joyfully: "You are Isabel, and
~You've come to make mle well."
Isabel was about to speak again, when a low sob
startled her, and, turning in the direction from whence
it came, she met a fierce, burning gaze which riveted
her as by some magnetism to the spot, and for a moinent the two looked intently into each other's eyes.
Isabel and Marian, the one stamping indelibly upon
her memory the lineaments of a face which had stolen
and kept a heart which should have been her own,
while the other wondered much at the strange white
face which even through the darkness seemed quivering with pain.
Purposely Mrs. Burt stepped between them, and
thus the spell was broken, Isabel turning again to
Frederic, while Marian, unlocking her stiff fingers,
grasped her bonnet and glided from the room so silently that Isabel knew not she was gone until she
turned her head and found the chair empty.
" Who was that?" she said to Mrs. Burt-" that
young girl who just went out?"
"MMy daughter," answered Mrs. Blurt, again mentally asking forgiveness for the falsehood told, and
thinking to herself, " Mercy knows it ain't my nater
to lie, but when a body gets mixed up in such a scrape
as this, I'd like to see'em help it!"
Atter the first lucid interval, Frederic relapsed again
into his former delirious mood, but did not ask fobr Mlrian. He seemed satisfied that Isabel was there, and
lie fell asleep again, resting so quietly that when it
was eleven Isabel arose and said, " He is doing so
well I believe I will retire. I never sat up with a
sick person in my life, and should be very little assis



THE FEVER.                  191
tance to you. That daughter of yours is somewhere
around, I suppose, and will come if you need help."
Mrs. Burt nodded, thinking hbow different was this
conduct from that of the unselfish Marian, who had
watched night after night without giving herself the
rest she absolutely needed. Isabel, on the contrary,
had no idea of impairing her beauty, or bringing discomfort to herself by spending many hours at a time
in that close, unwholesome atnmosphere, and while lIarian in her humble apartment was weeping bitterly,
she was dreaming of returning to Kentucky as a bride.
Frederic could scarcely do less than reward her kindness by marrying her as soon as he was able.  She
could take care of him so much better, she thought,
and ere she fell asleep she had arranged it all in her
own mind, and had fancied her mother's surprise at
receiving a letter signed by her new name, " Isabel H.
Raymond." She would retain the " H," she said. She
always liked to see it, and she hoped Agnes Gibson, it'
slhe persisted in that foolish fancy of the fish-knife,
would hlave it marked in this way!
It was long after daylight ere she awoke, and when
she did her first thought was of her pleasant dream
and her second of the girl she had seen the night before. " flow white she was," she said, as she made
her elaborate toile%, "and how  those eyes of hers
glared at me, as if I had no business here. Mayvbe she
has fallen in love while taking care of him;" and Isabel L;zughed aloud at the very idea of a nursing
woman's daughter being in love with thle fastidious
Frederic!  Once she thought of MIs. Daniel Burlt,
wondering where she lived, and lalf wishing she could
find- her, and, herself unlknown, could question her of
Marian.
" Iavbe this M,{rs. Merton knows somnething>r of her,"
she said, and thinking she would ask her it a good opportunity should occur, she gave an extra brush to her
glossy hail, loked in a small hand mirror to see that
the braids at the back of her head were right, threw




1?2                 THE FEVER.
open her wrapper a little more to show her flounced
cambric skirt, and then went to the breakfast room,
where three attendants, attracted by her style and the
prospect of a fee, bowed obsequiously and asked what
she would have. This occupied nearly another hour,
and it was almost ten ere she presented herself to Mrs.
Burt, who was growing very faint and weary.
At the physicain's request more light had been adnlitted into the room, and Frederic, who was much
better this morning, recognized Isabel at once.  He
had a faint remembrance of having seen her the previous night, but it needed Mrs. Burt's assertion to conconfirm his contjecture, and he greeted her now as if
meeting her for the first time. Many questions he asked
of the people at home, and how they had learned of his
illness.
" We received a letter and a telegram both," said Isabel, continuing, " You remember that booby peddler
who sold Alice the bracelet and frightened the negroes
so? Well, he must have telegraphed, for his name was
signed to the dispatch,' Benljamin Butterworth.' "
Mrs. Burt was very imucil occupied with something
near the-table, and Frederic did not notice her confusioll as he replied, "He was a kind-hearted man, I
thought, but I wonder how he heard of my illness, and
where he is now. Mrs. Merton, has a certain Ben Butterworth inquired for me since I was sick?"
" I know nobody by that nane," returned Mrs. Burt,
and without stopping to think that her question might
lead to some inquiries from Frederic, Isabel rejoined,
" Well, do you know a Mrs. Daniel Burt.?"
" Mrs. Daniel Burt!" repeated Frederic, as if trying
to recall something far back in the past, while the lady
in question started so suddenly as to drop the cup of
hot water she held in her hand.
Stooping down to pick up the cup, she said somethling about its having burned her, and added, "' I ain't
nuclh acquainted in the city, and never know my next
door lleighbors."




THE FEVER.                193
"lMrs. Daniel Burt," Frederic said again, "I have
surely heard tlhat name before. Who is she, Isabel 8?"
It was Isabdel's turn now to answer evasively; blt
being more accustomed to dissimulate than her conlpanionl, she replied, quite as a mlatter of course, " Yo
may have heard mother speak of her in New Haven.
I used to know her when I was a little girl, and I believe she lives in New York. She was a very good,
but common kind of woman, and one witt whom I
should not care to associate, though another, I dare say,
would be glad to hear fromn her."
" The impudent trollop," muttered Mrs. Burt, marvelling at the conversation, and wondering which was
trying to deceive the other, Frederic or Isabel. "The
former couldn't hoodwink her," she said, "even if he
did Isabel. She understood it all, and he knew who
2Mrs. Daniel Burt was just as well as she did, for even
if lie had forgotten that she once lived with his father,
Marian's letter had refreshed his memory, and he was
only'putting on' for the sake of misleading Isabel.
But where in the world did that jade know her!" that
was a puzzle, and settling it in her own mind that
there were two of the same name, she left the room and
went down to her breakfast.
During the day not a word was said of Marian. Isabel was evidently too much pleased with Frederic's delight at seeing her to think of anythling else, while Mrs.
Burt did not consider it necessary to speak of her. Frederic, too, for a time had forgotten her, but as the day
drew near its close, he relapsed into a thoughtful mood,
replying to Isabel's frequent remarks either in monosy'lables or not at all. As the darkness increased he
seemed to be listening intently, and when a step was
heard upon the stairs or in the hall without, his face
would light up with eager expectation and then be as
suddenly overcast as the footstep passed his door. Gradually there was creeping into his mind a vague remembrance of something or somebody, which for many
days had been there with him, gliding so noiselessly
9




194                 THE FEVER.
about the rooml that he had almost fancied it trod upon
the air, and he could scarcely tell wiietherit were a spirit
or a lillman being like himself. Little by little tile
outline so dimly discerned assumed a fornl, and the
form  was that of a young girl-a very fair young
girl with sweet blne eyes, and soft, baby hlands,
which had held his aching head and smootlled his tangled hair, oh, so many times. Her voice too, was low
and gentle, and reminding him of some sad strain of
music heard long, long ago. It seemed to him, too, that
she called him Frederic, droping hot tears upon his
face. But where was she now? Why did't she come
again, and who was she —that little blue-eyed girl?
For a tilme the vision faded and all was confused
again, but the reality came back ere long, and listening eagerly for something which never camlle, he
thought and thought until great drops of sweat stood
thickly upon his brow; and Isabel, wiping them away,
became alarmed at the wildness of his eye and the
rapid beating of his pulse. A powerful anodyne was
adminstered, and he slept at last a fitful feverish sleep,
which however, did him good, and in the morning he
was better than he had been before.
Mrs. Burt, who had watched him carefully, knew
that the danger was past, and that afternoon she left
him with Isabel, while she went home. where she found
Marian seriously ill, with Ben taking care of her in his
kind but awkward manner.
"Did Frederic remember me.?  (Does he know  I
have been there2" were Marian's first questions, and
when Mrs. Burt replied in the negative, she turned
away whispering, mournfully, " It is just as well."
" -Ie is doing well," said Mrs. Burt, " and as you
need me mnore thlan he does now, I shall come lollle
rand let tthat Isabel take care of him.. It wont hur't her
any, the jade. She can telegraph for her mnother it'
she chooses."
Accordingly, she returned to the sick-room, where
she found Frederic asleep and Isabel reading a novel.




THE FEVER.                195
To her announcement of leaving, the latter made no
objection. She was rather pleased than otherwise, for,
as Frederic grew stronger, the presence of a third person, and a stranger, too, might be disagreeable. She
would te.legraph for her mother, of course, as she did
not think it quite proper to stay there alone. But her
mother was under her control; she could dispose of her
at any time, so she merely stopped her reading long
enough to say, " Very well, you can go if you like.
How much is your charge?"
Mrs. Butt did not hesitate to tell her; and Isabel,
who had taken care of Frederic's purse, paid her, and
then resumed her book, while Mrs. Burt, with a farewell glance at her patient, went from the room, with.
out a word of explanation as to where she could be
found in case they wished to find her.
It was dark when Frederic awoke, and it was so
still around him that he believed himnself alone.
" They have all left me," he said; "Mrs. Merton,
Isabel, and that other orne, that being of mystery —
who was she —who could she have been?" and shutting his eyes, he tried to bring her before him just as
he had often seen her bending o'er his pillow.
He knew now that it was not a phantom  of his
brain, but a reality. There had been a young girl
there, and when the world without was darkest, and
he was drifting far down the river of death, her voice
had called him  back, and her hands had held him
up so that he did not sink in tile deep, angry waters.
Thiere were tears many times upon her face, he remembered, and once he had wiped them away, asking
why she cried. It was a pretty face, he said, a very
pretty face, and the sunny eyes of blue seemed shining
on him even now, while the memory of her gentle acts
was very, very sweet, thrilling him with an undefined
ernotioll, and awakening within his bosom a germn of
the undying love he was yet to feel for the mysterious
stranger. She had called him Frederic, too, while he
had called her Marian. She had answered to that




196                THEE FEVER.
came, she asked him of Isabel, and-oh, Heaven " be
cried, startinc quickly and clasping both hands upon
his head. Like a thunderbolt it burst upon him, and
for an instant his brain seemed all on fire. "It was
Marian!-it was Marian!" he essayed to say, but his
lips refused to move, and when Isabel, startled by his
sr;dden movement, struck a light and came to his bedside, she saw that he had fainted!
In great alarm she summoned help, begging of those
who came to go at once for Mrs. Merton. But no one
knew of the woman's place of residence, and as she
had failed to inquire, it was a hopeless matter. Slowly
Frederic came back to consciousness, and when he was
again alone with Isabel he said to her, "Where is that
womnan who took care of me?"
"She is gonile," said Isabel. " Gone to her home."
"Gone,' he repeated. "When did she go, and
why?"
Isabel told him the particulars of Mrs. Burt's going,
and he continued:
" Was there no one else here when you came? No
young girl with soft blue eyes?" and he looked eagerly at her.
"'Yes," she replied. "There was a queer acting
thing sitting in the arm-chair the night I first came
inl." Who was she, and where is she now I" he asked.
and Isabel answered, " I am sure I don't know wher 
she is, for she vanished like a ghost."
"Yes, yes; but who was she? Did she have no name P"
and Frederic clutched Isabel's arm nervously.
" Mrs. Merton told me it was her daughter-that
is all I know," said Isabel; and in a tone of disappointment he continuedc
" Will you tell me just how she looked, and how
she acted when you first saw her?"
O' ne would suppose you deeply interested in your
nurse's daughter;" and the glittering black eyes
flashed scornfully upon Frederic, who replied:




THE FEVER.                197
"I am interested, for she saved my life. Tell me,
won't you, how she looked?"
"Well, then," returned Isabel pettishly, " she was
about fifteen, I think-certainly not older than that.
Her face was very white, with big, blue eyes, which
glared at me like a wild beast's; and what is queerer
than all, she actually sobbed when I, or rather you
kissed me; perhaps you have forgotten that you
did?"
He had forgotten it, for the best of reasons, but he
did not contradict her, so intent was he upon listening
to her story.
"I had not observed her particularly before; but
whenl I heard that sound I turned to look at her,
while she stared at nle as impudently as if I had no
blusiness here. That woman stepped between us purposely I know, for she seemed excited; and when I saw
the arm-chair again the girl was gone."
Thus far everything, except the probable age, had
confirmed his suspicions; but there was one question
more —an all-important one-and with trembling eagerness he asked:
" What of her hair?  Did you notice that?"
"It was brown, I think," said Isabel-"short in
her neck and curly round her forehead. I should say
her hair was rather handsome."
With a sigh of disappointment Frederic turned upon
his pillow, saying to her:
"Tllat will do-I've heard enough."
Isabel's last words had brought back to his mind
something which he had forgotten until now —the
girl's hair was short, and he remembered distinctly
twining the soft rings around his fingers. They were
not long, red curls, like those described by Sally
Green. It wasn't Marian's hair-it wasn't Marian at
all; and in his weakness his tears dropped silently
upon the pillow, for the disappointment was terrible.
All that night and the following day he was haunted
with thoughts of the young girl, and at last, detertnin




198                THE FEVER.
ing to see her again and know if she were like Marian,
ihe said to Isabel:
"Send for Mrs. Merton. I wish to talk with her."
"It is an impossibility," returned Isabel: "for,
when she left us, I carelessly neglected to ask where
she lived "
" Inquire below, then," persisted Frederic. "Somebody will certainly know, and I must finld her."
Isabel complied with his request, and soon returned
with the information that no one knew aught of Mrs.
AMerton's whereabouts, though it was generally believed that she camne from tile country, and at the timne
of coming to the hotel was visiting friends in the city.
" Find her friends, tlhen," continued Frederic, growing more and more excited and impatient.
This, too, was impossible, for everything pertaining
to Mrs. Merton was mere conjecture. No one conul
tell where she lived, or whither she had gone; and
the sick man lamented the circumstance so often that
Isabel more than once lost her temper entirely, wondering why he should be so very anxious about a woman
who had been well paid for her services-" yes, more
than paidi for her price was a most exorbitant one."
Meantime, Mrs. Huntington, who, on the receipt of
Isabel's telegram, had started immediately, arrived,
laden with trunks, bandboxes, and bags, for the old
lady was rather dressy, and fancied  a large hotel a
good place to show her new clothes. On learning that
Frederic was very much better, and that she had been
sent for merely on the score of propriety, she seemed
somewhat out of humor-" Not that she wanted Frederic to die," she said, " and she was glad of course that
he was getting well, but she didn't like to be scared
the way she was; a telegram always mnade her stomach
treonble so that she didn't get over it in a week; she had
traveled day and night to get there, and didn't know
what she could have done it' she hadn't met Rudolph
McVicar in Cincinnati."




THE FEVER.                199
" Rudolph i" exclaimed Isabel. "Pray, where is he
11OW 2.
" Here in this very hotel," returned her mother.
" lEe came with me all tile way, and seemed greatly
interested in you, asking a thousand questions about
when you expected to be married. 5iaid he supposed
Frederic's illness would postpone it awhile, and when
I told him you wan't even engaged as I knew of,
he looked disappointed.  I believe Rudolph has reformed!"
" The wretch!" muttered Isabel, who rightly guessed
that Rudolph's interest was only feigned.
He had heard of her sudden departure for _New
York, and had heard also (Agnes Gibson being the
source whence the information came) that she might,
perhaps, be married as soon as Frederic was able to sit
up. Accordingly, he had himself started northward,
stumbling upon Mrs. Huntington in Cincinnati, and
coming with her to New York, where he stopped at
the same hotel, intending to remain there and wait
f)r the result. He did not care to meet Isabel face to
face, while she was quite as anxious to avoid an interview with him; and after a few days she ceased to be
troulied about him at all. Frederic absorbed all her
thoughts, he appeared so differently from what he
used to do-talking but little either to herself or her
mother, and lying nearly all the day with his eyes
shut, though she knew he was not asleep; and she
tried in vain to fathom the subject of his reflections.
But he guarded that secret well, and day after day he
thought on, living over again the first weeks of his
sickness in that chamber, until at last the conviction
was fixed upon his mind that, spite of the short hair,
spite of the proballe age, spite of the story about Mrs.
Merton:'s daughter, or yet the letter from Sarah Green,
that young girl who had watched with him so long
and then disappeared so mysteriously, was none other
than Marian-his wife. He did not shudder now when
he repeated that last word to himself.  It sounded




200                THE FEVER.
p)leasantly, for he knew it was connected with the
sweet, womanly love which had saved him from death.'lLe brown hair which Isabel had mentioned he rejected as an impossibility. It had undoubtedly looked
dark to her, but it was red still, though wor'r short in
her neck, for he remembered that distinctly. Sarah
Green's letter was a forgery-Alice's prediction was
ti'le, and Marian still lived.
But %where was she now? Why had she left him so
albrnptly? and would he ever find her?  Yes, he
would, he said. He would spare no time, no pains, no
money in the search; and when he found her he would
love and cherish her as she deserved. He was begin]ling to love her now, and he wondered at his infattuation for Isabel, whose real character was becoming
mnore and more apparent to him. His changed deineanor made her cross and fretful; while Alice Gibson's letter, asking when she was to be married, and
saying people there expected her to return a bride,
only increased her ill-humor, which manifested itself
several times toward her mother, in Frederic's presewnce.
At last, in a fit of desperation, she wrote to Agnes
Gibson that she never expected to be married —certainly not to Frederic Raymlond-and if every young
lady miatrimonially inclined should nurse her intended
husband through a course of fever, she guessed they
would beconme disgusted with mankind generally, and
that man in particular! This done, Isabel felt betterso mnuchl better indeed that she resolved upon another
trial to bring about her desired object, and one day,
about two weeks after her mother's arrival, she said to
Frederic:
" Now that you are nearly well, I believe I shall go
to New Haven, and, after a little, mother will come,
too. I shall remain there, I think, though mother, I
suppose, will keep house for you this year, as she has
engaged to do."




THlE FEVER.                201
To this suggestion Frederic did not reply just as she
thought lhe would.
" It was a good idea," he said, " for her to visit her
old home, and he presumed she would enjoy it." Thetn
he added, very faintly: " Alice will needi a teacher
here quite as much as in Kentucky, and you canl
retain your situation if you choose."
Isabel bit her lip, and her black eyes flaslhe'd angrily
as she replied:
" I am tired of teaching only one pupil, for there is
nothing to interest me, and I am all worn out, too."
She did look pale, and, touched with pity, Frederic
-said to her, very kin ily:
" You do seem weary, Isabel. You have been confined with me too long, and I think you had better go
at once. I will run down to see you, if possible, before I return to Kentucky."
This gave her hope, and, drying her eyes, which
wvere filled with tears, Isabel chatted pleasantly with
him about his future plans, which had been somewhat
disarranged by his unexpected illness. He could not
now hope to be settled at Riverside, as he called his
ntew home, until some time in June-perhaps not so
soon-but lhe would let her know, he said, in time to
neet him there.
A day or two after this conversation, Isabel started
for New IHaven, whither in the course of a week she
was followed by both her mother and Rudolph, thle
latter of whom was determined not to lose sight of her
until sure that the engagement, which he somewhat
doubted, did not in reality exist.
9*




CHAPTER XVII.
THE SEARCH.
WHEN the carriage containing  Mrs. HIuntington
rolled away from the hotel, Frederic, who was standing lupon the steps, experienced a feeling of relief in
knowing that, as far as personal acquaintances were
concernled, he was now alone and free to commence
his search for Marlian. Each day the conviction had
been strengthened that she was alive-that she had
been with hitn a few weeks before-and now every energy should be devoted to finding her. Once lihe
thourlght of advertising, but she might not see the paper, and as lie rather shrank fiom making his affairs
thus public, he abandoned the project, determining,
however, to leave no other means untried; he would
hunt tle city over, inquire at every house, and then
scour the surrounlding country. It might be months,
or it might be years, ere this were accomplished; but
accomplish it he would, and with a brave, hopeftil
heart, he started out, taking first a list of all the Mertons in the Directory, then searching out and making
of them the most minute inquiries. except, indeed, in
cases where lie knew, by the nature of their surroundings, that none of their houselhold lhad officiated in the
capacity of nurse. The woman who had taken care of
him was poor and uneducated, and lihe confined himself
mostly to that class of people.
But all in vain. No familiar face ever came at his
call. Nobody knew her whom he sought-no one had




THE SEARCH.               263
heard of Marian Lindsey, and at last he thought of
Sally Green, determining to visit her again, and, if'possible, learn something more of the girl. she lad described. Perhaps she could direct him to Joe Black,
who might know the tall man last seen with Marian.
The place was easily found, and the dangerous stairs
creaked again to his eager tread. Sal knew him at
once, and tucking her grizzly hair beneath her dirty
cap, waited to hear his errand, which was soon told.
Could she give him any filrther information of that
young girl, had she ever heard of her since his last
visit there, and would she tell him where to find Joe
Black — he might know who the man was, and thus
throw some light on the mystery.
" "Bless your heart," answered the wonlan, " Joe died
three weeks ago with the delirium tremens, so what you
git out of himn won't help you much. I told you all I
knew before; or no, come to think on't, I seen'em go
into a Third avenue car, and that makes me think the
feller lived up town. But law, you may as well hunt
for a needle in a haystack as to hunt for a lost gal in
New York. You may git out all the police you've
a mind to, and then you ain't no better off. Ten to
one they are wus than them that's hidin' her, if they
do wear brass buttons and feel so big," and Sal shook
her brawny arm threateningly at somne imaginary officels of j Istice.
With a feeling of disgust, Frederic turned away, and,
retracing his steps, came at last to the Park, where he
entered a Third avenue car, though why he did so he
scarcely knew. He did not expect to find hea there,
but lhe felt a satisfaction in thinking shle had once been
over that route-perhaps in that very car-and he
looked curiously in the faces of his fellow-passengers
as they entered and left. Wistfully, too, he glanced
out at the houses they were passing, saying to himself:
" Is it there Marian lives, or there?" and once when.
they stopped for some one to alight, his eye wandered
down the opposite street, resting at last upon a window




204                THE SEARCH.
high up in a huge block of buildings. There was nothing peculiar about that window —nothing to attract
attention, unless it were the neat white fringed curtain
which shaded it, or the rose geranium which in its
little earthen pot seemed to indicate that the inmates,fitthat tenement retained a love for flowers and country
fashions, even amid the smoke and the dust of the city.
Frederic saw the white curtain, and it reminded him of
the one which years ago huug in his bedroom at the
old place on the river. He saw the geranium, too, and
the ligure which bent over it to pluck the withered
leaf. Then the car moved on, and to the weary man
sitting in the corner there came no voice to tell how
near he had been to the lost one, flr that window was
Mrs. Burt's, and the bending figure-Marian.
He had seen her-he had passed within a few rods of
her and she could have heard him had he shouted aloud.
but for all the good that this did him she might have
been miles and miles away, for he never dreamed of
the truth, and day after day he continued his search,
while the excitement, the fatigue, and the constant disappointment, told fearfully upon his constitution. Still
he would not give it up, and every morning he went
forth with hope renewed, only to return at night
weary, discouraged, and sometimes almost despairing
of success.
Once, at the close of a rainy afternoon, he entered
again a Third avenue car, which would leave him  not
very far fiom lis hotel. It had been a day of unusual
fatigue with him, and utterly exhausted, he sank intc
the corner seat, while passenger after passenger crowded in, their damp overcoats and dripping umbrellas
filling the vehicle with a sickly steam, which affected
him unpleasantly, causing him to lean his aching head
upon his hand, and so shut out what was going on
around him. They were full at last-every seat, every
standing point was taken, and still the conductor said
there was room for another, as he passed in a delicate
youmg girl, wulo modestly drew her vail over her tface




TME SEARCH.               205
to avoid the gaze of the men, some of whon  stared
rather rudely at her. Just after she came in, Frederic
looked nup, but the thick folds of the vail told no tales
of the sudden paling of the lip, the flushing of her
cheek, and the quiver of the eye-lids. Neither did the
violent trembling of her body, nor the quick pressure
of her hand upon her side convey to him other iunpression than that she was tired-faint, he thoughtand touching his next ineigllbor with his elbow, he
compelled him to move along a few inches, while he
did the same, and so made room for the girl between
himself and the door.
"Sit here, Miss," he said, and he turned partly
toward her, as if to shield her from the crowd, for he
felt intuitively that she was not like them.
Her hands, which chanced to be ungloved and
grasped the handle of her basket, were small, very
small, and about the joints were little laughing dimnples, looking very tempting to Frederic Raymond,
who was a passiolnate admirer of pretty hands, and
who now felt a strong desire to clasp the tiny snowflakes j iust within his reach.
Involuntalrily he thought of those which had so lately
held his feverish head; they must have been much
like the little ones holding so fast the basket, and he
wished that chance had brought Marian there instead
of the youn.y girl sitting so still beside himn. A strange
sensation thrilled him at the very idea of meeting her
thus, while his heart beat fast, but never said to him
that it was Marian herself!  Why didn't it?   He
asked himself that question a thousand times in after
years, saying lhe should know her again, but lie had no
suspicion of it now, tllough when they stopped at the
selsue street down which lie once had looked at the
open window, and when the seat beside him  was
empty, he did experience a sense of loneliness —a feeling as if a part ot himself hlad gone with the young
girl. Suddenly remembering tlhat in his abstraction
he had come higlher up tllan he wished to do, he also




2!r6               THE SEARCH.
alighted, and standing upon the muddy pavemnnt,
looked after the tripping figure moving so rapidly toward the window where the geranium was blossoming,
and where a light was shining now. It disappeared
at last, and mentally chiding him for stopping ill the
rain to watch a perfect stranger, Frederic turned back
in the direction of his hotel, while the girl, who had
so awakened his interest, rustled up the narrow stairs,
and bounded into the room where Mrs. Burt was sitting, exclaimed:
"I've seen him!  I've sat beside him in the same
car!"
"Wlly didn't you fetch him home, then " asked
Ben, who had returned that afternoon from a short excursion in the country.
Marian's face crimsoned at this question, and in a
hard, unnatural voice she replied:
" He didn't wish to come. He didn't even pretend
to recognize me, though he gave me a seat, and I knew
him so quick."
" Had that brown dud over your face, I s'pose," returned Bel, casting a rueful glance at the vail. "Nobody can tell who a woman is, now-a-days. Wliy didn't
you pull it off and claim him for your husband, and
make him pay your fare?"
"Oh, Ben," said Marian, "you certainly wouldn't
have me degrade myself like tllatl  Frederic knew
who I was,  am sure, for I saw him so plain-but he
does not wish to find me. He never asked for me
since I left his sick rolom. All he cared for was Isabel, and I wish it were possible for llim to Ilnarry hel'."
" You don't wish any such thing," answered Ben, and
in the same cold, hard tone Marian continued:
" I do. I thought so to-night when I sat beside him
and looked into his face. I loved him once as Inuch
as one can love anonter, and because I loved him thus
I came away, tllinking in my ignorance that he might
be happy with Isabel; and when I saw that advertisement, I wrote, asking if I might go) ack again. The




THE SEARCH.                207
result of the letter you know. He insulted me cruelly.
He told-me a falsehood, and still I was not cured.
Whlen I thought hiln dying in the hotel, I went and
staid with himl till the other camle: but, after I was
gone, he never spoke of me, and he even professed not
to know MIrs. Daniel Burt, asking who she was, wjlen
lhe knew as well as I, for I told him who she was, and
he directed my letter to her. I never used to think he
was deceitful, but I know it now, and I almost hate
him for it."
" Tut, tut. No you don't," chimed in Ben; and Marian growing still more excited, continued, " Well, if I
don't, I will. I have run after him all I ever shall,
and now if we are reconciled he must make the first
concessions!"
"Whew-ew," whistled Ben, thinking to himself,
" Ain't the little critter spunky, though!" and feeling
rather amused than otherwise, he watched Marian as
she paced the floor, her blue eyes flashing angrily and
her whole face indicative of strong excitement.
She fullly believed that Frederic knew her, simply
because she recognized him, and his failing to ac
knowledge the recognition filled lher with indignation
and determination to forget him if it were possible.
All, little did she dream then of the lonely man, who,
in the same room where she so recently had been, sat
with bowed Ilead, and thought of her until the distant
bells tolled the hour of midnight.
It was now three weeks since he commenced his
search, and ihe was beginning to despair of success. His
presence he knew was needed in Kentucky, where
Alice had been left alone with the negroes, and wlhere
his arrangements for moving were not yet completed.
His house on the river was waiting for him, the people
wonldering why he didn't come, and as he sat thinking it all over, he resolved at last.to go home and bring
Alice to Riverside-to send for Mrs. Huntington as
had previously been arranged, and then begin the
search again. Of Isabel too, he thought, remembering




208                THE SEAROH.
his hasty promise of going to New Haven, but this he
could not do. So he penned her a few lines, telling
her how it was impossihle for him to come, and saying that on his return to Riverside with Alice, lie
should expect to find her mother and herself waiting
to receive him.
" I cannot do less than this," he said. "Isabel lhas
been with me a long time, and though I do not feel toward her as I did, I pity her; for I am afraid she likes
iie better than she should. I have given her encouragement, too; but when I come back, I will talk with
her candidly. I will tell her hlow it is, and 0offer her al
home with nle as long as she shall choose to stay.  I
will be to her a brother; and when Marian is found,
the two shall be like sisters, until some man who has
not a wife already takes Isabel from my hands."
Thus deciding, Frederic wrote to Alice, telling hler
when he should probably be home, and saying he
should stop for a day or so at Yonkers. This done, he
_retired to rest, dreaming strange dreams of Marian and
the girl who sat beside lhim. They were one and the
same, lie thought; and he was raising the brown va<il
to see, when hie awoke to consciousness, and experienced a feeling of disappointmtent in finding his dream
untrue.
That morning a vague, uneasy feeling prompted hini
to stroll slowly down the street whither the young girl
had gone the previous night. The window in the third
story was opeun again, and the geranium was standing
there still, its broad leaves growing frlesher and greener
in the sunshine which shone warnm upon the window
sill, where a beautitfl kitten lay, apparently asleep.
Frederic saw it all, and for an instant felt a thrill of
fear lest the cat should fall and be killed on the pavemITentbelow. Bar a second glance assured himn of its
safety-for, half buried in its lollg, silk far, was a
small white hand, a hand like Marian's and that of the
girl with the thick brown vail.  "Its owner was the
mistress of the kitten," he said; and the top of her




THE SEARCH.               209
head was just visible, for she eat' reading upon a little
stool, and utterly unconscious of the straTnger who, on
the opposite side in the street, cast many and wistful
glances in that direction, not because he fancied that
shie was there, nor yet for any explainable reason, except that the fringed curtain reminded himn of his boyhlood; and he knew the occupant of that room had
once lived in the country, and bleached her linen on
tile sweet, clean grass, which grew by the running
brook.
" Marian," said Mrs. Burt, "who is that tall man go.
ing down the street?  He's been looking this way ever
so much. Isn't it — "
She did not need to repeat the name, for Marian
saw who it was, and her fingers buried themselves so
deeply in the fat sides of the kitten that the little aniinal fancied the play rather too rude for comfort, and,
spitting at her mistress pertly bounded upon the floor.
" It's Frederic!" cried Marian. " Maybe he's coming here, for he has crossed the street below, and is
coming up this side."  And in her joy Marian forgot
the harsh things she had said of him only tile night before.
But in vain Marian waited for the step upon the
stairs —the loud knock upon the door-neither of them
came, and leaning from the window she watched him
through her tears until he passed from sight.
Tllat afternoon, as Fredeiic was sauntering leisurely drown the street in the direction of the depotior he intended going to Yonkers that night-lie sturnbled upon Ben, w!hose characteristic exclamation was,
" Wall, Square, glad to see you out agin, but I didn't
b'lieve I ever shtould when I sent word to that gal. She
come, I s'pose?"
"Yes," returned Frederic, "and I am grateful to
you for your kindness in- telegraphing to my friends.
How did you know I was sick?"
" Oh, I'm allus'round," said Ben. "' Know one of
them boys at the hotel, and he told me.  I s'posed




210               THIE SEARCH.
you'd die, and I sllould of come to see you mabby,
only I had to go off peddlin'. Bizness afore pleasure,
you know."
This remark seemed to imply that Frederic's dying
would have been a source of pleasure to the Yankee,
but tile young man knew that he did intend it, and the
two walked on together-Ben plying his companion
with questions, and learning that both Isabel and Mrs.
Iuntington were now in New Haven, but would probally go to Riverside when Frederic returned from
Kentucky.
" That's a grand place," said Ben; " fixed up in tiptop style, too. I took my sister out to see it, and she
tllought'twas pretty slick. Wouldn't wonder if you're
goin' to marry that black-haired gal, by the looks of
things?" and Ben's gray eyes peered sideways at Frederic, who replied, "I certainly have no such intentions."
"You don't say it," returned Ben.  "I shouldn't
of took the trouble to send for her if I hadn't s'posed
you was kinder courtin'. My sister thought you was, and
she or'to know, bein' she's been through the mill i"
Frederic winced under Ben's pointed remarks, and
as a means of changing the conversation, said, " If I
aln not mistaken, you spoke of your sister when in
Kentucky, and Alice became quite interested.  I've
heard her mention the girl several times. What is her
name."
"' Do look at that hoss-fiat on the pavement. He's
a goner," Ben exclaimed, by way of gaining a little
time.
Frederic's attention was immediatly diverted from
Ben, who thought to himself, "I'll try him with half
the truth, and if he's any ways bright he'll guess the
rest. "
So when, to use Ben's words, the noble quadruped
was " safely landed on t'other side of Jordan where
there wan't no omnibus drivers, no cars, no canal boats,
no cartmen, no gals to pound their backs into pum



THE SEARCH.                211
mice, no wimmen, nor ministers to yank their mouths,
nor nothin' but a lot as big as the United States with
the Missippi runnin' through it, and nothin' to do but
liick up their heels and eat clover," Ben came back to
Frederic's question, and said, "You as't my sister's
name. They tried hard to call her.Mary Ann, I
s'pose. My way of thinkin''taint neither one nor
t'other, though mabby you'll like it-MARIAN;'taint a
common name. Did you ever hear it afore?"
"Marian!" gasped Frederic, turning instantly pale,
while a strange, undefinable feeling swept over him —
a feeling hat he had never been so near finding her as
now.
" Excuse me, Square," said Ben, whose keen eyes
lost not a single change in the expression of Frederic's
face.  "I'm  such a blunderin' critter!  That little
blind gal told me your fist wife was Marian, and I
or'to known better than harrer your feelings with the
name.
"Never mind," returned Frederic, faintly, "but tell
me of your sister-and now I think of it, you said once
you were from down east, which I supposed referred
to one of the New England states, Vermont perhaps?"
" Did use to live in Massachusetts," replied Ben. "But
can't a feller move.?"
Frederic admitted that he could, and Ben continued,
" I or'to told you, I s'pose, that Marian ain't my own
flesh and blood —she's adopted, that's all. But I love
her jest the same. Her name is Marian Grey," and
Ben looked earnestly at Frederic, thinking to himself,
" Won't he take the hint when he knows, or had or'to
know that her mother was a Grey."
But hints were lost on Frederic.  He had no suspicion of the truth, and Ben proceeded, " All her kin is
dead, and as mother hadn't no daughter she took this
orphan, and I'm  workin' hard to give her a good
schoolin'.  She can play the pianner like fury, and
talks the French grammar most as well as I do the
English I"




212               THE SEARCH.
This brought a smile to Frederic's face, and he did
not for a moment think of doubting Ben's word.
"You seem very proud of your sister," he said, at
last, "and asI owe you something for caring for me
and telegraphing to my friends, let me show my gratitude by giving you something for this Marian Grey.
What shall it be  Is she fond of jewelry  Most
young girls are."
Ben stuck his hands in his trousers pocket and
seemed to be thinking; then, removing his hands he
replied, "Mabby you'll think it sassy, but there is
somethin' that would please us both. I told her about
you when I came from Kentucky, and she cried like a
baby over that blind gal. Then, when you was sick,
she felt worried agin, beg your pardon, Square, but I
told her you was han'some. Jest give us your picter,
if it ain't bigger than my thumb, and would it be asking too much for you when you git home to send me
the blind gal's. She's an angel, and I should feel so
good to have her face in my pocket. You can direct
to Ben Butterworth —but law, you won't, I know you
won't."
"  Why not?" asked Frederic, laughing at the novel
request.'"Mine you shall surely have, and Alice's
also, if she consents. Come withme now, for we are opposite a daguerrean gallery."
The result of this was that in a short time Ben held
in his hand a correct likeness of Frederic, which was
of priceless value to liim, because he knew how highly
it would be prized by her for whom alone he had requested it.
As they passed out into the street again, Frederic
said to him rather abruptly, "Do you know Sarah
Green?"
"No," answed Ben, and Frederic continued,
"Do you know Mrs. Merton?"
Ben started a little, and then repeating the name
replied, "Ain't acquainted with that name neither.
Who is she?"




