UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA - 
 
 BOOK CARD 
 
 Please keep this card in 
 book pocket 
 
 en 3 
 en & 
 en s 
 
 v 
 
 
 
 l 4 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "T 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 
 s 
 
 -T 
 
 
 St 
 
 K* 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 E 
 
 & 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 
 S 1 * 
 
 u. 
 
 
 
 
 
 »~< 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 T 
 
 
 J 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 en K 
 en 5} 
 en £3 
 cn 5 
 I i S 
 en 5 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THB 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PS165U 
 
 •Eli 
 
 W3 
 
This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
 last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be 
 renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 DATE q i?T 
 DUE RLT 
 
 DUE E RET 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Form No. 573 
 
 
 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/waiforweboflifenOOeric 
 
THE WAIF: 
 The Web of Life. 
 
 A NOVEL.. 
 
 Murky night that speeds the blast, 
 Bushing like a warrior past ; 
 "Where shall it find rest at last ? 
 
 Where the pang, the grief, the smart 
 Hankies in the bleeding heart, 
 Pierced by many a fatal dart ! 
 
 A waif on the great sea of life, 
 Tortured, buffeted, full of strife, 
 At last despair. 
 
 Thing of wretchedness and sin, 
 
 Stifle all that feels within, 
 
 While thine eyes look forth on him. 
 
 Stifle each remorseful feeling, 
 
 Every lineament revealing, 
 
 How his woes are with him dealing. 
 
 Sorrow where all once was fair, 
 Sitting on his brow— despair ! 
 Wretched one, thy work is done I 
 
 ATLANTA, GA.: 
 as. P. Harrison & Co., State Printers. 
 1883. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by 
 EMMA ERICHSEN, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
Dear Reader : 
 
 I present you with my first book. I do not know how many will 
 like it — perhaps none. The critic will find many failings and short- 
 comings, but I trust the kindly, indulgent peruser will overlook all 
 inaccuracies — remembering it is my first effort. Creeping begins be- 
 fore walking, walking before running, and this is my very first creep 
 towards the broad, expansive field of literature, and I beg you will 
 not scornfully reject it, because imperfect in diction, and not grace- 
 fully draped, but try and find the moral. 
 
 It is my hope that it may reach the eye of some careless or erring 
 parent, bringing home to the heart the meaning of Jehovah's words, 
 when He spake in a thundering voice from out the smoke and fire of 
 Sinai, "The iniquity of the parent descendeth upon the child — 
 unto the third and fourth generation." God does not lie — what He 
 decreed unto Moses He meant for us all, even unto the end of tha 
 world. Affectionately, 
 
 Emma Erichsen. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Chamber of Death, 5< 
 
 The Funeral, , 16 
 
 The Young Heir, 18 
 
 The Parsonage, 30 
 
 Shadows, 36 
 
 Lila, 47 
 
 The Stolen Jewels, 65 
 
 The Mysterious Resemblance, 73 
 
 Lila's Secret, 83 
 
 Easter Events, 94 
 
 Irene's Jealousy, , . . . ; 107 
 
 The Exile, 127 
 
 The Visit to Virginia, 146 
 
 Mrs. Hayes, 166 
 
 Saved, 200- 
 
 Maud aud Sadie Burgoyne, 206 
 
 Commencement, 222 
 
 Charlotte's Sacrifice, 232. 
 
 The Revelation, 234 
 
 The Silver Casket, 238 
 
 "Vengeance is Mine, I Will Repay," 247 
 
 A Bright Dawn, 257 
 
 Abroad, 264 
 
 Home^ Again, 293- 
 
THE CHAMBER OF DEATH. 
 
 §t was a cold,rainy and extremely disagreeable morning of 
 an early January day. The streets of Charleston looked 
 almost deserted. Here and there a wet, shivering ne- 
 gro could be seen, and a few muffled pedestrians, compelled 
 out by some stern necessity, a doctor's chaise hurrying along 
 through the freezing elements, the belated milkman and ba- 
 ker's cart, and a stray load of oak wood for sale, cried by 
 its dusky aspirant for a purchaser quite lustily, as though 
 he wished to let folks know within doors that they need not 
 be cold, was about all that enlivened the thoroughfares, and 
 told one that a little life was left in the old city, notwith- 
 standing the biting, sleeting rain descending mercilessly 
 down from above. 
 
 As the morning wore on, an incoming train created a lit- 
 tle more excitement in the eastern portion of the city. Al- 
 most instantaneously as the cars came steaming and rattling 
 into the depot, a closed carriage proceeded from out of it 
 and drove rapidly along the gloomy streets, soon halting in 
 front of a stately but closed residence, in the heart of an 
 aristocratic neighborhood. 
 
 A tall gentleman, well-muffled, alighted and without cere- 
 mony, opened the gate and hurriedly treaded the gravel walk 
 leading to the house. He was evidently expected, for be- 
 fore he reached the broad, marble steps, the hall door was 
 thrown open and a tall, handsome boy anxiously waited to 
 receive him. 
 
 "The Eev. Mr. Bentley ?" he asked inquiringly. 
 "Yes, and this is Louis Montaine, I presume?" replied 
 that gentleman, grasping cordially the hand extended to 
 him. "How is your father ?" 
 
 "Yery, very ill, I fear, sir," was the low, agitated reply. 
 1 
 
6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "Ah ! but we will trust, not dangerously. I was sorrow- 
 fully surprised at the news of his sudden illness, yet, my 
 dear young friend, it is a wise hand that deals the blow, 
 and we must bow in submission to His holy will. He 
 knows what is best for us, and never needlessly or willing- 
 ly afflicts the children of His love." 
 
 "Yes, but it is hard, cruel," was the bitter cry. Then, 
 with a mighty effort, crushing down the agony within, he 
 continued : "Please let me help you off with your overcoat, 
 and walk in here by the fire, while I go and acquaint my 
 father of your arrival, he has been exceedingly anxious to 
 see you, and the nervous eagerness he has manifested all 
 night, and this morning, has weakened him considerably. 
 Please be seated, I will return without delay." 
 
 Drawing a luxurious chair before the genial glow of the 
 bright coal within the highly burnished grate, the reverend 
 gentleman gazed musingly around. The apartment was 
 large and sumptuous. The rich, Brussels carpet, velvet 
 chairs, divans, and luxurious lounges and heavy garnet vel- 
 vet hangings, gave the occupant a sense of elegant comfort, 
 while it completely shut out the cold and misery without. 
 
 "Father will see you at once, Mr. Bentley, if you please." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," was the somewhat abstracted re- 
 sponse of the gentleman, as he arose and followed his young 
 host, who preceded him up a broad, richly carpeted stair- 
 way, and silently ushered him into a spacious, but darkened 
 apartment, quietly closing the door upon his entrance. 
 
 The soft, yielding carpet, the richly appointed furniture, 
 and costly tapestry, betokened great wealth and lavishment, 
 but not sufficient to purchase health to the master and 
 owner of it all, who lay, propped up in bed, racked with 
 pain and flushed with fever. 
 
 A trembling, eager hand was with difficulty extended, as 
 Mr. Bentley approached, and in a weak but steady voice, 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 "God be praised, that you have come in time, and that I 
 was permitted to see you, ere it was too late. Henry, I am 
 very ill. My physician holds out no hope of my recovery, 
 
The Chamber of Death. 
 
 7 
 
 and I feel death is very near. I could welcome it with out- 
 stretched arms. I am eager to go and be at rest, but my 
 boy, my only child ! How can|I be willing to go, and leave 
 him to be an easy, willing prey to a most cunning and deep- 
 laid snare ? Henry, my mind is weighed down with a bitter, 
 almost hopeless torment, and I have sent for you, my boy- 
 hood's friend, to ask, to demand a great favor at your hands, 
 and then beg you to help me prepare to meet my God." He 
 fell back, almost fainting, still holding in a death-like grasp 
 the hand of his friend. 
 
 "My dear friend," said Mr. Bentley, soothingly, "I am 
 painfully sorry to find you so ill, but please try and be calm; 
 this agitation is not good nor wise. If there is any thing in 
 my poor power to grant you a favor and soothe your last 
 moments, gladly, willingly, will I do it ; but you must not 
 excite yourself and talk too much, it is injudicious. Be 
 calm, and demand my services, I will do my utmost to sat- 
 isfy them, as far as it lies in my power." 
 
 The sick man motioned him to take a seat, asking faintly 
 for water, and seating himself, Mr. Bentley handed him a 
 dish of cracked ice, from which he eat freely and thirst- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yes, I know it is wrong, injudicious to agitate myself," 
 he said after a while, in a calmer tone. " But, before 
 I die, I want to settle my affairs somewhat, and ease 
 my mind of a grievous worry, which is gnawing my vitals 
 and hastening my earthly pilgrimage. You know, 
 Henry, I will leave my son, my only idolized child, 
 immensely rich, and I do not wish him to remain here 
 in Charleston. He has just finished his academic course, 
 and as he is not very strong, my physician advised me 
 not to send him to the North, to any of its celebrated 
 colleges, as his lungs could not withstand the severity of 
 Northern winters ; so he concluded to prosecute his studies 
 at our City College, with my sanction, and would have be- 
 gun last week but for my sudden and fatal illness. I am 
 ever anxious to patronize our Southern institutions, and was 
 very happy at the arrangement. He is a brilliant scholar 
 
8 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and hard working student, and I know will succeed at any 
 University, but my present, and I feel fatal illness, has com- 
 pletely changed my mind. I do not wish him to remain 
 here, if 1 am called away. There is an association, a bale- 
 ful, dangerous influence exerted over him here that I wish 
 broken, dispelled, destroyed forever, and the only way is to 
 get him away, to separate him from it, and it is you, my 
 boyhood's and college' friend, that I call on to help me in 
 this time of my trouble. You know my past life, the bit- 
 ter wrong and dire distress that befell me more than sixteen 
 years ago, which has broken my peace and embittered my 
 life all these long, weary years. The perpetrator of that 
 dreadful record, which I shudder to recall, is not yet satisfied. 
 Horace Burgoyne, the husband of my only sister, yet withal 
 my bitterest, in fact, only known enemy, has had the auda- 
 city to send his family under my very eyes, and keep fresh 
 in my memory what, alas ! has never faded or grown dim. 
 For the last two years my sister and her children have lived 
 opposite, while he, the curse of my life, is away in Europe, 
 daring not to return, he thinks ; but at my death he will 
 soon make his appearance, and, as the relative of my son, 
 will claim the rightful guardianship if I do not provide oth- 
 erwise, and Louis will be only too glad to make the home of 
 his aunt and cousin 'Rene, his own. Yes, Henry, as if I 
 had not suffered enough, can you believe that Irene Bur- 
 goyne, the very counterpart of her handsome but disloyal 
 father, has completely bewitched my boy ? His very life 
 and being, every thought and feeling is wrapt up in her, 
 but he cannot, shall not marry her ; with my dying breath 
 I protest it. He ?nust not, shall not marry Rene Burgoyne^ 
 He grew very excited and vehement, and it was with dif- 
 ficulty that Mr. Bentley quieted him. After taking more 
 ice and sipping a little cordial, he went on, speaking weaker 
 but quieter, and very earnestly and pleadingly, "And now, 
 Henry, what I want from you is to accept the guardianship 
 of my son until he is of age, and continue his friend and 
 adviser through your life. W ill you do it, Harry ? Will you 
 be a father, a friend to my orphan boy ? Don't refuse me 
 
The Chamber of Death. 
 
 9 
 
 this last, dying request, for I know no other I could so safely 
 leave him with. You will not find him troublesome, for he 
 is a good, noble boy ; once gain his good will and affection 
 and all will be well. You will not refuse, Henry ? " 
 
 Mr. Bentley, somewhat staggered by this unexpected re- 
 sponsibility, did not immediately reply, and as if to gain 
 time said, averting his eyes from the eager, anxious gaze 
 riveted upon him : " Have you consulted your son ; will he 
 be willing to change this luxurious life for a dull country 
 parsonage with limited resources of pleasure and agreeable 
 companionship ? A country life to a city-reared person is 
 very wearisome and monotonous. I could scarcely endure 
 it at first, and it took many years to reconcile myself to the 
 necessity. I am afraid your son would not like and be sat- 
 isfied, Edwin." 
 
 •'Perhaps not," and the tone was low, troubled, anxious. 
 " I know it will be hard, for he has very pleasant, happy 
 associations here ; but, then, I do it for his future good and 
 happiness. The pure, wholesome atmosphere of your 
 mountain home will be the essential thing to build up his 
 
 constitution, which is not the strongest, and College 
 
 has a good reputation, and will suit him equally as well as 
 our City College. I feel it will be the very thing for 
 him. And, O ! Henry, do not hesitate to take my boy. 
 Snatch him from the danger that awaits him here. I know 
 he will consent to go if I request it with my dying breath. 
 This change, though hard at first, will be the best I can do 
 for my soon orphan boy. Make the parsonage his home, the 
 religious instruction there and the discipline of college life 
 united will give a tone to, and keep in order, his already 
 good, noble qualities. Take my boy, Henry, try and exert 
 your influence over him and break the unhappy spell that 
 seems to hold him in iron fetters, and if allowed to go 
 on will only prove a lifelong misery. Irene Burgoyne can 
 never make him happy, fill the deep longings and require- 
 ments of his lonely, craving heart. She is a spoiled, selfish 
 devotee to fashion and conventionality ; and then the child, 
 the counterpart, of Horace Burgoyne. Henry, save my 
 boy and let me die in peace." 
 
10 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "I will, my dear friend, try and do what you ask of ine. 
 It was not that I was unwilling, that made me hesitate, it 
 came so unexpectedly, I was not prepared ; but I will cheer- 
 fully accept the charge, and do my utmost to be a friend, a 
 father to your son, providing he consents to what you wish, 
 and in every way I will try and dispel his fancy for his 
 cousin. I promise you, Edwin, to do all I can for your 
 son's good and welfare, so try and compose yourself, you 
 are very ill." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I am very ill," he murmured, a smile breaking 
 over the hitherto anxious face. "But I am greatly re- 
 lieved, you have lifted a heavy burden from my mind, and 
 may God bless and help you in your endeavors to befriend 
 my nearly orphaned boy. Go about it kindly, judiciously, 
 and, Henry, never breathe a word of the nature of the 
 wrong done me. If Louis knew, he would turn away in 
 horror and loathing ; but I do not wish to embitter his 
 young life, and will only resort to it as a last effort to save 
 nim. If you find, Henry, that separation fails, and he is 
 really determined to marry his cousin, then, and not until 
 then, at the last moment, give him this casket from his dy- 
 ing father." As he spoke, he drew from under his pillow 
 a silver box, securely sealed, and handed it to Mr. Bentley, 
 who received it with bowed head and solemn, awed man- 
 ner. "In it is a letter to him, in full detail of my past suf- 
 ferings, and the wrong done me by Horace Burgoyne, and 
 a copy of a subsequent will made by me to the one he will 
 hear read. Again, let me urge, that this is given when all 
 else fails, let it be a last, last resort. Promise, my friend, 
 to do as I request, nay, beseech you to do. Oh ! may 
 God, in His infinite mercy, save my darling, and only child, 
 the knowledge of that hidden record, by granting my 
 prayer, that you may destroy the box, instead of placing it 
 in his possession. Oh ! Henry, will you save my boy ?" 
 
 "Edwin, I faithfully, solemnly promise to do all I can, 
 and by prayer and earnest effort, trust to secure all you 
 wish, without unhappiness to your son." 
 
 The sick man grasped gratefully the hand of his early 
 
The Chamber of Death. 
 
 ii 
 
 friend, and said feebly : "May God bless you in your ef- 
 forts, my dear Henry. I have arranged it with the trustees 
 of the estate, that you shall be liberally compensated for 
 your trouble, that is, for the expense and responsibility an- 
 other in your family will necessarily incur ; but money can 
 never pay you to act a disinterested, fatherly-part by my 
 boy, so soon to be left without a father's love and care ; 
 God will reward you there. I thank you, Henry, it is 
 easier for me to go now. Oh ! cherish him, my friend, and 
 God will reward you bountifully. Please touch that bell, I 
 feel very weak, and must put my Louis in your hands, then 
 turn my thoughts from this earth, with its cares and bitter- 
 ness, to a happier clime, where I trust I will meet my lost 
 darling, who, I imagine, is waiting to welcome me to rest 
 and happiness. May it not prove a delusion." 
 
 Mr. Bentley had done as requested, and now spoke gently, 
 soothingly to the dying man, trying to lead his thoughts 
 from earth, which was fast fading from his vision. Scarcely 
 had a minute elapsed when the door opened quietly, and 
 Louis Montaine was at his father's side, an anxious grief 
 depicted on his every feature, while his form quivered with 
 the suppressed anguish within. 
 
 "Father," he said lowly, "did you call me V* and he bent 
 over the form of his dying parent, agony in the eyes that 
 saw too clearly the bright lamp going out all too soon. 
 
 "Yes, my son." And the parent, with a last effort, 
 aroused himself, and gazing fondly into the agonized young 
 face, spoke lowly, but distinctly : "My precious child, God, 
 in His infinite wisdom, is about to take me from you. I 
 almost wish to murmur, for it is hard to leave you, my 
 son ; but it is God who deals the blow, and we must sub- 
 mit. Let me go in peace, and meet me and your mother 
 after a little while within the golden gates of the New Je- 
 rusalem. And, my son, will you make my last moments 
 happy, peaceful, by consenting to a plan I have for your 
 future good? I wish to give you, as a son, for a few years, 
 to my dear, truest, friend. Will you go with him, Louis, 
 to his mountain home, accept his guardianship and fatherly 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 care, until you are of age ? And let me die in peace, with, 
 a calm, satisfied mind, feeling that my dear boy is left in 
 safe, disinterested hands. I see, my son, you start ; you 
 do not like the plan, but I exact it for your future good 
 and happiness. What do you say? Will you consent and 
 let me go in peace ? Oh ! my child, my only child, the only 
 solace and incentive to life, would that I could stay here 
 and guard you ever, but a greater will decrees it otherwise, 
 and it must be well, yea, all well." 
 
 He sank back, exhausted and faint, his eyes closing, but 
 still clasping in his cold, almost nerveless, grasp the hand 
 of his son. 
 
 A mighty tempest seemed to rage within the breast of 
 the boy. It was evident he did not expect, or like, the wish 
 of his dying parent, and yet, how could he deny the last 
 desire, disobey the last request of this fond, devoted, and 
 passionately-loved father ? The battle was short, but fierce. 
 With a face pale and agonized, from the violent effort to 
 subdue his grief, aud hide from his parent the anguish of 
 his soul and bitter aversion to the sudden plan to send him 
 away, contrary to his expectations, and against his inclina- 
 tion. The voice was low, but firm, that spoke : "Father, I 
 will do any thing you wish ; any thing to please and make 
 you happy ;" then, with a sudden burst of anguish, he 
 cried : "But, ! father, you will not leave me yet : I can- 
 not give you up!" 
 
 "My dear, dear boy," murmured the dying father, "it is 
 not my will but His, let me go ; for it is gain for me to 
 be at rest with Christ. Henry will take care of you, Louis, 
 my boy, do not grieve. It will be well with me, and God 
 will take care of you." 
 
 "Oh ! father, father, it is so hard to give you up. I 
 know it is selfish for me to wish yo"u longer from my 
 mother ; I know you long to meet her again," and the 
 voice grew strangely hushed and tender. "Tell her, her 
 son loves and reverences her memory, though he never 
 knew her on earth. And, O ! my father, ble^s, and for- 
 give your boy for every pang and care he has caused 
 
The Chamber of. Death. 
 
 13 
 
 you. I have often been bad, willful, but tell me all is for- 
 given." 
 
 The voice of the dying parent was low and faint, as rest- 
 ing his hands on the bowed head of his son, he said : "May 
 your father's blessing ever rest upon you, my son, my only 
 child. If there is any thing to forgive, it is freely, eagerly, 
 given ; but, Louis, you have been a good, true son, erring 
 sometimes, but never bad. All the happiness I have known 
 for years, you gave me, my son. And, O ! may God bless, 
 and keep you from all harm. I feel I am going now, but 
 remember who parts us, and dare not rebel against the de- 
 cree of Jehovah. Call your aunt, and unite with me in 
 prayer, and the partaking of the Lord's Supper." 
 
 Pale and agitated, the son pbeved, and as he moved away 
 Mr. Bentley approached, with words of consolation and 
 cheer. The livid hue of death rested upon the features of 
 Edwin Montaine, the marble brow clammy ; the eyes set and 
 glassy, yet, with a conscious light within ; but all was calm 
 and peaceful. For the last five days he had wrestled with 
 a painful and fatal illness, ever conscious, full of fears, 
 doubts, anxieties, and terror, at the dread, sudden summons 
 to go and leave his child, whom he had almost idolized ; to 
 go in the young prime of life, and, worst of all, tormented 
 with an ever present dread of future ill for his son. But 
 now, as the last moments drew nigh, all this was lost. Calm, 
 satisfied, he looked upon death ; all its dread terrors pass- 
 ing away and swallowed up in the bright anticipations of 
 approaching paradisal bliss and rest. 
 
 His sister entering, drew near, and as she kissed his damp, 
 cold brow, his fast failing senses returned, and he said : 
 "God bless, and help — you — Harriet — tell — him — I for- 
 give — all — all — all — Good-bye — kneel — and — pray — with— 
 me." 
 
 They all knelt around his bedside, Mr. Bentley praying, 
 earnestly, feelingly, bis faint voice responding audibly to 
 each "Amen," and in the partaking of the consecrated ele- 
 ments of the Holy Eucharist, he commented audibly : "I 
 will soon be with the dear Lord Jesus, in His kingdom." 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 For a few seconds all was silent, the stillness of death 
 falling upon the room ; then opening his eyes suddenly, 
 they wandered to his son, and his lips formed the name of 
 "Louis," though no sound came with the attempted utter- 
 ance. 
 
 "What is it you wish, my father?" came falteringly, and 
 the almost broken-hearted youth placed his ear to the lips 
 of his dying parent. 
 
 "Is — there — any thing — you — want more, my son ?" 
 
 One instant the boy hesitated ; then in an agitated un- 
 dertone replied, "Yes, father; do you forbid, or will you 
 consent for me to love 'Rene dearer than a cousin ? Tell 
 me, please, my father." 
 
 But the eager, acute ear caught no sound ; the parent's 
 lips moved, but that was all ; his glazed eyes looked steadily 
 at some other brighter and more entrancing scene. A 
 peaceful, happy smile lit up his features and with a sigh, 
 gentle and calm, his released spirit was wafted in gladly ob- 
 tained freedom to brighter realms and left but a lump of 
 clay to mortals' care. 
 
 A low, anguished cry escaped the livid lips of the be- 
 reaved son, as he sank down almost fainting beside the bed. 
 Mr. Bentley reverently composed the eyes and limbs of his 
 old, cherished friend, while Mrs. Burgoyne, motioning her 
 children from the room, put her arms about the stricken 
 boy and tenderly tried to soothe the poignancy of his grief. 
 Clasping her around, he laid his aching head upon her 
 shoulder, and sobbed convulsively, ever and anon moaning 
 in anguished accents : "Oh ! my father, have you gone \ " 
 The pent up grief, subdued not to worry his parent in his 
 illness, and during his last moments, gave way, and as the 
 realization of his great loss became more vividly plain, he 
 grew almost violent in his lamentations. 
 
 "Oh ! Louis, Louis, do not grieve so ; your father is 
 happy now, and at rest,'' came the despairing tones of the 
 troubled aunt. " Would he approve of this selfish sorrow ? 
 Subdue this rebellious grief and think of his glorious, 
 infinite gain." 
 
The Chamber of Death. 
 
 *5 
 
 But in vain she pleaded and reasoned. "Wilder became 
 the sobs and heart-rending moans of the young orphan. 
 
 Amidst it, and rising above, the earnest voice of prayer 
 was now heard, pleading for consolation and balm for the 
 bleeding heart. On he prayed, so calm and trustingly 
 that it seemed he pleaded with a present, living God. As 
 the solemn "amen" fell from his lips a quiet awe pervaded 
 the room. He rose from his knees, and silently retired, 
 leaving the living and the dead together. 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne tenderly bathed the heated brow and 
 swollen eyes of her nephew, and led him unresistingly 
 from the chamber, and ready, devoted hands were soon 
 summoned to attend to the requisite offices for the dead 
 master of the house. The day glided on drearily without, 
 sadly within. The night closed in, as drearily and sadly. 
 The late Edwin Montaine's palatial residence was still, dark 
 and gloomy ; while all that remained of its proud master 
 lay cold and silent, yet calm and peaceful looking in 
 death, on a costly bier of heavy black velvet, decorated 
 with choice hot-house flowers, tokens of the love, esteem 
 and remembrance of his many friends. 
 
 Such is life. Wealth and friends, power and influence, 
 -cannot purchase the dearly desired boon — health and life. 
 
THE FUNERAL. 
 
 hkee days the corpse of the late Mr. Montaine lay in 
 state, in the lofty, open hall of his late grand residence 
 
 on street. The gate and doors were thrown open ; 
 
 the spacious parlors and hall were heavily draped in mourn- 
 ing, the windows were closed, and the only light allowed came 
 from the open door, and was reflected from the ruddy glow 
 of the bright coal fires within the highly burnished grates. 
 
 Visitors came and went constantly, day and night, all 
 sorts and conditions of men. The elite, the poor, the 
 working class, the slave ; all came with one accord and con- 
 sent to do homage to the wealthy, widely known and re- 
 nowned good man, for such all knew him to be. Edwin 
 Montaine was the very personification of the true, hospi- 
 table Southern gentleman. Proud, stately, honorable, he 
 was esteemed and honored by the aristocracy of the city, at 
 whose head his high social position placed him. Kind, 
 generous, charitable, ever ready with open hand and heart 
 to respond to the calls of charity, he was loved and held in 
 grateful remembrance by the poor and needy ; humane 
 and considerate, he was greatly beloved and venerated by 
 his numerous slaves. In fact 
 
 "None knew him but to love him, 
 None named him but to praise." 
 
 Who that ever came in contact with his genial and 
 warm-hearted cordiality, and knew of the bounteous gen- 
 erosity of his many charities, could help liking and honor- 
 ing this noble man ; and yet, strange to say, he had an 
 enemy. How could one so widely known and universally 
 loved say he had an enemy, for he was essentially good 
 and Christ-like. Though his name was ever foremost on 
 public charities, where hip good deeds could be seen of 
 
The Funeral. 
 
 men, he did not stop there satisfied, feeling his duty done, 
 as is often the custom with wealthy men. No beggar was 
 ever turned away from his gate empty handed, or rudely 
 repulsed on the street, and the applicant for help, advice, 
 or what else, ever received a ready, generous response and 
 willing assistance from his kind heart and munificent hand. 
 
 On the morning of the fourth day after his death, Edwin 
 Montaine was borne forth never to return to his stately 
 home again. The day was warm, balmy and delightful. 
 Less than four days seemed to transport one from icy 
 bound Sweden to an Italian summer. The inhabitants, 
 who had a few days before clustered shivering around 
 glowing grates, or huge oak fires, came forth with 
 unanimous consent, crowding the streets, and Charleston 
 seemed enjoying a May day, forgetting it was January. 
 Carriages, with liveried coachmen, rolled along, many 
 
 stopping at St. s, and by the time the funeral cortege 
 
 arrived, the spacious church was densely packed. As the 
 metallic coffin, clothed in black velvet, mounted heavily 
 with silver, and heaped with floral designs, offerings of 
 loving friends, entered the edifice, the surpliced pastor met 
 and preceded it up the aisle, repeating in solemn, fit tones, 
 " I am the resurrection and the life. 1 ' 
 
 The grand organ rolled forth its melancholy strains, 
 and solemnly, sweetly, rendered the anthem. The service 
 proceeded, broken by the wail of faithful slaves, and the 
 subdued sobs of Mrs. Burgoyne and her daughters ; but 
 the orphaned son uttered not a sound, gazing with a fixed 
 fascination at the sad, significant proceedings, and yet 
 seeming not to realize what was really transpiring around 
 him. The beautiful hymn, 124, from the Prayer Book, 
 was sung, the service completed, and soon the last act was 
 over. The mortal remains of Edwin Montaine were committed 
 to their resting place until the trump at the last day shall 
 awaken them to an immortalized life. The old family 
 vault is again closed, and the sorrowing friends and grief- 
 stricken relatives retiring, leave him to the quiet, dreamless 
 sleep of the dead in Christ. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIR. 
 
 hat night closed in dark as pitch, Not a star could be 
 discerned in the black, inky arch above. In the after- 
 noon the wind had suddenly shifted to the northwest, 
 the warm, balmy air of the morning disappearing before 
 its chilly breath. A light glimmered, here and there, 
 through the quiet rooms of the lonely home, hushed into 
 quiet and gloom so suddenly, then all became dark as though 
 its inmates had retired, and yet it was not so. A busy> 
 troubled brain, and two unclosed eyes were to be found in 
 that large, dark, dreary looking dwelling, not yet thinking 
 of slumber, or temporary oblivion to his grief. 
 
 In his handsome, elegantly appointed study, Louis Hon- 
 taine paced slowly and thoughtfully back and forth, with a 
 pained, troubled dissatisfied countenance, and restless, impa- 
 tient step. He was a tall, handsome youth of eighteen, 
 with dark eyes, gray in color actually, but black they 
 seemed, so deep and intense was their light. Tall and slen- 
 der, but with so graceful and symmetrical a form that it ex- 
 cluded all possibility of awkwardness, or ungainliness. His 
 step is firm, elastic, peremptory, and that undoubted 
 haughty, aristocratic bearing which distinguishes the native 
 South Carolinian was plainly perceptible in his every move- 
 ment. His hair was dark, soft, pliable, and ever arranged 
 attractively on his finely shaped head. His nose is perfect ; 
 long, showing ability, with a faint, classic curve in the 
 centre, which makes the line of beauty. The proud, grace- 
 fully poised head, the handsome eyes and nose are perfect, 
 but the mouth is not so faultless, being rather large, with a 
 stern expression pervading it when in repose, but when a 
 smile unclosed his lips, white regular teeth were seen, and 
 the sudden, beautiful light it threw over the whole face 
 
The Young Heir, 
 
 made him very handsome indeed. His smile was brilliant, 
 and whether from a knowledge of its enhancing effect, or 
 the free, happy, joyous heart within, very frequent. His 
 laugh, easy, low and sweetly melodious ; a ready wit ; an 
 intelligent, eloquent conversationalist, gentlemanly, refined 
 and fascinating in manners, made him a general favorite. 
 Every one liked Louis Montaine ; his friends and champi- 
 ons were legion, and as for the girls of his acquaintance, 
 they were all in love with the handsome, fascinating boy, 
 and all were trying to win the millionaire's son, but, bliss- 
 fully ignorant, he moved amidst them, his heart invulnera- 
 ble, untouched by the many darts aimed at it, until, with a 
 sudden flash, like some glorious vision, Irene Burgoyne 
 burst upon his sight, capturing without any seeming effort 
 the hitherto steeled heart. But was this madly, passionate, 
 boyish infatuation love, or only, as the song goes : 
 
 " A boy's love is like light straw on fire, 
 A great beat, wild blaze ; then all is over." 
 
 Any one seeing him on this night, in his gloomy, per- 
 turbed state, would hardly pronounce him handsome, for his 
 open brow is drawn in painful abstraction, his mouth com- 
 pressed into the disfiguring sternness ; all the brightness, 
 the smile, the laugh, which made him beautiful banished. 
 Now, that all the excitement and show was over, did he for 
 the first time began to realize what had happened, that he 
 was an orphan, and by his father's decree he was to leave his 
 home and become a stranger in a strange home, and 
 among strangers. 
 
 For a long time he continued his restless walk, then with 
 a weary sigh, almost a moan of anguish, he sat down, and 
 with folded arms gave himself up to the conflicting thoughts 
 crowding his mental vision, taking shape in queries, re- 
 proaches, then submission. 
 
 " How can I reconcile myself to sever thus suddenly all 
 the endeared, pleasant associations which cluster around 
 my life? Why did father order it that I should leave 
 Charleston ? If he could trust all his wealth and temporal 
 
20 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 affairs with friends here why could he not have left me to 
 the guardianship of one, or let me live with Aunt Harriet, 
 instead of banishing me off to a dull, monotonous country, 
 and subjecting me to the restraint of a clergyman's home ? 
 Why did my father wish all thi6, so repugnant to my feel- 
 ings, so contrary to my wishes, when hitherto he did and 
 ordered everything for my happiness and complete satisfac- 
 tion ? Was it to separate me from 'Rene ? He knew how 
 dear she is to me ; how passionately I love her, and surely 
 he had no serious wish, no such cruel intention, to mar my 
 future happiness, my present joy. I know that he disap- 
 proved of my loving 'Rene with more than cousinly regard. 
 I know her father was his enemy, but I had hoped he would 
 overcome this prejudice, and that finally he would love 
 'Rene, and make us happy by his sanction, his blessing; but 
 he has left me with all my plans incomplete, my dearest 
 hopes frustrated, and I do not know whether his dying 
 wish was in favor of or against my union with the treasure 
 of my life — my darling Irene. O ! father, father, why 
 did I lose those last words ? What were they ? Did they 
 consent or prohibit my request? O, God ! why did I lose 
 those last few words ; my whole life's happiness depended 
 on them, and I could not hear, could not understand what 
 they were. I saw his lips move , know he understood my 
 request and answered it. but I lost it. O, God ! O, fath- 
 er, father ! " he murmured in broken, husky tones. " How 
 can I act to please thee, and honor thy beloved name ? What 
 must I do to accomplish all you wished % Oh ! that I only 
 knew what was thy dying wish, and had understood those 
 few, but lost, lost words." 
 
 His frame shook convulsively, and his face was white and 
 full of pain, as he sprang up and again began his restless 
 walk to and fro. Back thought swayed to his past life, and 
 the last dreamily happy year of his favored existence. 
 "Yes," he soliloquized, "now, that I am to be forced away, 
 I see what a pleasant, sunny time I have had, but shadows 
 are sure to fall athwart every one's pathway, and have now 
 fallen, heavily, darkly across mine. I knew sorrow and pain 
 
The Young Heir. 
 
 was the portion of humanity, but never realized it could 
 -come to me." 
 
 O, the delightful moonlight nights, the balmy sum- 
 mer afternoons, spent so pleasantly sailing around the 
 harbor, or along the banks of the historic Ashley river, 
 in his own beautiful yacht, in company with boyish friends 
 and bright, saucy girls — one brighter and sweeter to him 
 than all. The pleasant drives, the nice, cosy little maroon- 
 ing parties and pleasure jaunts on the islands, visiting 
 friends at their nourishing, sumptuous homes, gathering 
 shells and running from the surf, washing in over the white, 
 shining beach from the broken waves, curling majestically 
 in from the mighty Atlantic. Then, in the winter, the 
 charming hunting and dinner parties, the delightful hours 
 at the dancing-school, the theatre, the opera, the balls, in 
 all which he bore a conspicuous part, with the relish and 
 eagerness of youth, untrammelled with a single care. And 
 latterly, the zest, the sweet enjoyableness of them all were 
 owing chiefly, he too well knew, to the companionship of 
 the objectionable Irene Burgoyne. All must now be over, 
 he must leave all these present and past delightful realiza- 
 tions, for the distasteful routine of a country life, and sep- 
 arated, too, from his ardent young heart's idol. The thought 
 was bitter, the decree cruel. The young face grew stern 
 and hard, the step quicker, and more decidedly impatient ; 
 rebellion was in the heart, anger in the eyes. But it was 
 only momentary ; he soon grew calmer, as other thoughts 
 crowded in upon his mind, and his lost parent's form, face 
 and fond, affectionate love came up before his mental vis- 
 ion, and he remembered that it had ever been his pride and 
 pleasure to act and work for his son's good and happiness. 
 
 " He decreed this for my good, and why should I rebel ? I 
 promised him to go willingly, and why do I shrink thus 
 from fulfiling that sacred promise ? It will only be for a 
 short time, a few years, but, ah, will the years be short to 
 me now? I fear not; and when I return, will life be so 
 pleasant as of yore ? Are my free, joyous, careless days past % 
 I feel the realities, the responsibilities and cares of another 
 2 
 
22 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 life are to open before me, and shall I, the son of Edwin, 
 Montaine, shrink from meeting them fearlessly, and as a 
 man should ? No, I will not ; the honor, the untarnished 
 honor of that proud name is left to my care, and never 
 must I stain, but ever uphold it in all of its unblemished 
 dignity. I will go forth now and make it my aim to return 
 and fill my father's place ; not only in name, but in every 
 particular. A name that shines bright in the memory of 
 all, I dare not, must not dull or deface. Ah ! how my 
 father was beloved," he murmured, recalling the wild shouts 
 of joy, and grinning, radiant faces of his hundreds of 
 slaves, as he rode over his plantation, all eager to get a smile 
 or look of recognition from " Massa ; " the lighted faces 
 of every one that heard his name mentioned. Hundreds 
 he had heard sound his praises, and delighted to do him 
 homage. 
 
 And then the home life of that parent; how vividly 
 it came up before him now, dispensing the elegant hospi- 
 talities of his high social position ; his kindness and 
 consideration to the slaves, serving about his sumptuous 
 home ; his ever courteous demeanor toward his housekeep- 
 er, a dignified gentlewoman, who ably managed his wid- 
 owed household, and, then, more than all, his unwearied 
 indulgence and patience to himself. Would he ever be so 
 beloved and respected ? Could he ever fill the place of his 
 lost parent ? It seemed impossible. He felt weak, incapa- 
 ble to attain to the height of goodness and Christ-like char- 
 acter of this wholesouled, perfect gentleman, and Christian 
 man — his lost father. And yet he was not a happy man. 
 There was some hidden, deep-seated grief overshadowing 
 his life that often clouded the sunny face, and brought a 
 heavy, painful sigh, laboring up from a sad, weary heart. 
 What was it ? Had his dead young mother aught to do 
 with it ? He had heard his father loved her intensely, with 
 a deep, idolatrous devotion, and that the wound caused by 
 her early death never healed. He recalled how often he 
 had wished to speak of his beautiful young mother, but 
 could never induce his father to gratify him in this ardent 
 
The Young Heir. 
 
 23 
 
 desire, for he ever seemed loth to talk of her, ever chang- 
 ing the subject adroitly, making him feel instinctively there 
 was some sad mystery attached to her memory. A portrait 
 of a beautiful, saucy, smiling girl, hung in the gallery. He 
 knew she was only sixteen when it was painted, and she had 
 been a bride for several months. And this was about all he 
 knew definitely of the being who had brought him into ex- 
 istence. This was the likeness of his mother, and therewith 
 he had to be content, and in utter disregard to God's com- 
 mand, he lavished his whole heart's adoration at this shrine. 
 The choicest fiowers in summer, the rarest exotics in winter, 
 were plucked and daily laid there, and though his heart 
 would tell him at times that it was idolatry, yet the intense 
 longing, the hungry cravings of a soul for a mother's love, 
 made him persuade himself that it was not wrong. Thus 
 his thoughts swayed to the past, then the present and future 
 came under review. The form and image of another, an 
 earthly being, came vividly before him, and again he ques- 
 tioned, was it idolatry ? Was it wrong to so love this beau- 
 tiful creature ? How the troublesome question tormented 
 him. Could he not wed a cousin without any tarnish rest- 
 ing upon the bright escutcheon of his father's name — a 
 name he now held in trust ? Why did his father object to 
 his marriage with 'Rene Burgoyne ? Could he have had 
 any other objection than their consanguinity ? How the 
 query troubled him. He loved Irene Burgoyne and knew 
 she returned his love. No formal declaration had taken 
 place, but the boy, encouraged on, marked her as his future 
 bride, and was only held in check by his father's disappro- 
 val of setting his hopes at rest, by obtaining her consent to 
 their engagement in marriage. 
 
 His father had told him he could not, must not, wed his 
 cousin. What must he do now ? Let it stand as it was ? 
 Make no further advance. Then came the thought, would 
 this be kind, right or honorable, when he knew his cousin 
 loved him, and he had by actions if not in words made her 
 believe he returned her love. Yet, the absorbing desire of 
 his heart was to do his father's w^ll, to carry out his wishes, 
 to honor his memory. 
 
24 ~ The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 Thus he weighed the matter, but could gain no balance 
 on either side for any definite decision. Undecided and 
 greatly troubled, he again arose and paced the apartment, 
 this time with slow steps and a deeply thoughtful brow. 
 Stopping suddenly, he stood before his father's portrait, a 
 masterly painting, taken a few months before his last and 
 fatal illness, as a birth-day present to himself. Long and 
 earnestly he gazed upon each beloved feature, and the awful 
 realization of his great loss came to him him with redoubled 
 force, flis bosom heaved convulsively, and with a sobbing 
 moan of " Oh! father, father," he threw himself in a chair 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 A gentle knock upon his door disturbed him in this wild 
 burst of grief. Springing up, he dashed the tears away, 
 and with surprising quickness crushed back the struggling 
 sobs, and with recovered outward calmness, he unlocked 
 the door, admitting Mrs. Burgoyne. 
 
 She looked pale and sad ; her eyes were swollen and red, 
 as if from recent weeping. A troubled, anxious expression 
 pervaded her features, and a nervousness her manner. 
 Without ceremony, she seated herself and said — 
 
 " I do not like to disturb you, Louis, as it is quite late, 
 but in a conversation this morning with Mr. Bentley, I un- 
 derstood he is compelled to leave for home to-morrow night. 
 He spoke as though he thought you would accompany him, 
 but it cannot be possible, my dear boy, that you will allow 
 yourself to be hurried off thus ? " 
 
 * I am not allowing myself to be hurried away, but go 
 with my own free will," was the somewhat sarcastic reply ; 
 then, in an humble tone, he went on, " I am rather glad to 
 go so soon, Aunt Harriet. If I am going at all, what is 
 the use of remaining a few days or a week. And, more- 
 over, it is best for me to get to work at once." 
 
 "Perhaps so," was the rather doubtful rejoinder, "but, 
 Louis, what made your father change his mind so suddenly ? 
 I thought you had been admitted into our City College ? " 
 
 " I was, but it seems all is changed. I do not propose to 
 question my father's reasops any further ; doubtless, he had 
 
J he Young Heir. 
 
 25 
 
 good, sufficient cause, and I do not pretend to fathom what 
 I cannot understand. All I know at present, he wished, 
 asked, that I would leave the city for the country. I 
 romised to do so, and in fulfilment of that sacred promise 
 
 go with Mr. Bentley to-morrow night." 
 
 " But, Louis, dear," and the lady's tone was pleading and 
 persuasive, " why not stay a few weeks with us. You need 
 rest and time to arrange your affairs, and bid adieu to your 
 host of friends ; and, then, 'Rene, poor child, will be so 
 shocked and grieved at your sudden departure." 
 
 A flush came to the face of the youth; his tone and 
 manner was a shade embarrassed, but positive, amounting 
 to firmness, as he replied — 
 
 " No, thank you, Aunt Harriet, I would rather not remain 
 any time. My promise was to go with Mr. Bentley, so 
 please do not try to persuade me to linger. Surely you 
 would not have me disregard my father's dying request V 9 
 
 " I know you are always bent on having your own way," 
 and the lady tried to smile, but she looked very anxious and 
 troubled, " but I take it as very unkind in you. There is no 
 urgent necessity that you should leave at once, and espe- 
 cially, as Mr. Bentley leaves to suit and please yourself." 
 
 Well, Aunt Harriet, it suits and pleases me to leave to- 
 morrow night,'' was the decisive answer, a frown on his 
 brow, a touch of impatience and displeasure in his tone. 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne sighed, and was silent for a few minutes, 
 then asked suddenly — 
 
 " How are they to manage about the house, Louis ? I 
 hear it is to be sold out ; that is, the furnishings, and the 
 place leased until you are of age, but Mr. Bentley says not ; 
 so how is it ? " 
 
 '* Every thing is to be left just as it is. Mrs. Reynolds 
 will have entire charge ; see that all goes on right. It is 
 not necessary to disturb any thing, as I will be absent only 
 a few years, and there are many things about this, my home, 
 too dear and sacred to me to be touched by others. 'Rene 
 and the children can have the use of the library, and I will 
 be much obliged to you if yoi» will use the horses so that 
 they will get their accustomed exercise." 
 
26 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne here interrupted him rather coldly — 
 " 1 thank you, Louis, for your kind offer, but I would 
 rather not accept it. Edwin ignored me and my children 
 so completely, in willing his great estate away, that I do not 
 care to touch nor use a pin's worth of it, as it seems he did 
 not wish me to have that much. I expected some little 
 legacy, if only as a token of his remembrance and the old, 
 sweet, brotherly love which I was wont to receive from 
 him. It seems so cruel, heartless, too, for he knew how 
 Horace had run through with my once fine estate, and God 
 only knows how I am to educate my children without his 
 hoped-for assistance ; but, perhaps, it is best so. They had 
 better go uneducated than to be beholden to a wealthy rel- 
 ative who, it seems, did not cast a thought upon their fu- 
 ture." 
 
 For the first time in his life Louis Montaine heard his 
 father reproached. His brows elevated with offended sur- 
 prise ; a gleam of anger shot from his eyes, his lips curled 
 in scornful anger and haughtily, coldly he made answer : 
 
 "You talk very strangely, Aunt Harriet, I do not under- 
 stand what you mean ; but would inform you, if you have 
 forgotten the fact, that my father made his will four years 
 ago without exceptions in my favor. He left legacies to 
 no one, and I can answer for him on my own authority, 
 that he was not aware of your requiring his assistance, for 
 at that time you were traveling in Europe, and keeping up 
 a style of living which proclaimed great means. Certainly 
 he did not know, and it is the first time I ever heard of 
 your needing assistance. If that is the cause, how is it that 
 Mr. Burgoyne can travel so extensively, and keep up such 
 an expensive style of living at fashionable foreign capitals? 
 The two do not agree, I am sure, and how could my father 
 understand you required his leaving you a legacy ? 
 
 " Ah!" said the lady bitterly, a red glow on her wan cheek, 
 " what is it but that which has devoured my once ample 
 inheritance? Who but my husband, the one who should 
 cherish, and do for me and his children, that is ravishing 
 my all and reducing me to#beggary by his extravagance and 
 
The Young Heir. 
 
 2/ 
 
 Tash career. Ah, Louis, you speak harshly and think I 
 blame your father unjustly ; but he knew all this, and has 
 left me to pay the penalty of a wrong done him by my 
 husband. But I see you are offended, astonished to hear me 
 talk so, and perhaps I am wrong ; woman-like I talk too 
 fast sometimes, and did not mean to blame your father for, 
 thinking of it more carefully, 1 see four years ago and now 
 is quite different, and then, poor Edwin, he was taken away 
 so suddenly, how could he think of me and mine ? But I 
 hear he has made a good provision for Mr. Bentley ; suffi- 
 cient remuneration for six boarders instead of one. Why, 
 he has allowed — " 
 
 " Excuse me, Aunt Harriet for interrupting you, but we 
 will not discuss that subject if you please. Unquestionably 
 my father knew what he was doing. You do not suppose 
 he would consider to a fraction what I would eat and drink, 
 and pay accordingly % I do not like to hear you censuring 
 my father, it is unjust to his memory, cruel and unkind to 
 me ; I protest, that he knew not of your precarious condi- 
 tion, and was not influenced in neglecting you by a spirit 
 of vengeance for what Mr. Burgoyne did to wrong him. 
 You are mistaken in thinking any thing so sinful of him. 
 My father was a good man, and a forgiving Christian, and 
 no one can make me think otherwise.'' 
 
 "I did not want to make you think otherwise, Louis. 
 Do I not know your father was good ? But I am jealous and 
 fearful, Louis; I am provoked to think you are sent off 
 from my care ; why could you not have been left with me, 
 your aunt ? I suppose you will return to us in a few years 
 an earthly saint, contemplating studying for holy orders, 
 marrying the parson's lovely daughter (for I hear he has 
 such), renouncing the world and its wicked pomps and 
 vanities, etc.," and the lady laughed a painful, constrained 
 laugh. 
 
 The boy looked at his aunt with mingled surprise and 
 pain stamped upon his expressive face, and said in a 
 troubled tone of voice : 
 
 " You wound and disturb me beyond words, Aunt Har- 
 
The Waif; or, The Wtb of Life. 
 
 riet. I do not deserve this from you, and especially now 
 when I am so unhappy." 
 
 "J know you do not, forgive me my dear boy ; but I am 
 so jealous, so angry to think you will leave us so soon, to 
 know others will come in between us, win your love from 
 us perhaps. Louis, you do not know how dear you are to 
 my heart, and it is agony to have you snatched away from 
 me so suddenly. Oh ! it is hard, hard to let you go ; and 
 then, poor, dear 'Rene, what will she do ? It will shock, 
 pain her beyond endurance when she learns your decision. 
 She expects you will stay with us for a few weeks at least. 
 Do you know, is it wrong for me to tell what perhaps is 
 her secret, that 'Rene loves you passionately, devotedly and 
 jealously? I know you admire, and have thought you were 
 very warmly attached to, your beautiful cousin, and had 
 hoped to claim you as a son one of these days, and am 1 
 wrong in wishing this? God knows it is not for the 
 worldly honor and aggrandisement she would win as your 
 wife, but it is the happiness of a beautiful and dearly be- 
 loved child I crave. Edwin knew all this, and why does he 
 banish you away if it is not to try and interfere, to break 
 up the germ of love in two loving young hearts ? You it 
 will not kill ; men's hearts are not easily broken ; but,. 
 Louis, Irene's life's happiness is in your hands ; she would 
 scorn to tell you so, and would be angry, and deeply morti- 
 fied to know I had so disclosed a sacredly guarded secret ; 
 but I am her mother and cannot tamely stand by and see 
 her suffer in silence. A girl's heart is no trifling, light 
 thing with which to play, to be cast aside through a sense 
 of duty to a prejudice of your father's. 'Rene should not 
 be made answerable for some wrong done by her father to 
 yours ; I think that unjust, cruel, dishonorable, to win a 
 girl's heart then cast it aside because your father was, years 
 ago, wronged in some way by hers. Why should 'Rene,, 
 poor child, suffer because of this feud between Edwin and 
 Horace ? I cannot see the justice in it, but look upon it 
 as heartless prejudice and nothing more or less." 
 
 The lady had spoken passionately, rapidly, and now, as 
 
The Young Heir. 
 
 29 
 
 if exhausted, lay back in her chair, and covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 "Aunt Harriet," said the youth gently, "I understand 
 your motives, and do not blame you ; but you mistake my 
 father. I would not believe he died unforgiving a wrong 
 done him ; he was too good and entirely a Christian not to 
 forget and forgive ; but, Aunt Harriet, if you please, we 
 will not discuss the subject any further to-night. I am 
 very sad, tired and confused ; I will come over in the 
 morning and see 'Rene. Rest assured I will try and do 
 what is right, so good night." 
 
 " Good night, my dear, dear boy ; forgive me if I have 
 said aught to hurt your feelings, I did not intend it if I 
 did ; I hope it will all be well finally; again, good night," 
 and putting her arms about the boy she drew him to her 
 in a warm, motherly embrace, and kissing him affection- 
 ately, left the room without another word. 
 
 Leaning his head on the mantel, Louis Montaine stood 
 for several minutes in a deep, questioning reverie, then 
 rousing himself he turned down the gas and retired to rest, 
 a strange look of some sudden resolve upon his face, a glit- 
 ering light in his deep, intense eye, as he murmured, "I see 
 no way of escape, I must marry 'Rene." 
 
THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 St. church was a plain, unassuming, but neat little 
 
 edifice, situated on one of the principal streets of the town 
 
 of S , enclosed with a low stone wall, and surrounded 
 
 by well kept graveyard. The parsonage and residence of 
 Mr. Bentley stood a block from it on a quiet, retired street. 
 It is a plain, comfortable old country-house, very plainly 
 but neatly furnished. An air of industry and thriftiness per- 
 vaded the whole place within and without. The old-fash- 
 ioned furniture was well polished and dusted, the sofa and 
 chair backs preserved and adorned by crochet tidies , the 
 snowy walls are hung with family portraits, and some fine 
 scenery paintings. The window panes are clear and spot- 
 less against the dark curtains draped aside to admit all the 
 light possible ; plain dark carpets are upon the floor, the 
 glass and silverware on the old-fashioned sideboard, was 
 clear and highly polished ; the pantry, with its glassy china 
 and shiny milk-pans, was a study of neatness, showing that 
 a nice, industrious house-wife reigned there. The cham- 
 bers and kitchen all corresponded, plain, clean and comfor- 
 table, with no pretensions of elegance or fashion. Such 
 was the parsonage, the home of Mr. Bently and his family, 
 and such the home in which the millionaire's son was soon 
 to be installed. He who had been reared with grandeur 
 and elegance at every step ; beauty and costliness to meet 
 his every glance ; taste, refinement and luxuries on every 
 side. 
 
 The change to him would be great, and would he like it? 
 Sent there by an earthly parent's solicitous care, to evade a 
 great evil, as he deemed it ; yet, wa6 there not a higher, • 
 guiding hand in it ? Louis Montaine was about to open a 
 new page in his life's history ; to discover and unravel a 
 
The Parsonage. 
 
 31 
 
 hidden mystery, which he instinctively felt lurked about his 
 pathway ; to find out and experience the darker side of 
 life, for hitherto he had only walked in sunny, pleasant 
 places; to feel pain, anguish, and disappointment, and find 
 out that wealth and high birth cannot purchase happiness, 
 nor give you all you want. 
 
 The night which Louis Montaine, filled with thoughts of 
 the past and future, walked his room and tried to see before 
 him what his new life would prove to be, closed in dark, 
 
 cold and frosty at S . But within the parlor at the 
 
 parsonage, all was bright, cosy and warm. The curtains 
 were drawn in, as if to keep out the bleak wind that howled 
 around the house. A large oak fire burned cheerily in the 
 broad chimney-place, and in front of it a table was drawn, 
 upon which a lamp burned clearly. 
 
