OR THE WCIIW P;jAnEsJKANElJ.S.N. THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. / "b A b ILIAN; OR, THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH OF BOSTON. A PSYCHOLOGICAL TALE OF THE LATE CIVIL WAR, BY CHAPLAIN^ JAMES J. KANE, UNITED STATES NAVY, AUTUOB OF " ADRIFT ON THE BLACK WILD TIDE," PHIIiADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. LONDON: 10 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1888. Copyright, 18S8, by James J. Kane. All rights reserved. ^ll NTER£CTYr"rPSANPP'-'it^ I tKs1[ |> X. -^U^^r-rr^/si^^ ^/{. "'n^. --TLc ^JL'^^^/-^,-^^^ With the :jhccial Complim&nts oj the Author. a^, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, WITH THE AUTHOR'S BEST WISHES, TO HIS HIGHLY ESTEEMED FRIEND, DR DAVID J. HILL, LL.D , PRESIDENT OF THE TNIVEUSITY OF ROCHESTER, N. Y. ; LATE PRESIDENT OF BUCKNELL VNIVERSITY, LEWISBUKG, PA. 602978 Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/ilianorcurseofolOOkane INTEODUCTIOIsr. This volume is the narration of a great crime and the punishment meted out to the guilty. I do not hold myself in any way bound to explain the problems presented in this work ; the deductions are left to the reader. I have reason to believe that very few books can claim to have been written in so many places where these pages were prepared. 1 began it on an ocean steamer, after leaving New York ; continued it in my hotel in Liverpool, Manchester, London, Paris, Naples ; went on with it on board of the U. S. flag-ship " Pensacola," when we visited Messina, Malta, Alexandria, Jaffa, Beyrout, Smyrna, Constantinople, Syra, Athens, Leg- horn ; and at a number of places visited when away on leave ; also, on my return, in Genoa, Nice, and Palermo ; again at Malta, on our winter tour, and once more in Alexandria and Cairo, under the shadow of the Pyramids, and by the banks of the Nile. In Jerusalem, on my second visit, I had leisure to write on Mt. Olivet, under the shade of the olive-trees overlooking the historic city. Having joined my ship at Athens, amidst the ruins of the Temple of the Virgin God- dess Athena, on the Acropolis, I went on with my appointed task ; also during a month's stay at Nice and Spezzia. In my hotel on Mt. St. Gothard in Switzerland I drew inspiration from the snow-capped hills, rearing their lofty peaks thou- sands of feet above me. I came back to Leghorn to join the " Pensacola," and there finished the principal part of this work. Few persons, except they have had a practical experience of such a life, can apprehend the difficulty, on board of a large ship-of-war, with over four hundred men as her complement, of composing one's mind for literary work. Ten days' sojourn out on an ocean steamer is as much as most people can endure. If it were prolonged for months and years, the difficulty of bringing one's mind down to the composition of matter for public perusal would be experienced. Then again, the excite- ment of visiting so many interesting places, some of them for the third and fourth time, where friendships are formed, read- ing and becoming posted in reference to all their historic C I.\ TR on UCTION. points, receiving and returning social calls, the daytime occu- pied with sight-seeing, leaves only the midnight hour for the product of the pen. I feel that this has been detrimental to the literary part of the book. It is sent out to hold its own or to be consigned to oblivion, as it shall seem to its readers to deserve. The crime of Professor Homerand is a common one, and no man who takes advantage of the confidence of a woman can expect to escape retribution. God may be slow in our estimation in executing judgment, but it will surely come, with its force heightened by apparent delay. The persons named in this book are characters whose identity will not be divulged. There are officers of the U. S. Navy now living who have known the original of Ilian, and were brought under her fascinating powers. Very often I have heard her described as the " beautiful rebel." The original of Adrien Homerand is recorded on the books of the Navy Department as having died from yellow-fever ; let him rest undisturbed. The name of the University for whose presidential chair the great crime was committed I have thought best to con- ceal. There were several such institutions in 1840 whose presidency was considered a great honor. The fifth and sixth books are from my personal experience. The psychological incidents mentioned are not uncommon, and experiences far more thrilling and out of the range of ordinary events are well corroborated. The episode in the second chap- ter of the fifth book was due to the morphia which had been administered to me without my knowledge. The experience which is delineated as having taken place under the shadow of the old South Church in Boston, at midnight, on the fateful 15th of November, may have been the result of an over excited brain. My readers must judge for themselves on this point. With this brief introduction, I ask those who take this book in hand to follow out to the end the history of Pro fessor Homerand and all concerned with him. If one man or one woman is made happier for the perusal, I will be well repaid ior my labor. James J. Kane. Unitkd States flag-ship " Pknsacola," At Sea, Homk.ward Bound, February 15, ISSS. The author begs leave to introduce to liis readers the fol- lowing characters, with whom he trusts they will become better acquainted as the book is read. Professor George Homer Home rand, of Boston. Judge William Kathmine, of Boston. Mrs. H. Eathmixe, of Boston. Miss Martha Eathmine, of Boston. Miss HELE>f Clatmuire, of South Carolina. Adrien Homeraxd, Acting Master, XJ. S. Navy. Dr. Henry Eechard, Surgeon, Confederate Army. Captain Thomas Jeffords, South Carolina State Battery. Mrs. Elizabeth Yerdere. Miss Iliax Mordine, head of the secret service. Confederate Government, Southern Dept. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Eendeem, of Pifth Avenue, New York. Miss Alice and 3Iiss Edith Eendeem. Colonel Egbert Hortense, of Confederate secret service. Colonel and Mrs. Ormond, of New Orleans. Captain Bill Harrison, the blockade-runner. Mrs. Harrison. Sam, the slave. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Homerand. Also, officers of the army and navy of the Union and of the Confederate service, and others. CO^TE]^TS. BOOK I.— 1840. CHAPTEB PAGE I. — The Professor 13 II.— The Choice 15 III.— The Decision 19 IV. — In the Balance 22 Y. — After the Battle 25 VI. — The Spirit of the Ked Wine 29 VII. — Sowing to the Wind 32 VIII. — The Curse of the Old South Church ... 35 IX.— Brain Fever 40 X. — Drifting Apart 45 XI. — Marriage Bells 49 XII —Fall of Two Idols 53 XIII. — How THE Problem was solved 57 XIV.— Ked-Letter Day 60 XV.— Adbien 64 BOOK II.— 1861. I. — The Spirits Abroad 69 II. — Union vs. Disunion . 72 ( III. — Hannibal's Oath 76 IV. — Father Murphy . . * 80 V. — A Vision of the Past 84 VI. — Repentance 88 VII.— The War Fever 92 VIII.— The Union Navy 95 IX. — Meeting of the Waters 99 X. — Champion for the South 103 XI.— Ship Ahoy. . . ."^. 108 XII. — West Gulf Squadron Ill XIII.— New Orleans 116 XIV.— The Great Conspiracy 121 XV.— The Temptation 125 XVI.— The Fatal Obligation 130 XVII. — The Power of a Single Word 135 9 10 C0^' TEXTS. BOOK III.— 1863. CHAPTER PAGE I. — G-ROSVEXOR House 140 II. — The Blockade-Kuxner 144 III.— Yellow-Fever 149 IV.— The Warning 153 Y. — Coercion 158 VI. — Under the Gray 1G4 VII. — Pensacola Navy- Yard 167 VIII.— Ambition Toiled 171 IX. — Battle of Mobile Bay 175 X.— On the Trail 179 XI. — Battle of Fort Tisher 184 XII. — Prisoner in the North 189 XIII. — Fate of the Blackmailer 194 XIV.— All Adrift 198 XV.— The Old Name 202 XVI.— Payment of the Bond 206 XVII. — Premonitions 212 XVIII.— The Shadow in the Glass 216 BOOK lY.— 1865. T.— The Kendeem Mansion 220 II.— Home Again 226 III.— Nemesis 231 IV.— The Exiles 235 V. — On the Boulevards 240 VI. — Echoes of the Past 245 VII.— The Veil lifted 251 VIII. — Traitor Among the Faithful 255 IX. — The Welcome Mes'senger 258 X. — Found at Last 260 XI. — The Mortgage-Bond 265 XII. — Hope deferred 270 XIII.— The Gambler's Curse 274 XIV. — Harvest of the Whirlwind 279 XV.— The Expiation 283 CONTENTS. 11 BOOK V. CHAPTER PAGE I. — The Cunard Steamship 288 II. — Kending the Veil 291 III.— The Episode 298 IV.— The Deep-Sea Grave 303 v.— The Old Vicar 305 VI.— The Tin Box 309 BOOK VI. I.— The Midnight Token 314 II. — The Shadow of the Old South Church . . . 318 III.— Ilian in a New Kole 323 IV. — A Drawing-Room in Fifth Avenue 329 V. — Missing Links 335 VI.— Mysterious Shooting 341 VII. — Father Murphy not Potent 346 VIII.— The Last Evening 350 IX.— The New Firm 357 X.— The Finale 3G3 APPENDIX 367 ILIAN; OR, THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH OF BOSTON. BOOK I.— 184:0. CHAPTER I. THE PROFESSOR. The fifteenth day of November, 1840, was wet, cold, and dismal. An easterly wind swept tlirough the streets of Bos- ton, and in the suburbs the cold was more piercing than in the winding, narrow thoroughfares of the modern Athens. This classic name belongs, however, more properly to Cam- bridge, for there stands the Harvard University, whose fame has penetrated to every part of the civilized world. To be an honored graduate of this institution is equal to a title of nobility in the eyes of many of the citizens of Massachusetts. Great as she was, there were rival colleges at that period competing for the patronage of those who were seeking the best facilities to obtain a liberal education. At the opening of our story there stood, in one of the outskirts of Boston, a granite mansion, plain and severe in its architecture, according with the taste of the older citizens of the Bay State. The house was surrounded by grounds artistically laid out and well kept. A large hall divided the mansion, leaving on the right a drawing-room handsomely furnished; on the left, in front, was a reception-room, and back of this an extensive dining-room, furnished in old Eng- lish oak, and the massive plate on the sideboard was an evi- 2 13 14 ILIAN. dence of the hospitality and wealth of the owner. The library was on the second floor front, having a large bay- window, and a small room on either side; the bedrooms looked out on the back on beautiful gardens. This luxurious home was the property of the distinguished Professor George Homer Homerand. It came to him by in- heritance. The Homerands had been famous for several gen- erations for unusual powers of mind, showing that in their case genius was hereditary. The professor was attached to a university in another city, but his spare time was passed at this palatial abode. Travel- ling back and forth was not so easy then as it had become a quarter of a century later. Business of an urgent nature had made it necessary for him to leave his classes for a week, and thus we find him at his home on this November day. He had passed his thirtieth year, but was not married ; his father, now dead, had trained him to deliberate carefully on all important matters, and, as matrimony is a most important affair of a man's existence, he had been in no hurry to take a step that cannot be retraced. It was a tradition that the Homerands were always well-mated, because they were so slow and careful in making up their minds. A maiden aunt kept house for the professor. He had no other relative except a brother, two years younger, a lawyer, already married and settled in Hartford, Connecticut. I have remarked that it was the fifteenth of November ; dates are important factors in every one's life, but this one was particularly so in that of Professor Homerand. It was nine o'clock in the morning; a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, as the New Englanders did not then enjoy the doubt- ful advantage of hot air through their houses. The breakfast- bell had ruug twice, but the professor paid no heed. He had a problem to solve which involved more consequences than any previous event of his life. It was the old story of a man with two claimants for his heart. He was walking up and down his spacious library, with his hands behind his back. To say that he was perplexed would be inadequate to express his condition. Two letters, in feminine hand- writing, lay open before him on the table. They had been received by the morning post. The choice was between love and ambition, not easy of solution by any means. One m McU THE CHOICE. 15 was of a nature akin to Mount Vesuvius, deep, powerful, passionate, and overwhelming in its intensity; the other, gentle, soft, and characterized by well-bred reserve. The first was signed Helen Claymuire, a Southern heiress of great wealth, a beauty among the beauties. She had a magnificent figure ; her talents were of a high order, and had been well developed by careful education. The other letter bore the signature of Martha Rathmine, the only daughter of the prominent and highly distinguished Judge Rathmine, of Boston. The judge was not what might be con- sidered a rich man, although he had a large income from his profession, which, he freely spent. It was an accepted fact that his daughter's dowry would consist more in social position and influence than in broad acres and stocks and bonds. Our interest, however, is in the contents of the two letters. Long years have passed since the pens of the writers gave utterance to their thoughts. Both were aspirants for this man's love ; neither suspected a rival ; could the professor have but known how much misery would ensue by the choice he was destined to make — but we anticipate our story. Now for the letters. CHAPTER II. THE CHOICE. Boston, November 14, 1840. My own darling Homer, — Your note of yesterday came this morning ; I have read it over several times, and I am not able to account for your coldness. Once your letters were glowing with love and devotion, but this last one is brief, formal, and chilling in its tone. How have I offended you ? It is a week to-day since I last saw you ; to me it is more like a year. The hours and days drag their slow length along. Doubts and terrible thoughts fill my mind. You may ask, as you have done before, why should I fear, for all will yet be well? Ah, my beloved, do you remember that you promised three months ago to fulfil your solemn vow to make me 16 ILIAN. your wife at the end of thirty days ; and, when the period ar- rived, you asked me to delay until New-Year's-Day, as it was your family tradition that a marriage on the first day of the year was always a happy one ? I consented to this, and patiently await the promised hour. I bring you a family name honored for generations in South Carolina ; our men were brave and honest, and our women faithful and loving. I lay at your feet a fortune of lands and houses that bring in a princely revenue. Woman's real life is a domestic one ; by the decree of her Creator, that is her am- bition ; her happiness lies in her husband's love. I am well aware that there are exceptions to this rule. Occasionally you will find a woman beautiful and accomplished, but without a heart ; they are only animated statues, and not even to be compared to Pygmalion's fabled Galatea, chiselled from cold marble, who, being endued with life by the gods, loved the man who fashioned her, with a pure, innocent love, and went back to marble when she found that her love was not returned. The idea was heroic, but I am afraid my love is too ardent to be content to live on as a statue admired only for beauty of form, and not for the soul that exists within. I could not endure a rival. Do not think me jealous, but it is with heart-burning pains that I see notices in the papers of your frequent vij^its to the home of Judge Rathmine. Rumor whispers that you have been paying attention, yes, marked attention, it is said, to his daughter Martha. What can this cold Puritan maiden bring you that will compare with my glowing afi"ection, Southern born? I have had senators, judges, and generals at my feet, asking for my hand. They called me the belle of the South. I refused brilliant ofi"ers of marriage from others, and accepted yours. You have won all I have to give, and I am in your power. Let me see you soon, and once more hear your voice while you tell me the old, old story of love and devotion. Why is it that our last three meetings took place under the shadow of the old South Church, and at such late hours? My coachman and my maid will both think either that I am ashamed to acknowledge you, or that you do not want your friends to know that you are engaged. Why all this secrecy ? I am your wife before God. On your bended knees you took a solemn oath that I should be your lawful bride ; yet only yesterday was I asked, THE CHOICE. 17 had I heard that Professor Homerand was paying special attentions to the accomplished Miss Rathmine ? I was com- pelled to turn away to conceal my agitation. I could not conceive such a thing possible. I do not even contemplate what I would do in the event of such an improbable occur- rence. Do you know that I am looking forward to our tour abroad, of which you have so often spoken, with a great deal of pleasure? You said that you would get a year's leave from your University. I, too, have an eager passion for foreign travel, and long to see Paris, London, Berlin, and Vienna, and beautiful Venice, also Florence, Rome, and Naples. You said once that the dream of your life was to visit Athens, to stand on the Acropolis, and look with your own eyes, and touch with your own hands, the work of the immortal Phedias, the temple of Grreece's purest goddess, the virgin Athena. Then you wanted to visit Egypt, that won- derful land, that rich mine of ancient history ; and pro- ceed onward to Palestine and Constantinople. I eagerly long for those days to come, when we can roam together at will. It is my thought by day, and my dream by night. I now close, awaiting your answer with anxious solicitude. Believe me, with feelings of earnest and unfaltering devo- tion, Your own loving Helen Claymuire. Boston, Xovember 14, 1840. • Mr DEAR RESPECTED PROFESSOR, — A week ago you asked me if I would accept your hand and heart if laid at my feet. You told me to take a full week to consider this matter before I answered. You also asked me to call you Homer, and not professor. I must get used to this familiarity gradually ; I cannot do it all at once. In answer to your proposition, I respectfully beg leave to say that I consider it would be a serious breach of decorum on my part to state in advance what I would do in the event of your making a formal offer of marriage. In reference to your question as to what my worthy father would say to such a proposition, I can only make answer that he holds you in the very highest h - 2* 18 ILIAN. esteem. On several occasions I have heard him say that, in view of a prospective vacancy in the presidency of the uni- versity to which you are attached, he would, as chairman of the Board of Trustees, strongly urge that you be selected for the post, as he considers that you are best qualified to fill the important position. You further asked me if my heart was free and unfettered. To that question I answer in the affirmative, and I will give you my definition of love. This divine quality of human nature is not the product of an hour ; it is not a volcano, that opens suddenly and burns fiercely for ages, with fitful intervals of rest. Reciprocal love is a gradual assimilation of all the thoughts and aspirations of two souls whom heaven has designed should be mated for their earthly pilgrimage. It is a spiritual fire that when once kindled must be continually fed by unselfish sacrifices. It becomes bright and glowing, or dull and flickering, just in proportion to the amount of fuel, both in quantity and quality, that is used to keep up its vigor. I could not love unless it was fully reciprocated. I am one of those natures that can love but once, and if my love were misplaced the grave would soon welcome the sorrow-laden heart to its sweet repose. We have a reception to-morrow evening, as it is my father's birthday, and a few of his choice friends will be at our dinner at six ; many are invited for the evening. It was with feel- ings of delight that I read your letter of acceptance to attend the dinner. Will you come at five o'clock ? We can have a quiet talk before the company arrives. I must now bring this letter to a close. I hope you will not find it cold and formal. I have tried to answer your principal questions. And now, until to-morrow, adieu. I remain, with feelings of the most profound respect, Yours sincerely, Martha Rath mine. THE DECISION. 19 CHAPTER III. THE DECISION. Language fails to describe the emotions which swayed and agitated Professor Homerand. In one scale was love, honor, wealth, and sacred obligation ; in the other, ambition alone. Why should a man of sterling integrity and a high grade of what is manly and honorable hesitate for one moment? The Homerand family, for generations past, had greatly prided themselves on the motto of their house, — viz., " Chiv- alry to women and equity to all." Not one member had been known to fail in keeping up this high standard. Wherefore, then, this weighing in the scales, this dallying with the tempter ? The solution is found in the fact that the mania of ambition had seized upon him, — ambition to fill the presidential chair of a great university. Was this a prize to tempt a man with the probity credited to Professor Homerand to hesitate upon a question of honor? Nay, more, contem- plate the committing of a great crime in sacrificing the life, reputation, and happiness of a woman who trusted him? A decision was finally reached. The professor made up his mind as to the course which he should pursue. After his breakfast he sat down at his desk to answer the two letters. He remembered his father's favorite maxim, — " when honor and self-respect no longer dominate a man's life, he has en- tered upon the downward road." Often had he, when a boy, heard from the paternal lips the words that there must be something radically wrong in a man's organization when he trifled with honor and self-respect. Come what would, he was bound to fulfil his pledge and marry the woman who loved him. He knew, too, that he loved her as he never could love another. Yes, Helen Claymuire should be his bride. He therefore resolved to attend the dinner at Judge Kathmine's, and frankly explain to Martha that his hand and heart belonged to another. There would be no great injury done. She had stated in her letter that her love would be gradual, and would 20 I LI AN. develop according to the fuel with which it was fed. With this decision a terrible weight was taken from his mind, and he wrote the following note as his reply : BosTOX, November 15, 1840. My dear Miss Rathmine, — Your kind favor of yesterday- is before me. I will be at your house at five this evening. I have had a very difficult problem to solve this morning, and I will tell you the solution when I see you, when I purpose to lay certain matters before you which I cannot put on paper. I will not trespass longer on your time, as I know you will be fully occupied in getting ready for the reception this even- ing. Your letter has been before me all the morning ; every word and line is fully weighed. I am writing now under a terrible restraint, and I know you will pardon the brevity of this note. No more till I see you. I am yours, with the most profound esteem, George Homer Homerand. This letter was certainly non-committal. It was intended to prepare the way for a candid confession that honor required him to fulfil a sacred promise to another woman. She would respect him all the more, and they would be friends. He would lose the prize which had' been the goal of his ambition, for Judge Rathmine had noticed and encouraged his atten- tions, and while he had not engaged himself to the daughter, yet the match had been the topic of conversation among their friends. Under these circumstances his marriage to another would cut ofi" all chance of election to the coveted position. With a long and deep sigh as a farewell to his ambiton, he folded and sealed the letter, and then betook himself to answer- ing the other. Having decided upon the course he would pursue, he purposed to make amends for past neglect to his affianced wife by writing her the following epistle : Boston, November 15, 1840. My own well-beloved Helen, — Your loving letter is now before me. Three times I have read it over, and your burning words have gone like an arrow to its mark. I admit THE DECISION. 21 that for a season I was led away by my ambition. Knowing the power of Judge Rathmine, I was anxious to secure his influence in my favor in the prospective election for the Presi- dent of the University. I paid my court to the daughter in order to win the father. This unmanly conduct is now at an end. I have accepted an invitation to dine at the judge's house this evening, for it is his birthday. As a professor in the institution of which he is chairman of the Board of Trustees, I could not well decline his invitation. I propose to leave his house, however, as soon as I can, and will meet you to-night under the shadow of the old South Church. Let your carriage remain one block away, and mine will do the same, and at eleven prompt I hope to see you. This is the last time you will be called upon to meet me at such a late hour, and at such a place. To-morrow I purpose to call at your house and proclaim our engagment and our intended marriage on New-Year's-Day. I will at once resign my professorship. My private income is abun- dant for all our needs. We can spend several years abroad. I ardently long for those rambles amidst scenes made famous in classic history. I feel that I never could grow tired, espe- cially with such a loving companion as yourself. To visit Athens is the dream of my life, as you so fully described, I must, perforce, be brief now, but rest assured when I see you at your own hotel I will more than make up for the apparent neglect of the past few weeks. I say appa- rent^ for never has your image been absent from me, and you alone possess without a rival all the love of my heart. And now, my lovely belle of the South, adieu till we meet to-night, and you will then hear the old, old story which you say you are so anxious to hear once again. No one, certainly, would ever dream of describing you as being a marble statue, for you have one of the warmest hearts pulsating in a woman's breast, and my prayer is that I may ever be worthy of its love. Rest assured that my devotion as your husband will fully atone for all my faults as your lover. "With earnest, undying love, I remain Your own Homer. 