THE SEARCH.               213
She took care of me," returned Frederic, "and I
would like to find her, and thank her for her kind
fess."
" I shouldn't s'pose she could of took care of yoi
alone, sick as you was," said Ben, waiting eagerly for
the answer. which, had it been what he desired, might
lead to the unfolding of the mystery.
But Frederic shrank from making Ben his confidant.
"It was hard for her till Miss Huntington carne."
" Blast Miss Huntington," thought Ben, now thoroughly satisfied that his companion did not care to discover Marian, or he would certainly say something
about her.
Both she and his mother were sure that lhe knew
she lhad been with him in his sickness, and if lie really
wished to find her he would speak of her as well as of
Mrs. Merton.
"But he don't," thought Ben.  "He don't care a
straw for her, and she's right when she says she won't
run after him any more.  He don't like Isabel none
too well, and I raally b'lieve the man is crazy."
This settled the matter satisfactorily with Ben, who
accompanied Frederic to the depot, waiting there until
the departure of the train.
"- Give my regrets to that Josh, and the rest of the
niggers, and don't on no account forget the picter,"
were his last words, as he quitted the car, and then
hurried home impatient to show Marian his surprise.
He found her sitting by the open window-a listless,
dreamy look in her blue eyes, and a sad expression
upon her face, which said that her thoughts were far
away in the South-land, where Nature had decked her
beautiful home with all the glories of the merry month
of May and the first bright days of June. Roses were
blooming there now, she knew, and she thought of the
bush she had planted beneath the library window,
wondering if that were in bloomn, and if its fragrance
ever reminded the dear ones of her. Did Alice twine
the buds amid her soft hair, just as she used to do,




214               THE SEARCH.
and call them Malrian's buds, saying they were sweeter
than all the rest?
"Darling Alice," she murmured, "I shall never
sce her again:" and her tears were dropping upon her
lap just as Ben came in, and began:
"Wall, wee one, I've seen the Square, and talked
with him of you."
" Oh, Ben, Ben I"-and Marian's face was spotted
with her excitement-" what made you? What didhe say? and where is he?"
"Gone home," answered Ben; "but he had this
took on purpose for you;" and he tossed the picture
into her lap.
"It is —it is Frederic. Oh, Mrs. Burt, it is," and
Marian's lip touched the glass, from which the face of
Frederic Raymond looked kindly out upon her.
It was thinner than when she used to know it, but
fuller, stronger-looking than when it lay among the
t.umnbled pillows. The eyes, too, were hollow, and not
so bright, while it seenmed to her that the rich brown
hair was not so thrifty as of old. But it was Frederic
still, her Frederic, and she pressed it again to her lips,
while her heart thrilled with the joyful thought that he
remembered her, and had sent her this priceless token.
But why had he gone home without her-why had he
left her there alone if he really cared for finding her 
Slowly, as a cloud obscures a summner sky, a shadow
crept over her face-a shadow of doubt-of distrust.
There was something she had not heard, and with quiveriug lip she said to Ben, "What does it mean?
You have not told me why he sent it."
It was cruel to deceive her as he had done, and so
*Ben thought when he saw the heaving of her chest,
the pressure of her hands, and more than all, tlhe
whiteness of her face, as he told her why Frederic
sent to her that picture; that it was not taken for
Marian Lindsey, but rather for Marian Grey, adopted
sister of Benjamin Butterworth.
" He does not wish to find me," said Marian when




THE SEARCH.                215
Ben had finished speaking. " We shall never be reconciled, and it is just as well, perhaps."
" I think so, too," rejoined Ben, " or at any rate I'd
let him rest a spell, and learn everything there is in
books for woman-kind to learn. You shall go to college, if you say so, and bimeby, when the old Nick
himself wouldn't know you, I'll get you a chance to
teach that blind gal, and he'll fall in love with his
own wife; see if he don't," and Ben stroked the curls
within his reach very caressingly, thinking to himself,
" I won't tell her now "bout Alice's picter,'cause it
may not come, but I'll cheer her up the best way that
I can.'She grows handsome every day of her life,"
and as this, in Bet's estimation, was the one thing of
all others to be desired by Marian, he could not forbear complimenting her aloud upon her rapid improvement in looks.
"Thank you," she answered, smiling very faintly,
for to her, beauty or accomplishments were of little
avail if in the end Frederic's love were not secured.
Anon, however, hope whispered to her that it miglit
be, and again she opened the daguerreotype, catching
a glow of encouragement fromn the eyes which looked
so kindly at her, as if they fain would tell her of tile
weary days the original of that picture had spent in
searching for her, or how, even now, amid tile noise
and dust of the crowded cars, he sat, wholly unmind1ful of what was passing around, never looking at the
beautiful blue river without, or yet at the motley
passengers within, but with his hat drawn over his
eyes and his shawl across his lap, he thought of her
alone, except indeed occasionally when there would
intrude itself upon him the remembrance of the girl
with the brown vail, or a thought of Marian Grey I




CHAPTER XVII.
HOME AGAIN.
FREDERIC was coming home again-" Marster Frederic," who, as Dinah said, "had been so near to kingdom-come that he could hear the himes they sung on
Sundays."
Joyfully the blacks told to each other the glad news,
which was an incentive for them all to bestir themselves as they had not done before during the whole
period of their master's absence. Old Dinah, whose
mind turned naturally upon eatables, busied herself
in conjuring up some new and harmless relish for thle
invalid, while Uncle Phil spent all the whole day in
rubling down the horses and rubbing up the carriage
with which he intended meeting his master at Frank.
fort. Josh, too, caught the general spirit, and retnembering how much his master was wont to chide him
for. his slovenly appearance, he cast rueful glances at
his sorry coat and red cowhides, wishing to goodness
he had some " clothes to honor the'casion with."
" I m-n-might sh-sh-shine these up a little," he said,
examining his boots, and, purloining a tallow candle
from Hetty's cupboard, he set himself to the task,
succeeding so well that he was almost certain of coinnendation.
A coat of uncle Phil's was borrowed next, and
though it hung like a tent cloth about Josh's lank proportions, the effect was entirely satisfactory to the boy,




HOME AGAIN.               217
who had a consciousness of having done all that could
reasonably be expected of him.
In the house Alice was not idle. From the earliest
dawn she had been up, for there was something on
hler mind which kept her wakeful and restless. Frederic's letters, which were read to her by the wife of
the overseer, who lived near by, had told her of the
blue-eyed girl who had been with him in his sickness,
and in one letter, written ere he had given up the
search, he had said, while referring to the girl: "Darling Alice, I am so glad you sent me here, for I hope
to bring you a great and joyful surprise."
Not the least mention did he make of Marian, but
Alice understood at once that he meant her. Marian
and the blue-eyed girl were the same, and he would
bring her back to them again. She was certain of it,
and though in his last letter, dated at Riverside, and
apprising them of his intended return, he had not
alluded to the subject, it made no difference with her.
He wished really to surprise her, she thought, and
seeking out Dinah, she said to her, rather cautiously,
for she would let no one into her secret:
"Supposing Frederic had never been married to
Miarian, but had gone now after a bride-I don't mean
Isabel," she said, as she felt the defiant expression of
Dinah's face-" but somebody else-somebody real
nice. Supposing, I say, he was going to bring her
hpm,;-shimh room do you think he would wish her to
have a"
"The best chamber, in course," answered Dinah —
"the one whar the'hogany bedstead and silk quilt is.
You wouldn't go to puttin' Marster Frederic's wife
off with poor truck, I hope. But what made you ask
that question? What have you hearn?"
" Nothing iin particular," answered Alice, " only it
would be nice if he should bring somebody with him,
and I want to fix the room just as though I knew he
would. May Lid sweep and dust it for me?"
For a moment Dinall looked at her as if she thought
10




218                IIOME AGAIN.
her crazy. Then thinking to herself, " it'll'muse her
a spell any way, and I may as well humor her whim,"
she replied.  "Sakes alive, yes, and I'll ar the bed.
Thar haint nobody slep' in't sence Marian run away,'cept Miss Agnes one night and that trollop, Isabel,
who consulted me by sayin' how't they done clarlbered onto a table afore they could get inter bed,'twas
so high. Ain't used to feathers whar she was raised,
I reckon, and if you'll b'lieve it, she said how't she
allus slep' on bar afore she come here! Pretty stuff
that must be to lie on; but Lord, them Yankees is
mostly as poor as poverty, and don't know no differ."
Having relieved herself of this speech, which involved both her opinion of Yankees in general and Isabel
in particular, the old lady proceeded to business, first
arim' the bed, as she said, and then making it higher,
if possible, than it was made on the night when Isabel so injured her feelings by laughing at its bight.
Lid's services were next brought into requisition; and
when the chamber was swept and dusted, the arrangement of the furniture was left entirely to Alice, who
felt that what she did was right, and wished so much
that she could see just how  Marian's faorite chair
looked standing by the window, from which the gorgeous sunsets Marian so much  admired  could be
plainly seen. Just opposite, and on tile other side of
the window, Frederic's easy chair was placed-the one
in which he always sat when tired, aid where Alice
fancied he would now delight to sit with Marian, so
near that he could look into her eyes and tell her that
he was glad to have her there. He was beginning to
love her Alice knew by the tone of his letters; and
her heart thrilled with joy as she thought of the happiness in store for them all. She would not be lonely
now in her own pleasant chamber, for it was so near to
Marian's. She could leave the doors open between,
and that would be so much nicer than having black
Ellen sleeping on the floor.
Dear little Alicel She built bright castles in the air




HOME AGAIN.               219
that summer day, and they were as real to her as if
Frederic had written, "i Marian is found, and coming
home with me."
" She loved a great many flowers around her," slhe
said, and groping her way down the stairs and out
into the yard, she gathered from tile tree beneath the
library window a profusion of blyds and half opened
roses, which she arranged into bouquets, and placed in
vases for Malian, just as Marian had gathered flowers
for her from the garden far away on the river.
It was done at last; and very inviting th.it pleasant,
airy apartment looked with its handsome furniture, its
bright carpet and muslin curtains of snowy white,
to say nothing of the towering bed. There were flowers on the mantle, flowers on the table, flowers in the
window, flowers everywhere, and their sweet perfume
filled the air with a delicious fragrance which Dinah
declared was "a heap sight better than that scent
Miss Isabel used to put on her hankercher and fan.
Ugh, that fan 1" and Dinah's nose was elevated at the
very thought of Isabel's sandal-wood fan which had
been her special abhorrence.
" Isn't it most time for Uncle Phil to start?" asked
Alice, when Dinah had finished fixing the room.
" Yes, high time," answered Dinah, "but Phil is so
slow. I'll jest hurry him up," and followed by Alice
she descended the stairs, meeting in the lower hall with
Lyd, who held in her hand a brown envelope, which
she passed to Alice, saying "One dem letters what
come like lightnin' on the telegraph. A boy done
brung it."
" A telegram," cried Alice, feeling at first alarmed.
" Go for'Mrs.Warren to read it."
But the overseer's wife was absent, as was also her
husband, and neither the blacks nor Alice knew what
to do.
" There isn't more than a line and a half," said Alice,
passing her finger over the paper and feeling the thick
sand which had been sifted upon it. "I presume




220                HOME AGAIN.
something has detained Frederic, and he has sent
word that he will not be here to-day."
"Let me see dat ar," said Phil, who liked to impress
his companions with a sense of his superior wisdom,
and, adjusting his iron-bowed specs, he took the letter,
which in reality was Greek to him.
After an immense amount of wry faces and loud
whispering he said:
"' Yes, honey, you're correct, though Marster Frederic has sich an onery hand-write that it takes me a
a heap of time to make it out.  It reads,'Somethin' has detained Frederic, and he has sent word
that he'll be here to-morry.'" And, with the utmost
gravity, Phil took off his specs, and was walking away
with the air of one who has done something his companions could never hope to do, when Hetty called
out,'
" Wonder if he'spects us to swaller dat ar, and
think he kin read, when he jest done said over what
Miss Alice say. Can't fool dis chile."
This insinuation Uncle Phil felt constrained to
answer, and with an injured air he replied:' Kill read, too, for don't you mind how't Miss Alice
say.'Won't be here to day,' and it's writ on the
paper,'Comin' to-morry.'" And, fully satisfied that
he had convinced his audience, Uncle Phil hastened
off, ere Hetty had time for further argument. So certain was Phil that Alice's surmises were correct and
the telegram interpreted aright. and so anxious withal
to prove himself sure, that he would not go to Frankfort, as he proposed doing.
"'There was no use on't," he said. "Marster
woqlldrl't be thar till'to-morry," and he whiled away
the afternoon at leisure.
But alas for Uncle Phil. Mrs. Warren had made a
mistake in Frederic's last letter, the young man writing
he should be home on thelath, whereas she had read
it the 17th; afterward, Frederic had decided to leave
Riverside one day earlier, and he telegraphed from




ROME AGMa.                 221
Cincinnati for Phil to meet him.  Finding neither
carriage nor servant in waiting, he hired a conveyance,
and about four o'clock P. iM. from every cabin door
there came the joyful cry"Marster Frederic has come."
"Told you so," said Hetty, with an exultant glance
at Uncle Phil, who wisely made no reply, but hastened with the rest to tell his master, "How d've?"
"How is it that some one did not Ineet me?" Frederic asked, after the first noisy outbreak had somewhat
subsided. "Didn't you get the despatch a"
The negroes looked at Phil, who stammered out"Yes, we done got it, but dein ole iron specs of
mine is mighty nigh wore out —can't see in'em at all,
and I read' to-morry' instead of'to-day.'"
The loud shout which followed this excuse enlightened Frederic as to the true state of the case, and he,
too, joined in the laugh, telling the crest-fallen Phil
that " he should surely have a new pair of silver specs
which would read'to-day' instead of' to-morry.'"
"But where is Alice?" he continued. "Whly don't
she come to greet me?"
" Sure'nough," returned Dinah.  "Whar can she
be, when she was so fierce to have you come? Reckon she's up in the best charrnber she's been fixin' up
for sotnethin', she wouldn't tell what."
"I'll go and see," said Frederic, starting in quest
of the little girl, who, as Dinah had conjectured, was
in the front chamber-the one prepared with so much
care for Marian.
She had been sitting by the window when she
heard the sound of wheels comning up the avenue. —
Then the joyful cry of " Marster's comnin'," canme to
her quick ear, and, starting up, she bent her he'ad to
listen for another voice-a voice she had not heard for
many a weary month. But she listened in vain, for
Marian was not there.  Gradually she became convinced of the fact, and, laying her tace on the windowsill, she was weeping bitterly when Frederic came in.




222               HOME AGAIN.
Pausing for a moment in the door, he glanced around,
first at the well remembered chair, then at the books
upon the table, then at the flowers, and then he knew
why all this had been done.
"I would that it might have been so," he thought,
and going to the weeping Alice he lifted up her head
and pushing her hair from her forehead, whispered to
her softly, " Darling, was it for Marian you gathered
all these flowers?"
"Yes, Frederic, for Marian," and Alice sobbed
aloud.
Taking her in his lap, Frederic replied, " Did you
think I would bring her home?"
"Yes, I thought you had found her, and I was so
glad. What made you write me that 2"
" Alice I did find her," returned Frederic; "I have
seen her, I have talked with her. Marian is alive."
At these words, so decidedly spoken, the blind eyes
flashed up into Frederic's face eagerly, wistfully, as if
they fain would burst their vail of darkness and see if
he told her truly.
"Is it true? Oh, Frederic, you are not deceiving
me? I can't bear any more disappointment," and
Alice's face and lips were as white as ashes, as she
proceeded further to question Frederic, who told her
of the blue-eyed girl who, just as he was treading the
brink of the river of death, had come to him and called
him back to life by her kind acts and words of love.
"She had a sweet, childish face," said he, " fairer,
sweeter than Marian's when she went away-but Marian must have changed; for I knew that this was
she."
Then he told her of her sudden disappearance when
Isabel came-of his fruitless efforts to find her, and
how while searching for her, he had met another girl,
whose hands reminded him of those which he had felt
so many times upon his brow.
"Wasn't that Marian?" said Alice, who had forgotten her grief in listening.




HOME AGAIN.               223
There was a mournful pathos in the tone of his
voice, and it emboldened Alice to ask another question.
"Frederic," slle began, and her little hand played
with his hair, as it always did when she was uncertain
as to how her remarks would be received, "Frederic,
ain't you loving Marian a heap more than you did
when she went away?"
Frederic did not hesitate a moment ere replying,
"' Yes, darling, I am, for that young girl crept away
down into my heart where Marian ought to have been,
before I asked her to be ray wife; and I shall find her
too. I only stopped long enough to come home for
you. The house is ready at Riverside, and your room
is charming."
"Will Isabel be there?" was Alice's next inquiry,
and Frederic answered by telling her all he knew of
the matter.
He did not say he was beginning to understand her
and consequently to like her less, but Alice inferred as
much, and with this fear removed from her mind, she
could endure patiently to become again a pupil of Miss
Huntington. For a long time they talked together,
wondering who wrote the letler purporting to have
come from Sarah Green, and why it had been written.
Then Frederic told her of the peddler Ben, and of his
sister, Xar;an Grey, who, at that moment, had his
daguerreotype in her keeping.. Of Marian Grey Alice
did not say to him "She is our Marian," for she had
not such a thought, but she seemed interested both in
her and in Ben, and when told that the latter had asked
for her picture she consented at once, saying he should
have it as soon as they were settled at Riverside.
"I would not tell any one that Marian was with me,"
said Frederic, as their conversation drew to a close;'; I had rather the subject should not be discussed until
I really find her and bring her home; then we will set
apart a day of general thanksgiving."
To this suggestion Alice readily assented, and as the




224                HOME AGAIN.
supper bell just then rang, and the two went together
to the delicious repast, which Dinah had prepared
with unusual care, insisting the while that " thar was
nothin' fit for nobody to eat."
Frederic, however, whose appetite was increasing
each day, convinced her to the contrary, and while
watching him as he did justice to her viands, the old
negress thought to herself, "'Clar for't, how he does
eat. I should know he come from Yankee land. You
can allus tell'em, the way they crams, when they get
whar thar is somethin'."
The news of Frederic's return spread rapidly, and
that night he received calls from several of his neigh.
bors, together with an invitation to Agnes Gibson's
wedding, which was to take place in a few days.  In
the invitation Alice was included, and though Dinah
demurred, saying that " trundle-bed truck or'to stay at
home," Alice ventured to differ from her, and at the
appointed time went with Frederic to the party, which
was splendid in all its parts, having been got up with
a direct reference to the newspaper articles which were
sure to be published concerning it. Agnes, of course,
was charming in white satin, point lace, orange flowers, flowing vail, and all other et ceteras which comnplete the dress of a fashonable bride. And the bridegroom-poor old man-looked very well in his new
suit of broadcloth, even if his knees did shake-not
from fear, however, but as one of the guests remarked,
" Because it was a way they'd had for several years!'
The top of his head was bald, it is true, and his hair'
as white as snow, but for every silver thread Agnes
knew there was a golden eagle in his purse, and this
consoled her somewhat, though it did not prevent her
from watching jealously to see if any one was talking
of the palsied man, her husband. Her expected present
from Isabel had never come, and the three fish knives,
ranged in a row, looked as if two of them, at least,
were rather more ornamental than useful, as did also
the four card baskets, and three gold thimbles, which




EOME AGAIN.                225
occupied a conspicuous piece.  To Frederic, Agnes
was especially gracious, asking him numberless questions concerning her " dear friend," and saying " she
hoped to meet her in her travels, as they were going
North and were intending to spend the Summer at
Saratoga, Newport, and Nahant. I thought once you
would be taking your bridal tour about this time," she
said to him, when several were standing near.
"I assure you I had no such idea," was Frederic's
reply, and Agnes continued, " Indeed I supposed you
were engaged, of course."
" Then you supposed wrong," he answered, glad of
this public opportunity to contradict a story he knew
had gained a wide circulation. " I esteem Miss Huntington as a friend and distant relative, but I certainly
have no intention whatever of making her my witfe."
Frequently, during the evening, he was asked if he
had found any clue to Sarah Green or her letter; anld
as he could in all sincerity reply in the negative, no
one guessed that instead of Sarah Green he had found
his wife —only, however to lose her again.
" But he would find her," he said to himself, and as
he looked at the ill-matched bride and groom, he could
not forebear wishing that it were himself and Marian.
Ile would stay by her now, he thought, and when it
grew dark in the parlor instead of suffering her to go
away alone and read the fatal letter, he would draw
her to his side, and telling her of its contents,'would
sue for her forgiveness, and offer to her love in return
for the fraud imposed upon her.
It was a pleasant picture Frederic drew that night
of what his bridal mlight have been, and so absorbed
was he in it that when, as they were going home, Alice
with a yawnl said to him, " Wasn't it so tiresome hearing those young folks say such foolish things to each
other, and hearing the old ones talk about their servalits 98" he replied, "  tyliy no, child, I spent a most delightful evenillng."
"I —dun't —see —how you could," was the drowsy
10*




226                HOME AGAIN.
answer, and in a moment more Alice lay upon the carriage cushions fast asleep!
It was nearly three weeks after this party ere Frederic's arrangements for leaving Kentucky were entirely
completed, and it was not until the latter part of July
that he finally started for his new home. The lameintations of the negroes were noisy in the extreme,
though far more moderate than they would have been
if their master had not said that it was very probable he
should return in the Autumn, and merely make Riverside a Summer residence.  Ift' he found Marian he
should come back, of course, he thought, but he did
not deem it best to raise hopes which might never be
realized, so he said nothing of her to the blacks who
supposed of course she was dead.
rThe parting between Dinah and Alice was a bitter
one, the former hugging the little girl to her bosom
and wondering how "I Marster Frederic'spected a child
what had never waited on itself even to fotch a drop
of water, could get along way off dar whar thar warn't
nary nigger nor nothin' but a pack o' low flung Irish.
Order'ern'round," she said to Alice, wiping her eyes
with her checked apron, " order'em round jist like
they warn't white. Make'emn think you be somebody.
Say your pra'rs evey night-war your white cambric
wrappers in. the,molrnin', and don't on no count catch
any poor folksy's marners'mong them Yankees for I
shouldn't get my nateral sleep o' nights, till you got
shet of'emn, and-" lowering her voice, "if so be that
you tell any of the quality'bout us blacks, s'posin you
you kinder set Ine'bove Ietty and them.Higginses,
beinl' that I tile same as nussed yon."
rbI nearly all these requirements Alice promised
compliance, and then, as the carriage was waiting, she
followed Frederic down to the gate, and soon boti
were lost to thie sight of the tearful group which firon
tile piazza of Redstone Hall, gazed wistfully after
themn.
It was at the close of a sultry Summer day when




HOME AGAIN.               227
the travelers reached Riverside, where they found Mrs.
Huntington waiting to receive them.  Frederic had
written, apprising her of the time when he should
probably arrive, and asking her to be there if possible.
Something, too, he had said of Isabel, but that young
lady was not in the most amiable mood, and as she
was comfortably domesticated with another distant
relative, she declined going to Frederic until he came
to some understanding, or at least manifested a greater
desire to have her with him than his recent letters indicated.  Accordingly her mother went alone, and
Frederic was not sorry, while Alice was delighted.
Everything seemed so bright and airy; she said, just as
though a load were taken from them, and like a bird
she flitted about the house, for she needed to pass
through a room but once ere she was familiar with its
location, and could find it easily. With her own cozy
chamber she was especially pleased, and in less than
half an hour her little hands had examined every article of furniture, even to the vases which held the
withered blossoms gathered so long ago.
"Somebody must have put these here for me," she
said, and then her mind went back to the morning
when she, too, had gathered flowers for her expected
friend, and she wondered much who had done a similar service tor her.
" It's me," returned Mrs. Russell, who was still staying at Riverside. " Now I wonder if you found them
dried-up things so soon," she continued, advancing into rooin. " I should of hove them out, only that the girl
who fixed'em made me promise to leave'emr till you
came.'Pears like she b'lieved you'd think more on'emn for knowin' that shle picked'ern."
" Girl! Mrs. Russell. What girl?" and Alice's eyes
lighted up, for she thonght at once of Marian, who
would know of course about the house, and as she would
naturally wislh to see it, she had coine some d:ty and
left these flowers, which would be so dear to her if she




228               HOME AGAIN.
found her suspicions correct.  " Who was the girl I"
she asked again, and Mrs. Russell replied:
"' I don't remember her name, but she went all over
the house, fixing things in Mr. Raymond's room, which
I didn't think was very marnerly, bein' that'twa'n't
none o' hern. Then she come in here and set ever so
long before she picked these posys, which she told me
not to throw away."
"Yes, it was Marian," came involuntarily from
Alice's lips, while the woman, catching at the name
rejoined:
"That sounds like what he called her-that tall
spooky chap, her brother-Ben something. She said
he had seen you at the South."
" Oh, Ben Butterworth. It was his adopted sister;"
and Alice turned away, feeling greatly disappointed
that Mariar -Grey, and not Marian Lindsey, had arran.
ged those flowers for her.
This allusion to Ben reminded Alice of his request
for her picture, and one morning, when Frederic was
going to New York, she asked to go with him and sit
for lher daguerreotype. There was no reason why she
should not, and in an hour or two, she was listening,
half stunned, to the noise and uproar of the city.
" Oh, Frederic," she cried, holding fast to his hand,
as they made their way up town-" oh, Frederic, I
wonder Marian didn't get crazy and die.  I'm  sure I
should. I'm almost distracted now.  Where are all
those people and carts going that I hear running by us
so fast, and what makes them keep pushing me so hard.
Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't come!" and as some one just
then jostled her more rudely than usual, Alice began
to cry.
" Never mind," said Freredric soothingly, "we are
almost there, and we will take a carriage back. Folks
can't push you then;" and in stooping down to comfort
the little girl, he failed to see the graceful figure passing so near him that the hem of her dress fluttered
against his boot.




HOME eAGA1N.             229
They had come upon each other so suddenly that
there was not time for the brown vail to be dropped,
neither was it needful, for so absorbed was Frederic
with his charge that he neither knew nor dreamed how
near to Marian Lindsey he had been.
Alice's tears being dried, they. kept on their way,
and when the picture was taken, Frederic did it up
and directing it to Ben Butterworth, sent it to the of
fice, then calling a carriake, he took Alice, as he had
promised, all over the great city. And Alice enjoyed
it very much, laying back on the soft cushions, and
knowing that no one could touch her of all the noisy
throng she heard so distinctly, but could not see. It
was a day long talked of by the blind girl, and she
asked M'rs. Huntington to write a description of it to
the negroes, who she knew fancied that Louisville was
the largest city in the world.
Not long after this, something which Mrs. Huntington said about her daughter determined Frederic to
visit her and make the explanation which he felt it his
duty to make, for he knew he had given her somne reason to think he intended asking her to be his wife He
accordingly feigned some excuse for going to New Haven, and one morning found himlself at the door where
Isabel was stopping.
"' Give her this," lihe said, handing his card to the servant who carried it at once to tile delighted young lady.
" Frederic Raymond," read Isabel. " Oh, yes. Tell
him I'll be down in a moment,' and she proceeded to
arrange her hair a little more becomingly, and nrade
several changes in her dress, so that the one minute
was nearly fifteen ere she started for the parlor, where
Frederic was rather dreading her coining, tor he scarcely knew what he wished to say.
Half titmidly she greeted him as a bashful maiden is
supposed to meet her lover, and seating herself at a
respectful distance from him, slie asked numberless
questions concerning his health, her numberless friends




230                ROME. AGAIN.
in Kentucky, her mother, and dear little Alice, who,
she presumed, did not miss her much.
"Your mother's presence renlinds us of you very often, of course," returned Frederic, " but you know we
can get accustomed to almost anything, and Alice
seems very happy."
"Yes," sighed Isabel. "You will all forget me, I
suppose, even to mother-but for me I have not been
quite contented since I left Kentucky.  I thought it
tiresome to teach, and perhaps was sometimes impatient and unreasonable, but I have often wished myself
back again. I don't seem to be living for anything
now," and Isabel's black eyes studied the pattern of
the carpet quite industriously.
This long speech called for a reply, and Frederic
said, "You would not care to come back again, would
you?"
"Why, yes," returned Isabel; "I would rather do
that than nothing."
For a time there was silence, while Frederic fidgeted
in his chair and Isabel fidgeted in hers, until at last the
former said:
" I owe you an explanation, Isabel, and I have come
to make it. Do you remember our conversation in the
parlor, and to what it was apparently tending, when
we were interrupted by Alice?"
" Yes," replied Isabel, "and I have thought of it so
often, wondering if you were in earnest, or if you were
merely trifling with my feelings."
" I certainly had no intention of trifling with yon,"
returned Frederic: " neither do I know as I was really
in earnest.  At all events it is fortunate for us both
that Alice came in as she did;" and having said so
much, Frederic could now look calmly upon a face
which changed from a serene Summer sky to a dark,
lightnling-laden thunder-cloud as he told her the story
he had caine to tell.
In her terrible disappointment, Isabel so far forgot
herself as to lose her temper entirely, and Frederic,




HOME AGAIN.                231
while listening to her as she railed at himn for what she
called his perfidy, wondered how he ever could have
thought her womanly or good.
"It was false that Marian was living, and had taken
care of him when sick," she said. "He could not irnpose that story upon her, and he only wished to do it
because he fancied that he was in some way pledged
to her and wished for an excuse, but he might have
saved himself the trouble, for even had Alice not ap
peared she should have told him No. She liked him
once, she would admit, but there was nothing like living beneath the same roof to make one person tire oi
another, and even if she were not disgusted with him
before, she should have become so while taking care
of' him in New York, and so she wrote to Agnes Gibson, who, she heard, had spread the news that she was
engaged, though she had no authority for doing so, but
it was just like the tattling mischief-maker 1"
"Are you through?" F rederic coolly asked, when
she had finished speaking. " If you are I will consider
our interview at an end."
Isabel did not reply and he arose to go, saying to
her as he' reached the door, "I did not come here to
quarrel with you, Bell, I wish still to be your friend,
and it you are ever in trouble come to me as to a brother. Marian will, I trust, be with me then; but she
will be kind to you, for'tis her nature."'- Plague on that Marian," was Isabel's unlady-like
thought as the door closed after Frederic. "I wonder
how many times she's coming to life I How I wanted
to charge him with his meanness in marrying her fortune, but as that is a secret between the two, he would
have suspected me of treachery. The villain! I believe I hate him-and only to think how those folks in
Kentucky will laugh.  But it's all Agnes' doings.
She inveigled more out of me than theire was to tell,
and then repeated it to suit herself. The jade! I
hope she's happy with that old man" — and at this
point Isabel broke down in a flood of tears, in the




2382              HOME AGAIN.
midst of which the door bell rang again, and hurrying
up the stairs she listened to the names, which this time
were " Mr. and Mrs. Rivers," (Agnes and her husband)
and they asked for her.
Drying her tears, and bathing her eyes until the
redness was gone, Isabel went down to meet the " tattling mischief-maker," embracing her very affectionately, antd telling her how delighted she was to see her
again, and how well she-was looking.
" Then why do you not embark on the sea of matrimony yourself, if you think it such a beautifier," said
Agnes.
" Me?" returned Isabel, with a toss of her head; "I
thought I wrote you that I had given up that foolish
fancy."
" Indeed, so you did," said Agnes, "but I had forgotten it, and when I saw Mr. Raymond at the Tontine, where we are stopping, I supposed of course lihe
had come to see you, and I said to Mr. Rivers it really
was too bad, for from what he said at our wedding I
fancied there was nothing in it, and had mnade up my
mind to take you with us to Florida, as I once talked
of doing. Husband's sister wants a teacher for her
children, don't slhwe, dear a?"
Mr. Rivers was about to answer in the affirmative,
but ere he could speak Isabel chimed in,' Oh, you
kind, thgughtful soul. Let me go with you now; do.
Nothing could please me more. I have missed your
society so much, and am so unhappy here!" and in
the black eyes there was certainly a tear, which instantly touched the heart of the sympathetic old man
who anticipated his wife's reply, by saying, " Certainly
you shall go, if you like. You'll be company for Mrs.
Rivers, and if I am in my dotage, as solne say, I've
sense enough to kniow that she can't be contented all
the time with her grandtather. Eli, Aggie?" and
chucked his bride under the chin.
"Disgusting!" thought Isabel.
"Old fool!" thought Agnes, who was really rather




HOME AGAIN.                 233'pleased with the idea of having Isabel go with her to
her new home, for though she did not love her dear
friend, she rather enjoyed her company, and she felt
that anybody was acceptable who would stand as a
third person between herself and the grandfather she
h.id chosen.
The more she thought of the plan the better she was
pleased with it, and before parting the whole was amicably adjusted. Early in October, Isabel was to join
her friend in Kentucky, and go with her from thence
to Florida, where she was either to remain with Mrs.
Rivers, or to teach in the family of Mrs. McGregor,
Mr. Rivers' sister. The former was what Isabel intended to do, for she thoroughly disliked teaching,
and if she could live without it, she would.  Still she
did not so express herself to her visitors, and she appeared so gracious and so grateful withal, that the
heart of the bridegroom was wholly won, and after his
return to their hotel, he extolled her so highly that
Agnes began to pout, a circumstance which pleased
her tatherly spouse, inasmuch as it augured more
affection for himself than he had supposed her to possess.
The story of Isabel's intended trip to Florida was
not long in reaching Rupolph MlcVicar, who had been
wondering why somnething didn't occur, and if he were
really to be disappointed after all.
"I wasted that paper and ink for nothing," was his
mental conlmment when he heard from her own lips that
Isabel was going; for, presuming upon his foriher acquaintance, he finally ventured to call upon her,
enemeaning himself so well that, like her mother, Isabel
began to think he had retormed.
Still there was an expression in his eye which she
did not like, and when at last ]he left her, she experienced a feeling of relief; as it a spell had been
removed. After her recent interview with Frederic
she would not go to his house, so her mother went to
New Haven, staying with her daughter a week and




234               HOME AGAN.
then returning to Riverside, while Isabel started for
Kentucky, where, as she had expected, she met with
Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, and was soon on her way to
Florida.
When sure that Isabel was gone, and that Sarah
Green's letter had indeed been written in vain, Rudolph, who cared nothing now whether Marian were
ever discovered to her husband or not, went to New
York and embarked on a whaling voyage, as he had
long thought of doing, fancying that the roving life of
a seaman would suit his restless nature.
And now, with Rudolph on the sea, with Isabel in
Florida, with Marian at school, and Frederic at Riverside, we draw a vail over the different characters of
onur story, nor lift it again until three years have passed
away, bringing changes to all, but to none a greater
change than to the so-called Marian Grey.




CHAPTER XIX.
THE GOVERNESS.
IT was a bright September afternoon, and the dense
foliage of the trees looked as fresh and green as when
watered by the Summer showers, save here and there
a faded leaf came rustling to the ground, whispering
to those at whose feet it fell of the Winter which was
hastening on, and whose breath even now was on the
northern seas. Softly the Autumnal sunlight fell upon
the earth, and the birds sang as gayly in the trees as
if there were no hearts bereaved —no small, low rooms
where all was darkness and gloom-no humble procession winding slowly through the crowded streets
and out into the country, where, in a new-nlade grave;
a mother's love was buried, while the mourners, two
in number, a young man and a girl, held each other's
hand in token that they were bound together by a
common sorrow. Not a word was said by either; and
when the solemn burial rite was over, they returned
as silently to the carriage, then were driven back to
their desolate home-the tenement where Frederic
Raymond had watched the curtained window and the
geranium growing there.
For many days that window had been darkened,
just as it was when Marian Grey lay there with tlhe
fever in her veins; but it was open now, and the west
wind came stealing in, purifying the room fi'om the
faint sickening smell of coffins and of death, for the
Destroyer had been there. And when the moutirners




236             TWE GOVERNESS.
came back from the grave in the country, one threw
himself upon the lounge, and burying his face in the
cushions, sobbed aloud:
" Oh, Marian, it's terrible to be an orphan and have
no mother."
"Yes, Ben,'tis terrible," and Marian's tears dropped on the hair of the honest-hearted Ben.
Up to this hour he had restrained his grief, but now
that he was alone with Marian, he wept on until the
sun went down and the night shadows were creeping
into the room. Then lifting up his head, he said, "It
is so dark-so dismal now-and the hardest of all is
the givin' up our dear old home where mother lived
so long, and the thinkin' maybe you'll forget me when
you live with that grand lady."
"Forget you! Oh, Ben, I never can forget how
nmuch you have done for me, denying yourself everything for my sake," said Marian, while Ben continued,
" Nor won't you be ashamed of me neither, if I should
come sometimes to see you. I should die if I could
not once in a while look into your eyes; and you'll let
me come, won't you, Marian 2"
"Of course I will," she replied, continuing after a
moment, "It is not certain yet that I go to Mrs. Sheldon's. I have not answered her last letter becauseYou know what we talked about before your mother
died!"
"Yes, yes, I know," returned Ben, "but I had forgot it —my heart was so full other things. I'll go out
there to-morrow. I'd rather you should teach at
Rverside, even if you'd never heard of Frederic, than
go to that grand lady, who might think, because you
was a governess, that you wan't fit to live in the same
house.'
"I have no fears of that," said Marian. "Mrs.
Harcourt says she is an estimable woman; but still, I
too, would rather go to Riverside, if I were sure Frederic would not know me. Do you think there is any
danger a"




THE GOVERNESS.              237
" No," was Ben's decided answer, and in this opinion Marian herself concurred, for she knew that she
had changed so much that none who saw her when
first shb came to Mrs. Burt's would recognize her now.
About three months before the night of which we
are writing, she had been graduated at Mrs. Harcoult's
school with every possible honor, both as a musician
and a scholar. There had never been her equal there
before, Mrs. Harcourt said, and when her friend, Mi-s.
Sheldon, who lived in Springfield Mass, applied to her
for a family pupil, she warmly recommended her favorite pupil, Marian Grey, frankly stating, however,
that she was of humble origin-that her adopted mother or aunt was a poor sewing woman, and her
adopted brother a peddler. This, however, made no
difference with Mrs. Sheldon, and several letters had
passed between herself and Marian, who would have
accepted the liberal offer at once, but for a lingering
hope that Ben would carry out his favorite plan, and
procure her a situation as teacher at Riverside. She had
forgotten what she once said about learning to hate
Frederic, and the possibility of living again beneath
the some roof with him made her heart beat faster than
its wont. She had occasionally met him in the street,
and once she was sure his eye had rested upon her in
passing, but she knew by its expression that she was
not recognized, and when Ben suggested offering her
services as Alice's governess she readily consented.
During these years Ben had not lost sight of Frederic's
movements, though it so chanced that they had met but
twice, once just after the receipt of Alice's picture,
which had been greeted by Marian with a shower of
kisses and tears, and once the previous Autumn, when
Frederic was about returning to Kentucky, for, with his
changed feelings toward Marian, Mr. Raymond felt
less delicacy in using her money —less aversion to
Redstone Hall, where his presence was really needed,
for a portion of the year at least, and which he intended making his Winter residence.




238              THE GOVERNESS.
But he was at Riverside now, and Ben was about
going there to see wheat arrangements could be made,
when his mother's sudden death caused both himself
and Marian to forget the subject until the night after
the burial, when, without a moment forgetting the
dead or the dreary blank her absence made, they talked
together of the future, and decided that on the morrow
Ben should go to Riverside and see if there were room
in Frederic's house for IMarian Grey. The morning
came, and at an early hour Ben started, bidding Marian keep up her spirits as he was sure of bringing her
good tidings.
Frederic was sitting in his arm chair, which stood
near the window, just where Marian had placed it three
years and a half ago. Not that it had never been
moved since that April morning, for, freed from old
Dinah's surveillance, Mrs. Huntington, who was still
at Riverside, proved herself a pattern housekeeper, and
the chair had probably been moved a thousand tines
to make room for the broom and brush, but it was in
its old place now, and Frederic was sitting in it, thinking of Marian and his hitherto fruitless efforts at finding her. He was beginning to get discouraged, and
still each time he went to the city he thought " perhaps I may meet her to-day," and each night, as the
hour for his return drew near, Alice waited upon the
piazza when the weather was fine, and by the window
when it was cold, listening intently for another step
than Frederic's-a step which never came, and then
Alice grew less hopeful, while Marian seemed farther
and farther away as month after month went by bringing no tidings of her. Frederic knew that she must
necessarily have changed somewhat from the Marian
of old, for she was a woman now, but he should readily recognise el,e he said. He should know her by her
peculiar hair, if by no other token. So when his eye
once rested on a face of surpassing sweetness, shaded
by curls of soft chestnut hair, which in the sunlight
wore a rich red tinge, he felt a glow like that which




THE GOVERNESS.              239
one experiences in gazing for a single instant on sohme
picture of rare lovelinness; then the picture faded, the
graceftul figure glided by, and there was nothing left
to tell how, by stretching forth his hand, he might have
grasped his long lost Marian. Moments there were
when she seemed near to him, almost within his reach,
and such a moment was the one when Mrs. Huntington announced Ben Butterworth, whom he had not
seen for a long time.
Involuntarily he started up, half expecting his visitor had come to tell him something of her. But when
he saw the crape upon Ben's hat, and the sorrow on
his face, he forgot Marian in his anxiety to know what
had happened.
" My mother's dead," said Ben, and the strong man,
six feet high, sobbed like a little child, bringing back
to Frederic's mind the noiseless room, the oddly shaped
box, the still, white face, and tolling bell, whilch were
all he could distinctly remember of the day when he,
too, said to a boy like himself, " My mother's dead."
These three words. Alas, how full  of anguish is
their utterance, and how their repetition will call up
an answering throb in the heart of every one who has
ever said in bitterness of grief, " My mother's dead."
Frederic felt it instantly, and it prompted him to
take again the rough hand, which he pressed warmly
in token of his sympathy.
"He is a good man,' thought Ben, wiping his tears
away; and after a few choking coughs and brief explanations as to how and when, he came at once to the
object of his visit.
"IIHe should peddle now just as he used to do, of
course, but wilnmen wan't so lucky, and all IMarian
could do was to teach. He had given her a tip-top
larnin', though she had earnt sonle on't herself by
sewin'. She had got a paper thing, too, with a blue
ribin, from Miss Harcourt, who praised her up to the
skies. In short, if Mr. Raymond had not any teacher
for Alice, wouldn't he take Marian Grey?" and Ben




240              THE GOVERNESS.
twirled his hat nervously, while he waited for the answer.
" I wish you had applied to me sooner," said Frederic, " for in that case I would have taken her, but a
Mrs. Jones, from Boston, came on only a week ago,
so you see I am supplied. I am very sorry, for I feel
an interest in Miss Grey, and will use my influence to
procure her a situation."
"Thank you; there's a place she can have, but I
wanted her to come here,' returned Ben, who was
greatly disappointed and began to cry again.
Frederic was somewhat amused, besides being considerably disturbed, and after looking at the child-man
for a moment, he continued:
" Mrs. Jones is engaged for one year only, and if at
the end of that time Miss Grey still wishes to come, I
pledge you my word that she shall do so."
This brought comfort at once. One year was not
very long to wait, and by that time Marian would certainly be past recognition, and as all Ben's wishes and
plans centered upon one thing, to wit: Mr. Raymond's
falling in love with his unknown wife, he was readily
consoled, and wiping his eyes, he said apologetically,
as it were, "I'm  dreadful tender-hearted, and since
I've been an orphan it's ten times wus.. So you must
excuse my actin' like a baby. Where's Alice?"
Frederic called the little girl, who, childlike, waited
to put on her bracelet, "so as to show the man that
she still wore it and liked it very much." She seemed
greatly pleased at meeting Ben again, asking him why
he had not been there before, and if he had received
her picture.
" Yes, wee one," said he, taking her round white
alrn in his lhand and touching the bracelet. " I should
have writ, only that ain't in my line much. and I don't
always spell jest right, but we got the picter, and Marian was so pleased she cried."
" What made her?" said Alice, wonderingly. " She
don't know me."