 Mary, Harry and Florence, the three eldest of Mr. Bent- 
 ley's children, were seated around it, while Mrs. Bentley 
 sat a little apart with her two other children, Lillian and 
 Edwin. She was a small, delicate-looking lady, with fair 
 hair, kindly, blue-gray eyes and a gentle, quiet face. 
 
 Mary, or Masie, as she was called, the eldest, was a young 
 lady of twenty. She was neither handsome, beautiful nor 
 pretty, but her face was interesting, her dark eyes gentle 
 and full of love-glances, while goodness hovered around the 
 small mouth, which was ever ready to unclose itself in 
 words of love, patience and sweet charity; she looked what 
 she really was, a self-sacrificing, gentle girl, and an humble, 
 consistent Christian. She was industriously knitting, while 
 an expression of deep thought and concern rested upon her 
 expressive countenance. 
 
 Harry was just nineteen, a fair-haired, studious youth. 
 Books were before him, but, just now, he seemed rather in- 
 clined te- think, than either to read or study. 
 
 Florence was seventeen, and quite pretty. A fair, grace- 
 ful girl, with delicately-cut features, soft, shy, brown eyes, 
 long, silky lashes, and a queenly-poised head, with a wealth 
 of clustering, brown ringlets. She wears a dark dress and 
 dainty crimson sacque, which shows to advantage her rich, 
 
32 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 pure complexion, and adds a deeper hue to the soft, rosy 
 cheeks and cherry mouth. 
 
 Her small, white hands lie idly on the table, while her 
 eyes, dreamy and thoughtful, are fixed upon a book before 
 her, but she, al?o, seems more inclined to think than to 
 study ; in fact, thinking seems to be the prevailing inclina- 
 tion, for very little is said, except by the little ones, who 
 appear to keep up a steady flow of chatting with each other, 
 ever and anon addressing "mamma" or "Masie." 
 
 A click at the gate, a hasty, running step ascends the 
 stairs and comes through the piazza ; the door is thrown 
 open and a handsome, saucy-faced youth of nineteen enters 
 unannounced. 
 
 A soft flush diffuses itself over the face of Miss Florence, 
 making her look still prettier, while a look of general in- 
 terest is manifested by the others. 
 
 " A good evening to one and all. It is rather late for a 
 visitor, I presume, but it was too dull at home, and too 
 early to retire. Mother has one of her sick-headaches, Aunt 
 Lucy is waiting on her, while Lottie is dreaming over some 
 book or other, but in fact thinking about the new arrival. 
 She is really interested in the matter, and if you, boys, do 
 not look sharp, you will lose all chance in the future." 
 
 He had been warming by the fire while speaking, and 
 now, with a significant glance at Harry, he drew a chair to 
 the table, and gazing admiringly at the pretty girl before 
 him, continued : 
 
 "And, T presume, you are as bad, Florence ? for certainly 
 you look unusually pretty and interested." 
 
 "Why, Hal, what will become of us when this handsome 
 city chap is around ? 1 am fearful he will prove a formida- 
 ble rival, the way things look." 
 
 They all laughed, Harry shrugged his shoulders, and 
 Florence asked, laughingly : 
 
 "How do you know he is handsome, Arthur ?" 
 
 "I take that for granted, but do not look so pleased about 
 it, or I will soon make him ugly." 
 
 "Fie, fie, Arthur," said Masie, laughing merrily. "You 
 
The Parsonage. 
 
 33 
 
 really do look venomous, but I do not think you will have 
 serious cause to be jealous, for Flo thinks you are the 
 handsomest boy living." 
 
 "Is that so?" and he colored and laughed. "I thank you 
 for the information." 
 
 "Masie gives it unauthorized, and lam not so sure but that 
 I may meet some one a great deal handsomer, one of these 
 days ;" and she looked provokingly in earnest. 
 
 "Come, do not tease him, Flo ; 1 venture Mr. Montaine 
 will not put himself in any one's way. You may be sure, 
 he will leave a lady love behind, or he is not a young 
 American." 
 
 "Do hush, Masie, you blame us ? Why, Mr. Fred is jeal- 
 ous about it.'' 
 
 The young lady blushed and laughingly said, "I declare, 
 Arthur, you are too bad." 
 
 "So every one tells me. But, Mrs. Bentley, what do you 
 think about the arrangement ? Harry, I know, does not like 
 it at all. Florence is quite pleased, to be able to show a city 
 chap that country girls are pretty and charming; Masie is 
 anxious to have one more to wait upon and do for, but I 
 have not heard your opinion yet ?" 
 
 "Well, Arthur, I have to confess, I do not like it much. 
 I fear it will be too^great a care and responsibility to suit 
 and please one reared so differently from my children ; but 
 Mr. Bentley writes that he is a very gentlemanly, nice boy, 
 and seems to anticipate no trouble or annoyance from it. 
 Pecuniarily, it will most certainly be a great advantage, so 
 I must be willing to have some trouble and inconvenience, 
 for money is in great demand at present. I am very sorry 
 Harry does not like it. My son, you must try and cultivate 
 a friendly spirit and put aside that morbid prejudice, and 
 meet him kindly. Remember, he is an orphan, and will be 
 a stranger, and as such demands a cordial greeting. Ar- 
 thur, he will be a neighbor, and fellow-student, and give 
 him the hearty, kind reception, of which you are so capa- 
 
 *% for one, am very willing, and intend to meet him 
 
34 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 friendly and courteously, providing he does not put on airs. 
 These rich, patronizing upstarts are my abhorrence ; and if 
 he dares to interfere with me, in a certain quarter, we will 
 draw swords, you may be sure." 
 
 And he glanced significantly at Florence, who laughing- 
 ly rejoined : 
 
 "You are very particular, Arthur, to let me know how I 
 can tease you." 
 
 "Come, leave all this raillery and listen seriously to me,'' 
 here called Masie, tapping on the table with her hand. 
 
 "I wish, and propose, that we all meet young Mr. Mon- 
 taine as a friend and brother. Let there be no reserve, no 
 backwardness, in any one of us. His father and papa were 
 old, tried friends, and the son of one and the children of 
 the other ought to continue that friendship. Let there be 
 no restraint, which might be interpreted as coolness. As 
 we will meet papa with loving embraces, it would be chil- 
 ling to any nature to be shy and unsocial toward him, and 
 in this case, unkind and cruel, for he has just been bereft of 
 his father, and has neither mother, father, sister nor brother. 
 All his wealth cannot compensate nor satisfy this great void 
 in his life. Trust papa's reasons for bringing us another 
 friend and brother, and heartily join me in my views. 
 Whose voice first V 
 
 "Mine, Masie," spoke up Arthur Howard, promptly, un- 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "And, mine, mine," echoed Harry and Florence. 
 
 Lillian and Edwin added their voices, protesting that 
 they were glad to have another "big bubber," if he was 
 good, like Harry. 
 
 "And, mamma/' asked Masie, "what say you ?" 
 
 "You can certainly count upon me, my dear. I did not 
 for an instant have any other idea than to meet and con- 
 tinue kind to a ward your father has seen fit to adopt into 
 his family, and I am very happy and relieved to hear the 
 unanimous voice of all to do the same." 
 
 "Yes, and so am I, but I must see about putting these 
 two sleepy little darlings to bed,"- and Masie Bentley arose. 
 
The Parsonage. 
 
 35 
 
 "Come Lillie, and Edwin, it is time to retire. Papa will be 
 here to-morrow night with our new brother, and then we 
 will be so happy, eh V 
 
 And so saying, the affectionate sister left the room with 
 the children. 
 
 There was a slight pause in the conversation after her de- 
 parture, then Arthur proposed a game of chess to Florence, 
 and, accepting it, they retired to a corner table, where they 
 moved more in love than in the game, methinks. 
 
 The mother and son chatted quietly together until the 
 entrance of Masie, an hour later, when Mrs. Bentley read 
 the evening prayers. An evening hymn was sung, in which 
 all joined heartily, and the visitor departing, this happy, 
 God-loving family, bid each other an affectionate good-night 
 and retired. 
 
SHADOWS. 
 
 handsome, stylish boudoir of gold, violet and pale 
 green ; pretty, gay, French ornaments scattered taste- 
 fully about ; bright, warbling birds skipping cheerily 
 around their gilded cages, which hung at the low west win- 
 dows, where the declining rays of the sun cast a ruddy 
 glow and gleamed through, in a golden halo, across the pale 
 green, velvety carpet, upon which lay, enjoying a comfort- 
 able nap, " Miss Lily," a delicate French poodle. The cheery 
 tick of a pretty clock upon the low marble mantle, the 
 sweet strains of a music box upon a table, the happy songs 
 of the several birds, bright, pretty bric-a-brac, and handsome, 
 gay furnishings made it a pleasant, inviting looking room, 
 but not at all corresponding with its proprietress at present, 
 who sat absorbed in a deep and seemingly painful and 
 conflicting reverie, unconscious of all outer life, wrapped 
 completely in thoughts of the sudden change and care which 
 had fallen over her hitherto gay, careless, young life. 
 
 Irene Burgoyne is beautiful, a gloriously beautiful girl ; 
 a blonde of the most pronounced type with pale, golden- 
 hued hair, soft, pure complexion and eyes, large, ravishing, 
 bewildering eyes of a luminous blue. Attired in an ebony- 
 hued, trained robe de c/iamhre, her tall, elegantly graceful 
 form is shown to its greatest advantage, and rendering her 
 fair, blonde beauty startlingly conspicuous. Irene Bur- 
 goyne is winning or resplendent, just as she wills it. When 
 desiring to please she is inexpressibly sweet, gracious, even 
 bewitching ; but naturally of a haughty, rather scornful 
 disposition, she is not a universal favorite. Her great per- 
 sonal beauty won for her many admirers ; but she had few 
 real friends. Petted and spoiled by fond parents, who were 
 droud of their lovely daughter, she naturally became way- 
 
Shadows. 
 
 37 
 
 ward and exacting, and very vain, expecting every one to 
 bow in homage to her supreme charms. Never denied a 
 wish, gratification or fancy, she had learned to look upon 
 life as a golden dream, never imagining that it could be 
 otherwise, or that there was a stern reality. 
 
 Her qualifications were more showy than solid ; more of 
 the mind than of the heart. She sang 6weetly, was some- 
 what an artist in drawing and painting, conversed quite 
 fluently and with graceful adaptation in the French and 
 Italian languages. In dancing she most excelled, and, 
 being fond of music, she was an admirable performer 
 on the pianoforte. And these accomplishments, added to 
 her seductive beauty, made her shine a star of some magni- 
 tude in society. And is it any wonder that when, one year 
 before, just returning with fresh laurels from a Parisian 
 college, she burst like some glorious vision across the every- 
 day life of her lonely young cousin, that he should fall a 
 ready victim to her charms, and learn so easily to lay his 
 heart's adoration at her shrine ? 
 
 When his father objected, or looked his disapproval, he 
 wondered and felt indignant that his hitherto indulgent 
 parent could be so unreasonable and hard. What was his 
 objections he could not find out or divine. Once his 
 father said, with anger in his looks and a determined light 
 flashing from his eyes, which were wont ever to gaze with 
 the tenderest affection and approval upon his child, that he 
 dared not, should not, marry the daughter of Horace Bur- 
 goyne ! The son rebelled, protesting that he should, if his 
 father would not give him his objections against this union 
 which promised so much happiness. The father refused, 
 but reiterated that no child of his should marry the child 
 of Horace Burgoyne. A quarrel ensued, a brief but severe 
 quarrel. It had passed of without satisfaction to either 
 party and tranquillity seemed restored, but in his blind, 
 headlong infatuation the son failed to see the deep, almost 
 agonized pain gathering day by day upon the face of his 
 fond and dear father, whose whole soul and mind had ever 
 been centered on the happiness and welfare of his son. The 
 
 3 
 
33 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 fear of an open revolt, and determined opposition on the 
 part of his son, kept the parent silent : but he looked on 
 disapprovingly, while at heart he was ever striving to devise 
 some plan to break the fatal spell which held his child in 
 its power. But death came, and the son, not understanding 
 fully his fathers determined efforts to save him from what 
 that parent deemed a terrible evil, felt somewhat assured 
 that the opposition had been withdrawn, or forgotten, for 
 during his father's severe and fatal illness he had never, by 
 word or look, alluded to the subject, although ever con- 
 scious, and his son his constant companion and devoted at- 
 tendant. 
 
 Irene Burgoyne loved intensely, but selfishly and jeal- 
 ously, her handsome young cousin. And now, as she sits 
 in her pretty boudoir thinking over the past few days of 
 trouble and anguish that had befallen the object of her 
 love, she ponders the all-important question, how he would 
 now act ; whether he would discard her. in obedience to his 
 deceased parent's wishes, or remain faithful to his heart's 
 promptings? And pondering it she is miserably uneasy and 
 fearful. Irene Burgoyne knows her heart too well ; knows 
 that to win Louis Montaine is to secure for herself a heaven 
 on earth; to lose him is to shut out all joy and happiness 
 from her future life. It is the first real trial of her favored 
 existence ; her first experience that life is not all joy and 
 gladness. And, as the realization of this experience comes 
 to her she lays her head upon her clasped hands and moans, 
 out, as a child would, with her first keen sorrow : u Oh ! 
 Louis, Louis ; they will send you away from me, but will 
 you be true to me, your loving, and I know beloved 'Rene,' 
 or will you sacrifice my happiness, my very life, sacrifice 
 all to satisfy your fathers unreasonable prejudice T 
 
 A few hours later Irene Burgoyne is again in her pretty 
 boudoir alone, attired in a toilet of rich black silk, profusely 
 trimmed, and, as if in a mockery for mourning, she wears 
 jet ornaments, save a brilliant gem which glitters upon her 
 shapely white hand. A smile rests upon her lovely face, 
 yet the light within her lustrous eyes shows not a wholly 
 
Shadows. 
 
 39 
 
 satisfied heart. She knows, as she looks upon the costly 
 diamond which circles her finger, and feels the imprint of 
 a lover's passionate kiss still upon her lips, that she is the 
 plighted bride of the youth she so ardently loves ; but some 
 subtle fear, some secret, inexplicable foreboding robs her 
 of the peace and sweet joy this knowledge should bring and 
 she feels that she is not happy, that a care, shadowy per- . 
 haps, but a care, rests upon her hitherto careless, jovful 
 life. 
 
 Outside, on the street, Louis Montaine stood irresolute. 
 The night was dark and chilly, the wind whistling mourn- 
 fully through the trees. It was just half-past nine. One 
 hour later he would be on his way to the home his deceased 
 father had chosen for him during his orphaned minority — 
 rattling away from his boyhood's home, and from the beau- 
 tiful girl he thought he loved so passionately. He looked 
 up at the closed, silent mansion he had called home, and 
 loved as such, and a convulsive shudder shook his frame, 
 while his face grew livid from the keen anguish of his heart 
 as the re-awakened realization came to him that his dear, 
 lost parent had been carried out from its portals never to 
 return. 
 
 " Oh, father, father !" he moaned in bitterness of spirit, 
 "how can I live without you?" 
 
 He took a step to cross the street, but hesitated ; then, as 
 •if with a sudden determination, strode rapidly forward and 
 
 did not slack his speed until reaching St. P church, 
 
 when he lightly sprang over the iron railing fence, and ap- 
 proached the gleaming marble monument he knew so well 
 at the final resting place of his young mother, now doubly 
 sacred and precious as that of his father also. The sight of 
 it completely unmanned him, and, throwing himself on the 
 ground beside it, he gave way to a violent burst of grief. 
 
 How vividly that dear father's face and form came up 
 before him, that face and form now cold and still in death, 
 and as he thought of him the edge of his grief was sharp- 
 ened by the pangs of remorse, for his first act had been 
 
40 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 one of disobedience, or at least an utter disregard to one of 
 his lost parent's wishes. All his father's looks of disap- 
 proval, his words and actions prohibiting his love for the 
 beautiful 'Rene came vividly before his mental vision, and 
 in an agonized cry he called out, " Oh, father, father ! speak 
 to me ; tell me you did not die still unwilling that I should 
 marry 'Rene !" But no sound came from the silent tomb,, 
 and the anguished son moaned, as he knelt with clasped 
 hands, and eyes full of pain raised toward Heaven. " My 
 God! what shall I do? If I had only caught those few 
 uttered but indistinct words it would have been everything 
 to me. But no ; I saw his lips move, I saw his eyes open 
 and look consciously at me ; I know he answered me, but 
 not a sound, not a syllable did I hear. Oh, father ! my 
 father, my father !" What a world of pain, loneliness and 
 contrition was in that pleading but, ah, now useless cry ! 
 
 Regardless of the cold he felt there, he leaned his throb- 
 bing head against the icy marble, the deep poignancy of 
 his sorrow making him lose all consciousness of physical 
 sense. Suddenly he is called back to life, you may say, by 
 the clear strokes of the town-clock ringing the hour of ten. 
 Springing up, he gave one last, lingering look at the tomb 
 of his parents, glanced up at the dear old church he loved 
 so well, and the next minute was out on the street again, 
 fully realizing that very soon miles would divide him from 
 all that was dear, beloved and sacred. 
 
 How his eyes scanned the home of his young heart's de- 
 votion, as he followed Mr. Bentley, and with that gentle- 
 man took his place in the carriage ; and even when they 
 drove off, he watched the glimmering light he knew to be 
 in her boudoir, until, turning out of the street, it was lost 
 to his strained vision ; when, with a deep sigh, and settled 
 gloom falling across his face, he drew away into a corner 
 of the carriage sad and silent. Had his ardent love for 
 this beautiful cousin again risen paramount, stilling the 
 pangs of remorse, and setting his lost father's wishes at 
 naught ? 
 
 In the dusk of a winter's early nightfall, as they were: 
 
Shadows. 
 
 41 
 
 rapidly Bearing their destination, the rather disjointed 
 conversation which had taken place between Mr. Bentley 
 and his ward during the day, became more general ; and, 
 now it was that the nature of Louis Montaine asserted itself, 
 the artificial gloom and reserve of the time passing away 
 before his naturally pleasant, happy disposition. He talked 
 freely of his past life, about his father, tenderly and rever- 
 ently, and in referring to his young mother, he inquired if 
 Mr. Bentley had known her, and on being answered in the 
 negative, went on thoughtfully : 
 
 "It seems that I can meet no one that ever knew my 
 mother intimately, and I could never induce my father to 
 speak about her, as I often wished he would. I have never 
 heard it, but it haunts me that some mystery is attached to 
 her latter life and early death. Did you, Mr. Bentley, 
 ever hear him say aught of her? I know you were very 
 dear friends." 
 
 "Yes, we were dear friends, but I saw your father very 
 seldom after his marriage, and, I think, only once, since 
 you mothers' death. I know he loved her very tenderly 
 and devotedly, and her early death must have been a crush- 
 ing bereavement, which made it so painful for him to speak 
 about her. I do not think that you are correct in imagin- 
 ing that there was a mystery attached to her death. Most 
 likely it was a morbid grief which made your father loth 
 to satisfy your natural desire to talk of your mother. But, 
 my young friend, of what avail is it to dwell on and regret 
 the past ? They are now united and at rest in Paradise. 
 She had a very beautiful namb. At the time of her death, 
 I had a daughter given me, and I named her Florence, and 
 you will meet in your mother's namesake a very pretty 
 little miss of sixteen.'' 
 
 "Yes, so I understand ; and you also have a little son 
 named after my father." 
 
 "My youngest child has your father's name, and I sin- 
 cerely trust that he may grow up as good and able a man 
 as his truly noble namesake." 
 
 Speaking about his children was an interesting topic to 
 
TJu Waif; or, The 
 
 the fond father, and he went on, from one to the other^ 
 giving' :::e name, abearance and cLarac-rer of eao:: so 
 accurately, that Louis Montaine, who was an interested list- 
 ener, said, with a pleasant langh. 
 
 "I will not require an introduction to your family, Mr. 
 Bentley. for you really have made me acquainted * before 
 seeing them." 
 
 Jrom his children he went on to talk about the town 
 and church ; then the College came under discussion, and 
 in speaking about the latter institution, within whose time- 
 worn walls Louis Montaine was about to become a student, 
 he inquired somewhat particularly of the young gentlemen 
 so soon to become his classmates. 
 
 cc There are quite a large number at the College, I be- 
 lieve." was the reply, "but I am personally acquainted with 
 very few :: :ne:n. Several are from our town, and among 
 the latter, a very near neighbor of ours, Arthur Howards 
 He is a fine boy, and close friend of Harry's, and I hope 
 the three of you will get on nicely together. The How- 
 ards are very pleasant folk, descended from one of the 
 best families of the Old Dominion, their old ancestry be- 
 ing titled folks from England. Then," he continued, with 
 a smile, "there are two nice little girls in the family ; Char- 
 lotte, an only daughter, and Lila, an adopted child, who i* 
 a great beauty and musical genius." 
 
 "I am very ready, and. no doubt, will become good 
 fiiencs wi:h Air. Howard." was the somewhat emphasized 
 rejoinder, "but do not care to hear any thing con- 
 cerning pretty girls. You may understand wbv, Mr. 
 Bentley, when I tell you that I am engaged to my cousin,. 
 'Rene Bnrgoyne." 
 
 Mr. Bentley started involuntarily, turning pale, while he 
 said slowly : "But. my son. how can this be possible ? By 
 what I understand, you had not your father's sanction in 
 this engagement to your cousin." 
 
 ••Why should you think so, Mr. Bentley \ Did my father 
 speak to you on the subject whilst you were with him be- 
 fore he died V 
 
Shadows. 
 
 43 
 
 "Yes, very seriously. He told me expressly that he 
 would not have you marry your cousin. But I did not un- 
 derstand from him that it had gone so far, that you were 
 engaged.'' 
 
 "We were not engaged before his death. I had hoped 
 he had died with his objections overcome. I was with my 
 father during his illness, day and night, and it is strange he 
 never once alluded to the subject, and he spoke to you 
 about it, Mr. Bentley ?" 
 
 "Yes, my son, he seemed greatly distressed that an at- 
 tachment existed between you and Miss Burgoyne. It 
 seemed one absorbing agony to him to think you wished to 
 marry your cousin, and it was his one earnest desire and 
 prayer that you might observe his wishes after death, 
 which you would not in life." 
 
 " This is an awful revelation to me, Mr. Bentley ; I feel 
 keenly distressed to have this fear revived. There was a 
 bitter enmity, or some old time feud existing between my 
 father and Mr. Burgoyne. But, Mr. Bentley, why should 
 that interfere in Irene's and my happiness % What had we 
 to do with what our fathers had done ? I am fully aware 
 that my father objected to my marriage with my cousin 
 sometime back, but for many months past he has never 
 mentioned the subject to me, and when he died without 
 alluding to it, I felt that his objections had been with- 
 drawn ; that the past had been forgiven, and I felt privil- 
 eged to ask Irene to be my wife. It has gone too far now 
 for retraction. If I have gone against my father's dying 
 wishes it is not my fault. Instead of speaking to you on 
 this subject, why did he not speak to me % And then, in that 
 hour of my anguish, when I saw the life of that dear 
 parent ebbing out, no sacrifice would have been too great 
 to exact from me to make him die happy and satisfied. 
 But now it is too late ; the past cannot be retraces, and, 
 Mr. Bentley, if you please, never mention the matter to me 
 again. I am engaged to, and must marry 'Rene Burgoyne. 
 There is no help for it now, so let it rest." 
 
 Louis Montaine spoke positively, a stern determination 
 
44 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 resting upon every feature, and though Mr. Bentley looked 
 as he felt, greatly disturbed, he said nothing more then, 
 but doubtless concluded that he had undertaken no easy 
 task in promising to try and disenchant his friend's son. 
 
 There was for a few minutes an embarrassing pause in the 
 conversation, Mr. Bentley seeming more inclined to think 
 than talk, while his evidently disturbed, but affable youno- 
 ward appeared restless, almost amounting to impatience, 
 and, no doubt, desiring to change the train of his guard- 
 ian's thoughts, asked, somewhat abruptly : 
 
 " Do you not find this travelling very tiresome, Mr. 
 Bentley ? 
 
 "Oh, no, I am not very tired. I often travel, and do 
 not find a twenty hours journey very wearying." 
 
 " I do, emphatically. I cannot see why we are not 
 able to have faster railroad travelling ; something like the 
 speed at the North. There is some fun in it there ; still I pre- 
 fer traveling by water. I can always find a fund of amuse- 
 ment in an ocean trip, and always choose it when I have 
 gone North, except last summer, when I fancied to take 
 the trip by railroad, and I found it ever so tiresome, not- 
 withstanding the monotony was broken by meeting, acci- 
 dentally, a very pleasant companion on the way. But I 
 bet I did not venture returning that way, but came back bv 
 water, determining never to travel by rail another time." 
 
 A strange, dreamy, far away look came into the boy's 
 eyes. As he spoke, a slight tinge dyed his pale cheek, but 
 rousing himself, he laughed and continued : 
 
 i( And here I am enduring it again." 
 
 The picture of a sweet, smiling, sunny-faced girl had 
 crossed his mental vision, as he recalled that trip, and it 
 seemed a pleasant picture, too, for his thoughts dwelt ]ing- 
 eringly on it a few minutes, leaving his eyes thoughtful, his 
 lips wreathed in an unquestionable smile, the color to 
 deepen on his cheek, then disappear, as with a slight, regret- 
 ful sigh, he cast it aside, realizing that it was but a dream, 
 which had disappeared he thought, but only faded before 
 the blazing, real picture that now filled his whole being ; 
 
Shadows. 
 
 45 
 
 that it had been but a boyish romance, lost in the present 
 and more glorious reality. 
 
 The thought, the regret was only momentary. The next 
 instant he was himself again, and turned with some laugh- 
 ing remark to his guardian, about a very anxious fellow- 
 traveler, who was busy collecting her stores together pre- 
 paratory to a rush from the cars. 
 
 A few minutes later the train steamed into the depot, 
 and Harry Bentley met and embraced his father. 
 
 " Harry, this is Louis Montaine ; I trust you two may 
 become and continue as good and true friends as were your 
 fathers." 
 
 The two boys clasped hands, their eyes met, and a 
 smile came to the face of Louis Montaine, as he replied : 
 
 " Of course we will be friends, what is to prevent it ? " 
 
 Harry Bentley's face grew pale. A strange, unaccount- 
 able foreboding seemed to mantle him in its subtle power, 
 and although he returned the cordial pressure of the hand, 
 and brought a smile to his face as he said : 
 
 " He hoped they would be friends — " he felt somehow 
 that they would not. " And, yet," he reasoned with him- 
 self, " what was there to prevent it ? " 
 
 But again that night, in the quiet of his chamber, after 
 spending several hours of pleasant intercourse in the genial, 
 winning company of Louis Montaine, and after hearing 
 parents', sisters' and brother's verdict that they all liked 
 him, the haunting foreboding returned with redoubled 
 force, and Harry Bentley, walking to and fro, asked him- 
 self again and again, what was it he could not like in Louis 
 Montaine ? ' Why should a fear, a miserable foreboding 
 seize and hold him so in its power, if there was not some 
 meaning in it ? And, yet, he tried to reason : 
 
 " How can it mean any thing? Why should his coming 
 shadow my pathway ? How can he in any way affect my 
 humble life, or come across my happiness ? " 
 
 But here he starts. A deathly pallor spreads itself over 
 his countenance, and clasping his hands against his heart, 
 lie gasps : 
 
46 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " Oh ! God, is it this ? Will he come between me and all 
 that would make my life worth the living ? Surely he 
 could not, would not be so cruel ? Hi* wealth, his beauty, 
 high birth and gentle, fascinating manners would make 
 him irresistible to any girl, and then Lottie is very charm- 
 ing. Oh ! God, spare me this." 
 
 The pleading cry went up to heaven ; but wa° it a needed 
 prayer ? 
 
 In the next room this "formidable rival," as Harry Bent- 
 ley expressed it, sat with folded arms, enveloped in an ago- 
 ny of grief. 
 
 The happy, loving family of which he now formed a 
 part, came vividly before him, making his orphanhood and 
 loneliness the more glaring, and with a wild burst of rebel- 
 lion he cried — 
 
 " Why should I be deprived of mother, father, «ister and 
 brother, while others can be blessed with them all ? Oh ! 
 father, my father, why did you have to leave me when I 
 was already so lonely ? " 
 
 And what made the pain more poignant, the loss so ter- 
 rible, was the deep, biting remorse of his soul to know that 
 he had gone contrary to his dear father's wishes ; that hardly 
 had that beloved form been laid out of sight when he had 
 gone deliberately against his wishes. What subtle power 
 had led him on, quieting his doubts and making him feel 
 he was right, in placing his mother's betrothal ring upon 
 the finger of a girl his father had declared he should not 
 wed ? 
 
 "How could I have been so headstrong, so disobedient ? n 
 he asked himself now, in the deep contrition of his soul. 
 
 " But, now it is too late, the Rubicon is passed, my word 
 of honor is given. I will be obliged to marry 'Rene. And 
 dear Lord forgive me for disobeying my dear, lost father." 
 
LI LA. 
 
 " Well, Arthur, - what sort of a creature is that Mr. Louis 
 Montaine, and how do you like him?" was the salutation of 
 Lottie Howard, as her brother came in from college Mon- 
 day afternoon. A strange, suppressed interest flitted over 
 the laughing face of the girl and lurked in the merry eyes 
 that were raised, in questioning brightness, to her brother's 
 face. 
 
 Throwing aside his books, the young man addressed an- 
 swered with a decided interest both in looks and manner : 
 
 " 1 like him. He is just a delightful sort of chap, with 
 sound, good sense. No vanity, nor putting on of airs, with 
 a liberal share of fun and sociability, which suits me quite. 
 I like him, pet, and know you will also," and with this fiat, 
 Arthur Howard looked what he said, delighted with his 
 new made friend and classmate. 
 
 " You think I will like him also, eh ? " the girl queried, 
 a merry twinkling in her bright eyes, and a close observer 
 would scarcely fail to notice that it was a flush of some 
 secret, hidden pleasure that mantled her plump, soft cheek, 
 and kept the mouth wreathed in an unbidden smile, which 
 she vainly strove to keep in check. 
 
 " Is he handsome and refined ?" here inquired Lila, who 
 sat, lazily turning the leaves of her music-book which lay 
 upon her lap. 
 
 I thought that would come from you, Lila," and the 
 laugh, ready for an excuse, broke forth in a merry peal. 
 
 u And yet, I wanted to ask the same question. Is he 
 handsome, Arthur ? " 
 
 " Well, I cannot really answer you on that subject. It 
 did not strike me that he is, what I would term handsome, 
 and I guess I had better let you young ladies decide that 
 
4 8 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 for yourselves. He is tall and very aristocratic looking, 
 but a finer fellow you could scarcely come across." 
 
 " Now, I am going to describe him, Lila, and see, Ar- 
 thur, what a good guess I can make. Mr. Montaine is tall, 
 elegantly tall, with very handsome dark hair, dark, dark 
 gray eyes, a very thoughtful, high-bred sort of looking face 
 when in repose, but exceedingly bright, and fascinatingly 
 handsome when conversing or laughing. A melodiously 
 tuned voice, and a very sweet, ringing laugh. How wiil 
 that description do, brother mine ?" 
 
 " Why, I am desperately smitten without seeing this 
 Apollo," Lila cried, clasping her hands together in feigned 
 tragical style, while Arthur with a gay laugh made answer, 
 looking curiously into the laughing, animated face of his 
 sister : 
 
 " I believe it is a very good description, Lottie, but I do 
 not credit it as a guess of yours. You have been on the watch, 
 eh, and studying Mr. Montaine's looks ? I will tell some 
 one of this." 
 
 " It is no such thing," contradicted the girl, with another 
 merry peal of laughter. " I am sure I had no chance 
 whatever of seeing Mr. Montaine, for he only came last 
 night, and I have not been out of the house to-day, and as 
 Lila knows, not a soul has been in here from the Bentleys, 
 so you will be compelled to credit me as being 1 a first-rate 
 good guesser. 
 
 Well, if it is a guess, which I very much doubt, I will 
 have to acknowledge it a pretty correct one, but I make a 
 guess that you have seen Mr. Montaine somehow." 
 
 l< I will tell you, Arthur, how it is. Lottie has had a 
 dream and saw Mr. Montaine ; perhaps he is to be her fate. 
 You know the old fortune-teller says she is to wed a wealthy, 
 handsome man, and maybe it is not Walter Hayne after 
 all." 
 
 "Halloo, for Lila! She has it right this time, eh, Sis? 
 Well, he is a nice fellow, darling, and would make a splen- 
 did catch." 
 
 " Fie, fie, brother, you and Lila should be ashamed of 
 
Lila % 
 
 49 
 
 yourselves to talk such nonsense, I will not stay to hear 
 another word ;" and with a burst of gay song on her lips 
 the merry girl ran from the room and disappeared up the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Does not Lottie talk and act strangely about this Mr. 
 Montaine V remarked Lila, inquiringly ; but Arthur hushed 
 her rather roughly : 
 
 " Pshaw. Lila. do not begin at that enigma again ; she has 
 seen him, of course. Where is mamma ?" 
 
 "I suppose op-stairs, I have not seen her since I came 
 in from school, and I am just waiting now to know whether 
 her afternoon nap is over, so I can practice some before 
 dinner." 
 
 * I believe I will try and get a half an hour's' nap myself 
 before dinner, for I have some tough studying on hand f 
 and with this resolution the young man disappeared from 
 the room. 
 
 Left alone, Lila arose and, opening the piano, she took 
 her place at it and commenced arranging the music prepar- 
 atory to practicing. A frown swept over her face as Arthur 
 called from above, "No, Lila ; quiet is the order." 
 
 ; * Pshaw ! always quietness is required of me, I notice. 
 Lottie can sing, laugh, and make just as much noise as she 
 likes," she muttered angrily, pushing the music-book from 
 her, and resting her elbows on the instrument, she leaned 
 her head on her hands and gazed gloomily out of a window 
 to the right ; the angry frown taded gradually away, a 
 thoughtful, deeply thoughtful, expression taking its place 
 giving to the beautiful, dreamy face a look of sadness which 
 seemed habitual to it. 
 
 Lila Howard, as she was called, was a beautiful girl. A 
 blonde of the most perfect type, pure and delicate, with a 
 form tall, willowy, yet very graceful. Large, dreamy, sad 
 eyes, blue as the skies of a bright summers day. A wealth 
 of soft, creamy hair adorned the small, exquisitely moulded 
 head, " bauged'' low over the round, white forehead, and 
 plaited in a heavy braid, worn in girlish fashion, hanging 
 down her back ; while her nose and mouth seemed cast in 
 
5° 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 a perfect mould, so beautiful and perfect were they. In 
 repose her countenance wore a deeply thoughtful and sad 
 expression, but when aroused, or interested, her features 
 would become animated, while a lovely flush of the most 
 delicate, roseate bloom would mantle her cheeks and lips, 
 and a brilliant light emanate from the sad eyes, displaying 
 transient sparks of the most exquisite beauty. Her hands 
 are small and white, soft, perfect ; hands never soiled by 
 any of earth's labors, petted, indolent hands. In fact, her 
 whole appearance was that of an indolent, refined ladyism. 
 with a faultless, marble-like exterior. And yet she had a 
 heart, a living, glowing, suffering, human heart, its fires 
 slumbering low, just waiting for a waft of love to fan the 
 smouldering embers into a bright, genial flame. 
 
 Her exterior seemed the masterpiece of a human sculptor, 
 but ah, the interior was no passionless, icy marble. Poor 
 Lila! Although not yet eighteen, and of such matchless love- 
 liness, an unhappy and unloved life was hers. She was 
 known as Lila Howard, but she knew she had no claim to 
 the surname. A mystery hung over her, shadowing with its 
 dismal pall all the brightness of her young life. Her birth 
 and parentage were shrouded in an impenetrable gloom. 
 She had shelter, protection and support, but her proud, 
 sensitive nature recoiled when she knew she had no legal 
 claim to what she received, and realized the humiliating 
 fact that she was a nameless waif, and an object of charity 
 on the bounty of a family on whom she had been thrust in 
 helpless infancy ; that she was, at the best, an unwitting 
 usurper. 
 
 Some eighteen years previous Dr. and Mrs. Howard had 
 lost by death their second child, making way, it seemed, 
 for a little unfortunate, thrust out on the cold charities of 
 the world. The night after the burial of his child Dr. 
 Howard, returning home from a rather late professional 
 visit, stumbled over a basket within his gate, and started 
 back in dismay as the cry of an infant fell upon his ear. 
 Instantly he divined the skillful plan. Doubtless some 
 one, hearing of their loss, had seized the opportunity of 
 
Lila. 
 
 51 
 
 thrusting their little babe upon him and his wife's love and 
 charity. Yexation was his first emotion, but recovering 
 himself, he lifted up the rather burdensome basket and car- 
 ried it in to his wife, determining to let her decide how 
 they should act in the matter. On examination of the 
 basket it was found to contain a female infant about three 
 months old, wrapped up in a fine, embroidered shawl of 
 white merino, while a dainty cap of rich lace was upon its 
 head. Evidently it was not poverty that caused its natural 
 protectors to cast it from them, for besides the costly rai- 
 ment it wore there were a number of other garments in 
 the basket, all of the finest texture and elaborately trimmed 
 in costly lace and rich embroideries. Each garment was 
 marked neatly with the initials " L. R. M.," and on one was 
 pinned a note written in a rude, unskilled chirography, 
 which ran thus : 
 
 " Please kind people take care of this child, its mother is 
 dead, its father is a very rich, distinguished man, and some 
 day may reclaim, and pay you for your trouble and kind- 
 ness. The child's name is Lila." 
 
 That was all ; nothing further could be gleaned from the 
 mysterious basket nor helpless little foundling. After due 
 consideration, and much persuasion on the part of his young 
 wife, Dr. Howard consented to adopt, or at least take care 
 of the infant indefinitely. And so the little Lila, thrust 
 out by her natural protectors, became the inmate of a home 
 and received a name to which she had no legal claim. Ar- 
 thur, then a child of two years of age, missing his baby 
 sister, took kindly to the little stranger, and for a time Lila 
 was the petted darling of the household. But, as the years 
 came and went changes also came, and the pretty, petted 
 little girl began at an early age to realize that life was not 
 all sunshine. 
 
 When Lila was two years of age Mrs. Howard had another 
 little daughter given to her ; a sweet, smiling-faced, tiny 
 creature who at once seemed to capture the hearts of all 
 and was soon shrined the household idol. Spoiled, fretful 
 Lila became the bugbear, and Lotta the pet, the darling. 
 
52 
 
 The Waif; or, Ihe Web of Life. 
 
 The old family nurse, with a negro's inherent prejudice,, 
 had ever looked upon the adopted Lila as a usurper, and 
 would mutter to the frightened, sensitive child, too often 
 accompanied with a slap, jerk or pinch : u You ain't be- 
 longs to de Grahams, and I aint see why I is got to wony 
 myself wid de like of you." And now it was worse, after 
 the little Charlotte ("a real Graham,'' as she expressed it) 
 was given to her care ; with her increasing care and devo- 
 tion to her new charge her patience decreased towards poor 
 little Lila. 
 
 Mrs. Howard was young and inexperienced, and left the 
 old nurse with full control of the children, and she had no 
 idea that her foster-child was in any way neglected or ill- 
 treated. Once she had told her to be kind to the peevish, 
 delicate little Lila, and to make no distinction between her 
 and the other children, and therewith was content, having 
 full confidence in nurse Chloe's goodness and efficiency. 
 
 The tired Doctor would come home, and although mean- 
 ing no unkindness, he would ignore the shy, and often cry- 
 ing Lila, while with open arms and beaming face he wouid 
 take to his heart his cooing, pleasant-faced little daughter. 
 And was he to be blamed for the preference ? The natural 
 parent's love was there, and then the object of it was so in- 
 expressibly sweet and endearing, for the baby Charlotte was 
 one of those smiling, cherubic little mortals that sometimes 
 brighten a home into a paradise. 
 
 Arthur, the four year old son, intuitively saw how mat- 
 ters stood and felt privileged to tease and vent his ill humor 
 on the unoffending child with impunity, and he had been 
 carefully taught by Chloe that Lila was not his sister, but a 
 charity child who was stealing his rights from him. And 
 thus the worse than orphaned child, although sheltered, 
 well fed and clothed, distinctly lacked that which renders a 
 child free and happy, love, sympathy and parental care 
 and consideration. And yet Doctor and Mrs. Howard 
 thought they were doing their duty by the helpless child 
 thrown on their care, but could not realize the craving wants 
 of that frail, sensitive little creature. And with such an 
 
Lila. 
 
 53 
 
 atmosphere surrounding her, is it any wonder that Lila's 
 childhood was not a happy, careless one ? 
 
 In the course of years other children came to this house- 
 hold, and the mother's frail constitution seemed broken, 
 for she was often sick and very nervous, and consequently 
 had to leave the care of her family still more to the manage- 
 ment of servants, and Lila's lot, never a desirable one, now 
 became worse. Death, with his insatiable greed, cast his 
 cruel scythe into this home, taking into his cold embrace 
 within the space of one week the father and three young- 
 est children, who died from scarlet fever, which had visited 
 the town that fall in the form of an epidemic. The blow 
 crushed the wife and mother so completely that her eldest 
 sister, a maiden lady of about forty, left her home in Vir- 
 ginia and came to take the management of her bereaved 
 sister's household. She was a thrifty, energetic lady, and, 
 quite the contrary to Mrs. Howard, a splendid housekeeper. 
 Arthur and Charlotte, so accustomed to the care of ser - 
 vants, were delighted with Aunt Lucy, and more delig hted 
 with the pleasant change her presence had wrought in their 
 home ; but Lila seemed the one, and only one, unfriendly 
 spirit. Miss Graham was a practical and busy lady, kind 
 and genial but utterly devoid of sentiment, and could not 
 sympathize with the dreamy, indolent disposition of the 
 girl, and Lila, hitherto accustomed to have her own way, 
 put herself in open antagonism, and soon there was a war 
 between them. Naturally violent in her dislikes, Lila con- 
 ceived a bitter hatred toward the lady and ever viewed her 
 with suspicion and malice. Poor, mistaken, mismanaged 
 girl. She knew she was disliked, and with this knowledge 
 grew up a sad, thoughtful, defiant and unhappy disposi- 
 tion. The same that was provided for Charlotte was given 
 to her ; she enjoyed the same advantages in every respect 
 but seemed to care very little for them and profited by 
 them as little, and her idleness and seeming ingratitude 
 was what called for the bitter disapproval of Miss Graham. 
 Arthur treated his adopted sister with some show of polite- 
 ness and affection, but being so different from his open, 
 
 4 
 
54 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 merry disposition, there was very little sympathy and con- 
 geniality between them. 
 
 Her best, and perhaps only friend, was Charlotte, sweet 
 Charlotte Howard, who seemed to love every one and 
 whom every one seemed to love. Can I describe this 
 bright, sunny child ? So loving and beloved. I feel un- 
 equal to the task, and yet she is no Madonna, no model of 
 loveliness. Her looks are only those of an ordinary girl, very 
 piquant and attractive it is true,' but not beautiful. She is 
 not yet sixteen, and quite small for her few years ; lightly 
 built, but gracefully proportioned and well developed. Her 
 complexion is soft and clear, with a rich, roseate hue 
 mantling her well rounded cheek, deepening to a richer, 
 healthful glow in the full lips, in deep contrast to the very 
 white, pearly teeth, almost habitually displayed, so fre- 
 quently are they parted in smiles and merry peals of gen- 
 uine heart's laughter. Her hair is of a light auburn, bor- 
 dering on to the objectionable red, which she wears brushed 
 back from the round, white forehead, and straying at will 
 in loose, childish curls over her shoulders. Her hazel eyes, 
 although small, sparkle like stars when not shaded by the 
 long, silky lashes which, slightly curled at the ends, give to 
 her bright, merry face, a peculiar yet piquant look. If not 
 beautiful in the full acceptation of the term, there is some- 
 thing very charming and interesting characterizing her gen- 
 eral appearance. But the chief attraction lay in the habit- 
 ual sunny smile, the laughing love-lit eyes, the ready, 
 spontaneous laughter, rippling up joyous and free, from a 
 free, joyous heart. The buoyant, busy step, running 
 hither and thither, ever dispensing aid and imparting pleas- 
 ure to others. And yet, with all this, I have not done jus- 
 tice to this bright child of creation, this sweet, glorious 
 girl. Certainly she is one of those rare characters, which 
 are best described in the poet's sweet words, 
 
 "An eye too bright, to shine below the skies, 
 A voice too sweet, below the angels mirth ; 
 A face too bright, for sorrows daily jars, 
 A soul too white, to catch the dust of earth." 
 
Lila. 
 
 55 
 
 During this digression time has flown by on its swift 
 wings, and the dreaming Lila starts up in alarm, without 
 one note of practice on the piano, as the dinner-bell falls 
 upon her ear. Arranging her hair before the parlor mir- 
 ror she mechanically obeyed its summons, entering the 
 dining-room dull and listless. 
 
 In the course of dinner Charlotte casually inquired : 
 " Did you get through practicing, Lila % I have rehearsed 
 my French exercise, and will practice immediately after 
 dinner as I wish to finish my studies before night, for Ar- 
 thur tells me we are to have company this evening.'' 
 
 "No, Lottie; Arthur told me to keep quiet, and, there- 
 fore, understanding that mamma was still asleep, I did not 
 practice one note." 
 
 " Why, Arthur, mamma has not been asleep since you 
 came in !'' then laughingly she continued. " He wanted 
 quietness for himself, Lila ; I saw him stretched out on 
 mamma's lounge." 
 
 u Well, I know I did," the young man acknowledged 
 with a laugh. "But that was nearly an hour ago. Why I 
 have had a good nap, and arranged all my studies since I 
 left Lila, so it is not my fault she has not practiced." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lila greatly prefers to idle and dream away 
 her time, than to attend her studies, or anything else," in- 
 terposed Miss Graham testily. 
 
 A hot flush rushed to the brow of the sensitive girl, her 
 .lips quivered, and bursting into a passion of tears, she arose 
 from the table and, sobbing, left the room. 
 
 Arthur laughed, Mrs. Howard looked annoyed, and Char- 
 lotte grieved ; but Miss Graham, unabashed, continued : 
 
 " I never saw such a babyish and lazy girl in all my life. 
 I cannot understand what she intends to do for herself. 
 Nearly eighteen, and so backward in her studies. Why, she 
 will never graduate and get out into society at this rate, 
 and it is high time she should be thinking of getting mar- 
 ried instead of dreaming her life away in sheer idleness, 
 and shunning every gentleman that comes in her way as 
 though they were beneath her notice, whereas, with very 
 
56 
 
 The af; Wozr, The Web of Life. 
 
 litttle effort, she could secure for herself a husband and a 
 home to which she has a right. I cannot have patience 
 with the girl ; her ingratitude an d idleness are insuffera- 
 ble." And the lady cut the meat before her, nervously r 
 wishing it was the offending Lila, judging from her looks. 
 
 " Yes, I do not see why she does not try and get married, 
 for it seems we do not suit her ideas. Old Professor Yer- 
 neer is dead in love with her too. One smile would bring 
 him to terms. He is wealthy, if a little gray, but she is in- 
 dignant at such a suggestion. The Lady Lila has higher 
 ideas than so marry a professor of music." 
 
 " I am ashamed of my brother," said Charlotte in a. 
 grieved tone. "Please do not talk this way, Arthur, for I 
 know you would not have Lila to sacrifice herself on such 
 an old veteran. Why, he is past sixty, and has a grandson 
 the age of Lila. How would you like to see me marry old 
 Mr. Yerneer?" And a merry, arch look came over the 
 sweet young face, while a gay burst of laughter echoed 
 through the room. 
 
 " You, O ! that is a bird of another color. I have some 
 one else in reserve for you, darling." And the brother 
 winked his merry eyes significantly. 
 
 Blushing prettily, the sister laughingly rejoined: " Save 
 yourself the trouble brother mine. I prefer to manage my 
 own love affairs, but I think I shall follow Aunt Lucy's ex- 
 ample and never marry ; for I could not leave my dear, 
 dear home and sweet ones." 
 
 u Wise conclusion, eh, Aunt Lu ? But it is not very prob- 
 able that you can hold to it, little lady. Too many boys 
 are watching you with covetous eyes, and I am pretty sure 
 one will win the prize eventually ; Walter Hayne, for in- 
 stance, if this new comer does not interfere." 
 
 u I declare, Arthur, you are incorrigible. I will not stay 
 and listen to another word of such nonsense." And rising 
 with an assumed dignity, the warm blood deepened in her 
 cheeks to a carnation dye, she left the room with a cup of 
 hot tea and plate of dessert, for the absent Lela, leaving 
 her brother to be rebuked by the practical Miss Graham 
 for putting such notions into his sister's head. 
 
Lila. 
 
 57 
 
 " A mere child," concluded tie lady, with decided disap- 
 proval in her tone. 
 
 " A mere child, eh % That is all you understand about 
 the matter, Aunt Lucy. Iam not the one that put such no- 
 tions in her head, I assure you. She has been interested on 
 that subject long ago. But I must away to my lessons. 
 Have a nice tea fixed up Auntie darling, for it is very prob- 
 able Mr. Montaine will call this evening, with Harry." 
 
 Up-stairs in her pretty little chamber Lila sat, crying and 
 brooding over her lot, when Charlotte entered and lovingly 
 begged her to drink the tea and eat of the nice cake and 
 pie she had brought, 
 
 " Come, Lila,'' she pleaded. "Eat it dear, and let us go 
 down and practice together." 
 
 But in vain she urged. Lila was stubborn, and refused 
 to be comforted, preferring to nurse her little trials into 
 mountains of misery. And unable to induce her sister to 
 accompany her, Charlotte was compelled to descend alone, 
 where she was soon deeply engrossed in the next day's stud- 
 ies until deterred by the' darkening gloom of the winter's 
 short twilight. 
 
 After the lamps were lit, Arthur entered the bright, 
 warm parlor, and leaning on the piano proposed some mu- 
 sic before tea. Readily his sister acquiesced, and taking 
 her seat before the instrument, she ran over her several op- 
 eratic solos ; then together they sang some of their favorite 
 songs, and the house rang with the sweet, rippling soprano 
 of Charlotte and the rich, deep tenor of her brother. 
 
 Up-stairs in the dark, still chamber Lila remained stub- 
 bornly. The joy and merriment below dissipating none of 
 the gloom in her heart, but rather tending to aggravate and 
 increase its venom. 
 
 The sharp ring of the tea bell, and Charlotte's pleading 
 call of, "Come Lila, tea is ready ; please join us, dear," was 
 unheeded by her, as with a muttered " I do not want any- 
 thing to eat, and will starve before going to the table with 
 her again," she shut the door, turning the key in the lock. 
 
 "Oh ! how I hate her,'' she cried passionately, as with 
 
53 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 clenched hands, and eyes flashing defiantly, she walked the- 
 floor like an enraged panther. " She will gain nothing by 
 calling me lazy, dreaming and senseless ; I will show her 
 that I will not study, and just see when I shall open a book 
 again, or strike one note of music. I just will not study to 
 please her, there." And with this angry declaration she 
 banked up her books, and hastily disrobing herself, went to 
 bed, cold, hungry and angry, and when a few minutes later 
 Charlotte knocked at her door, begging that she would take 
 the supper which she had brought up, she would not deign 
 even a reply, and baffled, Charlotte was compelled to return 
 with it to the table, explaining that Lila was asleep. 
 
 " Another week of sulks, Aunt Lucy ;" suggested Arthur, 
 with a doleful shake of his head, and the lady assented to 
 his predictions with a look that spoke volumes. 
 
 . " Well, Lottie, as Mr. Montaine has failed to make his 
 appearance as yet, suppose we have a game of chess, eh ?" 
 But ere the sister had time to reply, there was a rap at the 
 door and Harry Bentley entered, followed by Louis Mon- 
 taine and William Courtney, a cousin of the Howards, but 
 withal a great admirer of Miss Lottie, whom, Harry ex- 
 plained, they met at the gate. 
 
 "Mr. Louis Montaine, my mother, Aunt Lucy, and my 
 sister Lottie," explained Arthur. 
 
 The young man bowed low, as he acknowledged the intro- 
 duction with a cordial shake of the hand to the two elder 
 ladies, then turning to the latter, a strange, startled look 
 came over his face, but recovering himself instantly he ex- 
 tended his hand, saying with a peculiar smile hovering around 
 his mouth, and lurking in the deep eyes that rested some- 
 what inquiringly upon the flushed, but composed face of 
 the young lady, " I am quite pleased to make your acquaint- 
 ance, Miss Lottie." 
 
 " I am also quite pleased to make yours, Mr. Montaine, 
 and cordially welcome you to our mountain city and my 
 home." And with a merry, sunny smile, but heightened 
 color, the girl raised her eyes to his face. 
 
 A glad smile of recognition came into his handsome eyes ; 
 
Lila. 
 
 59 
 
 his grasp grew firmer for one moment on the fluttering 
 hand still in his, but without further explanation he con- 
 ducted her politely to a seat, and turned with some pleasant 
 remark to Miss Graham, who was near by. 
 
 A merry, animated, general conversation ensued; but in 
 the course of the evening Louis Montaine managed adroitly 
 to get Charlotte out of earshot, if not eyesight, of the others, 
 and with the same peculiar smile coming to his face, he said 
 in a low tone, " If I am not very much mistaken, we have 
 met before, Miss Lottie ?" 
 
 " Of course we have met before, are you in any way 
 doubtful about the fact ?" was her ready response, with a 
 saucy smile on her face. 
 
 " How was it, you told me your name was Lottie Graham, 
 and I find you now as Lottie Howard V 
 
 " Well, I told you the truth, my name is Charlotte Gra- 
 ham Howard, and somehow, I felt like remaining incog., 
 never dreaming that you would so soon catch me in a story; 
 for who thought then that you would come up here to live." 
 