22 ILIAN. CHAPTER ly. IN THE BALANCE. The aphorism that " There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will," is at times strangely at variance with facts of history. The great apostle to the Gentiles o;ives his experience. " He failed at times to perform that which he knew to be right, but often did the things he would not." Is not the solution of these problems man's free agency ? As to the point of how far Professor Homerand was free to follow out his con- victions, I am not prepared to say. Why was he not able to do so ? He had a dim perception that he was not taking a prudent step. He was going to meet Miss Rathmine on this very evening, and had significantly given her to understand that he would make her an offer of marriage. Were coming events casting their shadows before ? Not long after the two letters had been sent by special messenger he became painfully aware that two forces were at war within him, seeking for the mastery of his actions. Much has been written about strength of character en- abling a man to overcome all evil influence. Thousands have relied upon this quality with overweening confidence, and what has been the result? History tells us that men of the very strongest will and iron purpose have at times been swept away like chaff before the whirlwind. As the day wore on the battle raged fiercely. The two influences were at work : one, which seemed to be that of his better nature, prompted him to send an apology to Judge Rathmine, stating that indisposition prevented him from accepting the invitation to his house. In his present frame of mind he certainly was not in fit condition for company. The other influence reminded him that this was the decisive night, and that if he went to the reception all his ambitious hopes would be realized. He was like a storm-tossed craft that had lost its rudder. Never in his life before had he IN THE BALANCE, 23 endured such a mental conflict. He felt as if a hundred supernatural beings were in fierce conflict for possession of his faculties. One moment he would resolve not to go to the dinner, and the next he felt the despair ensuing upon the sur- render of his burning aspirations. Mechanically he dressed himself in evening attire ; his carriage was ordered for four thirty ; the hour had come, and he had not finally decided the momentous question. He paced up and down his library, ever and anon looking at his well-filled book -shelves, as though seeking for guidance from his silent instructors. He no longer exercised his usual calm deliberation. He was not a judge on his bench, listening to earnest pleaders for a cause. No, the battle was going on without his aid. He was the prize for which the rival powers were contending. Were they the spirits of good and evil, seeking for the mastery of a human soul ? Had they means of knowing the result that would be sure to follow the course taken by the professor ? For the time he seemed to have lost his free agency, and to have become a passive subject, a lawful prize for the one who should obtain a mastery over him. This condition was the result of his indecision when he drew back from his plighted word, and placed its observance in the scale against the ambition of becoming the head of a great university. Whosoever toys and dallies with the tempter is, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the sure victim of the evil influence. It wanted fifteen minutes of five when Professor Homerand slowly left his house and entered his carriage. It was a full twenty minutes' drive to the judge's house ; the coachman stood -respectfully at the carriage-door waiting for orders. The conflict for mastery was more fierce and bitter than ever. Each side was urging him to utter to his waiting servant its password of victory. It may be necessary here to state that Judge Rathmine resided in the aristocratic part of Boston known as Beacon Hill. Miss Helen Claymuire had magnificent apartments at a private hotel called the " West- moreland." It was one of those two destinations that he was pressed to give. The strain was telling fearfully, and, although a cold November afternoon, the perspiration was standing in great drops on his forehead. " Are you ill, professor?" asked the wondering and anxious 24 ILIAN. coacliman. " You do not look well. Do you think it prudent to venture out such a cold evening ? If you wish, I will take a letter of excuse to the place where you are going." The man was his confidential servant, and had long been in his employ. " Edward," slowly spoke the professor, in a weak voice, " I am not well, and am hesitating about going out to a din- ner-party. However, drive to Tremont Street and around the Common ; the sharp air may do me good." The high-spirited horses went off at a rapid rate, but there was no let up in the fearful contest. All sounds from without his luxurious carriage were drowned in the uproar of the battle within. He seemed to hear nothing but the words, " Beacon Hill," " Westmoreland." He had neglected the opportunity af- forded, to send his coachman with the letter of regret to Judge Kathmine. Now it was too late. He must give one order or the other. The Common was at length reached, and the circuit almost made of that grand historic park of Boston. The horses were walking, and the driver was ex- pecting the order. The supreme moment had come. A voice as of an invisible agent now rang in his ears, " Tell your coachman to drive home again." He started from the apa- thetic condition in which he had been since leaving his house. He lowered the carraige window to obey this last prompting. The horses were stopped, and the driver leaned over to hear the instructions. " Home" should be the word ; yes, that would settle it ; his lips parted and, with a spasmodic jerk, the words " drive to" came out ; for a second there was a pause. "Home!" thundered a voice in his ears; "Westmoreland!" shouted another ; " Beacon Hill 1" seemed uttered in such a tone of authority that is used only by those who have power to enforce their command. At this critical moment a news- boy, seeing the waiting carriage, ran over to it, and cried out : "Evening paper, sir? Fire on Beacon Hill." "Beacon Hill?" answered the professor, in an interrogatory tone; " where ?" The coachman heard the words " Beacon Hill." He had been awaiting this, for it was known among the servants that the professor was expected there for dinner. The horses were driven off at a rapid speed, and the newsboy was left AFTER THE BATTLE. 25 behind. The conflict was ended. A calm succeeded the storm ; one of the forces had gained the victory. This ex- perience of Professor Homerand is by no means a singular one. Thousands have gone through similar contests. Some have been victorious ; others have fallen. Many times in the history of our world has the issue of happiness or misery of a nation hung upon a mental contest as described above. We are told that no temptation is allowed to overtake any one without a way of escape is opened. But when the bridge over which one might retreat has been destroyed, and we pur- pose to fight to the bitter end, we cannot wonder if we have to yield to superior forces. CHAPTER Y. AFTER THE BATTLE. It was twenty minutes of six as the carriage of Professor Homerand drew up before the palatial residence of Judge Rathmine. This was a granite building with large projecting bay-windows on either side, and massive stone steps led up to the hall door. At the head of the steps were a pair of Canovas lions in granite. As the professor alighted he saw at the bay-window of the reception-room the face of Miss Rathmine. As he entered the room she met him, and was about to gently chide him for being so late, when, noticing his pale, haggard expression, she said, with some alarm, " Why, professor, you look ill; what is the matter?" "Nothing," he replied ; " I am not very well, and were it any one else who had invited me, I should have declined ; but I was anxious to do honor to your father's birthday, and I am here." The soft blue eyes looked searchingly into his to ascertain whether there was another attraction in that home. Did he come to pay his respects to her father, or was she the magnet that drew him ? On several of his previous visits he had spoken tender words, had lighted the mysterious fires of her nature, and had made indirect proposals of marriage. They were in the reception-room on the right. No one was there j B 3 26 ILIAN. a few of the guests were in the drawing-room on the other side of the hall, where Judge and Mrs. Rathmine were in waiting to welcome those who came. Martha had been led to expect a formal declaration of love on this eventful day, and it was for that reason she had asked him to come at five o'clock. She knew that there would probably be no opportunity during the evening for having a private talk. It may be well to digress from our story a moment, and give a description of Miss Rathmine ; her general character- istics can easily be inferred from the letter recorded in the second chapter. A pen-picture of a woman is, at best, very unsatisfactory ; her true character does not appear on her face. A celebrated Scotch physician once said that for fifty years he had made women his special study ; and that in forming his estimate of them he did not study their countenances, but if one or more of their letters should be given to him, he would outline them for all they were worth. This was no idle boast on his part, as he had many times proved his skill. This plan will be adopted in the history of the men and women who may figure in the plot and counterplots of this volume. The reader, if anxious for more intimate acquaintance, must study their words and actions, and their letters wherever they are recorded. Miss Rathmine was acknowledged by all her friends to be a lovely girl. She was in her twenty-third year, of medium height, and nature had given her a well-developed form. Her hair was brown, her eyes a deep blue. She had perfect com- mand over her temper, and no one had ever seen her ofi" of her balance. She had been well educated, and was an excel- lent critic, and, having a talent for science and literature, was in every way suitable to become the wife of a scholarly man. She was dressed for this occasion in pale-blue silk, which showed ofi" her beautiful form to perfection. Her arms and neck were exquisitely formed, and the skin of fine texture, showing generations of gentle blood in her veins. She came of good old Puritan stock. On both her father's and mother's side she was related to some of the best New England fami- lies. This description is inadequate to do justice to one of the principal characters ; but she will be better known as these pages unfold their story. AFTER THE BATTLE. 27 As has been already remarked, she was fully expecting a proposal of marriage. The excitement of the occasion may have aroused the full tenderness of her nature, so that a stronger man even than the professor would have found it hard to resist her charms. He was fast yielding to the impulse of the moment. When the decisive password of " Beacon Hill" had been inadvertently pronounced, he indeed acquiesced in this solution of the problem, but at the same time resolved to be true and faithful to his solemn obligations to Helen Claymuire. It was his purpose to tell Martha of his previous engagement. As they stood under the gas-light in the reception room the glare revealed to her the traces of a deep struggle of some nature in the man who was standing before her. Putting her dainty little hand on his arm, she looked up into his face. " I know you are ill," she said ; "let me offer you a glass of wine." And before he could answer she hastened to the dining-room, and returned in a moment with a silver tray and decanter. She filled a glass and handed it to him, with the explanation : " This is of a rare old vintage, and my father has kept it for many years, and brought it out in honor of his jubilee year." He drank the wine, remarking that it was the finest he had ever tasted, but declined a second glass, as it was too near the hour for dinner. He had tasted nothing since his breakfast. His mind had been in an excited state all day. The rich, rare old fluid glowed through his veins like wildfire ; and this, combined with the bright eyes of Martha, began to undermine his resolution to be faithful to his first love. Judge Rathmine came into the room, and, after warmly welcoming the professor, he conducted him into the drawing-room, where the guests had assembled. Mrs. Rathmine went into dinner on the arm of a venerable senator, and Professor Homerand took in Martha. Fifteen had been invited, and this, with the judge, his wife, and daughter, would have made eighteen. Five, however, had been prevented by illness from coming, so that the unlucky number, so-called, of thirteen sat down at the table. After a blessing was asked by a worthy divine, the feast commenced. It is strange how, in an educated community like Boston, es- pecially on Beacon Hill, such a superstition as the fatality of thirteen sitting down to dinner should find credit. 28 ILIAN. For half an hour the conversation consisted of anecdotes confirming this phantasy ; gradually more pleasant topics were introduced, and the incident was forgotten by most of the guests. The dinner was served in an elegant manner, and it was in all respects a notable feast. The professor had fully recovered his equilibrium ; the color returned to his cheek, he was seen at his best, and, as a conversationalist, he had no superior. After the dessert, the gentlemen arose from the table to allow the ladies to return to the drawing-room. As they were leaving, the professor whispered to Martha, " My long cher- ished hopes are likely to be soon fulfilled, provided " Before he could finish the sentence there was a terrific crash, and the room was left in total darkness. Indescribable consternation had seized upon all the guests ; that some terri- ble disaster had happened, and that most of those present in the room were killed or wounded, was the prevailing feeling among those who found themselves unhurt. For a moment the stillness of death reigned ; then the frightened servants brought in lights, when the cause of the disaster was discovered. It was a pet fancy of Mrs. Rath- mine to have wax candles instead of gas-light in the dining- room. The gas-chandelier had been removed during the day, and a special one, with glass pendants, put up to hold candles. The workman, finding that the socket of the new chandelier was a trifle larger than the old one, had used a liberal supply of shellac to hold it in place. This answered the purpose when cold. The heat of the candles had, however, gradually softened the resin, and the motion of the company causing a vibration, down came the whole structure. Beyond breaking a few plates and glasses, and a sprinkling of the liquid wax, no great damage was done. All felt grateful that the acci- dent was no worse. The after-dinner chat by the gentlemen was abandoned, and they went with the ladies to the drawing- room. Professor Homerand took the matter in a more serious light. He felt it prophetic of the total collapse of his ambition. He was losing the power of will to avail himself of the avenues of escape from his perplexing entanglement. Indeed, when any one deliberately walks into temptation, he must not hope for any easy way to extricate himself. THE SPIRIT OF THE RED WINE. 29 CHAPTER VI. THE SPIRIT OF THE RED WINE. By ten o'clock Judge Rathmine's house was jQlIed with the very elite of Boston society. The governor of the State was there, and also senators, judges, professors, and men prominent in business and politics. Many ladies were there, robed in garments of the richest fabrics. The details of a reception even as prominent as this one was would not be interesting to the readers of the present time. As we are concerned with only four persons in this large assembly, we will not linger over it. Eleven o'clock was the hour which Professor Homerand had named for the meeting of Miss Claymuire. The reasons for this extraordinary mode of action were twofold : it had been surmised at one time that he was en- gaged to her, and to call again openly, after his late special attention to Miss Rathmine, would have led his friends to suspect him of equivocal conduct. Besides this, the beauti- ful Southern heiress had numerous admirers. Many of them were extremely jealous of the accomplished professor, and it would have been difficult for him to obtain a private audience from her without observation. Again, he had been anxious to prove to her that he was not so infatuated with Martha as not to be able to leave her in the midst of this grand reception. He had fully made up his mind to proclaim to his friends on the morrow his engagement to this woman, " the queen of the South," as she was termed. She could leave her apartment in her carriage, attended by her maid, under the plea of visiting a friend at the point of death. This was her excuse at her hotel on previous occa- sions when she had met the profgssor at the same place and hour. At half-past ten Professor Homerand managed to draw Miss Rathmine to one side and explain that a friend of his would leave Boston very early the next morning, which ren- dered it necessary to see him at his hotel for hall" an hour on very important business. He would return before midnight, he promised, in time for the supper. He told her there was no occasion to mention his absence to her father, as the great 3* 30 ILIAN. number of people present would prevent him from being missed for so short a time. He had on his arrival ordered his coachman to come round to the side door exactly at half-past ten. Martha expressed her regret that he must go out on such a cold night, but, as he positively promised to be back in an hour, she was satisfied with the reason assigned. " I shall miss you very much," she added, as a shade of disappointment flitted across her face. She had looked for- ward to this evening as a red-letter day in her life. A week ago he had asked her if she would accept an offer of marriage from him. He had now been five hours in the house, and he had not once breathed the subject, and his whole deportment was not that of a lover. Several times he had told her that he had something very serious to communicate, but it was not in the tone of a man about to declare formally his love for the woman of his choice. What could it mean? Had she offended him by the tenor of her letter ? His answer did not indicate that. They were alone in the dining-room, which had been prepared for the supper, and the servants, perceiving their young mistress engaged in private conversation, left them to themselves. " Miss Rathmine," said the professor, in a grave tone of voice, " I have something to say of an important nature." She made no answer, but waited in an attitude of expecta- tion. Her heart was beating rapidly ; her eyes were fastened on his face. She was not willing to lose a word. It was the one period in a woman's life that she can never forget. The ex- pectant Martha was amazed at the change taking place in thQ countenance of the man before her. The perspiration was streaming down his face, and he looked like one enduring a terrible conflict. It was indeed a conflict, for in a moment he realized that the contending forces, which had left him the moment he pronounced the words " Beacon Hill," had once more returned to renew the warfare. He determined not to yield without a desperate struggle. His word was pledged to another, and he had resolved not to violate the solemn obligation. AVhen roused he was a man of iron will, and now he felt the need of all his resources. " Never !" he hissed through his clinched teeth. " Never what?" exclaimed the wondering girl. " Why, THE SPIRIT OF THE RED WINE. 31 professor, you are very ill !" And she looked with a tender, anxious solicitude into his face. " Let me offer you once more some of the rare old wine." She filled a glass and handed it to him. He looked at its bright-red color ; then a mighty impulse came over him to fling it to the other end of the room. For a moment he held it above his head, then, slowly raising it to his lips, drained it to the last drop. "Take another, professor; it will do you good; it will keep you from getting cold. Hark how the wind is blowing and the windows rattle ! I am so sorry you have to go out. Can you not postpone your visit ?" " No," he replied ; " I must go ; it is important." The wineglass in his hand was refilled, and he held it up before the light ; a moment later and he had drunk its contents. The conflict now ceased ; the forces had retired from the field. "You look ever so much better," said Miss Rathmine; and she smiled sweetly upon him. " An agent more potent never yet reigned Than the smile of a woman o'er a goblet just drained." She had not the slightest intention to use liquor artfully to influence the man before her. She knew that he was suffering deeply from some unknown cause, and what she did nine out of ten women would have done. She offered the remedy which was at hand, a glass of wine. Had she known the true circumstances, and of the pledged word of the professor to another woman, she would have forfeited her life before stoop- ing to an unworthy act to win him. The spirit of the red wine did its work effectually. It went like electricity through every vein ; it benumbed his judgment, seared his conscience, and unloosed his tongue. His honor and self-respect were flung to the winds. His ambition to be president of his col- lege now usurped and held the supreme place. With Martha as his wife all was gained. As for the other woman, he would appeal to her love to par- don his desertion. She would have his heart, although Martha had his hand ; that was an equal division. Helen's great wealth would enable her to cover up all scandal. Perhaps she would find some other man, and then the past would be forgotten. Thus he cut loose from the safe moorings of honesty and self-respect to find himself adrift on a resistless current. ILIAN. CHAPTEK VII. SOWING TO THE WIND. It has been said that the downward road to evil is steep, and grows more so at every step. Professor Honierand had entered upon this pathway ; whether he should halt and re- trace his steps or go on to the fearful end was a problem that he had no wish at present to solve. He had begun by sowing to the wind. The harvest might be slow in coming, yet it was certain. As we have stated in the last chapter, the spirit of the red wine had full control, and under its influence he took one of Miss Rathmine's hands and held it between both of his, and, looking into her face, said, " Martha, darling, I feel wonderfully better." The maiden blushed deeply at this tone of endearment, and her eyes were lowered before him, while he studied her features. As I have previously remarked, she was beautiful, but not demonstrative, and had an earnest, loving, truthful heart. The professor felt himself seized by some external influence, and was no longer master of himself His tongue moved and uttered expressions at the bidding of the force that had won the control over him. " Martha," he continued, " do you know that this is the evening that was appointed for you to give me my answer ? I love you, my own darling, and want you to be my wife. You never will have cause to regret doing so. My whole life will be spent in the endeavor to make you happy. With your love as an incentive to my ambition, I can reach the highest pinnacle of fame, and all will be laid at your feet. You shall be my guiding star and my counsellor. We have but a mo- ment now to ourselves, for you will be missed from the gay circle up-stairs ; your father will search for you, so what is said now must needs be done quickly ; will you be mine for life? What say you, my sweet angel?" Martha was under too great a strain to speak. She had been expecting this declaration, and now it overpowered her. The tears came freely, tears of joy and happiness; she laid her head on his breast, and said, in a sweet, plaintive tone, SOWING TO THE WIND. 33 " Will you always love me ? Is there any danger that you will grow tired of me ?" " No, Martha, never ; rest assured of that. I swear " The vow was not finished, for the door opened, and Judge Rathmine came in. He did not at first take in the situation, as the room was dimly lighted. " Why, Martha," he exclaimed, " I have heen searching all over for you. Every one is asking after you and Professor Homerand." At this point he became conscious of the fact that his daughter was encircled within the arms of the profes- sor, and a happy, gladsome smile was on both their faces. His surprise found vent in the exclamation, " Why, bless my soul, what is all this ? The old, old story. Dear me, how history repeats itself! I did the same thing thirty years ago wiih your mother. We were at a reception, and I got her away from the company over to the dining-room, and proposed and was accepted, and had a kissing-party of two all to ourselves." " Judge Rathmine," said the rather abashed professor, " my action this evening may seem to you a little premature, but now that it has taken place, I ask your consent to the hand of your daughter in marriage." " Well, professor," answered the judge, " I certainly have no objections, and I hope she will prove as good a wife to you as she has been a loving and devoted daughter to me. We must inform her mother of this." '' One moment, judge," said the professor, as he took from his pocket a solitaire diamond ring, which he had placed there for the purpose of giving to Helen. He now slipped it on Martha's finger instead, saying, " Let this ring be the token of our betrothal, and with it I give you my heart for all it is worth." He then kissed the lips of the radiant maiden, remarking to her father, " We are both ready to present ourselves to her mother for her blessing, but it will be best to defer doing so until the company all take their de- parture." He then, in a few words, explained the appointment he had made to see a friend whom he might not see again ; in fact, it was almost certain he would not for a long time, as this friend was going to Europe, and must be seen by eleven o'clock, but he would return in time for the supper. In order not to attract attention, he would leave by the side door. A servant was sent for his hat and overcoat, and 34 ILIAN. he left the house. Entering his carriage, he told his coach- man to drive to the Tremont House. It would be impossible to describe the feelings of Professor Homerand as he reclined against the cushions of his finelj- upholstered vehicle. He did what thousands of others do. He said it was his fate, and that it could not be helped. He began to hope that it was only a dream ; yes, a dream sent to warn him. He had read of such things. Surely he would wake up and find himself in his own bed, and his heart and hands still free to fulfil his solemn pledge to Helen. The wretched man was suddenly awakened to the stern fact that it was no dream by the stopping of his carriage and his coachman opening the door, saying, " Tremont House." With a heavy sigh, and the tone of a man in the pangs of despair, he told his faithful servant, in whom he knew he could confide, to drive down Summer Street, into Washing- ton, and to stop a block away from the South Church. His mind was yet fast in the shackles of the spirit of the red wine, and hardly able to grasp the fact that he was about to meet a woman to whom he was bound by every sacred ob- ligation. What was he to say to her? How could he explain to the fiery and impetuous Southerner the event of the past hour? He made up his mind that he would not face the ordeal, but would remain in his carriage, and send his coachman with his card to that of Miss Claymuire, and a message to the effect that severe illness prevented his coming to the appointed place, but that he would send her a letter the next day. This plan would enable him to find a way out of the dilemma. He then could return to Judge Rathmine's house, and forget all his trouble in his new-found bliss. When his carriage stopped the driver dismounted, and, opening the door, told him that he was just one block above the church. Taking a card from his pocket, he was about to give the message to the coachman, when a muffled form appeared at the door, and a gentle voice said, " Why, Homer, you are one-half an hour late, and I was about giving you up, thinking perhaps you were ill, and could not come out this cold, bitter night. These east winds of Boston in November are too much for me." A low, agonized groan was the only response. Slowly he got out, and walked without a word till both stood by the porch of the old South Church. THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH OF BOSTON. THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. 