THE GOVERNESS.              241
"But she knows you're blind, for I told her," was
Ben's quick reply, which was quite satisfactory to
Alice, who by this time had detected a note of sadness
in his voice, and she asked what was the matter.
To her also Ben replied, s" My mother's dead," and
the mature little girl understood at once the dreary
loneliness that a motler's death must bring even to the
heart of a big man like Ben.  Immediately, too, she
thought of Marian Grey, and asked " What she would
do?"
"I come out to see if your pa-no, beg your pardon
-to see if the Square didn't want her to hear you say
your lessons," was Ben's answer, and Alice exclaimed,
" Oh, Frederic.. Let her come. I know I shall like
her better than Mrs. Jones, for she's young and pretty,
I am sui-e. May she come "
" Alice," said Frederic, i"Mrs. Jones has an aged
Inother and two little children dependent upon her
earnings, and, should I send her away, the disappointment would be very great. Next year, if we all live,
Miss Grey shall come, and with this you must be satisfied."
Alice saw at once that he was right, and she gave
nup the point, merely remarking that "a year was a
heap of a while."
" No,'tain't," said Ben, who each moment was becoming more and more reconciled to the arrangement.
One year's daily intercourse with fashionable people,
he thought, would be of invaluable service to Marian,
and as he wished her to be perfect both in looks and
mlanners when he presented her to Frederic Raymond,
he was well satisfied to wait, and he returned to New
York with a light, hopeful heart. Marian, on the contrary, was slightly disappointed, for like Alice, a year
seemed to her a long, long time.  Still there was no
alternative, and she wrote to Mrs. Sheldon that she
would come as early as the first day of October.  It
was hard to break up their old home, but it was necessary, they knew, and with sad hearts they disposed
11




242              THE' GOVERNESS.
of the furniture, gave up the rooms, and then, when
the appointed time came, Marian started for her new
home, accompanied by Ben, who went rather unwillingly.
" We ain't no more alike than ile and water," he
said, when she first suggested his going, "and they
won't think as much of you for seein' me."
But Marian insisted, and Ben went with her, mentally resolving to say but little, as by this means he
fancied "he would be less likely to show how big a
dolt he was 1"




CHAPTER XX.
WILL GORDON.
MRs. SHELDON'S residence was a most delightful
spot, reminding Marian a little of Redstone Hall, and
as she passed up its nicely graveled walk and stepped
upon its broad piazza, she felt that she could be very
happy there, provided she met with sympathizing
friends. Any doubts she might have had upon this
subject were speedily dispelled by the appearance of
Mrs. Sheldon, in whose face there was something very
famriliar; and it was not long ere Marian identified
her as the lady who had spoken so kindly to her in
the car between Albany and New York, asking her
what was the matter, and if she had friends in the city.
This put Marian at once' at her ease. and her admira.
tion for her employer increased each moment, particularly when she saw how gracious she was to Ben,
who true to his resolution, scarcely spoke except to
answer Mrs. Sheldon's questions and to decline her
invitation to dinner.
" I should never get through that in the world without some blunder," he thought, and as the dinner-bell
was ringing, he took his leave, crying like a child when
he parted with Marian, who was scarcely less affected
than himself
Going to the depot, he sauntered into the ladies'
room, where he found a group of young girls, who were
waiting the arrival of a friend, and who, meantilne,
were ready for any fun which might c),me up. Ben
instantly attracted their attention, and one who seemed




244               WILL GORDON.
to be the. leader of the party, began to quiz him,
asking "where he lived, and if he Bad ever been so
far from home before T"
Ben understood the drift of her remarks at once,
and with imperturbable gravity, replied:
"I come from down East, where they raise sich as
me, and this is the first time I was ever out of Tanton,
which allus was nmy native town!"
Then, taking his tobacco box from his pocket, he
passed it to an elegant-looking man, whom he readily
divined to be the brother of the girl, saying to him:
" Have a chaw, captain? I'd just as lief you would
as not."
As he heard the loud laugh which this speech called
forth, he continued, witlhout the shadow of a smile:
" I had —'~true's I live, for I ain't none o' your tight
critters. Nobody ever said that of Ben Bur-Ben
Butterwith," he added, hastily, for until Marian was
discovered to Frederic, he thought it best to retain
the latter name.
"Ben Butterworth," repeated the young girl in an
aside to her brother-" Why, Will, didn't sister Mary
tell us that was the adopted brother or cousin of her
new governess? You know Miss Grey mentioned his
name in one of her letters."
"Yes, sir," said Ben, ere Will had time to reply.
"If by Mary you mean Miss Sheldon, I'm  the chap.
Brought my sister there to-day, to be her schoolma'am, and 1 don't want you to run over her neither,'cause you'll be sorry bitneby. That was all gammon I
told you about never being away from home before,
for I've seen considerable ot the world."
The cars froin Boston were by this time ro(lllng in at
the depot, and without replying to Ben's remark, the
young lady went out to look fol' her friend.
That night, just after dark, Mrs. Sheldon's door bell
rang, and her brother and sister catme in, the latter
dressed in the extreme of fashion, and bearing about
her an air which seemed to indicate that she had long




WILL GORDON.               24
been accustomed to receive the homage of those around
her. Seating herself on the sofa, she began, "Well,
Mary, Will and I heave come over to see this wonderful prodigy. Mother was here, you know, this afternoon, and she came home half wild on the subject of
Miss Grey, insisting that I should call directly, and so
like a dutiful daughter I have obeyed, though I must
confess that the sight of-Ben Butterworth, whom we
met at the depot, did not greatly prepossess me in her
favor."
" They are not at all alike," said Mrs. Sheldon," nei-.
ther are they in any way related. Miss Grey is highly educated, and has the sweetest face I ever saw. She
has some secret trouble, too, I'm sure, and she reminds
me of a beautiful picture over which a vail is thrown,
softening, and at the same time heightening its beauty."
"Really," said Will, rousing up, "some romance
connected with her. Do bring her out at once."
Mrs. Sheldon left the room, and going up to Marian's
chamber, knocked at the door. A low voice bade her
come in, and she entered just in time to see Marian
hide away the daguerreotype of Frederic, at which she
had been looking.
" My brother and sister are in the parlor and have
asked for you," she said.:" I will come down in a moment," returned Marian,
who wished a little tilne to dry her tears, for she had
been weeping over the pictures of Frederic and Alice,
both of which she had in her possession.
Accordingly, when Mrs. Sheldon was gone, she
bathed her face until the stains had disappeared; then
smoothing her collar and brushing her wavy hair, she
descended to the parlor, where Ellen Gordon sat prepared to criticise, and William  Gordon sat prepared
for almost anything, though not for the vision which
greeted his view  vbhein Marian Grey appeared before
him. The dazzling purity of her complexion contrasted well with her black dress, and the natural
bloom upon her cheek was increased by her embar



246               WILL GORDON.
rassment, while her eyes dropped modestly beneath
the long-fringed lashes, which Ellen noticed at once,
because they were the one coveted beauty which had
been denied to herself.
"Jupiter " was W ill's mental comment.  "Mary
didn't exaggerate in the least, and Nell will have to
yield tile palm at once."
Something like this passed through Ellen's mind,
but though on the whole a frank, right-minded girl,
she was resolved upon finding fault with the stranger,
simply because her mother and sister had said so much
in her praise.'"She is vulgar, I know," she thought, and she
watched narrowly for something which should betray
her low birth, but she waited in vain.
Marian was perfectly lady-like in her manners; her
language was well chosen; her voice soft and low;
and ere she had been with her half an hour, Ellen secretly acknowledged her superiority to most of the
young ladies of her acquaintance, and she regretted
that she, too, had not been educated at Mrs. Harcourt's
school, if such manners as Miss Grey's were common
there.
At Mrs. Sheldon's request, Marian took her seat at
the piano, and then Ellen hoped to criticise; but here
again she was at fault, for Marian was a brilliant performer, keeping perfect time, and playing with the
most exquisite taste.
As she was turning over the leaves of the music
book after the close of the first piece, Will said to his
sister:
"By the way, Nell, I had a letter from Fred to-day
and he says he will be delighted to get you that music
the first time he goes to the city."
Marian started juist as she had done that afternoon
when Mrs. Sheldon called her youngest boy Fred.
Still there was no reaso,n why she should do so. Frederic was a common name, and she kept on turning the




WILL GORDON.               247
leaves, while Ellen replied, "What else did he write,
and when is he going south?"
Marian's hand was stayed now, and she listened
eagerly for the answer, which was "' Sometime in November, and he has invited me to go with him, but I
hardly think I shall. He's lonesome, he says, and can
find no trace of his run away wife. So, there's a
shadow of a chance for you Nell."
The hand which held the leaf suspended, came
down with a crash upon the keys of the piano, but
Ellen thought it was an accident, if she thought of it
at all; and she replied, "Fie, just as though I would
hlave a man before I knew for certain that his wife
was dead. I admire Mr. Raymond very much, and if
lie had not been so fbolish as to marry that child, I
can't say that he would not have made an impression,
for he is the finest looking and mo:t agreeable gentleman I ever met. Isn't it strange where that girl went,
acd what she went for? Hasn't he ever told you anything that would explain it?"
Up to this point Marian had sat immovable, listening eagerly and wondering where these people had
known Frederic Raymond. Then, as something far
back in the past flashed upon hier mind, she turned,
and looking in the young man's face, knew who he
was and that they had met before. His name had
seemed familiar from the first, and she knew that he
was the Will Gordon who had been Frederic's chum
in college, and had once spent a vacation at Redstone
Hall. He had predicted that she would be a handsome
woman, and Frederic had said she could not with suchll
hair. She remembered it all distinctly, but any effect
it iriight then have liad upon her was lost in her anxiety to lear the answer to Ellen's question.
" Fred generally keeps his matters to himself, but
I know as muchl as this: He didn't love that Miss
Lindsey any too well when lie married her, but he has
admitted to me since that his feelings toward her lhad
undergone a change, and he would give almost any



248               WILL GORDON.
thing to find her. He is certain that she was with him
when he was sick in New York, and since that time he
has sought for her everywhere."
William Gordon had no idea of the effect his words
produced upon the figure which, on the music stool,
sat as motionless as if it had been a block of marble.
During all the long, dreary years of exile from home
there had not come to her so cheering a ray of hope
as this, and the bright bloom deepened on her cheek,
while the joy which danced in her deep blue eyes
made them  look almost black beneath the heavy
lashes. Frederic was beginning to love her-he had
acknowledged as much to Mr. Gordon, and her heart
bounded forward to the time when she should see him
face to face, and hear him tell her so with his own lips.
Little now she heeded Ellen's next remark, "I presume it would be just the same even if he were to find
her. He is a great admirer of beauty, and she, I believe, was very ordinary looking."
"Not remarkably so," returned Will. "She was
thin-faced and had red hair, but I remember thinking
she might make a handsome woman —"
"With red hair! Oh, Will I" and the blacktressed
Ellen laughed at the very idea.
A sudden movement on Marian's part made Will
recollect her, and he hastened to apologise for his
apparent forgetfulness of her preselice.
6" You will please excuse us," he said, "for discussing an affair in which you, of course, can have no interest."
" Certainly," she replied, while around the corners
of her mouth were little laughing dimples, which told
no tales to the young man, who continued: "Will you
give us some more music? I admire your style of playing.
Marian was in a mood for anything, and turning to
the piano she dashed off into a merry, spirited thing,
to which Will's feet kept time, while Ellen looked on
amazed at the white fingers which flew like lightning




WILL GORDON.              249
over the keys,:seemingly never resting for an instant
upon any one of them, but lighting here and there
with a rapidity she never before seen equalled. It w:is
the outpouring of Marian's heart, and the tune she
played was a song of jubilee for the glad tidings she
had heard. Ere she had half finished, Will Gordon
was at her side, gazing wonderingly into lher face,
which sparkled and glowed with her excitemint.
"She is strangely beautiful,"' he thought, and so he
said to Ellen'when they were walking home together.
4She looks very well," returned Ellen, " but I trust
you will not feel it your duty to fall in love with her
on that account. Wouldn't it be ridiculous though, for
you, who profess never to have felt the least affection
for any woman, to yield at once to Mary's governess68 
"Marv's governess is no ordinary person," answered Will. ~" How like the mischief she made those
fingers go in that last piece. I never saw anything
like it;7' and he tried in vain to whistle a few bars of
the lively strain.
That night three men dreamed of Marian-Will
Gordon in his bachelor apartments, which he had said
should never be invaded with a female's wardrobeBen Burt in his room at the Lovejoy Hotel-and Frederic iRaymond in his cheerful home upon the Hudson.
But to Marian, sleeping -so quietly in her chamber
there came a thought of only one, and that one Frederic Raymond, whose picture lay beneath her pillow.
She had never placed it there until to-night, for she
had felt that she had no right to do so. But Mr. Gordon's words had effected a change. He said that
Frederic was begining to love her at last-that he had
sought for her without success-that he would give
almost anything to find her. It is true she could not
reconcile all this with her preconceived opinion: but
she had no wish to doubt it, and she accepted it as
truth, thinking it was probably a very recent thing
with him, this searching after and loving ller.




250               WILL (GORDON.
Very rapidly and pleasantly to Marian did the first
few weeks of her sojourn with Mrs. Sheldon pass away.
She was interested in her pupils, two bright-faced little
girls, and doubly interested in their brother, the browneyed Fred, whose real name she learned was Frederic
Raymond, he having been called, Mrs. Sheldon said,
after Williams particular friend, who spent his winters
in Kentucky, and his Summers at Riverside, a delightful place on the Hudson.  Frederic Raymond was a
frequent subject of conversation in Mrs. Sheldon's family, and once, after Marian had been there four or five
months, and Will, as usual, was spending an evening
there, the matter was discussed at length, while Ma,rian, sitting partly in the shade, so that the working of
her features could not be seen, dropped stitch after
stitch in the cloud she was crotcheting, and finally
stopped altogether as tile conversation proceeded.
" I am positive," said Mrs. Sheldon, " that I saw Mrs.
Raymond in the cars, between Albany and Newburg.
It was four years ago, last Autumn, and about that
time she came away. There was a very young girl sitting before me, dressed in black, with long red curls,
and she looked as if she had wept all her tears away,
though they fell like rain when I spoke to her and
asked her what was the matter. I remember her particularly from her question,'Is New York a heap noisier than Albany or Buffalo?"'
" That' heap' is purely Southern," interrupted Will,
while his sister continued
" She said she had but one friend in the world, and
that one was in New York. I remember, too, that one
of her hands was ungloved.  It was so white and
small, and she used it so often to brush her tears away."
Here Will glanced involuntarily at the beautiful little hands busy with the cloud.  It might have been
fancy, but lie thought they trembled, and so he closed
the register and opened a door, thinking the heat of
of the room might have made Miss Grey nervous-and
he was growing very careful of her comfort I




WILL GORDON.              251
Poor Will!
Returning to his seat, he replied to his sister's remark, "That was undoubtedly Marian Lindsey.  Did
you speak of it to Frederic?"
"No," said Mrs. Sheldon, "I'have always thought
he disliked talking of her to me, and that makes me
think there is something wrong-that he did her an injury."
"Every man who marries without love injures the
woman- be makes his wife," said Will, "and Frederic
does not profess to have loved her then.  His father
drew him into this match, and for some inexplicable
reason Fred consented, when all the time he loved that
Isabel Huntington. But he has recovered from that
infatuation, and I am glad of it, for I never liked her,
and had the thing been possible, I should say she poisoned him against this Marian. Why, Miss Grey, you
are actually shivering," he added, as he saw the violent trembling of Marian's body, and this time he
opened the register and shut the door, offering to go
for a shawl, and asking where she had taken such a
cold.
" It's only a slight chill-it will soon pass off," she
said, and as Mrs. Sheldon was just then called from the
room, Will drew his chair a little nearer to Marian and
continued:
" This Raymond affair must be irksome to you, who
know nothing about it."
" Oh, no," said Marian faintly. "I am greatly interested, particularly in the girl-wife.  Can't he find
her? Seems as though he might. Perhaps though, he
don't really care."
~' Yes, he does," interrupted Will.  "He disliked
her once, but I believe he feels differently toward her
now. His hobby in college was a handsome wife, but
he has learned that beauty alone is worthless, and he
would gladly take Marian back."
i" Red hair and all?" asked Marian, mischievously,
and Will replied, "Yes, I believe he's even made up




252               WILL GORDON.
his mind to the red hair. I didn't object to it myself,
and I once saw this girl."
" Redstone Hall is a beautiful spot, I believe," said
Marian, briefly stating thai.Ben had once been there
in his travels, and had since met Mr. Raymond in New
York.
"Then you know the family," said Will, in some
surprise.
"I know of them," returned Marian, "for Ben was
so much interested in the blind girl that after his return he talked of little else."
"You have never seen them youself, of course," and
taking this fact for granted, Will proceeded to give her
a most minute description of Redstone Hall, of its master, and of herself as she was when he visited Kentucky.
Frederieos marriage was then touched upon. Will
telling how angry his chum used to be when he received a letter on the subject from his father.
"We were studying law together," he said, "and,
as we were room-mates in college, it was quite natural
that we should confide in each other; so he used to tell
me of his father's project, and almost swear he wouldn't
do it. I never was more astonished than when I heard
he was to be married in a few days.'It's all over
with me,' he wrote,' I can't help it!" and he signed
himself'Your wretched Fred I  But what are you
crying for, Miss Grey? You certainly are. What is
the matter?"
"I am crying for her-for poor Marian Lindsey 1"
was the answer; and Marian's tears flowed faster.
Will Gordon was distressed at the sight of woman's
tears, but particularly at the sight of larian Grey's,
and'he tried to console her by saying he was sure Mr.
Raymond would sometime find his wife, and they all
would be the happier for what they both had suffered.
Involuntarily he had touched the right chord, for, in
listening to his predictions of future good, which
should comc to Frederic Raymond's wife, Marian Grey




WILL GORDON.              253
ceased to weep, and when, ere his departure, Will
asked her for for some mhsic, she gave him  one of
those stirring pieces she always played when her heart
was running over with happy anticipations!
Will Gordon was older than Frederic Raymond, and
an examination of the family Bible would have shown
him to be thirty.  Quite a bachelor, his sister Ellen
said, and she marveled that he had lived thtus long
without taking to himself a wife. But Will was very
fastidious in his ideas of females, and though he had
traveled much, both in Europe and his own country,
he had never seen a face which could hold his fancy
for a moment, until the sunny blue eyes of Marian
Grey shone upon him and thawed the ice'which had
laid about his heart so many years. Even then he did
not quite understand the feeling, or know how it was
that night after niglht he found himself locked out at
home, while morning after morning his sister Ellen
scolded him for staying out so late, wondering what
attraction hie could find at Mary's, when lie knew as
well as shle that he would never disgrace the Gordon
famtily by marrying a governess, and apeddler's adopted
sister, too i Will hardly thought he should either. He
didn't quite know what ailed him, and in a letter written to Frederic, who was now in Kentucky, he gave
an analysis of his feelings, after having first told him
that Marian Grey was the adopted sister of a Yankee
)eddler, who had once visited Redstone -Hall, and
whlo, he was sure, Frederic would remember for his
oddities.
" I wish you could see this girl," he wrote, " I'd like
to have your opinion, for I know you are a connoisseur il everything pertaining to female charms, but I
am sure you never in all your life saw anything like
Marian Grey. I never did, and I have seen the proudest court beauties in Europe —but nobody like her.
And yet it is not so much the exceeding fairness of
her complexion, or the perfect regularity of heir features, as it is the indescribably fascinating something




254               WILL GORDON.
which demands your pity as-well as your admiration.
There is that about her mouth, and in her smile, which
seems to say that she has suffered as few have ever
done, and that from this suffering she has risen purified, beautified, and if I may be allowed a term which
my good mother would call wicked in the extreme,
gloried as it were!
"Just picture to yourself a graceful, airy figure, five
feet four inches high-then clothe it in black, and
adapt every article of dress exactly to her form and
style, then imagine a rose-bud face, which I cannot
describe, with the deepest, saddest, brightest, merriest, sunniest, laughing blue eyes you ever saw. You
see, there is a slight contradiction of words, but every
one by turns will apply to her eyes of blue. Then
her hair-oh, Fred, words fail me here. It's a mixture of everything-brown, black, yellow, and red.
Yes, red-I mean it, for it has decidedly a reddish hue
in the sunshine. By gas-light it is brown, and by daylight a most beautiful chesnut or auburn-rippling all
over her head in glossy waves, and curling about her
forehead and neck.
" Beautiful-beautiful Marian! Yes, I will call her
Marian here on paper, with no one to see it but you.'Tis a sweet, felninine name, Fred;-the name, too, of
your lost wife. I told her that story the other night,
and she cried great tears, which looked like pearls
upon her cheek.
" Do write soon, and give me your advice-though
what I want of it is more than I can tell. I only know
that I feel strangely about the region of my waistbands, and every time I see Miss Grey, I feel a heap
worse, as you folks say. She is of low origin, I know,
and this would make a difference with a man as proud
as you, but I don't care. Marian Grey has bewitched
me, I verily believe, until I am-I don't know what.
"Do write, Fred, and tell me what I am, and what
to do. But pray don't preface your letter with longwinded remarks about marrying my equal-looking




WILL GORDON.              255
bhigher than a peddler's sister, and all that nonsense, for
it will be lost on me. I never can get higher than
Marian's blue eyes unless indeed I reached her hair,
at which point I should certainly yield, and go over to
the enemy at once."
This letter reached Frederic one rainy afternoon,
when he had nothing to do but to read it, laugh over
it, reflect upon and answer it. Will Gordon's description of Marian Grey thrilled him with a strange feeling of pleasure, imperceptibly sending his thoughts
after another Marian, and involuntarily he said, aloud,
" If she had been like this picture Will has drawn, I
should not be here so lonely and desolate."
Frederic Raymond was prouder far than Will Gordon, and his feelings at first rebelled against his friend's
taking for a bride the sister of unpolished, uneducated
Ben. I" But it is his own matter," he said; " I see
plainly that he is in love, so I will write at once and
tell him what is the' trouble'"
Accordingly he commenced a letter, in which after
expressing his happiness that his college friend had
not persisted in shutting his eyes to all female charms,
he wrote:
" I should prefer your wife to be somewhat nearer
your equal in point of family, it is true, but your description of Marian Grey won my heart entirely, and
you have my consent to offer yourself at once. By so
doing, you will probably deprive Alice of her governess and me of a pleasant companion, for I had made
an arrangement with Ben to have Miss Grey with us
next year. But no matter for that. Woo and win
her just the same, and Heaven grant you a happier
fulture than my past has been.
"' Beautiful! beautiful Marian 1' you said, and without knowing why, my heart responded to it. She is
beautifill, I amn sure, and your description of her is
just what I would like to apply to my own wife-my
lost Mariani You see I have withdrawn my allegi



256               WILL GORDON.
ance from black-haired dark-eyed maidens, and gone
over to laughing blue eyes and auburn tresses.
" By the way, speaking of the dark eyed maidens
reminds me that Agnes Gibson's husband is dead, and
she is sole heiress of all his fortune, except a legacy
which he left to Miss Huntington, who lived in his
family at the time of his death. Poor old man! Rumor says he led a sorry life with both of them, but
at the last tllis young wife cajoled him into making his
will, and was really kind to him.  She is at her father's now, and Miss Huntington is there also. I called
upon them yesterday, and have hardly recovered yet
from the chilling reception I met with from the latter.
" But pardon me, Will, tor this digression, when I
was to write of nothing save Marian Grey. The nmne
reminded me of my own wife, and that, as a matter of
course, suggested rsabel.  Give my compliments to
Miss Grey, and tell her that, under the circumstances,
I release her firom her engagement with myself, and
that, if she is a sensible girl, as I suppose she is, she
will not keep you on your knees longer than necessary.
Let me hear of your success or failure, and, on no account, forget to invite me to the wedding. It is possible I may be obliged to come North on business, in
the course of a few weeks, and, it so, I shall certainly
call on you for the sake of seeing this wonderful Marian Grey.              "Yours truly,
"' F. RAYMOND."




CHAPTER  XXI.
WILLIS WOOING.
THF silver tea-set and damask cloth had been removed from Mrs. Gordon's supper-table. The heavy
curtains of brocatelle were dropped before the windows; a cheerful fire was burning in the grate, for
Mrs. Gordon eschewed both furnaces and stoves; the
gas burned brightly in the chandelier, casting a softened light throughout the room, and rendering more
distinct the gay flowers on the carpet.  The ladymother, a fair type of a thrifty New England woman,
had donned her spectacles, and from a huge pile of
socks was selecting those which needed a near acquaintance with the needle, and lamenting over her
son's propensity at wearing out his toes I
The son, meantime, half lay, half sat upon the sofa,
listlessly drumming with his fingers, and feeling glad
that Ellen was not there, and wondering how he should
begin to tell his mother what he so much wished her
to know.
" I should suppose she might see it," he thought —
" migfht know how much I am in love with Marian,
for I used to be always talking about her, and now I
never mention heer, it makes my heart thump so if I
try to speak her name.  Nell will make a fuss, perhaps, for she thinks so much of family: but Marian is
family enough for me. Mary likes her, and I guess
mother does. I mean to ask her."
" Mother?"




258              WILL S WOOING.
" What, William?" and the good lady ran her hand
into a sock with a shockingly large rent in the heel.
No woman can be very gracious with such an open
prospect, and, as Will saw the scowl on his mother's
face, he regretted that he had spoken at this inauspicious moment.
" I'll wait till she finds one not quite as dilapidated
as that," he thought, and when the question was repeated, "What, William?" he replied,'" Is Nell coming home to-night?"
" I believe so. I wish she was here now to help me,
for I shall never get these mended. What makes you
wear out your socks so fast?"
" I don't know, I'm sure, unless it's beating time to
Miss Grey's lively music. Don't she play like the
mischief, though?"
Mrs. Gordon did not answer, and Will continued,
" Let me help you mend. I used to in college and in
Europe, too, and if I never marry,"-here Will's voice
trembled a little-" I shall need to know how. Thread
me a darning needle, won't you?"
Mrs. Gordon laughingly compiled with his request,
and the fashionable Will Gordon was soon deep in the
mysteries of sock-darning, an accomplishment in
which he had before had some experience.  Very
rapidly his mother's amiability increased, until at last
he ventured to say, "Let me see, how old am I P"
" Thirty, last August, just twenty years younger
than I am."
"Then, when you were at my age you had a boy
ten years old. I wonder how I should feel in a like
predicament."
" I'm afraid you'll never know," and Mrs. Gordon
commenced on a fresh sock.
"Mother, how wotld you to have me marry and
settle down'" Will continued, after a moment's
silence, and his mother replied, " Well enough, provided I liked your wife."
" You don't suppose I'd marry one you didn't like,




WILL S WOOING.            259
I hope. Just look, can you beat that?" and he held
up what he fancied to be a neatly darned sock, which,
spite of its bungling appearance, received so much
praise, that he felt emboldened to proceed.
Taking Frederic's letter froln his pocket he passed
it to his mother, asking her to read it, and give him
her opinion.
"You know I never can make out Mr. Raymond's
writing," said Mrs. Goadon, " so pray read it yourself."
But this Will could not do, and he insisted until his
mother took the letter and began to read, while he
forgot to darn, so intent was he upon watching the expression of her face. At first it turned very red, then
white, and then the great drops of perspiration stood
upon her forehead, for she felt as every mother does,
when they first learn that their only boy is about
yielding to another the love they have claimed so long.
" Have you spoken to Marian?" she asked, giving
him back the letter, but not resuming her work.
" No," was his answer: and she continued, "Then I
wouldn't."
"Why not?" he askedt in some alarm; and with a
tremor in her voice, his mother replied, " I've nothing
against Marian, but we are so happy together, and it
would kill mne to have you go away."
"Is that all'" and in his delight Will ran the darning-needle under his thumb nail; " I needn't go away.
I can bring her home, afnd you won't have to mend
my socks any more. Those back chambers are seldom
used, and-"'
"'Back chambers!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon. "I
guess if you bring a wife here, you'll occupy the parlor chamber and bedroom. I was going to re-paper
them in the Spring, and I think on the whole I'll refurnish it entirely, foi you might sometimes have calls
up there."'You charming woman," cried Will, kissing his
mother, whose consent he understood to be fully won.
He knew she had always admired Miss Grey, but he




260              WILLIS WOOING.
expected more opposition than this, and in his delight
he would have gone to see Marian at once, were it not
that he had heard she was absent that evening. For
an hour or more he talked with his mother of his plans,
and when at last Ellen came in, she, too, was let into
the secret. Of course, she rebelled at first, for her
family pride was very strong, and the peddler Ben,
was a serious objection. But when she saw how earnest her brother was, and that her mother, too, had
espoused his cause, she condescended to say:
" 1 suppose you might do worse, though folks will
wonder at your taste in marrying Mary's governess."
"Let them wonder, then," said Will. "They dare
not slight my wife, you know," and then he drew a
pleasing picture of the next Summer, when, with his
mother, Marian and Ellen, he would visit the White
Mountains and Montreal.
" Why not go to Europe?" suggested Ellen. " Mr.
Sheldon talks of going in August, and if you must marry this girl, you mlay as well go, too."
"Well spoken for yourself, little puss," returned
Will; " but it's a grand idea, and I'll make arrangements with Tom as soon as I have seen Marian. Maybe she'll refuse me," and Will turned pale at the very
idea.
"No danger," was Ellen's coniment, while her mother thought the same, for in her estimation no one in
their right mind could refuse her noble boy.
It was a long lligilt to Will, and the next day longer
still, tfor joyful hope and harrowing fears tormented
his mind, and when at last it was dark, and lie lhad
turned his face toward Mr. Sheldon's, he half determined to go back.  But he didn't, and with his usual
easy, off-hand manner, he entered his sister's sittingroom. Tllough bound to secrecy, Ellen had told the
news to Mrs. Sheldon, who, of course, had told her
husband; and soon after Will's arrival, the two found
some excuse tbr leaving him alone with Marian Grey.
Marian liked William Gordon very much-partly




WILL'S WOOING.             261
because he was Frederic's friend, and partly because
she knew him to be a most affectionate brother and
dutiful son-two rare qualities in a traveled and fashionable man. She was always pleased to see him, and
she welcomed him now as usual, without observing his
evident embarrassment when at last they -were alone.
There were no stockings to be darned, and lie did not
know how to comnmence, until he remembered Frederic's letter. It had helped him with his mother-it
might aid him now-and after fidgeting awhile in his
chair, he said:
" I heard from Mr. Raymond yesterday."
"Indeed!" and Marian s voice betrayed more interest than the word would indicate.
" He wrote that you were engaged to him-"
"-I engaged to Frederic Raymond!" and Marian
started so suddenly that she. pulled her needle out from
the worsted garment she was knitting.
"Engaged to teach, I mean," returned Will. "I'll
show you what he wrote when you pick up those
stitches. What do you call that queer-shaped thling?"
" A Sontag, or Hug-me-tight," said Marian, while
Will involuntarily exclaimed, " Oh, I wish I couldsee Fred, he's such a good fellow," he hastened to add,
as he saw Marian's wondering glance.
But the beginning and end of the sentence were too
far apart to belong to each other, and there was a moment's awkward silence, which was broken at last by
Marian, wh-o, resolving to take no notice of the strange
speech, said:'What did ]Mr. Raymond write of me?"
"I'll show you just a little," and Will pointed out
the sentence commencing with'Give my respects to
Miss Grey," etc.
The sight of the well-remembered handwriting affected Marian sensibly; but when she came to the last
part, and began to understand to what it all was tending, her head grew dizzy and her brain whirled for a
moment. Then an intense pity for Will Gordon filled




262              WILL'S WOOING.
her soul, for looking upward slhe met the glance of his
eyes, and saw therein how much she was beloved.
"No, no, Mr. Gordon!" she cried, putting her
hands to her ears as he began to say: "Dear Marian."
" You must not call me so; it is wicked for you to do
it-wicked for me to listen. I am not what I seell."
And she burst'into tears, weeping so bitterly that in
his efforts to soothe her, Will well nigh carried out
the wish which had been finished up with "seeing
Frederic Raymond."
Her not being what she seemed, he fancied might
refer to something connected with her birth, and he
hastened to assure her that no circumstance whatever
could change his feelings, or prevent him from wishing her to be his wife.
" Won't you, Marian?" he said, holding her in'his
arm so she could not escape. "I have never loved
before. I always said I could not, until I saw you;
and then everything was changed. I have told my
aother, darling, and Ellen, too. They are ready to
receive you, if you will go. Look at rne, and say you
will come to my home, which will never again be so
bright to me without you. Won't my darling answer
me?" he continued, while she sobbed so violently as
to render speaking impossible. "I am sorry if my
words distressed you so," he added, resting her head
upon hiss bosom, and fondly smoothing her hair.
"I am distressed for you," Marian at last found
voice to say. "Oh, Mr. Gordon, I should be most
wretched if I thought I had encouraged you in this I
But I have not, I am sure. I like you very, very
much, but I cannot be your wife i"
"Marian, are you in earnest?"  And on Will Gordon's manly face was a look never seen there before.
He did not know until now how much he loved the
beautiful young girl he held so closely to his side.
All the affections of his heart had centered themselves,
as it were, upon her, and he could not give her up.
She had been so kind to him-had welcomed him ever




WILL'S WOOING.             263
with her sweetest smile-had seemed sorry at his departure-and was not this encouragements He had
taken it as such, and ere she could reply to the question: " Are you in earnest?" he added:
"I have thought, frum your manner, that I was not
indifferent to you, else I had never told you of my
love. Oh, Marian, if you desert me now, I shall wish
that I could die!"
Marian struggled until she released herself from his
embrace, and, standing before him, she replied:
"' I never dreamed that you thought of me, save as
a friend, and if I have encouraged you, it was because
-you reminded me of another. Oh, Mr. Gordon,
nust I tell you that long before I came here, I had
learned to love some other man-hopelessly, it is true,
for he does not care for me; but that can make no
difference. Had I never seen him-never known of
him-I mnight-I would have been your wife, for I
know that you are noble and good; but'tis too latetoo late!"
He did not need to ask her now if she were in earnest; for, looking up into her truthful, clear blue-eyes,
lie knew there was no hope for him, and bowing his
head upon the arm of the sofa, he groaned aloud, while
the heaving of his chest showed how much he suffered, and how manfully he strove to keep his feelings
down. Mournfully Marian gazed upon him, wishing
she had never come there, if by coming she had
brought this hour of anguish to him. Half timidly
she laid her hand upon his head, for she wished to
comfort him; and, as he felt the touch of her fingers,
he started, while an expression. of joy lighted up his
face, only to pass away again as he saw the same unloving look in her eye.
"If I could comfort you," she said, " I would gladly
do it; but I cannot. You will forget me in time, Mr.
Gordon, and be as happy as you were before you knew
me."
He shook his head despairingly. "No one could




264              WILL'S W OO1O.
forget you; and the man who stands between us must
be a monster not to requite your love. Who is he,
Marian?' or is it not for me to know?"
"I would rather you should not-it can do no good,"
was Marian's reply; and then Will Gordon pleaded
with her to think again ere she told him so decidedly
no. She might outlive that other love. She ought
to. certainly, if'twere a hopeless one; and if she only
gave him half a heart, he would be content until he
won the whole. They would go to Europe in Autumn;
and beneath the sunny skies of Italy she would learn
to love him, he knew. "Won't you, Marian?" and in
the tone of his voice there was a word of eager, fearful, yearning love.
" I can't —I can't; it is utterly impossible!" was the
decided answer; and, without another word, Will Gordon rose and passed, with a breaking heart, from the
room he had entered so full of hope and pleasing an-.ticipations.
The fire burned just as brightly in the grate at home
as it had done the night before; the gas-light fell as
softly on the roses in the carpet, and on his mother's
face there was a placid, expectant look, as he came in.
But it quickly vanishled when she saw how he pale he
was, and how he crouched down into his easy chair,
as if he fain would hide fromn every one the pain gnawing at his heart. Thllere had never been a secret between Mrs. Gordon and her son, for in some respects
the rni of thirty was as much a child as ever; and
when Iris mother, coining to his side, parted the damp
hair from  his forehead, and looked into his eyes,
saying:
"What is it, William?  Has Marian Grey refused
my boy?"' he told her all. How Marian Grey had
given her love to another, and that henceforth the
world to him would be a dreary blank.
It was, indeed, a terrible disappointment, and as the
days wore on, it told fearfully upon Williaml's health,




WILL'S WOOING.             265
until at last the mother sought an interview with Marian Grey, beseeching her to think again.
" You can be happy with William," she said, " and I
had prepared myself to love you as a daughter. Do, I
beseech of you, give  me some hope to carry back to
my poor boy?"
" I cannot-I cannot 1"
And, laying her head in the motherly lap of Mrs.
Gordon, Marian wept bitterly-half tempted, more
than once, to tell her the whole truth.
But this she did not do, and she wept on, while Mrs.
Gordon's tears kept company with her own.
"Don't you like my Willian?" slhe asked, unconsciously playing with the -bright hair resting on her
lap.
"Yes-very, very nmuch; but I loved another first."
And this was all the satisfaction Maarian could give.
Mrs. Sheldon next tried her powers of persuasion,
pleading for herself quite as much as for her brotherl,
for she loved the young girl dearly, and would gladly
have called her sister. But naught which she could
say had the least effect, arnd Ellen determined to see
what she could do. She had been very indignant at
first, to tllink a poor teacher should refuse her brother,
and somnetlhing of this spirit manifested itself during
her interview with Marian.
" I am astonished at you," she said;' for, though
we have ever treated you as our equal, you must know
that in point of family you are not, and my brother
has. done what few young men in his standing would
have done. Why, there never was a gentleman in
Springfield whom the girls accounted a better match
than William, unless it were Mr. Raymond from Kentucky, and they only gave him the preterence because
he lives South, and possibly has a wife somewhere.
So they could not get himl, if they wished to. Now,
if you were in love with /iim, anld he were not already
married, I should not think so strangely of your conduct, for lie may be Will's superior in some respects;
12




266              WILL'S WOOING.
but I cannot conceive of your refuslng him for any
common man such as would be likely to address you."
Marian did not think it necessary to reply in substance to this long speech, neither did she, by word or
look, resent Ellen's overbearing manner; but she answered, as she always did:
"I would marry your brother, if I could; but I canIlOt."
"Then I trust you will have a pleasant time teaching all your days," said Ellen, as she slammed the door
behind ler, and went to report her success.
All this trouble and excitement wore upon Marian,
and after a time she became too ill to leave her room,
where.sle kept her bed, sometimes fancying it all a
dream-sometimes resolving to tell the people who she
was, and always weeping over the grief she had brought
to William  Gordon, who, during lher illness, showed
how noble and good he was by caring for her as tenderly as if she had indeed been his promised bride.
He did not see her, but he made his presence felt in a
thousand different ways, and when they told him how
her tears would drop upon the fresh bouquets he sent
her from  the green-house every morning, he would
turn away to keep his own from falling.
One night, toward the last of March, as he sat with
his mother in the same room where he first told her of
his love Jor Marian Grey, the door-bell rang, and a
moment after, to his great surprise, Frederic agaymon(t
walked into the room. William had forgotten wlhat
his friend had said about the possibility of his coining
north earlier than usual, and he was so much astonished that for some moments he did not appear like
himself.'' You know I wrote that business might bring me
to Albany," said Frederic, "and that if I came so far
I sllhould visit you."
" Oh, yes, I rememl)er now," returned Willialn, the
color moulntillng to his forehead as he recalled the nature of the last letter written to Frederic, who, from




WILL' WOOING.               67
his manner, guessed that something was wrong, and
forbore questioning him until they retired to their
room for the night.
"Fred," said William, after they had talked awhile
on indifferent subjects, "Fred," and Will's feet went
up into a cllair, for even a man who has been refused
feels better, and can tell it better, with his heels a little elevated, " Fred, it's all over with me, and it makes
no difference now whether the sun rises in the east or
in the west."
"I suspected as much," returned Frederic, " from
your failing to write and from the length of your face.
What is the matter? You didn't coax hard enough, I
reckon, and I shall have to undertake itfor you. How
would vou like that? I dare say I should be more
successful," and Frederic's smile was much like the
Frederic of other days, when he and Will were college
friends together.
" I said everything a man could say, but the chief
difficulty is that she don't lo\ e me and does love another," returned Will, at the same time. repeating to
his companion as much of his experience as he thought
proper.
"A discouraging beginning, I confess," said Frederic; "but perhaps she will relent."
" No she won't," returned Will; "she is just as decided now as she was that night. I have exhausted all
my persuasioll; mother has coaxed, so has Mary, so
has Nell, and all to no purpose. Marian Grey can
never be my wife. If it were not for this other love,
though, I would not give it up."
"Who is the favored one a? Frederic asked, and his
friend replied, "Some rascal, I dare say, for she says
it is a hopeless attachment on her part, and that makes
it all the worse. Now if I knew the man was worthy
of her, I should not feel so badly. If it were you, for
instance, or somebody like you, I'd try to be satisfied,
knowing she was quite as well off as she would be with
me," and Will's feet went up to the top of the chair as




268              WILL S WOOING.
he thought how magnanimous he would be were it
Frederic Raymond who was beloved by Marian Grey.
"I am sorry for you," said Frederic-" sorry that
you, too, must walk under a cloud, as I am doing. We
little thought, when we were boys, that we shouldboth
be called to bear a heavy burden; but thus has it
proved. Mine came sooner than yours, and it seems
to me'tis the hardest of the two to bear."
" Fred, you don't know what you are saying. Your
grief cannot be as great as mine, for I love Marian
Grey as man never loved before, and when she told
me' No,' and I knew she meant it, I felt as if she were
tearing out my very heartstrings.  Yozt acknowledge
that you never loved your wife; but you married her
for —I don't know what you married for —
1" For MONEY I" And the word dropped slowly froln
Frederic's lips.
" For mowney." repeated Will. "She had no money
-this Marian Lindsey. She was a poor orphan, I always thought. Will you tell me what you mean?"
" I have never told a living being why I made that
girl my wife," said Frederic; "but I can trust you, I
know, and I lhave sometimes thought I might feel better if some one shared mly secret. Still, I would rathel' not explain to you how Marian was the heiress of
Redstone Hall, for that concerns the dead; but heiress
she was, not oIly of all that, but of all the lands and
hlouses said to belong to the Raymond estate in Kentucky; not a cent of it was mine; and, rather than give
it up, 1 married her without one particle of lovemarried her, too, when she did not know of her fortune, but supposed herself dependent upon nme."
"Oh, Frederic, did you thus wrong that girl? I
never thought you capable of such an act. I knew
you did not love her, but the rest —.  It hurts me
to think you did it, and that you still live on her
mlonley."
"u 1lush, Will I" And Frederic bowed his hlead for
very shame. " I deserve your censure, I know, but if




WII L'  WOOING.            269
my sin was great-great has been my punishment.
Look at me, Will. 1 am not the light hearted man
you parted with six years ago upon the college green;'or, since that dreadful night when I first knew poor
Marian had fled, and thought she was in the river, I
]lave not had a single moment of perfect peace or freedom from  remorse. I have not spent more of her
money either than I could help. Bad as I am, I shrink
from that. Redstone Hail grew hateful to me-it was
haunted with so many bitter memories of her, and was,
besides, the place where I sinned against her a second
time by daring to think of another-of Isabel. You
remember her?"
"Fred Raymond!" and in his indignation, Will's
feet came down fiom the top of the chair, " you did
not aggravate your guilt by talking of love to her."
"No, no," groaned Frederic, "I did not, though
Heaven only knows the fierce struggle it cost me to
see her there every day, and know I must not say one
word to her of love. I left Redstone Hall at last, as
you know. Left it because it was Marian's and Riverside was my father's, before Marian came to us; so
it did not seem quite so much like spending her money,
for I did try to be a man and earn my own living.
They did not get on well without me in Kentucky.
They needed me there a part of tile time, at least; and
when, at last. I began to feel differently toward Marian,
I felt less delicacy about her fortune, and I have spent
my winters at Redstone Hall, where the negroes and
the neighbors around all suppose Marian dead, for I
have never told them that she was with me in New
York. Isabel knows it, but for some reason she has
kept it to herself; and I am glad, for I would rather
people should not talk of it until she is really found.
I have sought for' her so long and unsuccessfully that
I'm growing discouraged now."
"If you knew that she was dead, would you marry
Isabel?" asked Will; and Frederic replied,
" Never i'




270              WILL S WOOING.
Then, in a reverent tone, as ifspeaking of one above
him in purity and innocence, he told how the little
blind girl had stood between him and temptation,
holding up his hands when they were weakest, and
keeping his feet from falling. "But that desire is
over.  I can look Isabel Huntington calm  in the
face and experience no sensation, save that of relief,
to think I have escaped her. With the legacy left her
by Mr. Rivers, and the little means her mother had,
shle has bought a small house near Riverside; so I
shall have theim for neighbors every Summer. But I
do not care. I have no love now for Isabel. It all
died out when I was sick, and centered itself upon
that little sweet-faced girl, who, I know, was Marian,
though I cannot find her. If I could, Will, I'd willingly part with every cent of money I call mine, and
work for my daily bread. Labor would not seem a
hardship, if I knew that when my toil was done, there
was a darling wife waiting for me at home-a wife
like what I hope my Marian is, and like what your
Marian Grey may be."
"' Not mine, Frederic. There is in all the world no
IMarian for me," said Will.
" Nor for me, perhaps," was the sad response, and
in tile dim firelight, the two mournful faces looked
wistfully at each other, as if asking the sympathy neither had to give.
And there they sat until the clock in the room below, struck the hour of midnight. Two weary heartbroken men, in the pride of their early manhood, sat
talking each to the other, one of "M y Marian," and
one of "Mine;" but never, never dreaming that the:beautiful Marian Grey, so much beloved by William
Gordon, was the lost Marian so greatly mourned by
Frederic Raymond.