 "Ah, who thought it f" was the refrain, a sudden sadness 
 flitting across the handsome, bright face of the youth. But 
 the brightness came back as suddenly, as he went on : " So 
 you see, you had the advantage over me, I could not feel 
 certain that 1 was right in classing you as Lottie Graham, 
 when I was introduced to you with another surname, and 
 you have changed somewhat, your voice and laugh would 
 have betrayed you though, even if I had not seen you, for 
 what familiar music it is to my ears. I had no idea that I 
 would meet you here, or else I would have been much 
 more willing to have come. Does your brother know that 
 we have met before ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, I never told a soul, but I will tell them now, 
 since they know you. I was afraid to let mamma hear that 
 I had been on such friendly terms with a stranger, for she 
 would never have consented to let me go to grandpapa's 
 again with Chloe, and I like to spend my summer vacation 
 in the dear Old Dominion. But I will confess now, and 
 beg forgiveness for the deception, if you term it as such." 
 
6o 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " She may forgive the deception, but perhaps not the flir- 
 tation, eh ?" 
 
 • I protest that, sir, I never flirt, neither did I at that time. 
 I felt lonely and wanted some one to talk with, and feeling 
 6ure you were a gentleman, I trusted you accordingly." 
 
 " And you found me a gentleman ?" 
 
 " A very gentleman." 
 
 " I thank you, and hope you may never have cause to 
 change in your good opinion of me." 
 
 Just here a slight interruption occurred, the abrupt de- 
 parture of William Courtney, who with a frowning brow, 
 and short "good-night," took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Howard and Miss Graham had excused themselves, 
 and seeing Arthur and Harry quite interested in some dis- 
 cussion, Louis Montaine again turned to Charlotte, and with 
 a significant smile, remarked : 
 
 " I am afraid Mr. Courtney is angry at my seeming mo- 
 nopoly of Miss Howard. I presume his visit was intended 
 exclusively to you, and I am very sorry I disturbed him." 
 
 "Pshaw! do not mind Willie, Mr. Montaine, I will take 
 him to task for his rudeness when I see him again." 
 
 Then with a significant emphasis she continued : 
 
 " You know Willie is my first cousin, nothing more to 
 me." 
 
 " But you are something more to him, eh, Miss Charlotte?" 
 
 "A cousin can never be more to me than a cousin, Mr. 
 Montaine. I deem it a disgrace, if not an actual sin, for 
 cousins to violate their already close relationship. Why, 
 Willie's mother and my father were own brother and sister, 
 and it does not seem to me that there is a very great differ- 
 ence between him and my brother Arthur." 
 
 Louis Montaine winced, and coloring involuntarily, looked 
 earnestly into the glowing face of the girl, with the mental 
 query : " Could she know aught of his love for his cousin, 
 and their engagement ?" He thought that impossible, after 
 a brief consideration. They were undoubtedly her inde- 
 pendent ideas, with no covert significance attached, and 
 after a slight pause he said : 
 
Lila. 
 
 61 
 
 " I cannot agree with you on this point, Miss Charlotte, I 
 do not think it wrong, sinful nor disgraceful, for cousins to 
 marry. We cannot control our affections, and if you should 
 happen to fall in love with a cousin, must you crush that 
 love just because the loved object is your cousin \ I think 
 that would be sinful, and moreover great folly. And how 
 can you call it a disgrace? Why, it is the common, every- 
 day occurrence, and chiefly among the first families of our 
 land." 
 
 " Yes, I know that," the girl said with a light laugh, " but 
 still, I hold to my opinion, and deem it something wrong 
 and unnatural, and would no more think of marrying a 
 cousin, than an uncle or a nephew." 
 
 " If you happened to love a cousin very dearly, you would 
 think and talk differently Miss Lottie." 
 
 "No, I would not. 1 do not think we can love a cousin 
 with the same love that we should give to a husband or 
 wife; but I will say no more on this subject, you look sus- 
 piciously interested Mr. Montaine." 
 
 And she laughed ; but ah, was the same merry ring in it 
 as usual ? Was it not harsh and discordant ? It seemed so 
 to the girl, who, for the first time in her young life, felt a 
 strange, bitter sting at her heart. 
 
 Louis Montaine looked into the sweet young face, and his 
 heart stirred strangely within him. The memory of their 
 meeting came vividly before him ; her picture had clung to 
 him the past year, like some pleasant dream, and he was 
 more pleased to meet her again than he cared to acknowl- 
 edge. Should he tell her of his true position, or let his en- 
 gagement remain untold? He knew too well mortgaged 
 young men did not find favor in the eyes of the girls, and 
 he did not like that this one should treat him indifferently. 
 He would like to see her smile and flush at his coming, to 
 feel her preference for himself, but would this be right, or 
 honorable? He knew it would not ; he had promised to be 
 true to his absent betrothed. The temptation to flirt with 
 this little wild, captivating mountain flower was great, but 
 after a brief struggle against old Satan, the temptation was 
 
62 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 overcome, the wrong inclination made subservient to his 
 honor, and turning away scornfully from it, Louis Mon- 
 taine said, after a little while: 
 
 "Of course, Miss Lottie, we generally have an opinion of 
 our own, and have a right to hold to it, but, I think your 
 coloring of the matter is rather severe. I have a cousin 
 who is very dear to me, so much so, that she will one day 
 be my wife, and I trust by that time your views on the sub- 
 ject will be changed, so that you can conscientiously wish 
 me joy in my union with a cousin." 
 
 " So you are engaged to a cousin ? I am sorry, for I can- 
 not see right in it," was the simple reply. 
 
 Taking out his watch he touched a spring and said : 
 
 "Let me show you the portrait of this cousin, and when 
 you see how very beautiful she is, perhaps you may justify 
 me somewhat." 
 
 She glanced at the face exhibited to her view, and replied 
 rather coldly, " Yes, it is a very beautiful face ; but passion- 
 less and haughty, Mr. Montaine." Then, with a start she 
 exclaimed, Why, it is the image of Lila." 
 
 " And may I ask who is Lila?" 
 
 " My adopted sister, the resemblance is most striking, one 
 could almost declare that it is the portrait of Lila herself." 
 
 " That is very strange," the young man laughed, looking 
 into the mystified face of the girl. " And where is this 
 counterpart of my beautiful cousin, does she live with you? 
 for I would like to see her very much." 
 
 " O ! yes, but she is not well this evening and has re- 
 tired, but do call in to-morrow Mr. Montaine, and see if I 
 am not correct," and springing up, she was the next instant 
 claiming a corroboration of her statement from her brother 
 and Harry Bentley. 
 
 " Why to be sure," assented the young men in concert, 
 " It is certainly very much like Lila ;" and Harry went on 
 looking attentively at the face. 
 
 " There is a most striking resemblance but the beauty of 
 this picture is more brilliant, the expression haughty, while 
 that of Lila's is sad and dreamy ; yet there is certainly a 
 most wonderful likeness. Whose miniature is it, Louis ?" 
 
Li la. 
 
 63 
 
 " My cousin, Irene Burgoyne.'' 
 
 " You must think a good deal of her, Mr. Montaine," 
 Arthur said, with a significant smile, " to wear her next 
 your heart." 
 
 " Of course I do, she is very dear to me, and as I do not 
 care particularly to keep it a secret I may as well tell you 
 now that she is my betrothed wife." 
 
 " Ah ! well she is certainly a great beauty," was the re- 
 joinder, a slight shade flitting over the bright, handsome 
 face of the speaker as the light, flickering flame of some 
 secret hope, doubtless, was extinguished by this sudden 
 blast. 
 
 And as, with a click, the proud, handsome face of Irene 
 Burgoyne was hid from view, the subject was dropped. 
 
 As Louis Montaine and Harry Bentley separated that 
 night the latter said confidentially : 
 
 " Louis, it is such an immense relief for me to hear of 
 your engagement that I feel constrained to thank you for 
 the disclosure of it this evening. Ever since your arrival 
 up here a weight has rested on my heart which I could not 
 shake off, for so many seem to fall in love with Charlotte 
 Howard that I was fearful you might have done the same, 
 and I considered you a rival to be feared, but it is all right 
 now." 
 
 " I fancied I had not found favor in your estimation and 
 see now I was correct, but, understanding your reason, must 
 exonerate you fully. You are safe, so far as it regards me 
 coming in your way, and I hope we may hereafter be good 
 friends. I wish you all the success in the world, my dear 
 Harry, she is a sweet, charming little girl, but if I can 
 judge correctly she will not be easily won ; so go about it 
 bravely and woo hard. Good night." 
 
 " Good night, and thanks for your good wishes and 
 cheering advice ;" and with a light laugh and bright face 
 Harry Bentley entered his apartment far happier than in the 
 last few days. But as is often the case in life, that the joy 
 of one is sorrow to another, so it was now, for the news 
 that had brought this relief and happiness to Harr} Bentley 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 had fallen with keen, blighting pain on bright, happy and 
 careless Lottie Howard. It is the decree of Jehovah that 
 no one can remain careless and happy upon this troubled, 
 surging sea of life. 
 
 A few days' companionship on a monotonous journey to 
 her grandfather's, the summer before, had been ever since 
 like a golden dream to this sweet, guileless child, yea, de- 
 lightfully but dangerously sweet to her warm, loving, 
 waxen heart. No one had ever heard of this meeting, and 
 although the image of this handsome young stranger had 
 become the secret, stolen sigh of her soul, no one ever 
 guessed but that she was the same free, careless child she 
 seemed, and little did any one think that upon her young 
 heart an image was graven indelibly which no other would 
 ever obliterate. The news of Louis Montaine's love and 
 engagement for and to another, all unexpected, had fallen 
 like a death-knell to her bright dream, withering with a 
 sudden wintry blast the sweet hope held so sacredly and 
 dear. And now when alone, with a pale, quivering face 
 and deep, sobbing sigh she throws herself on the bed, moan- 
 ing like a sorrowful, disappointed child, and as she lay 
 there seemed a crushed, bruised reed from this first blow 
 of earth's heritage upon her young life. 
 
 Sweet, bright Charlotte Howard, fate has not been kind ; 
 a burden has been cast upon her young life early, and will 
 she bear it bravely, coming through victorious, or let it 
 crush out all the joy and zest of her existence ? 
 
 And Louis Montaine ? Was it only a passing fancy, a 
 transient, fleeting interest he felt for this child thrown so 
 unexpectedly across his pathway? Who can tell? His 
 heart is strangely stirred this night and he tries to know 
 why he should feel pleased, secretly glad to meet her again. 
 There is a sensation of regret, added to the pangs of re- 
 morse, for his hasty betrothal to his beautiful cousin, and 
 as sleep begins to cast its subtle power over him, between 
 his waking and dream-like fancies a piquant, sunny face 
 and a pair of roguish brown eyes come tantalizingly before 
 him and the lovely vision of his betrothed wife. 
 
THE STOLEN JEWELS. 
 
 "Mr. Burgoyne, I want to understand what you intend 
 doing. Can nothing make you realize to what a fearful 
 strait you have brought your family? After reducing 
 us to poverty, from your extravagance and riotous living, 
 you sent me back home a beggar on the charity of my 
 brother. But think you that I would go to that brother 
 and tell him my handsome inheritance was gone, that noth- 
 ing was left of it for my young, helpless children ? No, 
 never ; although my brain has reeled on the very verge of 
 insanity under the accumulated debts I was obliged to incur 
 from time to time, he never knew a word of it, never sus- 
 pected, while I seemed prosperous, that I was a beggar — " 
 
 " The more fool you,'' was the discourteous interruption 
 of the man who was called husband and father, but, alas, 
 fell so short of the meaning of those words. "Is it any won- 
 der, then, he has left you nothing from his millions ? You 
 are a perfect round fool, Harriet, nothing short of it." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," was the bitter retort of the half- 
 crazed, maddened lady. " The more fool I was. I know 
 you expected me to flee to my brother for aid, but, thank 
 Heaven, I did not, for now you will have to arouse yourself 
 or else see your family homeless paupers on the street. I 
 can hold out no longer. I have no wealthy brother now 
 wherewith to quiet my numerous greedy creditors. Louis 
 is a good, generous boy, but powerless to aid me if he knew 
 my great needs. Although money lay rusting for use there 
 is no help from it for years to come, and not then if Irene 
 is not kept up in the style Louis has been accustomed to 
 see. He is proud, and would not take his bride from poverty 
 and disgrace, No, Louis Montaine has a proud, unblem- 
 ished name to uphold, and I know, with his very life's 
 
66 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 blood, will he keep it from dishonor. Four years at least 
 are before us before his great wealth can benefit us any, and 
 in the meantime, I ask what are we to do ? I owe every- 
 body with whom I have had dealings, and do not know 
 where to turn for a loaf of bread wherewith to fill the chil- 
 dren's hungry mouths. Horace, do you understand me? Do 
 you realize that we are beggars ?" 
 
 " You are trying to frighten me, Harriet. It cannot be so 
 bad as you make it out, surely. Do you not own this house 
 and the negroes waiting in it, and where are your stock 
 bonds ? Come, do not try and frighten me, woman. You 
 are exaggerating, it cannot be true." 
 
 " Would that it was not true," was the anguished rejoinder, 
 " but it is just as I say, without coloring or exaggeration. 
 Not a negro have I to sell ; the house is mortgaged to the 
 last dollar ; the little stock I had left is all gone. I tell 
 you, Horace, every thing is gone, we are beggars." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the man, springing up, his eyes glar- 
 ing and his face livid with rage, "you do not mean to say 
 that the house and negroes are all sold ? that you own noth- 
 ing wherewith to raise some money % Are you insane, 
 Harriet ?" 
 
 "Yea, nearly so. What do you think I have been living 
 on, Horace \ When last did you send me a dollar ? Not for 
 years ; but instead, you sent me, a year ago, a fashionable, 
 expensive daughter; then it was the fight began. I dressed 
 her richly, gave her jewels, and allowed her every advan- 
 tage, to try and get her married well, to save the rapidly 
 sinking ship. First one negro, then another, was mortgaged, 
 to obtain the finery she required. This house, the last 
 house I had left from so many, my costly jewels, old fami- 
 ly plate, every thing of any value, was sold, all flew like 
 chaff before the extravagant wants of 'Rene; then, when all 
 was gone, I had to resort to credit. Every one trusted me 
 so long as Edwin was alive, knowing that if I failed to pay, 
 before a public exposure, he would step forward and liqui- 
 date my debts for me, but, thank God, he died ignorant of 
 it all ; then after all my strivings, risking the las* penny, 
 
The Stolen Jewels. 
 
 67 
 
 'Bene turned scornfully away from two magnificent offers 
 of marriage and lavish endowments, and fell in love with 
 her cousin, only a boy. It is all well, for Louis is im- 
 mensely rich, but then, how many years she must wait. It 
 is worth every struggle to gain him for her husband ; but 
 who is to make this struggle ? I am perfectly powerless to 
 do any thing more, and to you, the rightful provider of this 
 household, I appeal, to avert the ruin hanging over us. 
 Think what is at stake, Horace. You must keep us afloat 
 until Louis is of age. It would be horrible for her to lose 
 such a chance, and, I tell you, Louis would not marry 'Rene 
 if he has to lift her from the mire of poverty and disgrace. 
 God only knows what is to be done, all 1 know is, that I 
 cannot turn in any direction for aid in this terrible mo- 
 ment of despair." 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne sank down with a wail of anguish, bitter 
 tears of wounded pride, mortification and despair, coursing 
 down her wan cheeks, while her once handsome, but now, 
 dissolute, bloated-looking husband, still paced the room with 
 nervous, angry strides. The words of his wife had fallen 
 with stunning realization on his ears ; he knew money and 
 credit was something hard for him to obtain ; and he could 
 see nothing but ruin staring him in the face, and in a fury 
 he turned upon his crushed, weeping wife: 
 
 "You need not look to me for aid. It is. out of the ques- 
 tion for me to try such an utter impossibility, as to avert the 
 imminent ruin you depict as impending over us. Knowing 
 all this, how could you be such a confounded goose as not to 
 let your miserly brother know of your fearful strait? A few 
 of his thousands in your pocket would be much better than 
 lying, rusting, in the bank." 
 
 Then, cooling off somewhat, he continued : 
 
 "Cannot you think of some way, Harriet, to raise a little 
 money ? With a few hundred I might make a few thou- 
 sands at the gaming table ; it is my only resort." 
 
 But seeing his wife shake her head mournfully, he went 
 on in a lower tone : 
 
 "I tell you what you can do, Harriet. Get 'Rene to go 
 
68 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and spend a few days with a friend, and let her leave her 
 diamond betrothal ring with you for safe keeping ; when 
 she returns she will get her ring back and I will have a lit- 
 tle money to start the wheel of fortune going. Do you un- 
 derstand me, Harriet ?" 
 
 " Yes, I hear and understand you ; but you dare not do 
 this crime, this wrong to your own daughter. I will have 
 nothing to do in such a matter. I would follow my chil- 
 dren to the poor-house before staining my soul with crime. 
 You need not look to me for assistance that way, and, for 
 God's sake, Horace, think of something honorable and keep 
 from the gaming table. You have a profession, find hon- 
 orable employment, or else let your family go to ruin. I am 
 half killed now, from your conduct since I married you. 
 My heart is fluttering as if it would break through its fet- 
 ters, and if you wish to murder me outright, dare to touch 
 one thing belonging to 'Rene. You could find some lucra- 
 tive position if you would but try, I can give up the house 
 and negroes to their owners, and the other creditors would 
 wait on me for a time, with a promise to pay them when I 
 can, then I could retire to some cheap, country boarding- 
 house with the children. As 'Rene is engaged, she would 
 willingly go, especially, if 1 told her how much depended 
 upon our immediate retrenchment. Be a man, Horace, and 
 work honorably for your family for a few years, at least. 
 The future good of 'Rene and her sisters should be an all 
 important incentive, 1 am sure. But I can talk and urge no 
 more, I feel so sick and weary at heart, I must go and lie 
 down ; but -I again warn you, Horace, dare not touch one 
 of 'Rene's jewels." 
 
 And with a distracted, hopeless air, the lady left, retiring 
 to her chamber, leaving her husband with folded arms and 
 knitted brows. 
 
 ''Where is 'Rene?" asked Mrs. Burgoyne, the next morn- 
 ing, as she entered the breakfast-room at rather a late hour 
 and missed her eldest daughter. 
 
 "She is not up yet, mamma. I called and called her, but 
 
The Stolen Jewels. 
 
 69 
 
 she is sound asleep. But, mamma, do not wait breakfast 
 on her, for we will be late at school, and I am so hungry," 
 and Maude Burgoyne led her mother unresistingly up to 
 the table. 
 
 " Is your father up ?" questioned the lady again, as she 
 took her place at the table and began to pour out the half 
 cold coffee. 
 
 " Yes, mamma," Sadie replied. "He was up early, but 
 would not take even a cup of coffee, saying he had some 
 very important business down town." 
 
 The mother, pale and faded, tried to eat, but seemed to 
 have lost all appetite, and, after drinking a cup of coffee, 
 pushed back from the table and took up the morning pa- 
 per ; but scarcely had she scanned a line when her atten- 
 tion is arrested, as with wild eye3, dishevelled hair, and in 
 her night-dress, Irene rushes in, crying frantically : 
 
 " Oh, mamma, where is papa? Kobbers have been in 
 the house last night. My jewel case is gone, and my ring, 
 my engagement ring, is stolen from my finger. What will 
 Louis say, his mother's diamond ring, which he entrusted 
 to my care, gone, sto — ," but here her wild excitement is 
 interrupted, as, with a wilder cry she springs forward and 
 screams : 
 
 " What have I done ! Kun, Sadie, send for the doctor, 
 mamma has fainted ; what shall I do ? My God, I believe 
 she is dying." 
 
 Wilder and wilder became the screams of the terror- 
 stricken girl, and making the confusion yet greater, were 
 added to them the cries of her sisters and that of the ser- 
 vants, who came flocking in from kitchen and chambers. 
 
 The physician soon arrived, and who can paint the heart- 
 rending scene which followed, when he pronounced the 
 mother dead. Scream after scream rent the air, and Irene 
 was carried off to her chamber raving the one hysterical 
 refrain, "I have killed mamma,, oh ! my God, I have killed 
 my mother." 
 
 Kind hands were soon there, ministering to the living 
 and to the dead. The three little girls were carried off to a 
 
 5 
 
70 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 friend, and the bereft, agonized Irene put under the in- 
 fluence of an anodyne, for if consciousness was allowed, the 
 most violent hysterics racked her frame, while the guilty 
 father, who was not found until late in the day, and then 
 greatly intoxicated, lay sleeping the sleep of drunkenness 
 on his murdered wife's lounge. 
 
 The cold, stiff casket which had so lately been inhabited 
 by a tortured heart, lay in utter oblivion to all these sur- 
 rounding elements of mystery and guilty despair. 
 
 No eyes but the all-seeing eye of Jehovah had seen and 
 known the trials of this once happy and gifted woman ; no 
 heart but the loving, human heart of Christ had sympa- 
 thized in her griefs and sorrows ; for they had all been hid 
 away from the eyes of man. For nineteen years she had 
 endured a life of torment, unrest and fear, with the ill- 
 matched choice of her youth. And this was the crisis. 
 
 Thus had it ended. That morning she had arisen from a 
 sleepless couch, with languid, dull eyes, and a heavy, sore 
 heart, descended, as she thought, to endure another'day of 
 trial and fear. As her terrified child's words fell with 
 dreadful meaning upon her ears, and the suspicion who 
 wa? the robber flashed through her mind, the poor, flutter- 
 ing heart, which was sluggishly performing its functions, 
 gave one terrific throb, then was quiet forever. And, with 
 a last, deep, gasping sigh the released spirit fluttered from 
 its earthly prison to its coveted rest. And, instead of re- 
 joicing for her release, hear the wail which rends the air ! 
 'Oh ! short-sighted, selfish mortals, let the burdened mother 
 go in peace and enjoy her rest. 
 
 But, as no one likes to dwell too long on the unhappy 
 yet inevitable pages of human existence, we will pass on 
 rapidly, allowing the two days of anguish and bitterness, 
 between the sudden death and funeral of Mrs. Burgoyne, 
 to be conceived, not described. The latter took place on 
 the morning of the third day, with a great display of car- 
 riages and solemn pomp. The ancestral vault is again 
 opened, and the brother and sister, the sufferers and deeply 
 wronged of Horace Burgoyne laid side by side, and were, 
 
The Stolen Jewels. 
 
 7i 
 
 we trust, reunited in a happy, tearless reunion in Paradise. 
 
 A month later, a letter written to Louis Montaine, from 
 his betrothed, will explain further developments : 
 
 Charleston, 18, 
 
 11 My dear, dear Louis. — For a long time I felt grievously wounded, from 
 your seemingly unkind refusal to come to dear mamma's funeral. I 
 could not understand, nor believe my own eyes when I read the telegram 
 saying you could not come ; but, after thinking it over, my heart has 
 pardoned you freely ; for, I know, you must have shrunk from tearing 
 afresh the lacerated and still bleeding wound, inflicted by your then own 
 recent loss. I feel now that I did not sympathize with you as I should ; 
 but ah, a sad, bitter experience has taught me to feel for another's woes. 
 I know, now, my poor, dear Louis, what a loss you experienced in the 
 death of your dear good father ; for, oh ! my mother, how every day I 
 miss her more and more, and do not know how I will ever become recon- 
 ciled to her loss, the magnitude of which words cannot describe. I never 
 knew, never realized what a dear, blessed parent, what a disinterested 
 and faithful friend she was, until snatched, so suddenly, so terribly from 
 me. And then, what makes it all so much worse, so real, is the com- 
 plete break-up papa has made. He says he did not want me to have the 
 care of the house, so sold out everything, even to my piano. I did not 
 like it in the least. I could have managed nicely with our old tried and 
 
 experienced house servants ; but I was away with Mrs. , mamma's old 
 
 friend, and when I returned it was all over, with rooms engaged at the 
 
 Hotel ; so, it is best perhaps. I have it pretty comfortable, but 
 
 somehow do not fancy hotel life, and I cannot help pining for my old 
 happy days. I miss mamma, and oh ! Louis, how I miss you, my dar- 
 ling. It seems a year since you left me, and it is only five weeks, really. 
 I am so sad and lonely ; papa is out all the time, and Maude and Sadie 
 left yesterday for North Carolina, where they will remain at school until 
 they graduate. Little Renzie is with me, but she is so troublesome, cry- 
 ing all the time for mamma to come back. I never did like the care of 
 children, nor do I understand how to manage them, and I tell papa he 
 will have to send her to Aunt Sarah, out in Ohio, or else get her a nurse, 
 and yet I do not like to part with her, for she was mamma's pet, and a 
 great pet of yours also. Renzie has often made me jealous, claiming 
 your attention too much from me, but the care of a child is too hard on 
 me. 
 
 The students here at the College have a nice, pleasant time, and when 
 I see them frolicing around, calling in on friends, full of college boys' 
 gay chat and life, I can almost scream with vexation to think what I 
 have lost by your going away from Charleston. Oh ! Louis, my life, my 
 all, how I miss you ; I long to see you, to hear the dear old familiar step, 
 and sweet, cheery voice, so full of sweet, loving words for me. But I 
 must hush, you will not like to hear that I am so sad, yet how can I help 
 expressing what my heart is so brimful. But, my love, you will be true 
 to me, your loving 'Rene ? 
 
 Cannot you arrange it somehow, that I can spend the summer at S . 
 
 It will be so nice to leave the city, with its dust and heat, for the sweet, 
 green country. And then, so delightful to be near where I can see you 
 
72 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 sometimes, when you are at leisure. But I will no tire you with a longer 
 letter this time. You must write soon, a long, long letter. You have 
 not told me yet how you like the country, your new home and the Par- 
 son's family. Are there any pretty girls up there? Mind, tell me the 
 truth. Remember what a jealous, loving sweet-heart you have, and dare 
 not flirt. I will be true, and will exact the same from you. 
 
 Renzie sends love, and papa begs to be remembered to you, and you 
 know you have all the love and devotion of 
 
 Yours entirely, 
 'Rene." 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Mrs. Bentley, who is this Miss Lila Howard, I met her 
 this afternoon for the first time, and she is the fac-simile of 
 my cousin Irene." 
 
 " She is the adopted daughter of Mrs. Howard. I have 
 heard several times of this likeness to your cousin. Mr. 
 Bentley perceived it while in Charleston, but I suppose it is 
 only accidental, I cannot account for it any other way. I 
 have often met persons, entire strangers to each other, look- 
 ing very much alike, and this is just such a case I expect." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps so ; but Mrs. Bentley, this is a most striking, 
 remarkable resemblance ; then every one who has seen the 
 two fully agrees to the positive likeness existing. I cannot 
 but believe that 'Rene is in some way related to this young 
 lady. Is any thing known of her past life ?" 
 
 " No. Nothing whatever is known concerning her origin. 
 Her parentage is veiled in an impenetrable mystery. But 
 you must not talk this, Louis ; she is generally known as 
 Mrs. Howard's daughter, and a revival of the past would 
 make it very unpleasant for Lila, and she is naturally very 
 sensitive on the subject anyhow." 
 
 " I would not mention it again, you may rest assured. But 
 how came Mrs. Howard to adopt her ? Something must be 
 known regarding her early years, or from where she came," 
 still queried the young man, seemingly full of a strange 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I do not like to recall and thus expose the past, but, as 
 you seem so deeply concerned I will tell you all that is 
 known." 
 
 Mrs. Bentley then briefly explained the few known facts 
 of the finding and adopting of the deserted babe, some 
 eighteen years before. Louis Montaine listened attentively, 
 
74 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and said, thoughtfully, when the lady had finished her re- 
 cital : 
 
 " It is very strange, and incomprehensible, and although 
 not explaining this extraordinary likeness existing, it does 
 not alter the fact in the least. It is not only that these two 
 are blondes, of the same type of beauty, but the general 
 expression of the face, the tall, graceful form, and the voice 
 and laugh, are the very same. I never had any thing to 
 puzzle me so before in my life." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I would not let it worry me, Louis, if I were 
 you. Perhaps she is some relative of your cousin's. It is 
 believed by all that Lila's parents did not belong to this 
 place, but that she was left here by some summer sojourner 
 from the cities, or, as Miss Graham declares, 'some Yankee.' 
 'She is a Northern blonde, with not a vein filled with the 
 warm, blue blood of a Southerner', is that lady's positive 
 assertion ; but it is hard to say, for your cousin is a blonde, 
 and a Southron." 
 
 " Yes, but her father is not, he came from the North, I 
 believe, and they say Irene is his perfect counterpart. It is 
 certain that she does not resemble her mother. The Mon- 
 taines were never noted for their beauty. I cannot recall 
 to mind whether I ever heard of Mr. Burgoyne having any 
 other relative than a sister, who I hear them speak of some- 
 times as a maiden lady, residing somewhere in Ohio. This 
 thing puzzles me greatly. Look for yourself, Mrs. Bentley, 
 and say, if this miniature is not Miss Lila Howard's fac 
 simile." And again the proud, beautiful face of Irene Bur- 
 goyne was displayed to view. 
 
 The lady took the case handed to her, and after a careful 
 scrutiny, said reflectively : 
 
 " Certainly, it is very much like Lila. There is a differ- 
 ence, but the resemblance is strikingly perceptible. This 
 face is brighter, and happier looking, the eyes more brill- 
 iant and humorous. Lila has a sad and dreamy cast over 
 her features, and her beauty is more refined and delicate, 
 yet I can distinctly see the resemblance, which seems to 
 trouble you so much, but, as we cannot account for it, I 
 think it best not to worry about it." 
 
The Mysterious Resemblance. 75 
 
 " Yes, that is certainly the wisest plan, but, Mrs. Bentley," 
 and the young man laughed outright, " it is not only this 
 resemblance which annoys me, I have had Masie, and Harry 
 and Arthur Howard to tell me, that my mother's portrait, 
 which hangs over my desk, is so much like this Miss Lila, 
 and do you know, I saw it immediately ? My mother and 
 and 'Rene Burgoyne are just as different in looks as it is 
 possible for two individuals to be, and yet, it is a positive 
 fact, that Miss Lila Howard resembles them both. You can 
 laugh, but it is so, without any imagination. You take no- 
 tice yourself, and I know you cannot fail to perceive the 
 likeness. I have been in a real quandary, ever since I met 
 Miss Lila, over this two-fold resemblance, and could not rest 
 until coming to you, and endeavoring to find out something 
 concerning this mysterious young lady ; but, instead of solv- 
 ing the riddle, you have only made it more intricate ; for I 
 noticed just now, as you were explaining about the finding 
 of the child, that you said her clothing was marked, 'L. R. 
 M.' They are the initials of my name, Louis Ralph Mon- 
 taine. What can it mean ?" 
 
 " It certainly does seem very strange, Louis, but I can 
 see no way of unraveling the mystery for you, and can 
 only advise you to let it pass by quietly on the current of 
 passing events, time may explain what is vain for us to try 
 to unfathom now. And this is the portrait of your cousin ? 
 She is very beautiful, and what lovely eyes ! She is much 
 handsomer than Lila." 
 
 The youth's troubled face changed to an expression of 
 pleased tenderness, as the latter words were spoken, in evi- 
 dent sincere admiration, and he answered : 
 
 " Yes, 'Rene is very beautiful, and I want to believe that 
 I have won a gem, but they tell me these handsome wo- 
 men never make good, true wives. What do you think 
 about it, Mrs. Bentley?" 
 
 " Well, Louis, to be frank, I must say that, as a general 
 thing, they do not make the best wives. A beautiful wo- 
 man is fond of admiration, and is not satisfied with the ad- 
 miration of her husband, always, but then you know there 
 
76 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 are exceptions to every rule. 5 ' Then with a little hesitancy 
 she went on : 
 
 " Now, Louis, mentioning this subject, will you allow me 
 to say a few words on it without getting vexed, or mi sn- 
 terpreting my motives? Do you think and feel it right, to 
 indulge in this hope of marrying your cousin in direct oppo- 
 sition to your father's wishes? You should think well of 
 this serious matter before going too far. Do not get offen- 
 ded, my dear young friend. I speak to you as a mother 
 would, and I know if she were here, she would not have 
 you marry Miss Burgoyne.'' 
 
 A hot flush swept over the face of the young man, while 
 an angry, defiant fire blazed from the deep gray eyes, as he 
 rather thoughtfully said : 
 
 " And why, pray, would my mother object to my mar- 
 riage with 'Rene Burgoyne, and how can you say that my 
 father was opposed to this marriage? You assume too 
 much, Mrs. Bentley, in speaking so strongly, and I would, as 
 a special favor, request that neither you nor Mr. Bentley 
 will interfere in this matter. It has gone too far, there is 
 no retraction. I am not willfully disobeying my father's 
 wishes, for he made known no such wishes to me, and I 
 was ever at his side during his last, fatal illness, and if he 
 was so bitterly opposed to my union with 'Rene, why could 
 he not have told me so, instead of telling Mr. Bentley, and 
 then I would not have taken the fatal step. I would have 
 understood his wishes, and no sacrifice would have been too 
 great for me to make to observe those wishes. But now it 
 is impossible to retract what has been done. It is not my 
 fault that I have crossed the Rubicon. 'Rene Burgoyne is 
 my betrothed wife, and if you, Mrs. Bentley, have been 
 empowered to oppose, and try to put me off from this mar- 
 riage, it is vain for you both to attempt it. And although 
 it renders me very miserable to hear that my father ex- 
 pressed any such wish to Mr. Bentley, I could not go back 
 on my honor, to break my engagement, because of this very 
 strange and incomprehensible piece of news I have learned 
 since his death. I admit that my father had objections 
 
The Mysterious Resemblance. 
 
 77 
 
 against me marrying the daughter of Horace Burgoyne, be- 
 cause of some old feud which existed between them, but I 
 cannot believe that my father died with his enmity unfor- 
 given, or else, I repeat, why did he not tell me that he did 
 not wish that I should marry 'Rene, instead of confiding 
 that wish to another, and leaving me free to act out my in- 
 clination ? Nothing can be done now, and I would be very 
 much obliged to both Mr. Bentley and you, if I hear no 
 more about this matter." 
 
 " I am very sorry, Louis, I took it upon myself to inter- 
 fere, as it seems to have made you so angry. I merely heard 
 Mr. Bentley express a care that he had undertaken to do 
 more than he felt he could do, to try and make you under- 
 stand and observe your father's dying wishes in regard to 
 your marriage with Miss Burgoyne, and a wife's wish to 
 help her husband induced me to talk as I did. Pardon me, 
 my dear young friend, if I hurt your feelings in any 
 way, and I promise never to refer to the subject again. I 
 think it very strange myself that your father should have 
 confided his wishes to Henry and not to you. It was rather 
 a difficult and delicate matter to leave to another, for as 
 you say it has gone so far I do not see that any thing could 
 be done. If you love and are engaged to your cousin, I 
 do not think it right or kind for any one to try and put you 
 against it. It would be cruel toward the young lady, and 
 not justifiable to yourself. 1 trust, Louis, you do not doubt 
 us, nor misinterpret our motives. We can have no possible 
 interest in your matrimonial affairs, for you know both 
 Masie and Florence are mortgaged property." 
 
 " O, of course, Mrs. Bentley, I understand and appreci- 
 ate the purity of your intentions, and I am not in any way 
 offended, but very much pained and worried to hear of 
 such a task being imposed upon Mr. Bentley. I wish my 
 dear father had confided in me ; my desire to please and do 
 whatever he wished was paramount to every other consid- 
 eration, and as he never mentioned the subject to me during 
 his illness, after his death I felt privileged to ask her to 
 become my wife, never divining then that I would suffer 
 
78 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 so for my precipitancy, for suffer I do to have it told me 
 now, that my fathers dying wish was against this marriage. 
 All the joy and zest of life is destroyed by this knowledge, 
 but what can I do now, Mrs. Bentley % Are either you or 
 Mr. Bentley aware of the nature of the bitter wrong done 
 my father by Mr. Burgoyne V 
 
 " I am not, Louis, but cannot answer for Mr. Bentley. 
 Henry has never spoken to me on the subject. I remem- 
 ber at the time of your mother's death your father sent for 
 my husband, and on his return I was quite sick. My Flor- 
 ence was born about that time and he did not tell me much 
 concerning the sad visit he had made, but I recollect him 
 saying that what made your father's bereavement heavier was 
 on account of his exceeding loneliness — having no relative 
 
 in C except his baby son ; and on my inquiring where 
 
 his sister was he made answer, saying she was in France ; 
 that her husband had bitterly, foully wronged Mr. Mon- 
 taine and was obliged to flee the country and had taken his 
 family with him, and that the two sorrows, coming one 
 after the other, had nigh crushed your father to death.' 1 
 have never heard Mr. Bentley allude to it since, and should 
 suppose it was some financial wrong ; but, Louis, I would 
 not recall nor dwell upon the past and its sad memories. 
 Let by-gones be by-gones and look to the future with faith 
 and hope ; let time ^ork its results, I will pray for you that 
 they may be happy, peaceful results. Do not worry over 
 what you cannot alter, but only trust in God, and do what 
 you think is right and it will come out well." 
 
 " I presume it is useless to discuss these several perplex- 
 ities, and sincerely hope they may all come out well. Your 
 advice is admirable ; but ah ! Mrs. Bentley, it is so much 
 easier to give advice than for the one to whom it is given 
 to follow it. Although you mean well, for which I thank 
 you kindly, I must confess that I am not consoled, but feel 
 miserably unhappy and distressed. It is easy enough to do 
 the right and trust in God, but it is hard for me just now 
 to know what is the right," and with a doleful shake of 
 the head the young man laughed mournfully. 
 
The Mysterious Resemblance. 79 
 
 " Trust in God and do the right, yea, but how much 
 easier is it said than to be done," is the mental decision of 
 Louis Montaine as he sits in his room thinking, thinking, 
 and going over again, the hundredth time perhaps, the same 
 questioning — was he right or wrong in persisting to have 
 his own way in opposition to his deceased father's wishes ? 
 " But why should my father at that awful, supreme time 
 tell this wish to another and not say one word on the sub- 
 ject to me V is the torturing, perplexing, mental query. 
 The chain that bound him did not seem silken, but rather 
 an iron fetter. The bondage awhile ago so sweet and de- 
 sirable, felt like a barred prison to him this night, and 
 although he tried not to acknowledge it he felt that freedom 
 would be gladly accepted by him, if it could be gained 
 without any forfeiture to his honor. In his dreams, through 
 the fitful hours of slumber, no form of beauty nor fancies 
 of delicious realities came to him as of yore, but the sad, 
 reproachful face of his father haunted him with revengeful 
 persistence, and Louis Montaine, with all his boasted talk of 
 justifiable right to wed his lovely cousin, felt, with keen 
 pain and remorse, that he was sorry for his impetuous 
 haste, felt sorry he was fettered with vows he knew not 
 how to break, but from which he sincerely wished he was 
 freed. The one anguished desire of his heart now was to 
 please, and thus rid himself of that haunting, reproachful 
 face — the face of his dear, dead father. 
 
 " My father, my father," is the agonized cry, the wild 
 prayer, as he tosses on his sleepless couch, u Oh ! that I 
 could but speak one word to you, and hear from your lips, 
 now closed in death, what I must do.'' But the moments 
 only ticked by wearily, and at last the morning dawned, yet 
 bringing no balm for the unhappy, perplexed youth ; but a 
 promise of transient forgetfulness during the hours of ex- 
 citement and engrossment in his daily duties at College. 
 
 Sitting alone, deeply immersed in the knotty problems 
 of some mathematical study, that afternoon, he is disturbed 
 by the entrance of little Edwin, who handed him a letter, 
 and instantly ran off to his interrupted play. 
 
8o 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 Laying aside his book, Louis Mon taine broke the seal of 
 the dainty, perfumed little envelope, and, although he 
 knew well from whom it had come, no eagerness or glad- 
 ness was apparent in his manner; but rather a nervous dis- 
 turbed look flitted over his face, and as he perused the 
 delicately written lines, his countenance gave evidence that 
 they were not highly gratifying, and when he came to the 
 last clause, it grew dark, and he bit his lips in evident 
 chagrin. The complaining, fretful words, and the unfeel- 
 ing remarks about che dear little motherless child, pining 
 for its mother's love and care, and the selfish desire to get 
 rid of it, and consign it to the care of an aunt he had often 
 heard her speak of as a "crabbed old maid,'' shocked and 
 pained him beyond words, displaying as it did so vividly 
 a selfish, unsisterly spirit. The dissatisfaction at his ab- 
 sence, which she so deplored, failed to make amends for 
 the complaints of this dear baby sister, whom he knew to 
 be one of the sweetest and most affectionate of children, 
 and whom he loved very dearly and fondly. 
 
 " She does not like children," he muttered ; " why, I 
 thought she adored them. I am sure she has often told me 
 so." Would she dislike the care of her own children, he 
 thought, and be one of those unnatural, fashionable parents, 
 who cast their children from them, to the care of a hire- 
 ling ? The thought pained him keenly. It did not suit his 
 ideas of what a mother or sister should be. Then, the last 
 lines of this letter of painful revelation, with a cloudy brow 
 he read and thought them over ; he did not like that she 
 should mistrust his loyalty. "Why cannot 'Bene trust me, 
 and not display so much needless jealousy ?" the vein which 
 ran through every letter he had ever received, and which 
 was beginning to get wearisome. 
 
 " O ! 'Rene, 'Rene, it is too bad to talk thus," he mur- 
 mured. Then a softer light came over the frowning, angry 
 face, as the thought of the poor girl's loneliness came to 
 mind. Her mother, snatched so suddenly from her, her 
 sisters sent away, her home broken up, and her life in a 
 strange, public hotel. Much that seemed harsh to him a 
 minute ago, his heart now excused. 
 
The Mysterious Resemblance. 
 
 81 
 
 " Poor girl,'' he thought, " she wants me there with her. 
 Why was it ordered that we should be separated ?" But 
 somehow his heart did not regret the ordering. He was 
 beginning to feel satisfied with his present life. He liked 
 Mr. Bentley and his pleasant, happy family, of which he 
 now formed a part, and could not but acknowledge that he 
 would rather have it just as it was, now, that his father 
 was dead, his once happy, but now desolate home closed. 
 
 " I am sorry 'Rene cannot trust me, and not make herself 
 quite miserable by her jealous fears," he soliloquised ; an 
 uncomfortable, rather guilty look flitting over his thought- 
 ful, expressive face. Then, taking out the portrait of his 
 beautiful cousin, he gazed earnestly on the lovely face ; but 
 put it aside, rather impatiently, rising and walking the floor 
 with a troubled brow, as if he wished to rid himself of some 
 uncomfortable, intruding thought. 
 
 Ah, Louis Montaine, what is it? Do not a pair of 
 bonny brown eyes, the sweet, sunny face of some one else, 
 come between the beautiful, but cold, passionless face of 
 the picture ? Did not some presentiment of her possibly 
 injured claims, make the absent 'Rene adjure her lover to 
 be true ? This comparing of the two faces was beginning to 
 become a bug-bear to the boy. And now, as he shut the 
 one from his view, he tried to drive the other from his 
 thoughts, taking himself to task by trying to 'understand 
 what it meant, and asking the mental query if 'Rene's 
 fears were entirely groundless ? He could not deny to him- 
 self that he liked this sweet, bright, girl, who had crossed his 
 pathway so strangely, more than it was right to do, in jus- 
 tice to his betrothed wife. He knew her society was very 
 pleasant, but hitherto had not paused to question, if not 
 dangerous and wrong. He felt it more pleasurable, more 
 interesting, to look upon the speaking, animated, piquant 
 face of the one, than to gaze upon the lovely, but cold, 
 motionless portrait of the other. Separated from the be- 
 witching presence of his affianced, he recalled much that 
 was selfish, shallow and hidden about her, remembered 
 many little instances connected with her that he did not 
 like. 
 
S3 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 . " What is it that disturbs me so ?" he queries moodily. 
 " What a fool I am to be thinking all this nonsense ! Am 
 I not satisfied with my choice ? Is not 'Rene suited in 
 every way for my wife ? I could not find a better mistress 
 to preside over my palatial home, to dispense gracefully 
 the hospitalities of my establishment ; but, will she make 
 my home happy ? Will she be a loving, tender wife, and 
 fill the cravings of my heart ; will she make the dear wife 
 and loving companion that I want ?" Thus he questions 
 and tries to answer the questioning satisfactorily ; but try as 
 he will, his heart, traitor-like, turns back to the whole-soul- 
 ed, bright, little Lottie Howard, and with a fiush of shame 
 on his cheek, and guilty but pleased glitter in the deep, 
 intense eyes, he allows himself to think that he cannot help 
 it. 
 
 " To-morrow morning, I will see her, with her sunny 
 curls flying carelessly alout the saucy little head, her 
 sweet, bright, face, and bonny eyes, lighted up with un- 
 concerned happiness, the cherry lips parted in smiles, or 
 elst singing to her little Sunday-school scholars, who cluster 
 so lovingly around her ; and how can I help thinking what 
 a charming little wife she would make, what a fond, lov- 
 ing mother ?" But this is not for you to think of, Louis 
 Montaine ! She will carry all this light and happiness to 
 another's home. You have chosen for yourself, be satis- 
 fied. 
 
LILA'S SECRET. 
 
 Winter's reign is over, and tearful jet joyous, coquettish 
 April, throws her mantle of fresh green over the earth, 
 smiling bewitchingly on her enraptured lovers ; then, as if 
 filled with sorrows for casting hoary old winter aside, she 
 weeps and turns chillily away, but, with impulsive repent- 
 ance, smiles and becomes even more radiant than before. 
 Ah ! fickle, inconstant, yet gleeful month, why is it you do 
 not bring joy to every heart ? Although your balmy breath 
 is freighted with the sweet perfume of the early rose and 
 sweet jessamine, banishing the frosty winds, and clothing 
 the bare trees and shrubbery with fresh, new garments ; the 
 hard, crisp ground with a soft, dewy carpet ; causing the 
 happy, gay birds exquisite delight, as they hop from bough 
 to bough, trilling their glad notes as they see, with parental 
 joy and sagacity, the green foliage will soon permit them to 
 build, in apparent security, the cosy little nests wherein to 
 rear their birdlings. But why is it you do not bring in 
 your train of brightness, joy and thankfulness to the human 
 heart? 
 
 It is Friday afternoon, and Miss April is in the best of 
 humors. The sky is of the deepest blue, with soft, fleecy 
 clouds drifting gracefully over the cerulean surface, the air 
 balmy and delicious, just cool enough to be pleasant, with- 
 out the chill of winter or the heat of summer. All nature 
 seemed to smile, and every ching redolent in those smiles, it 
 seems, should have conveyed joy and pleasure to all. And 
 yet Lila Howard sits in her chamber alone, with winter in 
 her heart, and with winter's icyness on her face. 
 
 The room itself is cool, sweet and pleasant. The dainty 
 bed, robed in spotless white, the snowy, muslin curtains, 
 wafted gracefully by the soft, sweet-scented breeze ; the- 
 
34 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 pretty little balcony, with its clambering vines, rustic hang- 
 ing-baskets and choice geraniums, gave to the place an air 
 of quiet* peace and happiness. A cosy little study commu- 
 nicated with the chamber, and it was a perfect picture in it- 
 self, with books, pictures, tasteful rural ornaments, and 
 fresh flowers placed artistically about in cunning little moss 
 baskets and pretty Parian vases, displaying an exquisite 
 taste, busy fingers' handiwork, and an appreciative love for 
 the beauties of nature, and a lavish use of nature's gifts. 
 And yet, with cosy, pretty comforts and peaceful quietness 
 within, and inviting, delightful weather without, the lonely 
 girl sits, unconscious of them all, brooding over her quiver- 
 ing, tortured heart's pain. 
 
 If happiness would only irradiate that countenance, and 
 loom up in the lustrous, sad eyes, how very lovely would 
 she be ; but a peevish unhappy disposition, combined with 
 thwarted wishes, a want of sympathetic, maternal affection, 
 and the ever-present thought of the mystery shrouding her 
 life, had left their impress upon the youthful face, robbing 
 it of much of its natural beauty. 
 
 Poor Lila ! Life ever hard, seemed a knotty problem to 
 her just now, and her nature, completely devoid of courage 
 and energy, knew not how to meet and battle with it suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 With her elbows resting on her knees, her head resting 
 on her hands, white, exquisite hands, with the delicate blue 
 veins interlining them, she sits thinking, planning, and 
 thinking again, but to no avail. Back she returns to the 
 consciousness of her utter inadequacy to action, to alleviate 
 her dependent condition, to which she is so keenly sensi- 
 tive, and with a shudder of horror she thinks of the only 
 alternative, but shrinks back appalled against this only hope 
 of escape. 
 
 The week before she had voluntarily left school, refus- 
 ing utterly to go another year and honorably graduate, as 
 was the wish of her adopted brother and sister. She had 
 ever been indifferent, careless, and shrinking from hard, 
 dry studies, and had profited very little from the advan- 
 
Lilas Secret. 
 
 85 
 
 tages which she had enjoyed, excelling only in music. She 
 was passionately fond of the latter accomplishment, and 
 had become quite a proficient musician. , 
 
 As her beautiful hands, with interest and skill, ran over 
 the piano-keys, her face lighted into beauty, and her eyes 
 made lovely from the pleasurable appreciation flashing in 
 their blue depths, her instructor, a wealthy professor of 
 some sixty odd years of age, fell desperately in love with 
 the beautiful but nameless girl. 
 
 Arthur Howard, ever ready for mischief, and, no doubt, 
 anxious to get his adopted sister married, as their financial 
 affairs were quite limited, and ebbing lower each year, en- 
 couraged the old gentlemen to persevere in his seemingly 
 hopeless suit, telling him that he knew Lila liked him right 
 well, but was proud and hard to win. Calling to the mind 
 of the aged lover, when apt to despair, the old adage: "Faint 
 heart never won fair lady ;'' adding, encouragingly, that in 
 this case the lady was very fair, and it required a stout 
 heart to storm the citadel of her affections and gain the pos- 
 session of her heart and hand. And, with this encourage- 
 ment, the old professor persevered on, unheeding her cold 
 looks and repulsing manner, ever hoping, and constantly 
 aided by Arthur's significant looks and sly words of cheer, 
 and notwithstanding Lila's unwillingness, he was her de- 
 voted suitor. Poor Lila had been made to understand 
 pretty clearly by Miss Graham, and had frequently under- 
 stood strong hints thrown out by the brother, that she must 
 try to get married and thus secure a home and support, for 
 there were no surplus means to spare on her longer. 
 
 And now the perplexed, miserable girl's thoughts revert 
 with shuddering horror and loathing to this cruel, repug- 
 nant fate menacing her. 
 
 "Yes, they expect me to marry this old, ugly man," she 
 murmured with a shiver. "But, my God! how can I, 
 when I loathe his presence, hate the sound of his voice I 
 Yet, what can I do % I am not welcome in this house, and I 
 cannot work ; I hate the sight of a book, and never could 
 have patience to teach children. Oh ! my God, I am so tired 
 of my useless life !" 6 
 
86 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 Again her thoughts turn back to its old yet poignant 
 pain, the hidden mystery of her birth and parentage, and 
 she goes. on in the same bewailing tone : 
 
 "What can I expect ? Poor, dependent, with no rightful 
 home, no rightful name to my knowledge. A despised 
 waif, I can never make a happy marriage with a gentleman, 
 a refined, respectable young man, who has a name to up- 
 hold. Not one will be found who would dare wed the 
 poor, nameless waif. Would that I knew my rightful namel 
 but ah ! God, perhaps, I have none. Oh ! father, mother, 
 who are you ?" she cried convulsively, "are you both dead, 
 or did you cast me away, a child of dishonor ? Ah ! what 
 cm I expect from strangers, when my natural parents threw 
 me atide thus, and can I wonder that others wish to get rid 
 of me too ? I wish that I could decide what to do. Must 
 I crush all hopes of ever being happy, and wed this old 
 man, who is willing to take the poor castaway creature for 
 whom no one seems to care ?" 
 
 She looked long and earnestly at her hands — small, beau- 
 tiful hands — with the delicate blue veins plainly visible, and 
 murmured reflectively : " The blood that courses through 
 my veins is blue, and they say that blue blood denotes 
 gentility and good birth. 1 know, I feel, I descended from 
 no common, vulgar people. Oh ! that I could but un- 
 fathom my origin, discover who my parents were.'' A 
 look of agony came into the fair, young face, an intense, 
 painfully intense, searching expression into the blue, agon- 
 ized eyes; but everything was dark, clouded, buried in an 
 utterly impenetrable oblivion. And back her thoughts sway 
 to the real momentous question troubling her now, and she 
 mentally soliloquises : "At any rate, I will have a name, a 
 lawful, rightful name. Mrs. Yerneer will surely be better 
 than Lila Nothing. Being mistress over his elegant home is 
 better than remaining in one where I am not wanted." But 
 with a visible shudder she thinks of the old man, and knows 
 she would perjure herself in the sight of God at His altar, 
 by promising what she could not and would not perform. 
 One hope urged her on. He was on old man, and might 
 
Lilas Secret. 
 
 87 
 
 not live long, and, in that possibility, she thinks how nice it 
 would be for her to be left a young, beautiful widow, with 
 a legal name and home, independent of her present be- 
 grudged one. " None of them want nor care for me here, 
 except Lottie. She is kind, gentle, loving, and yet how I 
 hate her," with a fierce glare of the eyes and stamp of the 
 small, pretty foot. "Yes, I hate her," she cried out, as if to 
 convince herself of the fact. "Are not all his thoughts and 
 looks for her ? Does he not like and treat her a thousand 
 times better than poor me, who only receives his cast-off 
 attentions and pitying courtesy \ And yet, O how madly, 
 passionately do I love him! Yea, love him to despera- 
 tion ! " A burning blush mantled the face of the girl, as 
 with shame she confessed to herself this secret, burning, 
 yet hopeless love. " How vain, how utterly useless it is in 
 me to lavish all the garnered love of my life on this object ? 
 He is far, far out of my reach ; and yet I have dared to 
 love him, and love him with such an intense, ardent fury, 
 which almost frightens my own heart." 
 
 And thus the girl talks and communes with herself, sit- 
 ting there alone, quivering and weeping over her miserable 
 fate and keen heart-aches, this last agony — an unrequited 
 love — the keenest, bitterest of them all. 
 
 Suddenly she started up, a deep, burning blush over- 
 spreading the white, pained face. Up through the open 
 window a voice, sweet and musical to her ears, had come, 
 with the words : " Here I am, Howard. Come, it is get- 
 ting late." 
 