35 They were alone. No belated pedestrian came near them. Their respective vehicles were two blocks apart, and the night was too dark for either coachman to see what or hear the words that were spoken. CHAPTER VIII. THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. To a guilty mind a low, quiet voice will impart a greater terror than the loud roar of the thunder-blast. It is doubtful whether even a spirit from the other world could have para- lyzed, by its sudden apparition, Professor Homerand more thoroughly than the few words by which he was greeted at the close of the last chapter. Yes, he was late indeed, in more aspects than one. Had this meeting taken place yesterday, how different would have been his feelings. Under the ordinary circumstances of life he was a man of strong character and inflexible will, but now he was as pliable as a child under the hand of a powerful master. Some men would have brazened it out, or thrown down the gauntlet of defiance with a haughty air. The pro- fessor, at heart, was a man of generous impulses, and he loved the woman before him as he never expected to love the one to whom he had, that very evening, pledged his word to marry. He now realized in what a terrible dilemma he was placed, and how to extricate himself with honor and credit was a more serious problem than had ever been presented to him before. To say that he suffered keenly would be a mild ex- pression ; he was in an agony of remorse. Although the night was cold, great drops of perspiration rolled from his forehead, and he trembled as if with the ague. He leaned against the iron railing of the church for support, and looked pitifully and pleadingly into Helen's face, as though seeking for mercy from the hands of one he had so cruelly wronged. The dim light of a street lamp cast its feeble glare over him, and revealed to the astonished woman a countenance ghastly pale, and eyes that were bloodshot. 36 TLIAN. " Why, Homer, my darling, you are ill. Why did you expose yourself to this cold midnight air ? Why this strange fancy to have me meet you at this place and late hour ? My maid, who came with me till I saw your carriage stop, and my coachman will begin to doubt my sanity. My own dear Homer, this secrecy will end to-morrow, will it not? You will proclaim to our friends our approaching marriage, and you will find what a loving wife I will be." A small gloved hand was placed in his, and a gentle voice said, — " Speak to me, my dear ; you have not even offered a word of greeting. Tell me what is the matter ; have I offended you?" " No," replied the professor, in a voice hardly recognizable as one belonging to the eloquent and gifted orator. " I am not well. 1 have much to say, and don't know how to begin." " Surely," answered she, " this is not the time nor place for a confidential communication. I have risked my reputation by meeting you here, close to midnight. This must surely be a proof of my love. You do not exhibit any sign of joy at meeting me. I have been here since eleven o'clock, and the night is bitterly cold ; my servants are suffering from it, and I must return to my apartments. Cast aside this cold reserve ; come into my carriage and drive to my door, and let your's follow." There was no response to this invitation. Remorse was at work ; and, now that he was in the presence of the woman whom he ardently loved, gladly would he have recalled the declaration he had made to Martha Rathmine. All that day he had looked forward to this midnight hour as the one that was to usher in a life-long period of happiness. That hour had come, and the agony of despair which he now endured could not be Avorse even in the abode of the lost. He cursed the wine as the cause of his present predicament. He felt it a judgment upon himself. He resolved to explain everything to Helen, and keep his solemn obligation to marry her. He would fling his ambitious project to the wind. He could afford to resign his professor- ship and go to foreign lands. Their united wealth would enable them to find pleasure, peace, and happiness, and he would have no stain upon his conscience. THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. 37 Acting on tlie impulse, he seized her hand, and made a brief confession of the events of the day and evening. He told her of his internal struggles, and of the resolution which he had made on leaving his home that afternoon, to pro- claim his coming marriage with her. When he had finished he calmly waited for her reply. She stood during the recital like a statue. She was a woman of quick discernment, and saw at a glance that how- ever strong-willed and resolute the professor might be on ordinary occasions, yet, in the choice between herself and Martha Rathmiue, he was as plastic as the potter's earth, and would be moulded by the hand that kept the firmest grasp upon him. She must not, for a moment, risk the charms of her rival upon her affianced husband. Her mind was quickly made up. The case required prompt and heroic measures. " Homer," she answered, " I have the first claim upon you, and I will not yield it to any other woman. You must decide this question to-night. There is a clergyman of one of the city churches who has apartments at our house. As a rule, he does not retire till after midnight. Let us go to him at once, and he will make us man and wife. I will not consent to another day's delay. At my feet you took a solemn and a binding oath to marry me, and before heaven I am already your wife. Further delay on your part is not only criminal, but dangerous to our future prosperity. Come." And she placed her hand inside of his arm. He hesitated. He was in that position so often described as being at the division of a stream, where one course led to a haven of happiness and a quiet, peaceful rest, while the other led into darkness and certain disaster. " Yes," he answered, " I will go with you and end this suspense." He took several steps towards her carriage, and then stopped. " Had we not better wait until to-morrow ?" he asked. " Our getting married at this late hour will excite surprise, and create comment upon our conduct." The contest, which already has been depicted, was now re- newed with terrible vigor. A voice seemed to shout in his ear, " Y"ou are lost if you hesitate ; go on, and marry the 4 38 ILIAN. woman at your side." But in the other ear he heard these words : " Take not another step. Your hand is ah-eady upon the presidential chair of your university. It remains for you simply to marry Martha Rathmine, to whom you pledged yourself to-night, and the honor awaits you." But again came the rejoinder from the other side: " It is not worth the sacrifice of your honor. Loyalty to your faith will bring more happy results than can possibly accrue by disloyalty to all that a true man should hold sacred." Then it seemed to him that a thousand voices all around him were shouting, " Hurrah for President Homerand !" His conscience was cast from her throne, and he surrendered to the temptation. A few steps more would have saved him. The bell of the old South Church began to toll the midnight hour. The effect on both was electric, and there was an instant change in their manner and tone. The professor recovered at once his self- possession, and, withdrawing his arm from Helen, who held it in desperation, as though trying to save both herself and him, he said to her, in cold, formal tones, — "I cannot consent to this hasty marriage, at this late hour; I must have further time for consideration. It would ruin my reputation. Besides, I have this night given my promise to marry Miss Kathmiue. I cannot marry another till I have formally broken the match with her. Let the matter rest for a few days." A terrible transformation took place in Helen. Hitherto he had always seen her in a loving mood. She was at all times gentle. In the even tenor of her past life no cause had given occasion to show the dreadful contrast that underlies such natures. She had loved like an angel ; she could hate like a fiend. She did not raise her voice to any unnatural pitch, as superficial persons do when angry. She spoke in low tones, but each word was uttered with energy and distinctness that carried with them no doubtful meaning. Her face was pale, her eyes flashed, and her utterance seemed to him inspired and prophetic. " Professor Homerand," she said, " I have loved you with an idolatrous love. I have lavished upon you a wealth of afi'ection such as seldom falls to the lot of man. In return, you basely stole from me that which every woman should THE CURSE OF THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH 39 guard, even if she has to go through the gates of death to save herself. You offered the atonement of nn honorable marriage. This you solemnly swore to fulfil within thirty days. You asked for an extension of the time. To-night you have pledged yourself to marry another woman. Were it not for my honor, I would scorn to unite myself with you. I have given you a last chance to redeem your pledge. This you reject. Your excuses and desire for delay are frivolous and temporizing. The weakness of your character has been revealed to me in the last half-hour in such a light that no true, pure-minded woman, free and unfettered, would link her fate to yours. I again repeat, I am your lawful wife before the Almighty, and I will not, while I am living, surrender my claim to any other woman. If you fail to acknowledge me as such before the world, I will call down the curse of heaven upon your guilty head. If you marry Martha Rathmine you will never win the prize of the college presidency. The idol you have wor- shipped will fall shattered to the ground. Your life will be embittered by regret, anguish, and remorse. Marry that girl, and I call down the malediction of retributive divine justice upon your union. If you have a daughter as the product by that marriage, may she be cast upon the streets of Boston, and die an infamous death, her own abhorrence, and the public scorn. You will then curse the hour in which she was born. If you have a son, may he prove a thorn in your side, a curse instead of a blessing. May he turn a traitor to his country, and raise his heel against his wretched father, and end his weary, waudenng life far out on the great ocean, and go down to his burial amidst the roaring of the tempest. These accumulated miseries will bring both you and your wife in sorrow to the grave. The choice is now before you. Redeem your promise, and I will forgive my wrongs, and the past shall never be referred to. Prove a traitor, and God will hear my prayer and will send down upon your guilty head what will be known as the curse of the old South Church." A moment afterwards the professor heard the closing of a carriage-door and the rapid tread of horses' feet. She was gone! but her malediction remained! He looked up at the face of the clock to find pity there, but the square steeple only frowned down upon him, as if to corroborate the fearful 40 ILIAN. words just spoken. Shaking from head to foot, he realized that a fearful curse was hovering over his head. A curse pronounced under the shadow of the historic and venerable old South Church ! CHAPTER IX. BRAIN FEVER. The bells of the city were chiming the half-hour after midnight when the professor's carriage stopped before the side entrance of Judge Rathmine's house. The coachman rang the bell frantically. The judge, who was in the dining- room, anxiously waiting for the return of his son-in-law elect, and for whom the supper had been delayed half an hour, opened the door, and was greeted with the exclamation, " Professor Homerand is dying ! Quick, help !" He rushed to the carriage-door, and opened it. The light from his bril- liantly lighted windows revealed, in one corner of the interior, the almost inanimate form of the professor. His face was of an ashy color, his hands were cold, his eyes bloodshot, haggard, and wild. He was in the condition of a man who had witnessed some terrible apparition. Among the guests of the house were several of the celebrated physicians of Boston. Two were found by a servant. The professor was lifted out of the carriage, carried into the dining-room, and laid upon a lounge. Martha came with her mother to extend their aid. The stately girl gave way to no undue excitement as she saw his dangerous condition. She gently placed her hand on his head, and said, in a low whisper, that no one else heard, — " Homer, darling, what can I do for you ?" These words were more potent than medical skill to the suffering man. His reason once more assumed her pedestal, and, with returning consciousness, he realized his sur- roundings with a promptness that puzzled the doctors. Arising from the sofa, he remarked, — " I have been ill ; a sudden attack ; nothing serious. I BRAIN FEVER. 41 am better now, and, if you will kindly excuse me, I will go home. Don't delay the supper any longer on my account ; I will be all right in the morning." In the meantime, the judge had been seeking information from the coachman, but that astute individual (a Scotchman by birth) was too shrewd to betray his master's confidence. He simply said that the professor had been ill before leaving home in the afternoon, and that his going into the keen night air from the judge's house had brought on a severe chill. The professor spoke a few words in an undertone to Miss Rathmine, and, accepting the offer of one of the physi- cians to accompany him, was driven rapidly home. The strain proved too much for him to withstand, and by daylight next morning he was delirious. At noon his physician, after a consultation, decided that a severe attack of brain fever would result from this illness, and that, if he survived, it would be several months before he could resume his lectures to his class at college. Universal was the regret among the students when news of his illness was brought to them. It was at once ascribed to overwork. It was known that he never spared the mid- night oil. He was extremely popular not only with the other professors, but with the students of all the departments. He met everyone with a genial smile. His memory of faces and names was wonderful. He made it a point to know the charac- ter of each member of his classes. A few kind words from him were sufficient to check the unruly spirits for which his univer- sity was so famous in those days, and many were saved from ex- pulsion when, at a meeting of the faculty, their waywardness called for a stern example, but they were granted a further respite when Professor Homerand pleaded for them. Every one had hoped he would be the next president, and great were the expectations of improvement when this should take place. There were many candidates for the position, yet he was far ahead of all competitors, not only in talent and learning, but also in social influence. Whenever the subject was men- tioned to him he invariably turned the conversation. It was his idol, but he chose to worship it alone, and was jealous of any one coming near this shrine. It had become a master- passion. It was his dream by day and night, and yet the truth was skilfully concealed, and no one suspected it. 4* 42 ILIAN. To fail in the attainment of this great object meant for him the extinguishing of his ambition. He was a regular attendant at the Congregational church, but seldom spoke on religious subjects, and never would coun- tenance any levity in regard to sacred things. He had copies of the Bible in several foreign languages, and made it a point to read a chapter every day in the different versions, finding it an excellent plan to keep up his familiarity with them. He had a rare control over his temper. In his classes, a quiet look would do more to tone down the exuberant spirits of the young men who listened to his lectures than angry words from other professors. The students often said that he was a sleeping volcano, and that it would not be prudent for anyone to wake him up. The sorrow for his illness was genuine, and there was a funereal gloom over the University. As the days- went by, the anxious looks on tlie faces of his friends told that hopes were faint of ever seeing the fiworite professor in his place again. For three long weeks the fever held its grasp tenaciously upon the sick man. It brought him to the portals of death, and several times hope was abandoned. To the physicians the case was a mystery. They felt that there was something that had not been told them. Repeatedly had they cross- questioned the coachman as to where his master had gone that night of the judge's reception: What hotel? Whom had he seen? W^as there any quarrel or undue excitement? To all these questions he replied that he had driven to the Tremont House ; that the person sought for was out, but was accidentall}'- met at a short distance from the hotel. The professor had gotten out of his carriage, and walked several blocks with his friend. When he returned, he complained of feeling unwell, and wished to be driven around the Common, hoping he might feel better before he returned to the Rath- mine mansion. This, the man declared, was all that he knew. No amount of questioning could elicit the real facts of the case. No word ever fell from the invalid to enlighten those who were anxious to unravel the problem. He lay most of the time in a stupor, and occasionally muttered a few inco- herent words. On the night of the 7th of December, just three weeks since the illness attacked him, the attending physician, for BRAIN FEVER. 43 there was always one on watch every night, noticed that a change was taking place. The climax was reached, and his practised eyes perceived that before the dawn of morning the signet of death would be placed on the brow of the patient, or else recovery would have begun. The bell of a neighboring church tolled out the midnight chimes. The physician started at the sound. A nurse was asleep in a chair in the next apartment; servants were within call, yet the medical watcher felt a sense of loneliness come over him that he could not account for. A chill ran through his frame ; his hair began to stand on end, but why he could not tell. He was sitting by the bedside, with his finger on the pulse of his charge. The door of the room slowly opened, and the curtains of the bed were agitated by the rush of air that came in. The efiect on the professor was startling. He moved his head and opened his eyes, and, looking to the opposite side of the bed, said, in a quiet tone, '' Why, father, what brings you here?" To say that the physician was deeply affected would be a mild expression. He arose, and, going to the door, closed it and turned the key in the lock. Then, going back to his patient, he saw that there was a look of consciousness on his face. His eyes were open, and he was in the attitude of a man listening to words uttered by some one else. It needed but a glance to show that the crisis was safely past, and that the form before him was not likely to become unconscious clay at present. " I am glad to see you so much improved, professor," he said, in a subdued tone. The sunken eyes turned towards him ; there was a brief struggle of the mental powers, but Reason once more quietly resumed her sway. A smile came over the face of the pro- fessor as he said, " Yes, I feel better than I did when I left Judge llathmine's house last night." The medical attendant smiled as he replied, "That was just three weeks ago." " Impossible !" exclaimed the sick man, as he placed his hand on the doctor's arm and looked searchingly into his face. " It is a fact, I assure you," was the reply ; " three weeks this very night. You have been seriously ill, and must not overtax yourself. Rest and quietness will alone restore you to your wonted health." 44 ILIAN. There was a troubled look in the professor's face, and lie repeated the words, " Three weeks to-night, did you assert ? Then I have been delirious and unconscious. What did I rave about?" The fear agitated him visibly that he might have betrayed his secret. Here was the opportunity to solve the mystery that had puzzled every one. The physician was certain that some secret cause of this illness had not been divulged ; yet, being a man of honor, he scorned to take any undue advantage. He already held keys that would have let loose the demon of scandal in many families, had he so chosen. As the secrets of the confessional are buried in the memory of the priest, so facts that would startle society if made known lie in the minds of physicians, dormant and hidden. He therefore lost no time in assuring the professor that during his illness he had uttered very few words, and what he did say were inco- herent. " Your illness," he continued, " has been brought on by overstudy, and a long rest is needed for your restoration. Judge Rathmine is of the opinion that you should go abroad for a year's travel. He has called every day, and his daughter has often been at your bedside. She has grown pale and thin, and her parents are worried about it. Your engagement to her has been made known, and your friends are waiting for your recovery to tender their congratulations. Hoping this information will put you at your ease, you must now go to sleep, and let nothing trouble you. Your affairs have been carefully looked after. Your brother came on from Hartford, and is now in the house. He has been constantly with you. Not another word till the morning." A smile for a moment played over the face of the pro- fessor ; then, as some other thought filled his mind, a troubled look overspread his countenance, and his eyes wandered all over the room as if in search of some one ; then they rested for a moment on the door, then on the doctor, and again, with a searching glance, back once more to the door. A mysterious feeling came over the physician, — an unde- fined dread, and a consciousness that there was a third per- sonality in the room. He had always been noted for his cool nerve, but this was when dealing with tangible objects. He looked towards the door, expecting to see it open, when all of a sudden the candle, which had burned low in the socket, DRIFTING APART. 45 flashed up with a dying flare, and then went out, leaving the room in total darkness. It was several minutes before another light was procured. By that time the patient was asleep, and on the road to recovery. CHAPTER X. DRIFTING APART. It was Christmas-morn in Puritanic Boston. Bells were ringing, and the silvery echoes rolling down from lofty Catho- lic and Episcopal church-spires reminded late sleepers that this was a season of enjoyment. It was a memorial of that early dawn over the plains of Bethlehem, when the angelic choir tuned their harps to the glad song of peace and good- will to men. The snow was on the ground, and the merry sleigh-bells of those early astir awakened the juvenile popula- tion, and sent them eagerly to ascertain the contents of their stockings hung up the previous night in the fulness of childish expectation. Happy, smiling faces met at the break- fast-tables of those well-housed and clad, to whom Nature had been lavish of her bounties. To some the salutation of " a merry Christmas" had a certain echo of irony, for over them hung the clouds of financial misfortune. Others were mourning the death of dear ones from the family circle, who would be sorely missed on this occasion. In all the houses of Boston, from the mansions of the wealthy down to the apartments of the poorest of the poor, from the homes of misfortune, sickness, and mourning, there was no such hope- less, blank despair as that in the studio of Professor Home- rand. He had risen early, and was seated in his library in an easy-chair, with a cup of coffee before him. In three weeks, intervening since the close of the last chapter, he had re- covered somewhat his physical strength, but his mind had re- mained in the spell cast upon it under the shadow of the old South Church. He was in a mental lethargy. His face wore the expression of one doomed to die, and who is counting the few brief hours left to him. In a week from that day he 46 ILIAN, was to marry Miss Rathmine. The doctors had expressed their opinion that it wouM be some months before he would recover the full power of his mental faculties, and that a chantije of air would be beneficial. They also suggested that a skilled nurse should accompany him. If he only had a wife, they said, her loving attentions would expedite matters. His aunt, who kept house for him, was too much of an in- valid to endure extended travel, and he had no other female relatives that could go with him. His friends suggested that, as he was engaged to Miss Rathmine, he should marry her, so that they could go abroad together. In the autumn he would be able to return to the University fully restored. When this proposition was made to him, he merely answered that he was in the hands of his friends, and would follow their advice. Eagerly hud he looked from day to day for some token from Helen, but none came. All Boston was speaking about his illness, and she must have heard of it. Why did she not send a message of sympathy, or write a few lines ? He realized now, as he never did before, that he loved her better than it was possible for him to love any one else. It never occurred to him that it was his place to write to her. She would certainly have responded at once. Indeed, she had waited in her apartments for a token that her presence would be welcome. Thus these two souls were gradually drifting apart, and day by day the distance was increasing. Her proud spirit was chafing under her wrongs, yet looking hourly for a mes- sage, a line, a word ; and then she would have forgiven all, and made his life supremely happy. He, in moody silence, was hoping that something would intervene to save him from that marriage, the very thought of which was hateful. One effort would have set him free. It was noon of Christ- mas-Day when Judge Rathmine was announced. Coming into the library, and taking the hand of the professor, he wished him a " Merry Christmas." The words seemed to the proud, gifted man of learning like bitter irony. Merry ! How could any man be men-y with such remorse in his heart ? " Come, you must cheer up," said his visitor. " My wife and daughter expect you for dinner ; a quiet affair, only four besides our family, making a party of eight. Martha wants to have a talk with you. Just a week from to-day, and I sur- DRIFTING APART. 