CHAPTER  XXII.
THE BIRTHDAY.
MRS. GoRDON's breakfast bell rang several times
next morning ere the young men made their appearance, for, as a natural consequence, the late hours of
the previous night had been followed by protracted
slumbers. As they were making their hasty toilet,
Frederic said to Will:
"This is Marian's twentieth birthday."
"Is it possible?" returned Will. "It seems but
yesterday since I saw her, a little girl in pantalets,
with long curls streaming down her back. I liked her
very much, she seemed so kind, so considerate of every
one's comfort; and I remember telling you once that
she would be a handsome woman, while you said —'Never, with that hair!'"' Neither can she," rejoined Frederic. "She may
be rather pretty. Yes, I am sure she is pretty, for the
face which bent over my pillow was not an ugly one;
but I still insist that a woman with red hair cannot be
handsome."' Tastes differ," returned Will. " Now, I'll venture
to say Miss Grey's hair was red when she was a child.
It is not very far from it now, in the sunlight; and
everybody speaks of her' hair as her crowning beauty."
"I wish I could see her," said Frederic; " for, as
she will not be your wife, I suppose she will be Alice's
governess. An(d it is quite proper that I should have
an interview with her, and talk the matter over. Will
you call with mle this evening?"




272              THE BIRTIIDAY.
" Certainly,' returned Will; "for, though it will
afford me more pain than pleasure to meet her, I will
not be so foolish as to avoid her."
Breakfast being over, the young men started for a
walk down town, going by Mrs. Sheldon's house, of
course, although it was entirely out of their way. But
neither thought of this, and they passed it on the opposite side of the street; so that Will could, unobserved, point out Marian's room to Frederic.
"That's it," he said-" the one with the blinds
thrown open. There she has often sat, I suppose,
thinking of the villain who stands between me and
happiness. The rascal! I tell you, Fred, I wish Ihad
him as near to me as you are!" and Will Gordon fancied how, in such a case, he would treat a man who
did not love Marian Grey I
Frederic made no answer, for his eyes were fixed intently upon the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of
one who was fast becoming an object of interest even
to him. But lhe looked in vain, for Marian had not
yet risen. Pale, weary and weak, she reclined among!ier pillows, her fair hair falling about her face in
beautiful disorder, and her eyes turned also toward the
window, not because she knew that Frederic was looking in. that direction, but because the morning sun was
shining there, and she was watching it as it danced
upon the curtain of bright crimson.
"I'have seen the suns of twenty years," she
thought, " and I am growing old so fast. I wonder if
Frederic would know me now."
At this moment, Mrs. Sheldon came in, and advancing toward the window, looked down into the street.
Catching a view of her brother and his friend, she exclaimed:
"Frederic Raymond! I wonder when he came?"
" What? Where? Who is it?" Marian  asked,
quickly, at the same time raising herself upon her
elbow, and looking wistfully in the direction Frederic
had gone.




THE BIRTHDAY.              273
"Mr. Raymond, Will's friend, from Kentucky," returned Mrs. Sheldon.  " He must have come l]st
night?" and as little Fred just then called to her firom,
without, she left the room.
When she was alone, Marian buried her face in the
bed-clothes, and murmured:
" Oh, if I could only see him! I long so to test his
powers of recognition, and see if he would know me."
She almost hoped he would, and claim her for his
wife,' as this, she fancied, might cure Will Gordon
sooner than aught else which could be done. She was
sure they would talk of her, for Frederic had bidden
Will propose, and he would naturally ask the result
of that proposal. Will would say she had refused hinl
because she loved another, and would not something
whisper to her husband that " the other " was himself
-that Marian Grey was his Marian —the Marian of
Redstone Hall-and lie would conle to her that very
day, perhaps, and all the morning she waited anxiously for a step she was certain slle would know,
though it might not be as elastic and bounding as of
old, ere she had trammeled it with a heavy weight.
She listened nervously for its full, rich tones, asking
for her, in the parlor below. But she listened in'ain
and the restless excitement brought on a severe hieadache, which rendered it impossible for her to leave the
room, even if he came. This Mrs. Sheldon greatly lamented, for she had invited the young men to tea, and
while accepting her invitation, Will had asked if Aiss
Grey would not be able to spend a part of the evening
with them.
" She is to be Fred's governess, you know," he said,
"and he naturally wishes to make her acquaintance."
This request Mrs. Sheldon made known to Marian,
who asked, eagerly, if " to-morrow would not do as
well?"
"It might," returned Mrs. Sheldon, "were it not
that he leaves on the early train."
Marian sighed deeply, and turning upon her pillow
12*




274              THE BIRTHDAY.
tried to sleep, hoping thus to lose the throbbing pain
in her head-but it would not be lost; and when, as it
was growing dark, she heard the sound of feet upon
the gravelled walk, and knew whose feet tlley were,
it ached as it had not done befobre during the entire day.
Slle heard them as they entered the lower hall, and
fancied she saw Frederic place his hat and shawl upon
the stand, and pass his fingers through his hair ere he
entered the parlor, wllich was directly beneath her
room. She knew when he was there, for she hefard his
well-remembered voice speaking to the children, and
covering her face with her hands she wept aloud to
think she should not see him.
Meantime, in the parlor below, little Fred had
climbed into his uncle's lap and commenced a rather
embtarrassing conversation. Somehow Will reminded
him of Marian, for the two were associated together
in his mind; and he said, rather as a piece of news:
" Miss Day is sick-up stairs she is; and when I told
her you was comin' sile voanucked and cried so) hard!"
Frederic could not help laughing, and, emboldened
by this proof of appreciation, the child continued:
" What made her cry, Uncle Will? I asked her didn't
she want you to come, and she say yes.  Don't she
like you?"' I guess not," said Will, trying himself to laugh,
while Frederic, pitying his embarrassment, strove to
divert the little fellow's mind by asking about the sled
he saw upon the steps as he catne in.
This had the desired effect, for a sled was of more
consequence to Fred than Miss Grey's tears, and lie
prattled on about it until his nurse came to take hiln
fron the room. After he was gone Mr. Raymond
spoke of Miss Grey, asking if he should not have the
pleasure of seeing her.'She is suffering from a nervous headache," returned Mrs. Sheldon, "and cannot come down, for
which I am very sorry, as I wish you to hear hei
play."




THE BIRTHDAY.               275
" I do not care so much for that," returned Frederic,
C" as for seeing her, so as to carry back a good account
to Alice. Do tell me, Mrs. Sheldon, is she really as
beautiful, and fascinating, and accomplished as report
would make her out to be?"
"I should say she would fully warrant any praise
Won may have heard of her," returned Mrs. Sheldon,
although her beauty is not of the brilliant style. She
is very modest and gentle in her appearance, and there
is in her eyes and in her smile something so very sad
and plaintive, that I often feel like crying when I look
at her, for I know she must have suffered some great
trouble, young as she is."
Involuntarily Frederic and William glanced at each
other, for they knew what that trouble was, and the
latter felt as if he would like to take vengeance on the
nman who could be indifferent to love like that of Marian Grey I
Atter a moment, Mrs. Sheldon continued:
"There has been sometiling said, I believe, about
her going to you next September, but I warn you now
that I shall use every possible effort to keep her. We
sail for Elurpe in August, you know, and she will be
of invaluable service to me then, as she speaks Frenlch
and German so readily. The tour, too, will do her
good, and you must not be surp ised to hear that she
cannot come to Riverside.'
Mr. Raymond was too polite to oppose Mrs. Sheldon
openly, but he had become too deeply interested in.
Mariall Grey to give her up without a struggle, and
wllen alone again with Will, in the chamber of the
latter, he broached the subject, asking his companion
if he thlought there was any probability of Miss Grey's
disappointing him.
"I mean to write her a note," he said, and sitting
down by Will's writing desk he took up a sheet of
gilt edged paper and conmmenced, i' My dear Marian."
Pshaw!" he exclaimed, "what am  I thinking
about'" gnd tearing ulp tile sheet he threw it into the




276               THE BIRTHDAY
grate and commenced again, addressing her this time
as "Miss Grey."
He considered her services engaged to himself, he
said, and should expect her at Riverside early in September. She could come sooner if she liked, for Mrs.
Jones was to leave the first of August.
"That European trip may tempt her," he thoughtt,
and he added, " I am glad to learn from Mrs. Sheldon
that you are such a proficient in German and French,
for I have serious thoughts of visiting the Old World
myself ere long, and as Alice, of course, will go with
me, we shall prize your company all the more on account of these accomplishments."
This note he gave to Will, who said, " Pcrhaps I
shall try again, and if I succeed, I suppose you will
give her up to me."
Yes," answered Frederic, "1'11 give way for Will
Gordon's wife, but for no one else," and there the conversation ceased concerning Marian Grey; nor was it
resumed again, for early the next morning he started
for New York, as he intended stopping at Riverside
ere he returned to Kentucky.
True to ldis trust, Will gave the note to Marian the
first time that he met her, after she was well enough
to come down stairs as usual.
" It is from Mr. Raymond," he said, and Marianl's
face was scarlet as she took it and looked into his eye
with an eager, searching glance, to see if he knew her
secret."
But lie did not, and with spirits which began to ebb,
she broke the seal and read the few brief lines, half
smiling as she thought how very formal and businesslike they were. But it was Frederic's hand-writing,
iand when sure Will did not see her she pressed it to
her lips.
" What you do that for I" asked little Fred, whose
sharp eyes saw everything not intended for them to
see.




THE BIRTHDAY.              277
"Sh-sh," said Marian; but the child persisted.
"Say, what you tiss that letter for?"
Will Gordon was standing with his back to her, but,
at this strange question, he turned quickly and fastened his eyes on Marian's face, as if he would fathom
her inmost soul.
"There's something there," she said, passing the
note again over her lips as if she would brush the
" somnethilng" away.
This explanation was wholly satisfactory to Fred,
who, with childish simplicity, asked, "Did you get
it?"
But Will was not quite certain, and for several days
he puzzled his brain with wondering whether "Marian
Grey really did kiss Fredeiic Raymond's note or not."
If so, why did she?  She could not be in love with a
man she had never seen. She was not weak enough
for that, and at last rejecting it as an impossibility and
accepting the troublesome " something" as a reality,
his mind became at rest upon that subject.




CHAPTER XXIII.
MARIAN RAYMOND.
VERY rapidly the Spring passed away, enlivened
once by a short visit from Ben, who, having purchased
-an entire new suit of clothes for the occasion, looked
and appeared unusually well, talking but little until he
was alone with Marian, when his tongue was loosed,
and he told her all he had come to tell.
He had been to Riverside, he said, and Mrs. Russell, who was still there and was to be the future housekeeper, was very gracious to him, on account of his being the adopted brother of their next governess, Miss
Grey.
"She showed me your chamber," said he, "and it's
the very one they fixed up so nice for Isabel. Nobody
has ever used it, tor Miss Jones slep' in a little room
at the end of the hall. Frederic has had a door cut
from Alice's chamber into yourn,'cause he said how't
you and she would want to be near to each other, he
knew. And I'll tell you what, when you git there, it
seems to me you'll be as nigh Heaven as you'll ever git
in this world. Mrs. Huntington has bought a little cottage close by Frederic's,' lie continued, "and she's
livin' there with Isabel, who has got to be an heir-"
" An heiress!" repeated Marian. "Whose, pray?"
"Don't know," returned Ben, "only that old man
she went to Florida with is dead, and he willed her
some. I don't know how much, but law, she'll spend
it in no time. Mrs. Russell said her lace curtains cost
an awful sight, though she b'lieved they was bought




MABIAN RAYMOND.              279
second-hand, in New York. I walked by there afoot
to see'em, and between you and me they are yallerer
than saffern. My advice to her is that she bile'em up
in ashes and water, jest as mother used to bile up my
shirts that I wore in the factory. It'll whiten'em
quickest of anything, and if I's you I'd kinder tell her
so —friendly like, you know —'cause it don't look well
for decent folks to have such dirty things a hangin' to
their winders!"
Marian smiled at Ben's simplicity, telling him that
"the chief value of the curtains consisted probably in
their soiled, yellow appearance."
"Whew," whistled Ben, "I wish mother'd had a
little more larnin', for if she'd known it was genteel to
be dirty, mabby she wouldn't have broke her back a
scrnbbin', when there warn't no use on't."
Isabel's curltains having been discussed at length,
-and herself described as Ben saw her "struttin' thriouzil
thle streets," he arose to go, telling Marian he should
not probably see her again until he visited her in the
Autumn at Riverside.
" I guess I wouldn't let it all out at once," said he,
"but wait and let Frederic sweat. It'll do him good,
and he isn't paid yet for all he's made you suffer. I
ain't no Universaler, but I do like to see folks catch it
as they go'long."
Once Marian thought to tell him of William Gordon's unfortunate attachment, particularly as lie was
loud in his praises of the young man; but upon second
reflections she decided to keep that matter to herself,
hoping that the subject would never be mentioned to
hler again. And in this her wishes seemed to be realized, for as the weeks after LSen's departure went by,
William began to be more like himself than he had
been before since her refusal of him. He came often
to Mrs. Sheldon's, sang with her sometimes as of old,
and shie fancied he was losing his love for her. But
she was mistaken, for it was strengthening with each
hour's interview. The very hopelessness of his pas.




280             MARIAN RAYMOND.
sion rendered it more intense, it would seem, until at
last, unable longer to remain where she was, and know
she could never be his, he went from home, nor returned again until near the middle of August, when lie
found Mrs. Sheldon's house in a state of great confusion. Furniture was being covered or packed away,
rooms shut up, and windows fastened down, while his
sister was in that state of feninine bliss when every
chair is filled with new dresses, save two, and those
two are occupied by the makers of said dresses.
Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon were going to Europe. They
would sail in about two weeks, and as Marian had positively declined to accompany them, they had engaged
another governess, who was to meet them  in 1New
York. It was decided that Mariani sliould remain a tew
days with Mrls. Gordon, and then go to Riverside, where
her coming was anxiously expected both by Frederic
and Alice. This arrangement was highlly satisfactory
to Will, who anticipated much happiness in having
her' wholly to himself for a week.''There would be no
sister Ellen, with curious, prying eyes, for she was going with Mrs. Sheldon as far as New York-no little
girls always in the way —lno funny Fred, to see and
tell of everything-nobody, in short, but his good
mother, who he knew  would often leave him alone
with Marian.
During his absence from home he had thought
much upon the subject, and had resolved to make one
more trial at least. She might be eventually won, and
if so, he should care but little for the efforts made to
win her.  With this upon his mind, he felt rather relieved than otherwise when the fatmily at last were
gone, and Marian was an inmate of his mother's
house. Both Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon had urged himt to
accompany them, and he had made arrangements to
do so in case he found Malian. still firil in her refusal.
They were intending to stop for a few days in New
York, and he could easily join them the day on which
the ship was advertised to sail. He should know his




MARIAN RAYMOND.              281
fate before that time, he thought, and he strove in various ways to obtain an interview with Marian, who,
divining his intention, was unusually reserved in her
demeanor toward him, and if by chance she found herself'with him alone, she invariably formed some excuse to leave the room, so that Will began at last to
lose all hope, and to think seriously of joining his sister as the surest means of forgetting Marian Grey.
"She does not care for mne," he said to his mother, one
night after Marian had retired. "I believe she rather
dislikes me than otherwise. I think on the whole I
shall go, and if so, I must start in the morning, for the
vessel sails to-morrow night."
To this his mother made no objection, for though
she would be very lonely without him, she was accustomred to rely upon herself, so she rather encouraged
him than otherwise, thinking it would do him good.
Accordingly, next morning, when Marian came down
to breakfast, she was surprised to hear of Will's intended departure.
i' Oh, I am sorry," she said, involuntarily, for Will
Gordon had a strong place in her affections, and knew
not what danger might befall him on the deep.
Breakfast being over, there remained to Will but
half an hour, and as a part of this was necessarily
spent with the servants, and in preparations for his journey, he had at the last but a few moments in which to
say his farewell words to Marian. She was in the back
parlor, his miother said, and there he found her weeping, for she felt that her friends were leaving her one
by one, and though in a few days she was going back
to her husband and her.home, she knew not what the
result would be. Will's sudden determination to visit
Europe affected her unpleasantly, for she felt that she
was in some way connected with it, and she was conscious of a feeling of loneliness, such as she had not
experienced before since she first came to Mrs. Shel.
don's.




282             MARIAN RAYMOND.
"Are you weeping?" said Will, when he saw her with
her head bowed down upon the arm of the sofa.
Marian did net answer, and with newly -awakened
hope Will drew nearer aud seated himself beside
her. " It might be that he was mistaken, after all,"
he thought. "Her tears would seem to indicate as
much. Girls were strange beings, everybody said,"
and passing his arm around the weeping Marian, he
whispered: " Do you like me, then?"
"Yes, very, veryv much," she answered,'and now
that you are going away, and I may never see you
again, I am so sorry I ever caused you a moment's
pain."
" I needn't go, Marian," William said, drawing her
close to him. " I will stay, oh, so gladly, if you bid
me do so. But it must be for you. Shall I, Marian?
May I stay?" and again Will Gordon poured into her
ear deep burning words of love-entreating her to be
his wife-to forget that other love so unworthy of her,
and to give herself to him, who would cherish her so
tenderly. Then he told her how the thought that she
did not love him had made him go away, when he
would so much rather remain where she was, if he
could know she wished it. "Answer me, Marian," he
said, 1" for time hastens, and if you tell me no again, I
must be gone. Never man loved and worshipped his
wife as I will love and worship you. Speak and tell
me yes."
Will paused for her reply, and looking into her face,
which she had turned towards him, he thought he read
a confirmation of his hopes, but the first words she uttered wrung his heart with cruel disappointment.
" I cannot be your wife," she said. "I mean it, Mr.
Gordon, I cannot, and oh, it would be wicked not to
tell you. Can 1 trust you?  Will you keep my secret
safe, as I have kept it almost six long years?"
There-was some insufferable barrier between them,
and William Gordon felt it, as trembling in every




MABIAN RAYMOND.              283
limb, he answered, "Whatever you intrust to me shall
not be betrayed."
"Then, listen," she said, "and say if you will bid
me marry you. I told you I was not what I seemed,
alnd I am not. People, perhaps, call me young, but to
myself I seem old, I have suffered so much and all my
womanhood has been wasted, as it were, in tears. I
told you once that before coring here I had given to
another the love for which you sued, and I told you
truly; but Mr. Gordon, there was more to tell; that
other one, who loves me not, or who, if he does. has
never manifested it to me by word or deed, is my own
husbarnd /"' Oh, Marian, Marian, this indeed is death itself!"
groaned Will, for though he had said there was no
hope, it seemed to him now that he had never believed
or realized it, as when he heard the dreadful words,
"my own husband."''
"Do not despise me for deceiving you," Marian continned. " I I had thought you could have seen aught
to desire in me, a poor, humble girl, I might, perhaps,
hlave warned you in time, though how could I tell you,
a stranger, that I was an unloved wife?"' Where is he-that man?" Will asked, for he could
Dot say "your husband," and his lip quivered with
smething akin to the pain one feels when he hears the
cold earth rattling into the grave where he has buried
his fondest pride.
Mariall's confession was a death-blow to all Will had
dared to hope, and he asked for the husband more as a
natter of form than because he really cared to know.
"Mr. Gordon," said Marian, rising to her feet,
and standing with her face turned fully toward
him, "3 /ust I tell you m(ore    I thought I needed
only to speak of a husband and you would guess the
rost. Iion't you know me  Have we never met befol e?"
Wistfully, anxiously William gazed at her, scanning
her features one by one, while a dim vision of something




%4              MARIAN RAYMOND.
back in the past floated before him, but assumed no
tangible form, and shaking his head, he answered:
"Never, to my knowledge."
"Look again. Is not my face a familiar one? Did
you never see it before?  Not here-not in New
England-but far away, where the Summer comes
earlier and the Winter is not so long. Is there not
sornething about me-something in my person, or my
voice, which carries you back to an old house on the
river where you once met a little curly-haired girl?"
She did not need to say more. Little by little it had
come to him, and, starting to his feet, lie caught her
hand, exclaiming, "Great Heaven I The lost wife of
Frederic lZaymond!"
" Yes," she answered, " the lost Marian of Redstone
1Hall," and leaning her head upon his arm, she burst
into tears, for he seemed to her like a brother now,
while she to himHe could not think of her as a sister vet —he loved
her too well for that; but still his feelings toward her
had changed in the great shock with which he recognized her. She could never be his Marian, he knew,
neither did lie desire it. And for a moment he stood
speechless, wholly overwhelmed with astonishment and
wonder. Then he said, "Marian Raymond, why are
you here a"
" Why?" she repeated bitterly. "You may well
ask why. Hated by him who should care for me, what
could I do but go away into the unknown world, and
throw myself upon its charities, which in my case have
not been cold or selfish. God bless the noble-hearted
Ben, and the sainted woman, his mother, who did not
cast me off when I went to them, homeless, friendless,
and heart-broken."
In her excitement, Marian clasped her hands togeth
er, and the blue of her eye grew deeper, darker, as shle
paid this tribute of gratitude to those who had been
her friends indeed. Involuntarily, Will Gordon, too,
responded to the words, " God bless the noble-hearted




MARIAN RAYMOND.             285
Ben," for, looking at the beautiful girl before him, he
felt that what she was she owed to the self-denying,
unwearied efforts of the uncultivated but generous
Ben.
"Marian," he said again, "you must go home. Go
to your husband. He is waiting for you. He has
sought for you long; he has expiated his sin. Go, Marian, go —--
"I am going," she answered, " and if I only knew
he wanted me-wanted his wife   -"
" He does want you," interrupted Will. " He has
told me so many a time,"
Marian was about to reply, when Mrs. Gordon appeared, warning her son that the carriage was at the
door; and with a hurried farewell to Marian and his
mother, Will hastened off, whispering to the former,
"' I shall write to you when on the sea-"
"And keep my secret safe. I would rather divulge
it myself," she added.
He nodded in the affirmative, and was soon on his
way to the depot, so bewildered with what he had
heard, that he scarcely knew whether it were reality or
a dreamn. Gradually, however, it became clear to him,
and he remembered many things which confirmed the
strange story he had heard.
Greatly he wished to write to Frederic, and tell him
that Marian Grey was his wife, but he would not break
his promise, and he was wondering how he could hasten
the discovery, when, as the cars left the depot at Hartford, a broad hand was laid upon hlis shoulder, and a
voice which sounlded familiar, said, "Wall, captain,
bein' we're so full, I guess you'll have to make room
for mne, or else I'll have to set with that gal whose hoops
take tp the hull concern."
" Ben Butterworth," Will exclaimed, turning his face
toward the speaker, who recognized him at once.
" Wall," he began, as he took the seat Will readily
shared with him, "I didn't'spose'twas you. How do




286            MIARIAN RAYMOND.
you do, and how's Marian? IIas she gone to Riverside yet?"
"No," returned Will, and looking Ben directly in
the face, he continued, "How much of Miss Grey's
history do you know?"
" Mor'n I shall tell, I'll bet. How much do you
know?" and Ben set his hat a little more on one side
of his head.
"-More than you suppose, perhaps," returned Will.
" And if you, too, are posted, Id like to talk the matter
over, but if not, I shall betray no secrets."
" I swan, I b'lieve you do know," said Ben. "Did
she tell you?"
Will nodded, and Ben continued, "She wrote to me
that you knew Mr. Raymond, and liked him, too; I
guess he ain't a very bad chap after all, is he??'
The ice was fairly broken now, and both Will and
Ben settled themselves for a long conversation. Will
did not think it betrayed Marian's confidence to talk
of her with one who understood her affairs so much
better than himself, and ere they reached New York,_
he had heard the whole story-heard how Ben had
stumbled upon her inl New York, and taken her to his
home without knowing aught of her, except that she
was friendless and alone-how the mother, now resting
in her grave, had cared for the orphan girl, and how
Ben, too, had done tor her what he could.
"'Twan't much any way," he said, "and I never
minded it an atom, for'twas a pleasure to arn money
for her schoolinll'."'
And Ben spoke truly, for it never occurred to him
that he had denied himself as few men would have
done-toiling early and late, through sunshine and
storm, wearing the old coat long after it was threadbare, and sometimes, when peddling, eating but tw,
meals, a day, by way of saving for Marian. Of al'
this he did not speak to his companion. He did not
even think of it, or, if he did, he felt that -he was more
than paid in seeing Marian what she was. AccidentI-~1  J~~~   ~LVVL-6C




MARIAN RAYMOND.              287
ally, he said that his name was really Ben Burt, and
that he should be glad when the time came for him to
be called thus again.
" When will that be b" asked Will, and Ben replied
by unfolding to him his long cherished plan of having
Frederic make love to his own wife.
" You might write to him, I s'pose," lie said, "but
that would spile all my fun, and I'd rather let the thing
work itself out. He's bound to fall in love with her.
He can't help it, and I don't see how you could.
Mlabby you did."  And Ben's grey eyes looked quizzically at his companion, who colored deeply as he Ieplied merely to the first part of Ben's remark. "I
certainly will not interfere in the matter, though before
meeting you I was wondering how I could do so, and
not betray Marian's confidence.  I am sure now it will
all come right at last, and you ought to be permitted
to bring it round in your own way, for you have been
a true friend to her, and I dare say she loves you as a
brother."
This was touching Ben on a tender point, for his old
affection for Marianl was not quite dead yet, and Will's
last words brought back to him memories of thlose
dreary winter nights, when in his way he had battled
with the love he knew he must not cherish for Marian
Grey. He fidgetted in lJis seat, got up and looked
under hiiil, sat down again and looked out of the window, and repeated to himself a part of the multiplication table, by way of keeping fromn crying.
" Bless her, she's an angel," he managed at last to
say, adding, as lie met the inquiring Dgance of Will:
"It's my misfortin' to be oncommon tender-hearted,
and when I git to tllinkinr' of solnethin' that concerns
nobody but me, I can't keep from  cryin' no way you
can fix it," and two undeniable tears rolled down his
cheeks and dropped fromn the end of his nlose.
"H' e, too," sighed XWill Gordon, and as he thought
how much more the uncouth nman beside him had done
for Mariail Grey than either Frederic or himself, and that




288             MARIAN RAYMOND.
he really had the greatest claim to her gratitude and
love, his heart warmed toward Yankee Ben as to a
long tried friend, and he resolved to leave for him a
substantial token of his regard.
"Why don't you settle down, as a grocer, in some
small country town?" he asked, as they came near the
city.
i' I have thought of that," said Ben, "for I'm gettin'
kinder tired of travelin' now that there ain't no home
for me to go to once in so often. I think I should like
to be a grocery man first rate, and weigh out saleratus
and bar soap to the old wimmen.  Wouldn't they
flock in, though, to see me, I'm so odd! But'taint
no use to think on't for I hain't the money now, thouglh,
mabby I shall have it bimeby. My expenses ain't as
great as they was."
By this time they had reached the depot, and Will,
who knew they must part there, said to him, " How
long do you stay in New York?"
"Not long," returned Ben, " I've only come to recruit my stock a little."' Go to the Post-Office before you leave," was Will's
reply, as he stepped from the platform and was lost in
the crowd.
" What did he mean?" thought Ben. "Nobody
writes to me but Marian, and I ain't expectin' nothin'
from her, but I guess I may as well go.
Accordingly, the next night, when Will Gordon,
with little Fred in his armns, was looking out upon the
sea, Ben wended his way to the office, inquiring filst
for Ben Butterworth and then for Ben Burt.  There
was a letter for the latter, and it contained a draft for
three hundred dollars, together with the following
lines:
" You and I have suffered alke, and in each of our
hearts there is a hidden grave. I saw it ill the tears
you shed when talking to me of Marian Grey. Heaven bless you, Ben Burt, for all you have been to her.




MARIAN RAYMOND.              289
She is one of the fairest, best, of God's creation, but
she was not meant for you nor me; and we must learn
to go our way without her. You have done for her
more, perhaps, than either Mr. Raymond or myself
would have done in the same circumstances, and thlus
far you are more worthy of her esteem. You will
please accept the inclosed as a token that I appreciate
your selfldenying labors for Mal[ian Grey.  Use it
for that grocery we talked about, if you choose, or
for any purpose you like. If you have any delicacy
just consider it a loan to be paid when you are a
richer man than I am. You cannot return it, of
course, for when you receive it I shall be gone.
"Yours, in haste,  WILLIAk GORDON."
This letter was a mystery to Ben, who read it again
and again, dwelling long upon the words, "You and
I suffered alike, and in each of our hearts there is a
hidden grave."
"' That hits me exactly," he said, "though I never
thought of callin' that hole in my heart a grave —
but'taint nothin' else, for I buried sometlin' in it,
and the tender brotherly feelin' I've felt for Marian
ever since was the grave stun I set up in memory of
what had been. But what does he know about it,
though why shouldn't he, for no mortal man can look
in Marian's face and not feel kinder cold and hystericky-like at the pit of his stomach! Yes, he's in love
with her, and that's the way she came to tell who she
was. Poor Bill! poor Bill! I know how to. pity him to
a dot," and Ben heaved a deep sigh as he finished this
long soliloquy.
The money next diverted his attention, but no puzzlil;g on his part could explain to him satisfactorily
why it had been sent.
" S'posin' he was grateful," he said, " he needn't give
me three hundred dollars for nothin', but bein' he has,
I may as well use it to start in business, though I shall
pay it back, of course," and when alone in his room
13




290             MARIAN RAYMOND.
at the Hotel where lie stopped, he wrote upon a bit of
paper.
"NEW YORK, August 30 18"For vally rec. I promise to pay Bill Gordon, or
bearer, the sum of three hundred dollars with use from
date.
"BENJAMIN BURT."
This note he put carefully away in his old leathern
wallet, where it was as safe and as sure of being paid
as if it had been in William Gordon's hands instead of
his.
Meantime Marian at Mrs. Gordon's was half regretting that she had told her secret to William, and greatly lamenting that they had been interrupted ere she
knew just how much Frederic wished to find her.
That his feelings toward her had changed, she was
sure, but she would know by word and deed that lihe
loved her ere she revealed herself to him, and the dark
mystery of that cruel letter must be explained before
she could respect him as she had once done. And now
but a few days remained ere she should see him face
to face, for she was going to Riverside very soon.
Some acquaintance of hers were going west by way of
New York, and she decided to accompany thlem,
though by soing doing she would reach IRiverside one
day earlier than she was expected.
"It would make no difference of course," she said,
and she waited impatiently for the appointed morning.
It came at last and long before the hour for startilg
she was ready, the dancing joy in her eyes, and her
apparent eagerness to go being sadly at variance with
the expression of Mrs. Gordon's face, for the good lady
loved the gentle girl and grieved to part with lei..
"I am sorry to leave you," Marian said, when the
last moment came, "but I am so glad I am going, too,
sometime, perhaps, you may know why and then you
will not blame me."




MARIAN RAYMOND.              291
She could not shed a tear altlhough she had become
greatly attached to her Springfield homes and her exciterment continued unabated until she reached New
York, where they stopped for the night. There were
several hours of daylight left, and stealing away fioln
her friends she took a Third Avenue car and went up to
tlheir old house where strangers were living now. She
did not care to go in, for the dingy, uncurtained windows looked far from inviting, and she passed slowly
down the other side of the street, musing upon all that
had passed since the night when she first climbed those
narrow stairs, and asked a mother's care from Mrs.
Burt. She did not think then that she would ever be
as happy as she was to-day with the uncertainty of
meeting Frederic to-morrow. It seelned a great while
to wait, and as Ben had once numbered the weeks in
seven years, so she now counted the hours, which must
elapse ere she felt the pressure of Frederic's handfor he would shake hands with her of course, and he
would look into her face, for he had heard much of
her both from Will Gordon and Ben. Would he be
disappointed? Would he think her pretty? Would
he know her? And Alice-what would she say?
Miarian dreaded this test more than all the rest, for she
felt that there was danger in the instinct of the blind
girl. Slowly she retraced her steps and returning to
the Astor, soughllt her own room, informning her friends
that she was weary and would rest.
"Five hours more," was her first thought when she
awoke next morning from a sounder sleep than she
hlad supposed it possible to enjoy when under such excitement. Ere long it was four hours more, then three,
then two, then one, and then the cars stopped at the
depot at Yonkers. Two trunks marked " M. G." stood
Upon the platform, and near them a figure in black,
bowing to her friends, whlo leaned firom the car window, and holding in her hands a satchel, a silk umbrella, two checks, her purse, and a book, for Marian




292             MARIAN RAYMOND.
possessed the weakness of her sex, and in traveling
always carried the usual amount of.baggage.
"To Riverside," she said, when asked where she
wished to go, and she looked around as if half expecting a familiar face.
But she looked in vain, and in a few moments she
was comfortably seated in the lumbering stage, which
once before had carried her up that long hill. Eagerly
she strained her eyes to catch the first view of the
house; and when at last it came in sight, she was too
intent upon it to observe the showily-dressed young
lady tripping along upon the walk, and holding her
skirts with her thumb and finger so as to show her
dainty slipper.
Bat if Marian did not see Isabel, Isabel saw her.
It was not usual for the stage to come up at that hour
of the day, and as it passed her by, Isabel turned to
see where it was going.
"Tro Riverside," she exclaimed, as she saw it draw
up to the gate. "It must be the new governess," and
as there was no house very near, slie stopped to inspect
th}e stranger as well as shle could at that distance.
"Black," slhe said, as Marian stepped upon the ground;
" But I might have known it, for regular built teachers always wear black, I believe. She is rather tall,
too. An, umbrella, (,f course. I wonder she hasn't
her blanket shawl and overshoes this hot day. Her
bonnet is pretty, and that hem in her veil very wide.
On the whole, she's quite genteel for a governess,"
anid Isabel walked on while Marian went up the graveled walk, expecting at each step to meet with either
Frederic or Alice.
She would rather it should be the latter, for in case
of recognition, she knew she could bind the blind girl
to secrecy for a timle, but no one appeared, and about
the house there was no sign of life, save a parrot, which,
in its cage beneath a maple tree, screamed out wholly
unintelligible words. The door was shut, and even after
the driver had placed her trunks upon the piazza and




MARIAN RAYMOND.              293
g.one, Marian stood there ringing the bell. The winl
dow to her right was open, and she knew it was the
window of Frederic's room, but he was niot sitting near
it, and after a little she ventured to approach it and
look in. It did not seem to have been occupied at all
that day, for everything was arranged in perfect order
as if broom and duster had recently done service there.
Its prim, neat appearance affected Marian unpleasantly, as if it were the forerunner of some disappointment, and going back'to the door she resolutely pulled
the silver knob. The loud, sharp ring made her heart
beat violently, and when she heard a heavy tread, not
unlike a man's coming up the basement stairs, she
thought, " What if it is Frederic himself?  What shall
1 say?"
"It if Frederic," she continued, as the step came
nearer, and she was wishing she could run away and
hide, when the door was opened by Mrs. Russell, her
feet encased in a pair of Mr. Raymond's cast-off shoes,
which accounted for her heavy tread, and herself looking a little crest-fallen at the sight of her visitor, whom
she,recognized at once.
"Miss Grey, I b'lieve?" she said, dropping a low
cnrtesy. "We wan't expectin' you till to-morrow;
but walk in, and make yourself at home. You'll want.
to go to your room, I'spose. Traveled all night, didn't
you?  You look pale, and I wouldn't wonder if you
wanted to sleep most of the day. I never thought of
such a thing as your comin' this mornin'. Dear me,
what shall I do?"
This was said in an under-tone, but it caught the ear
of Marian, who, now that she had a chance to speak,
asked for Mr. Raymond, timidly, as if fearful that with:  his name her sacret might slip out.
"Bless you!" returned Mrs. Russell, "both of'em
went to New York early this morning, and won't be
home till dark, maybe, and that's why I feel so. I
don't know how to entertain you as they do, and Miss
Alice has been reckoning on giving you a good im



294             MARIAN RAYMOND.
pression. I'm so sorry you've-they've gone, I mean.
I wan't expecting to get any dinner to-day, and was
having such a nice time, sewin' on my new dress;"
and, with the last, the whole cause of the old lady's uneasiness was divulged.
In the absence of Frederic and Alice, she had counted upon a day of leisure, which Marian's arrival had
seriously interrupted.
" I beg you not to trouble yourself for me," said
Marian, who readily nnderstood'the matter. " I never
care for a regular dinner: indeed, I may not be hungry
at all."
The old lady's face brightened perceptibly, and she
replied:
"' Oh, I don't mind a cup of tea, and the like o' that;
but to brile or stew this hot day ain't so pleasant, when
a person is fleshy, as I am. I'll get you something,
though; and now you go up stairs to your room, the
one at the right hand, with the wlhite furniture, and
the silver jigger, that let's the water into that marble
dish. We live in style, I tell you; and Mr. Raymond
is a gentleman, if there ever was one-only he wants
meat three times a day, just as he has in Kentucky.
Thinks, I'spose, it don't hurt mne any more to sweat over
the fire, than it does that Dinah, Alice talks so much
about. Yes, that's the door-right there;" and Mrs.
Russell went back to the making of her dress, while
Marian sought her chamber, feeling rather disappointed at the absence of both Frederic and Alice, whose
object in visiting New York, that day, will be explained in the succeeding chapter, and will necessarily
take us backward for a little in our story.