 Stealthily she creeps to the window, and drawing the cur- 
 tains together, she peers down on the street with hungry, 
 eager eyes, in search of the object that had caused such in- 
 terest and confusion. Louis Montaine had rode up to the 
 gate in an open buggy, and with careless grace and spring 
 laziness, was leaning on the vacant seat beside him. Just from 
 the bath, and with the usual careful, quiet toilet, which char- 
 acterized him ever, he looked fresh, cool, handsome and fas- 
 cinating. His straw hat, with its wide band of crape, was 
 pushed back slightly, displaying the handsome, dark hair, 
 
88 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 in deep contrast to the white forehead. His face looked 
 bright and full of its handsome, subtle magnetism, as he 
 reclined there, whistling a gay tune as he waited. The 
 girl, with bated breath, looked down upon him, her heart 
 throbbing wildly, tumultuously, telling plainly the secret 
 hidden there. Presently she sees her brother come out and 
 spring in beside him, and with some merry remark, and 
 clear, ringing laughter, the two friends drove off together. 
 
 Lila watches them until out of sight, then with an agi- 
 tated step paces the room, her hands clasped tightly against 
 her heart, as if to still its painful, fierce throbs. 
 
 "Oh! how wildly, yet how hopelessly I love him," she 
 wailed, throwing herself in utter exhaustion on the bed, 
 her soul despairing, her body weak an d sick from the vio- 
 lence of her emotions. 
 
 And, alas, it was too true ! From the first meeting with 
 Louis Montaine, a few months previous, the first ray of love 
 and warmth had touched the ice-bound heart, and without 
 thinking, without considering the end, it had melted and 
 glowed, and now burned with a fervent, passionate love for 
 this handsome young stranger. Hopeless, utterly vain, she 
 knew this love to be ; but there was no resisting the strange, 
 powerful magnetism his presence exerted over her being, 
 and she thought this subtle passion was the first experience 
 of that mystic, tyrannical, yet sweet slavery — love. 
 
 She knew he was the affianced husband of another, for 
 he frequently would speak of his beautiful absent betrothed, 
 and would laughingly tell her that her presence was a real 
 safe-guard to him, for that he could not, if he would, forget 
 his absent love when she was near, owing to their great 
 resemblance. 
 
 Often she had seen him leave the seemingly bewitching 
 society of Charlotte, and, with a remorseful look, seat him- 
 self by her side, saying as he did so, "It will not do, eh, 
 cousin 'Rene ?" as he often jokingly styled her. "She will 
 make me forget myself, and my — but never mind, you un- 
 derstand me." 
 
 But, in trying to save himself, did Louis Montaine never 
 
Lila's Secret. 
 
 89 
 
 think that the shy, beautiful Lila had a heart, a young, 
 hungry, warm, living, susceptible heart ? Or did he, like 
 others, think that she was cold, passionless, a stone within 
 her, instead of a heart of flesh and blood, and thus proof 
 against his sweet, fascinating, magnetic influence ? It is 
 certain that he never tried to gain her love ; but simply 
 never gave such a possibility a thought of her falling a 
 victim to his charming, winning society. They were 
 thrown much together; he had become very intimate with 
 and was a staunch friend of her adopted brother. Every 
 day it seemed he had a call in at her house. Every 
 evening he would drop in for a few minutes, full of fun 
 and chat ; often the few minutes would lengthen into hours, 
 and still he would linger, frequently staying to tea, and as 
 often coming home with Arthur to dine. His bright, 
 handsome face, low, sweet voice, his merry, musical and 
 frequent laugh, his kindly, gentle and somewhat familiar 
 behavior to herself, was too much for the girl's lonely heart 
 to withstand, and, unthinkingly, she opened the door of her 
 hitherto sealed heart, and lavishly bestowed all of its love 
 where it was not wanted. 
 
 And was Louis Montaine to be blamed % He was 
 thrown in the girl's society by circumstances, not inclina- 
 tion. Though not fancying her shy, reticent nature, he 
 felt a sort of curious interest in her. She was a perpetual 
 worry and enigma to him, at times reminding him of his 
 mother's portrait, and then in quite a contrary resem- 
 blance looking the very counterpart of his cousin 'Rene. 
 He would find himself thinking of the girl, studying her 
 face, and wondering about this strange but striking two- 
 fold likeness ; but if there was an emotion awakened in his 
 heart for her, it was a feeling of dislike, an unaccountable 
 sensation of loathing. 
 
 She so often looked sad, lonely and neglected, that his 
 generous nature was touched with pity for her, and feel- 
 ing thus he would devote himself to the task of cheering 
 her up, and in which he would very soon succeed ; for af- 
 ter a few minutes of his genial, winning society, her eye 
 
90 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life, 
 
 would light, her face would assume a pleased, interested 
 expression, and her manner an undue fervency and eager- 
 ness. And yet Louis Montaine never divined her hope- 
 less love, never gave it a thought that his kindly inten- 
 tion was cruelty, that his forced attention was but adding 
 fuel to flames that should have been quenched and sutT- 
 dued instead. "She is a strange girl." he would think, when 
 freed from her presence, shaking off an uncomfortable 
 feeling of aversion. 
 
 And with her £reat. all-consuming love and adoration 
 for him, Lila's jealousy awoke to as great a phrensy. Every 
 word, look, or action that was bestowed upon her adopted 
 sister from Louis Montaine. was noted and marked down 
 against the sweet, innocent girl, and as with keen pain 
 and rankling jealousy, Lila saw and felt that Charlotte was 
 liked, her society preferred before hers, she hated the 
 sweet, young sister, who had ever shown her kindness, love 
 and sympathy; hated her as fervently as she loved Lonis 
 Montaine. 
 
 And this was the secret motive, the chief reason which 
 made her heart so to rebel against an acceptance of her old 
 but ardent suitor. 
 
 f, Oh ! my God, how handsome he is : how madly my 
 heart loves him." And again Lila rises and paces the floor 
 in a phrenzy of agony and despair. k, And it is all useless, 
 worse than vain," she continues, in a calmer, more rational 
 manner. "He is engaged to another, and if he was not, he 
 would not deign to marry a nameless pauper like me. I 
 must put a stop to all this madness, this folly ; must crush 
 back the heart that is wasting its strength in this glowing, 
 burning flame. Crush it back to its former dull, apathetic 
 misery and gloom. Oh ! my God, why was I made to suf- 
 fer thus : is it to pay the penalty of my parents' sins ? My 
 lot was ever hard, but now life, happiness, Elysium, was 
 shown me but to be snatched away by the stern hand of 
 reality, making my misery keener by knowing what anoth- 
 er will enjoy, but which is denied to me. And my parents 
 have done this." 
 
Lilas Secret. 
 
 9i 
 
 Again she sobs wildly, throwing herself prostrate on the 
 bed, her heart well-nigh breaking with its baffled love and 
 poignant misery. 
 
 This phrensy passing off, she grew quieter, her thoughts 
 becoming more settled, and rising from the bed she took a 
 seat, and this time looked her situation in the face. She 
 thought of the life before her ; knew if she refused to mar- 
 ry Mr. Yerneer she would bring down the anger and dissat- 
 isfaction of certain individuals upon her ; she had been 
 made to feel that she was a usurper in that house. Aunt 
 Lucy had told her that they were very poor, and could not 
 afford to maintain her much longer ; that she must get mar- 
 ried, and she knew it was useless for her to try and main- 
 tain herself. 
 
 " I have positively no hope of happiness in this life, as 
 the one that has captured my love can never be aught to 
 me, so I may as well accept Mr. Yerneer. Then I can at 
 least have a home, with leisure to read, sleep and dream, 
 as Aunt Lucy says that is all for which I am fit for. Yes, 
 I see no escape. I will be compelled to marry this old 
 man I hate. But how people will talk, censure and won- 
 der, and, what will he think !" This with a flush and tre- 
 mor. "And yet, how can he care. He will hear, laugh 
 merrily over the joke, shrug his shoulders, then think noth- 
 ing more. It will concern none, and I may as well bury all 
 hopes of happiness, bury this hopeless passion, and every 
 vestige of goodness that is in me, by wedding the old rich 
 man, and change the despised Lila into the despised Mrs. 
 Yerneer It will not give me any happiness, but it will 
 take me from a home that is tired of me, and give me one 
 that I can call my own. Yes, I will do as they wish. I 
 will marry Mr. Yerneer and crush down this mad 3 wild 
 love for him, but in doing so I will make another taste a 
 drop of the bitter cup which I must drink to the dregs. 
 She shall not be happy, while I am so miserable." 
 
 With a hard look stealing over the youthful face, and a 
 set, determined light coming to the large blue eyes, she 
 arose from her seat, and going into the prefety, peaceful little 
 
9 2 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 study, took her place before the desk, and angrily pushing 
 aside Charlotte's next day's composition, which she had left 
 there unfinished, she began writing hastily. 
 
 An hour later she left the room with two sealed letters, 
 and a few minutes after they were safely deposited in the 
 post-office. One to her aged lover gracefully accepting his 
 offer of marriage, the other to Irene Burgoyne, a dishonor- 
 able nameless note, warning that young lady against her 
 lover, who she affirmed was flirting desperately with a very 
 pretty, charming little miss of sixteen. 
 
 " I will give others a little taste of my Elysium," mutter- 
 ed the young Nemesis, as she left her epistolary missives 
 at the office, and wended her way to the home of an ac- 
 quaintance to spend the evening, doubtless to put off, for a 
 short time, the dreaded interview with her accepted lover, 
 and avoid meeting Louis Montaine, who she knew would 
 be sure to come in with Arthur to spend the evening. 
 
 Poor, sold, degraded, sacrificed girl, the victim of a cruel 
 fate ! Will no interposing hand be stretched forth to save 
 thee from this sin, this perjuring of your soul at the altar 
 of the Great Jehovah ? 
 
 " Good evening, young gentlemen,'' was the polite saluta- 
 tion of Professor Yerneer, as he passed Louis Montaine 
 and Arthur Howard on the public drive, seated in a stylish 
 turnout. 
 
 " Quite a dashing old gentleman," laughed Arthur, as he 
 rode on. " Do you know, Montaine, he is sixty-five years 
 old V 
 
 " Is it possible ? I had no idea that he was so old. He is 
 quite a fine old gentleman and appears gracio.ilsly polite to 
 you." 
 
 " You know the reason why?" with a significant laugh. 
 " He wants me to persuade Lila to have him." 
 
 " So I have heard, and I can see he is desperately in love 
 with Miss Lila; but surely, Arthur you would not allow 
 such a sacrifice on the part of your adopted sister ?" 
 
 With a laugh the answer came : " Why, of course I 
 
Lilas Secret. 
 
 93 
 
 would. I rather encourage him on, for I do not see that 
 Lila could do better. He is rather aged, to be sure, but 
 that is a very trifling objection. All Lila wants is wealth, 
 so that she can gratify her idle, luxurious habits. She 
 would be happier as an old man's darling than a young 
 man's slave. Love does not worry her much ; I have never 
 seen her express nor show any sign of affection toward any , 
 one. She is a curious sort of enigma, and I want to see 
 her marry and awake from her dreamy lethargy." 
 
 "But, Howard," exclaimed the other with evident disap- 
 proval, " you might really give her a better chance. She 
 is very young yet and, then, such a beautiful girl. It would 
 be a wasted life and sacrifice of her happiness, for I know 
 she does not love Mr. Yerneer. 
 
 " I am not so certain of that. I have known of young 
 girls loving old husbands very dearly. Why, all the young 
 ladies like that old music master, and I know of two that 
 would jump at the offer he has made to Lila." Then more 
 confidentially he added : " You see Louis, Lila is peculiarly 
 situated ; her parentage is unknown, and under the circum- 
 stances it is rather uncertain of her ever making a good 
 match. You know how matters stand in society. I have 
 known numbers of young men to admire Lila, but not one 
 of them pretends to go any farther, by becoming her suitor; 
 and then other men that are not of good standing, and not 
 so particular, would not suit Lila. So, under the circum- 
 stances, taking all into serious consideration, and having on- 
 ly Lila's welfare at heart, I do urge the match. Take it 
 home, Louis. I bet you would hesitate in making a name- 
 less girl, of questionable origin, your w ife." 
 
 Louis Monfeine shrugged his shoulders undersf andingly ; 
 and with a serious expression on his face, simply replied : 
 " Yes I see your motive ; but it is a great pity for the girl's 
 sake ; but then, it is no concern of mine. I presume Miss 
 Lila will know how to manage her own matrimonial affairs." 
 
EASTER EVENTS. 
 
 Easter morn, the birthday of our eternal life, dawned in 
 a perfect panoply of spring loveliness. The sky, all nature 
 in the freshness of her new, becoming attire, the soft, swt,et 
 atmosphere, and the happy smiling church-goers, made up 
 a delightful and soul-entrancing scene, which even the most 
 skeptical must acknowledge and feel to be right, that we 
 should celebrate to the utmost of our poor, unworthy ser- 
 vice, this greatest of days that has ever dawned upon this 
 earth — the anniversary of the resurrection morn. Does 
 not the heart of the dullest Christian bound and throb at 
 its glorious, ecstatic significance ? 
 
 To the credit of the untiring, devoted and loving efforts 
 
 of the willing workers, church at S— looked 
 
 gloriously beautiful. The decorations were unique and 
 strictly chaste, all composed of nature's lavish gifts. Noth- 
 ing gaudy, nor artificial, broke in upon the rich, yet tasteful 
 blending and appropriate adorning of this little temple of 
 the Father. 
 
 The unclouded radiance of the great luminary lit up the 
 stained windows into magnificent richness, tinting into 
 various hues the interior adornments, seeming to color the 
 symbolic flowers with a deeper hue, and contrasting strik- 
 ingly with the snowy cloth and glittering service upon the 
 altar, spread on the inviting feast of the Lord's supper. 
 
 After the sweet, thrilling and joyous service is over the 
 short, but comprehensive, confirmation service takes place, 
 a dozen or more young people receiving the solemn rite, 
 the ratifying of their baptismal v ows. Among whom is 
 Arthur and Charlotte Howard, and Harry Bentley and his 
 sister Florence. The Holy Eucharist is celebrated, and the 
 best of another Easter is over. And not in vain did it 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 95 
 
 dawn, for it awakened serious, longing desires in the touch- 
 ed hearts of many, and left sweet, happy thoughts in the 
 store-house of memory of others, and making all feel that 
 Christ the Lord is risen indeed. 
 
 Easter Tuesday dawned as brilliantly as had Easter Sun- 
 day. It was Masie Bentley's wedding day, and a sort of 
 commotion seemed to pervade the whole community ; for 
 both her and Frederick Waters were well known and greatly 
 beloved by all, and consequently a great interest and pleas- 
 ure was manifested by the many who anticipated seeing 
 them married that evening at her father's parish church, 
 and by her father's divine authority. 
 
 All day they had been busy at the parsonage, for many 
 friends were invited to the marriage feast ; and, with her 
 ever-ready hand of assistance, the bride elect had foregone 
 custom, and helped and managed through the forenoon 
 and even a portion of the afternoon. But as the latter be- 
 gan to wane she retired to her chamber, and taking her ac- 
 customed seat of daily meditation, gave herself up for a 
 few minutes to serious reflection on the step she was about to 
 take. Her face was very pale, but calm and happy ; while 
 a satisfied expression beamed from her quiet, dark eyes and 
 hovered around her mouth. 
 
 Sitting there alone, with her head resting on her hand, 
 she was soon absorbed with the many thoughts crowding 
 her naturally reflective mind. She was on the eve of leav- 
 ing her home. A dear and happy home it had ever been 
 to her and her, loving and beloved brothers and sisters ; 
 leave home, dear parents and all, to brighten the home of 
 another ; and would this union bring happiness and con- 
 tent? Would she make the true, good wife Frederick 
 trusted that she would ? Would he be all to her that her 
 losing, warm heart craved ? 
 
 Then the uneasy question came ; was it right that she 
 should be willing, even eager, to leave her parents' home 
 for that of her husband's ? She thought of her delicate 
 mother with a large family, and the care of her husband's 
 many parishioners devolving on her; "and," asked the girl 
 
9 6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 mentally, "how can she spare her Masie V Florence was 
 young and absorbed with her school duties, an ardent young 
 lover, and required care and attention, instead of extending 
 them to others. Her brother Harry, and Louis Montaine, 
 how many and frequent were there calls on Masie ! Then 
 her little brother and sister, full of their childish troubles 
 and wants. How many times did papa want something at- 
 tended to by his "right hand !'' And her quiet mother's gen- 
 tle call, how often did it fall upon her patient, willing ear t 
 And how, thought the girl, can they spare Masie ? It seemed 
 to Mary Bentley, ever accustomed to self-sacrifice, that her 
 father's home needed her longer. But then, her lover 
 needed her too. He had waited long and patiently to claim 
 his bride, and how could she put him off yet longer ? As 
 time went by, would there be any cessation to the calls and 
 demands upon her ? Would she ever be able to say, I can 
 now be spared. "No," thought the pondering mind, "I do 
 not think it right that I should sacrifice my happiness, and 
 that of Freddie's, for all those petty wants." And consol- 
 ing herself thus, her thoughts turned more directly upon 
 the young man so soon to become her husband. Would his 
 tenderness and love for herself ever cool or turn to harsh- 
 ness ? Would the eye that beamed upon her now with love, 
 ever give her the glance of anger and disapprobation? 
 Would the fond words and gentle caressing touch, that al- 
 ways greeted her now, ever be anght else ? 
 
 "Oh ! Frederick, my almost husband, will you ever love 
 me as now, and give me the pleasant, happy home, and sat- 
 isfied life I think it will be with you, my full heart's love 
 and choice?" was the cry of the young girl, as with clasped 
 hands she knelt, and with earnest heart and pleading words, 
 she approached her Heavenly Father, to implore His bles- 
 sing and sanction upon her marriage with the man she had 
 loved for many years. And as she prayed in faith, her 
 prayer was heard and registered in Heaven. 
 
 An hour later she was smiling and chatting gaily with her 
 bridesmaids, who were brimful of fun and delight as they 
 fluttered about, assisting her to dress, and make ready for 
 the "sacrifice," as they laughingly expressed it. 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 97 
 
 "Come, Bridey, I want to practice drawing the glove, so 
 that I can do it gracefully before the hundreds of eyes that 
 will watch me to-night," said Miss Harriet Waters, who was 
 to serve as first bridesmaid. 
 
 "Adjust her veil and wreath more perfectly, Miss Hallie, 
 it is somewhat awry, and hurry, please, for I want you to 
 help me arrange my unruly hair, for you know we must 
 look as attractive as the bride herself'," put in Charlotte 
 Howard, who was bustling around, helping others and neg- 
 lecting herself. 
 
 Florence stood at the mirror curling her hair, and think- 
 ing with soft blushes of the blue eyes that would sparkle on 
 her that night with significant glances, and laughed some- 
 what abstractedly at the different sallies going on ; while 
 Lila, the fourth and last bridesmaid, seemed in a sort of 
 pleased trance, running around, and with her tasteful fin- 
 gers assisting in the bride's toilet wonderfully. One per- 
 son in the world she liked, and this was Masie Bentley. 
 
 While Miss Waters and Charlotte rattled on, Masie smil- 
 ingly enjoying their frolic at her expense, and Florence 
 putting in a word and laugh here and there, she was still, 
 but full of busy, strange thoughts, centering and dwelling 
 with a secret yet painful pleasure on her partner for the 
 evening. Somehow, through Masie's arrangements, it had 
 fallen to her lot to stand with Louis Montaine, Masie laugh- 
 ingly telling her that, as he was mortgaged property, it 
 could not make old Mr. Yerneer jealous, adding, "You know, 
 Lila, you always promised to stand as bridesmaid, so I asked 
 Louis to stand with you, so as not to make any trouble, for 
 I hear both Miss Burgoyne and Mr. Yerneer are very jeal- 
 ous." And Lila, never questioning whether Louis Montaine 
 was agreeable to this state of affairs, was highly pleased and 
 flattered by the arrangement. 
 
 The passion for this handsome young stranger, smoulder- 
 ing under the check her recent engagement had put upon 
 it, seemed ready to burst forth in renewed flames, and, as if 
 in defiance of her better judgment, the knowledge of the 
 utter uselessness of such folly, and indifference to the con- 
 
9 s 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life 
 
 sequences, the girl allows herself to think wholly of her 
 mad love, and thus fans it into a bright, leaping flame, and' 
 fervent heat. 
 
 Of course the church was crowded, and all on the qui-vive 
 of expectation and breathless interest, when the bridal party 
 entered precisely at the appointed time. 
 
 Louis Montaine looked very handsome and elegant, his 
 aristocratic face intensely grave, but a slightly preceptible 
 shrinking away from the lovely blonde leaning on his arm, 
 detracted somewhat from his characteristic gracefulness. 
 
 Walter Hayne, with his blonde style of good looks and 
 rather foppish attire, was smiling and satisfied, while the 
 captivator of his youthful affections, Lottie Howard, looked 
 very pretty and simple, attired in soft, fleecy garments, a 
 wreath of white flowers upon the sunny head, a string of 
 pearls around her white, plump throat, while bracelets of 
 the same clasped her snowy, well-rounded arms, and in her 
 small, neatly gloved hand she held a most beautiful bou- 
 quet of rare flowerets. The wonted smile was upon the 
 pure, sweet face ; but a close observer would perceive that 
 it was brought there more by the force of her will than in- 
 clination, and that the bonny brown eyes were restless and 
 dissatisfied. Ah, bright creature of this unhappy sphere, 
 so constituted for happiness and joy, what is it that disturbs 
 you on this festive occasion ? Shall I whisper it ? Ah, no ; 
 I must forbear. 
 
 Arthur Howard and his pretty, shy little betrothed, 
 Florence Bentley, looked handsome with entire satisfaction 
 and good humor. And Miss Hallie, the bridegroom's only 
 °ister, leaning on the arm of quiet Harry Bentley, looked 
 the very picture of smiling, pleased content. 
 
 The groom was not considered a handsome man, but ap- 
 peared so now, from the happy, proud smile that irradiated 
 his countenance and beamed from the light blue eye? ; and 
 the bride, confidingly leaning on hi* strong arm, looked 
 quite pretty and very sweet, dressed w r ith the same simplic- 
 ity that ever characterized her , a plain Swiss muslin dress, 
 high at the neck and long sleeved ; a white rose at her 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 99 
 
 throat, while the long tulle veil was held in place by the 
 traditional wreath of orange blossoms. The expression of 
 the gentle girl's face was calm and happy, her manner con- 
 fiding, while her eyes mirrored the inner peace and content 
 of her pure soul. No excitement nor undue emotion dis- 
 turbed her quiet, pleased deportment, and as to the many eyes 
 that watched her as she walked up to the altar to give her 
 girlish freedom into another's keeping, by becoming a wife, 
 they must have felt that she was satisfied, yea, even happy 
 at the contemplated bondage. 
 
 The father and minister of God, meets his daughter, the 
 darling of his fond heart, and with his countenance exhib- 
 iting deep emotion, gives her into another's care, puts her 
 under another's protection, as, in the name of the Father, 
 the Son and the Holy Ghost, he pronounces her the wife 
 of Frederick Waters. 
 
 On their way back from the church to the parsonage 
 Louis Montaine laughingly remarked to his companion, as 
 he took his seat by her 6ide in the carriage, but underlying 
 the laugh there was scorn in the voice : "I presume, Miss 
 
 Lila, the next exhibition of this kind at Church, will 
 
 be your marriage with Professor Yerneer, and please allow 
 me now to offer my congratulations, and to wish you all hap- 
 piness in so ludicrous a sacrifice of yourself." 
 
 The girl was stung bitterly, not so much by the allusion 
 to her seemingly mercenary acceptance of the rather aged 
 professor, as by the covert sneer which accompanied the 
 words. Louis Montaine was not of a contemptuous nature, 
 and was not addicted to scornful remarks, but he felt a deep 
 contempt and loathing for this girl, who he thought for 
 mercenary views was about to sacrifice her youth and 
 beauty in so unnatural a manner. And, moreover, he was 
 exceedingly "put out ;" he had not counted on standing 
 as groomsman with one conventionally made objectionable 
 in society. It touched his aristocratic pride to be associated 
 so conspicuously in public with her. In plain terms, he 
 did not like it, and it was almost too much for his gracious 
 politeness to brook. Unknown, unsuspected by him, she 
 
IOO 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 had been singled out, and courtesy to Masie forbade him 
 refusing her request, and, unquestionably, it was this re- 
 pugnance, more than any lively interest he felt in Lila's re- 
 lations to Mr. Yerneer, that had actuated the sneering tone 
 he had used as a vent to his ill humor. He had hardly in- 
 tended to wound the girl, as he had done, and instantly felt 
 sorry as her reply in a low, pained tone came : 
 
 "So, Mr. Montaine, I do not think so, for I know of 
 several marriages that will occur very soon, and mine is in- 
 definite as yet. You can, of course, wish me happiness, 
 and I thank you for your congratulations ; but I do not 
 look for happiness and joy in my contemplated marriage 
 with Mr. Yerneer." 
 
 " I should think not," and the young man laughed ; then 
 in a kinder manner he continued : " Excuse the freedom 
 I assume, Miss Lila, but why do you intend to marry Mr. 
 Yerneer, if you expect no joy in the union ? " 
 
 " Because I am compelled to the act," she cried, bitterly. 
 " You condemn and scorn me, but you do not understand 
 the urgency of my marriage with some one. By this mar- 
 riage I will have a rightful home and a legal name, and 
 I must be satisfied without happiness." 
 
 "I cannot agree with you, Miss Lila ; you are too morbid, 
 and only think you are compelled to this sin. If you do 
 not care for the old gentleman, you should not marry him, 
 but have a little more patience. You are young, and very 
 pretty, and will most assuredly have a better chance one of 
 these days. My advice has not been solicited, but as a 
 friend I would say to you, that you had better consider 
 this matter, and save yourself before it iso to late. I do not 
 like to interfere in the business of another ; but think it 
 my duty to tell you this much — Mr. Yerneer is a most 
 passionate, exacting man in his home. I have frequently 
 gone there in company with his grandson, and felt very 
 sorry for you, when I heard that you intended to marry 
 such a hot-tempered, almost violent old gentleman. He 
 would, no doubt, be kinder and more considerate toward 
 you than what he is to his servants ; but Gus Kendall gives 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 IOI 
 
 him a very bad character, and told me the other day, in the 
 presence of your brother, that you were running into a hot- 
 bed of torture and misery by marrying his grandfather, 
 and it is my opinion that Kendall would very ably assist 
 himself in causing the torture and misery. I scorn to stoop 
 thus, in meddling with the affairs of others, but feel sorry 
 for you, that you should run yourself, ignorantly perhaps, 
 into such discord and unhappiness, so I thought I had better 
 let you understand the prose part, if there is any poetry 
 and romance about it." And as they had now arrived at 
 the brilliantly lighted parsonage, Lila found herself in the 
 midst of the joyous bridal party before she had had time to 
 realize what she had heard. 
 
 Once during the evening, as her old, infatuated lover was 
 bending over her in fond attentions, Lila looked aside wea- 
 rily. Oh ! it was so hard to endure his privileged atten- 
 tions. As she did so she caught the eye of Louis Mon- 
 taine bent upon her with an expression ol evident contempt 
 and pity. The deep dye of mingled shame and chagrin 
 rushed to her pale but lovely face, and with a slight smile 
 wreathing his lips the young man turned away. 
 
 Poor Lila! What was amusement to others, was a keen 
 pain and humiliation to her sensitive nature. She was amid 
 mirth, happiness and peace, but her heart, hid beneath laces 
 and flowers, throbbed and glowed with the sickening vibra- 
 tions of despair, baffled love, and the keenest pain. 
 
 To her the evening dragged wearily, painfully on, seem- 
 ing never to come to an end ; and when at last she was 
 permitted to retire from the scene of festivity, it was only 
 to toss restlessly upon her sleepless couch, with a heart 
 heavy with anguish, and a brain reeling, almost lost, beneath 
 its load of pain and confusion. 
 
 "How he scorns me," she cried in a burst of keen pain, 
 "and shame, shame on me to love him so madly ; how I 
 tremble, thrill with exquisite yet painful delight, when fie 
 is near, speaks to me in that low, sweet voice, and touches 
 me. Why, my God ! should I love him so passionately, 
 when he only despises, yea, abhors me." 
 
 7 
 
102 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "I could see he did not like standing with rae to-night ; 
 how he frowned and flushed when offering his arm to con- 
 duct me out to the carriage, and a flush of shame was upon 
 his cheek ; and he seemed to shrink away from me as we 
 walked up the aisle. My God ! Why should I be thus de- 
 spised, when it is no fault of mine? And yet hating me so,, 
 why should he interest himself in my welfare, and warn 
 me against this marriage with Mr. Yerneer ; what is it to 
 him whom I marry or how unhappy I am ? Why does he 
 speak so gently, so low, so thrillingly sweet, when it sets my 
 heart on fire ? And he said I was young and pretty, and 
 tolc. me to wait and have patience. What does it mean ? 
 
 "I cannot, dare not, marry Mr. Yerneer ; I must heed his 
 warning ; but what will they all say, how can I escape ? 
 But escape I must, I cannot stand the censure of the world 
 and his scorn. I must escape this terrible doom if I have 
 to run away." 
 
 Thus her thoughts ran riot as she tossed restlessly upon 
 her pillow, the feeling and determination to escape from 
 this hated marriage with her old lover, becoming a wild de- 
 sire, an intense longing, as the weary minutes glided on ; 
 and the only avenue of escape of which she could think 
 was to run away, leave her adopted home, and endeavor to 
 find one in a strange place where she was not known. The 
 intense misery of her over-wrought 'feelings and the horror 
 with which her sensitive heart shrank from the scorn of the 
 man she so madly but hopelessly loved, rose paramount to 
 her natural timidity and every other consideration. An d 
 starting with wild, frightened but determined eyes, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Yes, I will run away ! I do not care what becomes of 
 me. I will not stay here and be forced into this marriage, 
 and to be scorned by him. No, no, I must go away. I will 
 go mad if I stay here where I see him every day. He shall 
 not give me that smile of pitying scorn again.'' 
 
 She was deathly pale and very nervous, but a determined 
 resolve seemed to settle over every feature, and a wild ex- 
 citement giving her the strength and courage to carry it 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 103 
 
 out. Circumstances seemed to favor her designs. Char- 
 lotte had remained with Florence, and the other members of 
 the family, retiring so late, would doubtless sleep soundly; 
 and, perhaps, the most powerful incentive to her mad act 
 was the knowledge that she had money to carry it through; 
 money that was intrusted to her for the purchase of her 
 wedding outfit. 
 
 "It was given to me," she muttered, as she folded the 
 crisp bank bills into her wallet, as if to quiet some accusa- 
 tion from her inner monitor, "and it does not matter how I 
 spend it so long as they get rid of me." 
 
 Quietly, but unwaveringly, she went about her hasty 
 preparations, gathering together her few jewels and other 
 little valuables, and with one dress, a change of underwear, 
 and a few other smaller articles of apparel, she packed them 
 into a dressing case. This finished, she attired herself in a 
 dark dress, and going into the study hastily penned a few 
 lines, then slipping the diamond-studded betrothal-ring from 
 her finger, she placed it and the note together on the bu- 
 reau, where it would be easily seen. And then donning a 
 large, gray linen sacque and common hat, she tied a thick 
 veil around her face, completely hiding her fair hair and 
 lovely but set, pale features. 
 
 Noiselessly she glided down the stairs, and as noiselessly 
 unlocked the outer door, and stealthily crept from the 
 house. Gaining the street undetected, she swiftly glided 
 down the gloomy, deserted thoroughfare leading to the de- 
 pot, and arrived just in time to obtain a passage on the 
 down-going, early morning train. 
 
 Charlotte accompanied Florence on a visit to the new 
 home of the bride that morning, and it was near dinner 
 time when she returned home. As she was about to ascend 
 the stairs to her chamber to take off her hat and brush her 
 hair preparatory for dinner, her mother called to her, ask- 
 ing if she had seen Lila that morning, adding that she must 
 have gone out before any one was up in the house, that 
 she had not been seen since the night before, and the hall 
 door was found ajar by the servant quite early. 
 
104 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 Charlotte had paused while her mother was speaking, and 
 with a look of some concern retraced her steps, answering : 
 
 "No, mamma, I have not seen her. She has not been in 
 to Mrs. Bentley's, and I heard Masie express some surprise 
 that Lila had not called on her this morning. Why, where 
 could she have gone so early ?" 
 
 "Now, do not bother any more about Lila, but let us have 
 dinner. Do you not know that she is always at some new 
 freak or other? Go, take off your hat, Lottie, I am as 
 hungry as a bear," and Arthur Howard, lounging on the 
 sofa, looked impatient and as hungry as he had expressed 
 himself. 
 
 "All right, brother darling, I will be down in two min- 
 utes," and laughingly Charlotte disappeared up the stairs. 
 
 Scarcely had the promised two minutes expired, before 
 she was down again, with lips white, and eyes full of dread 
 and wonder, as she exclaimed, in a tone of tremulous grief 
 and alarm : 
 
 "Mamma! Arthur! what can this mean?" and she held 
 toward her brother the ring and note which Lila had left to 
 explain her rash act that morning. 
 
 Mechanically Arthur received them from his sister's 
 trembling fingers, and glancing over the few, hastily-written 
 lines, every vestige of color faded from his handsome face, 
 and with a look of nameless fear, he explained to his won- 
 dering mother and aunt : 
 
 '•'Why, it seems that Lila has run away ! She writes in 
 this note : 
 
 Deae Lottie : 
 
 I cannot, dare not marry Mr. Yerneer. I love another, a hopeless, mad 
 love. I have taken the money Aunt Lucy gave me for my bridal outfit, 
 and gone away forever. Xone of you will ever see me again, so do not try 
 to find me, for no power under Heaven could ever induce me to darken 
 the door of my former home again. I repeat, dare not try to find me, for 
 old Verneer will come after me and still continue his hateful persecution, 
 which has nearly killed me for the past year. Give him his ring back, and 
 tell him to find another bride, for he will never get Lila. Again I say, try 
 not to find me, but let me have peace and security in my exile, for I will 
 thrust a dagger through my heart before I would come back to a home that 
 has given me shelter, but nothing more. With love to you, darling little 
 sister, and hate, ardent hate, for the rest, except Masie and one other that 
 is nameless, but 0, God, how passionately beloved, 
 
 I remain despairingly, Lila R. M. 
 
Easter Events. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen from Heaven the effect could 
 scarcely have been more paralyzing than were these few mad, 
 despairing lines from the self-exiled Lila. With looks of 
 deep consternation and horror, these four sat for several 
 seconds, looking from one to the other, when the spell was 
 broken by Charlotte who, bursting into a passion of tears, 
 cried, " Poor, dear Lila, what has she done, where has she 
 gone ! Oh ! Arthur, cannot we find her, and I will get her 
 to come back ? Lila, Lila, my poor, persecuted, darling sis- 
 ter, where have you gone ?" 
 
 Mrs. Howard, with her frail mind and weakened nerves, 
 could not stand the shock, and went into a terrible fit of 
 nervous hysterics, and had to be carried to her chamber 
 with the united efforts of the conscience stricken Miss Gra- 
 ham and Arthur Howard, and Charlotte left crying and 
 sobbing over the fearful calamity, could not be consoled by 
 the old and now remorseful Chloe. 
 
 It is useless to dwell on the sad, anxious, remorseful days 
 and nights that followed the despairing Lila's flight. Not- 
 withstanding her words of warning, every effort was made 
 to find the whereabouts of the missing girl, without avail. 
 Not the slightest clue could be gleaned from the most rigid 
 \ search and inquiries. Old Mr. Yerneer was wild with ex- 
 citement and grief over the loss of the beautiful girl, who 
 had captured the heart of his second childhood, and tried 
 every possible mode to find her place of refuge. Arthur, 
 seeing the fatal termination of his part, in persuading his 
 lovely adopted sister to accept the old man, who he must 
 have known she did not love, felt miserably guilty and 
 troubled. He realized, more fully perhaps than the others 
 and the runaway girl herself, what a daring step she had 
 taken. Poor, without friends and experience, in a strange 
 place, and so very lovely and frail, her danger would be 
 great, and he tried more earnestly, more devotedly, than 
 all to find out where she had gone, but to no avail. Char- 
 lotte was inconsolable, and Miss Graham, busy, quick tem- 
 pered, hasty tongued, but a really kind hearted, well mean- 
 ing lady, who had always found something faulty in the 
 
1*6 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 sad, dreamy, Lila. thought ever of the last* girl with regret 
 and deep remorse, urging the nephew on in his seemingly 
 fruitless researches. 
 
 Mrs. Howard fretted and worried for a time about her 
 missing child, but it soon lost its power on her weak mind, 
 and she soon grew to take it as a matter of course. And 
 another quietly, secretly, but perseveringly was ever on the 
 qui vive to discover the unhappy Lila's retreat. 
 
 Louis MoDtaine had heard, with a sudden pallor and con- 
 scious guilt, of the girl's flight, and felt intuitively that his 
 words of scorn and warning had driven the unfortunate girl 
 from her home as a means of escape from the hated 
 marriage. And with contrition for his interference 
 in the matter, he used every known available means to 
 search out her whereabouts, such as guarded "personals'' 
 in all the leading papers : he even went so far as to employ 
 the secret services of a well known and successful detective, 
 but with the same unsuccessful result No tidings could 
 be found of the missing Lila. And so, day by day glided on, 
 lengthening into weeks ; and yet not the slightest cine 
 could be discovered of the self-exiled girL And thus time 
 went on, sad. anxious hearts besting for the morbidly sa: 
 girl, who had felt that no one cared for her ; but all their 
 efforts proving unavailing they had to aeeept the alterna- 
 tive and leave her, as she had wished, to her self -imposed 
 fate. 
 
 And as the hot, sultry June days came, other thoughts 
 and plans detracted somewhat from the keen, present pain, 
 and Lila was seemingly forgotten, but under the current of 
 the every day's engrossing studies, pleasures, and bright an- 
 ticipations of spending the approaching vacation, the 
 thought of her remained like a troubled memory, haunting 
 with sadness many an otherwise unalloyed enjoyment of the 
 brother and sister. And so it stood. Lila was left :n peace 
 to her fate and became something tne past. 
 
IRENE'S JEALOUSY. 
 
 The bright April sun shone cheerily, but not a ray was 
 allowed to penetrate into the handsome boudoir occupied 
 by Miss Burgoyne at the " boarding establishment" of Mrs. 
 Henderson. The windows are closed, and not a waft of 
 the soft spring breeze permitted to stir the rich lace cur- 
 tains, nor throw a glint of the brilliant light without over 
 the handsome furnishing and pretty ornaments. 
 
 The young lady herself reclines in an attitude of graceful 
 indolence on a satin lounge, deeply interested over the pages 
 of a thrilling romance, and looked, as was really the case, 
 that she was enjoying life as she had desired, with time to 
 read, think, draw, sing, visit, receive callers, and to prom- 
 enade or drive out, just as it suited her, all in peace, with 
 no disturbing element to clash or interfere with any of 
 her amusements. 
 
 Her father was absent, writing occasionally, but never 
 failing to send her a monthly remittance wherewith to de- 
 fray her expenses. Her selfish nature, largely due to her 
 injudicious rearing, was perfectly satisfied that her little 
 sister was removed from her care, and the others at a fash- 
 ionable boarding school. Had she not spent four years in 
 academic life from home, in a foreign land, quite satisfied % 
 And why should not they do the same without unhappi- 
 ness ? 
 
 She liked her present home, the ladies were kind and 
 made so much of her, indulging her every caprice, and her 
 vanity was gratified. Her suite of apartments was hand- 
 some and well attended. A parlor with organ and piano, 
 and good company, was at her disposal. The few boarders 
 suited her ideas and gave a home-like, pleasant feeling 
 when meeting, and a family-like familiarity at the meals 
 
108 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and, on the whole, Irene Burgoyne could not well help 
 being satisfied. And yet she was often very lonely and 
 unhappy. The star of her life was absent and wrote far 
 too seldom to satisfy her deep longings and passionate love, 
 and, as the time sped on, it seemed to increase in fervor and 
 devotion, and amid all her pastimes and selfish gratifica- 
 tions this one dissatisfied longing for his presence, society 
 and escort, clouded all into sadness and unrest. Every week 
 she wrote him a long, loving, passionate letter. Seldom 
 were they answered satisfactorily ; very seldom did they 
 breathe the spirit of love and endearing devotion which 
 ever characterized hers. Generally a short epistle would 
 come regularly in reply, ending always with an apology 
 for their briefness, saying, as the excuse, that he was study- 
 ing hard so as to bring her a good report in the summer. 
 And with this hope she lived, to have him with her for 
 two months in the summer. And now, as the warm breath 
 of spring fans her lovely cheek, how delightedly she counts 
 the days that go by, each one bringing that happy event 
 nearer ! 
 
 But what a pity that our happy anticipations are so often 
 rudely blasted by the cold, cruel breath of disappointment ! 
 
 She is very and unusually lovely this bright spring day. 
 A snowy robe of some fleecy drapery about her tall, queenly 
 form, her fair, abundant hair arranged with exquisite taste, 
 with a white rose just peeping slyly out from the delicate 
 filagree comb, while a spray of purple violets, drooping 
 sadly from amid the misty lace around her neck, the only 
 ornaments she wears except the one diamond betrothal ring 
 glittering upon her finger. 
 
 She seems to be reading some thrilling tale, for her eyes 
 are bright and luminous, a warm flush mantles her peachy 
 cheek, while the deeply interesting expression pervading 
 her whole face brightens it into rare loveliness. 
 
 Suddenly her riveted attention is arrested by a knock at 
 her door and, with a disturbed frown, she bade the person 
 to enter. 
 
 " Two letters for Miss Burgoyne," explained the servant, 
 presenting them on a salver, then instantly retiring. 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 Quickly the book is thrown aside now, and with flushed 
 cheek and eager hand the young lady carries one shyly to 
 her lips, murmuring tenderly : 
 
 " Now, darling, have you sent me any thing sweet and 
 fond in this, something to fill my hungry heart?" 
 
 With nervous gladness she cut the seal, and her eyes 
 lighted with joy as she noticed that it was unusually 
 lengthy, and pressing the signature to her lips she kissed it 
 passionately. 
 
 No great satisfaction was expressed on her countenance 
 after its perusal, and, as if not satisfied, she again read it 
 verbatim. Then, laying it down, she mused sadly, a dissat- 
 isfied, pained look coming over her beautiful face. " He 
 does not write like a lover should, 'Dear 'Rene,' and 
 ' Your cousin Louis,' seem so cold and cousinly. Nothing 
 fonder ? Why cannot he be more loving and tender, and 
 recognize in words that I am his promised wife, and not 
 only a cousin ? Will he be so practical and unsentimental 
 when we meet as he sounds in his letters ? Ah, Louis, my 
 darling, my all, you do not know how my heart is burning 
 for one word of sweet nonsense, something fonder than 
 ' Dear 'Rene.' Not even ' my.' Why do you not call me 
 'my darling,' 'my dearest?' some fond, endearing epithet, 
 to show me that I am dearer than a cousin ? You seem to 
 forget, now that I am out of your sight, the whispered, 
 loving words and pet names you used to call me and 
 which were so sweet, because so seldom, and uttered in that 
 low, dulcet tone which was so sweet, thrilling my whole 
 being with the purest joy. Oh! Louis, you can never 
 know howl love you, my absent darling, my very life ! 
 Yes, your studies are paramount now; in pursuing them to 
 gratify your ambition by excelling in your class, you forget 
 the lonely heart here that is breaking for you only." 
 
 Laying her head down on the lounge she wept bitterly 
 for a few minutes, then, her cry out, she grew calmer, ex- 
 cusing him on the pet plea that he was a man, and did not 
 like to write sweet nonsense. 
 
 " He must love me if he does not continue to tell me so," 
 
I to 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 she tnunnured, and taking up the letter to fold it, and per- 
 haps to peruse it again, she sees and suddenly remembers the 
 other letter, unnoticed until now. It was a small, tinted 
 envelope directed to her in a lady's delicate chirography, 
 and bore the same date and post- mark as the one she had 
 just read from her cousin. Wondering, and full of curi- 
 osity, she broke the seal, and in a trance of horror read the 
 few, cruel lines it contained : 
 
 ''Miss Bubgoyxe : Your cousin, and supposed lover, is shamefully 
 disloyal to you. being quite devoted in his attentions to a certain very 
 charming little girl of my acquaintance. And they are exceedingly lover- 
 live attentions, too. I esteem it my duty to inform you of this~fact, but 
 for good reasons withhold my name. Yet. nevertheless, you can rely on 
 my information as reliable. * Leaving you to deal wich the disloyal' Mr. 
 •Montaine, I remain, sorrowfully, your friend, 
 
 Ax Eye-Witness. 
 
 Can the cold medium of written words depict the poig- 
 nant, scathing bitterness with which these cruel lines fell 
 upon the loving, but fearfully jealous heart of the wretched 
 Irene? As her agonized eyes scanned the lines, each word 
 seemed to burn into her soul with fearful, stunning signifi- 
 cance, and it would have been kinder had an assassin stab- 
 bed her to the heart than this cowardly, dishonorable stab, 
 which does not kill, but tortures, wounds and insults; this 
 cruel, malicious stab devised by the jealous Lila, for what \ 
 Just simply to make another feel her own woe. 
 
 The heart, poised on a pivot ready at the slightest breath 
 to fall either way. already fearing, almost inclined to mis- 
 trust her lover's fidelity, fell in the false balance, and her 
 heart and mind blinded by a bitter, fully aroused jealousy, 
 readily believed the words against her affianced lover, 
 Wich her face pale, even livid, her eyes wild, one hand 
 clutching the fatal letter, while with the other she seemed 
 to grasp her heart, well nigh breaking with this new found 
 torturing agony, the poor, anguished girl, the victim of a 
 base, sinful revenge, looked the very picture of a wild des- 
 pair. Starting up. she paced the room in violent agitation, 
 hissing between her clenched teeth. 4, Dare he do this? 
 Louis ALontaine false already ; has it come to this so soon ? 
 
Irene's "Jealousy. 
 
 in 
 
 Yes, yes," she cried with passionate vehemence, "I thought 
 something was wrong. Intuitively I felt that he was tiring 
 of me, that he was false. Should I not have known before 
 this what his cold letters portended ? Where is the lover 
 in this one?" grasping it up, as she raved in the delirium 
 of her mad jealousy, and tearing it into fragments; then, 
 in a wild, reckless passion, she tore the ring from her finger 
 and threw it from her. Not satisfied yet, she opened a 
 drawer in her desk and tore letter after letter into bits, 
 scattering the pieces right and left over the carpet, mutter- 
 ing in a phrensy, "I want nothing of his, the false, cruel 
 heart! To win my heart from me, then trample it beneath 
 the heel of his foot ! In a few months to forget his vows, 
 his honor, his faithful promise to be true, just for the sake 
 of some pretty face ! Dare he treat me thus \ Oh, God ! 
 my heart will break ! Loui9, Louis, do you know what you 
 are doing % You will kill me ! " and with a wailing sob, 
 her beautiful face distorted by the agony of her soul, she 
 threw herself exhausted on the lounge. 
 
 " I will not endure this tamely," she burst forth again, 
 starting up in a renewed phrensy. " I will write at once 
 and throw this insulted, outraged love back in his teeth ; 
 and although my heart may break, he shall not know that 
 it broke and shed out its life blood for him." 
 
 Acting on the mad impulse of the moment, she pro- 
 cured writing material and very soon a letter, breathing 
 the burning hate and scorn that consumed her very being, 
 was written, severing forever, she reiterated, their short- 
 lived betrothal. Then, picking up the ring from the floor, 
 she carefully folded it within the letter, sealed and address- 
 ed it, and ringing the summons bell dispatched the servant 
 to mail it immediately. 
 
 " Yes, thus I clear him, the false traitor," she raves, her 
 mad phrensy seemingly at its height. " Let him pretend 
 to love another ; let him wed her if he dares ! But ah ! 
 Louis Montaine, it will be a terrible day that you bring a 
 bride to your grand house as its mistress. I will be ready 
 for you. The moment she enters it a happy bride, that 
 
112 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 moment I will make her a corpse before jour eyes. No 
 other shall enjoy your love, your wealth and honors, if 
 Irene Burgoyne is cheated out of them. Like your father, 
 you shall be widowed, and enjoy or rather endure its 
 palatial grandeur alone. Yes, I heard it whispered once 
 that Horace Burgoyne, my father, was the despoiler of the 
 happiness of that home in days gone by ; that it was he 
 who had widowed the proud master, and you had better 
 beware. What Horace Burgoyne did once, Irene Bur- 
 goyne will do again. I was to have become the wife and 
 mistress there ; but, as this flickering ember of hope is put 
 out forever, in its place I will kindle a bright, burning 
 flame of revenge and hate, and sting you with a fiercer 
 fury than with what you are stinging me now.'' 
 
 Exhausted nature gave way, and with a bitter wail of 
 misery, the wretched girl sank down, weak, trembling and 
 sick, mentally and physically. Presently a wave of regret 
 seemed to surge over the maddened, troubled sea, and 
 burying her face in her hands, she sobbed convulsively, 
 crying out bitterly: 
 
 Oh ! Louis, Louis, how can you treat me so cruelly, 
 when you know I am so miserably lonely, with no one to 
 whom I could fly for sympathy and love ? I will die if I 
 must lose you, my love, my all ; but I would not take a 
 divided heart. No, take it back, I want all, every throb, 
 or none. But you shall not have another — I will kill her, 
 then die myself." 
 
 As the full realization of what she had done, thrown 
 away the only hope and light from her life, dawned with 
 full meaning on her disturbed mind, she moaned and wrung 
 her hands in an utter, miserable despair. But nothing 
 brought balm to the tortured brain and smarting heart. 
 And, if Lila Howard could have witnessed the result of her 
 thoughtless, base, and cowardly revenge, and still desired to 
 see another, an innocent, unoffending object feel something 
 of her own sufferings, she surely would have been more than 
 satisfied. 
 
 Irene Burgoyne's nature was deeply passionate. Her 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 "3 
 
 loves, hates and jealousies, were strong, enduring and vio- 
 lent in the extreme. Louis Montaine had won the former, 
 and would scarcely find another to love him more passion- 
 ately, than did this beautiful creature, yet it was a wild, jeal- 
 ous, impassioned love or rather worship that would fail to 
 make him happy ; for he would ever have to watch and guard 
 himself, fearing to arouse her fierce jealousy, which would, 
 to one of his open, trusting and genial nature, engender 
 unhappiness and make a jarred, discontented home. 
 
 Loving her handsome young cousin so intensely, and 
 looking forward with the greatest eagerness and satisfaction 
 to becoming his wife, and mistress of his boundless wealth, 
 she was ever suspicious and fearful that somehow she 
 would be cheated out of them. Try as she would, she could 
 not make her heart trustful. She would think of his fasci- 
 nating, graceful and sweetly courteous manners, which had 
 so readily won her heart and held it captive. His natural 
 fondness for feminine society rendered him easily loved by 
 other girls, and placed him in great temptation of forget- 
 ting his absent love. Such thoughts and suspicions were 
 like a thorn, ever pricking and robbing her of peace and 
 faith in her absent lover. And now, as a direct communi- 
 cation had come, confirming her fears, she never stopped to 
 consider its veracity ; but received it as reliable "informa- 
 tion," and it would be useless to attempt describing the an- 
 guish of the poor girl. 
 
 Poor 'Kene ! For the next four days there could scarcely 
 be found upon the broad earth a more thoroughly wretched, 
 despairing and unhappy girl. She kept to her bed, refusing 
 to eat, would give no explanation of her strange conduct, 
 refused positively to see a physician, and denying that she 
 was sick. Thoughts of ending her existence flitted slug- 
 gishly through her mind, but with a shuddering horror she 
 would bury her face in the pillow, as if to shut out some 
 terrible phantom. 
 
 Added to her misery, as each day went by 3 suspense like 
 a torturing brand took possession of her mind. No news 
 whatever had come from her discarded lover ; and she would 
 
114 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 wonder, and dwell upon the vexed query, what he 
 thought, and how he would act. Would he be glad to get 
 his freedom, and turn eagerly to his new love? 
 
 Jealousy is again stirred mightily, and she muses, " Yes, 
 here I am starving myself to death, the very thing he would 
 want, but I will cheat them yet. No one shall enjoy what 
 I lose, no, never. I will crush down this agony, this tor- 
 turing misery, and live to revenge my wrongs, then die." 
 
 With this determination came action. Summoning her 
 maid, she was soon up and dressed carefully and becomingly, 
 her fair, abundant hair arranged fastidiously, and with her 
 characteristic fondness for floral ornaments, she now pinned 
 a rose in her hair and a spray of flowers at her throat. 
 
 She ordered breakfast to be sent up and, although sick, 
 weak, almost fainting from sheer exhaustation, and oh ! so 
 sore at heart, she eat of it quite heartily, drinking two 
 cups of fragrant tea, which refreshed and invigorated her 
 wonderfully ; after which she petted her overjoyed poodle, 
 fed her canaries and talked to them, as was her wont, try- 
 ing thus to banish thought and forget her trouble ; but to 
 no avail. A hand of iron seemed to press the fluttering, 
 bruised heart, and the morning dragged wearily on, noth- 
 ing interesting her or easing the dull pain and sickening sen- 
 sations of suspense, jealousy and regret, which mercilessly 
 held their tyrannical sway over her. 
 
 Noon came, and a tempting little lunch was brought to 
 her, but she sent it away in loathing, feeling now yet more 
 despairing, and wishing that death, or some kind of ob- 
 livion, would wrap her keenly wrought and suffering senses 
 in its pall of forgetfulness. 
 