47 render her to your care. She has always proved a loving and affectionate daughter, and I feel confident that she will be a devoted wife. Your physicians tell me it is almost a matter of life and death to you to have some one with you in your travels to nurse and take care of you. I will call for you in my carriage at four o'clock, and you are to spend the night at our house." The professor made a few feeble protests. Only a month or so past there had been a time when, if he said no, it would have carried a conviction of an iron will, which it would be a difficult matter to swerve from a fixed purpose. That time was gone. In his earlier years he had carefully trained his will to hold all the other powers of his mind in complete subjection ; but the very moment he began to halt and hesitate between what he knew to be his proper course and that of a highly degrading action his will lost its supremacy, and the rebellion thus started in his mental faculties was not easily subdued. Now we find his feeble negations were the prelude of yielding. He finally consented to the arrangements of the judge, who left him to make other calls. Gladly would he have remained in the solitude of his library to brood over his misfortunes. Woe unto the man who, like the professor, waits for Providence to help him, but refuses to take the first step, and help himself. V/as the power of the fetters so strong that he could not sunder them by any means ? One stern decision of his will would have made him a free man. He wanted to be saved by others without effort on his own part. His brain was stunned. His conscience had fiercely resented his double dealing, and the combination of circum- stances had brought on his brain fever. If his friends had known the true condition of things, they would have come to the rescue. Had he only made a confidant of Judge Rath- mine, all would have been well, and by sundown Helen Clay- muire would have been at his side, his honor would have remained untarnished, and the future would have been bright. Indeed, he had thought of explaining matters to the judge, but his pride prevented him, and the opportunity was lost. At half-past four the professor found himself in the drawing- room of Judge Rathmine's mansion, with the fair Martha by his side, holding his hands in hers, and looking tenderly, lovingly, into his face. 48 ILIAN. His condition had called forth all the sympathy of her nature, and she permitted him to read in her countenance the depth of her love, which, under other conditions, her habitual reserve might have prevented her from doing. She spoke cheeringly of their travels and the prospect of his renewed health. She knew his aspirations, and, hoping to encourage him, she repeated the wishes of his many friends that on his return he might be elected to the head of his University. For a moment the smouldering fire of his ambition gleamed and sparkled as this new fuel was thrown upon it. The looks of other days came upon his face. He smiled, and returned the pressure of her small, delicate hand. For a moment he forgot the curse that was hanging over his head, and began to show some response to the enthusiasm of the brilliant girl at his side. " I have a little surprise for you," she continued. " Your tradition, you once told me, was for the members of your family who got married to have the ceremony performed on New- Year's- Day. Now we also have a custom that has been in force for several generations. All our marriages have taken place in one church. You have heard that my grand- father was one of the men of the Revolution, and freely gave his money and services to that glorious cause. The year before he died, at the ripe old age of eighty, I was a girl of twelve ; he said to me one day, ' Martha, when you grow up and get married, if you want my approval from the grave, where I probably will be when your marriage takes place, you must insist on having the ceremony performed in ' Where do you think ?" said the happy, radiant maiden, as she glanced archly into the now smiling face of her lover. " There are so many churches," he replied, " and many of them very old, that it would be difficult to guess the right one." " Then I will tell you," she responded. And bringing her face close to his, to note the glad surprise that she felt sure her words would create, she repeated, slowly and deliberately, " The old South Church in Washington Street." MARRIAGE BELLS. 49 CHAPTER XI. MARRIAGE BELLS. It is a difficult task to describe the surprise and amazement of the professor and Martha. One expected a piece of agreeable information ; the other looked for a joyous smile at the mention of Boston's historic church. The blood left the face of the astounded man, his hands grew cold, and a look of intense horror came over him. The smile instantly fled from his lips, and he closed his eyes to shut out, if possible, from his memory, that awful scene of the mid- night of tbat day which was henceforth to be a dark memory in his existence. Martha was thoroughly frightened. She rang the bell for the servant, and sent for her father, who, seeing the condition of the professor, ordered the physician to be summoned. . In fifteen minutes he arrived, and found his patient in a semi- conscious condition. The application of restoratives quickly reviv.ed him, and he desired to return to his own home. The doctor would not consent to this proposition, as he was well aware that solitude only fed the disease instead of allaying it. The case demanded heroic measures. Dinner was announced, the invited guests were already in the house, and the doctor was pressed to stay. The once strong-minded man tried for a moment to gain his point, but had to yield to a will stronger than his own. Almost without knowing it, he found himself seated by the side of Martha, who handed him a glass of that old, red wine, which, six weeks previous, had been the cause of so much trouble. Once more it unloosed his tongue, brought back the color to his face and the smile to his lips. For the time being he forgot the impendiug curse, and became his former self. His brilliant sayings were loudly applauded. Martha was delighted at the change, and became more than ever enraptured over the man of her choice. Her father and mother looked on approvingly, and felt that their daughter was about to be happily mated to one of the most gifted men of his country. That Christmas-dioner was a grand success. At c d 5 50 ILIAN. one time it had looked as though the illness of the professor would throw a pall over the whole affair. The physician, having found a partial solution to the enigma, and a key that unlocked the hitherto entrenched doors of the professor's mind, determined to keep the advantage gained. On the following day he went with him to his house, resolved not to leave him till he was safely married to Miss Rathmine. During the week that intervened he insisted upon his patient taking a long drive each day, and spending the evening at the judge's house. Gradually Professor Homerand's mental powers began to rally. He was conscious that, unless something occurred to set aside the plans made for him by others, his fate would be settled. Pride held him back from making a clean breast of his former engagement, and the cherished idea of his ambition was still potent to wield a a controlling influence over his destiny. There were times when he felt that he would sacrifice everything for the love he bore to Helen Claymuire. Perhaps if he could have met her and talked to her once more, then he would have married her. Oh, why did she not come or send a line? Twice he went to his desk and took a sheet of paper to write to her, asking her to come, or to appoint a place for a meeting, and he would go there, but his pride overcan\,e his good intentions. Still, he hoped to be saved in some way. Slowly but surely the precious hours passed, and no rescue came. The appointed day arrived. It seemed as though Nature had chosen to honor the occasion of the marriage of Boston's great professor. The snow, although deep, yet lay compact and solid on the ground. Overhead hardly a cloud was to be seen, and the sun made glad the hearts of all the people of the city. At noon the bell in the steeple of the old South Church rang out a wedding refrain, and the edifice was packed to overflowing. It was said that never before in its history was it so densely crowded with the eYiVe of the city. The bridegroom and bride moved in the highest circles of society, and were extremely popular. When the bell ceased, Martha, leaning on the arm of her father, walked up the aisle. She was robed in white silk, and a bridal veil, with orange-blossoms, fell in graceful folds around her. The pro- fessor followed with Mrs. Rathmine, who looked almost as MARRIAGE BELLS. 51 handsome as her daughter. Six bridesmaids, all lovely ia white, came after them, mated to six of the senior class of the University. They had come to show their appreciation of the professor, whom they so highly esteemed. The organ in the gallery played a wedding-march. As the last strains died amidst the vaulted roof the voice of the officiating minister was heard all over the church, as he said, — " If any one knows of any impediment to this marriage, let him now speak, or forever after hold his peace." The whispering among the audience ceased, and for a moment there was the stillness of death. The bridegroom grew a shade paler, and glanced uneasily around him. No one noticed this but the physician, who surmised that another woman lay at the bottom of all the professor's illness. The silence was unbroken ; no answer came to the query of the clergyman, who then went on with the service binding the one to the other, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, until death should part them, concluding with the words, — " In behalf of the civil law of the commonwealth of Massa- . chusetts, which I now represent, and in the name of Almighty God, whose minister I am, I pronounce you husband and wife, and those whom God has joined together, let no maa put asunder." A brief prayer was then offered, and a blessing pronounced. Once more the organ filled the church with its rich melody. The newly-married pair walked slowly down the aisle to their carriage at the door. Judge Rathmine had prepared a wedding-breakfast, after which the happy couple, as they were termed by their friends, were to leave on their way to Virginia, by way of New York and Baltimore. In the spring they were to take passage from the latter port for France, to remain abroad till autumn, or longer, if it were found neces- sary for the restoration to health of the sick man. The professor had handed his wife into the carriage, and turned around to answer the greeting of some of his friends, when his eyes beheld the form of Helen Claymuire standing by the church-door in almost the identical spot where she stood on the fatal fifteenth of November. She was like a statue of the goddess Athena, calm, digni- fied, and haughty, with a look of scorn that pierced to the 52 ILIAN. inmost soul of the guilty man, who trembled from head to foot. The indignant woman slowly raised her gloved hand towards heaven and let it suddenly fall, and, turning her back, walked away. The doctor alone witnessed this scene. He had been expecting something of the kind, and now, having obtained the secret, he knew what remedy to apply. Taking the arm of the pale, quivering man, he said, " Professor, the excitement has been too much for you ;" and, seating him in the carriage along-side of his bride, he sat op- posite, and ordered the coachman to drive rapidly away. On reaching the mansion of his father-in-law the bride- groom was more like a condemned man on the way to execu- tion than one going in to his wedding-breakfast. The old wine was again called into requisition. The breakfast was all that could be desired, as was the reception which followed. Hosts of friends called to pay their respects. Never had the professor appeared to better advantage. It was the lull before the storm, which, though slow in developing its fury, yet, when over, left scattered upon the pathway over which it had spent its force the wrecks of many lives. At four o'clock the professor and his wife took their leave, and, amidst the hearty good wishes of all assembled, their carriage bore them to the railway-station. The line between Boston and New York had not been long es- tablished, and the luxurious means of travelling of the present day had not then been thought of. They arranged to stop for the night at Springfield, and also at Hartford, the home of the professor's brother, where they purposed remaining two days. At New Haven a reception was tendered to them by the faculty of Yale College, and they expected to arrive in New York in five days from their setting out. We must new leave them to the excitement of their bridal trip, and the welcome received from relatives and friends, and turn our attention to the forsaken woman. She had committed her case to the inflexible justice of God. FALL OF TWO IDOLS. 53 CHAPTER XII. TALL OP TWO IDOLS. " Thou shalt have do other Gods before me," was the oft- repeated injunction to the children of Israel. But of this they were not mindful, and their history is filled with the chastisement inflicted upon them for their great transgression. The present generation of the Anglo-Saxon people flatter themselves that this violation of the great commandment cannot be charged to their account. In one aspect of it, perhaps not ; yet in many others they must plead guilty. The great majority have some secret idol that they bow before in worship. With some it is wealth, — gold is their god ; with others it is ambition ; and the prevailing sin of very many is the love of some man or woman. We have repeatedly shown that Professor Homerand had before him the presidency of his University. It would have given him power, and that became his god. Helen Claymuire had allowed her love for the man whom she had chosen to develo.p into a boundless confidence, bordering on idolatry. She would have refused him nothing that he could have asked. She regarded him as possessing qualities almost superhuman. His form was erected in the shrine of her heart, and she bent before it in profound adoration. When she learned from her lover that another woman was about to claim this idol for herself all the vin- dictive fury of her nature was aroused. During the interval of his illness her pride and love strove for the mastery. She looked daily for some token from him, even though only a line, and, deeply wronged though she was, she would have gone to him gladly. If he had only said that his love for her had not failed, all would have been forgiven. The marriage with Miss Rathmine, as announced for New-Year's-Day, made her ill, and she denied herself to all callers. She hoped that something might intervene and stop it at the last moment. She went to the church, heard the vows, and when the solemn words were pronounced making her rival the wife of the man whom she idolized, the idol that she worshipped so long fell 5* 54 JLIAN. from its proud pedestal, and was shattered to fragments. That a man so highly gifted as Professor Homerand should commit an act so base is a matter of perplexity to all honorable persons. Was his conduct the result of a brain unsettled by hard study, or was the goal of the presidency of such im- portance as to make it an object to be sought after by all means, fair or foul ? It must be admitted that when a man is mentally endowed, and duly qualified to stand at the head of any college where there are several hundred students, it is a laudable and worthy ambition to secure its presidency. How much more so when it is a university of national reputation ! It is not a political position, to be manipulated by wire-pulling. The man who is found worthy to fill such a coveted position must stand as a giant in intellectual powers above his fellows. He must possess great executive ability, a name without reproach, a strong will, capable of governing with a firm hand the unruly and turbulent spirits of those who would quickly throw off restraint unless held in check by a master mind. Professor Homerand had all of these qualifications in an eminent degree. The other candidates acknowledged his superiority. Never, perhaps, in the history of the University, was a man so well qualified to manage and direct its affairs. His friends harped continually upon his fitness for the position, till at last, from being a mere candidate, he came to look upon the office as his right, as a sort of inheritance, and gradually, as has already been shown, he began to worship it as his idol, and it became his master-passion. In order to secure the judge's influence he had paid court to his daughter. He had no idea at first of making love to her ; he had no wish to play a double part. In an unguarded moment he had in a playful way asked her whether she would accept his hand, if he offered it, in marriage. She took the question in earnest, and the way was paved for all that followed. But no sooner had the ceremony been performed, when he found to his amazement that the idol which he had worshipped so long was losing its power. He began to waver in the desire for the long-coveted chair, and the final crisis was not long in coming. On the evening of the tenth of January, Professor Home- rand came back to his hotel in New York, where they had FALL OF TWO IDOLS. 55 been staying for five days. They were to start the next morning for Philadelphia. As he entered the apartment where his wife was waiting for him to go down to their evening meal, she noticed that he was looking worried, and had the appearance of a man who is hounded down. He flung him- self into an easy-chair, and, in answer to his wife's tender embrace and anxious inquiry as to his condition, he replied, in a husky voice, " Martha, I am not well." " My darling husband, you must take me with you the next time you go out," she said. " Now let me get you a glass of wine ; you know I brought some with me. The doctor told me to give it to you when you were ill." While she was filling the glass he muttered, as though speaking to himself, " Is that woman going to follow me like a blood-hound on the trail ? Let her beware ; it takes two to play at curses, and if she stirs the latent devil in my heart, it will be the worse for her." " Why, Homer," said his astonished wife, " who are you speaking about?" She had caught the words "curses" and " devil," and concluded that he was slightly wandering from nervous prostration, a condition which the physician had told her would be likely to occur if her husband overexerted him- self in any way. " My dear, take this at once." And she held the glass towards him. Well was it for her peace of mind that the single candle in the room did not give light enough for her to see the expression on her husband's face. He sprang to his feet, and by a mighty efi"ort subdued his emotion. He became calm, and his voice was low, but it had a ring in it that startled his anxious wife. He took the glass of wine from her hand, and, holding it above his head, said, " Martha, my sweet, patient wife, forgive this little outburst of mine. I met some one to-day with whom I had an unpleasant controversy in Boston not long ago, and I allowed myself to become ex- cited, but it is over now." " My darling, I did not know that you had an enemy in the world." He smiled as he answered, "Any man who goes through life without making an enemy must have a very plastic character." " Tell me, was it not the same person whom you met the night you left our house, and came back so ill?" 56 ILIAN. "Yes, the same one; but I do not think we will meet again ; our paths lie different. But now let me talk upon a more important subject. Do you know that I have drunk so much wine lately that I am developing an appetite for strong drinks? A glass of wine has been the means of a terrible curse in my family. I now take a solemn pledge before God and before you, my wife, that while I live I will not use wine or liquor as a beverage, and will only take it when prescribed by a physician. I will give you full proof that I can do without it, for you will find 1 am myself again without the need of stimulation. Will you let me throw this glass and the wine out of the window as a ratification of this pledge ?" " With all my heart," answered his wife, as she threw her arms around his neck, and said, " I also will join you in that pledge." The window was raised, and a moment after a crash on the street told the fate of the glass and its contents. The evil spirit was thus banished, but it had planted seeds that would in course of time germinate and bring forth a fearful har- vest. " Martha, my dear," continued the professor, " I find that the idol of my ambition has fallen from its pedestal, and I no longer desire the position of President of the University. It is now doubtful if I will ever again occupy my professor's chair. This matter is final, and we will let it drop." Thus fell the second idol. During the rest of the evening Mrs. Homerand was charmed to find that her husband had regained his former cheerful disposition. It was the first time that he was truly himself again since that fifteenth of November, a day long to be remembered by both. HOW THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 57 CHAPTER XIII. HOW THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. The next morning Professor Homerand and his wife took their departure for Philadelphia, where they arrived in the afternoon, and going to one of the best hotels, they hoped to find rest and quiet. The professor, however, exhibited great disturbance as they entered their apartment. Martha had not noticed a veiled woman sitting near them on their journey, but her husband had penetrated the disguise of Helen Clayrauire. How long was this to last ? he thought. Was this her mode of revenge ? From what he knew of her, he was surprised. It was beneath her dignity and proud haughtiness. He determined to remain in Philadelphia till things came to a climax. During his three weeks' sojourn, however, he never saw her again ; so, taking courage, he went to Baltimore, where he engaged passage for Havre in a ship that was advertised to sail on the fifteenth of March. The intervening time was spent in Virginia. Under the excitement of travel and change of scenery, and, more than all, the careful nursing of his wife, the professor was slowly but surely regaining his lost health. He never once referred to his former ambition of sitting in the presidential chair of his university. As he had promised her not to take any action in reference to his purpose of resigning till they reached Europe, all dis- course upon the matter by mutual consent was avoided. On the appointed day of sailing they left Baltimore in the clipper ship "War Hound;" there were a dozen other pas- sengers who proved to be very agreeable. Fortune favored them, for they had not only a quick passage across the ocean, but fine weather. They had fully expected a stormy time, but their pathway was amid smooth seas and favoring winds. On their arrival in Havre, they lost no time in going to Paris, where, in that gay city, they hoped to spend many pleasant months. There was so much sight-seeing, so many museums of art, that time sped along almost without their knowledge. The professor had been to Paris before, and, as he spoke 58 ILIAN. Frencli fluently, he was perfectly at home. His wife was- in raptures over the novelty of mixing with a people so entirely different from her own. When the weather was fine they devoted the mornings to sight-seeing, and in the afternoons they drove to the Bois de Boulogne. Under this genial change the professor regained his full mental vigor. To his wife he was at all times kind and attentive, solicitous for her welfare, and willing to fulfil her slightest wish. The summer passed into autumn, and they still remained in Paris. No specific plans were laid out for their future movements ; they had decided not to return to America at least that year. One day, in the early part of October, Martha was reading a letter from her l\ither, in which he mentioned the probability, almost certainty, that her husband would be elected in a short time to the coveted presidency. " Homer, darling," she said, " pardon me if I again bring up the subject. My father has set his heart upon this matter, and, now that you are restored to health, he urges us to return home." He paused a moment before replying, and then answered in a deliberate manner, as though each word had been weighed before being pronounced, " To-morrow, then, I will forward my resignation to the Board of Trustees, and will also decline the year's salary which they so generously voted to allow me. My income is ample for our wants, and, furthermore, I have no desire to go back to America for several years. We need not remain in Paris all this time. I am desirous to visit Germany, Austria, and Italy, taking our time, and allowing nothing to worry us. We spoke the other day about going home for a few months till after the birth of our child ; but this is mere sentiment, and the prospect of a long passage, both going and returning, is not inviting enough to induce me to take it. At the same time, I have no wish that the little stranger shall see the light of day on French soil. Next to America, I prefer England. My ancestors came from Lincoln. I visited the town the last time I was abroad, and was charmed with the antique air of the place. It is about half-way between London and Edinburgh. Suppose we go there and take up our abode till you are strong enough to travel after the event. Then we can journey to "the south of Italy by easy stages." HOW THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 59 Martha answered this proposition by going to her husband's chair and putting her arms around his neck, saying, " My own Homer, the day I became your wife I took the solemn resolution that during our married life your will should be my guide, and I feel confident that in studying your happiness I will be assured of my own. We will .let the presidency drop, and speak no more in reference to it. My home is where you are. Much as I would like to see my father and mother again, you will never hear a word of repining from me. I am very much pleased at the idea of going to Lincoln. The Rath- mines came from Manchester, and I would like to visit that place on our way to Lincoln, or afterwards." This loving tribute touched the professor deeply, and he kissed his wife with more show of affection than he had ever before exhibited since their marriage. " Martha, my noble wife, would you prefer to remain in Manchester? Take your choice." " My choice," she said, smiling, " is that which pleases you best." " I have no decided preference for Lincoln," answered her husband ; " it was a mere fancy ; but I will tell you how we will decide it. I will write the names of Lincoln and Man- chester on two separate pieces of paper, fold them up, and put them in my hat. You then draw one out and tear it up, and the one that remains will be our place of residence for the winter." This simple way of settling what is often a difl&cult matter to decide was tried at once. Martha took one of the folded pieces of paper and destroyed it. She then opened the other and read the word " Manchester." Thus was the birthplace of the coming hero of our story settled. This may seem to many readers a matter of trivial moment, yet it was one that had a very important bearing on his future life. Later on we will see how this fact was used to influence him in the turning-point of his history. The professor laughingly said, " It rains nearly every day in winter, in Manchester, so you will have me in the house all the time. Will not that be an infliction ?" " No, indeed," was her quick reply ; and as her lips were pressed to his, in proof of her sincerity, the germ of a new love began to develop amidst the ashes of the one lately buried. 