CHAPTER XXIII.
FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME.
" FREDERIC," said Alice, about six we6ks before Marian's arrival at Riverside, "who hired that Mlrs. Merton to take care of you when you were sick at the
hlotel?"
" The proprietor, I suppose," returned Frederic.
Alice continued:
" But who told him of her?"
" I don't know," said Frederic. "She was from the
country, I believe."
"' Yes, yes," returned Alice; "but some person must
hiave recommended her, and if you can ascertain who
that person was, you may find Mirs. Merton, and learn
something of Marian."
"'I wonder I never thought of that before," said
Frederic, adding, " that if Alice had her sight he believed she would have discovered Marian ere this."
" I know I should," was her answer; and after a
little further conversation, it was decided that Frederic
should go to New York, and learn, if possible, who
first suggested Mls. Merton as a nurse.
This was not so easy a matter as he had imagined it
to be, for though Frederic himself was well remembered at the hotel, where he was now a frequent guest,
scarcely any one could recall Mrs. Merton distinctly,
and no one seemed to know how she came there, until
a servant, who had been in the house a long time,
spoke of Martha Gibbs, and then the proprietor sud



296  FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MIARIAN'S OLD HOME.
denly remembered that she had recommended M[rs.
Merton as being a friend of hers.
" But who is Martha Gibbs, and where is she now?"
Frederic asked; and tile servant replied that
" Her home used to be in Woodstock, Conn.;" and
with this item of information Frederic wrote to her
friends, inquiring where she was.
To this letter there came ere long an answer, saying
that Mrs. John Jennings lived in, a small town
in the interior of Iowa.  Accordingly the next mail
westward from Yonkers carried a letter to said Mrs.
Jennings, asking where the woman lived who had
nursed Mr. Raymond through that dangerous fever.
This being done, Frederic and Alice waited irnpatiently for a reply, which was long in coming, for Mr.
Jennings' log tenement was several miles from the
post-office, where he seldom called, and it was more
than a week ere the letter reached him. _Even then it
found himn so engrossed in the arrival of his first-born
son and heir, that for two or three days longer it lay
unopened in the clock-case, ere he thought to look at
it.
" I don't know what it means, I'm  sure," he said,
taking it to his wife, who, having never heard of the
death of her old friend, replied, "Why, he wants to
know where Mrs. Burt lives. Just write on a piece of
paper:'East - - street, No. -, third story; turn to
your right; door at the head of the stairs.' I wonder
if he's never been there yet?"
John was not an elaborate correspondent, and he
simply wrote down his better half's -direction, saying
nothing whatever of Mrs. Burt herself, and thus conveying to Frederic no idea that Merton was not the
real name.
"A letter from Iowa," said Frederic to Alice, as he
came in from the office, on the very night when Marian was walking slowly past what was once her home.
" I have the street and number, and to-morrow I am
going there."




FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME. 297
"And I am going, too," cried Alice.  Won't Marian be surprised to see us both. I hope she'll come
to the door herself; and Frederic, if she does, you'll
kiss her, won't you, and act like you was glad, for if
you don't, maybe she won't come back with us."'
" I will do right," answered Frederic, adding in a
low tone, " Perhaps she will not be there."
"Yes, she will," was Alice's positive reply, "or if
slbe's not, somebody can tell us where she is. Only to
think, we shall see her to-morrow. I do wish it would
hurry, and I'm glad Miss Grey is not coiming until the
day after. It will be so nice to have them both here.
Do you suppose they'll like each other, Marianl and
Miss Grey?"
"I dare say they will," returned Frederic, smriling
at the little girl's enthusiasm, and hoping she might
not be disappointed.
Anon, a shadow  clouded Alice's face, and obserring it, Frederic passed his hand over her hair, saying,
" What is it, birdie?".:" Frederic," said Alice, creeping closely to the si(le
of the younlg man, " Isn't Miss Grey very beautiful?"
" iMr. Gordon and Ben say so," returned Frederic,
and Alice continued:
" Don't be angry with me, but you loved Isabel the
best because she was the handsomest, and now you
won't love Miss Grey better than Mar ian, will you, and
you'll be Marian's husband right off, won't you?"
"When Marian comes here, it will be as my wife,"
said Frederic, and with this answer Alice was satisfied.
" I wish it would grow dark faster," she said, for she
could tell when it was night; and Frederic, while listening to the many different ways she conjured up for
them to meet Marian, became almost as impatient as
herself for the Inorrow, when his renewed hopes might,
perhaps, be realized.
The breakfaist next morning was hurried through, for
neither Alice nor Frederic culd eat, and M rs. Rlussell,




298  FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME.
when she saw how much was left untouched, congrat.
ulated herself upon its answering for the hired man's
dinner, and thus giving her a nice long time for sewing.
" It isn't a bit likely Miss Grey will come to-day,"
said Alice, as she followed Frederic to the carriage;
and, confident of this, they gave Miss Grey no further
tlhought, but went on their way in search of Marian.
When they reached New York, Frederic, who had
some business to transact, left Alice in the parlor at
tihe Astor, where she sat with her face to the window,
just as though she could see the passers-by; and, as
she sat there, a party who were leaving glanced hastily in, all seeing the little figure by the window, and
one thinking to herself, "She wears her hair combed
back, as Alice used to do!"
Then the group passed on, while over the face of the
blind girl there flitted for an instant a wondering, bewilderillg expression, for her quick ear had caught the
sound of a voice which, it seemed to her, she had heard
before-not there-not in New York-but far away,
at Redstone Hall. What was it? Who was it a She
bent her head to listen, hoping to hear it again, but it
carne no more, for Marian Grey had left the house,
and was passing up Broadway. It was not long ere
Frederic lreturned, and, taking A\lice's hand, he led her
into the street, and entered a Third avenue car.
" We are on the right track, I think," he said; "for
it was this way she went with the man described by
Sarah Green."
Alice gave a sigh of relief, and, leaning against
Frederic, rather enjoyed the pleasant motion of the
car, although she wished it would go faster.
"Won't we ever get there?" she asked, as they plodded slowly on, stopping often to take in a passenger,
or set one down.
"' Yes, by and by," said Frederic, encouragingly.' I am not quite certain of the street, myself, but I
shall know it when I see the name, of course;" and he




FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN S OLD IIOME. 299
looked anxiously out as they passed along. "H ere it
is!" he cried, at last; and, seizing Alice's arm, he
rather dragged than led her from the car, and out upon
the crossing. "Why," he exclaimed, gazing eagerly
around him, " I have been here before-down this
very street;" and his eye wandered involuntarily in
the direction of the window where once the whitefringed curtain hung.
It was gone now, as was the rose geranium. The
kitten, too, was gone, and the small hand resting on
it; while in their place appeared the heads of two or
three dirty children, looking across the way, and making wry faces at similar dirty children in the window
opposite. Frederic saw all this, and it affected him
unpleasantly, causing him to feel as if he had parted
from some old friend. BBut no; where was that? It
must be in this locality; and he wondered how one
accustomed to the luxuries of Redstone Hall could
live in this place so long.
" I've found it!'? he said, as his eye caught the number; and now, that he believed himself near to what
he had sought so long, he was more impatient than
Alice herself
Hle could not wait for her uncertain footsteps, and
pale with excitement, he caught ner in his arms and
Fhurried up the narrow stairs, which many a time had
creaked to Marian's tread. The third story was reached
at last, and he stood panting by the door, where Mir.
Jennings had said that he must stop. It was open, and
the greasy, uncarpeted floor, of which he caught a
glimpse, looked cheerless and uninviting, but it did
not keep him back a moment, and he advanced into
the room, which, by the three heads at the window,
he knew was the same where the white curtain once
had hung, and where now the glaring August sunlight
came pouring in, unbroken and unsubdued.
At the sight of a stranger one of the heads turned
toward him and a little voice said;




300 FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME.
"Ma's out washin', she is, and won't be home till
night."
There was a cold, heavy feeling of disappointment
settling round Frederic's heart, for nothing there seemed
at all like what he remembered of the neat, tidy Mrs.
Merton, but he nerved himself to ask:
"What is your mother's name a"
"Bunce, and my pa is in the Tombs," was the
reply.
"How long have you lived here " was the next
question, asked with a colder, heavier heart.
" Next Christmas a year," said the little girl, and
catching Frederic's arm, Alice whispered,
" Do let's go out into the open air."
But Frederic did not move-there was a spell upon
him, and for several moments it kept him there in the
very room where Marian had wept so many tears for
him, and where, in her desolation, she had asked that
she might die when the greatest sorrow she had ever
known came upon her-the sorrow brought by Isabel's
cruel letter. There close to where he stood was thle
door of the little room where for weeks and months
she had lain, tossing in her feverish pain, while over
her Ben Burt kept his tireless watch, nor asked for
greater reward than to know that she would live. And
was there nothing to tell him of all this-nothing to
whisper that the one- he sought had been there once,
but was waiting for him now in his own holne I No,
there was nothing but dark, cheerless poverty staring
him in the face, and with a sigh he turned away, and
knocking at other doors, asked for the former occupants of those front rootns. Nearly all the present
tenants had mnoved there since Mrs. Burt's death, amld
none knew aught of her save one rather decent-looking
woman, who said "she remembered the folks well,
though they held their heads above the likes of her.
She'd seen them comin' in and out and had peeked
into their room, so she knew they was well to do."
"' Was their name Mlerton? and did a young girl




FREDERIC AND) ALICE VISIT MARIAN S OLD BOME. 301:,ve with them?" asked Frederic; and the woman
replied:
"' Merton sounds some like it, though I'd sooner say'twas Buarton, or something like that.  I never even
so much as passed the timle of day with'em, for I tell
you they felt above me; but the girl was a jewel-so
trim and genteel like."
"That was Marian," whispered Alice; and Frederic continued:' Where are they now?"
"Bless you," returned the woman. "One on'ern
is in Heaven, and the Lord only knows.where t'other
one went to."
Alice's hand, which lay in Frederic's, was clutched
with a painful grasp; and the perspiration gathered
about the young man's white lips as he stammered
out:
"Which one is dead? Not the girl? You dare
not tell mle that?."
"I dare if it was so," returned the woman; *"but'twant;'twas the old one-the one I took to be the
mother; though I have heard a story about the girl's
comin' here long time ago, before I moved here. I
was away when tile woman died, and when I got back
the rooms was empty, and the boy and girl was gone;
nobody knows where; and I haint seen em since.
Frederic was too much interested in Marian to hear
anything else, and he paid no attention to her mention
of a boy. Marian was all he wished to find, but it was
in vain that he questioned and cross-questioned the
woman. She had given all the information she could;
and with an increased feeling of disappointment he
left her, glancing once more into the room where he
was sure Marian had lived. Alice, too, was willing to
stop there now; and when Frederic told her of the
geranium and the kitten he had once seen in the window, a smile mingled with her tears, and she wished
she had them now, especially the kitten! She did not
know that the matronly-looking cat, which, behind the




302 FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME.
broken stove, was purring sleepily, was the same MIal
tese kitten Marian had fondled so often. At the time
of leaving she had given it to an acquaintance near
by, but pussy preferred her old haunts, and returning
to them, persisted in remaining there until the arrival
of the new comers, who took her in, and she now daily
shared the meagre fare of the three children by the
window. Intuitively, as it were, she felt that Alice
was a lover of her race, and she calne towards her,
purring loudly, and rubbing against her side.
"Lands sake," exclaimed the woman. " Here's the
very cat the young girl used to tend so much. I know
it by the white spot between its eyes. I found it mewing and making an awful noise by the door when I
came back; and though I ain't none of your cat
women, I flung it a bone or two till them folks came,
and the children kept it to torment, I'spect, just as
young ones will. I see one of'em with a string round
its neck t'other day a chokin' it most to death."
" Oh, Frederic," and Alice's face expressed what she
wished to say, while she caught up the animal in her
arms.
Frederic understood her, and speaking to the oldest
of the children, he said, "Will you give me your
cat?"
"No, no," the three set up at once, and Alice whispered, " Buy her, Frederic, won't you?"
"Will you let me have her for fifty cents " he
asked, showing the silver coin.
"No, no," and the youngest began to cry.
"Give more," said Alice, and Frederic continued,
" Fifty cents a piece, then. You can buy a great many
cakes and crackers with it""And candy," suggested Alice.
The youngest began to show signs of relenting, as
did the second, but the third persisted in saying " o."
" Offer her more," was whispered in a low voice,
and glancing around the poorly furnished room, Frederic took out his purse and said, " You shall have a




FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME. 303
dollar a piece, but part of it must be saved for your
mother,-besides that, this little girl is blind," and he
laid his hand on Alice's head.
This last argument would have been sufficient without the dollar, for it touched a chord of pity in the
heart of that child of poverty, and coming closer to
Alice she looked at her curiously, saying, " Can't you
see a bit more'n I can with my eyes shut?" and she
closed her own by way of experimenting.
"Not a bit," returned Alice, "but I love kitty just
the same, because she used to belong to a dear friend
of mine. May I have her?"
"Ye-es," came half reluctantly from the lips of the
child, as she extended her hand for the money.
" Oh, I'm so glad," said Alice when they were at a
safe distance from the house. "' I was afraid they'd
take it back," and she held fast to the kitten, which
made no effort to escape, but lay in her arms, singing
occasionally as if well pleased with the exchange.
Tils, however, Frederic knew would not continue
until they reached home, and stepping into a shop
which they were passing, lie bought a covered basket,
in which the cat was placed and the lid secured, a proceeding not altogether satisfactory to the prisoner.
Alice, too, was equally distressed, and when she learned
that Frederic could not go home until night, she insisted upon his getting her a room at the Astor, where
she could let her treasure out without fear of its escaping. Frederic complied with her request, and in her
delight with her new pet, she half forgot how disappointed she had been in the result of their visit. But
not so with Frederic. HIe felt it keenly, for never had
his hopes of finding Marian been raised to a higher
p1itch than that morning, and even now he could not
give it up. Leaving Alice at the hotel he went back
again to the street and made the most minute inquiries,
but all to no purpose. Ite could not obtain the least
clue to her, and he retraced his steps with a feeling
~Ill-~-r —V ~YV~YYU  ~4L VV~rV ~rLI*~  ~1Vy~r zn




301  FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN S OLD HOME.
that she was as really lost to him as if Sarah Green's
letter had been true and Marian resting in her grave.
" Why had that letter been written?" he asked himself again and again.
Somebody knew of Marian, and there was a mystery
connected with it —a mystery of wrong it might me.
Perhaps she could not come back, even though she
wanted to, and his pulses quickened with painful rapidity as he thought of all the imaginary terrors which
might surround the lost one. It was indeed a sad reflection, and his spirits were unusually depressed,
when just before sunset he took Alice by one hand,
the basket in the other, and started for lomne.
"' I didn't think we should come back alone," said
Alice, when at last they reached the depot at Yonkers,
and she was lifted into the carriage waiting for them.
"It's dreadful we couldn't find her, but I amn so glad
we've got the cat;" and she guarded the basket carefully, as if it bad contained the diamonds of India.
Frederic did not care to talk, and folding his arims,
he leaned moodily back in his carriage, evincing nlo
interest in anything until as they drew near home, the
driver said to Alice:
" Guess who's comne "
"Oh, I don't know-Dinah, may be," was Alice's
reply, and then Frederic smiled at the preposterous
idea.
"No; guess again," said the driver. "Somebody
as handsome as a doll."
" Miss Grey I" cried Alice, almost upsetting her
basket in her delight.
Eagerly she questioned John, and then replied,
" I'mn so glad, though I was going to fix her rooni so
nice to-morrow-but no matter, it's always pleasant
up there.  HI-low lonesome she must have been. all
day with nothing but the garden, the books, and tle
piano."
" She has been homesick," I guess," said John, "for




FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN S OLD HOME. 305
I seen her cryin', I thought, out under a tree in the
garden."
" Poor thing!" sighed Alice. "She won't be homesick any more when we get there; will she, Frederic?  I wonder if she likes cats!"  And as by this
time they had stopped at their own gate, the little
girl went running up the -walk, shaking the basket
prodigiously, and inciting its contents to such violent
struggles that in the hall the lid came off, and bounding from its confinement, the cat ran into the parlor,
where, trembling with firight, it crouched as for protection, at the feet of Marian Grey.




CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MEETING.
NOTWITHSTANDING Alice;s fears the day had not been
a long one to Marian, who had been so occupied in unpacking her trunks and in going over the house and
grounds, as scarcely to heed the lapse of time, and she
was surprised when, about sunset, she saw John drive
from the yard, and knew he was going for his master.
Not till then did she fully realize her position, and she
Sought her chamber to compose herself, for the dreaded
trial, which each moment camle nearer and nearer.
"' Will Frederic know me a?" she asked herself a dozen
times, and as often answered no -but Alice, ah, Alice,
there was danger to be apprehended from  her, and'Marian felt that she would tar rather meet the scrutin-;zing gaze of Frederic Raymond's eyes than submit
herself to the touch of the blind girl's fingers, or trust
her voice to the blind girl's ear.
That might not have changed. She could not tell
if it had, though she thought it very probable, for six
years was a long, long time, and it was nearly that
since she left Redstone Hall. She could not sustain a
feigned voice, she knew, and there was no alternative
save to wait the trial and abide the result of a recognition. She felt a pardonable pride in wishing to
make a good impression upon Frederic, for he could
see, and she spent a much longer time at her toilet
than usual.  3lack was very becoming to her dazzling -complexion, and the thin tissue she wore fitted her
admirably, showing just enough of her neck, while the




THE MEETING.               307
wide, loose sleeves displayed the whole of her wellslhaped arm, which, from contrast, looked white and
smooth as ivory. Hitherto she had curled tier entire
hair, but she did not dare to do so now, and slhe confilled a part of it with a comb, while the remainder
of it was suffered to curl as usual about her face and
bellind her ears. This changed her looks somewhat,
but was still becoming, and as she saw in tile mirror
the reflection of her sweet young face and deep blue
eyes there came a brighter glow to her cheek, for she
knew that the cherished wish of her early girlhood had
been fulfilled, and that Ben Burt was right when he
called her beautiful.
The gas was lighted when she entered the parlor below, and turning it down a little, she took a book and
seated herself somewhat in. the shade.  But the volume might as well have been wrong side up for any
idea its contents conveyed to her, so absorbed was she
in what was fast approaching, for she had heard the
carriage stop at the gate, and felt the cold moisture
starting out beneath her hair and on her hands.
" I will be calm," she said, and with one tremendous effort of the will she quieted the violent throbbings of her heart, and leaning on her elbow, pretended to be reading, though not a sound escaped her ear.
She heard the little feet come running up the walk,
and the heavy, manly tread following in the rear.
She heard the struggle in the hall between Alice
and the cat, and when the latter bounded into the room
and crouched down at her feet, slte thought there was
something familiar in that spot between the eyes. Btit
it could not be, she said, though Alice's exclamation of
"Do, Frederic, shut the door, so shle cannot get away,"
seemed to intimate that pussy was a stranger there.
Stooping down, she passed her hand caressingly over
the animal's back, whispering, in a low tone,' "Spotty,
darling, is it you I"
Won by her voice, the cat sprang up on ~Iarian's
lap just as Frederic glanced hastily in.




308               THE MEETING.
" Your pet is safe," he said to Alice, whom he followed to the sitting-room, waiting there a moment, and
then starting to meet Miss Grey.
She knew he was coming, counting every step, and
without raising her eyes from the book she pretended
to be reading, knew just when he crossed the threshold
of the door. Removing her hand from her head, where
it had been resting, she gently pushed the cat from her
lap, and half rising to her feet, waited for the first
words of greeting.
"Miss Grey, I believe;" and bowing low, Frederic
Raymond advanced towards Marian, who now stood
up, so that the blaze of the chandelier fell full upon
her, revealing at once her face and form.
Had her very life depended upon it she could not
have spoken then, for the stormy emotions the name
1" Miss Grey " called up, mastered her speech entirely.
She knew he would thus address her, but it grated
harshly on her ear to hear him call her so, and her
heart yearned for the familiar name of Marian, though
she had no reason to expect it from himn.
"You are welcome to Riverside," he continued;
" and I regret that your first day here should have
been so lonely."
This gave her a little time, and conquering her
weakness she extended her hand to take the one he
offered. Hers was cold and clammy, and trembled
like an imprisoned bird, as it lay in his broad, warm
palm. For an instant he held it there, and gazed
down into her sweet, childish face, which did not look
wholly unfamiliar to him, while she herself seemed
more like a friend than a total stranger. The tie between them, which naught but death could sever, and
which was bound so closely around.Marian's heart,
brought to his own an answering throb, and when at
last she spoke, assuring him that she had not been
lonely in the least, he started, for there was something
in the tone which moved hinm as a stranger oft is
moved, when hearing in the calm, still night the air




THE MEETING.               309
of "ITHome. Sweet Home."  It carried himl back to
Redstone Hall, years and years ago, when in the moonlight he had played with his dusky companions upon
the river brink. But Marian Lindsey had no portion
of hlis tlloughlts at that first interview with Marian
Grey, who ventured at last to look into his face just as
lie was looking into hers.  Oh, how much like the
Frederic of old he was, save that in his mature manhood lie was finer, nobler looking, while the proud fire
of his eye had given place to a milder, softer exprpession, and she felt intuitively that he was far more worthy of her love than when she knew him before.
Motioning her to a chair, he, too, sat down at a little distance and conversed with her pleasantly, as
fiiend converses with friend, asking about her journey, mlaking inquiries after Mrs. Slleldon's family, and
experiencing a most unaccountable sensation when he
saw hiow she bluished at the mention of William Gordonl! Ben was next talked about, and Marian was
growing eloquent in his praise, when suddenly a sight
inet her view which pretrified her powers of speech arid
sent the hot blood ebbing backward from her cheek
and lip. In the hall without and where Frederic could
not see her, the blind girl stood, her hands clasped and
slightly raised, her lips apart, her eyes rolling, her head
bent forward, and her ear turned toward tile door',
whence came the sound which had arrested her footsteps and chained her to the spot. She had started for
the parlor and come thus- tar, when she, too, caught
the tone which had affected even Frederic, and her
head grew dizzy with the bewildering sound, for to
her it brought memories of Marian. Had she come?
Was she there with Frederic and Miss Grey? Eagerly she waited to hear the sound repeated, wondering
why Miss Grey, too, did not join in the conversation.
It came again, the old familiar strain, though tuned to
a sadder note, forl Marian lhad suffered much since last
she talked with Alice, and it was perceptible even in
her voice. Tighter and tighter the small hands pressed




310               THE ME:ETING.
together-lower and lower blent the ]lead, while a
shade of disappointment flitted over the face of the
listening child, for this time it did not seem quite so
natural as at first, and she knew, too, that'twas Miss
Grey who spoke, for her subject was Ben Butterworth.
" What is it?" asked Frederic, observing that Miss
Grey stopped suddenly in the midst of a remark.
Marian pointed toward the spot where Alice stood,
but ere Frederic had time to step forward, the loud
ring of the bell started Alice from an attitude which,
had Frederic Raymond seen it, would surely have led
to a discovery.
"Tile little girl, she acts so singular," said Marian,
thinking she must make some explanation.'i She's blind, you know," was answered in a low
tone, and going toward the hall, Frederic met with
Alice just as a servant opened the outer door, and a
stranger entered, asking for Mr. Raymond.
"In a moment," said Frederic, and leading Alice up
to Marian, he continued, " Your teacher," and then
left the two together.
For an instant there was perfect silence, and Marian
knew tlhe blind girl could hear the beating of her
heart, while she ill turn watched the wonder and perplexity written on the. speaking face turned upward
toward her own, the brown eyes riveted upon her, as
if for once they had broken from their prison walls
and could discern what was before thenm.
Oh! how Marian longed to take the little, helpless
creature in her ali'ns; to hug her, to kiss her, to cry
over her, and tell her of the love which had never
known one motnent's abatemnent during the long yeul's
of thleir separation. But she dared not; and she sat
gazing at her to see if she had changed since the night
when she left her sleeping so quietly in their dear old
room at home. She was uow nearly thirteen, but her
figure was so slight, and her features so child-like, that
few would have guessed her more than nine, unless
they judged by her mature, womanly mind. To Ma



THE MEETING.               3t1
rian she seemed the same; and when, unable longer
to restrain herself, she drew the child to her, and, kissing her forehead, said to her kindly,
"You are Alice, my pupil, I am  sure.  Alice
what?"
"Alice Raymond," and the sightless eyes never
moved for an instant from the questioner's face.' Are you very nearly related to Mr. Raymond?"
asked Marian; and Alice replied:'"Second cousin, that's all. But he has been more
than a brother to me since-since-"
The perplexed, mystified look increased on Alice's
face, and her gaze grew more intense as she continued: "Since Marian went away."
There was a moment's stillness, and then the hand
which hitherto had rested on N-arian's lap was raised
UIntil it reached the head, where it lay lightly, very
lightly, through to Marian it seemed like the weight of
a thousand pounds, and she felt every hair prickle at
its root when the blind girl said to her:
" AINT YOU MARIAN?"
"Yes, Marian Grey,  Didn't you know  my first
nalne?" was the answer, spoken so deliberately that
Mamian was astonished at herself.
There was a wavering then in the brown eyes, a quivering of the lids, and the great tears rolled down
Alice's cheeks, for with this calln reply, uttered so
naturally, the hope she had scarcely dared to cherish
passed away, and she murmured sadly:
"It cannot be her."'" What makes you cry, darling?" asked Marian,
chokingo back her own tears, which were just ready to
flow, and which did gush forth in torrents, when Alice
answered:
" Oh, I wish I wasn't blind to-night!"
This surely was a good cause for weeping and pres.
s.ng the little one to her bosom, Marian wept over
her passionately for a few moments; then, drying hem
eyes, she said:




312               THE MEETING.
"Why to-night more than any other time?"
"Because I want so much to know how you look,"
returned Alice; adding immediately: " May I feel of
vour face? It's the only way I have of seeing."
"' Certainly," answered Marian; and the fingers wandered slowly, cautiously, over every feature, involuntarily caressing the fair, round cheek, but lingering
longest on the hair-the beautiful hair —whose glossy
waves were perceptible even to the touch.
"What color is it?" she asked, winding one of the
curls around her finger.
" Some call it auburn, some chesnut, and some a
mixture of both," was the reply, and Alice continued
lie, investigations by mentally comparing its length
with a standard she had in her own mind.
The two did not agree, for the curls she remembered
were longer and far more wiry than the silken tresses
of Miss Grey.
" Ho YV tall are you?" she suddenly asked, and Marian tried to laugh, although every nerve was thrilling
with fear, for she knew she was passing through a dangerous test.
"Rather tall," she replied, standing up, "Yes, very
tall, some would say. Put up your hand and see."
Alice did as she requested, and her tears came faster
as she whispered mournfully. " Youl're the tallest."
"' Did you think we had met before?" -asked Marian,
and then the sobs of the child burst forth unrestrained.
Buriying her face in Marian's lap, she cried, " Yesno-1 don't know what I thought, only you don't seem
to me like I supposed you would.  You make me
tremble so, and I keep thinking of somebody we lost
long ago. At first your voice sounded so natural, that
I knew inost she was here, but you aint't even like
lier. You're taller and fatter, and handsomer, I reckon,
alnd yet there is something about you that makes my
hearlt beat so fast. Oh, I wish I could see what it is.
Wllat mlade God make me blind?"
Never before had Marian heard a murmur from the




THE MEETING.               313
lips of the uhfortunate child, and it seemed to her
cruel not to whisperwords of comfort in her ear. But
she could not do it yet, and so she kissed her tenderly,
saying, "Did you love this other one so very much 2"
" Yes, very, very much," was Alice's reply, " and it
hurto me so to think we cannot find her. I thought
we surely should to-day, for we went there, Frederic
and I-went where she used to live, and she wasn't
there.'Twas a dreary place, and Frederic groaned
out loud to think she ever lived there."
" Perhaps it didn't look so then," suggested Marian,
who felt constrained to say a word in favor of her former home.
"Oh, I know it didn't," returned Alice, "for Fred.
eric has been by there, though he didn't know it then,
and he says it looked real nice, with the white curtain
and the kitten asleep on the window sill. It's a cat
now, and we brought it home."
" Her cat?" and Maian started eagerly.
" Yes," said Alice, "Frederic gave three dollars for
it," and forgetting her late grief in this new interest,
she told how they knew it was Marian's, and then as
Miss Grey expressed a wish to see it, she started in
quest of it, just as Frederic appeared, telling them tea
was ready.
" I am afraid you will think we keep Lent here all
the year round," he said, apologetically. "I was surprised to find that Mrs. Russell compelled you to fast
until our return."
" It didn't matter," Marian relpied; though she had
wondered a little at the non-appearance of supper, for
Mrs. Russell, intent upon her dress, had no idea of
" makin' two fusses," and she kept her visitor waiting
until the return of Frederic, saying, " the supper would
taste all the better when it did cone."
Very willingly Marian followed Frederic to the dining-room, where everything was indicative of elegance and wealth.
"Mrs. Jones used to sit here; and I now give the
14




814               THE MEETING.
place to you," said Frederic, motioning to the seat by
the tea-tray; and himself sitting down opposite, with
Alice upon his right.
Marian became her new position well, and so Frederic thought, as he saw how gracefully her snowy fingers handled the silver urn, and how much at home
she seemed. There was a strange fascination about
her as she sat there at the head of his table, with the
bright. blooll on her cheek, and the dewy lustre in
her beautiful blue eyes, which occasionally wandered
toward the figure opposite, but as often fell beneath
the curious gaze which they encountered. Frederic
could not forbear looking at her, even though he saw
that it embarrassed her-she was so fresh, so fair, so
modest-while there was about her an indescribable
something which he could not define, for though a
stranger, as he supposed, she seemed near to him-so
near that he almnost felt lie had a right to pass his arm
around her, and kiss the girlish lips which Will Gordon had likened to a rose-bud.
" Poor Will," sighed, " he did lose a prize when he
lost Marian Grey."
Involuntarily his imind went back to Redstone Hall,
and to the time when another -Marian sat opposite, and
did for him the office this one was doing. The contrast between tile two was great, but, with a nobleness
worthy of the man, he thought " Malrian Grey is far
more beautiful,'tis true, but AMarian Lindsey was my
wife."
Then he remembered the day when Isabel first sat
at his board, and he had felt it a sin to look at her in
all her queenly beauty. HIe had grown hard since
then, for he could not think it wicked to look at Marian Grey, or deem it a wrong to the other one, and he
feasted his eyes upon her until she arose from the table,
and went, at Alice's request, to see the cat, which was
safely confined in a candle box, " by way of taming
her," Alice said.
" I think there's no need of that," returned'Marian,




THE MEETING.               315
stroking her soft coat. "I am sure she will not run
away. What do you propose calling her?"
"Marian, I reckon, only you might not want her
named after you, and it wouldn't be, for it's the other
one."
"I haven't the least objection," said Miss Grey,
laughing, "only Marian will sound oddly. Suppose
you call it' Spottie,' there's a cunning white spot between its eyes."
"Yes, Alice, let that be the name," said a voice behind them, and turning, Marian saw Frederic, who had
all the time been standing near and watching them as
like two children they knelt together by the candle
box and gave the cat its milk-Marian and Alice, side
by side, just as they used to.be of old-just as Frederic had seen them many a time.
The tableau was a familiar one, and so he felt it to
be, thiough he could not divine the reason. The tall,
beautiful girl before him bore no resemblance to the
Marian of Redstone Hall, and still nothing she did
seemed strange or new to him.
"I certainly have dreamed of her," he said, when
lifting up her head she shook back from her face the
clustering curls, and smiled on Alice as she used to do.
" I have dreamed of her just as I sometimes dream of
places, and see them afterward in waking."
This conclusion was entirely satisfactory, and she returned with the girls to the parlor, while " Spottie " followed after, hovering near to Marian, whose low spoken words and gentle caresses had reawakened the affection which had perhaps been dormant during the
last year.
"Will you play for us, Miss Grey?" said Frederic,
and without a word of apology, Marian seated herself
at the piano, whose rich, mellow tones rouseJ her enthusiasm at once, and she plaved more than usually
well, while Alice stood by listening eagerly, and Frederic looked on, scarce heeding the stirring notes, so in



316               THE MEETING.
tent was he upon the dimpled hands which swept the
Keys so skillfully.
On the third finger there was a little cornelian ring,
the first gift of Ben, and as he looked, he felt certain
he had seen that ring and those hands before. But
where?  He tried to recall the time and the place.
Stepping forward, he looked into her face, but that
gave him no clue, only the ring and the hands were
familiar. Suddenly he started, for he remembered the
when and the where-remembered, too, that Alice,
when told of the girl with the brown vail, had said to
him, " Wan't that our Marian?"
He had accepted the suggestion as a possible one
then, but he doubted it now, for if that maiden were
Marian Grey, it certainly could not have been Marian
Lindsey. The exquisite mlusic ceased, and ere Alice
had time for a word of comment, he asked abruptly:
" Miss Grey, did you ever ride in the'cars with me in
New York?",
The question was a startling one, but Marian's face
was turned friom him, and he could not see the effort
she made to answer himn calmly.
" I think it very probable. I have been in the cars
a great many times, and with a great many different
people."
"Yes, but one rainy night, more than four years ago,
did I not offer you a seat between myself and the door 
You wore a brown vail, and carried a willow basket, it
it were you. Something about your appearance has
puzzled me all the evening, and I think I must have
met you there. It was on the Third Avenue cars."
Marian trembled violently, but by constantly turning the leaves of her music book, she managed to conceal her agitation, and when Frederic ceased speaking,
she answered in her natural tone, " Now that you recall the circumstances, I believe I do remember something about it, though you do not look as that man
did. I imagined he had been sick, or was in trouble,"
and Marian's blue eyes turned sidewars to witness, if




THE MEETING.               317
possible, the effect of her words. But she was disappointed, for she could not see how white Frederic was
for a single instant, but she felt it in his voice, as he
replied:
" You are right. I had been sick, and was in great
trouble."
" Wasn't that when you were looking for Marian?"
Alice asked, and again the blue eye sought Frederic's
face, turning this time so that they could see it.
"Yes, I was hunting for Marian," was the answer;
and the deep sigh which accompanied the words
brought a thrill of joy to the Marian hunted for, and
she knew now, and from his own lips, too, that he had
sought for her, nay, that he was looking for her even
then, when in her anger she censured him for not recognizing her.
Little by little she was learning the truth just as it
was; and when at a late hour she bade Frederic good
night, and went to her own chamber, her heart was almnost too full for utterance, for she felt that the long,
dark night was over, and the dawn she had waited for
so long was breaking at last around her. Intuitively,
Alice, who had been permitted to sit up so long as she
did, caught something of the same spirit. " It was almost
1a1 nice as if IMarian really were there," she said; and
she came twice to kiss her governess, while on her face
was a most satisfied expression, as she nestled among
her pillows and listened to the footsteps in the adjoining chamber where Marian made her nightly toilet.
"Oh, I wish she'd let me sleep with her," she thought.
" It would be a heap more like having Marian back."
And, when all was still, she stepped upon the floor and
glided to the bedside of Marian, who was not aware of
her approach until a voice whispered in her ear:
" May I stay here with you? I've been making believe that you was Marian —our Marian, I mean-and
I want to sleep with you so much just as I used to do
with her —may I "
"Yes, darling," was the answer, as Marian folded




318               THE MEETING.
her arms lovingly around the neck of the blind girl,
whose soft, warm cheek was pressed against her own.
And there, just as they were used to do in the old
Kentucky home, ere sorrow had come to either, they
lay side by side,Marian and Alice, the one dreaming
sweet dreams of the Marian come back to her again;
and the other, that to her the gates of Paradise were
opened, and she saw the glory shining through, just as
in Frederic Raymond's eyes she had seen the glimmer
of the love-light which was yet to overshadow her and
brighten her future pathway.




CHAPTER XXV.
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
IT was a joyful waking which caine to Mariaa next
morning, and when fiesh and glowing from her invigorating bath she descended to the piazza she was surprised at finding Frederic there before her, looking
laggard and pale, as if the boon of sleep had been denied to him. After Marian and Alice had bidden him
good night, he, too, had retired to his room, which was
directly under theirs; and sitting in his arm-chair, he
had listened to the footsteps above, readily distinguishing one from the other, and experiencing unconsciously a
vague, delicious feeling of comfort in knowing that the
lolng-talked of Marian Grey had come to him at last,
and that she was even more beautiful than he had ima gined her to be from Will Gordon's glowing description. He would keep her with him, too, he said, until
the other one was found, if that should ever be: and
then, as the footsteps and the murmur of voices in the
chamber above him ceased, and all about the house
was still, his heart went out after the other one, denanding of the solitude around to show him where she
was-to lead him to her so that he could bring her
back to the home where each day he was wanting her
more and more. And the solitude thus questioned invariably carried his thoughts to Jifiarian Grey, whose
delicate, girlish beauty had made so strong an impression upon his mind. "l How would the two compare?"