 As the door closed upon the retiring servant it was al- 
 most instantly reopened, and, as Irene raised her eyes, they 
 fell upon the tall form and handsome face of Louis Mon- 
 taine, who stood just within it. For an instant or more, 
 surprise, shame and joy conflictingly held her damb-found- 
 ed ; then with a burning blush mantling the fair, pale 
 face, she buried it in her hands, a convulsive shudder pass- 
 ing through her frame. 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 "5; 
 
 He was deadly pale ; a troubled light gleamed from the 
 dark gray eyes, that regarded the girl more with sorrow 
 than with anger. His mouth was gravely stern, and his 
 voicfe perceptibly cold and reproachful as he spoke : 
 
 " I received your letter, Irene, or rather a sort of a wild 
 effusion, and after reading and digesting its contents, un- 
 derstood that you proclaimed our engagement at an end. 
 I did not come down to protest your decree, neither to de- 
 ny or acknowledge the charge made against me. Nor did 
 I come to offer one word in self-justification. If yo^ 
 choose to believe the word of a cowardly slanderer, who 
 dares not sign his or her name, before my plighted honor, I 
 shall offer no defense, ask for no acquittal. I am satisfied 
 to let it be as you wish it. Every letter that comes from 
 you, grieves and insults me by your constant mistrust of 
 my loyalty. If, in so short a time, you find so much fault 
 in me, and so readily believe a nameless slanderer, I tremble 
 to think what our married life promises to be. In a word, 
 if you are tired of and weary of waiting on me, I think 
 it best to sunder ties now more easily severed than — 
 
 " Yes,' ; interrupted the girl, rising and standing proudly 
 erect, with passionate intensity ringing in tone and gesture, 
 while it dyed the pallid cheeks crimson and emitted sparks 
 of fire from the large, bright eyes, " I knew you would be 
 willing, yea, eager to get your dismissal, joyfully accept 
 your freedom ; but, Louis Montaine, you wrong me shame- 
 fully when you speak as you did just now, that I do not 
 care for you, and that I am tired of waiting on you. I 
 would wait ten years, if it were needful ; but I cannot endure 
 that you should flirt and pay attention to other girls. It 
 maddens and makes me beside myself. I cannot stand it, 
 and if you loved me, you would not tease me by courting 
 the society of others, or perhaps another girl. I do not 
 listen only to a nameless slanderer — I know you too well. 
 How often did you tease and terrify me by flirting and 
 waltzing with Lily Hastings, when you knew, too, that I 
 did not like it. I never treated you so, nor do I now. 
 Since you left me 1 have had nothing to do with other 
 
Ii6 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 gentlemen, never allowing the slightest interest nor at- 
 tention from one, not even your dear friend, Gerrie Hast- 
 ings, I have been loyal, held to my faithful vows truly. 
 You filled my whole undivided heart, and I am satisfied, 
 and I expect the same from you. You do not love me if 
 you are not fully satisfied with me, without running into 
 the company of other pretty and charming girls, and rouse 
 me to this mad, wild jealousy." 
 
 Louis Montaine gazed wonderingly upon the girl, sur- 
 prisingly lovely in her wild anger. His heart throbbed 
 v?ith a strange passion foreign to his pure nature, admira- 
 tion lurked in his handsome eyes, and although her words 
 insulted and worried him, he smiled, and when he spoke, 
 the reproach was gone, and instead the tone was low and 
 very tender. 
 
 "Because, 'Bene, I do not see the necessity for such 
 rigid seclusion from the refining influence of the fair sex. 
 "Would you have me turn a barbarian, and associate only 
 with rude collegians ? I cannot understand what you re- 
 quire of me. Surely I can recognize and enjoy, to a cer- 
 tain degree, feminine society without being disloyal, or 
 injuring your claims in any way ? You know I do not 
 require this excessive seclusion of you, 'Rene ; I trusted 
 you too entirely to be jealous. It is folly in you to be so 
 strict. But I did not come to discuss all this nonsense ; I 
 see we will never agree on the subject. But, Irene," and 
 the troubled, stern look came into the face again, " I wish 
 to understand about the ring you returned to me. It is 
 not the one I gave you at our betrothal ? " 
 
 " ISTot the one you gave me ? What do you mean, Louis ?" 
 Irene gasped, turning very pale, her eyes full of terror and 
 questioning inquiry. 
 
 " I want to understand what you mean, 'Rene, by sending 
 back to me a trashy paste ring, and pretending that it was 
 the costly diamond which I entrusted to your care % What 
 have you done with the ring, Irene \ Surely, you can give 
 some explanation of this strange proceeding." 
 
 " It is the ring you gave me, Louis ? You surely do not 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 117 
 
 know what you are saying and insinuating, Louis Montaine." 
 And the girl grew yet paler, while her frame shook with a 
 sudden fear. 
 
 « But it is not, if you please ; I know the ring too well 
 to be thus deceived, and have another trashy gew-gaw 
 palmed off on me." 
 
 " I thought it was the diamond ring you gave me," she 
 said, flushing confusedly ; " and in God's name, Louis 
 Montaine, tell me what you mean by saying that it is 
 not % " • 
 " I mean simply what I have said now for the third time. 
 It is not the ring which I gave you the day before I went 
 away. When I opened your letter and found, as I then 
 thought, your betrothal ring within, I was not a little sur- 
 prised to think that you would thus carelessly send so val- 
 uable a ring through the mai?. Slipping it on my finger, I 
 read the explanation of what I had immediately divined — 
 that you had broken, on some pretext, our engagement. 
 Looking at the ring, somehow I felt that there was some 
 difference in the ring, which I held and'the one I had given 
 you. What prompted the idea, or made me examine it, I 
 cannot tell ; but examine it I did ; and found to my sur- 
 prise and dismay that you had only pretended to send back 
 your engagement ring. I do not care to tell you how I 
 felt just then ; but I resolved at once to come and find out 
 what it meant. After my mother's marriage, it seems that 
 her finger grew much thinner, and both her engagement 
 and wedding rings were too large for her. My father had 
 them altered, and as the diamond was of such great value, 
 and fearing that it might get lost or stolen, he conceived 
 the idea to have a secret mark to distinguish it from an- 
 other ring of its kind. Where the bit was taken out, he 
 had it joined by a tiny, impreceptible spring-lock. And 
 again, when I had our initials engraved on it, the engraver 
 carelessly left two little scratches which, strange to say, I 
 concluded to say nothing about, but leave there as another 
 mark. But, from the most diligent search, I could find 
 nothing of these marks. Of course, I suspected at once 
 
 8 
 
Ii8 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 that there was something wrong, and discovered to my 
 horror this morning from a reliable source, that it was only 
 a cunning imitation of a real diamond ring, its worth only 
 a few dollars ; whereas, the one I gave you in trust cost 
 my father four thousand dollars. The middle stone was 
 something superb, one of the finest in the country, a bril- 
 iant, beautiful gem of the purest water. I know the ring 
 so well from childhood ; I have admired its bright glitter 
 and great beauty, and ever held it as something sacred, for 
 ft had belonged to my worshipped young mother, and was 
 for my future bride. When I gave it into your care, 
 'Rene, I felt that it would have been held as sacred, and re- 
 garded as tenderly and sacredly by you as it had been by 
 me. And now you send me this miserable trinket, and 
 want to tell me that it is the costly gem which I gave you. 
 For God's sake, 'Rene, cannot, will you not, explasfh this 
 mystery ? Where is the ring which I gave you I " 
 
 Irene Burgoyne stood still, the pallor of death over her 
 horrified face, listening with bated breath to the rapid re- 
 cital from her cousin ; and now, when the last question of 
 stern entreaty is put to her, she exclaims wildly, a sudden 
 light seeming to break in upon her : 
 
 u My God ! have I been so terribly deceived ! Did I not 
 know that it was a bad omen ? Louis, I was robbed, and 
 papa got the ring I sent you from the detective. I 
 thought it was the same one you sent me; I saw no 
 difference." 
 
 "Robbed!" echoed the young man, now thoroughly ex- 
 cited and angry. a How, and when ? And how is it that 
 I have never been told before this ?" 
 
 The nervously excited girl, trembling in every limb, re- 
 lated in confused, broken sentences, the whole affair ; how 
 it had been the indirect cause of her mother's death, 
 and adding : " Papa gave me the ring back, and I thought 
 it was all right. Oh ! Louis, have mercy upon me, and do 
 not tell me that your beautiful and valuable ring is still in 
 .the possession of that base robber and murderer." 
 
 And the distressed girl, wringing her hands, looked upon 
 
Irene's Jealousy. 
 
 119 
 
 her cousin appealingly, who was pacing the room nervously, 
 pale and stern, with a nameless fear and suspicion aroused 
 in his agitated mind, and his voice was hoarse, and full of 
 a bitter reproach as he replied : 
 
 " Irene, why is it, that you kept this from me, when it 
 happened? I should have known of it at once; now I fear 
 it is too late to find what I would not have lost for any thing. 
 Irene, Irene, why did you keep it from me ?" 
 
 " Papa told me not to worry you with it ; that he would 
 attend to it for me, and when he brought it back so soon T 
 thought it was all right, and that I had better not worry 
 you about it, but, oh ! Louis, I never once suspected that I 
 was cheated, deceived, and that I was wearing a nasty, com- 
 mon gewgaw. What is to be done now, and papa not here 
 either?" 
 
 " It is a late day now to ask what is to be done. What a 
 fate for my mother's sacred jewel which was so dear to me, 
 but who would think, that I could not trust it with the 
 girl whom I had chosen for my wife ?" 
 
 44 Oh! Louis, please do not reproach me so bitterly," 
 and the voice was painfully pleadyig. " Did they not give 
 me chloroform and go in my private drawer, and rob me 
 when I was as good as dead ? But, oh ! how I wish that I 
 had written to you at once, and let you know all ; but I 
 thought that I could trust papa, and how could he be so 
 deceived ?" 
 
 Louis Montaine laughed bitterly, an angry fiush was upon 
 his cheek, while an angry light gleamed from his deep, in- 
 tense eyes, as he replied : 
 
 " Tour father was not deceived. It is only you that has 
 been so cunningly taken in. Mr. Burgoyne, unquestiona- 
 bly, had very good reasons for keeping this robbery so se- 
 cret. Why is it that nothing was said about it in the pub- 
 lic print, and me, so vitally interested in the matter and 
 only a few miles away, never to hear a breath of it ? Suffi- 
 cient time has been given to do away with those jewels, but 
 I will leave no stone unturned, but what I shall have them 
 back, and if I cannot recover them, I hold your father re- 
 
120 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 sponsible, Irene. He had no right to hare any thing to do> 
 in the matter. Just to think, a robbery like that and not a 
 word in the papers ! Not the least intimation of it anywhere, 
 not even to me. Your father was exceedingly careful to> 
 keep it quiet, and succeeded admirably." 
 
 " What do you mean, Louis Montaine, by your insinua- 
 tions " asked the girl, with flashing eyes and kindling cheek. 
 
 He returned her haughty look unflinchingly, and replied i 
 
 "I mean just what I say. Your father had no right, no 
 authority whatever, to keep this robbery from me, and 
 from the public. It looks terribly suspicious against him, 
 but he will find out his mistake before long. 1 will find a 
 detective to search into it, although it has gone so far. Will 
 you please to give me your father's address?" 
 
 Haughtily the girl arose, and going to her desk, wrote 
 with trembling fingers the desired request, and laying it 
 upon the table said, in a voice she vainly strove to make 
 calm : 
 
 " I do not pretend to understand your insinuations, Louis, 
 but know that you are very harsh and cruel, and you wrong 
 papa shamefully. I am sure that he acted as he thought 
 best, and like me, was the victim of a terrible deception. 
 You wound and insult me cruelly — " 
 
 But here her firmness gave way, and bursting into a pas- 
 sion of hysterical sobs, she threw herself upon the lounge, 
 in a perfect abandon of grief. 
 
 Pale and deeply agitated, Louis Montaine looked upon 
 the suffering girl. Pacing the floor nervously, her deep, 
 agonized sobs grated painfully upon his ears. The loss of 
 his mother's valued jewels, the painful suspicion aroused in 
 his mind, the imposition attempted upon him, and the memo- 
 ry of the abusive letter rejecting him without trial, on the 
 verdict of a contemptible anonymous writer, still galling 
 and keeping his better nature at bay, hardened, his heart, 
 and kept back the rising pity and love, and finally he said,, 
 in a low, agitated tone : 
 
 " Irene, it is useless for me to remain longer, I have very 
 little time to stay down, and much to attend to in the little 
 
Irene s 'Jealousy. 
 
 121 
 
 while. I presume you feel that you are right in discarding 
 me, dissolving our engagement, so I will try to feel satisfied, 
 as vou will it, and trust that you will find another to suit 
 you much better than cousin Louis. Will you shake hands 
 good-bye, and let us part friends ?" 
 
 He approached the still weeping girl as he spoke, and 
 held out his hand, which trembled perceptibly and his face 
 was very pale but calm. Irene Burgoyne lifted her tear- 
 stained, agonized face to her lover's gaze, and holding out 
 her hands, cried pleadingly : 
 
 " Oh ! Louis, my love,, my very life, my all, forgive and 
 take me back again. I know that I have wronged you, but 
 I was mad with love, blinded by jealousy, and did not know 
 what I wrote. If you leave me, Louis, with our engage- 
 ment broken, I shall surely die. Please, my darling, forgive 
 me this once, I will never doubt you again." 
 
 The young man hesitated, the thought of his father wish- 
 ing him not to marry his cousin, this opportunity to quiet 
 his conscience by doing his parent's will, was very tempting. 
 The fetters that had bound him had not proved silken ones. 
 The thoughts of freedom stirred his heart pleasantly, and 
 lie could not hide it from himself that he would like to be 
 free again to please his dear, lost father. He tried to think 
 this his. chief motive, but a sweet-faced, bright little nymph 
 now came vividly before him, and he knew his heart's 
 prompting was to be able to woo and win this sweet child 
 for his very own, and he knew then that Irene's jealousy 
 was not groundless, that she had in Lottie Howard a for- 
 midable rival. 
 
 He looked upon the girl before him, in her terrible, over- 
 whelming distress. The face lovely, even in its wild grief, 
 the tearful, beautiful eyes, full of a soft, tender entreaty 
 and love. The quivering, grieved mouth, the beseeching 
 attitude, and humble, craving words were too much for his 
 generous nature. A wave of pity and fiood of the old 
 passion swept over his soul. Every thing was forgotten on 
 the impulse of the moment, and the next instant he had 
 taken the weeping, but now happy girl to his heart, mur- 
 iinuring his forgiveness and restored love. 
 
122 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 That afternoon he rode out in a stylish phaeton with his 
 betrothed. Irene Burgoyne, radiantly happy, looked superb- 
 ly beautiful, attired in white mourning. Her fair hair fall- 
 ing about her in long ringlets, a jaunty little bonnet of pure 
 white upon her head, from which drooped stylishly a snowy 
 ostrich plume. 
 
 As the splendid grays pranced gayly through the princi- 
 pal streets and around the charming, crowded Battery, they 
 were the observed of all observers, and many a bow, smile 
 and salute the young heir received as he was recognized by 
 old friends and companions, and many envious eyes frowned 
 upon the fortunate beauty by his side, as she, proudly 
 conscious of her envied position, gazed with haughty smil- 
 ing eyes upon the world around. It was a proud, trium- 
 phant afternoon for the happy, gratified Irene ; for it was 
 the first time since their betrothal that they had been seen 
 in public together. And she enjoyed, with exquisite de- 
 light, the thought that many of the pretty, smiling belles 
 that nodded stiffly as they passed, had set their M cap'' for the 
 handsome son of the millionaire, but had lost, while she 
 had won. 
 
 But, although enjoying to a certain extent one of his 
 favorite pastimes, seeing many familiar, loved objects and 
 dear friends, Louis Montaine's heart was sad, it recalled 
 vividly the changed position in which he stood. The 
 thought of his beloved father was painfully present : and, 
 although he sat beside the few months ago idol of his 
 young, ardent heart, and listened to her low, sweet voice as 
 she gaily chatted, and was the recipient of the rapturous 
 glances from her large, love-lit eyes, he knew that he was 
 not happy to have it so, and felt, with a guilty pang at the 
 thought, that he would a great deal rather have his freedom 
 and be wandering, even then, amid some rural, romantic 
 spot at S — with a certain very sweet, charming little miss 
 of sixteen as his companion. 
 
 That night, notwithstanding the earnest solicitations of 
 Irene to stay a little longer, he was on his way back to his 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 123 
 
 mountain home, and to the scene of his future temptation 
 and sore trial. 
 
 Ensconcing himself as comfortably as was possible on a 
 seat in the cars in a position to sleep, if he could woo that 
 desired boon to his excited, contemplating brain, he did not 
 at first notice two young men seated in front of him, and 
 who, he soon discovered, felt more inclined to talk and 
 laugh than to sleep. Presently he heard the name of Mon- 
 taine called, and although he still sat quiet with closed eyes, 
 he became a deeply interested listener to what followed. 
 
 " Is that so ? why, I thought he was only a boy," one said, 
 in evident surprise ; the other answering : 
 
 " I do not know, never thought to ask his age, but I know 
 he is still at College. Nevertheless, boy or man, whichever 
 he is, it is the fact. 
 
 " Well, she is a deuced pretty girl, but as poor as Job's 
 .turkey. Her father was driven from C — in utter bank- 
 ruptcy, and is dressing and keeping her up in style from the 
 gaming table. They are both looking well to his great 
 wealth. Do you know that he was heard to say, in the pub- 
 lic saloon of Hotel, ' Oh ! I will be all right by and by, 
 
 when 'Rene (that is her name you know) is Mrs. Montaine. 
 I will lie down in clover, and have a jolly good time of it.' 
 And it is the fact, that he has contracted large debts, to be 
 paid out of this expectant son-in-law's full coffers. He is 
 cutting his cards well, and will dupe this wealthy young 
 chap capitally. Ha, ha, ha." 
 
 The laugh was joined in with heartily by the other, who 
 rejoined : 
 
 u You know he is in C — now. On a courting tour I 
 guess, for I heard my sister say that they were out riding 
 this afternoon together, and she was laughing, and told me 
 I ought to have seen Miss Burgoyne, how proud and trium- 
 phant she looked, and said sister : 1 It was real amusing to 
 see the airs she put on. She looked as though she imag- 
 ined that she was already the wealthy and envied Mrs. 
 Montaine.' " 
 
 4 '0h, well, he will have a lovely wife, and what more 
 
I2f 
 
 T/u Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 does he need ? These rich voting fellows only want a 
 stylish, fashionable, proud creature to show off their wealth 
 and grandeur : but I think he will stoop low to marry the 
 daughter of Horace Burgoyne. The Montaines are a* full- 
 blooded, aristocratic family, and the boy is of good stock, 
 and it is well known that ^Lr. Burgoyne is a gambler and 
 a licentious sot; but I gaese son is not so high-strung 
 as what his father was. or else is blindly infatuated with 
 the girl's exquisite beauty. But every one to his liking. It 
 is none of my business and does not concern me any. I do 
 not want the girl and cannot get a red of the boy's glitter- 
 ing chinks.*' 
 
 "Kb, I think not.'" Here a laugh was indulged in, and 
 then another subject was taken up and discussed. 
 
 Louis Mbntaine had listened in a sort of fascination. 
 Both of the young men were strangers to him, and he 
 knew by their actions that he was unknown to them. and. 
 therefore, their conversation could hardly have been in- 
 tended for his ears. The heart of the youth was chilled : 
 every word had burned into his soul with seering intensity, 
 and painfully conflicting thoughts surged rapidly through 
 his brain. He looked narrowly at the two revealers, but 
 they seemed perfectly unconcerned at his near proximity. 
 Again they were laughing and talking over some love af- 
 fair, not at all mindful tha: : : ; were in ear-shot. 
 
 The rumbling of the cars drowned much of their converse, 
 but ever and anon distinct sentences came to his hearing, 
 and he felt certain that it was no concerted plan to let him 
 overhear, what, alas ! concerned him so vitally. They 
 were evidently making other people's business and secrets 
 cheap to kill the monotony of the slow night's traveling, 
 not caring much who heard so long as they were amused. 
 
 Louis Montaine sank back stung to the quick. This was 
 the world's talk and opinion of his engagement with Irene 
 Burgoyne. He would disgrace his father's proud name — a 
 name which he had desired to uphold in all of its untarn- 
 ished purity and pride. U A gambler's daughter.'* How it 
 grated upon his ear and stung his heart. And was this his % 
 
Irene s Jealousy. 
 
 125 
 
 father's objection to his marriage with 'Rene? He had 
 known the character of Horace Burgoyne, and had felt, as 
 he had told his son more than once, that in wedding 'Rene 
 Burgoyne he would disgrace his proud name. The high 
 Southern spirit is touched keenly, the warm blood aroused. 
 Louis Montaine was an aristocrat of the first water. Proud 
 of his good birth, high ancestral ori :in, and the pure, unadul- 
 terated blue blood coursing through his veins, the idea of 
 a mesalliance stung the old family pride, and in bitterness of 
 self-reproach, he thought of his willful disobedience against 
 his dear father's expressed wishes in determining to marry 
 his beautiful cousin, the daughter, as he had just learned, 
 of an objectionable character. Poor, supported from the 
 ill-gotten gains of a gambling table, and he, Louis Mon- 
 taine, was to stoop and pick her out from this mire of dis- 
 honor, and raise her to the height of his proud, ancestral 
 name. And to shield his wife's name from disgrace, what 
 would he not have to do for the father ! Pay his many 
 debts and let him lie down in clover and have the nice time 
 which he anticipated ? With shuddering abhorrence -the 
 youth thought how well plans were being laid in which to 
 entrap him, and queried mentally : "Could the daughter be 
 leagued with her father to dupe and make him believe that 
 she loved him so passionately, only to obtain his wealth 
 and shield of respectability ? He knew Irene to be essen- 
 tially selfish, and how couid she love him so ardently and 
 unselfishly, as he had been made to believe ? And I do 
 not believe I love her as a man should love his wife. And 
 fool that I was, to make it up with her again, when she cast 
 me off with abuse ! Yea, fool that I was ! I might now have 
 been free, had I not been such a soft-hearted fool. Yea, rid 
 of the chains that are so irksome to me now ; freed from the 
 accusing conscience of my utter disregard to my dear father's 
 wishes. Free to love another, and here I am returning, fet- 
 tered stronger than ever." 
 
 Again his thoughts turn in a painful reverie upon Horace 
 Burgoyne, his father's enemy. The suspicion that Irene's 
 9 father had had a hand in the robbery of her jewels, which 
 
126 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 had been aroused in his mind on account of the improba- 
 ble fact of such a robbery having taken place and kept 
 so quiet, now become a conviction. He was poor, a bank- 
 rupt ; and if he could promise to pay his debts from his 
 expectant son-in-law's full coffers, why should he hesitate 
 to rob the jewels given by that personage to his daughter % 
 Louis Montaine seemed to see it all very clearly now. 
 Horace Burgoyne was a reckless, dissipated man. An 
 enemy and injurer of his beloved parent, and contemplated 
 to hide and cover up his misdeeds under the tower of that 
 parent's wealth and honor ; " and 1, his son and heir, will 
 pave the way ; place the ladder for him on which to mount 
 to his anticipated height of ease and delight." 
 
 "My God ! " groaned the youth, in bitterness of soul, 
 " why did I not see and know all this before ? Why did I 
 not hear this accidental conversation, which has struck the 
 scales from my eyes, while on my way down instead of 
 now ? " 
 
 And so he thought, pondered and queried, but to no 
 avail"; he could come to no decision to still his unquiet 
 mind, to ease his painful, throbbing heart. A chaos of con- 
 flicting thought held him powerless to act upon any thing 
 definite. One thing he knew, that he was solemnly en- 
 gaged to marry his cousin, Irene Burgoyne, and yet, after 
 learning what he had, how could he dare to fulfil his vows % 
 vows which, if kept, would disgrace and drag his proud 
 old name to dishonor, and gratify his father's enemy ! 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 And where was Lila ? What course had she pursued to 
 so effectually prevent detection ? After leaving her home 
 that morning, just as the gray, struggling dawn was break- 
 ing into the light of a brilliant May day, she hurriedly 
 wended her way through the quiet, deserted streets, and 
 with a thick veil drawn closely over her pale, set face, and 
 with a heart beating tumultuously, she approached the 
 depot and timidly entered the reception room. Many were 
 already there, and others came in soon after, full of gay 
 spirits and light, free laughter, in anticipation of returning 
 home to loved ones, or else going off on some pleasure 
 trip. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, they were* all 
 strangers to the trembling girl shrinking away in a corner 
 of the room, persons just passing through the town on 
 their way to other destinations. 
 
 Getting a gentleman to purchase her a ticket to Charles- 
 ton, Lila takes up her bundle of possessions, and fol- 
 lowing the crowd, enters the cars, and is soon whirling 
 away from the protection of a home, the care of friends, 
 the old man who was so eager to claim her as his bride, 
 and from thf one who had so unconsciously won all the 
 love, the smothered, smouldering, but intensly passionate 
 love of her young heart ; whirling away to a strange city, 
 to the land of strangers. Yenturing thus rashly on the 
 cold charities of a world of which she knew nothing as 
 yet. 
 
 " What will become of me?" is now the question which 
 agitates her mental vision as she is borne resistlessly on — 
 on to what? A life of tortured misery and temptation, or 
 one of more happiness and satisfaction than what she is 
 • living? 
 
128 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 At the arrival of the train at C , the unprotected 
 
 young stranger made her way out with the eager, selfish 
 crowd, the only one it seemed that had no welcome, no 
 definite place to which to go. Carriages and hacks drove 
 rapidly off with the recent arrivals, and before Lila fully 
 determined what to do she finds herself almost alone at the 
 deserted depot. Shelter, and a bed upon which to rest her 
 weary, aching limbs she must have, and as she is deciding 
 what to do, a driver of a public conveyance approaches, 
 politely inquiring if she wishes his services. 
 
 "Yes," is the eager reply; "please drive me to a private, 
 select boarding house.'' 
 
 "With a profound bow, Lila is handed into the carriage, 
 and very soon is left standing at the gate of a very elegant, 
 
 stylish-looking residence on street, " Mrs. Select 
 
 Boarding House, for ladies exclusively.'' 
 
 Yery soon her summons is answered by a footman in 
 full livery, and making her errand known, she is pompously 
 shown into the elegant reception room. Weary and ill 
 from fatigue and want of sleep, the poor girl sank down 
 nearly fainting into the rich velvet chair which was hand- 
 ed to her, feeling that an asylum was reached for a time, at 
 least; but, alas! poor, unsophisticated child, her troubles 
 were not over yet — no haven there. 
 
 After a full half hour's weary waiting, a tall, dignified 
 lady, with haughty, aristocratic face, faded blue eyes, peer- 
 ing through massive gold-rimmed spectacles, attired in rust- 
 ling black silk, entered and stood haughtily askance just 
 within the door. 
 
 Rising and bowing, Lila inquires timidly, u Is this 
 Mrs. — ■ ?" 
 
 " Yes," is the frigid monosyllable, and none reassured, the 
 poor girl proceeded to make known her errand in a rather 
 confused manner, giving her name as Miss Lila Black. 
 
 " Yes, I understand what you wish," was the slow, dig- 
 nified reply, " but have you references, Miss Black ? " 
 
 " No, marm ; but I can assure you that there is no need 
 of them. I am an orphan and stranger here, but of the . 
 
The Exile. 
 
 129 
 
 highest respectability. I wish to keep my whereabouts 
 secret from my friends for a while, in order to escape a 
 hateful marriage they would force upon me, or else I could 
 furnish unexceptional references." 
 
 <£ Yes, Miss Black," was answered in the same slow, rigid 
 manner, "I do not doubt your respectability, still I am 
 compelled to refuse you apartments in my house, which is 
 strictly select, and to keep up its high reputation I am call- 
 ed on to see that I admit no one without an intimate ac- 
 quaintance, or else unquestionable references, or a reliable 
 introduction. As you cannot furnish either, I am com- 
 pelled, in conformity with the rules of the establishment^ 
 to refuse you admittance ; so will wish you a very good 
 morning,'' and with a stately inclination of the head, she 
 glided away as haughtily as she had entered, leaving the 
 insulted and thoroughly alarmed Lila to find her way out 
 the best she could. 
 
 "What shall I do?" murmured the confused girl, as she 
 was thus unceremoniously thrust out on the street, in a 
 quiet, select portion of a strange city, the haunt of Charles- 
 ton's aristocracy. She walked on in a sort of maze, wonder- 
 ing what she should do ; her fragile form almost tottering 
 beneath the load she carried. Suddenly coming up to the 
 corner of another street, she saw one of the city guardsmen 
 slowly pacing his round of duty. He was an old, kindly- 
 faced Irishman, and eagerly the runaway Lila accosted him, 
 inquiring if he could direct her to a boarding-house. She 
 did not now ask for a select one. In desperation, she felt 
 that any place of shelter would do. The man considered a 
 moment, looking wonderingly into the fair face of the eager 
 petitioner. 
 
 " Faith, darlint, I cannot exactly towld yer. There is one 
 
 down strait, a real hotel, with many fine ladies, and 
 
 now, thinking of it, there i? one kept by two nice gintle 
 ladies, on this very strait, ~No. 29, right on this side. See 
 darlint, you just take this side down, and look for No. 29, 
 and yer will be shure to find it.'' 
 
 " Thank you, sir," was the grateful answer, as the girl 
 
130 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 hastened away, soon finding No. 29. But still, with a fail- 
 ing heart and rising fear, lest she might not obtain shelter 
 there, she timidly rang the bell. The summons was in- 
 stantly answered by a smart mulatto boy, and on Lila in- 
 quiring to see the lady, she was shown into the pleasant, 
 handsome parlor. This time she is not kept waiting. A 
 pleasant-faced lady, of about thirty, entered, and bowing 
 politely explained : 
 
 " My sister, Mrs. Henderson, generally attends to callers, 
 but as she is quite busy just now, requested that I should 
 see you in her stead." 
 
 Quite reassured, by her kindly face and affable manner, 
 Lila rose, and bowing, explained : 
 
 "I am a stranger here, just arriving this morning, and 
 wishing to obain board, was directed to come here. I am 
 an orphan, and being tired of depending upon my friends, 
 determined to come to the city with the intention of making 
 my own livelihood as instructress of vocal and instrumental 
 music, and desire at present, a nice, quiet home." 
 
 " From where did you come, and what is your name, 
 please?" inquired the lady, looking interested. 
 
 " From H , North Carolina, and my name is Lila 
 
 Black." One lie always leads to another, and so it was 
 now with Lila ; changing her name she must also change 
 her place of abode, she thought, as she desired to escape 
 detection in her exile. 
 
 "Yes, well I will present your wants to sister and see if 
 she can accommodate you. At present we have quite a 
 full house, but possibly might find room for another." 
 
 " Do please take me in ; any little corner will answer, 
 for I am weary, having traveled all yesterday and last 
 night." 
 
 " Would you object to the garret ? Sister and I have 
 one and find it quite pleasant." 
 
 " Not at all, in fact I would prefer it, as my means are 
 quite limited, for I presume the board will be cheaper if I 
 went up so high ? " 
 
 " Certainly," with a merry laugh, "but I will see what 
 I can do for you ; excuse me a moment." 
 
The Exile. 
 
 131 
 
 Presently she returned with the information that they 
 would accommodate her, provided she was willing to oc- 
 cupy the garret for awhile, that a little later in the season 
 some of the boarders would leave for the North, then she 
 could obtain a room. 
 
 Eagerly, thankfully, Lila accepted the accommodations, 
 and taking out her purse paid the six dollars which was re- 
 quired from her in advance for one week's board. Then 
 at her request, she was immediately shown up to her quar- 
 ters. Wearily she dragged her tired, aching limbs up the 
 long flight of stairs. She found her room rather cramped, 
 but neat and clean, the low pavilioned cot looking par- 
 ticularly tempting to the worn out girl. Yery soon she 
 was disrobed, and thankful for once in her life, the weary 
 exile threw herself upon it. Exhausted nature gave way, 
 and very soon a deep, heavy sleep, sinking every fear and 
 heartache into oblivion, for a time wrapped her in its thrall. 
 Hour after hour she slept on, undisturbed by the luncheon 
 and dinner bell, the busy tripping of feet, the merry peals 
 of laughter, and melody floating up through tlie house all 
 day. 
 
 Just toward twilight she aw&ke suddenly, but it was 
 many minutes before she could remember where she was, 
 or what had happened, so deep and profound had been her 
 slumber. Then, as with a flash, it all came to mind ; she 
 sprang up exclaiming : 
 
 " Is it possible that I have slept all day ? " 
 
 Her head throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, and she felt 
 faint and ill for the want of some refreshment, but seeing 
 no way of summoning a servant she determined to go 
 down to supper, but it was with great difficulty that she 
 managed to comb her hair and prepare herself to meet 
 others; and yet she was surprisingly, almost ethereally 
 lovely when ready to descend ; her fair hair in a massive 
 coil, wound high upon her head like a coronet of pale gold, 
 her eyes large and almost startlingly blue, circled with 
 dark lines, contrasting strikingly with her very pale, deli- 
 cate face ; she wore a pale blue muslin dress and blue rib- 
 
132 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 bons, a slight gold chain circled her throat, from which was 
 suspended a heavy Maltese cross. Simplicity of attire was 
 always becoming to the fair, lovely Lila, and so she was 
 now. 
 
 As she timidly entered the brilliantly lighted drawing- 
 room quite a battery of eyes attacked her, while a murmur 
 of admiration ran through the room, yet the evident sen- 
 sation which her entrance had caused did not seem to at- 
 tract a young lady who sat before the piano, for she neither 
 turned, nor ceased the operatic solo upon which she was 
 engaged. 
 
 Miss Lafonte, the sister of Mrs. Henderson, entered soon 
 after, and immediately approached Lila, and said kindly, 
 " Yery glad to see you up, Miss Black ; I hope you feel 
 refreshed after your long nap. As you did not answer to 
 the call for dinner I went up to see whether you were sick, 
 but finding you sleeping so soundly, I would not disturb 
 your slumbers, for I knew you had been travelling and were 
 very tired. But you must really feel starved out, and as 
 supper is not due yet, you had better come and get a cup 
 of tea at once, for you look quite faint. Come, dear, and 
 after refreshing yourself I will introduce you to your fel- 
 low-boarders. We are like one family here, and you must 
 make yourself quite at home and be sociable." 
 
 Lila, readily complying, was led off by the bustlings 
 talkative lady, who seated her at a small side-table and soon 
 supplied it with nice little delicacies, pressing the shy, 
 shrinking Lila to eat ; but, although having eaten nothing 
 for two days, the girl seemed utterly to loathe the sight of 
 food, and could not eat a mouthful, but drank quite fever- 
 ishly two cups of the delightful, fragrant tea, which car- 
 ried off the headache instantaneously, and refreshed her 
 wonderfully. After which they returned to the parlor, 
 and the new boarder was formally introduced to each one 
 present separately. 
 
 14 Now, Miss Black, this completes our family group at 
 present," said Miss Lafonte, conducting her young charge 
 up to the grand piano, where the aforesaid young lady still 
 
The Exile. 
 
 133 
 
 sat, idly, dreamingly turning the leaves of a music-book, 
 and humming stanzas of French love songs. 
 
 " Irene, here is an addition to our family, and although 
 a rival in beauty, and perhaps in music, I trust you may 
 soon become fast friends — Miss Lila Black, Miss Irene 
 Burgoyne.'' 
 
 Haughtily the young lady raised her queenly head, lift- 
 ing her starry orbs to the fair, startled face of Lila, then, 
 with an involuntary interest, and preceptibly darkening 
 brow, she inclined her head in acknowledgement of the in- 
 troduction, saying coldly : 
 
 " I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Black, 
 and trust that we may become friends." 
 
 But the tone was cold, the mouth scornful that uttered 
 the affected pleasure which spoke the conventional lie. 
 That glance had shown her that this new comer was beauti- 
 ful, and a rival indeed. Irene Burgoyne was terribly jeal- 
 ous and fearful of a rival, and instantly a bitter dislike 
 was apparent in her heart — a decided enmity sown there, 
 which promised to grow and flourish into a fervent, destruc- 
 tive hatred. 
 
 And Lila stood for a moment petrified with surprise, 
 then recollecting herself, flushed hotly as she said in 
 answer to the youug lady : 
 
 "I am also happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Bur- 
 goyne," but the lie is greater, perhaps, this time. 
 
 a This is Irene Burgoyne, his cousin, the girl whom he 
 loves, and who will be his wife," were the swift, poignant 
 arrows which darted through her brain and struck with a 
 sharp pain into the jealous heart. Poor, doomed child of a 
 cruel, mysterious fate ! fleeing from one evil and plunged 
 headlong into a greater, more poignant, dangerous one. 
 This uncontrolled thing called fate, what is it that should 
 cause these two to meet? Ah! cruel, relentless, subtle 
 power, who can fathom thy mysterious dealings with the 
 doomed children of earth ! 
 
 Yain would it be for me to attempt delineating the 
 thoughts and feelings of the unhappy Lila, as she tossed 
 9 
 
134 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 restlessly upon her sleepless couch that night, burdened 
 with all her anguish. Self-exiled from home, alone in a 
 strange city, with no way clear to her confused mind how 
 she could ever earn the needed six dollars with which to 
 pay her weekly board, besides other requisite expenses, and 
 now, to crown it all, she has been led by an unseen power 
 to the very house where dwells her fortunate rival, the girl 
 whom she had held in such bitter hatred, without knowing 
 her. Xow to meet and mingle with her seemed indeed a 
 terrible evil to the miserable, home-sick child. 
 
 '•'What is it that has brought me here to her very pres- 
 ence, the one that will enjoy the love I crave," is the sad. 
 painful refrain of the wretched Lila, as she restlessly tosses 
 upon her pillow, the night dragging slowly, wearily on. 
 The morning found her ill, burning with fever and racked 
 with pain. The mental anguish, excited strain upon her 
 nervous system, and the unusual physical fatigue to which 
 she had been subjected, was more than one of her delicate 
 organization could withstand, and long before night she 
 became delirious, and was pronounced by the physician 
 called, as being very ill and threatened with brain fever, 
 and in which serious malady it terminated before that night 
 was spent. Day after day, Lila tossed and raved upon her 
 sick bed. Every attention was paid her. 
 
 A skillful physician, was in attendance, and an experi- 
 enced nurse waited upon her day and night, and it seemed 
 hard to know which would gain the ascendency — earthly 
 skill or grim death. For days she seemed to hover on the 
 brink of eternity. The crisis came and passed, and the poor, 
 desolate waif was spared yet longer on earth, to suffer 
 and endure, to sin and to be sinned against, to pay out the 
 penalty to its bitter dregs ; a just God has decreed that 
 "the child shall bear the iniquity of the parents.'' To be 
 tempted, slandered, persecuted, wronged and ruined. We 
 should not dare to question a holy, wrathful God, nor 
 should we dare to blame him for his dealings with his own. 
 But to our short sighted vision, how can we forbear from 
 saying, would that she had died just then ; that her yet 
 
The Exile. 135 
 
 guiltless soul could have fled its earthly tenement before it 
 was sered, soured and darkened ; before it had drank the 
 bitter cup of woe, sin and crime reserved for her in the 
 then not distant future ; would that she could have laid 
 down her burden of imaginary sorrow, sadness and care 
 ere she found out, to her own bitter cost, the stern, cruel, 
 relentless reality of life meted out for the desolate victim 
 of fate. 
 
 Five weeks after her arrival at Mrs. Henderson's, Lila 
 found to her dismay that she was penniless and just con- 
 valesent from her recent serious illness, frail as some deli- 
 cate hot-house plant ejected from its native sphere, seem- 
 ingly ready to perish at the slightest blast, burdened with 
 debt and utterly inadequate to the slightest exertion. The 
 first stern awakening of her precarious situation came one 
 week after she arose from her sick bed, when at breakfast 
 three heavy bills were sent up on the waiter containing the 
 dainty bit of food with which her fastidious appetite was 
 satisfied — one for four weeks' board, the others for the 
 physician's and nurse's exorbitant fees. Alarmed and ap- 
 palled, the trembling girl searched out her purse, but found 
 to her horror that she had only sufficient to liquidate half 
 of what was marked against her. 
 
 Long she sat that morning pondering her alarming situa- 
 tion. "What must she do?" but echo only answered, "what 
 must she do V She knew that she was unable to make any 
 effort, as yet, at self-sustenance ; and yet she dimly understood 
 that she could not lie there idle and sick on the hands of 
 strangers. Something must be done, and in her dilemma her 
 thoughts turned upon her small stock of jewelry, and she 
 felt, even if disposed of, it would not meet the demand 
 pressing upon her then. Taking out her small jewelry box, 
 the girl counted the few rings, two pair of ear-drops, three 
 simple gold pins and the chain and cross, the only thing of 
 any value which she owned, and in itself not a trifle of 
 what she needed. Suddenly a flush passed over her pale, 
 wan cheeks ; a sad, wild, excited look came into her large, 
 sad eyes, as they caught the glitter of a diamond ; the truth 
 
i 3 6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 of its appearance there in her case, and a guilty thought 
 darled like a lightning flasli across her almost distracted 
 mind. In the hurrj and excitement of her leaving home, 
 and in collecting her few jewels together that morning, she 
 had put a diamond pin belonging to Charlotte, which the 
 latter had loaned her to wear at Masie's wedding, in the 
 case with her jewelry ; and now, in her hour of desperation 
 and utter helplessness, the temptation came with over- 
 whelming force to use it as a means of escape from her em- 
 barrassment. She knew it would be stealing. She knew 
 how highly Charlotte valued it; not only that it formed an 
 important part to a set, but it was valued as a sacred heir- 
 loom of the past glory and wealth of the Graham family. 
 But the girl pondering it, felt that it was her only salva- 
 tion, and the more she thought on it the stronger grew the 
 temptation, until finally she yielded, trying to pacify the 
 still, small voice within, that in the future she would re- 
 deem and return it to its owner. 
 
 With this determination, she sent for Miss Lafonte, and 
 laying her case before that lady, matters were soon arranged 
 satisfactorily to both parties, Mrs. Lafonte carrying off 
 what money Lila had, also the handsome Maltese cross and 
 the diamond pin, which was of much more value than Lila 
 knew, promising as a return, to pay her three bills, and 
 giyeherahome for an indefinite period, keeping the jewels 
 as security until she was able to pay her back and thus re- 
 deem them. And so it was settled, and Lila, although with 
 many twinges of conscience from what she had done, went 
 to bed that night with a certain feeling of relief that she 
 had a temporary home with no immediate need of exertion. 
 Her naturally dreamy, indolent disposition was satisfied, 
 and the days came and went, health and strength returning 
 slowly but surely. Yet she made no effort to obtain em- 
 ployment, putting off the dreaded ordeal as something of 
 the future. Hour after hour she would sit alone in her sol- 
 itary attic, reading or thinking, going down stairs very sel- 
 dom, only to her meals, and sometimes from the urgent 
 persuasion of Miss Lafonte, she would come down of an 
 
The Exile. 
 
 137 
 
 -evening in the parlor and favor the company with some of 
 her rare musical talent, but remained ever shy of her fel- 
 low-boarders, and especially so towards Miss Burgoyne, 
 whose disdain and secret dislike for the sad, beautiful girl 
 seemed to increase daily, and increased in fervency as did 
 Lila's hatred and jealousy for this, her fortunate rival. 
 
 Several weeks glided by thus, when a change came to 
 the dreamy girl's life. One evening, just on to twilight, 
 she sat before the piano, playing and singing a touching, 
 dreamily passionate solo, and as she sat there » attired in 
 white, she looked exquisitely lovely, and yet touchingly 
 simple and child-like. Since her illness, Lila was even more 
 lovely than before, her complexion being purer and more 
 distinctly tinted; her eyes seemingly brighter and bluer; the 
 cheek more rounded, with the delicate tint of returning 
 health coloring it into a peachy bloom, while the fair, abun- 
 dant hair, of which she was shorn during her late illness, 
 was replaced by numberless creamy-like little curls all over 
 her shapely head, and lying bewitchingly on her forehead 
 in cunning, infantile ringlets, producing a most lovely ef- 
 fect. Absorbed in the one passion of her life it made her eyes 
 to light, her cheeks to glow, transfiguring her from her 
 usual statue-like beauty into a creature of real, exquisite 
 loveliness. Her song ended, and thinking that Miss Bur- 
 goyne might want the piano, as she generally came down 
 about that time, she closed the bock and turning around was 
 somewhat amazed and deeply confused to find that a gen- 
 tleman was present who was regarding her with eyes full of 
 a rude admiration, while an expression of evident wonder 
 rested on his handsome, evil face. 
 
 The girl was about to escape from the room, but just 
 here Miss Lafonte entered and smilingly said, "I presume 
 an introduction is wanted. Miss Lila Black, Mr. Burgoyne, 
 the father of Irene." 
 
 The gentleman bowed profoundly as he said, "I am very 
 happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Black. For the last 
 half hour I have been a most charmed man, not only by the 
 magnificent performance of that sweetly rendered and fa- 
 
138 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 miliar song, nor by the exquisite beauty of the performer, 
 but chiefly from the striking resemblance between you and 
 a very beautiful young lady I knew and loved in the days 
 gone by." 
 
 "Your daughter, I presume, you are alluding to, Mr. 
 Burgoyne, for every one tells me that there is a great like- 
 ness existing between us, but which I fail to perceive," was 
 the rather cold reply of Lila, and Miss Lafonte laughingly 
 interposed, "I declare, Mr. Burgoyne, I never saw such a 
 striking likeness existing between two persons, utter stran- 
 gers to each other, too, that certainly exists between your 
 daughter and Miss Black. Neither of the young ladies will 
 acknowledge the fact, but it remains the same. JNo one 
 that has ever seen the two can fail to notice it." 
 
 "Yes, I see now that there is, as you say, a most decided 
 resemblance existing," the gentleman replied, looking with 
 bold eyes into the blushing face of the girl, "but Miss Black 
 is a great deal prettier than Irene. Their eyes and the 
 haughty toss of the head are the very same, but the resem- 
 blance to this other lady is even greater." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Burgoyne, we will discuss this question an- 
 other time. I want Miss Black's attention for a few min- 
 utes, and here is your lovely daughter to entertain you, so 
 you must excuse us for a short while." 
 
 And the lady seeing, doubtless, that her young charge 
 did not like Mr. Burgoyne's evident rudeness, drew Lila 
 away just as Miss Irene entered. The two girl's eyes — eyes 
 that were the very counterpart of each other — met, met in 
 a burning glance of secret hate and dislike. 
 
 "Miss Black, I have a message to deliver which I have 
 been trying all day to attend to,'' Miss Lafonte explained as 
 she drew Lila to a seat beside her in the next room. "A 
 very dear friend of mine has two little girls who are quite 
 musical in their taste, and their father is very anxious to 
 place them under competent instruction. I was telling him 
 about you and of your desire to obtain some music scholars, 
 and he requested that you should call to see or else commu- 
 nicate with him on the subject. He is a young widower 
 
The Exile. 
 
 139 
 
 and very wealthy, and I know that if he heard you play 
 once he would employ you instantly at your own price. I 
 would advise you, as a friend, not to let the chance slip, for 
 you know, dear, that your diamond pin is waiting to be re- 
 deemed, and I think you need clothes dreadfully." 
 
 "Yes, 1 know I do," Lila replied, a flush of shame dye- 
 ing her cheek for a moment, "and I will very gladly accept 
 the charge of instructing the little girls. Where can I see 
 the gentleman?" 
 
 " I will give you his card and you can call on him, which 
 I think best — so that you can make arrangements at once. 
 You will have to call at his residence to give the lessons, 
 but no impropriety can attach itself to that circumstance; 
 for his mother lives with him, having the charge of his 
 home and children; and there is yet another scholar which 
 I am pretty certain you could obtain ; Mr. Adair, whom 
 you met here the other evening, was quite delighted with 
 your performance at the piano, and I know that if he was 
 aware of your willingness to take scholars he would employ 
 your services at once for his young sister. He is a bache- 
 lor, you know, and a great admirer of Miss Burgoyne, and 
 perhaps as she is out of his reach, he might transfer his ad- 
 miration in another direction. He would be a good catch, 
 Miss Lila, for he is in a flourishing business and has a beau- 
 tiful home ; but leaving this probability out, 1 think it 
 would be a happy change for you to And something to 
 employ your time, and take your thoughts more from 
 yourself. Bat, as usual, I am wanted; I hear sister calling. 
 Think of what I propose, dear, and give me an answer in 
 the morning," and without further parley the busy little 
 lady was off like a flash. 
 
 And Lila, in accordance with the wishes of Miss Laf onte, 
 and her suddenly awakened mind as to her needs, thought 
 of the proposition, and before she slept that night had 
 concluded to accept the situations if they could be obtained, 
 it is true, against her inclination, but urged on by the neces- 
 sity of her condition, and the faint hopcof trying to redeem 
 her sister's diamond pin. 
 
140 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 The next morning Miss Lafonte accompanied the rather 
 fearful and timid Lila to make application for the now 
 ardently desired position as instructress of music, and in 
 both cases was duly employed — and later in the same day 
 she received the addition of two other scholars — the little 
 daughters of a lady boarding at Mrs. Henderson's. And 
 now with work before her, Lila began a new era in her life's 
 history. The long summer days came and went, and con- 
 trary to her expectations, Lila rather enjoyed this new 
 phase in her life. She found it very pleasant calling at the 
 handsome residence of Mr. Mordaunt and spending an hour 
 each day instructing the two bright, apt little scholars; then 
 twice a week making a call at the beautiful home of Mr. 
 Adair, teaching the pretty, chatty and apt little Miss Adele 
 her music lessons, and being taught herself how to look 
 more brightly upon life by the gay spirited little miss. 
 Then in the early afternoon she would give the little Misses 
 Marsden their lessons, and she was free for the rest of the 
 day, being enlivened and refreshed from her exercises in 
 the open air, and the 3ontactand society of the young, and 
 with the new and thrilling consciousness of being able to 
 earn her own livelihood. 
 
 Every evening she was down in the parlor now ; her face 
 brighter and lovelier from the feeling of independence ; her 
 manner more cheerful, and her dress more attractive, from 
 different little feminine fineries she had added to her scant 
 wardrobe from her first earnings. 
 
 Mr. Burgoyne, polished, gentlemanly and fascinating in 
 manner, seemed to take a great fancy to the lovely exile, 
 every evening being devoted in his attentions to her ; and 
 although feeling a secret dislike and fear of him, Lila al- 
 lowed, and with smiling lips would encourage, him to linger 
 about her, listening to his tales of travel and adventure 
 with well pretended interest. Then, when released from 
 his hated presence, she would shake off the uncomfortable 
 fear which seemed to possess her, murmuring with a fierce 
 glitter in her eye : *" Oh, how I hate him ! but I will en- 
 dure it for the sake of teasing her; how angrily her eyes 
 
The Exile. 
 
 141 
 
 flash when she, the haughty creature, sees her father ap- 
 proach the poor music teacher ! but I am glad that I have 
 found a way to tease and vex her, the hateful up-start!" 
 
 Thus matters glided on for weeks, when one night Horace 
 Burgoyne, asking her to walk out on the moonlit piazza, 
 startled and surprised her with the demand that she would 
 become his wife, and fly with him to France. 
 
 "Business of an imperative nature calls me at once to 
 that gay, delightful land of song and story," he added ; 
 u but I can not go, sweet girl, without you accompany me 
 as my darlings treasured bride.'' 
 
 Lila shrank from him in horror, and when she would have 
 gone in, refusing utterly to listen even to his words which 
 insulted and frightened her, he detained her forcibly, con- 
 tinuing : 
 
 "I will not take this cold refusal, Miss Lila. Give me 
 some hope ; I can not and will not give you up so easily. 
 I love you, adorable creature ; and tell me you will be 
 mine." 
 
 The girl laughed scornfully as she replied, ;< I thought 
 you were a gentleman at least, Mr. Burgoyne. Again I de- 
 mand that you let me go in ; your words insult me, and I 
 will not listen to another syllable.'' 
 
 But, all unheeded, he still held her hand in an iron grasp, 
 and went on : " But you must listen to me, and not cast me 
 off so coldly. I am rich, Miss Lila, and you are lonely, 
 poor, and so frail and lovely to battle with life. Why not 
 become my wife, and a dazzling life of splendor, ease and 
 gaiety will be your portion in the gay city of Paris. I sail 
 for that port in two weeks, and can not go alone. Irene 
 loves her Louis too much to leave him here and go with 
 her lonely, widowed father, so I must seek me a wife." 
 
 "Mr. Burgoyne, I will not listen to this nonsense; let me 
 go," and, with a scream, the affrighted girl burst from his 
 grasp and made a rush for the door, almost throwing Miss 
 Irene prostrate as she ran in and up to her room, quivering 
 and crying out in her fear and utter dismay : u I never had 
 an idea that it would come to this ; I thought him such a 
 
142 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 polished, kind gentleman. Am I fated to be persecuted by 
 old men ? Fleeing from one, here I am met by another. 
 Oh ! my God, protect me !" 
 
 The next morning Lila rose from her restless couch much 
 later than usual , and fearing to meet her last evening's tor- 
 mentor, she did not wait on breakfast, but went out to her 
 daily task. That day seemed an unusually trying one to 
 the poor girl. Miss Adair was contrary, and the little 
 Misses Mordaunt idle and refractory. She had some little 
 purchases to make, and therefore it was rather late when, 
 tired and disheartened, she reached home. 
 
 Miss Lafonte met her with a decided change of manner, 
 her usual pleasant "good evening" being very cool and 
 constrained, remarking, coldly : " I am very sorry, Miss 
 Black, that I have cause to be disappointed in you. I 
 thought you a really modest, respectable girl ; but it seems 
 that yon have been acting very improperly of late, and I 
 find out, to my dismay, that you are ruining the reputation 
 of our house, and sister begs that you will immediately 
 leave and find another home. Miss Burgoyne and several 
 other ladies threaten to leave us if you remain ; so please 
 oblige me by trying to find some shelter before night, for 
 I really cannot allow you to stay under this roof another 
 night. Miss Burgoyne and her father are very particular ; 
 and as young Mr. Montaine will be down next week to 
 spend his vacation with his betrothed, it will be most dis- 
 tressing for us to lose three such profitable boarders in the 
 dull season ; so again I beg that you will leave immediately, 
 for your presence seems to endanger the reputation of our 
 house. 1 think we are clear ; if there is a balance rest as- 
 sured that it is in your favor. We find that the diamond 
 pin is not so valuable as we thought at first, still will let it 
 pass. We will not dispose of it, but keep it, so .that at any 
 time you wish to redeem it, you can do so. I will now 
 wish you good-bye, and beg that you will favor us by an 
 early departure." And, without waiting for an explana- 
 tion or any excuse, the lady, in high displeasure, swept up 
 the stairs. 
 