60 ILIAN. In a week after tliis decision they left Paris for old Eng- land. Travelling in those days had not reached the degree of luxury and comfort and, what is more important, the rapidity with which it is now accomplished. Old persons say that there was more real enjoyment in the former slow mode of locomotion and transit of half a century back. Ten miles an hour by stage-coach was considered at times a breakneck pace, but in the present, sixty miles in the same period is demanded, and the cry is, " faster, still faster." Some say, " What does it matter if, once in a while, a hundred or so human beings are suddenly hurled into eternity? Does this fact deter any from going over the same course? It does not. We take our chances. The course of events move rapidly, and we must move with them." CHAPTER XIV. RED-LETTER DAY. It was the tenth of November. Mr. and Mrs. Homerand were comfortably settled in handsome apartments in the most fashionable part of the ancient borough of Manchester. It was raining, not hard, but steadily, as if in accord with the staid habit of this rich and cultured city of the United King- dom. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, sending a glow all round the room, making a picture of home-life worthy of the effort of the best painter to rival on canvas. The pro- fessor had just returned from the post-office with a bundle of papers and several letters for himself and his wife. Some of the latter were from her school-mates, and filled with young girls' gossip, and saying how much they envied her for being in Europe and seeing the notables of foreign lands. There was nothing in any of the letters or papers out of the usual course of news, yet Mrs. Homerand noticed that her husband was restless and uneasy. She did not like to question him, and, as tea was announced, she hoped that after the evening meal the annoyance, or whatever it was, would pass away. But it did not. In two hours after he was in a very excitable condition ; he walked up and down the room in a nervous manner, and, RED-LETTER DAT. 61 suddenly stopping before his wife, said, " Martha, I hope that the birth of our child will not take place on the fifteenth of this month." Her eyes opened in wonder, and then, with an amused smile, she replied, " Why, I do not expect the event before December ; but why do you object to the fifteenth of Novem- ber? It is my father's birthday, and you know " " Yes," he interrupted her; " I know all that; but it was the day I wa.s taken so ill, and the events connected with it Well, no matter," he continued, breaking off from his sentence ; " it might be unlucky." " Why should it be so ?" Martha asked. " It was the day of our engagement, and it will always be a red-letter day in my existence." • The professor walked the floor more impatiently than ever. At last, afraid of awakening his wife's suspicions, he said, " I suffered so much from the illness contracted on that day that perhaps it has prejudiced my mind against it." He now seated himself along-side of his wife, and taking her hand, with a smile, continued, " Martha, suppose the little stranger is a girl ; what will you call her ? You know it was agreed that if it was a boy I should name him Adrien, But you have not told me what, if a girl is sent to us, you propose calling her." " Yes," she answered, " I have a name all ready. What do you think it is?" " Well, really, the list of feminine names is so extensive that it would be difficult to guess." " Then you give it up. Well, I propose calling our baby, if it be a girl, Helen." The professor jumped to his feet, saying, petulantly, "I hate the name of Helen." " Why do you hate it ?" exclaimed his astonished wife. " It is my mother's name." "Oh, I don't know," he replied ; " but Helen was the cause of so much suffering to ancient Troy, and, as my name is Homer, I suppose I am prejudiced against it." " Well, I declare," exclaimed Martha ; " that is a queer reason f jr disliking the name. If I did not know you so well, I would suspect that some girl of that name had once held your affection, and jilted you for some one else." 6 62 ILIAN. To this thrust, which went deeper than she suspected, her husband replied, in a calm tone, as by a superhuman effort he mastered his feelings, " There is no name so sweet to me as Martha ;" and he kissed her with fervor. Her affection for him was enlivened at this, and, looking into his face, she said, " Well, my dear, it shall be as vou wish." The fifteenth of November was a pleasant day. It rained a little in the morning, but cleared up at noon, and the sua came out of the cloud-banks that had hidden it for a week. The gentler sex went forth from their homes, to enjoy a sun- bath, a rare luxury at this time of the year. The professor had invited a few friends to dinner. His fame had preceded him, and he found a warm welcome in Manchester. In the afternoon he proposed to his wife to take a drive to the suburbs, as the day was so clear and pleasant. They drove out upon the road leading to Liverpool, and soon entered into the country. The experience of English rural life was not only a novelty, but pleasant to the American sojourners, and it was with regret that they gave the order to return to town. As they neared the city limits a trivial occurrence was very near causing a fiital accident. They came up with a large hay-wagon, that almost blocked the highway, the driver of which refused to turn aside and let their carriage pass. A war . of words commenced between the two drivers, which was ended by one of the wheels of the hay-wagon coming off the axle. The entire load fell over with a crash upon the side of the road. This startled the high-spirited horses of the carriage, and, dashing to one side, they soon ran forward in a mad gallop, tearing along the road at a fearful speed. Their wild career, however, was at length checked by meeting another hay-wagon. The driver directed the furious animals against it, and they were compelled to stop. No damage was done to the carriage, but Mrs. Homerand received a severe fright, which alarmed her husband. She was deathly pale, yet she controlled her feelings, and when the danger was over turned towards him smilingly, saying, " We had a narrow escape ; let us go home at once." When they reached their house, they found several of the expected guests awaiting them. An hour after, all were present, and dinner was announced. Mrs. RED-LETTER DAY. 63 Homeland had put on a white evening dress, and received many compliments for her good looks. There was a brilliant flush on her cheeks that greatly enhanced her beauty. Her husband was worried, nevertheless. He was apprehensive that the fright which she had received might produce danger- ous results. There was an eminent physician among the guests, and to him he mentioned his fears. It was not long before the practised eye saw that a crisis was approaching ; and he advised the professor to dismiss his guests and get his wife to bed. His foreboding was realized sooner than he expected. In a few moments later Mrs. Homerand was taken very ill. The ladies present assisted her to her chamber, and the physician contributed his skill. For half an hour there was a painful uncertainty, and the anxious husband endured intense agony. The memories of this '• red-letter day" crowded upon him, and he thought of the terrible curse which had been pronounced against him. Would it reach the life of his wife, or would it pass away ? His reflections were disturbed by the wail of a new-born infant. Was it a girl, and would it bear the dreaded name of Helen ? Or was it a boy ? His suspense was soon relieved by the appearance of the doctor, who came into the room smiling, and said, " Professor, allow me to congratulate you on the birth of your son. Mother and child are both doing well, and there is no danger, as far as I can see at present, of any other serious result follow- ing the fright of the afternoon." The eff"ect of this announcement upon the professor was magical. He grasped the physician's hand with a vigor which showed how powerfully he was worked up. It was. the first really happy moment he had experienced since that terrible midnight hour, just one year ago. After tlie arrival of the nurse the ladies who had been with Mrs. Homerand took their departure, and the doctor went with them, promising to call early next day. She was sleeping, and he would not disturb her. He drew his arm-chair up before the fire, and was lost in reminiscence. Was it possible that Helen's curse would in any way afi'ect him or his wife or boy? He had often read of curses pronounced upon people, but they came to naught. Why, then, should he trouble himself in this matter? If it were possible in any way to atone for his crime, he would cheerfully do so. A financial compensation 64 ILIAN. was out of the question. Helen's fortune was double the amount of his own. How could his sin be expiated ? He had deeply repented. Was there no way by which forgiveness could be extended ? His sin was not premeditated, he argued to himself, but in this he found no consolation, for his action had been deliberate and against a confiding girl. He must await the issue of the curse. CHAPTER XV. ADRIEN. About an hour after the events recorded in the preceding chapter the door which led into the hall creaked on its hinges and slowly opened. The professor, thinking it was the land- lady coming to inquire about his wife and child, said, without turning round, " Come in, Mrs. Brown, and congratulate me on the birth of my baby boy." There was no response. He arose and went to the door, but found no one. A strange thrill came over him, an unde- fined dread, and a feeling as though some one from the dead was in the room with him. He was usually a man with strong nerves, and without superstition, and therefore not easily alarmed by anything seemingly of an unearthly character. He stood for a moment undecided what to do, when the door of his wife's chamber, which led out from his sitting-room, also opened. On going to it he saw the nurse sitting by the bedside. She raised her finger in warning not to disturb the sleeping young mother. He closed the door again, and, going to the bell, rang it. His landlady answered it in person, and as she came into the room she wished him much joy and happiness. She told him that the doctor, on leaving, had left instructions not to disturb Mrs. Homerand, and for that reason she had not come sooner ; also, that she had prepared a bed for him in another room. Again the door of his wife's room was opened. This time the nurse herself was there, and, in a low tone, she told him that Mrs. Homerand was now awake, and wished to see him. ADRIEN. 65 He went to the bedside, and, taking her hand, said, " Martha, how do you feel now ?" She did not reply to the question, but, without opening her eyes, asked him what he thought of their babe, and continued, like one in a dream, " His grandfather just told me that he con- sidered him a splendid boy, one of the old Rathmine stock." " Grandfather !" ejaculated the professor. The nurse again put up a finger of warning, and pointed to her head. He understood the sign ; his wife's mind was slightly wandering. " You will see," she went on, " that father has a good warm room to-night; he must be tired coming that long distance, expressly to see us, and to greet our boy. I will see you both in the morning. Good-night." And she turned her face to his for a good-night kiss. He pressed his lips to hers, and as he raised his head that strange thrill again came over him. He could not account for the feeling, except perhaps on the ground of the excite- ment of the afternoon ; not for a moment did the thought enter his mind that there was any thing supernatural. It might be nervousness ; he did not allow it to trouble him. He left the bedside of his wife, and followed the landlady to the apart- ment prepared for him. Hardly had he reached the middle of the room when the door slowly opened. He looked into the passage, but all was darkness. Supposing that it was the wind, he now locked the door. He was nevertheless moved. His face grew pale, and the pulsations of his heart were quickened. He proceeded to search the apartment. He looked under the bed, a thing he rarely did, then into the closet, and behind the curtains of the window. There was nothing tangible in the room. He walked the floor, and reviewed the events of the past year. Where was Helen ? His conscience reproached him ; tears filled his eyes at the thought of her. Would there ever come a time when he could forget these things ? It was past the midnight hour when he finally retired. When he went to his wife's chamber, the next morning, he learned that she had rested comfortably, and her mind was clear. She spoke with a smile, — " Homer, I had a pleasant dream last night. I thought that my father had come over unexpectedly from America, e 6* 66 ILIAN. and was delighted to see his grandson. He was very pale, however, and seemed to be ill. If, now, he and mother would only join us for the winter, how pleasant it would be. Don't fail to write to them both to-day, and give them my love." This was done, and the letter duly posted. In those days mail communications were not so rapid as they are now. The Cunard Line had sent out their pioneer steamer only the year previous. It was therefore the 5th of December when a letter came to the professor with a deep mourning border, written by Mrs. Rathmine, giving the intelligence that her husband had died suddenly at five o'clock on the evening of the 15th of No- vember. He had prepared a dinner in commemoration of his birthday, and while welcoming the guests he was taken with a fit of apoplexy, and died in a few minutes. Mrs. Rathmine was in great distress, and entreated that her daughter and the professor would return home as soon as possible. If, however, she added, they were not able to take the ocean voyage in winter, she would visit them abroad in the spring. Thus, one life of that family was extinguished as a new one was ushered in. The wail of the infant had been answered by the expiring groan of the judge, who had just reached the mile-post of a half-century. Is it strange that his disembodied spirit should seek for a last meeting with his only daughter and her husband, and that it was gratified to meet also his grandson? It is not our province to express an opinion upon this matter. The simple fact is given, and we must leave it thus stated. Mrs. Rathmine came over to England the ensuing spring, and remained with them for five years, going from city to city during the summer, and wintering in Dresden. She never fully recovered the shock occasioned by her husband's death. One cold, raw day in October she took a violent cold while watching a military display, and two weeks after passed quietly away in her daughter's arms. Her heart had been wrapped up in her grandson, and to him she left all her worldly possessions. The income of it was ample for one of moderate wants. The next spring the professor and his wife returned to Boston, taking her remains with them, and buried them by the body of her late husband. The ensuing twelve months . ADRIEN. 67 were spent in the Homerand mansion, but the longing for the excitement of foreign travel was too strong in both husband and wife. Again they made preparations to return to England, by the now established Cunard Line from Boston. Since his marriage, Professor Homerand had not sought in any way to obtain information of Helen Claymuire. He had re- ceived a letter from her two years later. It merely informed him that she was very ill, and probably would not recover. A notice on the back in red ink, dated six days after the letter itself, stated that the writer had died the previous day, that the enclosed letter was found sealed and directed to him, and had been accordingly forwarded ; he also received a slip from a paper, describing the death and burial of a highly accom- plished young American lady, Mrs. E. Mordine, the daughter of the late Colonel Claymuire, of South Carolina. It added that the cause of death was consumption, and that she had endeared herself to a large circle of friends, who mourned the loss of one so beautiful and so amiable. This unlooked-for intelligence made the professor very ill, and it was two months before he felt able to resume his trav- els. Remorse was at work, and he felt himself guilty of mur- der. But for the ministrations of his devoted wife, and the happy, playful disposition of his boy, he would perhaps, by some rash act, have ended his agony of soul. The face of the wronged Helen was continually before him. He redoubled his attentions to Martha, to lull any suspicions that might arise in her mind, and also, if possible, to quiet the shade of the unfortunate deceased one. Constant travel brought relief at length, and only at times would the ghost of the past return. But conscience took care not to let him entirely forget his crime. Thus the years went, bringing a premature old age on the professor and the promise of a noble life for his young son. In the summer of his sixteenth year the Homerands returned to their home in Boston, to enable the youth to enter the Freshman class of the University, of whose faculty his father had been an honored member. Adrien exhibited talents that were of a high order. He was entirely free from the vices so common to youth. His home was a paradise to him, and the company of his gifted father and loving mother was preferable to any other society. 68 ILIAN, He came home every Friday evening during term-time, and returned on the Monday following. He had but one longing, and that was for the ocean. In his eighteenth year his father purchased for him a small schooner-yacht, and with some of his classmates, and an old coasting captain for a pilot and instructor, and a cook to prepare their meals, they worked the vessel themselves, and spent their vacation on the sea, going sometimes as far as the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Adrien was quick to learn, and soon became an accomplished seaman and skilful navigator. We now enter upon a new act in our drama. New scenes, new characters, and a new history will occupy our attention. BOOK II.— 1861. CHAPTER I. THE SPIRITS ABROAD. The history of the great Rebellion gains in interest as the actors on both sides pass away, and a new generation arises who are able to weigh the mighty problems without prejudice that in the seventh decade of our century threw millions of people into fierce conflict one against the other. The blood of half a million men was shed before the decision was reached. It would be digressing from the aim of this narrative to enter upon the discussions that for years agitated all parts of the country, North and South, East and West, and which required the arbitrament of the sword to settle. One of the most powerful, prophetic representations of what war meant was given by Harper s Weekly in 1860. Two large pictures were published, called " The Spirits Abroad." It made a great impression at the time, but no one imagined the awful import of the war-cloud then looming over the land. The details of this great struggle have been fully written by other writers, and we can only take up such portions as relate to the individuals belonging to this story. Adrien was to graduate in June of this year, and he had arranged to dispose of his small vessel and purchase a larger one. Ten of bis friends, most of them his classmates, were invited to take a cruise in July up the St. Lawrence, to Mon- treal, and as far as the Great Lakes. This was looked forward to with a great deal of pleasant expectation. Adrien stood six feet, powerfully built, and was acknowledged by all to be the handsomest man in his class. He was so thoroughly good- natured, and such a polished gentleman, that he was called " Lord Chesterfield." To every one, even the humblest, he 70 I LI AN. was polite and affable. Never would he speak ill of any one, and he positively refused to listen to scandal or idle gossip. A tale-bearer he despised. His manly nature re- coiled from association with such thieves of character, those who take delight in aspersing the reputation of their fellows. Even the animals saemed by some instinct to know that he was their champion against cruelty. His record at college was one of the brightest in the annals of the famous seat of learning, in whose classic halls some of the most briUiant minds in the country had been instructed. He was the umpire not only in his own class, but with the juniors. Day after day was heard the expression, " Let Adrien decide the point." The young men would gather around him while, calmly as a judge upon the bench, he would patiently hear both sides of a dispute or argument, and then give his decision, which was always accepted like one of the laws of the Medes and Persians, final and fixed. His purse was freely opened to the needy student, and his assistance was tendered in a quiet way, merely as a loan to be repaid at some future time. He made the recipient of his bounty feel that it was a privilege to be permitted to lend money to one who might become a great lawyer, an eminent doctor, a celebrated clergyman, or a merchant prince. Adrien was of a sanguine disposition, and continually cheered the despondent by glowing pictures of what the future would bring forth. The silver lining of the dark clouds was soon made apparent under his manipulation. Never was his tact more needed than during the month of March, after the inauguration of President Lincoln. The spirits of union and disunion were abroad in the land, and nowhere was there such fierce controversies as in the town where the college was situated. Many of the sons of the leading families of the South were students. They admired Adrien, and accepted his views on other points, yet on the burning question of the hour they remembered that he was of the Kathmine and Homerand stock, and therefore could not be in sympathy with the up- holders of disunion. Nevertheless he prevented many severe conflicts between the young men representing the North and the South. Often, when some of them were white with passion in the heat of an argument and ready to proceed to blows, Adrien's THE SPIRITS ABROAD. • 71 humorous remarks would set them laughinir, and the little quarrels were suspended. The booming: of Sumter's guns reached the college on the 15th of April, and the war fever spread with the rapidity of lightning. The call to arms, although it came unexpectedly, found the loyal sons of New England as ready to defend the old flag as their fathers had been nearly a century before. But the experience was a new one. It was against no foreign adversary, but a domestic one. It was a fratricidal contest. All over the land, from the ex- treme northern boundary to distant Texas, in the far Western States, whose shores are washed by the waters of the Pacific, and in those whose barrier was the great Atlantic, there was but one topic of discussion, and that was war. By day and by night were the preparations hurried forward. Regiments were form- ing and hastening to the front. The Sixth Massachusetts, mostly from Lowell, under the command of Colonel Benjamin F. Butler, afterwards the distinguished major-general, had re- sponded the day after the proclamation, and left on the 6th of April for Washington. Massachusetts was in the front, and her loyal sons were volunteering as fast as they could be armed and equipped. Farewells were rapidly spoken, and oaths of allegiance to the Federal government were taken by lips that afterwards were mute and cold upon the field of battle. At Adrien's college all the Southern students left at once for their homes. Among them were several who were deeply attached to him. There were two in par- ticular, one from New Orleans, of French extraction, Henry Rechard, and the other a scion of one of the oldest families of South Carolina, Thomas Jeifords. They both sought out Adrien, and candidly told him that they proposed to ofi'er their services to their respective States. Earnest and powerful were the arguments put forth by him to dissuade them. Never did he plead with such eloquent fervor, but to no purpose. Failure to respond to the call of their States would brand them as cowards, and cut them off from all family associations. We have no occasion here to enter into the details of the im- portant questions of that time and the tenor of the argu- ments used by both parties as justification of their course. It was not the sudden uprising from some trivial cause, such as 72 ILIAN. in the past had led to fierce wars between rival kingdoms, but it extended back to the foundation of the government. The notes that guide me in this description are not con- secutive in their details, and much labor has been necessary to unravel the facts in the case. Several of the individuals connected with my story kept a diary of events, and I have thought best to publish many of the letters as they are found. Somewhere I have read that " living, human beings are but sport for their dead predecessors." Strange as it may appear, yet I solemnly assure my readers that in some of the pre- ceeding pages my pen has traced out the lines and characters apparently guided by some external controlling impulse. Ever and anon I hear the words " Hasten on, hasten on." CHAPTER II. UNION VS. DISUNION. "The sound of the war-drum shall thrill thee at night, As thy sons and thy brothers are borne to the fight; The slave and the cotton shall stab thee with pain, And the North and the South be divided in twain." From lip to lip went the question, " Are you for the Union or against it?" There was no neutral ground that could be maintained with honor. Those who attempted it were de- spised by both contestants. As I have already stated, Adrien was a strong champion for the Union cause, while his classmates, Henry Rechard and Thomas Jeffords, were for the South. In order to rightly es- timate the conduct and character of our fellows, we must go back to the antecedents of their birth and early associations and training. Henry Rechard was born of wealthy parents, in the city of New Orleans, in 1838. His father was an eminent physician, who had been educated in Paris. At the opening of the war Henry was in his twenty- third year. He had already gradu- ated from the college, and was pursuing his studies in medi- umoy^ vs. disunion. 