820            LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
he asked. "Would not the governess far outshine the
wife 2 Would not the contrast be a painful one?"
"No, no!" he said; "for, though Marian Lindsey
were not as beautiful as Marian Grey, she was gentle,
pure and good." And then, as he sought his pillow,
he went back again in fancy to that feverish sick-room,
and the tender love which alone bad saved him from
death; while mingled with this remembrance were
confused thoughts of the vailed maiden in the corner
of the car-of the geranium growing in the window,
anld of Marian Grey, who seemed a part of every thing
-for, turn which way he would, her blue eyes were
sure to shine upon him; and once, when, for a few momients, he fell into a troubled sleep, she said to him,
" I am the Marian you seek."
Then this vision faded, and he saw a little grave, on
whose humble stone was written, "The Heiress of
Redstone Hall," and with a nervous start he woke,
only to doze and dream again, until at last he was glad
when the dawn came stealing across the misty river,
and looked in at his window. The sun was not yet up
when he arose, and going out upon the broad piazza,
tried by walking to gain the rest the night had failed
to bring, As he walked Spottie came purring to his
side, rubbing against his feet and looking into his face
as it she fain would tell him, if she could, that the lost
one had returned, and was safe beneath his roof.
Frederic Raymond could not be said to care particularly for cats, but there was a charm connected with
this one gambolling at his feet, and he did not deem it
an unmnanly act to stoop down and caress it for the
sake of her who had often had it in her arms.
"Can you tell me nothing of your mistress," he said,
aloud, for he thought himself alone.
Instantly the cat, whose ear had caught a sound he
did not hear, bounded toward the door where Marian
Grey was standing. Advancing toward her, Frederic
said, "You must excuse me, Miss Grey.  I am not
often guilty of petting cats, but this one has a peculiar




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE             321
attraction for me, inasmuch as it once belonged to-to
— to Mrs. Raymond," and Fredeic tfelt vastly relieved
to think he had actually spoken of his wife to Marian
Grey, and called her Mrs. Raymond, too! He knew
Will Gordon had told her the story, and when he saw
blow the color came and went upon her cheek, he fancied that it arose from the delicacy she would naturally
feel in talkiing with him of his runaway wite. He was
glad he had introduced the subject, and she should
continue it or not, as she choose. Marian hardly knew
how to reply, for though she longed to hear what he
had to say of Mrs. Raymond, she scarcely dared trust
herself to question him.
At last, however, she ventured to say, "Yes, Alice
told me that it was once your wife's.  She is dead,
isn't she'?"
Frederic started, and walking off a few paces, replied, " lMarian dead I not that I know of! Did you
ever hear that she was?" and he came back to Marian,
looking at her so earnestly that she colored deeply, as
she replied:
" Mir. Gordon told me something of her; and I had the
impression that    "
She did not know how to finish the sentence, and she
was glad to hear a little, uncertain step upon the stairs,
as that was an excuse fobr her to break off abruptly,
and go to Alice, who had come down in quest of her,
expressing much surprise that she should rise so early
and dress so quietly.
" Mrs. Jones used to make such a noise coughing and
sneezing," she said, "that she always woke me, while
Isabel nlever got up till breakfast was ready, and sometimes not then, when we were in Kentucky. Negroes
were made to wait on her, she said. She'll be coming
over here to call and see how you look.  I heard her
asking Mrs. Russell last week if you were pretty, and
she said -"
"iNever mind what she said," suggested Marian
adding laughingly, " I have heard of Aliss Huntingtou
14*




322            LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
before. Will Gordon told me of her, and Ben, too.
He saw her in Kentucky, you knew; so you see, I am
tolerably well posted in your affairs;" and she turned
towards Frederic, who was about to answer, when
Alice, who had climbed into a chair, and was standing
with her arm around the young man's neck, chimed
ill:
" If Mr. Gordon told you that Frederic liked her, it
isn't so, for he don't; do you, Frederic?"
"I like all the ladies," was his reply; and the breakfast bell just then rang, the conversation ceased, and
they entered the house together, Alice holding fast to
Marian's hand, and dancing along like a joyous bird.
" You seem very happy this morning," said Frederic, smiling down upon the happy child.
I am,' she replied. "I'm most as happy as I should
lbe if we had found Marian yesterday. Wouldn't it
be splendid if this were really Marian, and wouldn't
you be glad?"
Frederic Raymond did not say yes-he did not say
anything; but as he looked at the figure in white presiding a second time so gracefully at his table, he fancied that it would not be a hard matter for any man to
be glad if Marian Grey were his wife.  Breakfast being over, Alice assumed the responsibility of showing
i er teacher the place.
" You were here once, I know," she said, " and left
me those flowers, but you hadn't time then to see half.
There's a tree down in the garden, where Frederic's
name is cut in the bark, and Marian Lindsey's, too.
You must see that;" and she led her off to the spot
where John had seen her crying the day before. " I
ain't going to study a bit for ever so long. Frederic
says I needn't," said Alice.  "'I'm  going to have
a right nice time with you."  And Mailian was not
sorry, for nothing could please her better than rambling with Alice over what was once her home.
Very rapidly the first few days passed away, and ere
a week had gone by, Marian understood tolerably well




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.            323
the place which Marian Lindsey occupied in her husband's affections, and she needed not the letter received
from William Gordon to tell her that the Frederic
Raymond of to-day was not the same from whose pre.
sence she had once fled with a breaking heart. He
was greatly changed, and if she had loved him in the
early days of her girlhood, her heart clung to him now
with an affection tenfold stronger than she had ever
known before. From Alice, who was very communicative, she learned many things of which she little
dreamed, when in New York she was hiding from her
husband, and believing that he hated her. Alice liked
nothing better than to talk of Marian, and one afternoon, wheni Frederic was in New York, and the two
girls were sitting together in their pleasant chamber,
bshe told her sad story in her own childish way, accepting her companion's tears, which fell like rain as tokens of sympathy for the lost one.'" Frederic cried just like he was a woman," she said,'" when he came up from the river, cold, and wet, and
sick, and told us they could not find her. I remember,
too, how he groaued when I asked him what made her
kill herself; she didn't, tlugll," she added quickly, as
she heard Mariaii's excllnation of horror at the very
idea; "she wasn't even dead, but we thought she was,
and we mourned for her so much. The house was like
a funeral all the timte till Isabel came."
"And how was it then I" IMarian asked.
Alice did not reply immediately, and as M[arian saw
the shadow which flitted over her face, she pressed her
hands together nervously, for she fancied that she
knew what Redstone Hall was like when Isabel, her
rival, came.'i You were telling me about the house after Miss
Huntington's arrival," she rejoined, as Alice showed
no signs of continuing the conversation, but sat with
her eyes fixed upon the floor as if she were thinking
of something far back in the past.




324             LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
At Mlarian's remark she started, and with the same
dreamy, perplexed look upon her face, replied:
"Perhaps I ought not to tell; but you seem so near
to me that I don't believe Frederic would care. He's
got over it, tool but he loved Isabel," and Alice's voice
sank to a whisper, as if afraid the walls would hear.
" tie loved her a heap better than he did poor dear
Marian, who somehow found it out that night, and
rather than be his wife when he didn't want her, she
ran away, you know."
"Yes, yes, I know," gasped Marian, while Alice, little dreaming how well she knew, continued, " And so
when Isabel came, he couldn't help loving her some, I
suppose, though Dinah thought he could, and she used
to scold mightily when she heard her singing and
playing, as she did all the time, so as to getF'rederic
in there," and Alice's tone and manner were so much
like old Dinah and so highly expressive of her meaning, that Marian could not forbear smiling. " I talked
to Frederic one night," said Alice, "vand told him I
didn't believe Marian was dead, and I reckon I made
him think so, too, for he promised he would wait for
her ten years."
" Will lie marry then, if he does not find her?" Marian asked by way of calling out the little girl, who
replied:
"I suppose he won't live all his life alone; at any
rate, he said he wouldn't. Oh, Miss Grey!" and Alice
started so quickly that Marian started, too; "I'd a
heap rather Marian would be his wife than anybody,
because he married her first; but if she don't comel
back, can't you guess what I wish would be?" and
Alice wound her arms around the neck of Marian, who
did guess, but could not embody her guessing in
words.
"Did Mr. Raymond never hear from  her?" she
asked, and resuming her seat, Alice replied:
"Yes, and that's the mystery. One cold March
night when Isabel was dressing for a party, and waQ




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.           325
just as cross as she could be, there came to him a letter from Sarah Green, saying she was dead and buried
with canker-rash."
"Dead!"  exclaimed  Marian, starting  quickly.
"When? Where?"
"In New York," answered Alice; and Marian listened breathlessly to the story of her supposed decease,
wondering, as Frederic had often done, whence the
letter came, and why it had been sent.
" It must have been a plan of Ben's to see what
he would do," she thought; and she listened again,
with burning cheeks and beating heart, while Alice
told of Frederic's grief when he read that she was
dead.
"I know he cried," said Alice, "for there were
tears on his face, and he sat so still, and held me so
close to him that I could hear his heart thump so hard,"
and she illustrated by striking her tiny fist upon the
table.
Then she told how sometime after she had interrupted Frederic in the parlor, just as he was asking Isabel to be his wife, and had almost convinced hims.gain
of Marian's existence.
" Blessed Alice," said Marian, involuntarily. " Yon
have been Miss Lindsey's good angel, and kept her
husband from falling."
"I couldn't help it," answered Alice.  "I most
knew she was alive; and I was so glad when he
started for New York. I was sure he'd find her; and
he did. She took care of him a few days and his voice
sounded so low and sad when he told me of her, and how
she left thim when Isabel came.  Your brother Benthe nice man who gave me the bracelet-telegraphled
for her to go; and you would suppose she was crazy
-she flew around so, ordering the negroes, and
knocking Dud down flat, because he couldn't run fast
enough to get out of her way. That made Aunt
IHetty, his grandlnother, mad, and she yellowed Isabel's collar that she was ironing. If I hadn't been




326             LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
blind I should have cried myself so those dreadful days
when we expected to heaur Frederic was dead, for
next to Marian I love him the best. He's real good
to me now; and when I asked him once what made
him pet me so much more than he used to, he said,'Because our dear, lost Marian loved you, and you
loved her.'"
"Did he say that? Did he call her his' dear, lost Marian?'" and the eyes of the speaker sparkled with delight, while across her mind there flitted the halfformed resolution that before the sun had set Frederic Raymond should know the whole.
Ere Alice could answer this question, there was a
loud ring at the door, and a servant brought to -Miss
Grey Isabel Huntington's card.
"I knew she'd call," said Alice.  "She wants to
see how you look; but I don't care, for Frederic says
you're a heap the handsomest; I asked him last night
after you quit playing, and had left tile room."
The knowledge that Frederic Raymond preferred
her face to that of Isabel, rendered Marian far more
self-possessed than she would otherwise have been, as
she went down to meet her visitor, whose call was
prompted froml mere curiosity, and not from  any
fiiendliness she felt towards Marian Grey. Isabel had
heard -much of Marian's beauty friom those who met
her since her arrival at Riverside, and she had come to
see if rumor were correct.  During the last three
years she had not improved materially, for her disappointment in failing to win Frederic Raymond had
soured a disposition never particularly amiable, and
she was now a censorious, fault-finding woman of
twenty-five, on the lookout fol ahusbanid, and trembling
lest the dreaded age of thirty should find ner still utlmarried. For Frederic Raymond she affected a feeling of contempt; insinuating that he was mean —that
his property was not gained honestly; that she knew
something which she could tell but shouldn't —all of
which had but little effect in a place where he was so




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.            327
muclh better known than herself. And still, had Fred.
eric Raymond evinced the slightest interest in her, she
would gladly have met him more than half the way,
for the love she really felt for him once had never
died away. And even now she watched him often
through blinding tears as he passed her cottage
door. The story of Marian's existence she had repudiated at first and in the excitement of going south,
and the incidents connected with her sojourn there,
she had failed to speak of it even to Mifrs. Rivers,
choosing rather to make her friends believe that she
had  deliberately refused  the owner of Redstone
Hall. Recently, however, and since her arrival at
Riverside, she had indirectly circulated the story, and
Frederic had more than once been questioned as to its
authenticity.  Greatly to Isabel's chagrin he took no
pains to conceal the fact, but fiankly spoke of Mrs.
Raymond, as a person who had been, and who he hoped
was still a living reality. Very narrowly Isabel watched
the proceedings at Riverside, and when she heard
that Alice's new governess was in some way connected
with the "gawky peddler," whom she remembered
well, she sneered at her as a person of no refinement,
marvelling greatly at the praises bestowed upon her.
At last, curious to see for herself, she donned her
richest robes, and now in the parlor at Riverside,-sat
awaiting the appearance of Miss Grey.
"Let her be what she will, Frederic can't marry
her, and that's some consolation," she thought, just
as a tripping footstep announced the approach of Marian, and, assuming her haughtiest manner, she arose,
and bowed to Frederic Raymond's wife.
They had met before, but there was no token of recognition between them now, and as strangers they
greeted each other, Marian's hand trembling slightly
as she offered it to Isabel-for she knew that this was
not their first meeting. Coldly, inquisitively and almost impudently, the  haughty  Isabel scrutinized
the graceful creature, mentally acknowledging that
IM                           Z>   O~~~~II-V~ —~b~




328             LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
she was beautiful, and hating her for it.  With great
effort Marian concealed her agitation, and answered
carelessly the first few  common-place remarks addressed to her, as to how she liked Riverside, and if
this were her first visit there.
"No," she answered to this last question-" I came
here once with Ben, who, you remember, was once at
Redstone Hall."
"I could not well forget him.  His odd Yankee
ways furnished gossip for many a day among the negroes." And Isabel tossed her head scornfully, as if
Ben Burt were a creature far beneath her notice.
After a little, she spoke of Mr. Raymond, asking
Marian, finally, what she thought of him, and saying
she supposed she knew he was a married man.
" I know he has been married, but is there any certainty that his wife is still living?" asked Marian, for
the sake of hearing her visitorl's remarks.
"Any certainty I Of course there is," said Isabel,
experiencing at once a pang, of jealousy lest the humble Marian Grey had dared to think of Frederic as a
widower, and hence a marriageable man. " Of course
she's living, though, I must say, he takes no great pains
to find her. He did look for her a little, I believe, after he was sick in New York; but he did it more to
divert his nmind from a very mortifying disappointment than from any affection he felt for her, and it was
this which prompted him to go to New York at all."
"What disappointment?' Marian asked, faintly,
and, affecting to be embarrassed, Isabel replied:
"It would be unbecoming in me to say what the
nature of it was, and I referred to it thoughtlessly.
-Pray, forget it, Miss Grey;" and she turned the leaves
of a handsomely bound volume lying on the table with
well feigned modesty.
Marian understood her at once, and was glad that
Isabel was too intent upon an engraving to observe
her agitation.  Notwithstanding what Alice said,
Frederic hatd offered himself to Isabel, and her refusal




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.            329
had sent him to New York, where he hoped to forget
his mortification, and where sickness had overtaken
him. In the kindness of her heart, Isabel had come
to him, and the words of affection which she had heard
her speak to Frederic were prompted by pity, rather
than love, as she then supposed. And after Isabel had
left him, he had looked for her merely by way of excitement, and not because he cared to find her. Such
were the thoughts which flashed upon Marian's mind
and destroyed at once her half-formed resolution of
telling Frederic that night. She did not know Isabel,
and she could not understand why slhe should be guilty
of a falsehood to her-a perfect stranger.
"' Ie is not learning to love ile, after all," was the
sad cry of her heart; and, when she spoke again, there
was a plaintive tone in her voice, and Isabel wondered
she had not observed before how mournful it was.
And, as they sat talking, there came alone the graveled walk a step famiiliar to them both, and the color
deepened on their cheeks; while in the kindling light
which shone in the eyes of blue, and flashed fromn the
eyes of black, there was a spark of jealousy, as if each
were reading the secret thoughts of the other.
Frederic had returned from the city earlier than was
his clstomn, for he usually spent the entire day; but
there was somethingl now to draw him home besides
the blind girl, and he was conscious of quickening his
footsteps as he drew near his house, and of watching
eagerly for the flutter of a mourning robe, or the sight
of a sunny face, which, he knew, would smile a welcome. He heard her voice in the parlor, and ere lie
was aware of it, he stood in the presence of Isabel.
Narrowly Marian watched him, marvelling somewhat
at his perfect self-possession; for Isabel was to himn an
object of such indifference that lie experienced far less
emotion in meeting her than in speaking to Marian
Grey, and asking if she had been lonely.
"You men are so vain," said Isabel, with a toss of
her head, "and think we miss voa so much. No w I'll




330             LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
venture to say Miss Grey has not thought of you in all
day. Why should she i?"
" Why sllouldn't she?" asked Frederic, giving to
Marian a smile which sent the hot blood tingling to
her finger tips.
"Why shouldn't she!"' returned Isabel —" just as
though we, girls, ever think of married men. By the
way, have you heard anything definite from Mrs. Raymond, since she left you so suddenly in New York, or
have you given up the search?"
Marian pitied Frederic then, he turned so white;
and she almost hated Isabel, as she saw the malicious
triumph in her eye. Breathlessly, too, she awaited the
answer, which was:' I shall never abandon the search until I find her,
or know certainly that she is dead.  I went to the
place where she used to live, not long ago."' Indeed! What did you learn?" and a part of Isabel's assurance left her, for she felt that his searching
fir his wife was a reality with him; while Marian's
heart grew hopeful and warm again, as she listened to
Frederic Raymond telling Isabel Huntington of that
dear old room which had been her home so long.
"I can't conceive what made her run awav," said
Isabel, fixing her lar'ge, glittering eyes upon Frederic,
who coolly replied, " lean," and then turning to Marian he abruptly commenced a conversation upon an
entirely different subject.
Biting her lip with vexation, Isabel arose to go, saying she should expect to see Miss Grey at her own
house, and that she hoped she would sometimes bring
Mr. Raymond with her.
" You nleed not be afraid to come," she continued,
addressing herself to him, " for everybody knows you
have a wife, consequently your coming will create no
scandal concerning yourself and mother!" and with a
hateful laugh she swept haughtily down the walk.
Fi oin tlhis time forth Isabel was a frequent visitor at
Riverside, where she always mrnaglled to say something
~~r                  O U1V   II~NC U"'"




LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.           331
which seriously affected Marian's peace of mind and
led her to distrust the man who was beginning to feel
far more interest in tile Marian found than in the Marian lost. This the quick-sighted Isabel saw and while
her bosom rankled with envy towards her rival, she ex
ulted in the thought that love her as he might he dared
not tell her of his love, for a barrier the living wife
had built between the two. Though professing the utmost regard for ]Miss Grey she did not hesitate to
speak against her when an opportunity occurred, but
her shafts fell hatrmlessly, for where iMarian was known
sheo was esteemed and the wily woman gave up the
contest at last and waited anxiously to see the end.
Towards the last of October, Ben, who was now a
petty grocer in a New England village, came to Riverside for the first time since Marian's residence there.
Never before had he appeared so happy, and his
honest face was all aglow with his delight at seeing
Marian at last where she belonged.
" You fit in like an odd scissor," he said to her when
they were alone. "Ain't it most time to tell."
"' Not yet," returned Marian.  "I would rather
wait until I am back at Redstone Hall. We are going
there next month, and then, too, I wish I knew how
much of Isabel's insinuations to believe."
" Isabel be hanged," said Ben. "She lied I know,
and mebby that letter was some of her devilment.
Htas she washed them curtains yit?"''
Marian replied by telling hiln of the letter from
Sarah Green and asking if he could explain it. But it
was all a mystery to him, and he puzzled his brain
with it for a long time, deciding at last that it might
leave come from some of her Kentucky acquaintance
who chanced to be in New York, and sent it just for
imischief.
"But they overshot the mark," said he. " You ain't
dead by a great sight, and I b'lieve I'd let the cat out
pretty soon. That makes me think you wrote thai




332            LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
Spottie was here. Where is the critter?'Twould be
good for sore eyes to see her again."
Marian went in quest of her, and on her return
found Alice with Ben, who, in her presence, dared not
manitfest all that he felt at sight of his old friend.
Taking the animal on his lap he looked at it for a mnoment with quivering chin; then stroking its soft fillur,
lie said, with a prolongation of each syllable, which
rendered the sound ludicrous, " Gri-mal-kin-poor
gri-mnal-kin," and a tear dropped on its back.
"What!" exclaimed Alice, coming to his side,
" what did you call the kitty I"
"Gri-mal-kin," answered Ben, adding, by way
of explanation, "that, I b'lieve, is the Latin for
cat."
Marian could not forbear laughing aloud, and as Ben
joined with her, it served to keep him from crying outright, as he otherwise might have done.
"What are you going to do with it when you go
South?" he asked, and upon Alice's replying that they
should leave it with Mrs. Russell, he proposed taking
it instead and keeping it until Spring, when he could
return it.
This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian,
and as Alice finally yielded the point, Ben carried
SpQttie off the next morning, promising the little girl
that it should be well cared for in her absence. Alice
shed a few tears at parting with her pet, but they were
like April showers, and soon passed away in her joyful anticipations of a speedy removal to Kientucky, for
Frederic was going earlier this season than usual, and
the 10th of November was appointed for them to start.
If they met with no delays they would reach Redstone
HIall on the anniversary of  Marian's bridal, and to her
it seemed meet that on this day of all others she should
return again to her old home, and she wondered if
Frederic, too, would think of it or send one feeling of
regret after his missing bride. He did remember it,
for the November days were always firaught with me




LIFE AT RIVERSIDESXD.       333
mories of the past. This year, however, there was a
difference, for though he thought much of i1arian
Lindsey, it was not as he had thought of her before,
and he was conscious of a most unaccountable sensation of satisfaction in knowing that even if she could
not go with him to Kentucky, her place would be tolerably well filled by Marian Grey I




CHAPTER XXVI.
REDSTONE HALL.
NEWS had been received at Redstone Hall, that the
family woul'd be there on the 13th; but Frederic's
coming home was a common occurrence now, and did
not create as great a sensation among his servants as it
once had done. Still it was an event of considerable
importance, particularly as he was to bring with hin a
new governess, who, judging from his apparent anxiety to have everything in order, was a person of more
distinction than the prosy Mrs. Jones, or even the brilliant Isabel. Old Dinah accordingly worked herself
up to her usual pitch of excitement, and then, long
before it was time, started off her spouse, who was to
meet his master at Big Spring Station, and who waited
there impatiently at least an hour ere the whistle and
smoke in the distance announced the arrival of the
train.
"We are here at last," said Frederic, when they
stopped before the depot; and he touched the arm of
Marian, who sat leaning against a window, her head
bent down, and her thoughts in such a wild tumult
that she scarcely comprehended what she was doing or
where she was.
During the entire journey she had labored under the
highest excitement, which manifested itself sometimes
in snatches of merry songs, sometimes in laughter
almost hysterical, and again when no one saw her, in
floods of tears, which failed to cool her feverishi impatience. It seemed to her she could not wait, and she




REDSTONE HALL.              335
counted every mile-stone, while her breath came faster
and faster as she knew they were almost there. With
a shudder she glanced at the clump of trees under
whose shadow she had hidden six years before, and
those who noticed her face as she passed out marvelled
at its deathly pallor.
"Jest gone with consumption," was Phil's mental
comment; and he wondered at the eager, curious
glance which she gave to him. "'Spects she never
seen a nigger before," he mattered; and as by this
time the travelers were comfortably seated in the wide
capacious carriage, he chirrupped to his horses, and
they moved rapidly on toward'Redstone Hall.
Marian did not try longer to conceal her deliglht,
and Frederic watched her wonderingly, as with glowing cheeks and beaming eyes she looked first from one
window and then from the other, the color deepening
on her face and the pallor increasing about her moutli,
as way-mark after way-mark was passed and recognized.
" You seem very much excited," he said to her at
last; and, assuming as calm a manner as possible, she
replied:
" For years back the one cherished object of my life
was to visit Kentucky; and now that I am really here,
I am so glad! oh, so glad!" and Frederic could see the
gladness shining in her eyes, and making her so wondrously beautiful to look upon that he was sorry when
the twilight shadows began to fall, and partially obscured his vision.
" There is the house," he said, pointing to the chimneys, just discernible above the trees.
But Marian had seen them first, and when as they
turned a corner, the entire building came in view, she
sank back upon the cushion, dizzy and sick with the
thoughts which came crowding so fast upon her. The
day had been soft and balmy, and mingled with the
gathering darkness was the yellow, hazy light the sun
of the Iudiam summer often leaves upon the hills. The




336              REDSTONE HALL.
early mist lay white upon the river, while here and
there a shower of leaves came rustling down from the
tall trees, which grew in such profusion around the old
stone house. And Marian saw everything -heard
everything-and when the horses' hoot's struck upon
the bridge, where once they fancied she had stood and
plunged into eternity, an icy chill ran through her
frame, depriving her of the power to speak or move.
Through the dim twilight she saw the dusky forms
gathered expectantly around the cabin doors-saw the
full, rounded figure of Dinah on the piazza-saw the
vine-wreathed pillar where six years ago that very
night, she had leaned with a breaking heart, and wept
her passionate adieu to the man, who, sitting opposite
to her now, little dreamed of what was passing in her
mind. In a distant hempfield she heard the song some
negroes sang returning from their labor, and as she listened to the plaintive music, her tears began to flow, it
seemed so natural-so much like the olden time.
Suddenly as they drew nearer and the song of tlhe
negroes ceased the stillness was broken by the deafening yell which Bruno, from his cage, sent up. His voice
had been the last to bid the runaway good bye, and
it was the first to welcome her back again. With a
stifled. sob of joy too deep for utterance, she drew her
veil still closer over her face, and when at last they
stopped and the light from the hall shone out upon
her, she sat in the corner of the carriage motionless
and still.
" Come, Miss Grey," said Frederic, when Alice had
been safely deposited and was folded to Dinah's bosom,
" Come, Miss Grey, are you sleeping?" and he touched
the hand which lay cold and lifeless upon her lap.
" She has fainted," lie cried. " The journey and exciteinent have over-taxed her strength," and, taking
her in his arms as if she had been a little child, lhe
bore her into the houlse and up to her own chamber,
for he rightly guessed that she would rather be there
when she returned to consciousness.




REDSTONE HALL.               337
Laying her upon the lounge, he removed her bonnet and veil, and then kneeling beside her, looked
wistfully into her face, which in its helplessness seemed more beantiful than ever.
" Has she come to, yet?" asked the puffing Dinah,
appearing at the door. " It's narves what ailed her, I
reckons and I told Lyd to put some delirian to the
steep. That'll quiet her soonest of anything."
Frederic knew that his services were no longer needed, and after glancing about the room to see that
everything was right, lie went down stairs leaving Marian to the care of Dinah, who, as her patient began
to show signs of returning consciousness, undressed her
as soon as possible and placed her in the bed, herself
sitting l)y and bathing her face and hands in camphor
and cologne. The fainting fit had passed away, but it
was succeeded by a feeling of such delicious languor
that for a long time Marian lay perfectly still, thinking how nice it was to be again in her old room witlh
Dinah sitting by, and once a* thle hard, black hand
rested on her fo)rehead, she took it between her own,
mlulrmuring involuntarily, "Dear Aunt Dinah, I thank
you so much."
"Blessed lamb," whispered the old lady, " they told
her my name, I'spect.'Pears like she's nigher to me
than strangers mostly is," and she smoothed lovingly
the bright hair floating over the pillow.
Twice that evening there came up the stairs a cautious step which stopped always at the door, and Dinah
as often as she answered the gentle knock, came back
to Marian and said, "It's marster axin' is you any
W11.
"Tell him I am only tired, not sick," Marian wculd
say, and turning on her pillow, she wept great tears
of joy to think that Frederic should thus care for her.
At last, having drank the " delirian tea," more to
please old Dinah than from any faith she had in its
virtues, she fell into a quiet sleep, whieh was disturbed
but twice, once when at nine o'clock Bruno was loosed
15




338               REDSTON E HALL.
from his confinement, and with a loud howl went rushing past the window, and once when Alice crept carefully to her side, holding her breath lest she should
arouse her, and whispering low her nightly prayer.
Then, indeed, Marian moved as if about to waken,
and the blind girl thought she heard lher say, "Darling Alice," but she was not sure, and she nestled
down beside her, sleeping ere long the dreamless sleep
which always came to her after a day of unusual
fatigue.
The rosy dawn was just stealing into the room, next
morning, when Marian awoke witn a vague, uncertain
feeling as to where she was, or what had happened.
Ere long, however, she remembered it all; and, stepping upon the floor, she glided to the window, to feast
hler eyes once more upon her home.  Before her lay
the garden, and though the November frosts had
marred its Summer glory, it was still beautiful to her;
and, hastily dressing herself, she went forth to visit
lier olden  haunts, strolling  leisurely on until she
reaclied a little Suitmer-houst which had been built
since she was there.  Over the door were some pencil
marks, in Frederic's hand writing; and though the
rains had partly washed the letters away, there were
still enough remaining for her to know that " Marian
Lindsey" had been written there.
" Ie has sometimes thought of me," she said; and
she was about entering the arbor, when there rose upon the air a terrific yell, which, had she been an intruder, would have sent her flying from the spot. But
she did not even tremble, and she awaited fearlessly
the approach of the huge creature, which, bristlinlg
with rage, came tearing down the graveled walk, his
eyeballs glowing like coals of fire, and his head lowered as it lready for attack.
l3runo was still on guard, and when, in the distance,
hie caught a sight of Marian, he started with a.lion like
bound, which soon brought him near to the brave girl,




REDSTONE HALL.             339
who calmly watched his coming, and, when he was
close upon her, said to him:
" Good old Bruno I Don't you know me, Bruno?"
At the first sound of her voice, the fire left the mastiff's eye, for he, too, caught the tone which had once
so startled Alice, and which puzzled Frederic every
day; still, he was not quite assured, and he came rushling on, while she continued speaking gently to him.
With a bound, half playful, half ferocious, he sprang
upon her, and, catching him around the neck, she
passed her hand caressingly over his shaggy ilane, saying to him, softly,
" I am Marian, Bruno! Don't you know me?"
Then, indeed, he answered her-not with a human
tongue, it is true; but she understood his language
well, and by the low, peculiar cry of joy he gave as he
crouched upon the ground, she knew that she was recognised. Of all who had loved her at Redstone Hall,
none remembered her save the noble dog, who licked
her face, her hair, her hands, her dress, her feet; while
all the time his body quivered with the intense delight
lie could not speak..
At last as she knelt down beside him, and laid her
cheek against his neck, he bent his head, and gave
forth a deep, prolonged howl, which was answered at
a little distance by a cry of horror, and turning quickly Marian saw Frederiq hastening toward the spot,
his face pale as ashes, and his whole appearance indicative of alarm. H(e had been roused from sleep by
the yell which Bruno gave when he first caught sight
of Marian, and ere he had time to think what it could
be, Alice knocked at his door, exclaiming:' Oh, Frederic, Miss Grey, I am sure, has gone into
the garden, and Bruno is not yet secured. I heard
him bark just like lie did last year when he mangled
black Andy so. VWhat if he should tear Miss Grey 2."
Frederic waited for no more, but dressing himself
quickly he hastened out, sickening with fear, as lie
came upon the fresh tracks the dog had made when




840               REDSTONE HALL.
going down the walk. He saw Marian's dress, and
through the lattice he caught a sight of Bruno.
" He has her down! Hie is drinking her life-blood!"
he thought; and for an instant the pulsations of his
heart stood still, nor did they resume their wonted beat
even after he saw the attitude of Marian Grey, and his
terrible watch-dog, Bruno.' Marian!" he began, for he could not be formal
then. " Marian! leave him, I entreat you. He is cruelly savage with strangers."
"But I have tamed him, you see," she answered,
winding her arms still closer around his neck, while
he licked ag'ain her face and hair.
Wonderingly Frederic looked on, and all the while
there came to him no thought that tile two had met
beF'ore-thlat the hland patting so fondly Bruno's head
had fed him  many a time-and that amid all the
changes which six years had made, the sagacious animnAl had recognized his mistress and playmate, Marian
Lindsey.
"It must be that you can win all hearts," he said,
watching her admiringly, and marvelling at her secret power.
Shaking back her sunny curls, and glancing upward
into his face Marian answered involuntarily:
"No, not all.  There is one I would have given
worlds to win, blt it cast me off, just when I needed
comfort the most."
Slhe spoke impulsively, and as she spoke there arose
within her the wish that he, like Bruno, might know
hi'r then and there. But hlie did not. Ie only remembered what Will Gordon had said of her hopeless attachment and her apparent confession of the same to him,
smote heavily upon his heart, though why lie, a married
nan, should care he could not tell. He didn't really care,
lie thought; he only pitied her, and by way of encoura(erllent he said, " Even that may yet be won;" and
while he said it, there came.over him a sensation of
dreariness, as if the winning of that heart would ne



REDSTONE HALL.               341
cessarily take from him something which was becomillo more and more essential to his happiness.
Their conversation was here interrupted by Josh,
who was Bruno's keeper, and had come to clhain hirm
for the day. Marian knew him  at once, though hle
hlad changed froom the short, thick lad of twelve to the
taller youth of seventeen; and when, as he saw her position with Bruno, he exclaimed, "Goo-goo-good
Lord!" she turned her beaming face toward him and
answered laughingly, "I have a secret for charming
dogs."
Involuntarily Josh's old cloth cap came off, while
over his countenance there flitted an expression as if
that voice were not entirely strange to him. Touching
his master's arm, and pointing to the kneeling maiden,
he stammered out:
" Ha-hla-hain't I s-s-seen her afore?"
" I think not," answered Frederic, and with a doubtful shake of the head, Josh attempted to lead Bruno
away.
But Bruno would not move, and he clung so obstinately to Marian that she arose, and patti:ig his side,
said playfully:
" I shall be obliged to go with hism, I guess. Lead
the way, boy."
With eyes protruding like saucers, Josh turned back,
followed by Marian and Bruno, the latter of whom offered no resistance when this mistress bade him enter
his kennel, though he made woundrous efforts to escape
when he saw that she was leaving him.
"In the name of the Lord," exclaimed Hetty, shading her eyes with her hand, to be sure she was right,
" if thar ain't the young lady shettin' up the dog. I
never knowed the like o' that."
Then as Marian came towards the kitchen, she continued, "'Pears like I've seen her sornewhar."
"Ye-ye-yes," chimed in Josh, who had walked faster than Marian. "Who-o-oo is she, Hetty?"
Marian by this time had reached the door, where




342'EDSPTONE HALL.
she stood smiling pleasantly upon the blacks, but not
daring to call them by name until she saw Dinalh, who
curtesied low, and coming forward asked, "Is you better this mornin'?"
"Yes, quite well, thank you. Are these your companions?' said Marian, anxious for an opportunity to
talk with her old friends.
"Yes, honey," answered Dinah. "This is Hetty,
and this is Lyd, and this -"
She didn't finish the sentence, for- Hetty, who had
been earnestly scanning Marian's features, grasped her
dress, saying, " Whar was you born I"
"Jest like themi Higginses," muttered Dinah.'" In
course, Miss Grey don't want to be twitted with bein'
a Yankee the fust thing."
But Hetty had no intentions of casting reflections
upon the place of Marian's birth. Like Josh she had
detected something familiar in the young girl's face,
and twice she had swept her hand across her eyes to
clear away the mist and see if possible what it was
*which puzzled her so much.
" I was born a great many miles from here," said
Marian,and ere Ifetty could reply, Joslh, whose gaze
had all the time been riveted upon her, stuttered out,
"' Sh-sh-she is-s-s-s like M-mn-m-Miss Marian."
Yes, this was the likeness they had seen, but Marian
would rather the first recognition should come from
another source, and she hastened to reply, " Oh, Mers.
Raymond, you mean. Alice noticed it when I first
went to Riverside. You suppose your young mistress
dead, do you not?"
Instantly Dinah's woolen apron was called into use,
while she said, "Yes, poor dear lalllb, if tlhar's any
truth in them  Scripter sayin's, she's a burnin' and a
shining light in de kingdom come." And the old negress launched forth into a long eulogy, in tile midst
of which Frederic appeared in quest of' Marian.
" I am listening to praises of your wife," she said,
and there was a mischievous triumph in her eye as she




REDSTONE HALL.              343
saw how his forehead flushed, for he was beginning to
b)e slightly annoyed when she, as she often did, alluded to his wife.
Why need she thrust that memory continually upon
him? Was it not enough for him to know that somlewhere in the world there was a wife, and that he would
rather hedr any one else speak of her than the brighthaired Marian Grey.
"Dinah can be very eloquent at times," he said,
"but come with me to Alice. She has been sadly
frightened on your account," and he led the way to the
piazza, where the blind girl was waiting for them.
Breakfast being over, Marian and Alice sought the
parlor, where, instead of the old fashioned instrument
which the former remembered as standing there, she
found a new and beautifully carved piano.
"Frederic ordered this on purpose to please you,"
whispered Alice. " He said it was a shame for you to
play on the other rattling thing."
This was sufficient to call out Marian's wildest strains,
and as a matter of course the entire band of servants
gathered about the door to listen just as they once had
done when the performer was Isabel. As was quite
natural, they yielded their preference to the last comer,
old Hetty acknowledging that even "Miss Beatrice
couldn't beat that."
It would seem that Marian GFey was destined to
take all hearts by storm, for ere the day was done her
virtues had been discussed in the kitchen and by the
cabin fire, while even the gallant Josh, at his work in
the hemp-field, attempted a song, which he meant to
be laudatory of her charms, but as he was somewhat
lacking in poetical talent, his music ran finally into
the well known ballad of "Mary Ann," which suited
his purpose quite as well.
Meantime, Marian, stealing away from Alice, quietly
explored every nook and corner of the house, opening
first the little box where she once had kept her mother's
hair. It was just as she had left it, and kissing it rev



844               REDSTONE  BALL.
erently she placed it by the side of her silken locks, to
see how they compared. It might be that the tress
of the dead had faded somewhat, for there was certainly a richer, darker tinge to her own wavy hlair, and
blowing her head upon the bureau she dropped tears
of thankfulness that her childhood's prayer had been
imiore than answered. The library was visited next, and
slle seated herself again in the chair where she had sat
when penning her last farewell to Frederic. Where
was that letter now? She wished that she could see
it, though she did not care to read it, and without any
expectation of finding it she pressed what she knew
was the secret spring to a private drawer. It yielded
to her touch-the drawer came open, and there before
her lay the letter-her letter —she knew it by its superscription, and by its tear-stained, soiled appearance.
Shle had wept over it herself, but she knew full well
her tears alone had never blurred and blotted it like
this. Frederic's had mingled with them, and her
heart was trembling with joy when another object
caugllt her eye and quickened her rapid pulsations.
11er glove! the little black kid glove she had dropped
upon the bridge was there, wrapped in a sheet of paper, and with it the handkerchief I
"Frederic has saved them all," she whispered, shuddering involnntarily, for it seemned almost like looking
into the grave, where he had buried these sad remembrances of her. Ile had preserved them carefully, she
thought, and she continued her investigation, coming
at last upon a daguerreotype of herself, taken whern
she was just fifteen.
" Oh, horror!" she cried, and sinking back in her
chair, she laughed until the tears ran at the forlorn little face which looked upon her so demurely from the
casing. "Frederic must enjoy looking at you vastly,
and thinking you are his wife," she said, and she felt a
thrill of pride in knowing that Marian Grey bore
scarcely the slightest resemblance to that daguerreotype.




REDSrONE HALL.              345
There was a similarity in the features and in the
way the'hair grew around the forehead, while the eyes
were really alike. But the likeness extended no firther, and she did not wonder that none, save Bruno,
had recognized her.  Returning the picture to its
place, she was about to leave the room, when Frederic
came in, appearing somewhat surprised to find her
there, sitting in his chair as if she had a perfect right
so to do. At first she was too much confused to apologize, but she managed at last to say:
" This cozy room attracted me, and I took the liberty to enter. You have a very fine library, I think;
some of the books must have been your father's."
It was the books, of course, which she came to see,
and sitting down opposite to her Frederic talked with
her about them until she chanced to spy a portrait,
put away behind the ponderous sofa, with its face
tIurned to the wall.
" Whose is it?" she asked, directing Frederic's attention to it. "Whose is it, and why is it hidden there?"
Instantly the young man's face grew dark, and Marian trembled beneath the glance he bent upon lher.
Then the cold, hard look passed away, and he replied:
"It is an unfinished portrait of Mrs. Raymond,
taken from a daguerreotype of her when she was only
fifteen. But the artist did not understand his business,
and it looks even worse than the original."
This last was spoken bitterly, and Marian felt the
hot blood rising to her cheeks.
"I never even told Alice of it," he continued, " but
put it away in here, where I hide all my secrets."
He glanced at the private drawer-so did Marian;
but she was too intent upon seeing a portrait which
could look worse than the daguerreotype to heed
aught else, and she said, enltreatingly, " Oh, Mr. Raymond, please let me see it, won't you? I lived in New
York a long time, you know, and perhaps I may have
met her, or eveni klown her under some other name'
15*




346              REDSTONE HALL.
May I see it?" and she was advancing toward the
sofa, when Frederic seized both her hands, and holding
them in his, said, half hesitatingly, half mournfully:
"Miss Grey,. you must excuse me for refusing your
request. Poor Marian was far from being handsome,
nay, I sometimes thought her positively ugly. She is
certainly so in the portrait, and a creature as highly
gifted with beauty as you, might laugh at her plain
features, but if you did-" Ite paused a moment, and
Marian's eyelashes fell beneath his steady gaze-" And
if you did," he continued, "I never could like you
again, for she was my wife, and as such must be
respected."
Marian could not tell why it was, but Frederic's
words and manner affected her painfully. She half
feared she ]had offended him by her eagerness to see the
portrait, while mingled with this was a strange feeling
of pity for poor, plain Marian Lindsey, as she proba1)ly looked upon the canvas, and a deep respect for
Frederic, who would, if possible, protect her fromn
even the semblance of insult. Her heart was already
full, and, releasing her hands from Frederic's, she resumed her seat, and leaning her head upon tile writingdesk, burst into tears, while Frederic paced the room,
wondering what, under the circumstances, he was expected to do. He knew just how to soothe Alice, but
Marian Grey was a different individual. He could
not take her in his lap and kiss away her tears, but he
could at least speak to her; and he did at last, laying
his hand as near the little white one grasping the table
edge as he dared, and saying, very gently:
"If I spoke harshly to you, Mtiss Grey, I am sorryvery sorry; I really did not intend to make you cry.
I only felt that I could not bear to hear you, of all
others, laugh at my poor Marian, and so refused your
request. Will you torgive me "
And by some chance, as he looked another way, his
hand did touch hers, and held it, too! He did not
think that an insult to the portrait at all, nor yet of




REDSTONE HALL.             347
the supposed original; for there was something in the
way the snowy fingers twined themselves round his,
whicli drove all other ideas from his mind, and for one
brief instant he was supremely happy.
From the first he had thought of Marian Grey as a
sweet, beautiful young creature, whom  some mar
would one day delight to call his own; but the poss;bility of loving her himself had never occurred to him
until now, when, like a flash of lightning, the conviction burst upon him that, spite of Marian Lindsey —
spite of his marriage vow-spite of the humble origin
which would once have shocked his pride-and spite
of everytlhing, Marian Grey had won a place in his
heart from which he must dislodge her. Buit, how?
iie could not send her away, for she seemed a part of
himself, and he could not live without her; but he
would stifle his new-born love, he said, and as the best
means of doing so, he would talk to her often of his
wife as a person who certainly had an existence, and
would some day colne back to him; so, when Marian
replied: " I feared you were angry with me, Mr. Raymond; I would not have asked to see the portrait had
I supposed you really cared," he drew his chair at a
respectful distance and said: "I cannot explain the
matter to you, but if you knew the whole sad story of
my marriage, and the circumstances which led to it,
you would not wonder that I am somewhat sensitive
upon the subject. I used to think beauty the principal thing I should require in a wife, but poor Marian
had none of that, and were you to see the wretched
likeness, you would receive altogether too unfavorable
an impression of her; for, notwithstanding her plain
face, she was far too good for me."
" Do you really think so?" was Marian's eager exclamation, while close behind it was the secret struggling hard to escape, but she forced it back, until,such
time as she should be convinced that Frederic loved
her as Marian Grey, and would hail with delight the
news that she was indeed his wife.