The Exile. 
 
 143 
 
 Poor Lila! po)r doomed girl! the blow, all unexpected, 
 pierced her to the heart. Anger, hatred, mortification and 
 insulted pride raged madly within her heart, as she slowly 
 dragged her weary steps up the long flight of stairs leading 
 to her attic. With flushed cheek, flashing eyes, her slight 
 form quivering with the intensity of her outraged feelings, 
 she paced the floor like an enraged panther, soliloquizing : 
 
 " Great God ! what lies, what slander, what injustice ! 
 And it is her work. She is afraid that I will expose her 
 father's villainy. My very heart-strings seem ready to 
 break from the intensity of my hatred for that proud girl ; 
 but I will see her yet suffer for this vile cruelty. What 
 have I ever done to provoke her spite and ill-will ? It is I 
 that have cause to hate her; but why should she hate me 
 and try to ruin my fair fame ? Oh ! how I hate her ! Yes, 
 hate her ! and I will live to revenge this wrong. I will yet 
 make that girl feel my hate ; I will make her suffer ten 
 pangs for every one that I suffer now. Wait, Irene Bur- 
 goyne ; wait and see what I can and will do. I will hum- 
 ble your pride ; I will humiliate you ; just wait." And 
 with this final decision she grew calmer, but it was the 
 calm of a heart-sick, soul-despairing, quiet misery. 
 
 With a face pallid as death, a face set and determined, 
 from the reckless, hopeless pain at her heart, she went 
 about her few preparations, silently, deliberately, packing 
 her few effects into as small a compass as was possible ; then 
 putting the bundle (for she had no trunk) upon the bed, 
 she replaced her hat upon her head, and left the room in 
 search for another shelter. On her way down stairs she 
 met Irene Bnrgoyne ; their eyes, blazing with the scornful 
 hate each felt for the other, met — met in a defiant glance 
 of antagonistic ill-will, 
 
 " Fiend ! " hissed the maligned Lila, in a hoarse whisper, 
 her face white from the inward fury of her soul, "go and 
 enjoy your vile, slanderous lie ! but, as you live, I will 
 make you suffer for it, and that soon. Next week, after 
 Mr. Montaine's arrival, I will call and ask him to clear my 
 pure, unblemished fame. He knows me and my spotless 
 
144 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 character well. He saved me once, and will do so again. 
 Liar, until then adieu." 
 
 And mad with her wild fury, the slandered girl left the 
 house, leaving Irene Burgoyne pale, frightened — nay, ter- 
 ror stricken. Jealousy of the great and exquisite beauty 
 of the lovely music-teacher had aroused all the hate of the 
 beautiful girl. Expecting her lover to spend his summer 
 vacation with her, she lived in a perpetual fear to have him 
 come and meet so lovely a creature as Lila Black; for al- 
 though vain of her own beauty, she had to acknowledge to 
 herself that Lila was a rival to be feared. It was her one 
 all-consuming thought and desire to get the lovely girl out 
 of the way before the arrival of her cousin, and as the 
 time approached so near, wilder grew the desire. 
 
 The night before, seeing her father conduct Lila out on 
 the piazza, and a little later, seeing the poor, frightened 
 child rush in with a scream, had given her sufficient ground 
 upon which to build a cunning, yet cruel, vile fabrication, 
 detrimental to the fair fame of the lonely, unprotected 
 girl, who should have enlisted her womanly sympathies in- 
 stead of this rancorous ill-will, and with a guilty, yet joy- 
 ous feeling of relief, she had heard Miss Lafonte dismiss 
 this hated rival from the house ; but this guilty sensation 
 of relief is now quickly turned into fear and dismay, by 
 those few words from the outraged Lila ; and with a heart 
 almost still from its sudden fear, she murmurs : 
 
 " What have I done ? She knows Louis well, and will 
 come next week to ask and claim his protection." Then, 
 with a start and sudden pallor, she clasped her hands to- 
 gether in mortal terror. The thought had come, perhaps 
 this was her rival — the girl which the anonymous writer 
 had warned her was stealing the affections and loyalty of 
 her lover from herself. A sickening fear took possession 
 of her heart, and a feeling of dread threw its pall over her 
 senses as she thought now of her lover's arrival ; and it 
 would be hard to tell which was the most miserable of the 
 two girls that night — the slandered or the slanderer. 
 
 The next morning at the breakfast table, from which 
 
The Exile. 
 
 145 
 
 meal Mr. Burgoyne was unexpectedly absent, two notes 
 were brought in — one for Miss Lafonte, the other for Miss 
 Burgoyne. The former merely an order to send by the 
 bearer the bundle belonging to Miss Lila Black, the latter, 
 a few lines, running thus : 
 
 My Dear Irene — Your dear father and myself will be married soon. He 
 has gone off on a little trip this morning, and on his return the happy- 
 event will take place ,and I trust, as your mother, you will love me a little 
 better than when you knew me as Lila Black. I trust that you are en- 
 joying your successful work amazingly. Adieu, for awhile, my dear. 
 
 Yours in sweet revenge, Lila. 
 
 Irene Burgoyne did not faint ; but, as I feel inadequate 
 to the task of describing her sensation of horror just at 
 that moment, I will leave it to the imagination of the 
 reader to conceive it, if possible. 
 
 Judgment comes swiftly sometimes. The biter is often 
 bit, and so it happened now. The vile, thoughtless deed 
 of cruelty inflicted by Irene Burgoyne, a deed monstrous 
 in its enormity, for it was the first vile breath of slander 
 that started on its downward course to perdition a soul, 
 then innocent and unoffending, was turned back upon her 
 with retaliating keenness. Scarcely had she drained this 
 cup of horror to its dregs, when a bitter, scathing disap- 
 pointment befell her. Louis Montaine wrote that he would 
 
 not come to C that summer, but intended to visit 
 
 Virginia instead, and would defer his visit to his cousin 
 until Christmas. But I will lea^e the envied, beautiful Miss 
 Burgoyne with her company of pain, disappointment, guilt 
 and poignant, regretful misery, and turn to other and, I 
 would wish, less painful scenes. 
 
THE VISIT TO VIRGINIA. 
 
 Ton ly wanted one week more of study, and then holi- 
 day for two months. Such a thought would bring joy 
 to almost any student's heart, but it did not seem to do 
 so in this instance. As the shades of twilight began to 
 gather, softening the glare of a June day into a refreshing 
 shadow. Louis Montaine sat in a nook of the breezy south 
 piazza. Books were scattered about him, while an open 
 one lay on hi? knee ; but, the deepening gloom preventing 
 him from studying further, he had given himself up to 
 thinking, it seemed. An hour before he had received a 
 most importunate invitation from Arthur Howard to ac- 
 company him and his sister on a visit to their grandfather 
 in Virginia. Refusing at first, he had been almost per- 
 suaded, by his friend's glowing account of the beauty and 
 unlimited resources for pleasure and rare fun that his grand- 
 father's country seat afforded, to accept the invitation, and 
 was left until the next morning to decide whether he would 
 go or not, and sitting there now he was trying to decide it. 
 
 He knew that he had promised Irene Burgoyne to spend 
 his rapidly approaching vacation in Charleston with her. 
 Only that morning he had received a letter from her urging 
 him to come at the earliest opportunity, and stating that 
 she had engaged him delightful apartments and pleasant 
 board at Mrs. Henderson's, and that everything was in 
 readiness for his comfort and entertainment. 
 
 The young man ? s heart shrank in shuddering abhorrence 
 at the thought of this faithfully promised visit, and yet his 
 high sense of honor forbade him breaking that promise. 
 Since the conversation he had accidentally overheard on 
 the cars, his feelings and views towards his lovely betrothed 
 were materially changed. He could not experience any 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 147 
 
 delight or satisfaction when thinking now of his beautiful 
 cousin. The knowledge that she was the daughter of a 
 gambler and bad man, and that by a marriage with her he 
 would disgrace his proud name, haunted him ever. The 
 polish and glitter of the surface was gone, and in its flight 
 had revealed the true, unvarnished material, which made 
 him shrink and shudder at the very thought of the position 
 in which he was, by his self-will and disobedience, placed. 
 His better nature telling him the child was innocent, no 
 matter what her parent was, and his word plighted on the 
 honor of his name, forbade him indulging in the thought 
 of breaking his engagement. He felt that he could not 
 draw back, yet he wished it something of the future. He 
 could not make his mind willing to go back to his home so 
 soon. The associations were too sad and depressing, the 
 heat and close atmosphere of the city too debilitating. He 
 tried to excuse himself that these were weighty reasons for 
 his not being willing to fulfill his promise. But the truth he 
 could not, try as he would, hide from himself was the gall- 
 ing thought of being seen in public with his betrothed and 
 becoming the subject of unpleasant remarks, casting stig- 
 matizing reflections upon the pure, stainless name his fa- 
 ther had left in his sacred keeping, and more than all the 
 chiefest of his objections is, the utter, soul-abhorring re- 
 pugnance he experienced at the thought of meeting Horace 
 Burgoyne, a man he had never seen since his baby days, a 
 man he knew to have been the enemy of his beloved, lost 
 father, a man whom he instinctively feared and loathed, 
 and the thought of meeting and associating with this man, 
 who he knew was in Charleston with his daughter, caused 
 him now to throw all his scruples to the winds and to brave 
 the consequences. And with this final decision, he mental- 
 ly soliloquized : "Come what will, I intend to go with How- 
 ard next week to Virginia instead of going down to Charles- 
 ton." But ah, Louis Montaine, you would not acknowledge, 
 even to your own heart, that the vision of a bright-faced, 
 brown-eyed girl had much to do with your decision. 
 
 With a jump and glad shout of joy Arthur Howard heard 
 
148 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 the decision the next day, and as he entered his home that 
 afternoon he canght his sister around, and waltzing her 
 across the floor cried, "Hurrah, sis! Louis will go with us ! 
 How do you like the arrangement C 
 
 "Rather him than Mr. Hayne, but I thought Harry 
 would go." 
 
 "Pshaw ! I do not want Hal. He is too quiet. I want 
 some one with whom I can have fun. So, young lady, just 
 be satisfied; he is not going for your company, remember." 
 
 Nothing more was said then, but a few minutes later, up 
 in her room, Charlotte Howard hid her glowing face in her 
 hands, and the whispered cry of her heart said: 
 
 "I am so glad !*' Had she forgotten ? 
 
 * * * # * * 
 
 The long looked-for vacation was at hand, and with it 
 came the needed recreation for the tired students. Harry 
 and Florence Bentley left for a few weeks visit to an un- 
 cle's plantation home, some twenty miles away, while Ar- 
 thur Howard, his sister and Louis Montaine. with bright an- 
 ticipations 01 expected enjoyment, started the same time 
 for Virginia. Two gay, merry and satisfied, the other, al- 
 though with some twinges of conscience for acting so con- 
 trary to his promise, and wondering how Irene would take 
 it, felt glad notwithstanding, for he had dreaded the visit 
 to his changed home, and felt this a sort of undefined re- 
 prieve from the weeks of uncomfortable experience and 
 sad memories he had thought inevitable. Louis Montaine 
 was not now the blind, infatuated lover of a few months 
 back; his passionace adoration for his boyish charmer was 
 dispelled forever, and he now only tried to reconcile him- 
 self to his fate, but intended to make his marriage with 
 Irene Burgoyne something of the future, and as Arthur 
 Howard had suggested, "to take it out while he was vet 
 free." 
 
 At the close of the second day of traveling, the merry 
 but thoroughly tired travellers arrived at their destination. 
 The family coach, drawn by a handsome pair of grays, be- 
 hind which sat the liveried footman, and in front the 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 149 
 
 faithful old silver-haired coachman, "Daddy Simon," met 
 them at the depot, and after an hour of pleasant driving, en- 
 tertaining and delightful from the picturesque beauty of 
 the country through which they passed, lighted up as it 
 were into exceeding magnificence under the yellow glow of 
 the glorious summer sunset, the party came in sight of the 
 old Graham's homestead, a homestead that had sheltered 
 generations back. There was nothing grand or imposing 
 in its exterior. A rambling old mansion, gray and weather- 
 beaten, resembling an old English manor ; its grounds were 
 extensive and picturesquely laid out, abounding in shrub- 
 beries, trees and flowers of every variety, refreshingly 
 adorned by fountains, shooting up their chrystal spray and 
 gracefully flowing over into the basins below, cooling the 
 atmosphere around and delighting the many merry-hearted 
 birds. A large aquarium and aviary, stocked with various 
 and interesting specimens of the finny and feathery creation, 
 stood on either side of the broad, gray stone stairs, leading 
 from the spacious stone piazza down to the broad avenue 
 hedged in by thickly intertwined evergreens of box and ivy. 
 At the south of the house there was a delightful summer 
 retreat, a sort of grotto, quite deep below the surface of the 
 earth, two flights of steps leading down into it. An Indian 
 matting was upon the brick floor, pretty pictures and rural 
 ornaments swung from the prettily papered walls, fancy 
 Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling, easy chairs and 
 dainty white-robed lounges were arranged tastefully about 
 it, tables, well-stocked with books, magazines, papers and 
 songs, and many interesting curiosities, filled every availa- 
 ble space, while the presence of the guitar and violin sug- 
 gested the good old-time music, and on the whole, it was a 
 most delightful and inviting spot ; a cool, cunning retreat, 
 wherein to escape from the mid-day heat and spend a nice 
 time generally through the long summer days. How re- 
 freshing it was to run down there, away from the bustle 
 and confusion of the house, to take a quiet nap or to lounge 
 and read, indulge in some sweet, touching song, or else to 
 have a pleasant tete a-tete with some particular one, away 
 10 
 
15° 
 
 TJu Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 from the inquisitive ear or eye of others. Many a court- 
 ship had gone on successfully within its seclusion with the 
 young ladies of the family and their lovers for generations 
 past, and gave promise to afford the same to generations to 
 come. Yea, although not modern and elegant, Graham 
 Hall was a goodly place where one could enjoy a pleasant, 
 jolly time, and knowing this, is it a marvel that Arthur 
 Howard and his sister were ever so eager to pay this annual 
 summer visit i 
 
 With a shout and enthusiastic hurrah ! Arthur sprang 
 from the carriage before it had entered the gate, and Char- 
 lotte, with a beaming face and gleeful clap of her little 
 hands, exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Montaine! Iam so delighted that we are here 
 at last. 1 dearly love this old place and wish mamma could be 
 induced to come here to live, as grandpapa wishes that she 
 should, but she will not consent to leave the home to which 
 papa brought her when a bride. I always find enjoyment 
 and fun for every minute of each day I stay and hope that 
 you will do the same.'" 
 
 "Thank you. Unquestionably I shall, for its appearance 
 gives the promise of the rarest enjoyment and the most 
 wholesome recreation.*' was the smiling reply, as Louis Mon- 
 taine gallantly assisted her to alight. ''And, Miss Char- 
 lotte." he went on with a laugh, "here comes the welcome 
 of which you were just now speaking." 
 
 And the cry of "Cousin Lottie ! Cousin Lottie !" was now 
 heard, as three little girls came bounding forward with wild 
 delight. Without heeding the presence of a stranger they 
 threw their arms about the neck of the laughing Charlotte, 
 nearly smothering her by their warm, extravagant caresses. 
 
 "Mr. Montaine. these are my cousins, Isabel, Mabel, and 
 Lucy Reed," explained Charlotte, as soon as she had mana- 
 ged t-o extricate herself. U I trust, cousins, that you will all 
 endeavor to render Mr. Montaine's visit very pleasant." 
 
 "Indeed we shall try." replied the eldest, a tall girl of 
 fourteen, with jetty hair and eyes. "Yet, I think that we 
 will, of necessity, have to confer that pleasant task on 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 grandfather and cousin Arthur, for the latter young gen- 
 tleman has just informed me that Mr. Montaine was his 
 exclusive company. But rest assured, Mr. Montaine, that 
 you are very welcome to Graham Hall, and I hope that 
 you will find your visit very pleasant.'' 
 
 "I thank you, Miss Reed, for your cordial welcome, and 
 know that I shall enjoy myself at such a delightful home. 
 Do not feel called upon to amuse me, I intend to make 
 myself perfectly at home, and get a full share of fun and 
 enjoyment." 
 
 Arthur stood with his grandfather and aunt, at the open 
 door, and as they came up both received a most hearty, 
 whole-souled welcome. "I am highly pleased, and grati- 
 fied, Mr. Montaine, to make your acquaintance,'* said Mr. 
 Graham, with a warm shake of the hand, "my boy here 
 has often mentioned you, in his letters, and seems to be 
 very fond of you, therefore I am very decidedly glad that 
 he induced you to accompany him on this visit, for I want 
 him to be satisfied, and sincerely trust that both of you 
 will make yourselves at home, and enjoy this visit to old 
 Graham Hall thoroughly, and scrape up all the fun and 
 health from the place. Make a noise; 1 like it, and so 
 does Maud, and these little Tomboys. And you, Miss 
 Sunbeam, turn in and enjoy yourself. There is a canoe, a 
 yacht, fishing apparatus, hounds, horses, vehicles, guns, 
 books, music, sketch books, and a hundred spots of beauty ' 
 to sketch in them. Something to suit every taste and 
 every palate. So go in for it now, and do not go home and 
 say, I do not know whether I have enjoyed myself or not. 
 I want you to say I just had a splendid time, through and 
 through. - Go off now to your rooms, and wash away the 
 dust of South Carolina, and come down real Yirginians, 
 with an appetite for a Dixie supper.'' 
 
 Laughing merrily at the old gentleman's jovial manner 
 and cordial welcome, the visitors were led off, but in less 
 than an hour afterward met again at the supper table, 
 where a delicious, appetizing meal was spread out in the 
 flush style of ''auld lang syne,'' and with animated con- 
 
152 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 versation, gay laughter, and merry, good natured repartee 
 it was dispensed, the recent travelers doing full justice to 
 the tempting viands before them. 
 
 Left to themselves (for is careless youth ever tired?) the 
 young people would have stayed up much later, but Mr. 
 Graham insisted that they should retire early, and before 
 ten they were sent off to bed, after many plans for the 
 morrow's entertainment were laid. 
 
 Louis and Arthur sat for a while in the deep, old-fash- 
 ioned boudoir, chatting. "The outlook proclaims enjoy- 
 ment,'' the former remarked musingly, "and I am not sorry 
 that I concluded to come. It is truly a superb place and 
 delightful country. What magnificent scenery in moon- 
 light. You are the heir to this property, I presume ?" 
 
 "Oh no, I only wish that I was, and then 1 would not 
 have to fear for the future as I do now. You know my 
 grandfather has two sons — both married — with large fami- 
 lies and many sons in both cases. Then there is Aunt 
 Maud, with three fatherless daughters, Aunt Lucy is single; 
 so I do not see any chance for me. My mother had her 
 portion at her marriage ; 60 I have no claim here. This 
 piece of property descends to the eldest son; so at grand- 
 father's death it will belong to Uncle Charles, who is in 
 Europe now ; then at his death his son will become master. 
 , So the only benefit which I will derive from it is a visit 
 here occasionally. I am one of the lean kind — poor a& 
 Job's turkey, as the saying goes, through the injudicious 
 management of some one." 
 
 " Well, do not let that worry you, Howard; I often wish 
 that I was as rich as what you are, being blessed with 
 such inestimable wealth as a dear mother and sweet, ami- 
 able sister. What is there in money, land and houses that 
 can compensate one for the loss of these? Ah ! Arthur, if 
 you knew what it was to be deprived of these dear relatives 
 you would realize how far you are blessed above me. I 
 am heir to immense wealth, but with it all, I could not 
 purchase the sweet, disinterested love that is bestowed upoji 
 you — a mother's, aunt's and sister's love — I would lavish 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 153 
 
 all I possess to gain such a sister as you have. Just to 
 think how isolated 1 stand — having neither father, mother, 
 sister nor brother — not even an aunt or a grandparent; 
 you cannot imagine how lonely I am at times, and what 
 intense longings fill my soul for some near, fond relative." 
 
 u Yes, I know that I am blessed with dear, fond ones, 
 Louis, and I do appreciate it; but sometimes I get dis- 
 heartened and long for more wealth — not so much for 
 myself as for those I love; yet it never frets me ; as long as 
 I have my present health and strength I do not despair of 
 getting on all right. But, Louis, if you are denied rela- 
 tives you have warm, sincere friends, and in a few years 
 will have better than all — a wife and domestic bliss, and 
 perhaps dear little ones to love you for yourself.'' 
 
 The deep, passionate gray eyes flashed a sudden gleam of 
 hope, then with a doubtful shake of his head he said sadly, 
 44 1 am not so sure of that ; fashionable wives do not care 
 for domestic bliss, and banish the little ones off to the 
 nursery under the care of a hireling ; but away with this 
 morbidness and to bed, so as to get a good night's rest, with 
 the hope of a jolly time to-morrow." 
 
 And the morrow came and glided by delightfully ; other 
 days came and went on with smooth, swift, almost imper- 
 ceptible wings gliding into weeks, and now nearly seven 
 weeks have fled into, the returnless past, and still the visitors 
 linger. It has been one uninterrupted holiday of the rarest 
 enjoyment to these young lives ; exquisitely but danger- 
 ously so to two. Who can paint through the inefficacious 
 medium of the pen the different but always delightful 
 modes of pleasure devised by these summer idlers ? The 
 long drives through the beautiful, luxurious, country ; the 
 morning rambles and the midway rest beneath some broad- 
 limbed, shady tree, or else in the summer-house lounging 
 in cool linen and sacques and easy slippers, with pleasant 
 objects around and no outside jars to break in upon this 
 day-dream-like nook ; sometimes one reading aloud while 
 ^he others listened, or else chatted and laughed cosily in 
 pairs. Again some would read and others nap, the latter 
 
154 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 generally grandfather and Arthur, Aunt Maud carrying 
 the little ones off for a sleep, and Isabel drawing or ab- 
 sorbed in some thrilling tale — often, far too often," Louis 
 Montaine and Charlotte would be left to amuse each other ; 
 then at night out on the broad, moon-lit piazza, grand- 
 father playing the violin with untiring good nature, they 
 would waltz, polka, and sometimes have a genuine reei. 
 And who would be the lingerers, the last to tire % As long 
 as the indulgent violinist would play Louis Montaine, with 
 Charlotte invariably as his partner, would waltz and polka 
 up and down the long, broad piazza with his arm thrown 
 about her, his handsome head bent forward as, with smiling 
 lip and bright eyes, he would listen to her merry, ringing 
 voice, or else chat gaily into her pleased ear, quite oblivi- 
 ous to those around. 
 
 Grandfather, Aunt Maud, and even quiet Isabel, looked 
 on, and not understanding how matters stood' cast signifi- 
 cant glances at each other ; and the brother he saw, looked 
 on, and pondered, at times a wild wish springing up in his 
 heart, if it could only be so that Louis Montaine was free 
 to love and woo his darling little sister ; then casting such a 
 thought aside he would worry and trouble for his sister's 
 happiness. What if she should love him? she was so 
 young, he so handsome and fascinating, perhaps he had 
 done wrong in bringing them thus together. Again and 
 again he determined to warn her, but on second thought 
 put it off, thinking, oh ! it cannot mean any harm ; Louis 
 knows what he is about and surely Lottie will have better 
 sense than to bestow her affection where it is not wanted. 
 
 And so the time had sped on delightfully enough to 
 some, if not wholly so to the brother, who secretly could 
 not help feeling a little uneasy at times to stand by and 
 witness the marked attentions bestowed upon his young 
 sister, by one whom he felt was not privileged to do so on 
 account of his engagement to his cousin. 
 
 It was a delicious afternoon in the latter part of Septem- 
 ber, and the time of their return was rapidly approaching. 
 The weather was cool, the atmosphere balmy and delight- 
 
• 
 
 The Visit to Virginia. . 155 
 
 ful, freighted with the sweet perfume of the many flowers 
 that bloomed about Graham Hall. Charlotte and Isabel 
 were in the summer-house resting, after quite a fatiguing 
 morning's jaunt out into the country, and a farewell call to 
 a distant neighbor ; the latter, comfortable ensconced in a 
 large rocker, was reading a freshly cut magazine, while the 
 former, seated at a table, was idly and rather restlessly turn- 
 ing the leaves of a large sketch book, her thoughts seem- 
 ingly away from her occupation. As she sat there she 
 looked very pretty, the perfect embodiment of health and 
 youthful grace. The large, soft, hazel eyes, clear sparkling, 
 animated ; her complexion pure, the warm Southern blood 
 glowing with a warm heat in the well rounded cheek and 
 full ripe lips. Attired in a becomingly made dress of faint 
 blue lawn, her sunny hair clustering in newly curled ring- 
 lets overy the snowy, plump neck, she looked, if not strict- 
 ly beautiful, a very rare, sweet and lovable girl. Presently 
 a soft flush overspreads the bright face, the cherry mouth 
 parts in a smile, disclosing the pearliest of teeth, as her eyes 
 fall upon some sketch seemingly pleasing to her recollec- 
 tion. There is a pause now in the hitherto impetuous in- 
 difference with which she had been turning the leaves, and 
 she leans over it full of a pleased, dreamy curiosity, the 
 smile and flush still lingering. 
 
 Suddenly a deeper flush diffused itself over cheek 
 and brow, and, bending her head lower, she hurriedly 
 turns the pleasing leaf of the book. A clear, musical whistle 
 had fallen upon her ear, and the next moment, with a merry 
 laugh, Louis Montaine springs lightly down the stairs, ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 u I was correct in supposing that I would find some one 
 down here, and the very one I wanted, too," he added, in 
 an aside to Charlotte, as he drew a chair up to the table 
 where she was sitting, and continued, " Arthur has settled 
 himself in the hammock for a nap, inviting me to do the 
 same, but that is something I can never do — sleep away a 
 p#rt of the day — so feeling lonesome, and having nothing 
 particular to turn my attention to, I have come on a hunt 
 
1 5 6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 to find some one with whom to talk. So. am I welcome 
 here, young ladies ? " 
 
 "lean not stay to welcome von. Mr. Montaine." said 
 Isabel, rising, "for I have just remembered that I have a 
 duty to perform before tea : Lottie will, I know. There is 
 some very racy matter in this magazine, perhaps yon would 
 like to look over it,'' and placing it on the table as she 
 spoke, she ran up the stairs, throwing back a mischievous, 
 significant glance at her cousin. 
 
 u Well, and I am welcomed by you. Miss Lottie \ " 
 
 u Certainly, Mr. Montaine, you are very welcome. I 
 was just wishing for some company, for Belle did not 
 seem inclined to talk, and I did not feel inclined to read. v 
 
 "lam glad I sought you out then, for I have a matter of 
 some importance to decide, and want your opinion upon 
 the subject. I received a letter last night, the first in the 
 last six weeks, from my cousin, Irene. It seems that she 
 has been quite ill, but is now convalescent. The physician 
 has ordered that she must leave the city at once. So she 
 writes to say that she will come up and spend a while at 
 
 S . and that I must make arrangements at some hotel 
 
 or boarding house for her accommodation, and then come 
 down to C and escort her thither. That is her com- 
 mand. But. thinking it over all day. I am yet undecided 
 how to act. She writes that the city is very unhealthy this 
 summer, and that it is reported that the yellow fever has 
 made its appearance in some portions of it, which makes 
 her so anxious to get away. But, do you not think it would 
 be highly imprudent for me to risk my health by doing as 
 she wishes ! I think it would be very dangerous for me 
 to leave this pure, healthy atmosphere, and enter so sud- 
 denly into a vitiated one ; but I do not know how to act. 
 Can not you decide it for me \ " 
 
 Charlotte Howard sat still as he spoke, the warm color 
 fading from her face perceptibly, and now said, laugh- 
 ing — but it seemed a forced laugh : 
 
 " I would rather not take the responsibility of deciding 
 for you, Mr. Montaine. Certainly I can not but say that I 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 157 
 
 think it would be very imprudent for any one to visit a 
 sickly city this time of the year ; but do not let me influ- 
 ence you one way or the other. You had better decide the 
 question for yourself." 
 
 " My inference is that you think I had better not go. 
 Now, am I not correct ? " 
 
 " Now, Mr. Montaine, I did not tell you that you had 
 better not go, but that you had better decide for yourself," 
 was the laughing contradiction. 
 
 " But, Miss Charlotte, I would rather not go. I know 
 yon must think it very strange of me to be so loth in visit- 
 ing my native city and such an interesting personage as a 
 man's betrothed wife should be. But, making you a confi- 
 dante, I will tell you my reason why I object to going. Mr. 
 Burgoyne is in Charleston, and although he is 'Rene's 
 father, he can never be a friend of mine, so 1 do not care 
 to meet him ; and an I intend to keep out of his way as 
 
 long as possible, I would rather not visit C just now. 
 
 So will you not welcome me here a few days longer % " 
 
 Charlotte looked surprised, but the voice was low and 
 •sweet that said : "Why, certainly, Mr. Montaine, we will 
 welcome you as long as you are willing to stay, and I know 
 that Arthur would not allow you to go until the end of the 
 visit, for it would be a great break and damper to our last 
 days of pleasure to have our party broken; but I hope that 
 you will not let what I say influence you in any way, for I 
 do not want to be blamed." 
 
 " Certainly not," was the laughing response. " I do not 
 want to go, so can only blame myself ; but do not say any 
 more about it. I will remain the allotted time, although it 
 may occasion a quarrel between 'Rene and myself. It is a 
 great deal pleasanter here. Come, let us look over some of 
 these sketches and recall the delightful hours we have spent 
 during the past delicious weeks. Ah ! me, what a pity 
 that they are drawing to a close." 
 
 Drawing his chair nearer, he reopened the book which 
 Charlotte had been looking over just before his entrance, 
 and began to turn to the different pencil sketches it con- 
 
i 5 S 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 tained, and with which these two had principally filled it 
 while out on their rambles, drives and sails, laughing over 
 some, calling to remembrance some little pleasantry of oth- 
 ers, or conversing on the loveliness which the several pic- 
 tures portrayed, they were very agreeably whiling away the 
 time, until coming to one, an elaborate pencil sketch of a 
 romantic and most beautiful dell, when he said, with a sud- 
 den flush and shy glance into his companion's face: "Do 
 you remember the afternoon and this lovely little dell I 
 sketched on this leaf, Miss Lottie ?" 
 
 The eyes of the girl drooped, and with a deepening color 
 she replied, very lowly : "Yes, I remember it with regret, 
 and you should with shame for yourself.'' 
 
 "I should i Well, I do not,"" he replied, a hotter flush 
 mounting his brow, and a strange, passionate light gleaming 
 from the dark, gray eyes that now rested almost defiantly 
 upon the blushing face of the fair girl. "You might think 
 that I felt and acted wrong, dishonorably," he went on 
 passionately, "but i could not help it. Miss Lottie. I am 
 human, a lonely human being craving a pure, true, honest 
 heart to love and to love me, and because I offered you a- 
 slight caress, asked the boon of a kiss, did 1 act so terribly 
 dishonorable that I should recall it with shame ? Well, if 
 you think so. I do not. for it was nothing premeditated. I 
 simply could not help it ; my true feelings asserted their 
 rights. A little piece of human weakness you deem it, I 
 suppose, and I should recall it with shame. I might just 
 as well blame you for being so sweet, so enchanting, to fire 
 my heart to what you blame me for doing. I could not 
 help it, and therefore should not be held accountable for 
 what I said and did no more than you could help tempting me 
 by your sweetness and attractiveness. I forgot every thing 
 at that moment but the one fact that I loved you, and I 
 will tell you so again, whether you like to hear it or not. I 
 love you, Charlotte Howard, and would to God that I had 
 not been such a blind fool as to fetter myself to one that can 
 never fill the longings of my soul and make me happy! 
 Yes. I know you think me a monster, but why did you 
 make me love you ?" 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 159 
 
 "Stop, Mr. Montaine, please, you must not talk thus," 
 and Charlotte Howard, deathly pale and trembling in every 
 fibre, shrank away from him, speaking in a tone she vainly 
 strove to make calm, "remember, yourself; this is not 
 right, and can do no good ; I am very sorry, but am sure 
 that I did not try to take your allegiance from where it is 
 due. I never dreamed that there would be any trouble 
 between ue ; I liked you so much, and felt w r e were such 
 good friends. I am still your friend, but you must keep 
 within the bounds of that friendship, or else we must not 
 meet again as of old. Oh! I am so sorry that this has hap- 
 pened. It has all been so pleasant." 
 
 He had paced the room agitatedly as she spoke ; but 
 now, as she broke down, he stood by her again. She lifted 
 her eyes, humid with pity, regret, love and affright, all 
 mingled ; they met, and fell in confusion under his pas- 
 sionate gaze, and, with a burning blush diffusing itself over 
 her face, she burst into a passion of tears. One instant 
 the young man hesitated, pale, but with a strange light in 
 his intense eyes, then stooping down, he drew the weeping, 
 resisting girl to his heart in a wild, passionate embrace, 
 murmuring : " Charlotte, my only darling, forgive me, but 
 God only knows how truly and strongly I love you! I 
 thought I loved 'Rene Burgoyne, but I know now that I 
 never did. She only bewitched me by her great beauty 
 and subtle fascinations ; for I know now that my heart 
 was untouched until you stole it from me. Tell me, Char- 
 lotte Howard, that you do not hate and scorn, but that you 
 love me, unworthy as I am." 
 
 Still weeping, the girl struggled to free herself, but hold- 
 ing her close he continued, in a hoarse, intense whisper, "I 
 can not, will not free you, until you satisfy me one way or 
 the other. Do you love or do you scorn me? But by all 
 that you hold dear, Charlotte Howard, speak truly!" 
 
 "I scorn you !" she cried, now bursting from his relaxed 
 hold, and without casting another glance at him, the be- 
 wildered but thoroughly wretched girl ran up the stairs, 
 escaping unseen to her room, where, with a wild passion of 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 grief, she threw herself on the bed, moaning in. accents of 
 bitter agony : <; I have told a lie, a falsehood, black and 
 shameful, for I do not scorn but love him, wildly, passion- 
 ately, strongly love him, and he says that he loves me. 
 What a heaven of happiness those words mean! Yet I drove 
 him away with a lie, and now only a yawning gulf of mis- 
 ery is before me ; but dear Lord, forgive mu, I did not dare 
 to tell him the truth. Pardon the lie. dear Jesus, and give 
 me strength to bear this heavy trial. I love him so dearly, 
 and he says that he loves me, and yet there is an impass- 
 able gulf between us." 
 
 Fresh sobs convulsed the troubled girl, as she thus 
 moaned out her sorrow to the unsympathizing, inanimate 
 objects around. The excessive grief, so new to her hitherto 
 sunlit life, made her quite sick, and she did not go down 
 to supper. 
 
 Poor, bright, sweet Lottie Howard ! The exquisitely 
 happy dream of the past seven weeks has fled forever, and 
 in a hopeless, painful despair she passes the lonely, sleepless 
 hours of the night, striving to quiet the aching pain at her 
 heart, and smother down the wild longings and poignant 
 regret throbbing within her breast, but most of all, sorrow- 
 ing for him whom she had so rudely and falsely repulsed. 
 The bright dream that had hovered over her life faded with 
 a sudden waft into the stern, bitter reality of the fact, and 
 like one waking from a delicious dream, she knows now 
 that this was but a dream. She has been asleep, but that 
 sweet oblivion to reality is over. Bitter tears wet her pil- 
 low, while stifled sob& convulsively surged up from her 
 sorrowing young heart, blighted in its first youthful hopes 
 and sweet emotions. 
 
 "And I must hide it from human eyes, bear its bitterness 
 alone," she cried, burying her face in her pillow as though 
 to shut out the painful thought, and woo sleep to the 
 throbbing brain and aching heart. But all in vain ; the 
 gray dawn of the next day found her sti 1 ! awake, and with 
 a stifled sob and shuddering sigh, she sprang from the bed to 
 begin her future life's work ; to live out the lie she had 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 i6r 
 
 littered ; to suffer alone, hiding from mortal eye the gnaw- 
 ing pain at her heart, and appear happy and bright, while 
 within all was pain and gloom. 
 
 Scarcely had she donned her clothes, and as she was try- 
 ing to wash the traces of sorrow away from her face, her 
 brother called her from the door : "Here, Lottie, take this; 
 I am off on a deer-hunt to-day. Louis seems to have had 
 a very sudden call home, for he left last night on the mid- 
 night train, and begged that 1 would give you this note. 
 It looks funny, Lottie, that he has to seal his good-bye to 
 you thus securely ; better mind what you are about;" and 
 with this untimely warning the brother left, saying that he 
 would not be back until night. 
 
 Still and pale the girl had received the note of farewell 
 from her brother's hand, and locking the door she sat down 
 to read it. With nervous fingers she broke the seal, and 
 with feelings difficult to describe read its contents. Oth- 
 ers that may have some time through their life experienced 
 a blighted happiness and seen the banishment of some 
 dreamy, delicious hope waft away from your vision like a 
 vapory mist before the glare of the sun, might understand 
 the moan of pain that came up from the rent heart after 
 perusing the following : 
 
 Dear Miss Charlotte — Sweet, bright girl, can you forgive my con- 
 duct this afternoon ? I know that I merited your scorn, but I was mad 
 and forgot to hold to my intention, for I never intended to have let you 
 known how passionately I loved you. A true, deep, enduring love you 
 have won from me by your sweet, guileless, affectionate ways, your free, 
 merry laugh, sunny smile and ever kindly, true words. Although I have 
 no right to say it, again and for the last time, I repeat that 1 love you 
 only, and if I was only free to woo, nothing would stand in my way but 
 that I would win you for my bride, or die in the struggle. Knowing 
 this, will you not forgive and try to forget my seemingly rude conduct, 
 and meet me a few days hence as friendly as of yore ? And I promise to 
 try never to repeat the offense again, by word or look. These halcyon 
 weeks have been very sweet ; but at those stinging words, "I scorn you!" 
 I have, alas! awakened to my true position. As the betrothed husband 
 of another, how could I help receiving the scorn of one so true, loyal and 
 conscientious as yourself ? I can blame no one but myself for being thus 
 fettered by irksome, galling chains. I have awakened, when too late, to 
 the misery of knowing that I am the plighted husband to a girl that I do 
 not and can never love truly, honestly. I was led, heart-blinded, to the 
 belief that I loved her by her great personal beauty and beguiling fasci- 
 
162 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 nations, but it is too late to bewail it now. Your scorn is my bitter 
 punisbment. I bave been disloyal to my promised vows, but will en- 
 deavor to be true to myself henceforth by being true to the girl that is 
 my promised bride. Happiness is banished from my life forever, but, 
 Miss Charlotte, forgive and keep my folly, my weakness inviolably, and 
 let me beg you to assist me to keep ray resolve, and if by word or look I 
 swerve, by coldness and the scorn you feel, drive me back to my duty, my 
 honor and fidelity. I leave at once a place that has been too deliciously 
 sweet but disastrously dangerous to my dream of happiness. So, sweet 
 girl, farewell for a season, and do not meet me with a look of scorn in 
 those bonny eyes that, alas, I have learned to love too well, and give me 
 your trust and friendship, if nothing more can ever be mine. 
 
 Despairingly yours, L. E,. Montaine. 
 
 With a calin, cold despair this hitherto careless child 
 read these lines, then folding it up she put it away among 
 the collection of souvenirs of this brightly, joyously begun 
 but sadly blighted visit, then sitting down wearily she bur- 
 ied her face in her hands, and there she sat, motionless and 
 silent, a keen agony settling around her heart, driving out 
 all the warmth and joy and making all life and nature joy- 
 less and dreary. 
 
 After a little while she arose and bravely, determinedly 
 crushing back the bitter misery of her soul, went on prepar- 
 ing to go down to breakfast. Clasping her little hands to- 
 gether she raised her pained eyes toward Heaven, and kneel- 
 ing at the foot of the bed besought aid, strength and com- 
 fort from the great God, through her loving, pitying Sav- 
 ior; then, with the usual smile forced over the sunny face, 
 she appeared at the table her very self. And thus bravely 
 begun, her new life was hid so securely within her own 
 breast that no one but the all-seeing eye of God knew of 
 the terrible change that had taken place within her heart. 
 Four days later the brother and sister left for home, more 
 than satisfied with their visit, and doubtless both wishing 
 that it had ended more happily, for although unable to get 
 any satisfaction from his sister, Arthur Howard knew that 
 the sudden departure of Louis Montaine had affected her 
 happiness, and with a throb of pain he suspected that his 
 young sister had fallen a victim to the winning, fascinating 
 Louis Montaine. 
 
 During those days, full of the bustle of farewell jaunts 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 163 
 
 packing and leave-takings, Charlotte seemed outwardly the 
 iiame merry girl that had come, a very sunbeam, among 
 them a few weeks before,but the restless eye, the often deep- 
 drawn sigh, and the fits and starts of merriment, told more 
 than words and gloom would have done to the brother that 
 his darling young sister's soul was burdened with some se- 
 cret but keen anguish, the agony of a hopeless love, he 
 felt sure, and a care of which he had never dreamed as the 
 result of this joyously anticipated visit, weighed heavily on 
 his usually gay, light spirit. 
 
 "Here we are, Lottie, and I am glad to get back home 
 again. Now for kissing and hugging ! See who will get 
 the first from mamma and Aunt Lucy ! You may, if I can 
 from some one else." 
 
 Charlotte smiled brightly, but oh ! what a wild throb and 
 sickening pain seized her heart as her eyes fell upon one 
 she had not expected to see there, and who she thought 
 would be visiting his betrothed. 
 
 Louis Montaine and Harry Bentley stood at the depot 
 awaiting their arrival, the latter coming forward very 
 eagerly, as though they had been separated for years, his 
 glance lingering long and tenderly on her, whose face alone 
 had the power to make the quiet, placid heart pulsate with 
 a quicker throb, and cause a glow to come to the pale, calm 
 face. 
 
 " Louis and Arthur have received all the benefit from 
 the Virginia climate, Miss Lottie. You do not look as well 
 as when you left.'' 
 
 "You cannot judge yet, Harry,'' she replied, with a laugh 
 and sudden flush. "I am very much fatigued from the 
 long travel. Wait until to-morrow, and then pass your 
 opinion." 
 
 Louis Montaine held out his hand, a slight confusion was 
 perceptible in his manner, a blush burned upon his cheek, as 
 with a quick, searching glance he looked into her face. 
 Quietly, but turning a shade paler, she put her hand into 
 his without raising her eyes. It was held one moment in a 
 
164 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 firm, close pressure, then releasing it, he turned hastily 
 away, leaving the gratified Harry to assist her into the car- 
 riage. He sprang in after her with Arthur, and during the 
 short drive home chatted and laughed as gaily as of yore, 
 his behavior completely disarming any suspicions the 
 brother had felt, and making the seemingly gay Charlotte 
 rather uncomfortable, with a rising doubt as to the sincerity 
 of his avowal to her a few days before. 
 
 That night when alone, after the joy of meeting her 
 loved ones had subsided, the pain came back with redoubled 
 intensity ; keener, perhaps, because of the thought that he 
 might not care for her as she had believed from his passion- 
 ate words and ardent manner. Could it be possible that 
 Louis Montaine had been trying to flirt with her \ The 
 thought caused the deep blush to burn in her cheek, her 
 eye to flash with a gleam unused to its soft, kindly, gentle 
 lustre, and for the moment she felt glad of her treatment 
 of his advance ; but the feeling was only momentary. 
 She thought of her own shamming, and could not think ill 
 of one in whom she had only seen goodness, earnestness 
 and truth. Long that night Charlotte sat in her little room 
 thinking over the past few weeks and the duty of her 
 future life. Florence had whispered to her, on parting a 
 few minutes ago, that Irene Burgoyne was at the hotel, 
 having arrived the day before, and now, thinking of this 
 trial that was before her, she felt too weak to battle against 
 it unaided, and with her usual childlike simplicity and 
 trust in God, she now kneels at His throne imploring for 
 strength to cast out this hopeless love from her heart. 
 
 " Please, dear Lord, give me the power to cast out 
 this love, and the strength to meet her and see them to- 
 gether without sinning. Please, merciful, pitying Father, 
 help me to do right, and make me happy again, and, like 
 Aunt Lucy, I will devote my life to the good of others." 
 
 Dear, trusting child of faith, thy prayer 1- heard and 
 registered in Heaven, and in His good time, it shall be 
 answered. Thy bleeding heart asks not for revenge ; no 
 bitterness or evil lurks in thy heart against the one you 
 
The Visit to Virginia. 
 
 I6 S 
 
 deem allotted to the portion that you feel would be bliss. 
 No, but with a resigned will you yield to her superior 
 claims, and only plead for strength to see them happy to- 
 gether, without causing you to sin. You ask for power to 
 give him up to her, and to learn you to sacrifice a woman's 
 holiest, dearest rights for the good of others. 
 
 The heart that has learned to love at one shrine, she 
 feels it impossible to transfer to another, and her pure, open 
 nature would shrink from giving that heart, emptied of its 
 richest treasure, to one who might love and cherish her 
 fondly, but yet would lack happiness in not possessing the 
 love of his wife. "No, no, I will remain .Charlotte Howard 
 until life's end," is her mental decision, "before I would per- 
 jure my soul at God's altar, for I can not, can not ever love 
 another." 
 
 Ah ! well for us is it that we cannot lift off the veil of 
 futurity and know what is laid out in store for us — that we 
 can not see the furnace that is to cleanse the dross from the 
 pure, true metal. 
 
 With a balm from her faith in the efficacy of prayer, 
 Charlotte Howard, no longer a child, but a suddenly ma- 
 tured woman, rose from her knees and retired to rest. 
 Exhausted nature gave away, and soon sleep closes the 
 weary eyes and steals the troubled consciousness away to 
 unrealistic visions, until the dawn of another day comes all 
 too soon, bringing her back to reality, to begin a sterner life, 
 to wage a hard warfare. But will she come off victorious ? 
 We will let the future answer that. 
 11 
 
MRS. HAYES. 
 
 he next morning Airs. Bentley and Masie had called 
 upon the young stranger, but not being accustomed 
 to receive visitors at the un fashionably early hour of 
 ten, she had to be excused, as she was in deshabille and had 
 not breakfasted yet. 
 
 "Who would think of any one calling at such an early 
 hour,'' was the spiteful remark of the yonng lady, as she 
 threw the cards aside, "but it is just my luck, they will tell 
 Louis that I would nofr see them, or something worse, per- 
 haps, and I promised him last night to make a favorable 
 impression, n and in great chagrin Irene Bur^oyne sum- 
 moned her maid and began an elaborate toilet. 
 
 "Why could they not have waited until now." was her 
 mental comment, as she seated herself in the parlor, be- 
 tween twelve and one. "but I presume they will not call 
 again this morning, so I might as well settle myself to read. 
 Oh ! it is terribly dull up here," and acting upon the latter 
 conclusion, she took out a magazine, and making herself 
 stylishly comfortable, began a story to while away the lone- 
 ly, idle hours. The entrancing tale soon engaged her wan- 
 dering thoughts, and her four o'clock dinner was brought 
 up before she laid ii aside. For the next hour she wandered 
 aimlessly about, looking out of the window on the quiet 
 street with its few pedestrians and fewer vehicles, striking 
 a few notes upon the open piano, talking with her canary, 
 or else frolicking aimlessly with her pink-eyed poodle, 
 glancing at herself in the mirror, arranging her curls, ad- 
 justing her jewelry, and putting a few more touches to her 
 already rich toilet. 
 
 " Oh ! I hope that Louis will come this evening : it is so 
 dull,' 7 she sighs, going the seventh time to the window. 
 
Airs. Hayes. 
 
 I67 
 
 This time more life is seen, the street being enlivened by 
 many promenaders and equestrians, and the lip of the fas- 
 tidious beauty curls scornfully as she notices the almost 
 universal plain, unpretending attire of the ladies and misses. 
 Suddenly a flush overspreads her face, and her eye lights 
 with .interest as she gazes searchingly for the loved and 
 familiar form of her cousin among a group of some 
 twenty students, who, laughing, whistling and hurrahing, 
 came in sight ; but he is not one, and she watches them go 
 by, happy in their innocent but rather boisterous mirth, 
 with bitterness in her heart, complaint on her tongue, for 
 she turns away murmuring : " And my elegant, refined, 
 gentlemanly Louis has to associate with those rowdies ! 
 What ever possessed Uncle Edwin to send his son to this 
 country college? I noticed that he is not near so polished 
 and gentle as when he came up here, and it is nothing but 
 sheer contrariness in Louis when he says that he likes it, 
 and has a pleasant, happy home." 
 
 Seating herself at the piano, she tried to drown her 
 chagrin in a gay, spirited song, but it did not seem to satisfy 
 her, and rising, she was in the act of going back to her 
 solace, novel reading, when a knock at the door broke in 
 upon the monotony very agreeably, it seemed, for she threw 
 the book aside and eagerly ran to the summons, and with 
 evident pleasure received the cards sent up. "'Florence 
 M. Bentley,' ' Charlotte Howard,' " read the young lady. 
 
 "Ask the ladies to walk up, Sylvy, and show them in my 
 private parlor," was the command, as she ran into her 
 chamber. Surveying herself in the mirror, she saturated 
 her lace handkerchief with cologne, and arranging her dress, 
 she, with evident satisfaction at her appearance, gracefully 
 entered her parlor just as the two girls were shown in. 
 
 Florence Bentley looked shy and timid as she gazed upon 
 the tall, queenly girl, so stylishly arrayed in rustling silk 
 and glittering jewels, and perfumed with sweet foreign 
 odors ; but with her characteristic ease and pleasing self- 
 possession, Charlotte advanced, and cordially extending her 
 hand, said : 
 
i68 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "Hearing of your recent arrival in our town, Miss Bur- 
 goyne, nay dear friend, Florence Bentley," with a graceful 
 inclination of her head toward that individual, " and myself 
 have presumed to call and make your acquaintance and 
 welcome you cordially to our town. Please allow me to 
 introduce myself, Lottie Howard." 
 
 " I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Howard, 
 and Miss Bentley, and I thank you for calling and your 
 cordial expressions of welcome,*' was the smiling reply, as 
 she shook the hand of the former and kissing the other, 
 rather impulsively continued, "Do not wonder, dear, at my 
 meeting you as an old friend, for I feel that you are one ; 
 being the daughter of my dear Louis' guardian, and also 
 the namesake of his mother, my Aunt Florence. I hope 
 we will soon be dear friends. Come, sit down on the sofa, 
 and you also, Miss Howard. Let me take your hats, and 
 please make yourself at home ; I am so delighted that you 
 called, for I was lonely, and it is just ever so delicious to 
 feel that I will soon have at least two sweet, dear, dear 
 friends. You must stay to tea, for Louis will call, and can 
 very readily escort you home," and with this rather gush- 
 ing " put on " welcome, she ran off to her chamber with the 
 visitors' hats, declaring, laughingly, as she returned, that 
 they should not get them back until she was willing to let 
 them go. 
 
 " And now we can chat. I intend to take your hearts by 
 storm ; so surrender without too long a siege. I was so sor- 
 ry, Miss Bentley, but no, I will not style you so, you look too 
 small and sweet for such formality, may I not call you by 
 your sweet name ? Florence is fraught with delicious mem- 
 ories for me. I once spent a delightful season at sunny and 
 storied Florence." 
 
 "Certainly, Miss Burgoyne, I will be very happy to have 
 you call me Florence. I do not like to be styled Miss 
 Bentley." 
 
 " I joyfully accept your grant, sweet Florence, and will 
 it be presuming to request the same of you, Miss Howard ? 
 You look as though any one could love you very dearly. I 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 will remain here this winter, as papa has gone to Europe, 
 and I desire to make some close friendships, for if I do not, 
 I know that I will find it very drear and lonely." 
 
 "I will be perfectly willing that you call me Charlotte or 
 Lottie, for like Florence, I do not enjoy formality. When 
 any one calls me Miss Howard it makes me feel strangely, 
 for I am so accustomed to hearing every body call me Lot- 
 tie." 
 
 " Lottie is very sweet, but Florence, dear, as I was about 
 to tell you, but digressed, I was so sorry that I could not see 
 your mother and Mrs. Waters this morning. I was excess- 
 ively fatigued from traveling and had not left my chamber 
 when they called, so please excuse me to them. I will call 
 to-morrow especially to apologize. I trust they did not 
 feel hurt." 
 
 Florence assuring her that her mother and sister were not 
 offended, Miss Irene continued, " Your sister? You have a 
 married sister, then ? I was not aware of the fact. If 
 agreeable I will call on both you and Lottie to-morrow after- 
 noon, as Friday Louis promised to drive me out to see the 
 sights, and then on Saturday I will have to rest all day from 
 the fatigue, but you are both students as yet, I believe, and 
 my visit may disturb you." 
 
 "Not at all, Miss Burgoyne. We generally study at night, 
 and shall be happy to have you call any afternoon, and you 
 know we are next door neighbors, so without inconvenience 
 to yourself you can readily visit both at the same time." 
 
 " Ah ! that is really delightful ; but then, at the same 
 time, it is not so nice either, for I will always have to be 
 careful in not giving one more attention than the other. 
 Jealousy breaks some of the dearest friendships." 
 
 "Florence and I are never jealous of each other, so you 
 need not be afraid of any trouble like that." 
 
 "Well, you can not be human, then," was the laughing 
 rejoinder, and thus from one topic to another the three 
 girls soon became very sociable. Books, birds, pets, the 
 town and its inhabitants, the different modes of enjoyment, 
 and the College and its students, were brought forward and 
 
170 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 discussed very ably and lengthily until the fall afternoon, 
 beginning rapidly to wane, warned the visitors that it was 
 time to say good-bye, but Irene would not listen to their 
 going. " Please stay a little longer ; it is not dark yet for 
 an hour, and moreover I want Louis to call for you. I want 
 to see him for something very particularly this evening, 
 and now, in the meantime, let us have a little music." 
 