73 cine. He possessed a wiry frame, and was m the enjoyment of perfect health. His hair was brown, with a slight mous- tache of the same color. His dark-blue eyes when in repose gave out a dreamy expression, as though the owner was living in a far-off world of his own. When roused by passion, or if his sympathies were excited by any act of oppression, the whole man seemed changed into another being, and woe betide the individual who crossed his path when his blood was up. His classmates described him as an angel most of the time, gentle and amiable in disposition, but occasionally, under great provocation, he would exhibit a character of another mould, and develop into something not prudent to molest. Rechard was the soul of honor. He prized this quality so much that he looked upon the violation of it as the sin never to be forgiven. He was gifted with a keen penetration into human nature. His fellow-students used to affirm that he could tell what an individual had for dinner the day previous. Next to Adrien, he was their confidant. While the other was the judge, he was the counsellor. On the 1st of May, just two weeks after the fall of Sumter, he severed his connection with his Alma Mater. He immediately sent his trunks to the railway station, preparatory to leaving for the South. He then waited for Adrien till he came out of the class-room at noon, and asked him to see him off. They went together arm in arm, these two young men who were to be so strangely thrown together during the closing years of the terrible war. When they stood on the platform by the waiting train, with tears in their eyes, they clasped hands to say good-by. " Here we part, Adrien," said Rechard. " Perhaps when next we meet it will be as enemies in conflict. I feel sure that you will enter into the service of your State, and I am certain no earthly power could swerve you from what you believe to be the path of duty. You will always be found faithful in regard to all that concerns an honorable man in the path he has chosen." " My hand and my heart," answered Adrien, " will at all times be at your service, provided such action does not con- flict with my allegiance to the Union cause. A thousand blessings on your head, and may God defend the right." " Amen," answered Rechard, as, with his bright eyes filled D 7 74 ILIAN. with the tears he could not keep back, he returned the press- ure of his friend's hand. " If we can only meet as enemies, then I trust we will not do so until the conflict is settled one way or the other. I know that I will hear of your deeds of valor, for your star is destined to rise in the red firmament of war. Since the hour that I first met you, you have been my ideal of honor and self-respect in its highest development, and the pain at parting with you is the keenest I have ever endured. Whatever the issues may be to others, we never can be enemies. May God help us both to do our duty ; and now, farewell." A moment afterwards he stood on the platform of the moving train and waved his adieu. Thus they parted. Little did they think that, when next they should meet, the skill of the one should save the life of the other. Thomas Jeffords first saw the light of day on his father's plantation in South Carolina. He came into the world under several disadvantages, which may serve as an excuse for some of his shortcomings ; at least, he always pleaded them himself. He was of the same age as Adrien, having been born on the tenth day in the same mouth ; and he often declared that in this stirring generation five days counted for a good deal. How the high-toned Adrien ever became attached to Tom Jefi"ords was always a marvel to the other students. Jeffords was in the class below him, and had very few friends in the school. He was not a favorite with any of the professors, and yet they were compelled to credit him with the term " excel- lent" in his recitations. He seemed to be always in luck. His class being a large one, only a few were called upon to recite each day. His classmates affirmed that he had some animal instinct by which he could invariably tell when he would be called on, and so was ready. He had a perfect command over the muscles of his face. This, perhaps, was the secret that he did not impart. When he wanted to be called upon to recite, he would assume a frightened, depreca- tory air, as though dreading to be selected to tell what he knew about the subject for the day. On the contrary, when he was not prepared, he would exhibit a confident, knowing look, and keep searching the professor's eye as though solicit- ing a call. These tactics worked to a charm at all times, and so his record in his class was good. UNION vs. DISUNION. 75 He had a powerful memory and unlimited self-assurance, which carried him through the quarterly examinations. His uncle, who had brought him up, destined him for the profes- sion of the law. I have remarked that he was ushered into the world under several disadvantages. His first wail was that of an orphan, for practically he had no mother nor father. Ten days before his birth the latter had been killed by being thrown from his horse, and his mother never got over the shock. She died before she could give birth to her baby, and the sharp knife of a skilful surgeon had saved his infantile life. He possessed a slender figure, and was of delicate con- stitution, but nature gave him a powerful weapon of defence in his tongue. He could utter more words to the given minute, some of them red-hot, than most boys of his age could in an hour. In regard to honor and patriotism, he had pecu- liar notions of his own, which will be made apparent as our story unfolds. Tom, notwithstanding all this, had many good qualities whicli his profane old uncle had never sought to develop. He always prided himself on one thing, — viz., he never told a deliberate lie. He sometimes went very near the hmit, but never crossed it. Tom was rather luxurious in his tastes, for which he ob- tained the means by telling his uncle that the expenses of a true-blooded Southern gentleman were always more than those incurred by the son of a Yankee shopkeeper. On this point the old man was weak. He sent him a liberal sum of money to liquidate all claims and pay his passage home. He directed him to leave at once that cursed abolition university, and to shake the dust of the Yankee town off his feet. Tom was so indiscreet as to show his uncle's letter to some of his classmates. A committee was at once appointed to " give him a good send- off." What the arrangements were was not made known, but a feather pillow was contributed, and a gallon of tar was pur- chased. "Tom Jeff" (as he was nicknamed) got an inkling in some way of the grand demonstration that was preparing in his honor, so he took the advice of Lady Macbeth to her guests, — not to stand on the order of going, but to go at once. He left the college by a back street, and was soon on his way to his Southern home. 76 ILIAN. CHAPTER III. Hannibal's oath. All who entered the service of the Federal government were obliged to take a solemn oath of allegiance. We now invite our readers to listen to an oath more appalling in its nature, and more disastrous in its consequences, than any taken by the loyal sons of the North. In a street leading from the Boston Common, in a massive granite stone house, a scene was enacted on the 3d of May that gave rise to the details of this story. In a large front room, luxuriously furnished, sat in an easy-chair a beautiful woman. A superficial observer would have said that she was a little past thirty. A closer inspection would have shown her abundant black hair tinged with gray, and yet, judging from the absence of all wrinkles, she could not have been more than forty. Her eyes still retained their youthful sparkle. On her face, on this particular morning, there was an expression as of heavenly sweetness, but blended with a vindictive animosity that was startling to behold. On her lap lay the morning newspaper. A short paragraph in it had roused all the latent evil of her nature to its utmost activity, giving her a resemblance to the description of another woman, — viz., that she was a " beautiful devil." The only occupant of the room with her was a young girl of about twenty years. To attempt the portraiture of the latter in a single brief para- graph would be a diflficult matter. She was Hke some great work of art on canvas or marble, that needed to be studied to be understood. Little by little, however, we shall become better ac- quainted with the heroine of our story. She had a book in her hand, — Pope's translation of Homer, — and was deeply inter- ested in the exciting description of the single combat of Uljsses and Hector before the walls of Troy. She rose suddenly from her chair, and, closing her book, said, in a sorrowful tone, — '* Oh, dear, Hector is killed ; I am so sorry for him," " Hector who ?" exclaimed the older lady, in an angry tone. HANNIBAL'S OATH. 77 " Why, Hector, the son of Priam, the brave defender of Troy. Have you never read Homer, auntie? It is a charming book." " Homer !" exclaimed her aunt, rising from her seat, and facing the girl before her with a look of intense bitterness. Her face was pale, and her eyes fairly blazed like electric Child," she said, "why do you choose such literature? It is not a proper book for a young lady. Homer, indeed ! I detest the name." " Why, auntie," exclaimed the astonished girl, " what could Homer have had to do with you ? You look as though you would like to tear him to pieces." " Read that paragraph," replied her aunt, fiercely, as she handed her niece the newspaper which was crumpled in her hand. The girl took the paper and read the article indi- cated. " I do not see any thing extraordinary in that," said she ; " I read it this morning. It only refers to the gallant conduct of Adrien Homerand. Two days ago he prevented a violent demonstration by the students at his university against some of the Southern young men who were preparing to leave for their homes. The editor declares that lasting disgrace would have rested upon the institution if violence bad been ofi'ered them. You know, auntie, I love your native State, dear old South Carolina, where we have spent such happy days. At the same time, I respect the devotion of the Northern people to their cause. I think Mr. Homerand did a noble act, and I admire him for it." " Ilian," said her aunt, grasping her arm, and almost hissing out her words, " tell me, have you ever met Adrien Homerand?" " Not to speak to him," the girl replied ; " but I have seen him several times, and I think that, without exception, he is the handsomest young man I ever gazed upon. I would like to be introduced to him." " Curse him ! and curses upon his father, and upon the whole brood of them !" shouted the now infuriated woman. Ilian looked on in amazement. Had her aunt lost her reason? What could have caused this terrible outburst? She was aware that her aunt had periodical fits of de- 7* 78 ILIAN. spondency, but never had she seen her so excited. She at- tempted to soothe her, and tried to put her arm around her neck. A single look from those vindictive eyes, now blazing with passion, warned her to desist. The tears came into her eyes. The woman had been as a mother to her, and had never repelled her before in such a manner. Her aunt had been married, when a young girl, to a man very much older than herself, and he died three years later. He belonged to the old English family of the Yerderes, and she had remained a widow ever since. As they had ample means, most of their time had been spent abroad. Several winters they lived on their plantation near Columbia, in South Carolina, and had come from it only a few weeks previous, and were now on their way to Paris. Ilian was loving and demonstrative in her disposition, and the action of her aunt in refusing to allow her caresses wounded her deeply. She sank into a chair and burst into a flood of tears. This was like oil on the waters. The storm subsided. Mrs. Yerdere brought a chair along-side of the weeping girl, and said, in a kind tone, — " Ilian, my child, I did not mean to wound your feelings, but when I think of your mother's wrongs, I can at times hardly control myself." Ilian looked up with eyes filled with tears. Her aunt gently drew the beautiful face to her bosom, and kissed her so afi"ectionately that the glad smile came back. " Auntie," she replied, " you often promised to tell me of my mother's history. Why not now ? This is my birthday. We are to have a few friends this evening, and I was ex- pecting to have obtained an introduction to Adrien Home- rand, so that I could have invited him to our reception. All the girls of Boston are raving about him, and I " The sentence was never finished, for her aunt checked her with a question, uttered in a tone of voice so hollow that it might have come from the dead, it was so weird and thrilling. "Ilian, would you, if I were murdered, invite the son of my murderer to your home, and feast him ?" " How can you ask such a question ? I would kill any man or woman that dared to offer you violence." And the eyes of the young girl flashed a dangerous fire, showing the embryo passsion that was lurking beneath the fair exterior. HANNIBAL'S OATH. 79 " Ilian," continued her aunt, " some other time I will tell you the story of your unhappy mother. One thing I will tell you now, and that is the stern fact that Professor Home- rand was the main cause of your mother's death. They were engaged to be married, and he abruptly broke off the engage- ment, and married his present wife. I went with her to England, where she met your father and married him after a short courtship. She died in giving you birth, as I have already told you, and your father grieved so after her that he also died in a few months. She suffered so from nervous prostration that it left her no vitality to withstand your birth. In the face of all this, do you wish to have the son of the man who was the main cause of her untimely death at our house this evening, and sitting at our table? If so, I will at once obtain an introduction." The horrified expression on the face of the girl assured Mrs. Verdere that the moment was at hand to which she had looked forward for many years. " Ilian, have you ever heard of Hannibal's oath ?" " Yes, indeed ; Hannibal was one of the three sons of Hamilcar, the great Carthagenian warrior. His father made Hannibal take an oath of perpetual hatred to the Romans, and he carried war and desolation into their midst for many years." " Exactly ; and your mother, on her dying bed, made me promise, when you were of age, to get you to take an oath of perpetual enmity to Professor Homerand and his family. Now you know the reason why I cannot, for your mother's cause, endure the name of Homer ; for the sake of the dead and the love of her who gave you birth, will you solemnly promise to carry out her wish ?" " Oh, auntie, this is so sudden, and an oath like that is teiTible ; is there no way out of it ? Was she in her right mind when she asked you to carry out such a thing ?" " Yes, as conscious as I am to-day. But you hesitate. Which do you prefer, an eternal blessing or a curse?" " Will you not give me time to ponder this matter over ?" " No, not a moment. I am surprised that you ask for such a delay. This must be done now." "Am I to understand that, if I fail to comply with this request, I will entail upon myself a mother's curse?" 80 I LI AN. '' Yes, I have so stated." For a moment there was silence, and then Ilian, in a low, frightened tone, said, " I swear to do as my mother wished me, by all my hopes of heaven and by all my fear of hell." CHAPTER IV. FATHER MURPHY. In a manufacturing town of Massachusetts, not far from Boston, there stood, on one of its side streets, a beautiful church edifice, built of wood, in Gothic style, and painted white. Its modest tower did not seek to rival its more pretentious neighbors by rising into the clouds. It was sur- mounted by a cross of golden hue. The bell was soft in tone, which did not jar upon the ears like that of others in the same place. The good Catholic priest who was its pastor called it a chapel. He might have termed it a church, for it could seat five hundred people. But Father Murphy was not ostentatious, either in private or public life. Many of his par- ishioners declared that he was too modest, and that this was a virtue not appreciated in this forward age. He had travelled over a large part of Europe, and had visited many of the States, going as far as California. His church, proud of their pastor, had two years previously raised a liberal sum of money aad sent him on a visit to Rome. A six months' tour had been rich in experience, and his parishioners reaped the benefit. Travel, and its consequent mixing with all sorts of people, had broadened his mind. He was liberal in his views ; being thoroughly honest himself, he gave others credit for being sincere in their belief, although they might differ from him in doctrine. His manner was genial to all, rich as well as poor. A high, square forehead was a token that Nature had been lavish in mental gifts, but one quality he lacked, and that was ambition. Yet he was active and energetic in church work, and zealous in the performance of the multitudinous duties of a pastorate, but he had no desire to rise to a higher FATHER MURPHY. 81 position. Time and again he was told that his great talents were wasted in the small parish over which he gently ruled. He ought to be a bishop. To this he invariably replied that he preferred his quiet work, and hoped to live and die with his present charge. His chapel was opened each day from sun- rise to one hour after sunset ; and every week-day afternoon he was always found there to give a word of counsel or comfort to any one who might seek him. They came regularly, the old and young, and the middle-aged ; men of business came when things went wrong, and always went away with a glow of sun- shine in their faces; mothers sought his advice when the burden and cares of their household were too heavv. and on their return home their children would exclaim, " Where has mother been, she looks so happy ?" And so it was, year after year. By the sick-bed he was found when needed, but he never intruded his services when not desired. The worthy priest was careful to avoid all occasion for scandal, by seeing every one in the church. He would go from pew to pew, talk^ encourage those present, and then retire to his modest cottage attached to the rear of the chapel, where a widowed sister kept house for him. One afternoon in the latter part of May the sky, which had been clear all day, became darkened by a heavily-charged cloud, which passed rapidly over the town and opened sud- denly its flood-gates; it did not rain, it poured. Pedestrians sought shelter wherever they could. A lady, richly dressed, was caught in the shower two blocks away, and by the time she reached the vestibule of the chapel she was drenched through. As she stood there Father Murphy came towards her, and, bowing with that ease of manner which only the true gentleman can exhibit, expressed his regret that she had been caught in the unexpected rain, and invi'ted her into his house, where his sister would be at her service. The lady at first declined, saying that she was anxious to reach her home in Boston, and was then on her way to the station. She was a stranger in the place, and came by the noon train to get some information about a private matter. Just then the whistle of the locomotive was heard, and the priest smiled as he said, — "I am afraid you will not get the four o'clock train, and there is no other before six, which is a slow one. It will / 82 ILIAN. therefore be fully four hours before you Ccan reach your home, and to remain in your wet garments that length of time would endanger your life." The lady accepted the offer of hospitality, and went to the cottage, where the sister took charge of her. The pastor returned to his chapel, to find twoscore people assembled, most of them refugees from the storm. He had a smile and pleasant greeting for each. At five the cloud passed over, and the sun far in the western horizon filled all the land- scape with the golden beauty of its parting rays. It was a glorious scene, and the priest stood in the rear of his chapel, admiring the grandeur of the picture which no painter could produce. At last he remembered his guest. It wanted thirty minutes to the time when the next train would leave for l^oston, but the station was only five minutes distant. When he entered his parlor he found her waiting to express her thanks. Her outer garments had been dried before the kitchen fire, and his sister had furnished a change of under- liuen, and she was now anxious to get home. The experienced eye of Father Murphy read at a glance that the woman before him was no ordinary person ; that she was wealthy was ap- parent from the texture of tier apparel and the two large soli- taire diamond ear-rings which shone resplendent from her ears. Her choice language and dignified, yet extremely courteous, behavior, were evidences of superior education and birth. She earnestly invited the priest and his sister to visit her iu Boston before she sailed for Europe in the middle of June. She was not a native of the old Bay State, but came from South Carolina. She hoped that the outbreak of civil war bad not extinguished kindly feelings in their hearts for those who, through no choice of their own, first saw the light of day in the f\ir-off South, and who, as a sequence, were deeply in- terested in the welfare of the seceding States. Father Murphy and his sister had both been born in Mas- sachusetts, and their patriotism was fully aroused, but here was a woman, and a beautiful one at that, who was their guest, and how could they have any but the most friendly feelings for her ? Both took her hands, and assured her they hoped that the acquaintance formed through the accident of a thunder-storm might develop into the bright sunshine of a life-long friendship. The lady handed her card, on which FATHER MURPHY. 83 was written '•'■ Mrs. Elizabeth Verdere, Street, Boston." " Just oflF the Common," she said. " I know the place and the house very well," said Father Murphy ; " I have been there before." A grave look came over his face, and a deep sigh escaped him, as though the memory of some past event of no pleasant nature had been brought up in review before him. Suddenly he said, as if seeking to change the topic, and prevent any question being asked, — " You do not, I suppose, belong to our mother church ?" " No," was the answer ; " I was brought up in the Episcopal fold ; I am satisfied with its teachings, and hope to live and die in that faith." " Well, we will not discuss religious dogmas, especially if you want to catch the six o'clock train." Mrs. Verdere laughed, and a smile of such sweetness came over her face that Father Murphy and his sister were com- pletely captivated. Her curiosity had been aroused by the strange look that came over his face when she mentioned the place where she lived. In a gentle, insinuating tone, as they walked to the station, she asked, — " Is there any marvellous story attached to the house in which I have my apartments ? My niece has a peculiar pen- chant for houses in which great tragedies have been enacted. Ilian is a strange girl, and an earnest student of psychic prob- lems." " Is that your niece's name ? It is quite classical. It sounds like a derivation from the Iliad of Homer. What a wonder- ful man that poet was." It was well for the good father's complacency of mind that he did not see the face of his companion as he mentioned the name of Homer. A dark cloud came over it that told of sup- pressed passion. " You ask me about the house where you live," he con- tinued. " Five years ago a dreadful scene took place in it. I was well acquainted with one of the families involved. I was called to hear the dying man's confession. He owned the place, and was living there with his widowed mother. It is a long story ; but here we are at the station, and there is the whistle of the locomotive." " Was there a murder committed on the premises ?" 