348              REDSTONE HALL.
He seemed surprised at her question, but lhe answer.
ed, unhesitatingly:
"Yes; far too good for me."
"And do you really wish to find her?" was Marian's
next question, which brought a flush to Frederic's face,
and caused him to hesitate a little ere he replied.
Yesterday he would have said Yes, at once, but since
coming into that library he had discovered that the
finding of his wife would be less desirable than before.
But it should not be so. He would crush every
thought or feeling which detracted in the least from
his late interest in Marian Lindsey, and with a great
effort he said:
"' I really wish to find her;" adding, as he saw a peculiar expression flit over Marian's face; "Wouldn't
you, too, be better pleased if Redstone Hall had a mistress?"
" Yes, provided that mistress were your wife, Marian
Lindsey," was the ready answer; and, looking into her
face, Frederic was conscious of an uneasy sensation,
for Miss Grey's words would indicate that the presence
of his wife would give her real pleasure.
Of course, then, she did not care for him, as he cared
for her; and why should she? He asked himself this
question many a time after the chair opposite him was
vacant, and she had left him there alone. Why should
she, when she came to him with the knowledge that he
was already bound to another. She might not have
liked him perhaps had he been free, though, in that
case, he could have won her love, and compelled her
to forget the man who did not care for her. Taking
the high-backed chair she had just vacated, he rested
his elbow upon the table, and tried to fancy that Marian Lindsey had never crossed his path, and Marlian
Grey had never loved another. It was a pleasant picture he drew of himself were Marian Grey his wife,
and his heart fairly bounded as he thought of her stealing to his side, and placing upon his arm those little
soft white hands of hers, while her blue eyes looked




REDSTONE HALL.              349
into his own, and her rose-bud lips called him " Husband!" and, as he thought, it seemed to him more
and more that it must one day be so. She would be
his at last, and the sun of his domestic bliss would
shine upon him all the brighter for the dreary darkness
which had overshadowed him  so long. From this
dream of happiness there came ere long a waking, and
burying his face in his hands he moaned aloud, "It
cannot be, and the hardest part of all to bear is the
wretched thought that but for my dastardly, unmanly
act, it might, perhaps, have been-but now, neverl
never I Oh, Marian Grey! Marian Greyl I would
that we had never met!"
"Frederic, didn't you hear me coming? I made a
leap of noise," said a voice close to his side, and
Alice's arm was thrown across his neck.
She had heard all he was saying, but she did not
comprehend it until he muttered the name of Marian
Grey, and then the truth flashed upon her.
"Poor Frederic," she said, soothingly, " I pity you
so much, for though it is wicked, I am sure you cannot help it."
" Help what?" he asked1 rather impatiently, for this
one secret he hoped to bury from the whole world, but
the blind girl had discovered it, and she answered unhesitatingly:
" Can't help loving Marian Grey. I've been fearful
you would," sile continued, as he made no reply. " I
did not see how you could well help it, either, she is so
beautiful and good, and every night I pray that if our
own Marian is really dead God will let us know."
This was an entire change in Alice. Hitherto she had
pleaded a living Marian-now she suggested one deceased, but Frederic repelled the thought at once.
" Marian was not dead," lie said, "and though he
admired Miss Grey, he had no right to love her. He
didn't intend to, either, and if Alice had discovered
anything, he trusted she would forget it."
And this was all tile satisfaction he would give the




850              REDSTONE HALL.
little girl, who, feeling that lie would rather be alone,
turned away, leaving him again with his unhappy
thoughts.
That night he joined the young girls in the parlor
and compelled himself to listen while Marian made the
old walls echo with her ringing, merry music. But
he would not look at her, nor watch her snowy fingers
sweeping over the keys, lest they should make worse
havoc with his heart-strings than they had already
done. At an early hour he sought his chamber where the
livelong night he fought manfully with the love which,
now that lie acknowledged its existence. grew rapidly in
intensity and strength. It was not like the love he had
felt ftr Isabel-it was deeper, purer, more absorbing,
and what was- stranger far than all, he could not feel
that it was wicked, and he trembled when he thought
how hardened he had become.
The next day, which was the Sabbath, he deterlnined to see as little of Marian as possible, but when at
the breakfast table she asked him in her usual frank,
open-hearted way to go with her to church, he could
not refuse, and he went, feeling a glow of pride at the
sensation he knew she was creating, and wondering
why she should be so excited.'"I cannot keep the secret much longer," Marian
thought, as she looked upon the familiar faces of her
tiiends, and longed to hear them call her by her real
namne. "I will at least tell Alice who I am, and if she
can convince me that Frederic would be glad, I will
perhaps explain to him."
When church was out, Mrs. Rivers, who still lived
at her father's, pressed forward for an introduction,
and after it was over, whispered a few words to Fiederic, who replied, " Not in the least," so decidedly that
Marian heard him, and wondered what Agnes' remark
could have been. She was not long left in doubt, for
as they were riding home, Frederic turned to her and
said: "Mrs. Rivers thinks you look like my wife."
Marian's cheeks were scarlet, as she replied:




REDSTOMN  HALL.            351
"Josh and IHetty thought so, too, and it is possible
there mav be a resemblance,"
"Not the slightest," returned Frederic, half vexed
that any one should presume to liken the beautiful gil1
at his side to one as plain as he had always considered
Marian Lindsey to be.
Leaning back in the carriage, he relapsed into a
thoulghtful mood, which was interrupted once by Marian's asking " if he believed he should know his wife
in case he met her accidentally?"
"Know her  Yes-from all the world I" was the
hasty answer; and, wrapping his shawl still closer
about him, Frederic did not speak again until they
stopped at their own door.
That night, as Marian sat with Alice in their chamber, she said to the little girl:
"If you could have any wish gratified which you
chose to make, what would it be?"
For an instant Alice hlesitated-then her eyes filled
with tears, and, and winding her arms around her
teacllerls neck, she whispered:
" At first I thought I'd rather have my sight-but
only for a moment-and then I wished, if Marian were
not dead, she would come back to us, for I'm afraid
Frederic is getting bad again, though he cannot help
it, I'm sure.
" What do you mean?" Marian asked, and Alice replied:
"Don't you know? Can't you guess?  Don't you
hear it in his voice when he speaks to you?"
vIarian made no response, and Alice continued:
"Frederic seems determined to love everybody better than Marian, and thoughl I love you more than I
can tell, I want her to come back so much."
"And if you knew she were coming, when would
you rather it should be?" asked Marian, and Alice
replied:
":Now-to-night; but as that is impossible, I'd be
satisfied with Christmas. Yes, on the whole, I'd rather




852              REDSTONE HALL.
it would be then; I should call her our Christmas Gift,
and it would be the dearest, sweetest one that I could
have."
" Darling Alice," thought Marian, "your wish shall
be gratified."
And, kissing the blind girl affectionately, she resolved that on the coming Christmas, one at least of
the inmates of Redstone Hall should know that Marian
Grey was only another name for the runaway Marian
Lin sey.




CHAPTER XXVIL
TELLING ALICE.
O~m by one the bright November days went by and
the hazy Indian Summner light faded from the KLntucky hills, where now the December sun was shining
cold and clear. And as the weeks passed away, there
hung over Redstone Hall a dark, portentous cloud,
and they who had waited so eagerly the coming of the
hlolidays trembled lest the merry Christmas song
should prove a funeral dirge for the pet fand darling of
them all. Alice was dying, so the physician said,
while Dinah, too, had prophesied that ere the New
Year came the eyes which never in this world had
looked upon the light would be opened to the glories
of the better land.
For many weary days and nights the fever flame
had burned in the young girl's veins, but it had left
her now, and like a fragile lily she lay among her pillows, talking of Heaven and the grave as something
very near to her. Noiselessly Marian trod across the
floor, holding back her breath and speaking in soft
whispers, lest she should disturb the little sufferer
whose side she never for a moment left except to take
tile rest she absolutely needed. Frederic, too, often
shared her vigils, feeling almnost as anxious for one
as for the other. Both were very dear to him, and
3Marian, as she witnessed his tender care of Alice, and
his anxiety for herself lest her stength should be overtasked, felt more aud more that he was worthy of her
love. Alice, too, appreciated his goodness, as she had




354               TELLING ALICE.
never done before, and once when he sat alone with
her, and Marian was asleep, she passed her hand' caressingly over his face and said:
" Dear Frederic, you have been so kind to me, that
I am sure God has some good in store for you."
Then as she remembered what would probably be
the greatest good to him, she continued, "I know
whlat's in your heart, and I pity you so much, but
there is light ahead; I've thonght sntringe things, and
dreamed  strange dreams since I lay here so sick,
and as I once was certain Marian was alive, so now I'm
almost certain that she's dead."
"Hush, Alice, hush," said Frederic, laying his head
upon the pillow beside her, but Alice did not heed
him, and she continued"I never saw her in this world, and maybe I shan't
know her right away, though next to mother, I reckon
she'll be the first to welcome me to Heaven, if she's
there, and I know she is, or we should have heard
from her. I-shall tell her of her old home, Frederic; tell
her how we mourned for her when we thought that
she was dead. I don't know what it was that made
her go away, but I shall tell her you repented of the
act, and how you looked for her so long, and that if
you had fiound her you would have loved her, sure.
That will not be a lie, will it, Frederic?"
"No, darling, no," was the faintly spoken answer,
and Alice contin tied:
"Then, when I have explained all, I'll steal away
firom Heaven, just long enough to come and tell you
she is there. fou'll be in the library, maybe, and
1 reckon'twill be dark, though if you'd any ratller, I'll come in the daytime, and when you feel
there's somebody near, somebody you can't see, you
maty know that it is me come to say that you are free
to love the other Marian."
"Don't, Alice, don't," said Frederic, for it made his
heart bleed afresh to hear her talk of what he had no
hope would ever be.




TELLING ALICE.              35.
But Alice's faith was stronger, and to.arian Grey
she sometimes talked in a similar strain, saying "she
knew she should meet the other one in lHeavein," and
Miarlian, while listening to her, felt that she must u1ldeceive her. " It may possibly make her better," slhe
thought, and when, at last, the Christmas eve had
come, and it was her turn to watch that night, she determined to tell her, if she fancied that she hlad
strength to bear it,  One by one, the fatmily servants
retired, and when at last they were alone, Malian
drew her chair close beside the bed, wondering how
she should commence, and what effect it would have
upon the little girl, who erelong awoke, and said to
her:
"I've been dreaming of Marian, and I thought she
looked like you do —but she don't of course; and I
wonder how I'll know her from illy mother, for she, too,
was young when she died. If it were you, Miss Grey, I
could tell you so easily, for I shlould look among the
blriohtest angels there, and the one who sang the sweetest song and had the fairest face, would certainly be
Marian Gr'ey: but the other Marian —how shall I know
her-think 2"
Leaning forward so that her hot cheek touched the
pale one of the sick girl, Marian said-:
"Wouldn't you know her by her voice?"
"I'm aftiaid not," answered Alice; "I thought you
were she at first when I heard you speak."
" How is it now, darling?" Marian asked, in a voice
so tremulous that Alice started, and her white face
flushed as she replied: " You are not like her now, except at times, and then-it's all so queer.  There's a
mystery about you, Miss Grey-and seems sometimes
just like I didn't know what to think —you puzzle me
so!"
" Shall I tell' you, Alice? Have you strength to hear
who and what I am I" Mariall asked; and Alice answered eagerly;
"Yes-tell me-do?"




356               TELLING ALICE.
" And you'll promise not to faint, nor scream, nor
reveal it to anybody, unless I say you may?"
" It must be something terrible to make me faint or
scream!"
"Not terril)le, dearest, but strange 1" and sitting
down upon the bed, Marian wound her arm around the
little girl.
It was a hazardous thing the telling that secret then.
but Marian did not realize what she was doing, and in
as calm a voice as she could command, she began 
" People call me Marian Grey, but that is not my
name!"
"Not Marian Grey!" and the brown eyes fiashed
wonderingly. " Who are you, then, Marian what?"
Marian did not reply to this question, but said instead: "I had seen you before that night at Riverside."
"Seen me where?" and the little fingers treinblec
with an indefinable dread of the shock which she instinctively felt was waiting for her.
"I had seen you many times," said Marian, "and that
is why myS voice is familiar. Put your hand upon my
face again, and maybe you will know it."
" I can't, I can't! you fiighten me so I" gasped Alice,
and Marian continued:
" I must have changed much, for they who used; to
know me have never suspected that I am in their
midst again —,Lone but Bruno. Do you remember my
power over him? Bruno and I were playmates together."
Marian paused and gazed earnestly at the child, who
lay panting in her arms, her face upturned and the
blind eyes fixed upon hers with an intensity she hlad
never before seen equalled. In the deep stillness of
the room shle could hear the loud beating of Alice's
heart, and see the bed-clothes rise and fall with every
throb.
"Alice," she said at last, "don't you know me now?'
and in her voice there was a world of yearning tenderness and love.




TELLING ALICE.               357
" Yes," and over the marble face there shone a smile
of almost seraphic sweetness.' You are  farian1-.
my Marian —Frederic's Marian-Dinah's MarianAll of uIs  larian!" and with a low, hysterical cry the
blind girl crept close to the bosom of her long lost
friend.
Stretching out her feeble arms she wound them
round Marian's neck, and raising herself upon her elbow, kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead, her hair,
whispering all the time, "Blessed Marian-precions
Marian-beautiful'Marian-on r Marian-Frederic's,
and mine, and everybody's. Oh, I don't want to go to
]leaven now: I'd rather stay with yon. Call hliml-call
Frederic, quick, and tell him? Why ha.ve't. you told
him before.Ho, Fredeiric, come here!" and tile feeble voice raised to its highest pitch, went rinfing
through the room and penetrated even to the adjoining chamber, where, since Alice's illness, Frederic had
slept.
"Alice," said Marian, "if you love me, you will not
tell him now. I am not ready yet."
" What if I should die 2" Alice asked, and Marian
replied:
" You won't die. I almost know you won't. Promise, Alice, promise," she continued, as she heard Frederic's step in the hall without.
"How can I-h]ow  can I? It will choke me to
death I" was Alice's answer, and the next moment
Frederic had *crossed the threshold of the door.
"What is it, Miss Grey?" he asked.  " Didn't you
call?"
Alice is rather excited, that's all,." said Marian,' and you can go back. We do not wish to disturb
yoll."
" Frederic," came a faint whisper froln the bedside,
and knowing that farther remonstrance was useless,,Marian stood like a rock, while Frederic advanced toward the child, who lay with her head thrown back,
the great tears rolling down her cheeks, and the great




358               TELLING ALICE.
joy of what she had heard, shining out all over her
little face.
" "Did you want me, birdie?" he asked, but ere he
had ceased speaking, Marian was at his side.
Alice knew that she was there, and she pressed both
hlands upon her lips to force back the secret she had
been forbidden to divulge.
" Is she delirious?" Frederic asked, and shaking her
head. Alice whispered: "1 No, no, but happy, so happy.
Oh, Frederic, I don't want to die! Must I? It I take
a heap of Doctor's stuff, will I get well, think?"
" I hope so," said Frederic, his suspicions of insanity
rapidly increasing.
"' Give me your hand," she continued, " and. yours,
too, Miss Grey."
Both were extended, and joining them together she
said, " Love her, Frederic. Love her all you want to.
You may —you may. It isn't wicked.  Oh, Marian,
Marian."'
The last word was a whisper, and as it died away,
Marian seized Frederic's arm, and said, beseechingly:
" Please leave the room, Mr. Raymond.  You see she
is excited, and I can quiet her best alone.  Will you
go?"
The brown eyes looked reproachfully at her and entreatingly at him, but neither heeded the expressionl,
and w'th a feeling that he scarcely understood what
the whole proceeding nealt, and why he had been
called in it he must be summarilv dismissed, Frederic
went out, leaving Marian alone with Alice.
" Why didn't you let me tell him.?" the latter asked,
and Marian replied, "I shall tell him by and by:
but i am not ready yet, and you must not betray me."
"I'll try," said Alice, "but'tis so hard.  I had to
bite my tongue to keep the words from coming. Where
have you beeen ] Why didn't you come to us before.
How came you so beautiful-so grand?" Alice asked,
all in the same breath.
But Marian absolutely reftsed to answer the ques.




TELL}NG ALICE.              359
t;on until she had become quiet and been refreshed
with sleep.
"All in good time, dearest," she said, "but yoe
must rest now. You are wearing out too fast, and yeo
know you do not want to die."
This was the right chord to touch, and it had the desired effect.
" Let me ask one question, and say one thing," said
Alice, "and I won't talk another word till morning.
When you are ready may I tell Frederic, if I ain't
dead?".
c" Yes, darling," was the ready answer, and winding
her arms round Marian's neck, the blind girl continued: " Isn't it almost morning?"
"Yes, dear."
" And when it is, won't it be Christmas day?"
" Yes, but you have asked three questions, instead of
one."
"' I know-I know; but what I want to say is this:
"I wished my Christmas gift might be Marian, and it
is. Last year it was of a beautitul little pony, but
you are worth ten hundred million ponies.  Oh, I'n
so glad-so glad," and on the childish face there was a
look of perfect happiness.
Even after she shut her eyes and tried to sleep her
lips continued to move, aDd Marian could hear the
whispered words: " Our own Marianl-our blessed.Maian."
Tile excitement was too much for Alice, and when
iiext morning the physician came, he pronounced her
woise than she had been the previous nigllt.
" But I ain't going tc die," said Alice resolutely;'I can't die now," and it was this very deterininatinll
oil her part which did more to save her life than all
the doctor's drugs or Dinali's wonderful tears.
For mnany days she seemed hovering between life
and death, while Marianl never for a moment left her,
and Alice was Inore quiet when she was sitting by,
holding her feverish hand; she seemed to have lost all




360               TELLING ALICE.
her desire to tell, for she never made any attempt so to
do, though she persisted in calling her teacher Marian,
and a look of pain always flitted over her face when
she heard her addressed as Miss Grey. Sometimes she
would start up, and winding her arms around her neck
would whisper in ller ear, "Are you Marian for sure
-onr Marian, I r*ean?"
"Yes, Marian Lindsey, sure," would be the answer,
and the little girl would fall away again into a halt
unconscious state, a smile of joy wreathing her white
lips, and an expression of peace resting on her face.
At last, just as the New Year's morning dawned, she
woke fronm a deep, unbroken sleep, and ]Marian and
Frederic, who watched beside her, knew that she was
saved. There were weeks of convalescence, and Dinah
often wondered at Alice's patience in staying so long
and willingly in the chamber where she htad suffered so
mluch. But to Alice that sick room was a second paradise
and Marian the bright angel whose presence made all
the sunlight of her life.
Gradually as she could bear it, Marian told her everything which had come to her since she left Redstone
Hall, and Alice's eyes grew strangely bright when she
heard that the bracelet she had always prized so much
was made from Maliatl's hair, and that Bell's visit to
Kentucky was all a plan of his to see it' Frederic were
iarr ied. —Greatly was she shocked when she heard of
the letter which had almnost taken Marian's life.
"Frederic never did that cruel thing," she knew.' But'twas in his hand-writing," said Marian, " alld
until the mystery is cleared away, I cannot forgive
himn."
For a long time Alice sat absorbed in thought, then
suddenly starting forward, she cried: "I know, Marian. I know now, Isabel did it. I'm sure she did. I
re:leinber it all so plain.
" Isabel," repeated Marian: " how could she? What
do you mean I"
"Why," returned Alice, "You say you sent it a




TELLING ALICE.              361
few weeks after you went away, and I remember so
well Frederic's going to Lexington one day, because
that was the time it came to me that you were not
dead. It was the first morning, too, that Isabel heard
my lessons, and she scolded because I didn't remember quick, when I was thinking all the time of you,
and my heart was aching so. For some reason, I can't
tell what, I showed her that note you left for me. You
remember it; don't you? It read:
"Darling Alice! Precious Alice: If my heart were
not already broken, it would break in leaving you."
"Yes, yes; I remember," said Marian, and Alice
continued:
"She said your hand-writing was queer, when she
gave me back the note. That evening, Josh came
back from Frankfort with a heap of letters for Frederic, and one of them I know was from you. I was
standing out under the big maple tree thinking of you,
when Isabel came and asked to take the note again,
and I let her have it. Ever so long after, I started to
go into the library, for I heard somebody rustling_
papers, and I didn't know but Dud was doing mischief.
Just as 1 got to the door, I heard a voice like Isabel's
only sounded scared like, exclaim,'It is from her,
but he shall never see it, never;' or something like
that, and when I called to her she wouldn't answer me
until I got close to her, and then she laughed as if she
was choked, and said she was trying to frighten me.
Marian, that her was you, and that he was Frederic.
She copied his writing, and sent the letter back because she wanted Frederic herself."
"Could she do such a thing," said Marian more to
herself than to Alice, who replied:
"She can do anything; for Dinah says she's one of
the —, I reckon that I'll skip that word in there, because it's almost swearing, but it means Satan's unaccountabiles," and Alice's voice dropped to a whisper at
what she fancied to be profanity.
Marian could understand why Isabel should do such
16




362               TELLING ALICE.
a wicked thing even better than Alice, and after reflecting upon it for a time, she accepted it as a fact,
and even suggested the possibility of Isabel's having
been the author of the letter from Sarah Green.
"She was I she was!" cried Alice, starting to her
feet!  "It's just like her-for she thought Frederie
would surely want to marry her then. I know she
wrote it, and managed to get it to New York somehow;" and as is often the case poor Isabel was compelled to bear more than her share of the fraud, for
iMarian, too, believed that she had been in some way
implicated with the letter from Sarah Green.
"And I may tell Frederic now-mayn't I?" said
Alice. "Suppose we set to-morrow, when he's in the
library among the letters. He'll wonder what I'm
coming in there for, all wrapped up in shawls. But
he'll know plenty quick, for it will be just like me
to tell it all at once, and he will be so glad. Don't
you wish it was to-morrow now?"
Marian could not say she did, for she had hoped for
more decisive demonstration of affection on Frederic's
part ere she revealed herself to him, but Alice was so
anxious, and had waited so patiently, that she at last
consented, and when at supper she met Frederic as
usual, she was conscious of a different feeling towards
him than she had ever experienced before. He seemed
ulnusually dejected, though exceedingly kind to her,
talking but little, it is true. but evincing,-in various
ways, the interest he felt in her, and even asking her
to sit with him awhile ere returning to Alice's chamber. There was evidently something on his mind
which he wished to say, but whatever it might have
been, seven o'clock found it still unsaid, and as Alice
retired at that hour, Marian arose to go.
"Must you leave me?" he said, rising too, and ac
companying her to the door. "Yes, you must!" and
Marian little guessed the meaning these three words
implied.
She only felt that she was not indifferent to him



TELLING ALICE.            363
that the story Alice was to tell him on the morrow
would be received with a quiet kind of happiness at
least-that he would not bid her go away as she once
had done before-and with the little blind girl, she,
too, began to think the morrow would never come.




CHAPTER'XXVIIL
TELLING FREDERIC.
IT was midnight, and from the windows of the
library at Redstone Hall there shone a single light, its
dim rays falling upon the haggald face of the weary:nan, who, since parting from Marian in the parlor, had
sat there just as he was sitting now, unmindful of the
lapse of time-unmindful of every thing save the fierce
battle he was waging with himself. Hour by hour
-day by day-week by week, had his love for Marian
Grey increased, until now he could no more control it
than he could stay the mighty torrent in its headlong
course. It was all in vain that he kept or tried to
keep Marian Lindsey continually before his mind, saying often to himself: "She is my wife-she is alive,
and I must not love another."
He did not care for iMarian Lindsey. He did not
wish to find her now —he almost hoped he never
should, though even that would avail him nothing, unless he knew to a certainty that she were really dead.
Perhaps he never could know, and as he thought of
the long, dreary years in which he must live on with
that terrible uncertainty forever haunting him, he
pressed his hands upon his burning forehead and cried
aloud: "My punishment is greater than I can bear.
Oh, Marian Grey, can it be that you, who might have
been the angel of my life, were sent to avenge the
wrongs of that other Marian?"
He knew it was wicked, this intense, absorbing passion for Marian Grey, but he could not feel it so, and




TELLING FREDERIC.           365
he would have given half his possessions for the sake
of abandoning himself for one brief hour to this love
— for the sake of seeing her eyes of blue meet with the
look lie had so often fancied her giving to the man she
loved. And she loved him! HIe was sure of it! He
saw it those nights when he watched with her by Alice's bedside; he had seen it since in the sudden flushing of her cheek and the falling of her eyes when he
approached. And it was this discovery which prompted him to the act he meditated.  Not both of them
could stay there, himself and Marian, for he would not
that she should suffer more than need be.  She had
recovered from her first and early love; she would get
over this, and if she were only happy, it didn't matter
how desolate her going would leave him, for she mrust
go, he said.  He had come to that decision, sitting
there alone, and it had wrung great drops of perspiration from his brow and moans of anguish from his
lips. ABut it must be-there was no alternative, he
thought, and in the chair where Marian Lindsey once
had written her farewell, he wrote to Marian Lindsey's
rival that Redstone Hall could be her home no longer.
" Think not that you have displeased me," he said,
"for tliis is not why I send you from me. Both of us
cannot stay, and though for Alice's sake I would gladly keep you here, it must not be. I am going to New
Orleans, to be absent three or four weeks, and shall
not expect to find you here on my return. You will
need money, and I enclose a check for a thousand dollars. Don't refuse to take it, for I give it willingly,
and though my conduct is sadly at variance with my
words, you must believe me when I say that in all the
world you have not so true a friend, as
" FREDERIC RAYMOND."
Many times he read this letter over, and it was not
until long after midnight that he sought his pillow, only to toss from side to side with feverish unrest, and he




366             TELLING FREDERIC.
was glad when at last Josh came in to make the fire,
for by that token he knew it was morning.
" Tell Dinah- I will breakfast in my room," he said,
and say to Phil that he must have the carriage ready
early, for I am going to New-Orleans, and he will carry me to Frankfort."
"Ye-e-es, Sir," was Josh's answer, as he departed
with the message.
"Marster have breakfast in his room, and a goin' to
New-Orleans? In the Lord's name what's happened
him?" exclaimed Dinah, and when Marian came down
to her solitary meal, she repeated the story to her,
asking if she could explain it.
" Marster's looked desput down in the mouth a long
time back," she said. "What you'spect'tis?"
Marian could not tell; neither did she venture a suggestion, so fearful was she that Frederic's intended departure would interfere with the plan of which Alice
had talked incessantly since daylight. Hastily finishing her breakfast, she hurried back to her chamber,
whither the note had preceded her.
"Luce brought this to you from  Frederic," said
Alice, passing her the letter, "and she says he looks
like he was crazy. Read it and see what he wants."
Marian accordingly tore open the envelope, and with
blanched cheek and quivering lip read that she must
go again from Redstone Hall, and worse than all, there
was no tangible reason assigned for the cruel mandate.
The check next caught her eye, and with a proud,
haughty look upon her face, she tore it in fragments
and scattered them upon the floor, for it seemed an
idle mockery for him to offer what was already hers.
"What is it, Marian." asked Alice, and recovering
her composure Marian read to her what Frederic said,
while Alice's face grew white as hers had done before.
" You go away!" she exclaimed, bounding upon the
floor and feeling for the warm shawl which she wore
when sitting up. "'You won't do any such thing




TELLING FREDERIC.            367
You've as much right here as he has, and I'm going
this minute to tell him so."
She had groped her way to the door and was just
opening it when Marian held her back, saying:
" You must not go out undressed and barefooted as
you are. The halls are cold. Wait here while I go
and learn the reason of this sudden freak."
" But I want so much to tell him myself," said Alice, and Marian replied, " So you shall, I'll send Dinah
up to dress you and then I will come for you when it's
time."
This pacified Alice, who already began to feel faint
with her exertions, and she crept back to bed, while
Mlarian descended the stairs, going first to Dinah as she
had promised, and then with a beating heart turning
her steps toward the library. It was much like facing
the wild beast in its lair, confronting Frederic in his
present savage mood. lie felt himself as if his reason
were overturned, for the deliberate giving up of Mlarian
Grey, and the feeling that he should probably never
look upon her face again, had stirred, as it were, the
verly depths of his heart's blood, and in a state of mind
bordering upon, distraction, he was making the necessary preparations for his hasty journey, when a timid
knock was heard outside the door.
"Who's there   I'm very busy," was his loud, imperious answer, but Marian was not to be thus baffled,
and turning the knob, she entered without further
ceremony, recoiling back a pace or two when she met
the expression of Frederic's eye.
With his hands full of papers, which he was thrusting into his pocket, his hair disordered and his face
white as ashes, he turned toward her, saying; "Why
are you here, Miss Grey?  Haven't you caused me
pain enough already? Have you received my note?"
" I have," she answered, advancing still further into
the room. " And I have come to ask you what it
means. You have no right to dismiss me so suddenly




]3~38           TELLING FREDERIC.
without an explanation. How have I offended? You
must tell me."
"I said you had not. offended," he replied, "and
further than that I can give no explanation."
"I shall not leave your house, nor yet this room until you do," was her.decided answer, and with the air
of one who meant what she said, Marian went so near
to the excited man that he could have touched her had
he chosen.- 
For an instant the two stood gazing at each other,
IMaSrian never wavering for an instant, while over Frederic's face there flitted alternately a look of wonder,
admiration, and perplexity. Then that look passed
away and was succeeded by an expression of the deep
love he felt for beautiful girl standing so fearlessly before him.
" I cannot help it," he murmured at last, and tottering to the door, he turned the key; then returning to
Marian, he compelled her to sit down beside him upon the sofa, and passing his arm around her, so that she
couldl not escape, he began: " You- say you will not
leave the room until you know why I should send you
from me. Be it so, then. It surely cannot be wrong
for me to tell when you thus tempt me to the act; so, for
one brief half-hour, you are mine —mine, Marian, and
no power can save you now from hearing what I have
to say."
His looks, even more than his manner, frightened
her, and she said imploringly, "( Give me the key, Mr.
Raymond. Unlock the door and I will go away without hearing the reason."
"I frighten you, then," he answered, in a gentler
tone, drawing her nearer to him, " and yet, Marian
Grey, I would sell my life inch by inch rather than
harm a hair of your dear head. Ohl, Marian, Marian,
I would to Heaven you had never crossed my path, for
then I should not have known what it is to love as imadly, as hopelessly, as wickedly as I now love you.
What made you come to me in all your bright, girlish




TELLING FIEDERIC.            369
beauty, or why did Heaven suffer me to love you as I
do?  IMy punishment was before as great as I could
bear, and now I must suffer this anguish, too.  Oh,
Marian Grey, Marian Grey!"
He wound his arms close around her, and she could
feel his feverish breath as his lips almost touched her
burning cheek. In the words "Marian Grey, Marian
Grey," there was a deep pathos, as if all the loving
tenderness of his nature were centered upon that name,
and it brought the tears in torrents from her eyes. He
saw them, and wiping thlem away, he said:
" The hardest part of all to me is the knowledge
that you must suffer, too. Forgive me for saving it,
but as I know that I love you, so by similar signs I
know that you love me. Is it not so, darling?"
Involuntarily she laid her head upon his bosom, sobbing:
~' I- have loved you so long-so long."
But for her promise to Alice she would then have
told him all, but she must keep her word, and when
he rejoined, "It does, indeed seem long since that
night you came to Riverside," she did not undeceive
him, but listened while he continued, " Bless you for
telling me of your love. When you are gone it will
be a comfort for me to think that Marian Grey once
loved me. I say once for you must overcome that
love. You must tear it out and trample it beneath
your feet. You can if you try. You are not as hard,
as callous as I am. My heart is like adamant, and
though I know that it is wicked to love you, and to
tell you of my love, I cannot help it. I am a wretclh,
and when I tell you, as I must, just what a wretch I
am, it will help you to forget me-to hate me, it may
be. You have heard of my wife. You know she left
me on mynv bridal night, and I have never known the
joys of wedded bliss-never shall know, for even if
she comes back to me now, 1 cannot live with her P'"
" Oh, Frederic I" And again the hot tears trembled
16*




370             TELLING FREDERIC.
through the hands which Marian clasped before her
eyes.
"Don't call me thus," said Frederic, entreatingly,
as he removed her hands, and held them both in his.
"Don't say Frederic, for though it thrills me with
strange joy to hear you, it is not right. Listen, Marian, while I tell you why I married her who bears your
name, and then I'm sure you)ll hate me-nor call me
Frederic again. I have never told but one, and that
one, William Gordon. I had thought never to tell it
again, but it is right that you should know. Marian
Lindsey was, or is, the Heiress of Redstone Hall. All
my boasted wealth is hers —every cent of it is hers.
But she didn't know it, for"-and Frederic's voice was
very low and plaintive now as he told to Marian Grey
how Marian Lindsey was an heiress-told her of his
dead parent's fraud-of his desire to save that parent's
name from disgrace, and his stronger desire to save
him from poverty. " So I made her my wife," he said.
"I promised to love and cherish her all the time my
heart was longing for another."
Marian trembled now, as she lay helpless in his
arms, and, observing it, he continued:
"' I must confess the whole, and tell you that I loved,
or thought I loved, Isabel Huntington, though how I
could have fancied her is a mystery to,ue now. My
poor IMarian was plain, while Isabel was beautiful, and
naught but Alice kept me fiom telling her my love.
Alice stayed the act-Alice sent me to New York to
look for Marian   -"
"And did you never hear from hdr? Did she never
send you a letter?" Marian asked, and he replied:
" Nevbr! If she had I should have known where
to find her."
Then, as briefly as possible, for he knew time was
hastening, lie told of his fearful sickness, and of the
little girl who took such care of him-told, too, of his
weary search for her, and of the many dreary nights




TELLING FREDERIC.            371
he had passed in thinking of her, and her probable
fate.
"Then you came," he said, "and, struggle as I
would, I could not mourn for Marian Lindsey as I had
done before. I was satisfied to have you here until
the conviction burst upon me, that far greater than
any affection I had thouglht I could feel for that blueeyed girl, and ten-fold greater than any love I had felt
for Isabel Huntington, was my love for you. It has
worn upon me terribly. Look!"  And pushing back
his thick brown locks, he showed her where the hair
was turning white beneath. "These are for you," he
said.'" There are furrows upon my face —furrows upon my heart-and can you wonder that I bade you go,
and so no longer tempt me to sin? And yet, could I
keep you withl me, Marian? Could I hold you to my
bosom just as I hold you now, and know that I had a
right so to do?-a right to call you mine-my Marian
— my wife? Not Heaven itself, I'm sure, has greater
hlappiness in store ifor those who merit its bliss than
this would be to me! Oh, why is the boon denied to
me? Why must I suffer on through wretched, dreary
years, and know that somewhere in the world there is
a Marian Grey, who might have been my wife 8?"
" Let me go for Alice," said Marian, struggling to
release herself. "rThere is something she would tell
you.
"Yes, in a moment," he replied; " but promise me
first one thing. The news may come to me that I am
free, and if it does, and you are still unmarried, will
you then be my.wife?  Promise that you will, and the
remembrance of that promise will help me to bear a
little longer."
"I do 1" said Marian, standing up before him, and
holding one of his hands in hers. "I promise you,
solemnly, that no other man shall ever call me wife
save you."
There were tears in Frederic's eyes, and his whole




372             TELLING FREDERIC.
frame quivered with emotion, as, catching at her
dress, for she was moving toward the door, he added:
"And you will wait for me, darling-wait for me
twenty years, if it needs must be? You will never be
old to me.  I shall love you just the same when these
sunny locks are grey,'" and he passed his hands caressingly over her bright hair. There was a world of love
and tenderness in the answering look which Marian
gave to him as he opened the door for her to pass out,
and wringing his hands in anguish, he cried to himself, "Oh, how can I give her up-beautiful, beautiful
Marian Grey i"
Swift as a bird Marian flew up the stairs in quest of
Alice, who was to tell the wretched man that it was
not a sin for him to love the beautiful Marian Grey.
"Alice, Alice! Gr, now-go quick 1" she exclaimed,
bursting into the ream.
" Go whar-for the dear Lord's sake?" said Dinah,
who had that mnr,ment come up, and consequently had
made but little progress in dressing Alice.  " Go
whar? Not down stairs-'strue as yer born. She'll
cotch her death o' cold I"
"Hurry-do!" cried Alice, standing first on one
foot and then upon the other. "' I must tell Frederic
something before he goes away. There, he's going I
Oh, Mlarian, help!" she fairly screamed, as she heard
the carriage at the door, and Frederic in the hall
below.
Marian was telTibly excited, and in her attempts to
assist, she only made matters worse by buttoning the
wrong button, putting both stockings on the same
foot, pulling the shoe-lacing into a hard knot, which
baffled all her nervous efforts, while Dinah worked on
leisurely, insisting that Alice " wasn't gwine down,
and if there was anythin' killin' which marster'or'to
know, Miss Grey could tell him herself."
"Yes, Mlarian. go," said Alice, in despair, as she bleard
Dud bid Frederic good-by, and, scarcely conscious of
what she was about, Marian ran down the stairs, just




TELLING FREDERIC.            373
as Phil cracked his whip, and the spirited greys
bounded off with a rapidity which' left her faint call
of " Stop, Frederic, stop 1" far behind.
"I can write to lim," she thought, as she slowly retraced her steps back to Alice, who was bitterly disappointed, and who, after Dinah was gone, threw herself
upon the bed, refusing to be comforted.
" Three weeks was forever," she said, and she suggested sending Josh after the traveler, who, in a most
unenviable frame of mind, was riding rapidly towards
Frankfort.
"No, no," said Marian, "I will write immediately,
so he can get the letter as soon almost as he reaches
New Orleans. It won't be three weeks before he returns," and she strove to divert the child's mind by repeating to her as much as she thought proper of her
exciting interview with Frederic.
But Alice could not be comforted, and all that day
she lamented over the mischance which had taken
Frederic away before she could tell him.
" There's Uncle Phil," she said, when towards night
she heard the carriage drive into the yard; "and
hark, hark I" she exclaimed, turning her quick ear in
the direction of the sound, and rolling her bright eye
around the room; " there's a step on the piazza that
sounds like his-'tis him-'tis him I He's come back!
I knew he would!" and in her weakness and excitement the little girl sunk exhausted at Marian's feet.
Raising her up, Marian listened breathlessly, but
heard nothing save Phil, talking to his horses as he
drove them to the stable.
"He has not come," she said, and Alice replied, " I
tell you he has. There-there, don't you hear?" and
IMarian's heart gave one great bound as she, too, heard
the well-known footstep upon the threshold and Frederick speaking to his favorite Dud, who had run to
meet "his mars," asking for sugar-plums from New
Orleans.
There had been a change in the time-table, and




374             TELLING FREDERIC.
Frederic did not reach Frankfort until after the train
he intended to take had gone. His first thought was
to remain in the city, and wait for the next train from
Lexington. Accordingly he gave his parting directions
to Phil, who being in no haste to return, loitered away
the morning and a portion of the afternoon before lie
turned his horses homeward. As he was riding up the
long hill which leads fromn Frankfort into the country
beyond, he un.expectedly met his master, who had
been to the cemetery, and was just returning to the
Capitol Hotel.
All the day Frederic had thought of Marian Grey,
and with each thought it had seemed to him more and
more that he must see her again, if only to hear her
say that she wcould wait all time for him, and when he
came upol: Phil, who he supposed was long ere this at
Redstone Hall, his resolution was taken, and instead
of the reproof he knew he merited, Phil was surprised
at hearing his master say, as he:made a motion for him
to stop:
" Plhil, I am:going home."
And thus it was that he returned again to Redstone
Hall, whlere his coming was hailed with eager joy by
Malrian and Alice, and created much surprise among
the servants.
" My'pinion he's a little out of his head," was all the
satisfaction Phil could give, as he drove the carriage to
the barn, while Frederic, half repenting of his rashness in returning, and wondering what good excuse he
could render, went to his own room-the one formerly
occupied by his father-where he sat before the glowing grate, when Alice appeared, covered with shawls,
and her face all aglow with her excitement.
She would not be kept back another moment, lest
he should go off again, so Marian had wrapped her up
and sent her on her mission. Frederic sat with his face
turned toward the fire, and though by the step he knew
who it was that entered the door, he did not turn his




TELLING FREDERIC.           375
head or evince the least knowledge of her presence nn-til she stood before him, and said, inquiringly:
"Frederic, are you here?"
"Yes;" was the answer, rather curtly spoken, for he
would rather be alone.
" Frederic I" and the bundle of shawls trembled vi
olently. "I have come to tell you something about
Marian."
"I don't wish to hear it," was his reply; and, nothing daunted, Alice continued:
"But you must hear me.  Her name isn't Miss
Grey. She is a married woman, and has a living husband; and you-."
She did not finish the sentence, for like a tiger Frederic started up, and seizing her by the shoulder, exclaimed: " You dare not tell me that again.  Marian
Grey is not married. She never had a husband," and
as the maddening thought swept over him, that possiblv the blind girl told him truly, he staggered against
the mantel, where he stood panting for breath, and enduring, as it were, all the agonies of a lingering, painful death.
"Sit down," said Alice, and like a child he obeyed,
while she proceeded, " Miss Grey has deceived us all,
and it is strange, too, that none of us should know her
-none but Bruno.  Don't you remember how he
wouldn't bite her, just because he knew her when we
didn't? Don't you mind how I told you once maybe
the Marian who went away would come back to us
some day so beautiful we should not know her? Yoa
are listening, ain't you?"
" Yes, yes," came in a quick, short gasp from the
armn-chair.
" Well, she has come hack! She called herself Marian Grey so we would not guess right off who she was,
but she ain't Marian Grey. She's the other one —she's
MY MARIAN, Frederic, AND YOUR WIFE —
As Alice was speaking Frederic had risen to his
feet. Drop by drop every particle of blood receded




376            TELLING FREDERIC.
from his face, leaving it colorless as ashes. There was
a wild, unnatural light flashing from  his eyes-his.
hands worked nervously together-his hair seemed
starting from its roots, and with his head bent forward, he stood transfixed as it were by the dazzling
light which had burst upon him. Then his lips parted
slowly, and more like a wailing cry than a praiyer of
thanksgiving, the words " I thank thee, oh, my God,"
issued from them.  The next moment the air near
Alice was set in rapid motion-there was a heavy fall,
and Frederic Raymond lay upon the carpet white and
still as a block of marble.
Like lightning Alice flew across the floor, but swift
as were her movements, another was there before her,
and with his head upon her lap was pressing burning
kisses upon his lips and dropping showers of tears upon his face.  Marian had stood without the door, listening to that dialogue, and when by the fall she knew
that it was ended, she came at once and knelt by the
fainting man, who ere long began to show signs of
consciousness. Alice was first to discover this, and
when sure that be would come back to life, she glided
silently from the room, for she knew that she would
not be needed there.
She might have tarried yet a little longer, for the
shock to Frederic had been so sudden and so great,
that though his lips moved and his fingers clutched
eagerly at the soft hand feeling for his pulse, he did
not seem to heed aught else, until Marian whispered
in his ear:
"My husband-may I call you so?'
Then, indeed, he started from his lethargy, and,
struggling to his feet, clasped her in his arms, weeping over her passionately, and murmuring as he did
so:
" My wife-my darling-my wife! Is it true that
you have come to me again? Are you my Marian?"
Daylight was fading fron the room, for the Winter
sun had set behind the western hills, and leading hem




TELLING FREDERIO.            877
to the window, he turned her face to the light, gazing
rapturously upon it, and saying to her:
" You are mine-all mine l  God bless you, Marian!"
He kissed her hands, her neck, her lips, her forehead, her hair, and she could feel his hot tears falling
amid the shining curls lie parted so lovingly from her
brow. They were not hateful to him  now-and he
passed his hand caressingly over them, whispering all
the while:
" My own beautiful Marian —my bride —my wife!"
Surely, in this moment of bliss, Marian felt repaid
for all that she had suffered, when at last as thoughts
of the dreadful past came over Frederic, he led her to
the sofa, and said, " Can you forgive me, darling?"
sihe turned her bright eyes up to his, and by the expression of perfect happiness resting there, he knew
she had forgotten the cold, heartless words he spoke
to her, when once, at that very hour, and in that very
place, he asked her to be his.  That scene had faded
away, leaving no cloud between them. All was sunshine and gladness, and with her fair head resting onil
his bosom - not timidly, as it had lain there in
the morning, but trustingly, confidingly, as if that
were its rightful resting-place-they sat together until
the rose-red tinge faded from the western sky, and the
night shadows had crept into the room.
More than once Alice stole on tiptoe to the door, to
see if it were time for her to enter, but as often as she
heard the low murmur of their vqices, she went noiselessly back, saying to herself: "I won't disturb them
yet."
At last as she came once she stumbled accidentally,
and this woke Marian from the sweetest dream which
ever had come to her.
".'Tis Alice," she said; and she called to the little
girl who came gladly, and climbing into Frederic's
lap, twined her arms around his neck and laid a cheek
against his own, without word of coxnment.