 Thus persuaded the girls lingered, listening to the gay, 
 operatic solos rendered by Miss Burgoyne, until it was quite 
 dark, and then of necessity for an escort they had to linger 
 yet longer. 
 
 " There is an urgent ring at the bell now,'' cried Irene, 
 a hope lighting up her lovely face ; "fome one has called 
 for you and I will be left alone." 
 
 But the fluttering heart fell, when instead of Louis 
 Montaine, Harry Bentley sent up his name with the in- 
 formation that he had called to see the young ladies home. 
 
 " I am going home with you then, Florence ; for I must 
 see Louis to-night," whispered Irene, as she conducted her 
 visitors to her chamber to don their hats. " I promise not 
 to disturb you nor the boys in your studies, but will 
 spend the evening with your mother ; am I welcome?'' 
 
 " Certainly ; you know that you will be welcome," was 
 the prompt, smiling reply, and hastily throwing a cloak 
 over her arm and donning a hat, Irene Burgoyne, with a 
 look that said '* he shall not outgeneral me," preceded her 
 visitors down stairs. 
 
 Harry stood in the hall, and with a sort of wonder gazed 
 upon the beautiful, stylish girl as she approached, acknowl- 
 edging the introduction with a profound, deferential bow. 
 
 " Mr. Bentley, you take charge of Miss Howard, and I 
 will escort this sweet little sister of yours," and laughingly 
 drawing the arm of Florence within hers, she led the way 
 out into the street. 
 
 " Well, Charlotte, what do you think of Louis's lady- 
 love," asked Harry as they got a little in advance. 
 
 "I think her very beautiful, Harry, but, to be candid, do 
 not like her much. Her manners are too studied and fawn- 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 171 
 
 ing, and I think she is very vain and deceitful," was the 
 emphatic reply. 
 
 " If Louis should ask you your opinion of his betrothed 
 would you be so frank as that ?" 
 
 " Certainly, that is my honest opinion of her, and if he 
 should ask it of me I could not do other wise than to give it ; 
 but I do not think he will require me to tell this disagree- 
 able truth." 
 
 "Florence seems to be very sociable and wonderfully taken 
 up with her. But she is beautiful, and quite a rival for 
 Miss Newton in dress and style, eh ?" 
 
 " Quite a rival," and a bitter ring was in the tone ; " but 
 her dress, although black, is a sad mockery for mourning. 
 I was almost horrified this afternoon when she told me her 
 mother had been dead only eight months ; and you know, 
 Louis's father died about three weeks before, and just to 
 see she is wearing silk-lace and jewelry. Oh! it made 
 me feel so badly." 
 
 " Yes, that is so, even with my ignorance about such 
 matters I did not take her to be in mourning. Oh ! well, 
 she will make a splendid wife for a rich man." 
 
 " Love at first sight, Harry ? Do not let her captivate 
 you like she has done Florence." 
 
 " Please give me credit for better sense than that, Miss 
 Lottie, I am not at all captivated by Louis's beauty, and it 
 does not seem that her coming has madt, him extra happy. 
 I expected to see him radiant, but instead he has been blue 
 and gloomy all day. He is strange that way of late, every 
 now and then a gloomy fit seizes him, and winds up with 
 a nervous headache. I left him now with one, and after 
 he persuaded me to call for you, went and laid down on the 
 lounge, and I hope that I will not be doomed to escort this 
 young queen home to-night." 
 
 "He is very subject to these headaches, I believe," quer- 
 ied Charlotte, her voice full of concern and sympathy 
 now. 
 
 "He will not acknowledge it, but I should judge that he 
 was ; for this is the second one he has had within the last 
 
172 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 few days. The doctor says that they are brought on from 
 mental excitement and worry, but I am sure I cannot see 
 what he has to worry him, unless he ftudies too hard." 
 
 Charlotte made no reply, but a sigh, deep and painful, 
 escaped her lips. She understood better than the speaker 
 what Louis Montaine's worry and mental trouble was, and 
 the secret left in her keeping was very painful. 
 
 Contrary to Harry's expectations, Louis Montaine was 
 down stairs, seemingly relieved of his headache when they 
 came in. He started involuntarily on seeing his cousin^ 
 while a sudden cloud overspread his face , but recovering 
 himself instantly, he came forward, introducing his cousin 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Bentley. 
 
 " Stay, Lottie, and drink tea with us, and then we can 
 walk home with Miss Irene to-night. You know how you 
 enjoy a moonlight walk." 
 
 " No, thank you, Harry ; I did not tell mamma that I 
 would stay out, and they will be waiting on me. So good 
 night all. Call soon, Miss Burgoyne." 
 
 "Stay, Miss Lottie, and enjoy the proposed walk later. I 
 will go in and tell your mother where you are," spoke 
 Louis Montaine, looking at the girl with an eager light 
 breaking over his face. 
 
 u Not to-night," she laughed. " Good night, Miss Bur- 
 goyne. .Remember your engagement to-morrow," and she 
 extended her hand to the young lady, who very cooly 
 shook it, throwing an ominous scowl at her cousin, who 
 did not fail to notice it, and with a wicked gleam in his 
 handsome eyes he said : 
 
 " As Harry has had the pleasure of escorting you this far, 
 please, Miss Charlottie, give me the pleasure of seeing you 
 safely home," and bowing, he offered his arm, which she 
 graciously accepted, and they moved away, much to the dis- 
 comfiture of Miss Irene. 
 
 They were gathered around the table when he came in,, 
 and in apology for his tardiness, he said, mischievously : 
 
 " Miss Lottie is so entertaining I could not get off one 
 moment earlier; but I will make up for lost time by being 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 173 
 
 very attentive to the wants of these young ladies. What 
 will you have, 'Rene, some of the chicken salad? 
 
 " No, thank you. Mr. Harry Bentley has attended to my 
 wants already." 
 
 The young man smiled at this retaliating thrust, but 
 wisely kept quiet, saying nothing more then to aggravate 
 the anger and jealousy he saw that he had aroused, but in- 
 stead endeavored to allay it by a lively good humor and 
 Watchful attention to her during the meal. And under his 
 bright and merry laughter the cloud soon vanished from 
 her face, and she became quite vivacious, trying her very 
 best to appear charming and sociable. 
 
 After supper the visitor was left to be entertained by 
 the minister and his quiet little wife, the others going oft 
 to study. 
 
 Just before ten she rose, looking rather bored and quiet- 
 ed down, and said, " I will run up to Florence's room and 
 bid her good bye, and let her direct me how to summon 
 my escort, for I think it high time to see about ^oing," and 
 acting out her words, she was soon with Florence ; but 
 summoning her escort she found not so easily accomplished. 
 Louis Montaine was just engaged on some study he could 
 not possibly leave until through with it, and Irene must 
 wait a half hour longer, so, at the suggestion of Florence, 
 the two girls went down stairs again. 
 
 "You have no piano?" Irene asked, with evident sur- 
 prise, looking around the unassuming but neat parlor. 
 
 "No, the melodeon is the only musical instrument we 
 have in the house. Sister Masie never cared for music, but 
 I am very fond of it. I am taking lessons regularly now, 
 both on the piano and melodeon. Lottie has a grand piano, 
 and I go in there very often to practice, and what do you 
 think, Louis has promised to give me one for my very own 
 at Christmas." 
 
 "Ah? he is very generous, I know," was the reply, the 
 tone tinged with the jealousy she felt. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, he is very generous ; he seems to delight in 
 making presents. He gave me this watch on my promo- 
 
174 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 tion at Easter," and as she spoke she drew from her belt a 
 pretty little enamelled gold watch, continuing, with a rip- 
 pling laugh, "saying that it would never do for a school 
 girl to be without time." 
 
 "Quite a handsome little affair," and Irene Burgoyne 
 looked strange. "Why, I feel really jealous of his attention 
 to your wants," and the smile she tried to force to her lips 
 died away quite a failure. 
 
 "Oh ! you must not be jealous of me, I will not inter- 
 fere with your claims," and she blushed prettily. "He 
 treats me as he would a sister, you know, and I often feel 
 as though he was my brother. We all like Louis very 
 muofa:." 
 
 "I have never found the person yet that does not," re- 
 plied the listener, with a hard laugh. "I fear Louis Mon- 
 taine is too much a social pet to make a good, true hus- 
 band." 
 
 Florence Bentley could not comprehend that. Her ideas 
 were that he would make a most devoted, kind and good 
 husband. A warm defense trembled on her lips, but fear- 
 ful of offending, she kept silent. 
 
 "You know," continued Irene, "we are engaged, and I 
 love him very dearly, so you must excuse me being so jeal- 
 ous. I fancy that 1 am the only one who has the right to 
 like him, but I see that I need not be afraid of you, if that 
 glittering ring tells a true tale." 
 
 Florence Bentley laughed happily, and frankly confessed 
 her engagement to "Lottie's brother." 
 
 "It cannot be possible, such a tiny little creature ?" 
 
 "But you know I will not be so tiny when we are mar- 
 ried," was the naive rejoinder. "He is at college yet, so it 
 will be many years that we have to wait." 
 
 "[ am sorry for you. Long engagements are wearying, 
 disgusting necessities ; but I am glad that I have found 
 some one to sympathize with me, and of whom I need not 
 be jealous. Louis coolly informed me last night that I 
 would have to wait on him four years longer, and pray what 
 is your probationary doom ?" 
 
Mrs. ffayes. 
 
 175 
 
 "Four or five years," was answered with a merry laugh, 
 "but I do not mind it, for I will not be ready myself until 
 then ; I like long engagements ; they are a good test of 
 each others love and constancy. If a man can wait on you 
 for five years, I do not think you need fear to trust him 
 after that, and moreover it is not right to get married too 
 hastily." 
 
 "Profound logic!" laughed Irene, "But I do not agree 
 with you. The sheer ennui of the thing is enough to kill 
 the deepest love. Certainly you will miss the pure, sweet, 
 ecstacy of marriage that one experiences after a short en- 
 gagement. A.s the years come and go, and you are still 
 found waiting, fettered and yet not married, you are too 
 thoroughly tired out to experience any sweet joy or thrill- 
 ing delight when your marriage actually takes place. Oh, 
 this waiting is horrid to me, 
 
 Sighing, dying, lying, frying ; 
 In the furnace of Love's fire ; 
 Creeping, sleeping, 
 Oh ! how slowly the hours retire !" 
 
 "I suppose you feel differently from me," said Florence, 
 looking wonderingly on the frowning, impatient girl. "I have 
 to study and assist mamma, and there is always so much to 
 divert my thoughts that it does not seem like waiting ; it is 
 only something pleasant the future has in store for me. I 
 commenced loving Arthur when I was a wee child and he 
 has called me sweetheart ever since I can remember. He 
 seems a part of my life, and yet I am not impatient for the 
 future. 1 enjoy the present, and when the future comes I 
 will still be enjoying the present." 
 
 " Well, yon are the perfect model of sweet patience, and 
 I only wish that you could instil some of it into my compo- 
 sition ; but here comes Mr. Louis, and I must pay good-bye. 
 Come often to see me, dear." 
 
 " Well, 'Rene, how do you like my country home and 
 guardian's family ?" inquired Louis Montaine as they got out 
 on the street. 
 
 " To give you a candid reply, Louis, I do not like them at 
 
176 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 all, and as for the parsonage, I can not see how you can en- 
 dure its dull discipline and plain, almost common, furnish- 
 ings, when you have been accustomed to a gay, delightful 
 freedom and elegant, chaste surroundings. Mrs. Bentley is 
 a real little fogy ; Mr. Bentley as inquisitive, prying and 
 licensed as ministers usually are ; Harry is too sainted for 
 me, and Florence is — well, the only one that I like." 
 
 " You are very ha^ty in your judgment and rather hasty 
 in returning Florence's visit. I wonder how they like you?'' 
 
 " It does not matter much,'' and the sound of choked 
 tears was in the tone, at the covert reproach his wo^ds con- 
 veyed. " I will not worry them much with my presence. 
 You think I judge hastily, but you do not know my provo- 
 cation. Why, Mr. Bentley said, if not in literal language, 
 plain enough for any one to understand his meaning, that it 
 was wrong in me coming up here ; maidenly reserve should 
 have forbidden it f that he did not approve of a young lady 
 running about without a chaperon. Oh ! he made me an- 
 gry!" 
 
 "Neither do I approve of it, 'Rene. You will make 
 your name a public by-word the way you are running 
 around, living alone at public hotels. I can not understand 
 what your father means by leaving you so much aJone and 
 unprotected. I do not like it that the girl who is to become 
 my wife should lay herself subject to the world's criti- 
 cism. You will have to be more careful how you aet,'Rene. 
 I have a proud name to uphold and could not marry any 
 one that is liable to have the slightest reflection thrown 
 upon her fair name. You must excuse me speaking so 
 plainly, but it is best always to say what you think." 
 
 u Yes, I know you are right, Louis. I did not consider 
 it any impropriety in coming up here, but felt it best to 
 come where I should have a rightful protector in you as my 
 cousin, if nothing more, for do you know that papa has 
 gone to Europe six weeks ago V 
 
 "No, I was not aware of it, yet I am not surprised, for I 
 advised him to go before he got into trouble. 'Rene, I 
 might as well tell you, if you do not know it already, that 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 177 
 
 it was your father who robbed you of your ring and other 
 jewelry. At my request it is not publicly known. The 
 detective I employed very quickly traced it to his door,and to 
 get the ring back I will have to pay for it. Of course it 
 has all been hushed up through my instrumentality, but 
 your father must stay away ; if he returns the prison is his 
 only home, I am afraid, for I cannot interfere in the law. 
 But I really thought that he would have provided you with 
 a good home and protection." 
 
 Irene Burgoyne's voice was low and tremulous as she re- 
 plied : u Yes, Louis, I heard that my father was guilty of 
 this two-fold, monstrous crime, that of robbing his child 
 and murdering his wife ; and the horrible discovery made 
 me very ill. I was delirious for weeks and nearly died, and 
 when I finally recovered he was gone, and I was glad, for 
 never, never again would 1 speak to him, and I only hope 
 that I may never see his guilty face more. He made ar- 
 rangements with Mrs. Henderson to board and take care of 
 me for an unlimited time ; but last week, receiving quite a 
 liberal remittance from him, and feeling the need of a 
 change of air and scenery, and wanting to see a certain 
 individual so dreadfully, I concluded to come up here and 
 spend awhile. Miss Lafonte came with me and saw that 
 every thing was right and proper. I have strictly private 
 apartments," and never go down to a meal or sit in the 
 public parlor. So where^is there any thing wrong in this 
 visit, Louis ? I thought you would have been glad to have 
 me come, but if I am not welcome I will send for Miss 
 Lafonte, and go back to town just as soon as I can." 
 
 "Oh ! no, stay, now that you are here — perhaps it is best 
 you are away from Charleston for the present ; I am very 
 much afraid unpleasant things are being whispered around. 
 I hope that you will like visiting the parsonage better 
 after awhile, but you must lay aside your city airs if you 
 desire to enjoy yourself ; when in Rome you must do as 
 Rome does. It is this adaptation to circumstances that makes 
 me get on so nicely, for I do really have a delightful home, 
 and am quitb pleased with my country life. How do you 
 like Miss Howard ?" 
 
178 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " She seems to be a very nice, pleasant girl, but some- 
 how I do not like her ; she is not very polished, and rather 
 too wild for her age.'' 
 
 " I thought so," and Louis Montaine laughed outright. 
 c< 1 like her and think she is a charming ^irl. You know 
 she is the rival that you made so much noise about last 
 summer, and whom you came up here to find out, so I 
 thought I had better tell you at once to save you the trou- 
 ble of searching her out. So you take her to be very 
 formidable ?" 
 
 " No, I should not," was the bitter, ringing response, the 
 latent jealousy aroused again to a fiery heat ; a I would 
 hardly suppose that my cousin and betrothed husband 
 would stoop so low as to flirt with a little, red-haired 
 country school girl and born coquette, which I can see she 
 is. I will soon make her understand that she shall not flirt 
 with you." 
 
 " Whew !" whistled the young man provoking^, " I 
 would not show myself so jealous, 'Rene, and you wrong 
 Miss Lottie ; she is no coquette and no one could induce 
 her to flirt. But come, do not let us quarrel, for you really 
 have no cause to be afraid of her, she does not care a fig 
 for me, but is in love v ith some one else. Try and make 
 friends with her and 1 know you will like her, and through 
 
 her you will be introduced into the best society of S ; 
 
 the Howards are the cream of the elite up here. Come, 
 'Rene, do not pout now, you know I was only teasing you ; 
 but here we are at your destination — so you will soon be 
 rid of me." 
 
 " Do not tease me, Louis," and the girl spoke pleadingly. 
 "I can not help feeling jealous, I love you so dearly, and if 
 you were generous and kind you would not try to call forth 
 that jealousy and make me miserable.'' 
 
 u Very well, I promise not to tease you again ; " and he 
 spoke like he would to a petted, humored child, "and rest 
 assured now that you have no cause whatever to be jealous 
 of Miss Howard — she will marry Harry Bentley, decidedly 
 so. Good-night, now. I will call to-morrow afternoon to 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 179 
 
 drive you up on a visit to the mountains, and to make it 
 pleasanter and more prudent I have invited a few friends to 
 accompany us — so please be ready early." 
 
 " Yery well, but Louis," and Irene Burgoyne's voice was 
 low and somewhat confused, u how is itabout the ring — can 
 you get it back ? I would feel so much happier and securer 
 if I had my ring on my finger again.'' 
 
 " Yes, I know you would, but I can not get it for you at 
 present, in fact I am fearful of ever recovering it again. It 
 was bought from a jeweler in Charleston and is owned now 
 by a Miss Delton, and of course if I made any effort to get 
 it back it would expose your father's villainy ; so I would 
 rather lose it than to have any public exposure; and, 'Rene, 
 you would oblige me very much never to mention it to me 
 again ; it makes me feel so horrible ; to tell you the truth, I 
 would be thankful never to hear the name of your father 
 again." 
 
 "I would be thankful myself," and the girl's tone rang 
 with a bitter hatred and scorn, "and if I were only independ- 
 ent of him I would instantly disown him forever. Louis, 
 my father is a fiend in huimn guise, but you will be kind 
 and just, and not turn against me. I am innocent and 
 should not suffer for his iniquity; and, Louis, there is some- 
 thing else I wish to ask you, did you ever meet a very love- 
 ly girl by the name of Lila Black?" 
 
 Louis Montaine started involuntarily, but, checking his 
 instantly aroused suspicions, he replied indifferently, ''No, 
 I have never known any one by that dismal name. Why 
 do you ask?" 
 
 " There was a girl by that name boarding at Mrs. Hen- 
 derson's. She was a music-teacher, and she told me once 
 that she was well acquainted with you, but I am not at all 
 surprised to find her out in an untruth. To my horror, I 
 discovered in time that she was a disreputable character, 
 and Mrs. Henderson expelled her immediately, and I am 
 very much relieved and glad to know that you were not ac- 
 quainted with her. &he had the audacity to tell me that 
 you were a friend of hers, and hearing that she came fr a 
 the country it made me feel very badly." 
 
180 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " And what became of this Miss Black after her expul- 
 sion from Mrs. Henderson's?" inquired the young man, a 
 strange sound of interest in his tone. 
 
 " I really do not know. I saw her once afterwards on the 
 street, but, of course, shunned her like I would a reptile. 
 You never knew her, did you V 
 
 " No, I never knew any one by that name in my life," 
 and Louis Montaine laughed strangely. " Bat, good night 
 now, I cannot linger another moment, for I have not fin- 
 ished studying yet. I will see you to-morrow," and with- 
 out the slightest caress he was gone. 
 
 The girl ran to the window to catch a last glimpse of him 
 as girls will do. She sees his tall figure cross the street, then 
 pause. Presently he takes off hie hat, his dark, shapely 
 head bends low in one of his graceful, perfect bows, and 
 with a pang of jealousy Irene distinguished Charlotte How- 
 ard and a young gentleman approaching. For a few min- 
 utes they stood there talking, seemingly very earnestly, then 
 the three moved down the street together. 
 
 Poor Irene ! she fully experienced that it was pain to love, 
 especially to love as deeply, passionately and jealously as she 
 did this handsome young cousin of hers. 
 
 Friday afternoon proved to be balmy, delightful and 
 certainly propitious for an enjoyable time out in the mel- 
 low, variegated autumn country. Irene sat awaiting her 
 cousin, robed in a stylish black velvet riding costume, a lit- 
 tle jetty hat of velvet and plumes, placed jauntily upon 
 her fair, queenly head, making her a picture of rare, con- 
 spicuous loveliness ; yet her face wore no joyous smiles, but 
 was very pale, while the large eyes looked weary and heavy 
 as from much recent weeping. She seemed depressed and 
 unhappy, and yet was strikingly beautiful, and no doubt so 
 thought Louis Montaine, as full of life and ready for a frolic 
 he ran up the stairs unannounced, and paused upon the 
 threshold. "Good afternoon, 'Rene," he said approaching, 
 holding out a rose for her acceptance, a look of admiration 
 in his eyes. " One of the very last roses of summer," he 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 181 
 
 laughingly added, as she took it from his hand with a smil- 
 ing " thank you.'' 
 
 An open, two-seat vehicle stood at the gate, and as Louis 
 Montaine appeared with his charge, Harry Bentley and Ar- 
 thur Howard sprang from it, the former shaking hands, the 
 latter bowing profoundly in acknowledgement of the in- 
 troduction. Florence and Charlotte received her cordially, 
 as she was assisted in and took her place between them, and 
 the three young men jumping in afterwards, and laughing 
 and chatting together as only youths and maidens under- 
 stand how to perform those merry functions, they were 
 driven off on the anticipated ride, Irene having all objects 
 of interest pointed out and described to her fully, and 
 Charlotte Howard, who could tell by the almost incessant 
 talk, the face, flushed and animated from the exercise and 
 pure, open mountain air, the eyes, bright and restless, and 
 the ready, ringing, almost too gay laughter, that a dull, 
 aching heart of pain throbbed beneath the seemingly hap- 
 py exterior, and, although her trial was severe, she acted 
 her part well, hiding securely from mortal eye her poig- 
 nant heartache, that not even her watchful brother could 
 tell the burning, secret anguish that seemed to tear asunder 
 body and soul. And why such exquisite torture? Could 
 she not understand, from her present experience, that an- 
 other might also be acting a part upon this little stage of a 
 secret, hidden drama? 
 
 Louis Montaine's pride had whispered, 
 
 "Cease thy wooing, 
 Hopeless love is life's undoing ;" 
 Shame had whispered: "Cease thy sighing, 
 Scorn best answers love's denying." 
 
 Although his love for his bright, sweet girl was even 
 more passionate and intense than when he had declared it a 
 short while before, he felt acutely that she scorned him. 
 The mortification of his position, and her scornful repulse, 
 still burnt keenly, and he fuller than ever realized that he 
 must subdue this consuming love and try to become recon- 
 ciled to his first choice. Now, as he sat opposite to the 
 
 12 
 
182 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 two and saw her gay, sweet mood, his pride triumphed 
 over his (as the though c) scorned love and he resolved to 
 show her that his heart would not break from her contempt 
 for his love, and throughout the afternoon he was the de- 
 voted lover to the delighted Irene, utterly ignoring the 
 presence of Charlotte. With cousinly familiarity and lover- 
 like attention he directed his conversation and smiles to the 
 former, pointing out places of interest and objects of beau- 
 ty, telling a tale about this and some episode about thaf, 
 chatting over the pleasant, delightful times that they had 
 enjoyed together in the dear old sunny City by the Sea, 
 until the heart of the one bounded with rapture and 
 renewed hope, and the other almost suffocated with the 
 hopeless pain at her heart. 
 
 M He only wanted to flirt with me," was her mental, ago- 
 nized comment, as laughing and talking with the happy, 
 hopeful Harry, she saw his devotion and apparent interest 
 in the radiantly beautiful Irene Burgoyne. Little did she- 
 dream how covertly she was watched, and how the quiet, 
 smiling Harry was envied, the bright but, ah ! restless, 
 feverish glances from her eyes, and the supposed lavish- 
 men t of her heart's passionate affection. And little did 
 Arthur and his satisfied, happy little -fiance imagine what a 
 conflicting, agonizing undercurrent lay beneath the rip- 
 pling, noisy and seemingly merry stream flowing on before 
 their short-sighted vision. Who can know but ourselves,, 
 and the keen, all-searching eye of Jehovah, the inner life of 
 man, th* secret recesses of pain and woe endured by hu- 
 manity ! 
 
 Charlotte Howard retired early that night, complaining 
 of fatigue ; but, alas ! it was more a weariness of the heart 
 than of the body. She had suffered keenly that afternoon r 
 almost beyond human endurance. To witness the happi- 
 ness of one that was to gain all that she could desire in this 
 life ; to see him turn from her and bestow all of his smiles- 
 and attentions upon this beautiful, favored girl, and pretend 
 that she was indifferent, when every throe of her heart was 
 beating with a keen, devouring anguish and jealousy, for 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 183 
 
 what heart in love can escape the torturing pangs of tha fc 
 monster — jealousy ? 
 
 " How can 1 make my heart submit to its doom ; to bring 
 myself willing to see them happy together t 9 was her men- 
 tal questioning ; but no answer came to soothe her pain, and 
 her darkened, crushed soul felt truly Miss Langdon's 
 words : 
 
 "The world itself seemed changed, and all 
 
 That was beloved before 
 Had vanished and beyond recall, 
 
 For she had hope no more ; 
 The sere of fire, the dint of steal 
 Are easier than such wounds to heal." 
 
 " Flee the temptation to sin," were the words suggested 
 to Charlotte Howard, as she sat with an open note in her 
 hand, puzzled and doubting how she should act. It was a 
 few lines from Florence Bentley, begging that she would 
 join her in forming a party to play a game of croquet on 
 the lawn at the parsonage for the entertainment of Miss 
 Burgoyne. With her hands clasped tightly, the pain at her 
 heart depicted upon her pure, young face, and the liquid, 
 brown eyes full of the unquestioned poignancy within, she 
 sat and communed with herself, praying to know how to 
 act right and yet appear her old self before others. 
 
 "Must I go this afternoon and endure what I did yester- 
 day?" she murmured, musingly. "See him so devoted to 
 her, and ignoring my presence utterly ; and then cousin 
 Willie and Harry will be there, frowning at each other and 
 expecting that I should give each smiles and kindness. 
 And how can I be gay, careless and sociable, with all these 
 unpleasant associations surrounding me? And then it 
 makes me so bad and wicked ; rebellious thoughts will 
 come : I feel that God is cruel to me, while jealousy and 
 hatred try, oh ! so hard, to get the mastery of my heart. 
 How can I curb and drive away these terrible enemies of 
 my dear Lord, and, like Him, love even her, when she will 
 take all the joy and hope from my life? But it is not her 
 fault; she loved him before I did ; she won him first, and 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 therefore has the beat right to his love ; but, dear Lord, I 
 am so weak to battle with these deadly foes ; I feel that 
 they are stronger than my will, and I am so afraid Satan 
 will triumph." Then the thought came, " Flee ye the 
 temptation to sin," and with it came the determination to 
 stay away from the pleasant croquet party, and instead 
 make a visit to old Mrs. Hayes. " It is the only way I 
 can save myself from sinning — to avoid his company until 
 I am stronger," is her thought. u I shall be happier to- 
 night for it. I must give him up to her finally, and must, 
 yes, must begin to realize that I have my disobedient heart 
 to subdue and make it understand its duty, bitter and hard 
 though it may be." 
 
 And with this final determination, she wrote in answer 
 that she could not come, and then putting away her pretty, 
 new autumn dress and crimson ribbons, which would have 
 made her look so pretty and fresh, she donned instead an 
 old, brown gingham, and school hat and apron, then taking 
 her little " charity-basket" she descended to the pantry to 
 get from her aunt some little delicacy, from the Sunday's 
 cooking which was always brought up about that time. 
 
 Mrs. Hayes was an old lady verging on to three score 
 years, living in a little tumble-down cottage on the suburbs 
 of the town, living alone, with no servant or relative to 
 minister to her wants in health or sickness. A little old wo- 
 man, of undoubted Irish origin, there seemed to be some mys- 
 tery overshadowing her strange, lonely life of poverty and 
 decided misery. Moving into the town many years before, 
 no one knew from where she had come, or who she was, or 
 on what she subsisted. She certainly had the appearance 
 of great poverty, but never did any thing to earn a penny, 
 nor would she receive one as charity. Once in a while she 
 would trudge to the post-office, receive a letter, then pur- 
 chasing a few common groceries, she would return to her 
 secluded life, never going outside her door until on the 
 same errand again. Nothing would induce her to enter a 
 Protestant church, and as there was no Romish one in 
 easy reach, she was contented to count her beads and repeat 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 185 
 
 her " Ave Maria," calling upon the Holy Virgin and Saints 
 to help her. Her loneliness and seeming great poverty at- 
 tracted the sympathy and attention of several Christian 
 ladies, and among them the gentle Masie Bentley, who 
 would, notwithstanding her cold, even rude reception, visit 
 the old lady, and by persevering efforts of kindness and 
 disinterested gentleness, finally won the good- will of the 
 miserable misanthrope, who began to like and look with 
 pleasure for the stated visits of the Protestant minister's 
 daughter. 
 
 One afternoon, with the wish to enliven the old lady's 
 dreary life, she had induced Lila, Charlotte and Florence, 
 then little girls, to accompany her on one of her visits, and 
 on their way she talked to them of her childless, lonely 
 and friendless life. Charlotte had listened attentively, and 
 her warm, impulsive nature was deeply touched, her gentle 
 sympathy instantly aroused. 
 
 " Has she no one to love her, Masie — not a soul ? " she 
 asked, with wonder in her eyes and pity in her childish 
 voice. 
 
 " ~No 9 Lottie, not a soul seems to care for the poor, old 
 lady, except Jesus. You know He cares for us all." 
 
 " But, oh ! how dreadful it must be not to have a living 
 soul to care for you on earth,'' persisted the child, " can I 
 love her, Masie ? " 
 
 " Of course you can, my dear, if she will let you." 
 
 "Why, she will be glad to have me love her, Masie." 
 
 " I hope so, Lottie ; you can try it anyhow, and if she is 
 cross, do not let her frighten you." 
 
 The cottage rea3hed, Mary Bentley went in without 
 knocking, the three little girls following. The old creature 
 was sitting over a fire, an old shawl pinned over her 
 shoulders, a soiled, smoky cap awry on her head, the gray 
 hair escaping from it and falling in dishevelled locks over 
 her neck and face, and on "the whole she presented a most 
 forlorn and untidy appearance. 
 
 "Take a seat, if you can find one," she said gruffly. "But 
 who is all this crowd that you brought with you ? I do not 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 want any children coming here, Miss Mary ; I will not have 
 it ; you are welcome enough, but I will not have others 
 brought here prying around." 
 
 "Very well, Mrs. Hayes, I will not bring them again. 
 The walk is so long and dreary that I like company with 
 me. This is my little sister Florence, and this is Lila and 
 Charlotte Howard. Come, children, tell Mrs. Hayes how- 
 dy, and let her see what pleasant, well-behaved little girls 
 you are." 
 
 The two former shrank away timidly, Lila frowning dis- 
 dainfully, but Charlotte, thinking only of the lonely, un- 
 loved life of the old woman, failed to see her ugliness and 
 came forward instantly, her eyes moist with pity, her rosy 
 cheeks aglow, and impetuously holding out her hand, 
 raised her face, as if for a kiss. 
 
 The hardened woman seemed touched. She took the 
 proffered hand, and, shaking it, said : 
 
 "No, child, you are too good and pure for an old sinner 
 like me to kiss you. Go away, child, and play with those 
 fit for you, and do not come near me, I will pollute your 
 innocence and purity." Then, turning and fixing her eyes 
 upon the shrinking Lila, who stood pouting at the door, she 
 continued : "I have no use for children, Miss Mary, you 
 must not bring them here again, or my door is shut against 
 you, especially that child there," shaking her bony finger at 
 Lila. "I had children once, but they are all gone, and I do 
 not want to see other bright, happy children about me to 
 reproach me, by their innocence, for my sins and dark 
 deeds. Why did you bring them two children here, Miss 
 Mary ? To reproach me ? Take them out of my sight ; I 
 can not stand to see that child there, take it away." 
 
 She became violently agitated, shaking to and fro, her 
 eyes wild, and gesticulating as she spoke. It was no use 
 trying to pacify her, and Masie, regretting her unsuccessful 
 attempt to amuse the old lady, "rose to take her departure, 
 trying the best she could to calm the old woman's agitation. 
 Eager enough to get away, Lila and Florence ran out, but 
 Charlotte, with wondering eyes and a sorrowful face, hesi- 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 iS 7 
 
 tated. She looked at Masie, who beckoned her away, then 
 at the poor, dirty old lady, who had not a soul to love her 
 •on earth, the warm, impulsive, loving nature of the child 
 arose paramount to her fears, and going up to the old 
 woman, she put her arms about her neck and said : 
 
 "Good-bye, old lady, Jesus Christ and little Lottie will 
 love you if nobody else will. I am coming again with 
 Masie, and will bring you some cake and tea for your sup- 
 per." Then, without pausing, she flew out of the hut, and 
 catching Masie by the hands whispered : "I am so sorry for 
 the poor old soul ; her little children are all dead, and she 
 does not want to see other little girls coming near her. 
 Just like poor mamma — you know how she cries when she 
 sees a little baby like my little brother Lemmie that is in 
 Paradise. She must be awful sad and lonely, eh, Masie V 
 
 " Yes, dear, she must be very lonely indeed, but you must 
 not go there again, as it makes her feel so badly." 
 
 " I know that I shall never put my foot in her nasty old 
 hut again," said Lila, with a scornful toss of her pretty 
 head, while Florence looked as if though she would not 
 like to do so either : but warm-hearted little Lottie seemed 
 full of pity and forgiveness, and when Masie left her at 
 her home she whispered pleadingly as she kissed her good- 
 bye, "Please, darling, let me go with you again ; I want to 
 love her;" and Masie, laughing, said she would see. And 
 thus it was that Charlotte's acquaintance had begun with old 
 Mrs. Hayes. Those magic words, uttered in childish sim- 
 plicity and sincerity, "I will love you," had touched and 
 thawed the crusted ice around the old world-beaten heart, 
 and like every one else, she soon learned to love this bright, 
 guileless girl, sweet Lottie Howard. Charlotte became a 
 constant and even more welcome visitor than Mary Ben tley 
 to the cottage of the lonely widow ; first from pity and 
 Christ-like love, then from a sense of duty, as the old creat- 
 ure grew feebler, and consequently more dependent on the 
 help and sympathy of others. Many ladies made unavail- 
 ing efforts to make her miserable life more comfortable, but 
 with persistent vigor and bitter mistrust she repelled every 
 
i88 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 advance, and if it had not been for the gentle Masie and 
 sympathetic, forgiving young Charlotte Howard, Mrs. 
 Hayes would have been left in undisturbed seclusion, to 
 feed upon her misanthropic ill-will. But with untiring 
 perseverance and child-like forgiveness, these two girls, one 
 with John's gentle, winning, loving devices, the other, 
 warm, impulsive, ingenious, like Peter, impetuous to do the 
 Master's work, beat back every obstacle and continued on 
 to do good for this seemingly hardened, sin-stained child of 
 God, trusting in His mercy to bring her to a sense of her 
 obligations, and repentent and sorrowful to accept the ten- 
 dered mercy held out for her acceptance. 
 
 Sad enough at heart, her thoughts full of the merry 
 party she used always love to form a part, Charlotte wended 
 her way through the quiet street leading to the unfrequented 
 cottage of Mrs. Hayes. As was customary, she entered with- 
 out knocking. The old lady sat rocking and smoking in 
 the chimney corner in which a fire burned ruddily, although 
 it was by no means cold ; her hands lying idly in her lap, 
 the remnants of her dinner on the table, and a dirty pot and 
 kettle upon the unswept hearth ; the room was hot and 
 stifling, impregnated with the fumes of tobacco. With a 
 momentary shudder of loathing the girl paused on the 
 threshold, but overcoming the disgust she went in, and after 
 shaking hands with the old crone she sat down by her and 
 began to chat in her usual loving, pleasant manner. As 
 washer wont, Mrs. Hayes was gruff and uncivil, but with 
 some show of respect she laid aside her pipe and rising, 
 began to put things to rights a little. " I thought you had 
 forgotten all about old grannie,'' she said, covering a cloth 
 over the table and putting the greasy pot out of sight, "as 
 you have not been here lately. Miss Mary does not come 
 now as often as she used to ; her husband takes up all her 
 time and thoughts ; and feeling that no one cared for me, 
 I just let things go as they would, it does not matter much 
 to me whether I live like a pig or not ; I will soon lay in 
 the dirt, so what is the use of trying to keep it away from 
 me here?" 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 " Oh ! no, grandma, I have not forgotten you, but my 
 studies are so hard now, and the days getting so short, I 
 have had very little time to call my own ; still I am alwajs 
 thinking of you and trying to find time to come and see 
 you ; Masie has not been well, and goes out very little, but 
 I know that she is often thinking of and praying for you — 
 and, grandma, I am afraid I will leave home soon ; brother 
 wants me to go away to a boarding-school, and I think I 
 had better do as he wishes, and I want to beg you now that 
 if I go you will give up the idea that disorder is as good 
 as trying to be cleanly and neat ; it is very unwholesome to 
 live so anyhow, and you should remember that One is ever 
 present and watching over you, and you must not do things 
 just to please me. Oh ! how I wish that you would come 
 out and mingle with others and attend Christ's Church and 
 be one of His people — you would be so much happier." 
 
 "Hush, hush, child, I do not like you when you preach. 
 I tell you that I will live and die right in this room, away 
 from every one. When you feel like coming here to tell 
 me the news and brighten me up a little with your happi- 
 ness, come and welcome, but you must not preach. Miss 
 Mary is enough of a preacher without you turning one, too. 
 To tell you the truth, I will be glad if you go away, and 
 then no one will disturb me here in my living tomb. I will 
 be left to die and rot. You coming here in your sweet, 
 young purity, being so kind and loving to me, is only heap- 
 ing coals of fire upon my head. I do not deserve it, child. 
 I have wronged you and yours shamefully. I have cheated, 
 defrauded you, and now you come with sweet words, leav- 
 ing gay companions and happy associations, to spend awhile 
 in my old, polluted hut, to try and make me happy. Me 
 happy ! One that dares not go and confess and make restora- 
 tion and receive absolution. You cannot make me happy, 
 my child. My breast is a troubled sea, never quiet. Go- 
 back, child, to your home, and forget that you ever knew 
 me. Go away from me, accusing angel. Go home, away 
 from my sight. I do not want you coming around me. I 
 have told you so a dozen times a year, and yet you will 
 
190 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 come, come to reproach me with kindness for my wrong to 
 you and yours." 
 
 The. old creature with white hair hanging about her 
 wrinkled visage, walked the floor talking and gesticulating 
 excitedly, and Charlotte, troubled, mystified and somewhat 
 alarmed, said gently : 
 
 " But I like to come here and see you, grandma. Do 
 not drive me way, I am sure that you have never wronged 
 me or mine, and if you had, that would be no reason why 
 I should return evil for evil. Look how we all cheat and 
 wrong our dear Lord, and yet how kind and forgiving He 
 is. I do not come to reproach you, but because 1 like you, 
 and want to try and make you happier and more lively. So 
 do not drive me away, and you know, grandma, I think we 
 have heard something of poor Lila. A young lady from 
 Charleston told Mr. Montaine about some beautiful girl 
 that was boarding at the same house with her, and we think 
 from the description of her it is Lila. I have written and 
 so has Arthur, and we hope very soon to hear some news 
 from her.'' 
 
 " I do not want to hear any thing about that proud, scorn- 
 ful girl," was the ungracious reply, as calmed off into a 
 frowning ill-humor, she sat down again, looking moodily 
 into the fire. 
 
 Charlotte felt chilled and annoyed, and not knowing 
 what to say to quiet the ruffled feelings of the old lady, a 
 short, uncomfortable silence followed, which was broken 
 by Mrs. Hayes, who, fixing her eyes searchingly upon the 
 face of the young girl said : 
 
 " What do you come here for, child ? " 
 
 £< To see you, grandma," was the simple, smiling re- 
 sponse. 
 
 "Yes, to see me\ perhaps that is so. But did you ever 
 think that it might be of some advantage to you, by and 
 by?" 
 
 " Why, grandma, what makes you talk so strangely? I 
 have never dreamed of such a possibility." 
 
 " But did you ever hear a rumor that old Mrs. Hayes 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 had a hidden store of golden dollars, eh, child ? and that 
 she might leave them to you ? " 
 
 " I never have heard of such a thing," and the tone was 
 reproachful and full of pain. " Could you think so ill of 
 me ? I always thought that you were very poor, and never 
 have heard any rumor to the contrary. I do not want any 
 gold left to me 
 
 "I believe you, child, and could not think you would 
 tell a lie ; but it seems so strange that you will be so per- 
 sistent in your kind attentions to me, when every one else 
 hates and shuns me." 
 
 " Oh, grandma, you only think that every body hates 
 you. You will not let them love you ; but you see I will. 
 I love every body. The Bible teaches us to love our neigh- 
 bor as ourselves." 
 
 " Come, do not preach ; but, child, how are you off in 
 this world's goods ? Are you rich or poor ? 
 
 A flush came to the fair face of the girl, but she replied 
 gently : " We are not rich, but are very comfortable. I 
 have a pleasant, happy home, and if mamma is often sick 
 she wants for nothing." 
 
 " Yery well, very well ; I did not want to give you any 
 thing, my child." 
 
 " Grandma, if you have money, why do you not get a 
 nice, comfortable bed, and some warm clothing for the win- 
 ter? I am afraid that you will suffer." 
 
 " Did I tell you that I had money ? Money indeed ! Not 
 a red cent have I stored away. Do not dare to strengthen 
 the rumor that I am a miser, having gold laid away, or I 
 will be murdered in my bed for naught. Not a cent will 
 they find." 
 
 " Certainly not, grandma ; I would not say such a thing, 
 for I do not believe it, when you seem so poor; but per- 
 haps you are better than if you had gold laid away ; money 
 does not make us happy always." 
 
 " No, indeed ; gold does not always bring happiness and 
 peace ; but, Charlotte Howard, forget all this, and for my 
 safety never mention it to others. You will be rich one of 
 
192 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 these days, and will not need any thing from poor old 
 grandma." 
 
 " Please do not talk so, grandma ; it makes me feel so 
 badly to hear you insinuate that my motives in coming to 
 see you are so mean and dishonorable. If you had a mint 
 of gold I would not take one cent in payment for these 
 visits of disinterested love." 
 
 " No, you will not need it, child. Edwin Montaine's son 
 is rich, rich, rich !" 
 
 i; Mr. Montaine's wealth is nothing to me," and the face 
 became crimson, the tore annoyed. Then with a sudden 
 surprise she inquires : " Why, did you know Mr. Edwin 
 Montaine V 
 
 " Know Edwin Montaine ? Ah ! well did I know him, 
 my child ; know his goodness, his charity. He was the 
 best friend I ever had ; he warmed, fed and clothed me, 
 and although I was a widow, I knew not the meaning of 
 the word ; they were so good to me. Then trouble came ; 
 she died ; Mr. Montaine sent for me, and entrusted to my 
 care their child ; but I turned and stung the hand that was 
 ever held out in kindness to me — betrayed the trust. But 
 what am I saying, child % Am I dreaming ? Yes ; I wa& 
 telling you what a good man he was, and how, as if to re- 
 proach me for my ungratefulness, his son has followed my 
 track. I saw him the other day ; the very image of his 
 sainted young mother ; but he is of good stock, my child, 
 and I hope to live to see you his bride and to reign mistress 
 over his grand home, to take the place of his beautiful 
 mother." 
 
 Charlotte Howard listened full of curiosity, but feeling 
 uncomfortable at the continued allusion to Louis Montaine 
 and herself, she interrupted the old woman, saying : 
 
 " Grandma, Louis Montaine is engaged to marry hi& 
 cousin, and please do not talk about him ever being any 
 thing else to me than what he is now — a friend only ; I do 
 not like to hear it." 
 
 " Marry his cousin ? Did you say that, child ? Ah, no 
 indeed ! If my dreams mean any thing, you will be hi& 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 193 
 
 bride. Three times did I see you last night, happy, smiling 
 and beautiful, attired in trailing white satin, rich lace and 
 glittering jewels. Three times did you turn your bright 
 eyes, full of joy, upon me, and when I asked you who the 
 bridegroom was, you whispered, 4 Louis Montaine.' Ah 
 my child, he will never wed any one but you ; depend on 
 old grandma's dreams coming out right.'' 
 
 Charlotte Howard looked upon the old woman, wonder- 
 ing and uneasy. A sudden gleam of some delicious hope 
 came to her face, but vanished as quickly, and with a con- 
 strained laugh she said, " I have no faith in dreams, they 
 are only disordered fancies of the mind. I think it very 
 likely that Mr. Montaine will marry his cousin, and it is 
 best always not to pay any attention to these night 
 thoughts. But, grandma, I must see about going, dark 
 comes on so rapidly and I have quite a long walk. See, I 
 have brought you a mince-pie, some jelly and cake, and a 
 delicious bunch of grapes for your dessert to-morrow. I 
 -will come again very soon, and will scold Masie for neg- 
 lecting you of late. You know, if I go away to school it 
 will not be until January, so I will have plenty of time in 
 which to pay you many a pleasant visit before then, so 
 good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, my child," she replied, holding the little 
 hand in a firm clasp; "but before you go promise not to 
 say one word of what you have heard this afternoon ; my 
 mind has been wandering, and for your dear life never 
 mention to Louis Montaine that I knew his father. I do 
 not want him to come here, above all others." 
 
 " I never repeat what you tell me, aud promise not to 
 say a word of this to Mr. Montaine ; so now trust me, and 
 again, good-bye." 
 
 It was with a feeling of relief that Charlotte Howard 
 regained the street and felt the fresh air fan her cheek. A 
 serious expression pervaded her face and a wondering, 
 troubled look shone from her eyes as her thoughts dwelt 
 musingly on what she had heard. It was the first time 
 Mrs. Hayes had ever alluded to her past life, and it filled 
 
194 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 the girl with a strange curiosity and engrossed her thoughts 
 so completely that she seemed to have forgotten that it 
 was getting quite dusk, and was only brought to a knowl- 
 edge of it by hearing a quick step behind her, and, turning, 
 she confronted Louis Montaine. With a bow and slight 
 confusion of manner, he said, " Good evening, Miss How- 
 ard ; I was in at Mr. Leigh's office as you passed, and seeing 
 it rather late for yon to be out so far from home, I took the 
 liberty of following you to see if I could be of any service. 
 Will you allow me the pleasure of escorting you home?" 
 
 u I will thank you to do so, Mr. Montaine ; I was think- 
 ing so deeply that I forgot entirely it was getting so late," 
 and a merry laugh rippled out on the still evening air. 
 "And do please let us walk fast for mamma will feel 
 uneasy, especially as she knows that I went to see old Mrs. 
 Hayes, for Aunt Lucy declares that she will kill me some 
 time. Every one seems to fear the old lady, but I am not 
 afraid of her ; although her manner is very rough, 1 believe 
 she is as harmless as a little child." 
 
 " I saw this old protege of yours the other day, for the 
 first time, and my opinion of her is that she is a little 
 demented. I think you are rather daring to visit her alone, 
 Miss Lottie. She was standing in the post-office, and as I 
 came in she started back, exclaiming, ' The very image of 
 her ! The very image of her! Is it the ghost come to haunt 
 me?' and with that she rushed out. I concluded it was 
 some insane person, but your brother told me it was old 
 Mrs. Hayes." 
 
 * Charlotte Howard laughed strangely and said, "I do not 
 think her insane, but will in the future use precaution and 
 never go to visit her without taking Masie with me." 
 Then, doubtless wishing to change the subject, she asked, 
 " I thought that yon was one of the croquet party at the 
 parsonage this afternoon ?" 
 
 "You are correct ; I was there for a while and went 
 through the game passively, but having some important 
 business to transact before night, had to excuse myself. 
 But why did you absent yourself ? You was missed pain- 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 fully by many of the party and Florence seemed very angry 
 with you, declaring that she intended to scold you well.'* 
 
 " I am willing to receive it, as I know what her scoldings 
 are,'' and the girl laughed lightly. " But, answering your 
 question, [ had very good reasons for absenting myself. 
 Our life is not all a plaything, duties are upon us, whether 
 we wish to see them or not, and the world would he much 
 happier and better regulated if we, each of us, tried to do 
 our duty faithfully." 
 
 "Yes, you are right; the world would be much better 
 and happier if we were all like you. I imagine your words 
 convey some significance, but I fail to take it in clearly. 
 Am I neglecting some important duty which your heart 
 censures ?" 
 
 " 1 would rather be excused replying to the last, Mr. 
 Montaine. Had you not best ask your own heart that 
 question ?" 
 
 " I understand what you mean, but can not you be mer- 
 ciful to me, Miss Lottie ?" and his voice was full of a pain- 
 ful pathos. " I know I am deserving of your censure, but 
 do pardon my weakness and seeming presumption. God 
 alone only knows how I suffer, feeling that you despise me, 
 and that you treat me coldly and with distrust, when you 
 are gentle and tender to every one else but poor, unfor- 
 tunate me. Can not you forgive me the crime of loving 
 you ?" 
 
 " Mr. Montaine, am I not acting in conformity with your 
 desire? Did you not tell me in the letter you left that you 
 would do your duty to your betrothed wife, and that if you 
 wavered, by coldness I must recall you to your duty? I am 
 sorry to be compelled to say that your conduct is very 
 strange and seemingly dishonorable. Your behavior yes- 
 terday afternoon and just now, was by no means compati- 
 ble and reflects on your honor and truth. I can not even 
 be your friend if you will not keep within the bounds of 
 that friendship." 
 
 "I know I deserve all this, but it is so hard to hear you 
 say such bitter things against me. You would let a dog 
 
196 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 kiss your hand without complaint. But Miss Lottie," he 
 continued passionately, " I do try to act right and do my 
 duty in trying to be true to my betrothed wife, but my 
 feelings will get the better of me. The more I try to keep 
 down this unfortunate love, the more you treat me coldly 
 and cruelly, the hotter and fiercer it burns. I can not keep 
 it in subjection. Let me love you, Charlotte Howard, even 
 if it is a sin, and do not shun me as you do, for it is this that 
 makes me mad. I am a horrible reprobate, a mad fool to 
 talk thus and distress you so, but I can not help it. This 
 torture is terrible ! If you would only think well of me, and 
 treat me kindly, it would not be so hard to bear, it would 
 alleviate it somewhat, but to know that you scorn me is 
 terrible." 
 
 How the girl's heart beat and throbbed within her 
 breast ! How she longed to throw herself in his arms and 
 whisper the truth : "Louis I love you !" But his lover-like 
 conduct and devotion to his cousin the afternoon before 
 was branded with indelible pain upon her heart, and she 
 could not help doubting the sincerity of his avowal of love. 
 She felt the arm her hand rested upon tremble violently, 
 his breath came quick and fast, and even in the dusk she 
 saw the old passionate gleam in his intense eyes, full of a 
 pleading questioning bent upon her pale, suffering face. 
 The prompting of her heart w T as to believe him ; but he 
 did not question if she loved him. Maidenly reserve, a 
 fear for the result of such a confession from her, and the 
 painful, ever present doubt of his honorable sincerity, held 
 lier in check. Yesterday, the devoted lover of Irene Bur- 
 goyne, now, under the cover of nightfall, when alone with 
 her, he would play the lover to her. Charlotte Howard's 
 pride is aroused, her pure, honest love is insulted, the 
 thought, like a torturing brand, takes possession of her 
 mind, "he only wishes to flirt with me," and drawing away 
 from him coldly, she said : "Mr. Montaine, I am so sorry 
 to have this painful scene enacted between us again so 
 soon. I am deeply pained, indignant, sorrowful, from your 
 conduct, and if you cannot, or will not behave yourself, as 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 
 
 197 
 
 a gentleman, I must beg that you keep clear of my pathway. 
 I am sorry for you, and sorry for Miss Burgoyne, and will 
 pray to God that you may see your error, and that you will 
 in the future become truer to the girl that has confided her 
 heart, her honor, and her all, into your keeping. I am 
 grieved to be compelled to say all this, and to lose faith in 
 one I thought to be a gentleman, a Christian, a lowly fol- 
 lower of the Lord Jesus, and a true type of manhood. It 
 is very certain that you are trifling with your cousin, or else 
 trying to trifle with me, and I must beg that in the future 
 you will not insult me again by another occurrence of this 
 kind. It is not right nor gentlemanly in you, and I know 
 that your good sense will show you I am right, and expi- 
 ate me from undue harshness. I am very much obliged to 
 you for escorting me home, but very sorry the kindness has 
 occasioned this break of our friendship, for I must beg 
 that you avoid my company henceforth, and that you return 
 to your fidelity as the lover and affianced husband of Miss 
 Burgoyne. I trust you will not think me unkind, your con- 
 duct merits harsh means. Good bye." 
 
 With a deep, painful groan, Louis Montaine sank down 
 on reaching his room, and folding his arms across a table, 
 sat like one benumbed with a hopeless, poignant despair. 
 All that night he tossed upon his sleepless couch, wishing, 
 almost praying, for death ; but death did not come, and the 
 morning breaking, he knew that he must go forth and battle 
 with his anguish of soul. Feeling that he was misunder- 
 stood and wronged, yet daring not to attempt an under- 
 standing. "She will not believe me; I stand branded by 
 my own conduct ; she scorns me, and all I have to do is to 
 bear it, and bear it uncomplainingly." 
 