84 ILIAN. ^' Yes; the young man referred to had deceived a girl of good family under promise of marriage. She heard that he was about to marry another. She called at the place and waited for him in their sitting-room, which is on the second floor front. When he came home she made a demand that he should keep his promise and marry her. This he flatly re- fused to do. She then took a revolver from the bosom of her dress and shot him. He died three days after." " That was my — I mean that I am now occupying that identical room. Good-bye ; a thousand thanks for your hospitality and kindness." The next moment the worthy priest was alone on the plat- form, and the train had passed out of the station. " There is some design of Providence in this meeting," he said to himself, as he walked back to his home. . . CHAPTER V. f A VISION OF THE PAST. On the morning of the fifth day after Mrs. Verdere left Father Murphy's house he received a letter by the early morning post, written in delicate handwriting, and highly per- fumed. " Some lady fair, seeking advice," said his sister. The following were the contents : BosTOX, June 2, 1861. Rev. Thomas Murphy : Reverend and dear Sir, — My aunt, Mrs. Verdere, to whom you so kindly extended your hospitality five days ago, is very ill. She took cold from the rain-storm that overtook her in your town. A high fever has resulted. No serious danger is anticipated. She has expressed a desire to see you, if you care to come as a friend. You evidently made a deep impression upon her during the short time she was with you. It is best to state in advance that my aunt is a member of the Episcopal Church, and has no intention of severing her con- nection with it. She is anxious to hear something more of A' VISION OF THE PAST. 85 the tragedy connected with the apartments where we are now living. I join with her in sincere thanks for the hospitality extended to her. I sent your sister a package by express yesterday, containing the clothing loaned to my aunt and a few tokens of our esteem. With best wishes for your welfare, I remain, with feelings of gratitude, Ilian Mordine. P.S. — As you know our house, it is needless to give the number. " I like the open frankness of this note," said Father Murphy, " and I will go at once and see Mrs. Verdere. Her guardian angel may have led her to our home for the purpose of bringing her into our fold. I am glad of the opportunity to express my thanks in person for the valuable presents which came this morning." Shortly after the noon hour the worthy priest stood be- fore the house he knew so well. In answer to his ring, a servant-girl came to the door. Taking his card and reading the name, she surveyed him from head to foot. There could be no mistake in the man. He was a priest all over, and the girl perceived it at once. In answer to his inquiry for Mrs. Verdere, she replied that the lady was very ill, and the doctor, who had just left, had given strict orders to admit no visitors. " Besides," she continued, " Mrs. Verdere is a Protestant, and " " Take my card at once to Miss Mordine, and say I am here in answer to her letter." The decided tone in which these words were uttered gave the girl to understand that the man before her must be obeyed. She at once opened the door, which she had previously kept half-closed, and asked him to wait in the parlor. His temper was slightly ruffled, and he walked the floor to regain his com- posure. " These New England country-girls," he said, half aloud, " are brou,i:;ht up to look upon a priest as prowling around seeking to make proselytes. They perhaps may learn that our religion is not forced upon unwilling recipients ; we offer it, but do not thrust it upon any one. A time may come " " Grlad to welcome you, Father Murphy." The priest turned round at this cordial salutation, and a 8 86 ILIAX. vision of loveliness burst upon his gaze. He had seen many beautiful women in his own State ; had looked upon fair faces in London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and in sunny Italy; but never in all his travels had he seen the equal of the radiant girl before him. Her abundant hair was of a rich golden tint, her eyes were deep blue, and had a magnetic power that brought the beholder at once under her sway. For a moment the priest wondered if he was not dreaming, and that he beheld some angelic messenger. The silvery tones of her voice seemed to confirm this as she continued, — " I am delighted at being able to tender you my thanks for your service to my aunt, and for the kindness of your sister to her." " Do not mention it," he replied, feeling, for the first time in his life, embarrassed before a woman. " I assure you," he went on, " the obligation rests upon my side. It was a pleasure to be of service in any way to Mrs. Verdere. I am deeply grieved to learn that she took cold from the rain, and hope the indisposition may pass away in a few days." " It is not likely to prove serious," said Ilian. " It will delay our departure for Europe a week or so ; if you will come to our sitting-room, up-stairs, I will inform my aunt that you have arrived, and I am certain she will be deeply gratified by this visit from you." Ilian turned and led the way. The priest followed her into the hall and up to the second floor. At the door of the sitting-room she asked him to wait inside while she went to prepare her aunt for the interview. As he entered the room so well-remembered a vision of the past flashed upon him with a strange power. He saw before him in fancy a man of about thirty years, handsome and well-endowed, having all the advantages of wealth and education. He was listening with a scornful smile to a demand made by a girl with a pale but determined face, dressed in the height of fashion. In low words, but with a terrible meaning, she said, in a firm voice, — " So you positively refuse to fulfil your sacred obligation to make me your wife, after having basely deceived me, and now wish to cast me aside like a useless toy?" " What nonsense, Bertha," he replied, " to urge this mat- A VISION OF THE PAST. 87 ter further. I gave you my final answer last week, and I purpose to adhere to what I then stated. I have agreed to provide for you, but I cannot make you my wife." " Then you regard your word of honor of no value ?" " It does not count in a case of this kind." " Can nothing induce you to change your purpose in this respect?" " No ; I do not think any argument that you can bring forth will do so. I may as well tell you now, and settle the matter for good, that in a week from to-day I expect to marry Julia." " Then take this as a wedding-present from Bertha." She took a pistol from the bosom of her dress, a loud report was heard, the man staggered, and, putting his hand over his breast, exclaimed, " My God, Bertha, you have killed me !" and then fell heavily to the floor. " My aunt is ready to receive you," said Ilian, who had again appeared at the door. " Are you ill, Father Murphy ? You look dreadfully pale. Let me offer you a glass of wine." " No, no ; a thousand thanks. It is only the association of this room with the terrible deed committed here five years ago this month. It all seemed to come back before me." " You must tell me all about this affair some time, I am anxious to hear it. Was it in this room where the shooting took place ?" " Yes ; right where you are standing." " What day of the month was it?" " The 2d of June. This is the fifth anniversary." " Do you believe. Father Murphy, that the dead ever come back to rehearse old scenes ?" " That is a difficult question to answer. We know com- paratively nothing of the capabilities of the spirit after it leaves the body." " I merely ask the question because you seem to have just had a rehearsal of the events that took place five years ago to-day. How do you account for it?" "The power of memory, I suppose. We will talk it over another time. I will go in and see your aunt now." 88 ILIAN. CHAPTER yi. REPENTANCE. When Father Murphy stood by the bedside of Mrs. Verdere, he was greatly shocked at the change that had taken place in her appearance. The fever was making sad havoc with the beautiful woman before him. To his mind came the words of the prophet Isaiah to King Hezekiah, — " Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die and not live." He felt the conviction that she would never rise from her bed, and that the end was near. Why he felt so, he was unable to tell. " Ilian," said the sick woman, " I wish to have a private talk with Father Murphy. Let no one disturb us." As the door closed she turned to her visitor, sayinir, " Can you give me any details of the tragedy of this house ?" " The subject is very painful," was the answer, " and the particulars are too long to go over now." He became visibly agitated at the remembrance of the rehearsal of the terrible scene be had just gone through. After a moment's pause Mrs. Verdere asked, " Do you not think that the girl was justified in the course she took ?" The priest crossed himself as he answered, in a tone of liorror, " My God, no; how can murder be justified? What did this girl gain for the blood which she shed? She was at once arrested, and, after the death of her victim, was placed on trial for murder. The friends of the murdered man spent money lavishly to make her conviction of a capital crime certain. She was vilified, and false witnesses were brought for- ward to testify to her previous bad character. She narrowly escaped the dnith-penalty, and was condemned to ten years in the State prison, and died there two years after. How much better to have left her case with God, — " Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord ; I will repay." - " Vengeance is slow on the Lord's part," replied Mrs. Verdere. " Twenty years ago I called down on the head of a man who wronged me the solemn curse of Heaven, and, REPENTANCE. 89 instead of being cursed, he has been blessed and has prospered. Would that I had taken my own revenge." " Don't you remember the ancient oracle, — ' The mills of the gods grind slow, but they grind fine.' How do you know that this man of whom you speak has not been punished ? llemorse may have made his life a burden to him, and yet to the world he perhaps keeps it hidden." " I would rather do my own grinding; and I would take care that it was done very fine." " But this is not Christian charity." " The man deserves no charity." " Admit all that ; but don't you think your Maker could at- tend to this matter better than you can ? Make me a confidant ; tell me your story ; perhaps I can suggest some remedy." The long pent-up fires burst forth, and she poured into the ears of the priest her sad history. She told the tale of her wrongs, and her weary waiting for the curse of the old South Church to fiill upon the guilty one. Father Murphy had listened to so many strange tales in his time that he showed no sign of wonder. When the sick woman had finished, he took her hand in his and asked, " Are you willing to risk going into the presence of your Maker with these feelings in your heart ?" " Yes," was her answer ; " but I am not going to die till the curse has been fulfilled. I propose to live and see it all." " But in case your present illness should terminate fatally, you would ask God to forgive you your trespasses against him?" " Certainly I would." " But how can you expect it, when you harbor such thoughts of enmity against another ?" " Mine is an exceptional case ; and when I see the curse accomplished in all its particulars, then I will forgive him, and not before." " If this is your determination, I can do you no good till you are in a different frame of mind. My office as a priest of the church would be of no benefit. I also doubt whether any Protestant clergyman can do anything for you till there is a radical change in your disposition. I must now say good-by, and I leave you in the hope that when next I see you your heart may be in a softer mood." 8* 90 ILIAN. " It never will be till the tenor of my curse is complete." " I hope for better things," was the parting reply. The bell at the bedside was rung, and Ilian answered it in person. " My dear Father Murphy," said she, " lunch is prepared for you, and I will esteem it as a great favor if you will accept of our hospitality." Pressing the hand of Mrs. Verdere, and with a silent prayer for the help of heaven, he went to the dining-room. Half an hour later he had left for home. In his devotions he remembered the rebellious heart crying for vengeance and wondering why it was so slow in coming. Two days after- wards, while in his chapel in the afternoon, speaking to those who came to seek his counsel, a telegram was handed to him : Boston, June 4. Come at once. My aunt is dying, and wishes to see you. Ilian. It was half-past four, and there was no train that stopped at his town until half-past six. An express train, however, passed through at four forty-five, which might be stopped if the case was urgent. He went to his cottage, told his sister of the message, and went to the depot. The station-master was a New England Puritan of the old type, but the genial smile and hearty greeting of the priest could always win its way to his heart. When he was shown the telegram he took up a red flag and waved it furiously in front of the train now rapidly approaching. The ponderous locomotive slowed up and came to a full stop. The priest sprang upon the platform, and, waving his thanks to the station- master, was soon out of sight. The State-house clock was tolling the hour of six as Father Murphy again stood at the door of that fatal house, as he termed it. Ilian answered the bell in person. A smile lit up her tear-stained face as she saw him. " You are just in time," was her greeting, " The doctor left a few moments ago, and promised to return in an hour ; he thinks my aunt will not survive beyond midnight, and I am in great anguish over the news. I had not expected a fatal termination. REPENTANCE. 91 As lie reached the sick-chamber, a single pjlance told him that the end was not very far off. The dying woman was perfectly conscious, and recognized him as he took her hand. He knew the moments were precious, and no time was to be lost. " Mrs. Yerdere," he said, " before two hours will have passed you will stand at the judgment-bar: are you willing with all your heart to forgive Professor Homerand the evil that he has done you, and leave the judgment of the whole matter with God ?" The mention of this name aroused all the dormant fire of her nature ; her eyes flashed defiance and rebellion ; for fully five minutes not a word was spoken. Slowly the evil passions subsided ; a look of calm resignation and a soft, sweet disposi- tion spread over her face, and she replied, " Father Murphy, you have conquered ; I yield, and I freely forgive Professor Homerand, and I hope to be forgiven." " No, my child. It is not I, but the Saviour who won the victory over the powers of darkness. In the name of Christ I bless you, and commend you to His mercy." " Ilian, come to my side," called the dying woman. " Before God and before man I now recall the obligation that I made you take a month ago. Consider it null and void. It was wrong on my part to ask you to bind yourself to any such malediction ; you are therefore free from it. I have left you all my property, and you will be the sole heiress of a vast fortune. I now commend you to the care of God. You will find all the information you want about your father in the tin box containing my papers. I am getting very weak, and feel faint." At this point her breath became feeble and her words dis- connected. " Ilian," she continued, " open the tin box — velvet lining — full record — the oath — is void. If you wish the last bless- ing of your dying " The sentence was never finished. There was a gurgling sound in her throat. Death had come sooner than was expected. The spirit of the former Helen Claymuire left its earthly tabernacle and went to the bar of final reckoning. Two days alter, all that was mortal was laid away to rest in one of Boston's great cemeteries. The burial service was 92 I LI AN. read by an Episcopal clergyman, and only a few friends were invited. Some relatives from New York came on, among them a Mrs. Rendeem, who was her cousin, and with whom Ilian returned after all was over. CHAPTER VII. THE WAR FEVER. The month of July, 1861, was an inauspicious one in this memorable year. The battle of Bull Run had been fought, and the Northern forces had retired from the field. The prevalent idea which seemed to exist throughout the States north of Mason and Dixon's line was that war meant the kill- ing of enemies in battle. When General Sherman's interpre- tation was made known, that war was not only killing, but being killed in return, then a large number who objected to the latter feature of it retired from the contest. Many had loudly urged that it would be far better to let the seceding States go out of the Union than to shed the blood required to preserve the compact. But all hopes of peace were finally swept away, when the news of the defeat of the Union troops occurred on the field of Bull Run in July. The Southern leaders, flushed with victory, increased their demands. But two courses were now open to the North. One was a dishonorable peace and the dismemberment of the union of States ; the alternative, a bloody civil war, lasting for years. Abraham Lincoln was the first President in the history of the Republic who was inaugurated under the au- spices of fixed bayonets and artillery, with troops drawn up in line of battle. There was now no choice but to accept the challenge of the South, and leave to the arbitrament of the .^word what statecraft had failed to decide. The call for three- months' volunteers was due to the fears of those who desired peare at any price. It was now found to be a mistake ; a proclamation was sent out calling for a first instalment of three hundred thousand men, to defend the Union standard by sea and laud. It was carried on the electric wire through every THE WAR FEVER. 93 city, town, hamlet, and village along the snores of our great lakes and beyond the Mississippi, across the broad prairies of the distant West. The fiery message spread through all ranks. The people accepted the gauntlet of defiance thrown to them by the South. Not only the native-born but the naturalized citizen came forward to defend the flag that gave them protection. The war fever spread even across the border, and thousands of Canadians entered the service of the Union. The ploughman left his furrow, the smith dropped his hammer on the anvil, young men forsook their desks and counters, their shops and factories, their offices, homes, and firesides, and hurried to the rendezvous. Clergymen left their pulpits, judges their benches, lawyers their clients, physicians their practice, mer- chants their traffic, and students came from schools, universi- ties, and academies. From every profession and trade, from every calling and rank in life, came the tens of thousands who withstood the ordeal of battle on many a hard-fought field. Many of the leading officers in the army and navy resigned their commission and went South ; but their places were quickly filled. The North was thoroughly arou:sed, and ful- filled the prophetic poem of Mrs. H. W. Booth, written in Europe twenty years previous, of which the following is an extract : " The Xortli in her might, like a whirlwind shall rise; And the notes of the cannon be borne to the skies ; And though the warm blood of her heroes be shed, The light of her freedom shall never be dead ; The stars and the stripes in Excelsior shall bo Proud Liberty's banner from land and by sea ; And the Union, though spurned by th§ slave-holders' scorn, Shall be guarded by Northmen for ages unborn." The commencement exercises in all the Northern univer- sities were held amid great excitement. Wherever there were Southern students, they left, and the war fever seized those who remained and were able to volunteer. Adrien Homerand, in deference to his father's urgent solicitation, had refrained from offering his services till after his graduation. But the very next day he left for Washington, and through the influence of Senator ^umner, his father's friend, he was introduced to the ^^ecretary of the Navy. He brought with him a certificate from the Board of Trade of Boston, testify- 94 ILIAN. ing to his superior seamanship, both practical and theoretical, and also his skill as a navigator. An appointment as an acting master was given to him, with orders to report at once for duty on board of the United States steamer , then fitting out at the Brooklyn Navy- Yard. Tiie fame of the father reflected its lustre upon his son, and the memory of his grandfather, Judge Rathmine, was still held in kindly remembrance by many old_ friends in New York. The best society was thus opened to him. He was flooded with invitations to balls and receptions. He devoted all his time, however, to become thoroughly proficient and acquainted with the duties of his place. The art of naval warfare was new to him, but his active mind quickly mastered the details of the management of a ship-of-war, and the division to which he was assigned command on this vessel soon far excelled all the others in rapid movement and efficiency. His commanding officer, in the report to the Navy Department on the condition of his ship prior to sailing under sealed orders, stated that Acting Master Adrien Homerand was the most perfect example of a naval officer that he had ever sailed with. This encomium from the stern old martinet could only have been won by very rare qualities in any officer on his ship. Adrien's voice was deep and iar-reaching, and could be heard in the remotest part of the vessel. The topmen aloft on the royal yards, and the men in the fire-room, and in the inmost recesses of the shaft-alley, heard his trumpet-tones distinctly. His words of command were always given in a concise, seaman-like manner that carried no doubtful meaning to the ears of those to whom they were addressed, and made them vividly conscious that the sooner the orders were obeyed the better for them. He never used profane or vulgar adjec- tives in the performance of his duties, nor, in fact, at any time; never, under the greatest provocation, would he curse the men on deck. Those who have served as watch-officers on ships of war know by experience that occasions often arise when it requires an efi'ort almost superhuman to keep one's temper. In the ward-room men are often associated with such diverse temperaments, and with conditions of living in all its phases so different from life on shore, that, unless great for- bearance is exercised by all, a condition will ensue, termed, in signifiant nautical parlance, " a floating hell." THE UNION NAVr. 95 This would have been the case with his ship, but for the tact of Adrien. He exercised the same influence over his messmates that he had previously done at college, and before the vessel left New York harbor he had become the umpire in all matters of dispute, and his decision was considered final. For the benefit of those who have no knowledge of life on a man-of-war, I will enumerate the divisions or messes into which the hands are divided. Among the crew, twelve men, as a rule, form a mess. Then there are several petty ofl&cers' messes. The boatswain, gunner, carpenter, and sail-maker, who are warranted officers, constitute the " forward officers' mess." The junior commissioned officers comprise the " steerage mess." In the wardroom of the senior officers are small state-rooms, about seven feet square, opening into the larger space ; in these boxes, as they have been termed, they must sleep in a berth twenty-seven inches wide, and in drawers beneath it they keep all their clothes, consisting of four styles of uniform, hot- and cold-weather clothes sufficient to last for a three years' cruise, often without an opportunity to have them washed. In this box each officer has a bureau, washstand, and chair. It is astonishing how much material can be crowded into a space of the above dimensions. There is also a captain's mess, and the admiral's, when the vessel is a flag- ship. CHAPTER VIII. THE UNION NAVY. At the outbreak of the Rebellion the Federal naval authori- ties found themselves with only a few available ships. Part of these were old sailing-craft. They had no full-powered screw- ships. What they had were auxiliary steam power. Orders were given at once to purchase all merchant vessels suitable for blockade and fighting. Contracts were made for a large number of steamers of all kinds for the branch of service in- tended, — deep-sea cruising, river, and inland waters. The regular navy formed but a nucleus, and acting appointments were aiven to officers of the merchant marine. 96 ILIAN. The ship to which Adrien was attached was one of the best-equipped vessels of the naval service ; in fact, she was considered one of the best of her kind afloat. A week before the appointed time of departure, while the ship was at anchor oflF the battery, on a clear, bright day, just as Adrien was relieved as officer of the forenoon watch, one of his old class- mates came over the side, and, grasping his hand, said, " I want you, old fellow, to do me a particular favor." " Certainly, I am at the disposal of one whose cordial friendship in our school-days will always be a source of pleasant recollection." " A thousand thanks for this dompliment. I am the bearer of a peremptory mandate from my sisters and my cousins, that you, Adrien Homerand, report yourself in uniform to- morrow evening, for dinner at six o'clock. After which you must answer to the charges, preferred by a dozen or more young ladies, that you have on sundry occasions slighted their invitations, and absented yourself without leave from so many receptions where you were expected. You are also directed and invited to bring with you as many of your messmates as can be spared from duty." " Well, my dear fellow," replied Adrien, " I am glad I can bring reinforcements. I suppose the plea of duty before pleasure will not be accepted ?" " Hardly, with young ladies. We expect also to have with us, for the reception, a Southern girl of a style of beauty so rare that she might have come direct from Houriland. All the young men say that she is more angel than human." " Who is this divinity that possesses such wonderful charm ?" " She is a second cousin of my mother, but I am forbidden by my sisters to tell you her name ; they want to surprise you." Adrien introduced his friend to his brother officers of the wardroom as Mr. John Rendeem, a classmate of his. He was invited to stay for lunch, and consented. Five of Adrien's messmates accepted the invitation for the following day, and made the incautious promise to defend him from the charge of preferring the stern routine of a ship-of-war to the fascina- tion of young ladies' society. Mr. llendeem laughed as he told them that they would find it a difficult undertaking. THE UNION NAVF. 97 " I would like to assist you," he said ; " but I am pledged to be neutral." After lunch their guest was shown all over the ship. He expressed his astonishment at her ponderous battery, and felt confident she would make a grand record. When he left the vessel he extended a cordial invitation for all of the officers to pay a visit to his father's house when convenient. On the following evening, at the hour appointed, six officers, clad in the brilliant uniform of the Union navy, ascended the steps of the marble mansion of Mr. Joseph Rendeem, the merchant prince, on Fifth Avenue. As they were ushered into the drawing-room they found a large com- pany assembled, over half of them young ladies, daughters of the best New York families. Brass buttons and gold lace are at all times magnets which attract the admiration of the fair sex, and more so when to them are added charm of youth and single-blessedness. The eyes of the naval officers swept rapidly around the room in search of the star of first magni- tude from the South, of which young Rendeem had spoken. All the ladies present were beautiful, yet none outshone the others. Adrien in particular seemed to seek for her. His young host noticed his eager gaze and surmised the object. Coming to him, he told him that the fair Ilian would not arrive before nine o'clock. " Ilian !" remarked Adrien. " Can this be the Miss Mor- dine of whom I have heard so much ?" " I think she is, for she came from Boston two months ago with my mother. A Mrs. Verdere, a Southern lady of great wealth, was her aunt, and Miss Mordine inherited all her vast fortune. She stayed at our house for three weeks, and then went for a short visit to Mrs. Hortense, the mother of the manager of her property in New Orleans, at present re- siding in this city." " Well, I am delighted at the prospect of seeing this won- derful beauty. Why did she not come for dinner?" " She is in deep mourning, and only consented to come for an hour when she heard that you were to be of the com- pany. Because of the difficulty experienced in getting you away from your ship, she made it a condition that she must first hear that you were actually here. A messenger has already been sent to inform her of your arrival." ^9 9 98 ILIAN, " That is strange ; for I have never met Miss Mordine, although I have heard wonderful stories of her intellectual power." " No description of her can do her justice; she is one of those rare girls who must be seen to be appreciated. In the three weeks that she was at our house 1 tried to study her, but found something new each day." " I am anxious to know something of her history. You mention that she is a relative of your mother; where was she born?" " She was born in England, and it is stated that her mother died in childbirth, and her aunt, who was her mother's only sister, brought her up. They have lived mostly abroad. Now, my gallant hero in blue and gold, you already exert more influence over her than any other young man, for she was always talking about you." " But we never met." " She saw you on three occasions in Boston, although you knew it not. As your old classmate, I have been doing ample justice to your character, and now she knows you as well as I do." " Many thanks for all this, but I am afraid that I shall not come up to the high standard you have measured for me." " Do not worry on that point. Do you know, I think you both are splendidly mated ? I will stand aside for you ; but for no other living mortal would I give up my chance to win her." " John, do not do that ; I am not a marrying man ; I am wedded to my new profession." " Wait until you see and hear her, and then good-by to all benedict notions. I speak from experience." " Who will escort her here this evening ?" " One of the managers of her estate, a Colonel Robert Hor- tense, a fire-eater of the first class, a red-hot secessionist. Where he got his title of colonel, no one knows. There is a great deal of bark about him, but not much bite, I fancy. He is always talking about what he is going to do when he gets back South. I cannot bear the sight of him. He assumes the air of a guardian to Miss Mordine, and tries to dictate whom she must see and whom to avoid." " Perhaps he stands in your way as a rival," said Adrien. MEETING OF THE WATERS. 