378             TELLING FREDERIC.
"Blessed Alice, I owe you more than I can repay,"
he said, and Marian, far better than the child, appreciated the full meaning these words conveyed.
But for the helpless blind girl this hour might never
have come to themn, and the strong man felt it so, as
lie hugged the little creature closer to him, blessing her
as his own and Marian's good angel. Observing that
she shivered as if with the cold, he arose, and drawing
the sofa directly before the fire, resulned his seat
again, with Marian between himself and Alice, his arm
around her neck and his lips almost constantly meeting
hers. He could not remove his eyes from her, she
seemed to him so beautiful, with the firelight falling on
her sparkling face and shining on her hair. That hair
-how  it puzzled him, and winding one of the curls
about his fingers he said, half laughingly, half reluctantly, " Your hair was not always this color."
Then the blue eyes flashed up into his, and Marian
replied by telling whence came the change, and reminding him that she was the same young girl of
whomn th  Yankee Ben had s'poken when he visited
Kentucky.
"And you had almost died, then, for me, my precious one," said Frederic, kissing the sunny locks.
Just at this point, old Dinah appeared in the door,
which, like most Kentucky doors, was left ajar. She
saw the position of the parties-saw Frederic kiss Marian Grey-saw Alice's look of satisfaction as he did
so, and in an instant all the old lady's sense of propriety was roused to a boiling pitch.
Since Marian had revealed herself to Alice, the little girl had said to Dinah, by way of preparing her
for the surprise when it should come, that "there was
some doubt concerning the death of Marian —that
Frederic believed she had been with him in New
York, and had taken means to find her."  This story
was, of course, repeated among the servants, some of
whom credited it, while others did not. Among the
latter was Dinah. She wouldn't believe "she had




TELLING FREDERIC.            379
done all her mournin' for nothin'," and in opposition
to Hetty, she persisted in saying Marian was dead.
When, however, she saw her master's familiarity with
Miss Grey, she accepted of her young mistress's existence as a reality, and was terribly incensed against the
offending Marian Grey.
"The trollop!" she muttered.  ".But I'll bring
proof agin her,' and hurrying back to the kitchen, she
told to the astonished blacks, " how't marster done
kissed Miss Grey spang on her har, and on her mouth,
and hugged her into the bargain, when he didn't know
for certain that t'other one was dead; and if they
didn't b'lieve it, they could go and see for themselves,
provided they went mighty still."
"Tole you he was crazy," said Uncle Phil, starting
to see the wonderful sight, and followed by a troop of
negroes, all of whom trod on tiptoe, a precaution
wholly unnecessary, for Frederic and Marian were to<o
much absorbed in each other to heed the dusky group
assembled round the door, their white eyes growing
larger as they all saw distinctly the arm thrown across
Marian's neck.
" Listen to dat ar, will you?" whispered Hetty, as
Frederic said, "Dear Marian," while old Dinah chimed
in, "'Clar for't, it makes my blood bile, and he not a
widower nuther!"
"Quit dat!" she exclaimed aloud, as her master
showed signs of repeating the kissing offense; and, in
an instant, Frederic sprang to hlis feet, an angry flush
mounting to his face when he saw the crowd at the
door.
Then, as he began to comprehend its meaning, the
frown gave place to a good-humored laugh, and taking
Marian's hand, he led her toward the assembled
blacks, saying to them:
"Rejoice with me that the lost one has returned to
us again, for this is JMifrian Lindsey-my wife and
your mistress-changed, it is true, bhut the same Marian who went fromn us more than six years ago."




380            TELLING FREDERIC.
" Wonder if he'spects us to swallow dat ar?" said
the unbelieving Hetty.
Dinah, on the contrary, had not the shadow of a
doubt, and she dropped on her knees at once, kissing
the very hem of Marian's dress, and exclaiming through
her tears:
"Lord bress you, Miss Marian. You've mightily
altered, to be sure, but ain't none the wus for that.
I'm nothin' but a poor old nigger, and can't say what's
in my heart, but it's full and runnin' over, bless you,
honey."
Dinah's example was contagious, and more than
one prostrated themselves before their mistress, while
their howling cries of surprise and delight were almost deafening. Particularly was Josh delighted, and
while the noise went on, he took occasion to " balance
to your partner," in the hall, with a young yellow
girl, who thought his stammering was music, and his
ungainly figure the most graceful that could be conceived. When the commotion had in a measure subsided, and IHetty had gone over to the popular side,
saying, "she knew from the first Marian was somebody," Frederic made a fw brief explanations as to
where their mistress had been, and then dismissed
them to their several duties, for he preferred being
alone again with his wife and Alice.
Supper was soon announced, but little was eaten by
any one. They were too much excited for that, and as
soon as tie meal was over, they returned to Frederic's
room, where, sitting again between her husband and
Alice, Marian told them, as far as possible, everything which had come to her since leaving Redstone
Hall.
"Can't I ever know what made you go away I"
Alice asked; and Frederic replied:
"Yes, birdie, you shall;" and, without sparing himself in the least, he told her all.
" Marian an heiress, too 1" she exclaimed.  "Will
marvels never cease?" and she laid her head which




TELLING FREDERIC.           3SI
was beginning to grow weary, upon Marian's lap,
saying, "I never knew till now one half hcw good
you are. No wonder Frederic thought that he had
killed you.  It was wicked in him, very," and
the brown eyes looked sleepily into the fire, while
Marian replied:
" But is all forgotten now."
It did seem to be, and in the long conversation
which lasted till almost midnight, there was many a
word of affection exchanged, many a confession made,
many a forgiveness asked, and when, at last they
parted, it was with the belief that each was all tile
world to the other.
Like lightning the news spread through the neighborhood that Fr'ederid Raymond's governess was Frederic Raymond's wife; and, for many days the house
was thronged with visitors, most of whom remember'ed
little MIaiian Lindsey, and all of whom offered their
sincere congratulations to the beautiful Marian Grey,
for so she persisted in being called, until the night of
the 20th of February, when they were to give a bridal party. Then she would answer to Mrs. Raymond,
she said, but not before, and with this Frederic was
fain to be satisfied. Great were the preparations for
that party, to which all their friends were to be bidden,
and as they were one evening making out the list, Marian suggested  sabel, more for the sake of seeing
what Frederic would say, than from any desire to
have her present.
"Isabel," he repeated, "never. I cannot so soon
forget her treachery," and a frown darkened his hand.
some face, but Marian kissed it away as she said:
"You surely will not object to Ben, the best and
truest friend I ever had."
" Certainly not," answered Frederic. "I owe Ben
Burt more than I ever can repay, and I mean to keep
lim with us. Hle is just the man I want upon my
farm —your farm, I mean," he added, smiling know



382            TELLING FREDERIC
ingly upon her, and catching in his the little hand
raised to shut his mouth.
But Marian had her revenge; by refusing to let him
kiss her until he had promised never to allude to that
again.
" I gave you Redstone Hall," she said, " that night
I ran away, and I have never taken it back, but have
brought you in instead an incumbrance which may
prove a most expensive one."  And amid such pleasantries as these Marian wrote the note to Ben, and then
went back to her preparations for the party, which,
together with the strange discovery, was the theme of
the whole country.




CHAPTER XXIX.
BEN,.
BENr sat among his boxes and barrels cracking hickory nuts and carrying on a one sided conversation with
the well fed cat and six beautiful kittens, which were
gamboling over the floor, the terror of rats and mice
and the pride of their owner, who found his heart altogether too tender to destroy any one of them by the
usual means of drowning or decapitation. So he was
literally killing them with kindness, and with his seven
cats and odd ways was the wonder and favorite of the
entire village.
The night was dark and stormy, and fancying he
had dismissed his last customer he had settled himself
before the glowing stove with nearly half a peck of
nuts at his side, when the door opened, and a little boy
came in, his light hair covered with snow, which had
also settled upon other portions of his person.
" Good evenin', Sandy," was Ben's salutation.
" What brung you here to-night?"
"Got you a letter," returned Sandy, who was the
chore boy of the Post Master. "It's been a good
while coming, too, for all it says'in haste,' " and passing the note to Ben, he caught up five or six of the
kittens, while Ben, tearing open the envelope and
snuffing a tallow candle with his fingers read:
"DEAR BEN,
" Frederic knows it all, and we are so happy. We
are to have a great party on the 20th, and you must




384                   BEN.
surely come. Don't fail us, that's a dear, -good Ben,
but come as soon as you get this. Then I will tell you
what I can't write now, for Frederic keeps worrying
me with teasing me to kiss him.
Yours truly,
" MARIAN.
"P. S. —Alice sends her love, so does Frederic, and
so do I, dear Ben."
"I'most wish she'd left off that last, and that
about his kissin' her," said Ben, when, after the boy
Sandy departed he was alone.  "It makes me feel so
streaked like. Guy, wouldn't I give all my groceries,
and the six cats into the bargain, to be in Fred Raymond's boots;" and, taking up the kitten he called
" Marian Grey," he fondled it tenderly, for the sake
of her whose name it bore. " I shall go to this party,"
he continued, as his mind reverted again to the letter,
"tlhough I'll be as much out of place as a toad in a
sugar bowl; but. I can see Marian, and that little
blind girl, and Josh.  Wa'n't he a case, though?"
And leaning back in his chair, Ben mentally made the
necessary arrangements for leaving.
These arrangements were next day carried into effect, and as he must start at once if he would be there
in time for the party, he took the night express for
Albany, having left his feline family to the care of
the boy Sandy. The second night found him on the
train between Buffalo and Cleveland, and as the weather was very cold and the seat near the stove unoccupied, he appropriated it to himself, and was just falling away to sleep, when a lady, wrapped in velvet
and furs, with a thickly dotted vail over her face,
came up to him, and said, rather haughtily:
"Can I have this seat, sir? I prefer it to any other."
"So do I," returned Ben; "but bein' you're a woman, I'll give it up, I guess."
And lie sought another, of which there were plenty,
for it was the last car, and not one-third full.




BJEN.                  385
"Considerable kind o' toppin'," was his mental
comment, as he coiled himself in his shaggy overcoat
for a second time, sleeping ere long so soundly that
nothing disturbed him, until at last, as they turned a
short curve, the car was detached from the others,
and, leaving the track, was precipitated down an embankment, which, fortunately, was not very steep,
so that none were killed, although several were
wounded, and among them the lady who had so unceremoniously taken possession of Ben's comfortable
seat.
" Wall, now," said Ben, crawling out of a window,
and holding fast to his hat, which being new, was his
special care, " if this ain't a little the imperlitest way
of wakin' a feller out of a sound sleep, to pitch him
head over heels in among these blackb'ry bushes and
stuns; but who the plague is that a-screechin' so -a
woman's voice, too!"
And with all his gallantry aroused, Ben went to
the rescue, feeling his way through briars and
grass and broken pieces of the car, until he reached
the human form struggling beneath the ruins, in close
proximity to the hissing stove.
" Easy, now, my gal," he said, lifting her up. "l Haul
your foot out, can't you?"
" No, no, it's crushed;" and Ben's knees shook beneath him at thb cry of pain.
Relief soon came from other sources, and as this
lady seemed more seriously injured than either of the
other passengers, she was carried carefully to a dwelling near by, and laid upon a bed, before Ben had a
chance to see her features distinctly.
" Pretty well jammed," said he, examining the bonnet, which the women of the farm-house had-removed.
Supposing he meant herself, the lady moaned,
"Oh, sir, is my face entirely crushed I"
"I meant your bonnet," returned Ben, " though if I
was to pass judgment on you, I should say some of your
feathers was crumpled a little; but law, beauty ain't
1~7




386                   BEN.
but skin deep. It's good, honest actions that makes
folks -liked."
And taking the lamp, he bent to investigate, discovering to his utter amazement, that the lady was none
other than Isabel Huntington!
Some weeks before, and ere Marian's identity with
Frederic's wife had heen made known, Mrs. Rivers had
invited her to visit Kentucky, and as there was now
nothing in Yonkers to interest her she had accepted,
with the forlorn hope that spite of Frederic's improbable story about a living wife, he mnight eventually be
won back to his old allegiance. Accordingly she had
taken the same train and car with Ben, and by rather
rudely depriving him of his seat near the stove had
been considerably injured, receiving several flesh
wounds, besides breaking her ankle.  For this last,
however, she did not care; that would get well again;
but her face —was it so disfigured as to spoil her
boasted beauty? This was her constant thought as she
lay moaning upon her pillows, and when for a few moments she was alone with Ben, whom she knew to be
the Yankee peddler, and who considered it his duty to
stay with her, she said to him:
"' Please, Mr. Butterworth, tell me just bow much I
am bruised, and whether I shall probably be a fright
the rest of my days."
" Wall, now," returned Ben, taking the lamp a second time and coming nearer to her, " there's no knowin' how you will look hereafter, but the fact is you
ain't none too han'some now, with your face swelled
as big as two, and all scratched up with them pesky
briars."
"Yes, yes," interrupted Isabel, " but the swelling
will go dbown and the scratches will get well. That
isn't all."
" You're right," said Ben, peering curiously at her;
"that ain't all. You know, I'spose, that six of your
firont teeth are knocked out."
"Yes, but false ones will remedy that. I'll have




BEN.                  387
them made a little uneven so as to look natural; go
on."
"Wall," continued Ben, "I you've fixed your teeth,
but what are you goin' to do with your broke nose ~"',Oh!" screamed Isabel, clasping her hand to that
organ, which, from its classic shape had been her special pride. "Not broken-is it broken, true?"
"Looks mighty like it," answered Ben, "but law!
doctors can do anything. They'll tinker it up so it
will answer to sneeze out of and smell with as good as
ever; and they'll sew up that ugly gash, too, that runs
like a yirginny fence from your ear up onto your forehead and part of your cheek. Looks as though there'd
been a scar of some kind there before," and looking
closer, Ben saw the mark which the hot iron bad made
that night when the proud Isabel had given the cruel
blow to the blind. girl.
This she had heretofore managed to conceal by combing over it her hair, but nothing could.hide the seam
she knew would always be upon her forehead and
cheek.
"Oh, I wish I could die," she groaned, "if I must
be so mutilated."
" Pshaw I no you don't," returned Ben, now acting
the part of a consoler. "Your eyes ain't damaged,
nor your hair neither, only singed a little with the
stove. There's some white ones, I see, but they must
have been there before. Never used Wood's brimstony stuff, did you? That'll keep it from turnin.' I
knew a chap once with a broke nose that looked like
the notch in the White Mountains, and nobody thought
of it, he was so good. Maybe your'n ain't so bad.
Perhaps it's only out of jint. The doctor'll knowhere he comes," and Ben stood back respectfully, while
the physician examined the nature and extent of Isabel's injuries.
There was nothing serious, he said; nothing from
which she would not recover. She was only stunned
and bruised, besides having a broken ancle. The cut




388                   BEN.
on the face would probably leave a scar, and the nose
never be straight again, otherwise she would ere long
be as well as ever, but she must of course remain
where she was for two or three weeks, and he asked if
she had friends with her.
"No," she said, while Ben said: "Yes, I'm her
friend, and though I want to go on the wust way, I'll
stay till her mother comes. We'd better telegraph, I
guess."
This brought the tears from the heartless Isabel, for
she appreciated Ben's kindness in not deserting her,
and when again they were alone, she thanked him for
so generously staying with her when she beardhllim say
he wisled to go on.
"Were you going to Kentucky a" she asked, and Ben
replied: " Yes, goin' to see how Miss Raymond looks
at tile head of a family. You've heard, I s'pose, that
Marian Grey was Fred's run-away wife, and that they
are as happy now as two clams."
Unmindful of the fierce twinges of pain it gave her
to move, Isabel started up exclaiming, "1 No, no, how
can that be.?"
"Just as easy," said Ben, proceeding to narrate a
few particulars to his astonished listener, who, when
he had finished, lay back again upon her pillow, weeping bitterly.
This, then, was the end of all her secret hopes.
Frederic was surely lost to her; the beautiful Marian
Grey was his wife, and what was worse than all, her
treachery was undoubtedly suspected, and what must
they think of her a Poor Isabel, she was in a measure
suffering for her sins, and she continued to weep while
Ben tried in vain to sooth her, talking to her upon
the subject uppermost in his mind, namely, Marian's
happi,,ess and his own joy that it had all come right at
lasi. Isabel would rather have heard of anything else,
but when she saw how kind Ben was, she compelled
herself to listen, even though every word he said of




BEN.                  389
fIarian and Frederic pierced her with a keener pain
than even her bruises produced.
"' I shan't be in time for the doin's any way," thought
Ben, when Mrs. Huntington did not come at the expected time, and as he fancied it his duty to let Marian know why he was not there, he telegraphed to
her, "We've had a break down, and Isabel is knocked
into a cocked hat."
This telegram, which created no little sensation at
the office, was copied verbatim and sent to Frederic,
who read it, while Marian, in her chamber, was dressing for the party.  He could not forbear laughing
heartily, it sounded so much like Ben, but he wisely
determined to keep it from his wife and Aiice, as it
might cause them  unnecessary anxiety. He accordingly thrust it in his pocket, and then, when it was
time, went up for Marian, who, in her bridal dress of
satin and lace, with pearls and diamonds woven amnollg
her shining hair, and flashing from her neck and arms,
looked wondrously beautiful to him, and received
many words of commendation from the guests, who
soon began to appear, and who felt that the bride of
Redstone Hall well became her high position. Many
were the pleasant jokes passed at Frederic's expense,
and the clergyman who had officiated at his wedding
nlore than six years before, lauglhingly offered to repeat
the ceremony. But Frederic shook his head, saying,
he was satisfied if Marian was, while the look the
beautiful, blushing bride gave to him, was quite as ex
pressive of her answer as words would have been.
And so, amid smiles and congratulations, the song and
the dance moved on, and all went merry as a marriage
bell, until at last, as the clock told the hour of midniight, the last guest had departed, and Frederic, with
his arm round iMarian, was calling her Mrs. Raymond,
on purpose to see her blush, when there came up tlhe
avenue the sound of rapid wheels, followed by a bound
on the piazza, and the next moment Ben burst into the




390                   BXN.
room, holding up both hands, as he caughlt sight of
Marian in her bridal robes.
"My goodness I" he exclaimed. "Ain't she pretty,
though. It's curis how clothes will fix. up a woman,"
and the tears came to Ben's eyes in his delight at seeing Marian so resplendent in jewels and costly lace.
The meeting between Frederic and Ben was like
brother greeting brother, for the former felt that he
almost owed his life to the great-hearted Yankee, and
he grasped his hand warmly, bidding him welcome to
Redstone Hall, and, by his kind, familiar manner,
putting him at once at his ease. Alice, too, did her
part well, and, pressing Ben's hand to her lips, she
said:
"I love you, Ben Burt; love you a heap, for being
so good to Marian."
"Don't now," said Ben, whiningly. "Don't set me
to bellerin' the fust thing. I only did what anybody
would have done, unless the milk of human kindness
was all turned to bonny clabber!" Then, as he thought
of Isabel, he continued, "I tried to get here sooner,
but Miss Huntington didn't come till the last minute,
and I couldn't leave Isabel. How she does take on
about her sp'ilt beauty."
" What do you mean?" asked Marian. "Where is
Isabel?" and as Frederic then passed her the telegram,
she continued to ask questions, until she had learned
the whole.
"Poor girl!" she sighed; " I pity her, and if she
were here, I would so gladly take care of her."
Instantly there flashed upon Alice's mind an idea
every way worthy of her, but she would not suggest it
then, as it was growing late, and when she heard ere
long a loud yawn from Ben, she thoughtfully rang the
bell, bidding the servant who came 1"show Mr. Burt
to his room;" then, kissing Frederic and Marian goodnight, she, too, departed, leaving them alone.
N!ext morning, at the breakfast-table, she said to
Frederic:




BEN.                  391
"Don't folks most always take a bridal tour?"
"Sometimes, when they can't be happy at home,"
returned Frederic. " Where does my blind birdie wish
to go?"
" I don't really wish to go," answered Alice; " but
wouldn't it be nice to surprise poor Isabel, lying so
bruised and sick in that old farm-house in Ohio?
Maybe she wants money? I heard them say at Yonkers that she had spent all Mr. Rivers left her, except
the house, and that was mortgaged. I've got ten dollars that I'll give her."
" Blessed baby i" said Ben, bringing out his pockethandkerchief, which he was pretty sure to need.
This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian,
and after a little further consultation, it was decided
that they should start the next day for the place where
Isabel lay sick.
":She may confess about the letters," said KMarian,
C" and that will make m.e like her so much better."
This being settled, Alice's next inquiry was for her
cat, and her brownl eyes opened wide with wonder
when told of the six young kittens which had a homne
in Ben Burt's grocery, and one of which was called
for her.
"' It ought to be blind," said the little girl, and, with
a quivering chin, Ben answered:
" That's it, though I shouldn't have told you for fear
of hurtin' your feelin's. The little cat is blind, and
when Sandy-that's a boy who lives there-said how
he would kill it for me, it struck to my stomnick to
once, for that little critter lies even nigher to my heart
than the handsomest, sleekest one, which I call'Marian Grey,' and'tis grey, too, with mottled spots all
over its back, while Alice is white as milk!"
The cat story being satisfactorily concluded, Ben
went out to renew his acquaintance with the negroes,
who vied with each other in paying him marked attention. Though they did not quite understand it,
they knew that he was in some way connected with




892                  BEN.
the return of their young mistress, and neither Dinah
nor H-etty made the least objection when, before night,
they saw the two black babies which had usurped the
rights of Dutd and Victory, seated upon his lap and
"riding to Boston to buy penny cakes,' at a rate
which bade fair to throw them to the top of the ceiling at least, if not to land them somewhere in the vicinity of the bay state capital.
The next morning, Frederic, Marian and Alice started for Ohio, leaving Ben in charge at Redstone Hall.
"He'd tend to the niggers," he said, and he bade
the "Square," as he persisted in calling Frederic,
"not to worry at all about things to hum."
The family had scarcely been gone an hour when
Dinah came in quest of Ben, whom she found in the
parlor drumming Yankee Doodle upon the piano with
one hand and whistling by way of accompaniment.' "Thar was the queerest actin' man in the dinin'
room," she said, "and he done ax for marster, and
when I tole him he had gone to the'Hio with his wife,
he laughed so hateful, and say how't she isn't his wife,
that I come for you,'case thar's a look in his eye I
don't like."
" Catch him tellin' me ]Marian ain't a lawful wife,"
said Ben', starting from the stool and hurrying to the
dining-room, where very much intoxicated, Rudolph
McVicar was sitting.
He had landed not long before at New Orleans, and
coming up the river as far as Louisville had stopped
in that city, where he accidentally heard a young man
speak of Frederic's wedding party, whicil had taken
place the previous night.
"Who is the bride " he asked eagerly. "Is it
Miss Huntington'?" and the young man who knew
none of the particulars, and who had once heard that
Frederic was to marry a lady of that name, replied:
"Yes, I believe it is, or at all events she was his governess."
Rudolph waited for no more, but started at once for




BEN.                  393
Redstone Hall, chuckling with delight as he thought
of the consternation his visit would create.  le did
not at first recognize Ben, neither did Ben know him,
so bloated had he become with drink, and so rough
and red with exposure upon the sea.' "Where is the woman they call Mrs. Raymond?"
lie asked with a sneer; and Ben replied: "Gone with
her husband to Ohio."
" Her husband I" repeated Rudolph. "He isn't her
husband. She has no right to be his wife, and I have
come to tell her so."
" You say that again if you dare I" said Ben, bristling up in iMlarian's defense. " You say that Marian
ain't Frederic's lawful wife, and I'll show you the door,
plaguy quick. I'm boss here now."
As Ben was speaking, Rudolph remembered that
they had met before, but he scarcely heeded that, so
intent was he upon the name which Ben had uttered.
" Marian!" he repeated, a light breaking over him;
" Is not Isabel Huntington the bride a?"
"'No, sir," answered Ben, snapping his fingers almost in the stranger's face. "She didn't come that
game, though she tried it hard enough. But what do'
you know about it, any way a."
" I know I've been a fool," answered Rudolph, explaining, in a few words, what he once had done.
"So you wrote that letter,  ou scullion," returned
Ben. "But it didn't do no good; and the smaitest
trick you ever done was to sign yourself green. Ugh!
and Ben's voice was quite expressive of his contempt.
"I don't blame you so much though," he continued,
" for wantin' to pester that Isabel, but you'd better let
the Lord'tend to such critters in his own way. He
can fix'em better'n we can," and Bei proceeded to
give an account of the accident in which isabel's
beauty had been seriously impaired.
"I am so glad," was Radolph's exclamation, and lihe
was proceed.iig further to express his malicious joy,
when Biell cut hijm sliort by say ing 




394:                  BEN.
" It don't look well to rejoice ovel anlybody's downfall, though I'm none too friendly to the gal, I shan't
hearl her berated, and you may as well quit."
On ordinary oCCasions, Rudolph would have resented any attempt at restraint, but he was too much intoxicated now fully to realize anything, and staring
vacantly at Ben, he made no reply, but ere long fell
asleep, dozing in his chair for several hours. Then,
with faculties somewhat brightened, he announced his
intention of leaving. With an immense degree of satisfaction Ben watched him as he went slowly down
the avenue, saying to himself:
"Poor drunken critter, he's disappointed, I s'pose,
in not gettin' revenge his own way; but I don't blame
her much for givin' him the mitten. Wouldn't they
have scratched each other's eyes out, if they'd come
together! Better be as'tis-she a nervous old maid,
and he in a drunkard's grave, where he will be mighty
soon-the bloat!" and having finished his soliloquy,
Ben returned again to his music.
Meantime, in a most unenviable frame of mind,
Isabel was chiding her mother for doing everything
wrong, and bewailing her own sad fate:
" Oh, why didn't I stay at home," she said; " and
so not have become the fright I know I am?"
It was in vain that her mother made her feel thankful that her life was spared. Isabel did not care for
that. She thought only of her lost teeth, her disjointed nose, and ugly scar, and turning her face to the
wall she was wishing she could die, when the woman
of the house came in, telling her " some friends were
there from Kentucky.''
"Who are they f" she asked; but ere the woman
could reply, a'sweet voice said:
"It's,ine, and all of us;" and Alice's little hands
were tenderly pressed to Isabel's feverish brow.
Then, indeed, the haughty girl wept aloud, for she
knew she did not deserve this kindness either fromn
Alice or Marian, the latter of whom soon came in,




BEN.                   395
greeting her as pleasantly as if she had never receiv;ed
an injury from  her hands. Frederic, too, was perfectly self-possessed, expressing his sympathy for her
nlisfortune, and with these kind friends to cheer her
sick room, Isabel recovered in a measure her former
cheerfulness. But there was evidently something resting heavily upon her mind, and that night, when alone
with Frederic and Marian, she confessed to them her
wickedness in opening the letter, and sending it back
with so cruel a message.
"We knew you must have done it," said Frederic,
at the same time assuring her of his own and Marian's
forgiveness. "It kept us' apart for many years," he
continued, "but I have found her at last, and love her
all the more for what I suffered."
And Isabel, when she saw the look of deep affection
he gave to his young wife, covered her face with her
hands, and wept silently, until Marian asked "if she
knew aught of the letter from Sarah Green?"
" No, no," she answered; " I am surely innocent of
that," and they believed her, wondering all the more
whence it could have coine or why it had been sent.
Toward the close of the next day, they took their
leave, cordially inviting Isabel to visit them at Redstone IHall, should she ever feel inclined so to do.
" We will let bygones be bygones," said Frederic,
taking her hand at parting. "You and I have both
learned that to deal fairly and openly is the best policy,
and it is to be hoped we will profit by the experience."
Isabel did not answer, but she pressed his hand, and
returned warmly the kiss which both Marian and Alice gave to her. As the latter was turning away she
detained her a moment while she whispered in her
ear, " Will you forgive me for that blow I gave you
when I thought I was about to be exposed?"
"' Yes, willingly," was the answer, and thrusting the
golden eagle under the pillow, Alice hurried away.
Tlley found it aftter she was gone, and when at last




396                   BEN.
Isabel was able to go home, they found their hills
paid, too, and were at no loss to know to whom they
were indebted for the generous act.  "I do not deserve this from him  of all others," said Isabel, and
drawing her thick, green veil close over her marred
face she entered the carriage which had come to take
them to the depot.
Not once during the journey home did she remove
the veil, but in an obscure corner of the car she sat,
a forlorn, wretched woman, brooding drearily over
the past, and seeing in the future no star to cheer her
pathway. Frederic lost, Redstone Hall lost, her little
fortune wasted, —and worse than all, her boasted beauty gone forever. Poor, poor Isabel 




CHAPTER XXX.
SUMMINO UP.
IT is early June, and the balmy south wind is blowing soft and warm round Redstone Hall, which, with
its countless roses in full bloom, and its profusion of
flowering shrubs and vines, looked wondrously beautiful without, while within, the sunlight of domestic
peace is shining with no cloud to dim its brightness.
Frederic and Marian are perfectly happy, for the dark
night which enshrouded them so long has passed
away, and the day they fancy will never end bas
dawned upon them at last.
Ben, too, is there, ostensibly as an overseer, but
really as a valued friend, free to do whatever he
pleases, and greatly esteemed by those whom he worships with a devotion bordering upon idolatry.  Everything pertaining to the place he calls his, and Frederic hardly knows whether himself or Ben is the master of Redstone Hall. The negroes acknowledge them
both, though, as is quite natural, the aristocratic Higginses give the preference to Frederic, while the democratic Smitherses, with stammering Josh at their
head, warmly advocate Marster Ben, " as sayin' the
carisest things and singin' the drollest songs."
There is no spot in the world where Ben could be so
supremely happy as he is at Redstone Hall, with Marian and Alice; and when Frederic, on his return firom
Ohio, suggested his remaining there, he evinced his
delight in his usual way, lamenting the while that his




398               SUMMING UP.
extremely tender heart would always make him cry
just when he did not wish to.
" I was never cut out for a nigger driver," he said;
"but I guess I can coax as much out of'em as that blusterin' Warren did;" and making his visit short, he
hastened back to New England, where he found no
difficulty of disposing of his grocery, and five of his
numerous family.
These last he bestowed upon different people in the
village, taking great care that none of them should go
where there were children, and numerous were his injunctions that they should be well cared for, and suft
fered to die a natural death. Marian and Alice were
destined for Kentucky, where they were welcomed
joyfully by those whose names they bore.  Particularly was the white one, with its bright, sightless eyes,
the pet of the entire household, negroes and all; while
even Bruno, who, on account of his recognition of Marian, was now allowed more liberty than before, and
was consequently far less savage, took kindly to the
little creature, tossing it up in his huge paws, licking
its snowy face, and sometimes coaxing it into his kennel, where it was more than once found by the deligllted Alice, sleeping half hidden under the mastiff's
shaggy mane.
Frequently on bright days could Alice and her kitten be seen seated in a miniature waggon, which the
Yankee ingenuity of Ben had devised, and in which
lie drew his blind pets fiom field to field, seeking out
for them the shadiest spot and watching all their
movements with a vigilance which told how dear to
him was one of them at least.  In all the wide W'orld
there is nothing Ben Burt loves half so well as the
helpless blind girl, Alice —not as he loved Marian
Grey, but with a tender, unselfish devotion, which
would prompt him at any time to lay down his life for
her, if it need must be. All the fairest flowers and
choicest fruits are brought to her. And when he sees




sUMMING UP.               )399
how she enjoys them, and how grateful she is to him,
he murmurs softly:
" Blessed bird, I b'lieve I'd be blind myself, if she
could only see."
But Alice does not care for sight, except at time%,
when she hears the people speak of Mrs. Raymond's
beauty, and she wishes she could look upon the face
whose praises so many ring. Still she is very happy
in Frederic's and lMarian's love, and happy, too, with
her faithful friend, around whose neck she often twines
her arms, blessing him for all he was to Marian and
all he is to her.
Once she hoped to improve his peculiar dialect somewhat by imparting to him a greater knowledge of
books than he already possessed, and Ben, willing to
gratify her, waded industriously thirough the many
volumes she recommended hiln to read, among which
was " Watts on the Mind."  But vain were all his efforts to grasp a single idea, and he returned it to Alice, saying that " he presumed it was a very excitin'
story to some, but blamed if he could make out a word
of sense from beginnin' to fillis."
"'Taint much use tryin' to make a scholar of me,"
said he, winking slyly at Marian, who was present.
" It's hard enough teachin' old dogs new tricks, and it
I's to read all there is in the Squire's library, I shouldn't
be no better off."
Marian thought so, too, and she dropped a few welltitmed hints to Alice, who gradually relaxed her effo'ts to teach one who, had he been educated, would
certainly not have been the simple-hearted, unselfish
man we now know as Ben Burt.
Away to the northward among the New  England
hills there is a forsaken grave, where the inebriated
Rudolph sleeps. His thirst for revenge is over and
the forlorn girl who, in her mother's kitchen washes
the dinner dishes for college students just as she used
to when Frederic Raymond was a boarder there. has
nothing to dread from him. Mrs. Huntington's house




t00               SUMMING UP.
on the river has been sold to cancel the mortgage, and
in the city of Elms she has returned to her old vocation, and Isabel, with her broken nose and ugly scar,
has scarcely a hlope, that among her mother's boarders
there will ever one be found weak enough to offer her
his hand. An humbled, and it is to be hoped, a better womnan, she derives her greatest comfort from the
letters which sometimes come to her from AMarian, and
which usually contain a more substantial token of regard than mere words convey.
One word now of William Gordon and our story is
done. Ben had claimed the privilege of writing the
news to him, and he did it in his charactistic way, first
touching upon the note which, he said, was safe in his
wallet and sure of being paid, then launching out into
glowing, descriptions of Marian's happines with Frederic.
This letter was a long time in finding Will, and the
answer did not reach Redstone Hall until the family had
returned from their summer residence at Riverside.
Then it came to them one warm November day, just
as the sun was setting, and its mellow rays fell upon
the group assembled upon the piazza.  Frederic, to
whom it was directed, broke the seal and read the sincere congratulations which his early friend had sent to
him from over the sea,-read, too, that'mid the vineclad hills of Bingen, in a cottage looking out upon the
Rhine, there was a fair-haired German girl, with eyes
like Marian Grey, and that when Will came next to
America he would not be alone.
" For this fair-haired German girl," he wrote, " has
promised to come with me. I have told her of my
former love, and when last night I read to her Ben's
letter, the tears glistened in her lustrous eyes as she
whispered in her broken English tongue,'God bless
sweet Marian Grey,' and I, too, Fred, from a full
heart respond the same, God bless sweet Marian Grey,
the Heiress of Redstone Hall."




1863.
A NEW LIST OF
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CARLETON, PUBLISHER,
(LATE RUDD & CARLETON,)
413 Broadway,
N EW YORK.








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