99 " Oh, no ; I do not rate him so highly as that." At this point they were interrupted by several young ladies, and one of them said, — " Look here, cousin John, we object to councils of war being held without participation by ladies, and we especially protest against your monopoly of Mr. Homerand. He must answer the complaint of neglect of our society, and we are now going to take charge of him." At this point dinner was announced. Adrien was mated to Miss Alice Rendeem, and the other officers were given charming convoys. CHAPTER IX. MEETING OF THE WATERS. The Mississippi River at one point is divided by a long island. At the upper end of this island the river is com- pelled to separate ; its reluctance to do so is shown by its turbulent motion, as though protesting a division of its power. At the lower end, however, the meeting of the waters takes place silently, without noise or demonstration. Its united force forms a compact body that carries along every object that comes into contact with its current. This is the analogy of the meeting of Adrien and Ilian, in the house of Mr. Jo- seph Rendeem, on the eventful evening now to be described. She had consented to come to the reception given by her cousin, Mrs. Rendeem, conditional on the attendance of Mr. Homerand. Her excuse for this was that she was anxious to meet him. His father had formerly been distinguished, and the son was also celebrated. At this time Ilian was in sus- pense as to whether her oath was binding, or, as her aunt had expressed it on her dying bed, was null and void. That there was some mystery deep and far-reaching between her aunt and Professor Homerand she was well aware, but the secret had not transpired. Perhaps Adrien might possess some clue. Accordingly, although it was hardly within the bounds of fashionable propriety to go into society so soon after her aunt's death, when she learned that he had accepted the invi- 100 ILIAN. tation to be present at her cousin's house, she resolved to go there. She made her preparations carefully. The evening was cool for the time of year, so she arrayed herself in a black velvet dress fastened high to the throat. A pearl necklace encircled her dainty throat ; solitaire diamond ear-rings and a diamond coronet in her hair were all her ornaments. Eight o'clock found her sitting in the drawing-room of the house where she was staying, waiting for the clock to point to a quarter of nine. Colonel Ilortense was the only occupant of the room wiih her. He was leaning against the mantel-piece in a very unenviable state of mind. As he is connected with our story, a brief description of him may be proper. Robert Hortense was born in Columbia, South Carolina. His father was one of that large class of persons who insist that the world owes them a living, and who, therefore, take life as easy as possible. He had inherited a small fortune, and he eked it out by genteel gambling. For a gentleman of his grade, a business or a profession was out of the question. He died when his son was fifteen, and his widow, by judicious management, educated her boy as a soldier of fortune, to be on the alert for a favorable opportunity for a rich marriage or gome lucky master stroke. She was a firm believer in the aphorism that all things will come to him who can but wait. Her faith was at length rewarded. In his twenty-fourth year the manager of Mrs. Verdere's estate in South Carolina died, and she procured the position for Robert. This was in 1860. The situation was a lucrative one. Her success encouraged the mother to hope that a marriage might be brought about between her son and Ilian, the niece and heiress of the richest woman in the South. Robert Hortense was slightly built, with light hair and a ferocious moustache of the same color. He had prepared himself for all incidental occurrences by becoming an accomplished swordsman and an unerring marksman. This stood him in hand, for he had already figured in five duels. In the first two he had wounded his adversary each time, coming out of the ordeal untouched. In the third he appeared upon the field with a bright and cheer- ful smile, and asked that, as he was a little out of practice, he should be granted the privilege of firing one shot at a target, just to get used to the smell of gunpowder. His antagonist was, of course, to do the same. His second thereupon MEETING OF THE WATERS. 101 fastened the ace of hearts to a tree and, handing his principal a loaded pistol, counted off twenty paces, and young Ilortense, firing at the word " three," sent the bullet through the centre of the card. As he had long practised this feat, it was no difficult performance. He then took the ace of diamonds from his pocket and handed it to the other second, for the benefit of his principal. The exhibition of such accurate shooting and the significant obliteration of the heart on the card was too much for the nerves of his antagonist, and he promptly apologized. The same result followed in the fourth challenge. It was about this time that Hortense assumed the title of colonel, on the ground that a man who has been four times on the field of honor was entitled to such distinc- tion. In the fifth challenge this by-play did not work, for his antagonist did exactly the same thing, and, furthermore, told him that he could cut his name on a target with pistol- shots without any difficulty. This information was not at all assuring to the colonel. The agreement was to fire at the word " three." Hortense had in the two first encounters fired at the word "two." His nerves were not as steady now as they had been when facing men who were not as skilful as himself He began to consider whether it would not be as well to apologize instead of running the risk of suffering day- light to be sent through his thin body. Matters were hastened before he could decide, and at the word " one " a bullet grazed his temple, and his own went twenty feet wide of the mark. His opponent expressed regret at his own bad marksmanship, and insisted upon another shot, to redeem his credit. The colonel, however, was perfectly satisfied, and after some discussion the principals shook hands. Hortense was not so ferocious nor anxious afterwards to fight more duels. Thus we present him to our readers. As already stated, Mrs. Hortense had persuaded llian to reside with her for a short period. She was living in a hand- somely-furnished house, as llian, on her aunt's death, had generously doubled the colonel's salary. It is needless to say that, when Mrs. Hortense received llian under her roof, she urged her son to make good use of his time, and win, if pos- sible, the young heiress's hand and fortune. On this very evening of the Rendeem party he had endeavored to persuade her to stay away from the reception. Finding that she would 9* 102 ILIAN. not, he had boldly proposed an offer of marriage. He antici- pated no diflficulty. The girl was young and inexperienced, and how much it would tend to relieve her mind from the burden of her grief to engage herself to a handsome young man of good business habits, and one who was acquainted with all the details of her property. He would take all re- sponsibilty off her shoulders about her large estate. Then, again, his mother would take the place of her aunt, and in- struct her in all the duties of a wife. He proposed, but was refused in such a quiet way that he could find no pretext to take offence. Ilian pleaded that it was out of the question to think of marrying so soon after her aunt had been laid in the grave. As she spoke of that dear one who had filled a mother's place to her, tears filled her eyes. The colonel was afraid that if he pleaded any further at present he might injure his case, so he turned the conversation to a subject in which they both felt a strong interest, — the war. They were deep in this discourse when the carriage was an- nounced. They then left the house for the Rendeem party. While both the colonel and Miss Mordiue were in full sympa- thy with the Southern cause, they were too refined to show partisan feeling in a company composed mostly of Northern people. When they were ushered into the drawing-room all eyes were riveted upon Ilian. The gentlemen hastened for- ward to be introduced, all except Adrien, who, with one elbow resting upon the mantel-piece, was engaged in conversation with Miss Alice Rendeem, the subject, of course, being the Southern belle, as the ladies termed her. " What do you think of her, Adrien ?" asked his fair com- panion. She was thus familiar with him, for they had known each other for several years. For a moment he closely scanned Ilian as she was replying to the many flattering words from those who were being intro- duced ; then, slowly answering the question, he said, " Fasci- nating and beautiful ; a perfect model of nature's handiwork ; she is, without exception, the handsomest woman of her style that I have ever seen ; but, after all, I prefer brunettes;" and, looking into Miss Rendeem's face with a smile, he added, "especially when they are from the North." Alice Rendeem was a brunette of the purest type, while her sister Edith was a blonde. There could be no mistaking this direct compliment. CHAMPION FOR THE SOUTH. 103 Adrien continued : '' Miss Mordine has dangerous eyes ; they magnetize, and will yet bring sorrow and trouble to more than one man's heart." This answer was prophetic, and was also well timed, for he at once made a firm friend of Alice, and soothed the jealousy that a handsome woman feels when a star of superior magni- tude comes into her sphere. Mrs. Rendeem now came up and insisted upon introducing Adrien. Slowly he approached llian. As his hand touched hers, a cold chill ran through his frame and a foreboding of evil oppressed him. Thus the waters met. They had not yet joined all their forces, but the current would only be again separated by death. The meshes of Adrien's fate had been woven by others. . CHAPTER X. CHAMPION FOR THE SOUTH. Never in the previous life of llian had her beauty shone out with such dazzlins splendor as after her introduction to Adrien Horaerand. Whatever conscientious scruples she may have had in reference to her oath of hatred to the Homerand family, there was no desire on her part, on this eventful even- ing, to begin her work by hating the son. To say that he was completely carried away would be a mild expression. What the feeling was that filled his heart he did not take time to analyze. He was conscious that a new power had either come into activity within him or taken possession of him from with- out. Whether it was love or infiatuation he cared not ; suffi- cient was it that at his side stood a lovely, radiant girl, with a rare gift of language and a pair of eyes in whose depths of azure shone an intellect not often found in feminine mould. Those eyes beamed on him with such intensity, that, with all his noted presence of mind, he was so overcome that he could hardly answer the questions put to him by a bevy of girls who now surrounded him. They asked him if he would plead 104 ILIAN. guilty to the charge of having, on a number of occasions, de- clined pressing invitations to sociables, and also to special par- ties made up for his benefit, but at which he failed to appear. At any former time he would have felt equal to the almost herculean task of holding his own against a dozen girls, but now his intrenchments had all been carried by a single glance of the magnetic eyes of a being whom he then felt was more akin to an angel than our common humanity. Adrien turned to Ilian with a look which was at once interpreted as a desire that she should answer for him. Indeed, she had such a power over other women that there was no feeling of jealousy or envy exhibited towards her. On the contrary, they felt proud of belonging to a sex that could produce such a marvel of beauty, both mental and physical. She therefore quietly answered for Adrien, and said, " Any man who can, in days like the present, set an example of strict adherence to the du- ties of his position in preference to wasting his time, which belongs to the government that employs him, is a man that every true woman would be proud to call a friend." The sweet smile, childlike in its expression, that accom- panied these words had such an effect, that a number of young ladies at once promptly came forward to take his hand. One of them, however, echoed the sentiments of the others as she said, " Of course, this only applies to naval officers, and not to young men in general ; for, if it did, what would the young ladies do for society?" This created great merriment, and expressions of " Cer- tainly," " Why, of course," were heard on every side, the young men being as enthusiastic on this point as the girls. In fact, they were more so, as they were somewhat jealous of the influence of brass buttons and gold lace. It was long after midnight when the party broke up. Adrien accompanied Ilian to the door of her residence, much to the disgust of Colonel Hortense, who sat in the car- riage, listening with jealous ears to the conversation of the couple before him. The impulse of a deadly hatred sprang up within him, for he now realized that all his chance of winning the hand of the great heiress was gone. Only by the death of his rival could he hope to marry the girl that he loved for her wealth, perhaps, more than for her beauty. An- other agent potent for evil was thus raised on Adrien's path- CHAMPION FOR THE SOUTH. 105 way. After leaving Mi«s Mordine and the colonel at their residence, the driver of the carriage, which belonged to her, was instructed to take Mr. Homerand to the Battery. Here a boat awaited him and the other oflScers, who reached the place shortly after he did. A new impulse was added to his ambition, and he became more zealous than ever. In the afternoon of the second day after the reception Adrien and the other officers who were with him called to pay their parting respects to Mrs. Kendeem and her daughters. Their ship was under sailing orders to proceed to Sandy Hook, in order to test the compasses and exercise the crew in the evolutions of a ship-of-war. A week was to be spent in this way, after which they were to return to their anchorage off the Battery and await assignment to duty, which they expected would be in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico and vicinity. They found Miss Ilian Mordine at the Rendeera mansion, and an hour was spent in pleasant conversation. Ilian was in her brightest mood. She had the rare gift of talking upon half a dozen different subjects at the same time with that number of persons. The principal topic was the one then most prominent before the public mind, — the right of the Southern States to withdraw from the Union. Ilian alone held to the affirma- tive, and such was her power of persuasion that the paymas- ter of Adrien's vessel, who was of the party, said, playfully, " Miss Mordine, may I use St. Paul's quotation ?" " Certainly, was the reply." " Well, your logic has such weight that almost you per- suade me to be a rebel." Several of the others aquiesced in this statement. Miss Edith now came forward as the champion of the neg- ative side. " Paymaster," she said, " where do you get the authority for this quotation ? I am afraid you do not read your Bible very often. In the first place, St. Paul did not use any such words. It was King Agrippa that uttered them, when the great apostle made his defence before him ; and some commentators insist that he used them sarcastically ; and he did not say that he was almost persuaded to be a rebel, but a Christian. Now, what is your answer? Surely, you were not ironical ?" This ingenious turnius; of the conversation redeemed the 106 ILIAN. day for the Northern party, and the paymaster felt as though he had been completely quashed. The laughter at his ex- pense was loud and boisterous. He enjoyed it as much as the rest, and declared that he would be very careful how he quoted Scripture hereafter. Miss Edith followed up her advantage by saying, in a merry tone, to Ilian, " Now, fair cousin of mine, you must not sow the seeds of rebellion in the hearts of these Northern officers. I will stand forth as their protector." Ilian laughed good naturedly, and looked round among the gentlemen for one to support her in setting forth her view of the case. Her eyes rested upon Adrien. As he met her gaze a cold chill flashed over him with the speed of electricity. There could be no mistaking her appeal. Her words as she set forth the rights of the seceded States had made a deep impression upon him. He now remembered that he was a citizen of the old Bay State ; also that he was the son of Boston's great professor and the grandson of the honored Judge Rathmine. His answer was dignified, yet blended with a smile which would have charmed many a woman, — " Miss Mordine, your arguments in favor of the South have been ably presented, and I admit that I feel the force of much of what you have spoken. If the issue rested between us alone the war would end at once. But, as you are well aware, the controversy has gone from the hands of the statesmen who have argued these points for many years, and the issue must he settled on the field of battle. We are now compelled to say farewell for a period, as our ship leaves at daylight in the morning, and we have to be on board by sundown this evening. When we return next week we all hope to have the great pleasure of hearing more of such skilful arguments, and we will feel honored if you will visit our ship." As Adrien took Ilian's hand to say good-by, he noticed a change of expression in her eyes. Her manner, however, was apparently as cordial as ever, and, with a smile, she said to him and the other officers, "He laughs best who laughs the last." A moment afterwards they had left the house and were hurry- ing to the Battery to meet the sundown boat. That night Ilian retired early to her chamber, but not to ' CHAMPION FOR THE SOUTH. 107 sleep. She walked the floor, pondering the momentous ques- tion wliich was auitating her mind. Was her oath binding, or was it null and void? The clock of a neighboring church struck the midnight hour, and still she was engaged with the problem, should she hate Adrien for her oath's sake ? Her happiness, she was vividly conscious, was bound up in his life. There was no doubt in her own mind of the fact that she loved him. And now was the time to destroy the germs of this affection, if she felt that she must not marry him. As the very thought of marriage suggested itself to her, there came a fearful revulsion of feeling that she could not account for. What course should she pursue now? More than at any former period of her life she felt the want of a mother to advise and direct her. Among her friends there was no one to whom she cared to unburden her heart. She must rely upon her own judgment. It is at all times a diflficult matter for even a superior mind to sit in calm judgment upon one's own feelings and render an impartial decision. Ilian felt this as she tried to weigh the question of her attitude towards Adrien. Hate him she could not. No, not if a thousand oaths demanded it. Love him she must, and yet marry him she dare not. Why ? yes, why ? But to this question there came no answer. Weary and perplexed, she lay down upon her bed, and her dreams were troubled. Adrien had refused to stand by her in the controversy of the afternoon, and she felt annoyed at him for it, and yet his answer could not be found fault with. She dreamed that she was standing by the sea-shore, and heard his voice call to her from over the deep for help, but she made no movement to render him any aid. Why should she do so ? He would not take her side when she appealed to him for aid. Again she dreamed that she was herself alone upon the ocean, drifting about helplessly, and the night was dark and dreary, and the wild waves were dash- ing against her frail craft. She called upon Adrien to help her, as the boat was sinking ; then came a heavy sea and swamped it, and she went down, but strong arms raised her out of the stormy waters, she was folded in a loving embrace, and was back once more in a warm room ; when, as the light fell upon the face of her preserver, it was not that of Adrien, as she had fondly hoped, but her dead aunt, and she heard her name called, " Ilian, darling, I am ever watching over 108 ILIAN. you ; go to sleep, my child ; you have been dreamins:." And so she slept on through the night, peacefully and calmly. " Peaceful be the maiden's sleep; From the dreams of teiTor freej May all who wake to weep, Rest asain as sweet as she." CHAPTER XI. SHIP AHOY. The night was clear, the moon being three-quarters full. The United States ship-of-war was at anchor oflP Sandy Hook, and Adrien Homerand had the watch from eight to twelve. As he walked the deck, his thoughts were full of Ilian and of her remarkable mental ability in presenting the cause of the South. Nine o'clock had just been reported to him, and the bell struck two notes. This was the signal foj quietness throughout the ship. A few minutes after, the quartermaster of the watch reported that a small steamer was heading towards them, apparently a navy-yard tug, and no doubt bringing important orders from the commandant of the navy-yard. This was reported to the captain. Adrien mounted to the bridge, and his powerful voice could be heard far over the waters, " Steamer ahoy ! AVhat steamer is that ?" " The ' x\jax,' from the navy-yard, with despatches and sup- plies for your ship I will come along-side." This announcement brought all hands on deck, and the most intense excitement prevailed. The orders, coming so unexpectedly and at so late an hour, meant, no doubt, that the ship must go to sea, perhaps in the morning. The tug was soon fast along-side, and fresh provisions and supplies were rapidly passed on board. A long official document was handed to the captain. Ten minutes after, the word was passed along the deck by the boatswain and his mates, " All hands up anchor for sea." Great was the disappointment among the officers, as all had expected another week off the Battery. Several receptions had been arranged for. Adrien, in particular, had invited a SHIP AHOV! 109 number of friends, including the Rendeem family and Miss Mordine. He had looked forward to meeting the latter with feelings of eager delight. Now, by this unexpected order to go to sea at a moment's notice, his air-castles were levelled to the ground. The captain called all his officers into his cabin, and informed them that he was instructed by the Navy De- partment to proceed to sea at once, and cruise for five days between Cape Henry and Cape Hatteras, in search of several vessels reported as flying the Confederate flag. They had al- ready captured, so far as known, three schooners bound home from the West Indies. No details were given of the size or rig of the vessels, but one was said to be a large steamer, heavily armed. The captain further told them that he had sealed orders which were to be opened on the fifth day. " Now, gentlemen," he continued, '^ as we are liable at any hour, after passing Sandy Hook, to be engaged in conflict with one or more of these piratical vessels, I will expect you to get your divisions into fighting trim as soon as possible, and for that purpose it will be necessary to drill all night. As we have three hundred able-bodied men on board, we can give a good account of ourselves in any ordeal of battle." In half an hour from the time that the orders were re- ceived, the ship was under way and steaming out to sea. Th^ wind was moderate, but there was a heavy swell, which made her roll heavily, and created a scene that baffles descrip- tion. Over one hundred of her men, who were landsmen, were stretched all over her decks sea-sick, and were mixed up with the ship's stores and fresh provisions. Divisions were drilling, sail was being made, the supplies were stored in the hold, and expletives were frequently used by both officers and men that certainly would not adorn a Sunday-school vol- ume. The moon went down at eleven, and the night became very dark. By this time something like order was restored, and the drilling went on. Under the persuasion of the officers, most of the sea-sick men were working for all they were worth. The sea had moderated, and the vessel was speeding along at ten knots an hour. Just as the midnight bell was tolling, a startled cry rang through the ship, — ■' Sail ho ! close aboard." The engines were stopped, and a large steamship loomed up on the starboard beam a hundred yards away. Battle-lanterns were 10 110 ILIAN. burning at all her gun-ports, showing that she was a man-of- war, and ready for action. Not a gun had been loaded on Adrian's vessel, and all felt that they were completely at the mercy of one of the enemy's ships. They were unprepared to fight, too near to attempt to run, and not close enough to carry her by boarding. The excitement was intense. The stranger hailed, "Ship ahoy! What ship is that?" No answer was returned, but the captain passed the order to load with five-second shells and heavy charges. Again was the hail given ; still no answer. A third time it was repeated, in a quick, angry tone, which, to a seaman's trained ear, meant that, if not answered at once, something more expressible than words would follow. The guns being now all loaded and pointed at the unknown craft, the desired answer was given slowly and deliberately, in order to gain more time for the training of the battery, — " This is the United States sloop-of-war . What ship is that?" For fully a minute there was no reply. Strong men held their breath, as each passing second might reveal the flash of the stranger's guns, and the crashing of her shot would send many brave fellows into eternity. The suspense was terrible. At last came the words, pronounced with a suspicious intona- tion, — " This is the United States ship ' San Jacinto.' Send a boat on board." Language fails to describe the relief to all hands at this in- telligence. As the captain of the " San Jacinto" was the senior, a boat was sent on board with an officer to convey the news of the privateers. It had been anticipated, however. They had heard of it two days previous, and had taken Adrien's ship for one of these vessels. The " San Jacinto" went on her way, and was soon lost in the darkness. Naval officers may criticize this incident as gross careless- ness. It should be remembered that this was at the begin- ning of the war, and neither ship carried mast-head or side- lights. Each was searching for an enemy's vessel, and in the darkness came close aboard unexpectedly. Many worse mistakes were made before the war was ended. At the end of the appointed five days the sealed orders were opened, and found to contain the following instructions : WEST GULF SQUADRON. Ill " Sir, — If you fail to come up with any of the enemy's vessels within five days after leaving Sandy Hook, proceed with the ship under your command, and report to fla