 Thus he thought and reasoned, and the days came and 
 went, and he made no attempt to undeceive the unjust im- 
 pression Charlotte Howard held against him. Ever stu- 
 dious, he became even more so ; his entire time and 
 thoughts becoming centered on and devoted to his books. 
 His stern face grew sterner, his eyes deeper and more 
 intense, disclosing a suffering but unrepining heart. A 
 13 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 cold, hasty bow was the only greeting Charlotte Howard 
 received from him when they chanced to meet, which was 
 not often, for they seemed studiously to avoid each other. 
 He kept clear of her pathway, but ah ! what misery it was. 
 How he longed to linger near her, to hear the sound of her 
 sweet voice he loved so well ! but he dared not attempt any 
 reconciliation ; he saw no encouragement on the calm and, 
 as he fancied, unforgiving face of the girl. He tried hard, 
 struggled to reconcile his obstinate mind to the fact that 
 he must give her up, but found it a difficult, nay, impossi- 
 ble thing to banish her image from his heart, or to cool the 
 burning, intense passion for her, and turn, as his stern 
 duty demanded, with something like tolerance to his cousin 
 and affianced wife. Working and study seemed his only 
 6olace, and Irene, knowing it was no use to scold, had to be 
 satisfied, for she had learned to her sorrow and chagrin, 
 that his will was law; but very keenly she felt and suffered 
 from his automatic sort of courtship, the thought ever 
 present, haunting her peace and happiness, that he had 
 ceased to love her, or was making his love subservient to 
 his ambition. 
 
 And thus the days dragged wearily by. November went 
 and December came, yet bringing no alleviation to the 
 unhappy trio, carrying their sad memories andsecret heart- 
 aches. Two hearts with bitter anguish to hide and curb, 
 though waves of sunlight sometimes tried to obliterate the 
 traces, yet darkness and rugged rocks ever lurked below. 
 Ah ! the anguish of the one — striving with his heart to 
 prove the strife of his honor and love ; the other striving 
 with patient pain to beat down and keep in subjection the 
 love that would not be crushed out of her large, loving 
 heart, and the third and innocent cause of it all as misera- 
 ble, perhaps, as the two. 
 
 Ah! gracious Father. Methinks it is Thy decree that the 
 children of earth must drink the cup of bitterness and 
 woe to prove that this mortal life is only a time of proba- 
 tion and suffering, for if we tasted Heaven's bliss here, how 
 could we feel and appreciate the glory and happiness of 
 
Mrs. Hayes. 199 
 
 Paradise, when, our weary, dissatisfied pilgrimage past, 
 Thou callest our immortalized bodies upon high, to realize 
 what Thou hast in reserve for us in the many mansions 
 where Christ Jesus has gone to dwell ! 
 
SAVED. 
 
 fxPELLED by the unkind speech of Miss Lafonte, and the 
 insinuations against her respectability, from the only 
 house which she could call home, in a strange city, so full 
 of lurking evils and alluring temptations, to the young and 
 inexperienced, Lila, with fear and trembling, walked the 
 streets, alone and despairing, in search of another place of 
 shelter ; but in vain she sought, and after an hour of una- 
 vailing walking and inquiring, and overcome with fear and 
 fatigue, she determined to retrace her steps, and beg Miss 
 Lafonte for shelter for one night longer. Walking rapidly, 
 her head bent low, her heart almost pulseless from the ter- 
 ror of her situation, alone on the street after nightfall, the 
 distracted girl felt a sensation of horror, and yet of relief, 
 too, thrill her being, as on turning a corner she was sud- 
 denly confronted by Horace Burgoyne. In a few mo- 
 ments he understood her tale of distress and wrongs, and 
 very respectfully, politely and kindly offered to escort her to 
 a boarding houee, or a hotel. In desperation, Lila accepted 
 his protection, and drawing her arm within his, together 
 they turned down the street. 
 
 A half hour later she was alone, in a handsome, stylishly 
 furnished apartment, the betrothed bride of a man she 
 utterly loathed and feared. And, with a shudder, she 
 tried to put the thought aside, saying again and again, as if 
 to convince herself that it was really so, "Am I sure that 
 I have promised to marry this man day after to-morrow, 
 when he will come to claim me as his bride ? Oh ! my 
 God, if I dare to call upon Thee, I ask to be protected 
 from this fearful necessity, from this terrible dread, which 
 oppresses me so heavily. I have promised to marry him, 
 and flee with him to France, but how can I keep to this 
 
Saved. 
 
 20 1 
 
 horrible contract ? and yet, and yet, it is the only way, the 
 surest way, of avenging my wrongs. It will humiliate her, 
 the proud, lying upstart. Yea, I will sacrifice my 
 wretched life, I am willing to endure anything to see her 
 punished. Not sleep under the same roof with me another 
 night, eh ? Oh, proud girl, just wait, wait until you hear 
 the astounding news, that I am your step-mother, and see 
 then, what I can do ! She has lied against and wronged 
 me, robbed me of all that could make life endurable and 
 desirable, and 1 will see what I can do to pay her back in 
 her own coin ; try and make her feel what she has inflicted 
 upon me, blasted my fair fame, ruined me for life ; yea, if 
 all else is bitter, my revenge will be sweet." 
 
 And with this final resolve she retired to her couch, but 
 not to enjoy the calm, peaceful slumber of an undefiled and 
 sacredly guarded habitation of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 A leaden weight seemed to press on her spirits the next 
 morning ; yet, with undaunted pertinacity, she would not 
 swerve from her sudden, fully matured determination of 
 vengeance, never dreaming of turning from the Evil One ; 
 but bent on her wicked purpose she wrote the notes spoken 
 of in a preceding chapter, and after receiving her clothes 
 from Miss Lafonte, began a hasty preparation for her con- 
 templated trip to gay France. 
 
 Going out that morning to make a few purchases, she 
 entered a store, and the proprietor being quite busy, serving 
 a gentleman customer, Lila seated herself to await her turn, 
 and providentially overheard a few words which completely 
 changed the anticipated current of her life. In a confi- 
 dential whisper she heard the former say, with a laugh : 
 
 " How, come, do not be afraid it is a stolen jewel ; this 
 is not the store in which Mr. Burgoyne disposes of his 
 stolen goods," and then the other, with a knowing wink, 
 made answer : 
 
 " I hope not. Did you hear that piece of scandal from 
 high life?" 
 
 "Why, of course; it is whispered all about, and is 
 pretty generally known, that he is a notorious thief, burglar 
 
202 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and gambler. This affair about that diamond ring which 
 he robbed from his daughter is getting broadcast over town, 
 and I hear, as a positive fact, that his wife's nephew has 
 given him a specified time in which to leave America for- 
 ever, if he wishes to keep out of prison. He knows he 
 must leave Charleston in double quick time, and they say 
 he sails for France this week. He will be a good riddance 
 of bad rubbish, 1 am sure. Horace Burgoyne is a devil in 
 human guise, and he is walking, step by step, to the gal- 
 lows. Murder will be the next charge laid at his door, and 
 then good bye to the gentleman rogue." 
 
 " That is the fact, and France, of all countries, will speed- 
 ily carry him to his deserved end. But how is it about this 
 ring, is the stone a genuine ruby, or only an imitation?" 
 
 Lila had heard sufficient. Trembling, nervous, her face 
 ashen hued, her heart throbbing tumultuously, she made 
 her way from the store regardless of the call from its mas- 
 ter that he would attend to her at once, made her way out 
 into the street, almost suffocated with the horrible fear at 
 her heart, and almost mad with the one wild desire now to 
 escape the terrible doom impending over her fated head. 
 
 Arriving at the hotel, she made her way up to her apart- 
 ment. The object meeting her view first, was a neat pack- 
 age lying on her table addressed to herself. Taking it up, 
 she broke the seal, and started back in affright as on opening 
 the case a superb set of jewels met her gaze ; a slip of pa- 
 per fluttered to the floor, and taking it up she read : 
 
 My bridal gift to my adorable girl, my almost bride. Wear tbem to- 
 morrow, darling, and gratify your adoring Horace, 
 
 With a stifled cry of horror the frightened penitent 
 threw herself on her knees, and the wild cry went up to 
 heaven, "Lord, have mercy upon me, a miserable sinner. 
 Help, Lord, ere I perish !" 
 
 Was it an answer to her prayer, or an interposition of 
 Providence, or the subtle power of Satan leading her on, 
 on to destruction ? Certainly it was some unseen power 
 prompted the thought, for, something entirely foreign to her, 
 
Saved. 
 
 203 
 
 Lila took up the morning paper, her object being, doubt- 
 less, to distract her well-nigh distracted thoughts. Amid 
 her fear and wild desire to escape this man she had prom- 
 ised to marry, the one predominant feeling weighing on her 
 heart was the intense longing to fly away to some one for 
 help, sympathy or rescue. She would not believe she had 
 even then a tender, sympathizing, loving Friend above, 
 who was even now feeling, with sympathetic throbs, for 
 her trial and sorely tempted fallen nature. Lila was not a 
 Christian, but an unacknowledged infideL In her heart 
 she believed Christ but a myth, the imagined creation of 
 human minds to deceitfully console the suffering mass of 
 humanity, moving about with their secret loads of guilt 
 and sorrow, wrongs and miseries. 
 
 "If Christ Jesus came into the world, suffered and died 
 for sin and anguish of soul and mind, why should we 
 suffer so much and continually?" was her impertinent rea- 
 soning. "I can not see what good He has done ; there is 
 nothing but torments and miseries on every hand. Why 
 does He not stop them ?" were her foolish mental queries. 
 And feeling thus, a very unbeliever, is it surprising that she 
 was so completely shut off from all consolation and help, 
 divine or human. The believer's sweet, comforting invita- 
 tion, "Come unto me," had no significant meaning for her, 
 and yet the burden, the mental labor and unrest which she 
 was enduring, was the very kind that had touched this 
 gentle, sympathizing human heart, and called forth the en- 
 ticing exhortation, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary 
 and heavy laden, and I will give you rest ;" not bodily rest, 
 but rest and ease for the weary, heavy laden soul and 
 mind. 
 
 Ah, poor, blind child of sin, why not be wise and leave 
 your wrongs, with confiding faith, unto Him that saith, 
 "Vengeance is mine," and not give your soul over to Satan's 
 vile, dishonored bondage, and allow him to triumph over 
 the pure, free Spirit, striving with you ever, and yet the 
 lonely, despairing and darkened heart of this child of sin 
 could not altogether be laid at her door. As the heart and 
 
204 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 affections are trained, so will they incline ; she had been 
 left from childhood exposed to the full power of our subtle 
 enemy, with no guiding hand or a mother's pruning care. 
 All the evil of a naturally evil nature was called forth 
 from the sad circumstances of her life ; all, or nearly all, 
 the good implanted there by the Holy Ghost, crushed out 
 or smothered down, and will not such an one fall an easy 
 prey to Satan's power? Humanity might stand aloof and 
 blame, but Christ Jesus, that unfailing source of help, was 
 watching over this frail child of earth, who stood alone, 
 shaken by rude winds on the very abyss of destruction, 
 into which she would have fallen if left unaided. Though 
 too proud, wise, or, methinks, too ignorant to fly unto an 
 unseen source of help, Christ pitied and did not forsake, 
 giving her a longer time of trial unto repentance, and 
 would that sjje had accepted the mercy and not made even 
 Jesus turn aside and leave her to her own free will. 
 
 "When thy father and mother forsake thee, then will I 
 take thee up,'' and how could He turn away now, when a 
 poor, sinning, forsaken child needed His aid ? when one of 
 His sheep, a wandering, wayward, yet still one of His dear- 
 ly bought sheep, was on the brink of a fearful precipice, 
 enough, if fully known, to send a thrill of horror through 
 the most callous heart! What but a divine, almighty 
 power can snatch one from such an unseen but deadly peril? 
 It would be impossible to describe the thoughts that swayed 
 unceasingly through the girl's troubled brain, as she sat 
 there in an agony of horror, all crowded into one darkened, 
 indefinable, confused mass, through whose clouded mist she 
 could see no way of escape, understand no mode of action, 
 the one impelling motive, revenge, still urging her on to 
 risk her life into the galling bondage of becoming the wife 
 of a bad, licentious man. 
 
 With passive, dulled senses, and a heart sluggishly beat- 
 ing, on the very verge of a despairing relinquishing of 
 body and soul unto the terrible peril menacing her, she 
 took up the paper, which lay by her on the table, and list- 
 lessly, aimlessly glanced up and down its uninteresting 
 
Saved. 
 
 205 
 
 -columns. A long list of "wants" seemed to arrest her 
 attention, and, without any particular reason, she perused 
 one after the other. Suddenly a flush of excitement sprang 
 to her pale face, her eyes lighted with a sudden fire, and 
 she read again the following : 
 
 Wanted immediately, a governess for two young girls. To one compe- 
 tent to teach the English branches, French and music, a fair salary and 
 good home will be offered ; but she must be willing to leave the city 
 to-night, if convenient, to reside on a plantation in St. Andrew's Parish 
 for the winter." 
 
 The almost extinguished embers of hope, lying upon her 
 heart's altar, are instantly re-kindled into aflame, and with a 
 brightened face, and heart lightened from much of its load 
 of terror and dread, she rose, and with a nervous excite- 
 ment put on her hat and hurriedly left the house. 
 
 An hour later she was back again, nervously packing her 
 few possessions, and leaving the case of jewels in the care 
 of the proprietor, and paying for her night and day's board 
 she left hastily, carrying herself the bundle which con- 
 tained her earthl y all. 
 
 That night Lila left the city, as the employed governess 
 for the two daughters of an overseer of a flourishing plan- 
 tation across the Ashley river, with the promise of a com- 
 fortable, pleasant home, the protection of kind, good peo- 
 ple, and a hope of peace, security, and shall I say happi- 
 ness ? Ah! would that I could. 
 
 Horace Burgoyne came for his bride, but she had flown, 
 and he started on his imposed exile alone ; and Lila, the 
 despairing wait, was saved miraculously from this evil. 
 But, alas ! would that we could say that she was saved for a 
 better, happier, nobler fate. 
 
MAUD AXD SADIE BURGOYNE. 
 
 t was Christmas Eve ; that joyous, merry time, which 
 is hailed with such delight once in every three hun- 
 ^ dred and sixty-five days in the Christian world. It hap- 
 pened to fall this year on the last day of the week, and con- 
 sequently Christmas would come on the Christian Sabbath, 
 and would therefore have to be celebrated as it should, 
 quietly, joyously, religiously, and to make up for their 
 usual festive doings on that day the young people of S — 
 determined tg celebrate it with a tree, tableau and ball on 
 Christmas Eve. 
 
 The town-hall was pressed into active service, and was 
 tastefully decorated and brilliantly illuminated, the floor 
 waxed and a band of music in attendance ; the weather was 
 all that could be desired, cold, clear, frosty, with a full 
 moon to shine her soft yet radiant glory over the earth ; 
 to light the gay, tired revellers home after their frolic, and 
 to usher in the glorious natal morn of Christ. But the 
 anticipated pleasure of more than one was spoiled, and a 
 visible damper seemed to pervade the whole assembly, as 
 the news was spread around that an accident had happened 
 to Louis Montaine that afternoon, and that he was quite ill 
 from the effects. The absence of Mrs. Bentley and Miss 
 Burgoyne, the latter having consented to act in the tab- 
 leau, gave credence to the rumor, and many hearts felt 
 sad, for Louis Montaine was a general favorite. 
 
 A few days before a party of young men had gone off 
 on a deer hunt, and returning only a few hours before the 
 ball very little was known about the accident. Arthur 
 Howard, suffering from a violent cold and sore throat, had 
 not been able to go, and Harry Bentley, not caring for the 
 sport, had also declined joining the party, and so Charlotte, 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 207 
 
 the one who felt most keenly the news, yet dared not show 
 or express her terrible anxiety and heart-sick fears, had 
 only heard *liat he had been shot, but whether fatally or 
 slightly she could not learn. Launched against her incli- 
 nation into the sea of fun and gaiety, she had to laugh, 
 smile and dance; but ah, how sad and anxious she was at 
 heart no one but the all-seeing Eye above knew. How she 
 envied Miss Burgoyne her dear privilege of remaining 
 away and being able to linger at his side and minister unto 
 his sufferings ! He was ever before her mental vision as 
 he started on the morning of their departure, looking so 
 handsome and distingue as he rode off from their gate 
 (having called for her brother) on a spirited, handsome 
 horse, with his polished hunting trappings and jaunty black 
 fur cap placed saucily on his dark, shapely head. He had 
 bowed and smiled an adieu to them as they sjood upon the 
 piazza, her mother, brother and herself, and the girl fancied 
 that his last glance, an earnest, inquiring glance, had rested 
 upon her as he rode away saying, " I am so sorry, How- 
 ard, that you cannot go." 
 
 Charlotte smiled and waltzed, glided and polkaed, but 
 said very little, thinking of the la6t Christmas Eve, how 
 happy and joyous she was then, dreaming of the handsome, 
 fascinating boy whom she had met on the cars, and who had 
 become a living, delightful secret of her young heart. And 
 now, what a change one year had wrought ! How saddened 
 and dark all was now ! Her romance had ripened far too 
 prematurely, fading away all too soon, leaving a hopeless 
 lethargy and bitter, bitter heart-ache. How early had earth's 
 blight fallen upon her bright young life ! 
 
 "Miss Charlotte, please give me this last chance, it is 
 half -past eleven, so 1 do not dare to hope for another for 
 they will break up before twelve ?" and Walter Hayne, 
 eager and anxious, stood before Charlotte Howard as couples 
 for the last waltz were rapidly filling the space for dancing. 
 
 " Mr. Hayne, I really must beg you to excuse me for I 
 can not dance another set to-night, I am so tired, and my 
 head is beginning to ache. Remember that I have been 
 
208 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 working all day, assisting in dressing the church and decora- 
 ting the tree." 
 
 "JSow, Miss Charlotte, that is too disappointing, and I 
 am very sorry to hear that you had it so hard to-day. Miss 
 Walters was scalding me just now for lingering so late on 
 the hunt, but we really could not get in any sooner without 
 leaving Montaine behind us ; he was suffering so from his 
 w T ound that he could not ride horseback and we just had a 
 tug to find a buggy,'' 
 
 " Was Mr. Montaine serioasly shot?'' Charlotte asked, 
 vainly striving to hide her painful anxiety. 
 
 " O no, it is nothing dangerous, but quite painful it 
 seems. You see, the trouble was that no physician could 
 be found. Several buckshot entered his left arm and shoul- 
 der and not having them extracted at once the part became 
 terribly swollen and inflamed and he suffered horribly to- 
 night in having them extracted. 1 was there about an 
 hour with him and when I left he had quite a high fever, 
 but the doctor says he will be all right to-morrow." 
 
 " How did it happen, Mr. Hayne ?" 
 
 " I do not like to tell you ; but suppose you will hear 
 finally so I may as well turn informer. One of the young 
 men, Montaine refused to give his name, but I feel pretty 
 sure who he was, aimed his gun directly at me, no doubt 
 with the intention of killing me. My back was turned, and 
 it seemed that Louis Montaine, seeing the murderous in- 
 tent, leaned forward to push me out of the way, and thus 
 received the shot intended for me in his arm and shoulder. 
 He begged me not to speak of it to any one, but I feel so 
 grateful to him, and so thankful for my escape, that I can 
 not keep my tongue quiet." 
 
 Charlotte Howard's face was white widi horror as she 
 gasped, - Why, Mr. Hayne, you horrify me ! One of the 
 young men intended to kill you ? What could make you 
 think of such a thing?" 
 
 The young man laughed, and, looking significantly into 
 the face of the girl, said : " The old tale, you know, Miss 
 Lottie, a woman at the bottom of it. A very desperate 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 rival of mine took it in his head to get me out of the way 
 accidentally, and if it had not been for Montaine 1 might 
 now be lying in the silent tomb." 
 
 "You talk very trifling about such a serious matter," 
 was the solemn reply, Charlotte Howard looking disgusted, 
 while a flush mantled cheek and brow, " and I am very 
 sorry to hear that you think of such a thing. I do not 
 think any one could have had such a murderous intention, 
 you must be mistaken." 
 
 " It is not me that is mistaken, then. Montaine, with a 
 face horrified with what he saw, sprang forward and pushed 
 me out of the way, then, with an exclamation of dismay, 
 said, 'I am shot in your stead, Hayne, beware, your life is 
 in danger!' and he fainted. To-night he told me the same 
 thing, but begged that I would keep quiet and not mention 
 it, and here I have just gone and told every thing and 
 alarmed you so. Please, Miss Lottie, think no more about 
 it, and I will for your sake never mention it again." 
 
 " What have I to do with it ?" she asked sternly, her very 
 lips growing white, a horrible suspicion at her heart. 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders, and with a sig- 
 nificant smile, said, " Oh ! nothing particularly, and do r 
 please, forget all about it, no harm has been done. Mon- 
 taine will be out at church to-morrow, and he would be 
 just mad to know what I have done. He begged me es- 
 pecially not to breathe a word of it to you ; and see what a 
 fool I have been ! Do not look so frightened, Miss Lottie,, 
 nothing awful has happened." 
 
 "I think something awful has happened. The very 
 thought is terrible, and Mr. Hayne, will you please to sat- 
 isfy me by answering my question ? Your significant man- 
 ner implies as much as direct words would. Am I in any 
 way connected with this horrible affair V 
 
 "Pshaw! Miss Lottie, you would make such a serious 
 matter out of nothing ; I am not going to say another word 
 about it ; you are just trying to tangle me up so that I do 
 not know what I am saying." 
 
 " I wish to be answered, Mr. Hayne. Am I correct in 
 my suspicion that it was cousin Willie ? " 
 
2IO 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "I tell you, Miss Lottie, Montaine would not give me 
 his name. I suspected Courtney, for he is my sworn enemy 
 and only known rival." 
 
 " Oh ! my, how horrible !" and the girl clasped her hands 
 with a shudder, while her face grew deadly white. Then, 
 with an earnest entreaty, she said : " Mr. ELayne, will you 
 promise me, faithfully, never to mention this affair by word 
 or look to another ; I will speak to Willie, he is so pas- 
 sionate and impulsive. But, by all you hold dear, please 
 never mention this suspicion to any one. I feel that I can 
 trust it with Mr. Montaine." 
 
 " And you can trust it with me also, Miss Lottie. I 
 promise you faithfully never to say nor insinuate one word 
 of it again. Will you trust me ? '' 
 
 " Yes, I will trust you. It would kill poor aunt Addie 
 to hear of such a thing. " Oh ! 1 am so sick to even think 
 of such a possibility. Just imagine the horror if he had 
 killed Mr. Montaine ! You do not think him in any danger, 
 Mr. Hayne?" 
 
 " Walter Hayne's face was black with sudden jealousy, 
 as he queried scornfully, " And, I suppose, it would have 
 been nothing of any consequenee if he had killed me ?" 
 
 " You misinterpret my words, Mr. Hayne. But do let 
 us change this painful subject. I see brother is ready to 
 go; so I will bid you good night, Mr. Hayne, and wish you 
 a very merry and happy Christmas ; you are going home, I 
 believe, to spend the holiday ?" 
 
 " Yes, I will be home to eat dinner to-morrow, I guess ; 
 so thanking you for your g-x)d wishes, I will extend the 
 same to you, and hope that you will have a very pleasant 
 and merry Christmas. Goodbye for a few days." 
 
 " Goodbye, Mr. Hayne, you will keep faith with me ? " 
 
 " For your sake, I promise never to mention the subject 
 again." 
 
 During the walk home Charlotte broached the subject 
 of the shooting of Louis Montaine, and after quite a lengthy 
 talk over the unfortunate affair, learned to her great relief 
 that both her brother and Florence knew nothing about it, 
 further than that it was an accident. 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 211 
 
 Bidding Florence goodbye at her gate, Arthur said : 
 u Lottie, I would like to go in and see how Louis is getting 
 on, so come in a minute and wait on me, please. I see a 
 light in the parlor, and suppose some one is up down- 
 stairs." 
 
 " Yes, come in Lottie ; maybe we can catch some one. I 
 hear it striking twelve now," and on tip-toe the two girls 
 went in, followed by Arthur, and to their surprise, who 
 should be sitting propped up on the sofa, reading quite 
 unconcernedly, but Louis Montaine himself ! He laughed 
 quite merrily, seeing their looks of surprise, and a flush 
 came to his pale, sad face, as his eyes fell upon the girl 
 whom he loved so hopelessly. The sudden relief to see him 
 sitting up, when she thought him so ill, made Charlotte, 
 impulsive as she ever was, give a start, and with a glad 
 smile on her face she held out her hand exclaiming : 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Mr. Montaine ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, merry Christmas ! " " Merry Christmas ! " 
 echoed Florence and Arthur, the former merrily, laughing- 
 ly saying, "Ah, Louis, caught by three at once," the latter 
 exclaiming " Halloo ! old fellow, I thought you were dying 
 from the buck-shot, and here he is sitting up reading love- 
 letters." 
 
 Louis Montaine laughed quite heartily as he replied, 
 "They all tried to make me think that I was wounded terri- 
 bly, but since the two shots were extracted I have not felt the 
 least inconvenience. Mrs. Bentley went to bed an hour ago, 
 leaving old Sara to nurse me, but, negro-like, she made up a 
 rousing oak fire and went to sleep before it. I awoke just 
 now nearly roasted alive, and had to run down here to save 
 my life, and to my surprise found on the table a letter from 
 my little cousins, who are at school in North Carolina. And 
 now I will have to give you all a present for the merry 
 Christmas." 
 
 "Of course you will," laughed Florence. "My piano, 
 you know, is due." 
 
 "All right, you will get your piano in due time, and, Miss 
 Charlotte, will you accept this bouquet ? I received a box 
 
212 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 of choice hot-house flowers from home this evening," and 
 as he spoke he held in his hand a lovely bunch of rare ex- 
 otics, and offered them to Charlotte Howard. The girl 
 hesitated, turning very pale, and with a look of keen pain 
 flitting over his pale face he said, "Peace on earth, good 
 will toward men.'* 
 
 "Yes, I will accept them, Mr. Montaine,'' was all she 
 made answer, taking them from his hand, but refusing to 
 give him for what he seemed to look, a glance of her soft, 
 kindly forgiving eyes. 
 
 That morning, when alone in the room, she tenderly 
 arranged each bud and flower, and placing them (with a 
 light in her eyes that had not been there for many a long 
 day) in a lovely little moss basket, she hung them above 
 her mantle, then opening a drawer she took from it an 
 exquisite little piece of painting, representing the infant 
 Jesus in the manger, with the heavenly host of angels 
 singing, "Peace on earth." How much pains the girl had 
 taken in its execution, the result plainly showed, for it was 
 a perfect gem of its kind. She gazed on it now for the 
 hundredth time, perhaps, a strange look of irresolution 
 depicted upon her expressive face. No one but herself 
 knew for whom she had intended it, yet she dared not 
 present it. "I am afraid to send it to him," she murmured 
 with a quiver of the lip and humid light in the soft, gazing 
 eyes, and replacing it in the drawer she tnrned away with 
 a deep, sad sigh and lingering step, and the answering, 
 "Peace on earth, good will toward men," was not sent, and 
 Louis Montaine, standing aside, saw others receive tokens 
 of remembrance from her that morning, and turning away 
 sighed, as he thought that he was forgotten and the breach 
 was left open. 
 
 That night Charlotte Howard heard, with a pang of re- 
 gret and keen pain, that Louis Montaine had gone off on a 
 visit to his young cousins, and the bitter moan of her heart 
 was, ''And so I will go away this week and not see him 
 again." 
 
 Madam 's Boarding Establishment for Young Ladies 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 213 
 
 was almost deserted. Perfect quietness reigned supreme in 
 the noisy recitation rooms, while the many neat dormitories 
 were tenantless and still. 
 
 Madam . the proprietress, the French teacher, 
 
 whose home was in sunny France, and Maud and Sadie 
 Burgoyne, remained sole occupants of the busy establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Christmas, the day so full of cheer and merriment to 
 earth's fortunate ones, passed drearily enough to the exiled 
 girls. No letter, present, or token of remembrance 
 coming from father, sister, cousin, or friend. Going to 
 church being enforced, they of necessity went, but derived 
 no happiness from the decorated temple of the living God, 
 with its soul-stirring service and grandly rendered music. 
 Their young hearts were too rebellious, their thoughts too 
 full of rancor and bitterness. 
 
 After the rather meagre dinner, partaken of alone, they 
 went up to their room and spent the afternoon in tears, 
 vain regrets, and freely spoken abuse of father and sister, 
 well savored with unkind remarks of cousin Louis and 
 "Mamma's old friends," and as nothing pleasant was in 
 store for the evening they retired early, crying themselves 
 to sleep. 
 
 It was late the next morning when they rose, a holiday 
 privilege of which they gladly availed themselves, for the 
 bed was far more comfortable than the cheerless dormitory 
 or the heated parlor, where the duenna was domiciled. 
 
 After breakfast they returned to their room. Sadie, 
 wrapping herself up in a blanket, sat down to drown her 
 thoughts in the pages of a novel, while Maud took her 
 stand at the window, seemingly endeavoring to obtain some 
 amusement from the street. Neither of them resembled 
 Irene, Maud being decidedly the counterpart of her plain 
 mother, with no pretensions to beauty. Sadie was yet a 
 child, and gave the promise of possessing some striking 
 marks of beauty ; her form was a marvel for a girl of 
 twelve — tall, graceful, erect, her eyes large, dark and in- 
 tensely brilliant, a shapely, queenly poised head, with a 
 
 14 
 
214 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 perfect wreath of golden hair. Certainly, with good treat- 
 ment and a happier atmosphere surrounding her, Sadie 
 Burgoyne would develop into a strikingly handsome and 
 dignified woman. There was that something commanding 
 and attractive about her, as a child, that made one instinct- 
 ively feel that if educated aright she would make a decided 
 mark in society. 
 
 "Oh! Sadie, you ought to see how they are carrying 
 evergreens and artificial flowers to decorate the hall, for 
 the great dance and festival to-night. Do, Sadie, let us try 
 and "fix up the best we can and go there a little while. I 
 would like so much to help with the dressing." 
 
 "I would go if I had a new dress," was the reply, her 
 eyes still resting on her book, "but under no consideration 
 would I go in that old short, rusty alpaca ; I am a perfect 
 object of poverty in it, and there will be so many young 
 gentlemen and ladies there." 
 
 "Pshaw ! it is just too horrid to be treated so mean, and 
 'Bene has such beautiful silk dresses," and tears welled up 
 to overflowing in the eyes of the despondent girl, as she 
 leaned disconsolately against the window pane, her young 
 heart full of bitterness and a pining loneliness for home 
 and f riend*. Suddenly her eyes light with interest, and she 
 exclaims, "Why, Sadie, a carriage has stopped at the gate. 
 I wonder what girl has come back so soon ; but no, a young 
 man has alighted." How she starts, the color rushes to her 
 face, and with a wild scream of joy she exclaims, "Sadie, 
 Sadie, it is cousin Louis, I do believe ! yes, Sadie, come, it 
 is Louis, cousin Louis," and out she rushes, pell-mell down 
 the stairs, and just as Louis Montaine is ushered into the 
 hall, she impetuously throws her arms about him, impul- 
 sively hugging and kissing him, while she bursts into a 
 hysterical cry of sheer joy. 
 
 " Whew !" exclaimed the young man, laughing, but very 
 warmly returning her embraces. "I have never received 
 such a' hot welcome in my life; but you must give way, for 
 here comes Sadie for her share. 
 
 " Oh ! cousin Louis, I am so glad to see you once more," 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 215 
 
 said the latter, now coming up, her eyes tilling with tears, 
 as she throws her arms about the young man, kissing him 
 again and again. "It is so kind in you to come, for we 
 were nearly dying from loneliness." "Did you get my let- 
 ter V asked Maud, again clinging to him. 
 
 u Yes, I received it, and have answered in person, you 
 see. You did just the right thing, in writing and bringing 
 me to a sense of my shameful neglect ; and did the kindest 
 thing in showing me a place where I could run to ; for I 
 
 was just wishing, for some excuse to leave S for a 
 
 few days. 
 
 "Come into the parlor, cousin Louis," said Sadie, taking 
 his arm and leading the way. "Your hand is as cold as ice 
 and you look so pale." "Yes, I was just going to say that 
 cousin Louis looked really sick, you are so white and thin, 
 and have grown so tall. Oh ! you have changed wonderful- 
 ly. Have we altered much ?" 
 
 "Yes, a little, but not beyond recognition," was the smil- 
 ing reply as they entered the parlor, and sitting down 
 wearily on the sofa, he drew an eager, happy, smiling girl 
 on each side of him. "Have you been sick, Louis ?" Maud 
 inquired. "You look so differently from when I saw you 
 last." 
 
 "No, not exactly sick," and an involuntary sadness flitted 
 over his face, while a sigh escaped his lips. "I was acci- 
 dently shot a few days ago, while out on a hunt, and I pre- 
 sume that I look jaded from traveling ; but putting myself 
 out of the way, let me inquire something about my little 
 pet. Do you ever hear aught of Lorenza ?" 
 
 " Yery seldom ; once in a while aunt Sarah will write a 
 few lines, saying that 'Renzie is well and fat, but a world of 
 trouble, and always complains against Irene for sending her 
 out there to bother an old soul like her. Oh, I do so long 
 to see the dear little creature — poor mamma, and baby and 
 pet," and the voice was choked with unshed tears, and Sadie 
 coming to her rescue asked, "Do you know any thing about 
 papa and 'Rene? for we do not know if they are even 
 alive." 
 
2l6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 "Is it possible and something very much like a sneer 
 disfigured the face of the young man. *• I am not certain 
 about your fathers whereabouts ; and you did not know 
 that 'Rene had followed me to S — , and was jealously watch- 
 ing her claims on me? v 
 
 " Why, no, cousin Louis, to tell you the positive truth, 
 I cannot remember the last time she has written to us, it is 
 60 long ago, 7 ' and Sadie asked. '* How is it that she let you 
 come to see us — and why did she not come with yon ?" 
 
 u For a very good reason, 7 ' laughed the young man. k, I 
 never told her one word about my coming; when she was at 
 church yesterday, I very slyly ran away : I will receive a 
 good scolding when I get back, no doubt : but that is noth- 
 ing to be feared, I am used to that now." 
 
 "She is not perfection now. eh, cousin Louis?" slyly 
 suggested Sadie, while Maud saucily rejoined : 
 
 " Yes, you know Sadie. I always perdieted that he would 
 find out defect? some day. She is not such an angel now, 
 eh. Mr. Louis C 
 
 " Xo, not quite — her angelical qualities have faded away 
 considerably of late. But I perceive yon are too fond of 
 slandering your sister and I will not allow it ; you know the 
 command — 'remove the beam from your own eye, before 
 you try to take the mote out of your brother's eye.' " 
 
 Yes. it does not say your father and sister, though, but 
 I know it means the same thing. But, cousin Louis, you 
 can not imagine how mean she treats us. She dresses so 
 finely, and here we are not actually decently appareled, 
 any one would think that we were a pauper's daughters ; and 
 I just intend to tell you the whole truth, we are shame- 
 fully neglected and insulted at this school ; Sadie is never 
 allowed to go near a piano and she is so fond of music and 
 can sing superbly, and I will just tell you the reason of it 
 — papa dues not pay regularly for our board and tuition, 1 
 
 found it out only yesterday. Madam was talking to a 
 
 lady visitor, and I heard her say something against papa, and 
 she said the only reason that she admitted us into the school 
 was on account of our mother being the sister of Mr. Mon- 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoync. 
 
 217 
 
 taine. Then she said something about 'Rene marrying you, 
 and that she would not lose what is due to her, for 'Rene 
 would pay her with interest, after she became your wife. 
 Now, that is just how matters stand, and how can you blame 
 me for slandering papa and Irene ?" and the girl looked a 
 defiant inquiry into the face of her cousin, who seemed 
 greatly moved, while an angry light gleamed in his deep 
 eyes as he said, his tone full of pain and subdued excite- 
 ment : 
 
 " This is certainly a very bad state of affairs. And is 
 Irene aware of your destitute condition, and the way that 
 your father is treating you ?" 
 
 "Certainly she is ; I have written again and again, telling 
 her all, and how Wb are being neglected and disgraced. 
 She promised to speak to papa and have it remedied, but 
 no remedy has come. She sent us a box of her cast-off 
 clothing, and the French teacher gave us five dollars for 
 them, which Sadie and I soon spent for sweetmeats," and 
 Maud Burgoyne finished with a merry laugh. 
 
 "Do you think that papa is really so poor, Louis? or 
 that he does not care for us? You know 'Rene was always 
 his favorite." 
 
 "It is hard for me to tell, Sadie, what is the meaning of 
 such conduct. I heard that your father was bankrupt, but 
 the style 'Rene keeps up made me disbelieve the report. 
 The extravagant way that she trails her silks and laces 
 around does not correspond with your poor attire and slen- 
 der purse, and it makes me feel very badly to think she is 
 so selfish. Why did you keep your poverty thus from me, 
 when you know that I could easily help you, for aunt Har- 
 rie's sake, if nothing else." 
 
 "I was afraid to let you know. 'Rene forbid us to tell 
 you, but I could stand it no longer, and, Louis, you will not 
 tell Irene?" 
 
 "No, I will not tell her, for I doubt if she could help you 
 any, but I will write to your father and endeavor to arouse 
 him to his duty and parental obligations. He does not 
 treat 'Rene as he should, leaving her alone without a pro- 
 
2J8 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 tector. But come, do not look so serious and troubled, 
 little cousins, I will come to an understanding with Madam 
 
 , so that in the future you will not be neglected nor 
 
 slighted, and after you graduate, if your father fails to ful- 
 fill his duty towards you, rest assured you will ever have a 
 warm welcome at my home, but you must study hard and 
 try to become educated, refined young ladies." 
 
 "Oh ! Louis, darling coz, you are just delightfully good, 
 and I am just going to study hard ; I want to live with you 
 anyhow, for papa makes fun of me, and says that I am 
 ugly as Satan,'' and Maud, in her usual rapturous manner, 
 threw her arms about his neck and kissed him impulsively. 
 
 "And how about you, Sadie ? you do not seem enthusi- 
 astic on the subject. Do you not want to find a home with 
 'Rene until she entraps a rich husband for you % 
 
 "No, I do not ; I would rather not be dependent on you 
 for a home. I do not like 'Rene, and before I live with her 
 I will live among strangers, and earn my living by teaching. 
 I shall never be beholden to such a sister as Irene Bur- 
 goyne." 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sadie," cried 
 Maud, reproachfully. "She is awfully proud, cousin Louis, 
 and as independent as "Beulah;" everybody calls her proud, 
 and her nickname among the girls is Miss Independence." 
 
 "Every one has a right to hold to their opinion, but do 
 not be proud against me, little cousin, I will be more de- 
 pendent on you perhaps, than you on me. Remember, I 
 have no mother or sister, and a selfish, fashionable wife, 
 will not satisfy all my wants and longings ; and I will have 
 to look to you, my young cousin, to fill up what she lacks. 
 Suppose my father had bequeathed a part of his wealth to 
 you, would you have refused to take it ? So now as his son. 
 I will accomplish what he failed to do. He died so sudden- 
 ly, that he neglected much which I know he wanted done. 
 I loved aunt Harrie very dearly, and as I have an abun- 
 dance and to spare, you think I intend that my dear 
 little cousins shall want? Not so. You talk of teaching, why 
 what would the world say of me? call me selfish, close-fist- 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 219 
 
 ed, and utterly devoid of my father's open-handed generos- 
 ity. No, no, Sadie, I will not be frightened by your inde- 
 pendence. Study now, and become an accomplished young 
 lady, then come home to me, and I predict that you will 
 not stay there too long. Why, you will be the belle of 
 Charleston, and carry off the best prize in the matrimonial 
 market !" 
 
 "Cousin Louis, you are just making fun of me, and Maud 
 is laughing ; but you can not alter my fixed determination, 
 I hate 'Rene, if it had not been for her, mamma would be 
 living now. I just wish that she had never come home, 
 but had married one of those gay Frenchmen, who, she said, 
 was dead in love with her, and then she could have Lad a 
 house full of poodles. We have seen nothing but trouble 
 since she came back." 
 
 Perhaps Louis Montaine wished the same thing ; for a 
 clear ripple of his old merry laugh echoed through the 
 room, and with a sympathetic good humor he put his arm 
 around the pouting child, and said, trying to hide his real 
 feeling, in disapproving words, "Oh ! no Sadie, this will 
 not do, remember that lady is to make me your brother, and 
 you must not talk against her thus, 1 cannot listen to it; 
 for the receiver is as bad as the sender, your antipathy for 
 Miss Lilly is as great as ever I see, and I wish the day of 
 her death would come, every time I see 'Rene fondling it." 
 
 " I think 'Rene had better taken care of dear little 'Renzie 
 instead of that nasty little snappish beast," observed Maud, 
 dryly, and Sadie took it up with alacrity, " Yes indeed, I 
 think she had, but" — stopping her mouth with his hand 
 Louis Montaine laughingly said : " Here it begins again ; 
 but not another word. 1 am going to stay here until to- 
 morrow night and I want you both to forget all about 
 ''Rene and her darling poodle,' and let us have a real 
 pleasant time together. I am going now to find a place to 
 stop at to-night and something to eat, for I feel faint, having 
 eaten nothing since yesterday, and, after getting a little 
 rest, I will come with a carriage and take you out to ride, 
 and let you buy your Christmas presents and something 
 
220 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 very beautiful for 'Renzie, so I can express it on to her at 
 
 once. Madame will be home by that time and I will 
 
 arrange everything in order ; so now, good-bye for a few 
 hours." 
 
 The next night Louis Montaine left for home, leaving 
 behind him two happy, transformed girls loaded with hand- 
 some presents, and money to purchase winter clothing, 
 arrangements perfected for their future comfort and ad- 
 vantages for the continuance of their education ; leaving 
 them far richer and happier than they ever imagined it 
 possible to realize in so short a time, and yet what a simple 
 act, what a little, perhaps no, self-denial on the part of the 
 donor ! Would that the rich and favored of this world would 
 ever act thus % What an amount of misery, want, unpaid 
 toil and degradation would cease ! What a different world 
 the rich could make of it! How much happier they could 
 make mankind, and thus become happier themselves. How 
 much safer would be their future life, how much surer 
 their reward hereafter! But, alas! they hug their comforts,, 
 store away their dollars, luxuriate in ease and plenty, caring 
 nothing for the poverty-stricken brother in their midst. 
 Hating the poor — Christ's poor — scorning the toil-worn 
 laborer, cheating them day by day out of their just dues by 
 paying almost nothing from the wealth loaned them by the 
 great God and owner of the universe for the labor of their 
 hands, the labor which the rich can not do without. Ah ! 
 verily will the heartless cruelty of the rich meet its reward, 
 when the Lord of life assumes His power and metes out 
 His rewards and punishments. Help, sympathize, lift from 
 the mire of poverty Christ's suffering, lost, wandering sheep, 
 and ye do it unto Christ ! 
 
 By his simple act of kindness, help, interest and encour- 
 agement, Louis Montaine had given a life-spring to these 
 two hitherto listless young ladies ; arresting the stagnant 
 waters gurgling about their despairing young hearts, leav- 
 ing them two different girls from what he had found them. 
 It takes very little to convey happiness to others, especially 
 the young, but it is withheld, and the world of misery and 
 despair goes on. 
 
Maud and Sadie Burgoyne. 
 
 221 
 
 Four days after his departure Louis Montaine arrived 
 back, looking better, feeling stronger and happier, his 
 wounds completely healed, but, alas ! not his heart's wound. 
 A blackness of darkness seemed to settle down over his life 
 as he heard what he expected, yet dreaded to hear — that 
 Charlotte Howard had gone — for he then realized what it 
 would be to lose her from his life ! 
 
COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 gVTc early three years have glided by into the past with 
 uneventful but giant strides. Three years more ad- 
 v ~^) ded to time, making our friends whom we left just 
 verging upon maturity, men and women, standing on the 
 threshold of a new life ; a life of reality it is true, fraught 
 with new responsibility, but also new enjoyments and 
 pleasures. The anticipated, dreamed of time, that would 
 bring the shadowy hopes and aspirations into a real, tangi- 
 ble reality. The ardently desired time when discipline and 
 obedience could be thrown aside, and armed with the full 
 panoply of manhood they could step forth and do as they 
 liked, think as they pleased, form new and dearer ties, and 
 take their stand among the ranks of those whose years pro- 
 claimed them men. 
 
 A? in years gone by, unquestionably such were the 
 
 thoughts and feelings of the graduating class from 
 
 College this year, and of this number are our old friends, 
 Arthur Howard, Harry Bentley, Louis Montaine, Walter 
 Hayne, and some fifteen others. 
 
 The public exercises comprising orations and addresses 
 by the graduating class ; the annual oration from some dis- 
 tinguished character, and the conferring of diplomas, were 
 to begin at noon ; but long before the sun was overhead, 
 the hall was crowded to excess, and by twelve all were as- 
 sembled. As the stage is filling, the band strikes up a gay 
 strain, which ceases as all are seated. A slight pause fol- 
 lows ; then Walter Hayne, handsome, pleasant, self-confi- 
 dent, and stylishly attired, arose, and coming forward with 
 
 a graceful bow, introduced the Rev. Mr. , a visiting 
 
 minister, to read the opening prayer, after which Mr. Hayne 
 again comes to the front, and in a clear, ringing voice intro- 
 duced Mr. Howard to deliver the salutatory address. 
 
Commencement. • 223 
 
 An acclamation of applause greeted the young graduate, 
 as he came forward, and as he stands there we notice that 
 the three years have wrought a change in him. He is 
 twenty-two, and Irs form and general appearance speak 
 well for his years. Tall and broad-chested, with a firmly 
 poised head, well cut features, and dark brown mustache 
 and side locks, style him a handsome man. Much of his 
 boyish spirits and mischief have subsided into manhood's 
 matured and more serious cast ; still it is not extinct, for, 
 as his clear, unabashed blue eyes rove over the vast assem- 
 bly and fall on a familiar or loved object, the old mischiev- 
 ous smile curves the lip and lights the face, and we recog- 
 nize the Arthur of old. The voice, not very loud, but dis- 
 tinct, firm and perfectly audible, broke pleasantly upon the 
 expectant ear ; after the usual manner of a salutatory ad- 
 dress he, in pleasant, concise and amusing style welcomed, 
 in the name of his fellow students, the friends and visitors 
 to this their annual Commencement. 
 
 One after another, in rapid succession, the young gentle- 
 men were introduced, and delivered their graduating ora- 
 tions, receiving their separate plaudits and floral showers, 
 but as they are strangers to the reader, we will pass them 
 over and briefly touch on two others who are not, Harry 
 Bentley, and the first honor man, Louis Montaine, 
 
 The former, a young man of twenty-one, is tall but 
 slightly built, with pale complexion and delicate cast of 
 features, dark, curling hair, and a slight line of a dark mus- 
 tache just shadowing the upper lip of a sad, compressed 
 mouth, which made you feel instinctively that some blight 
 rested upon his life, marring its youth, and sapping the 
 buoyancy of spirits generally found in one of his few 
 years. 
 
 An intense interest seemed to pervade the large assem- 
 blage, as he came forward at the announcement of his 
 name, and as his large, sad eyes glanced quietly over the 
 vast crowd before him, a slight flush came to his cheek, and 
 an uneasy fear seemed to come to the common mind that he 
 would fail, but they were soon reassured as his clear, gen- 
 
The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 tie, pathetic tones and words fell upon the listening air. 
 His subject was "Christianity and Infidelity," and the manner 
 in which he handled it gave you to understand that there 
 was a depth of thought, acute penetration, sound judgment 
 and broad intellect underlying the rather effeminate ap- 
 pearance of the youthful orator. Hard study, incessant 
 application, undivided attention, and a firm resolve to excel 
 (though never counted very brilliant) had made him a ripe 
 scholar at the first dawn of manhood, and he graduates with 
 the third honor from a brilliant class cf twenty-three. 
 
 His ever quiet manner and delicate appearance made an 
 observer pronounce him passive and only ordinary, but as 
 he warms now, with his interesting and deeply felt subject, 
 his face lighted, his eye unabashed, his gestures graceful 
 and spirited, and his voice low but distinct and sweetly per- 
 suasive, that uttered in elegant language a well selected, 
 maintained and beautiful composition, undeceived many, 
 and hundreds with one accord pronounce him "just 
 splendid," a good scholar, sound philosopher, and predicted 
 he would become a brilliant theologian. 
 
 "We will soon see Hal in surplice and stole," was an oft- 
 repeated prophecy at College, and on this occasion his first 
 speech in public was more fitted for the pulpit than the 
 rostrum. 
 
 Grateful tears of joy and pride came to the eyes of the 
 fond parents as they listened, while the fond sisters' hearts 
 throbbed with tender, loving emotions as the homage of 
 the admiring crowd was bestowed upon this darling, loved 
 brother. 
 
 " Does he not speak beautifully V whispered Masie Wal- 
 ters to her sister Florence, and Charlotte Howard, who sat 
 on either side of her, while tears of joy and love filled her 
 eyes. Florence, a sweet, lovely young lady, pressed her 
 sister's hand in sympathetic style, saying, in a low tone, 
 " Dear, dear Harry, how I wish he was happy !" glancing 
 significantly towards Charlotte Howard. 
 
 A slight tinge came to that young lady's soft cheek, but 
 she made no reply, and the sisters' eyes, ears and hearts were 
 
Commencement. 
 
 225 
 
 given to the brother again, who was just then the centre of 
 attraction. But, ah ! I am afraid not to all, for very often 
 two dark brown orbs would frequently turn from him and 
 shyly glance toward another face and form, sitting in a re- 
 cessed position on the stage. Charlotte Howard had just 
 returned home the day before, after an uninterrupted ab- 
 sence of three years. And now, as she sits there attired in 
 plain, fleecy robes, her once sunny hair, straying at will, 
 brushed back from the round, white forehead and coiled in 
 rich, dark braids, forming a very coronet upon the small, 
 shapely head, we can scarcely recall the Charlotte of former 
 days. The once childish face has matured into the calm, 
 thoughtful visage of a woman ; and who could behold that 
 face without acknowledging at once that she was beautiful. 
 Charlotte Howard had indeed developed into a beautiful, 
 refined, and accomplished woman. Ever small, she was still 
 so, yet perfectly and gracefully proportioned. The com- 
 plexion clear and soft, with the faintest peach- bloom upon 
 the velvety cheek, verging to a deep carnation on the small 
 and exquisitely chiseled mouth. The hair, in girlish days 
 verging on to red, had shaded each year, and was now a dark 
 auburn, and a wealth of soft, dark bancs took the place of 
 the free, troublesome curls which had ever clustered about 
 her face in child-like style; the eye-brows dark and arched, 
 the lids darker still and slightly curled at the ends, rested 
 bewitchingly on the peachy cheek when looking down, but 
 . when raised, disclosed a pair of soft, dark hazel eyes, full of 
 varying expression and beauty, the windows of a soul re- 
 fined, gentle, strong and loving, adding a glory and a light 
 to all, and making one feel instinctively when receiving a 
 glance, that the girl was rare, beautiful, pure and good — 
 and which she was ; for, though so outwardly changed, 
 Charlotte was the same strong, sweet nature as of old. She 
 was one of those rare creatures who seem to inspire all with 
 love and friendship, and more than one masculine heart 
 throbbed with an undying love for this lovable girl, and one 
 among them was Harry Bentley, who loved with a strong, ab- 
 sorbing and adoring passion, but hopelessly. The life-spring 
 
226 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 of his present achievements and hard fought for honor, was 
 to gain her notice, and to show her he was no dolt. She was 
 the incentive that had urged him on through weariness and 
 pain, discouragement and fear. It was this absorbing love, 
 this latent fire smouldering low, at times fanned into a flame, 
 bnt almost instantly smothered until nearly extinguished, 
 that made him the saddened, blighted life we find him. And 
 now, what has he gained ? Charlotte certainly felt and ac- 
 knowledged he spoke wel], listened attentively, and appre- 
 ciated his succes3 for his relatives' sake — nothing more ; 
 she had no deeper interest in him than that he was the brother 
 of her dearest friends. She had almost forgotten Harry as 
 a lover, until now reminded of it by those few words and 
 significant glance. A saddened expression had superseded 
 the conscious blush, and now, for the first time, she regard- 
 ed the concluding young orator with something like interest, 
 and as he concludes and bows to the applauding audience, 
 his eyes sought her out. She smiled brightly and sweetly, 
 as with dexterous ease she threw a floral offering amidst the 
 shower that fell around him. He saw it, and with a heaven 
 at his heart illuminating his now flushed face, he picks it up 
 and thrust it into his breast, returning to his seat radiantly 
 happy. 
 
 And what had prompted this source of his present joy ? 
 " Dear, dear Harry, how I wish he was happy!" had touched 
 a vibrating chord in the girl's heart, upon whose altar an 
 absorbing, undying, yet hopless love lay. The knowledge 
 that he was experiencing her heart-ache, had caused a sigh 
 to heave her gentle breast and flutter from her lips. She 
 felt for his pain, and the thought h«.d come, "I can make 
 him happy. If my life is to be a sacrifice for others, why 
 not become his wife, and among his flock I may gain, if not 
 happiness, at least content?'' With these thoughts in her 
 mind she had met his glance. Her loving, sympathetic 
 heart went out in sympathy for him, and brought the smile, 
 sweet, tender and encouraging, to her face. But, ala* ! how 
 soon were her feelings changed. Amid the almost deafen- 
 ing cheering which had followed Harry's speech, the band 
 
Co m m encein ent. 
 
 227 
 
 struck up a gay, triumphal tune, and as both died away Mr. 
 Hayne introduced for the first time, Mr. Montaine, whose 
 subject on the programme was " Happiness." Many heads 
 bend forward now ; eager, deep interest, visible on as many 
 faces. Knowing shakes of the head and glances were exchang- 
 ed, for unlike Harry, Louis Montaine was known and already 
 famed for his brilliant mind and high oratorical capacity — 
 increasing the interest as he was the first honor man. And 
 as he stands there in full view we will take a glance at him, 
 and in doing so will say, that the three years have also 
 wrought a change in him, adding to his height, and casting 
 around him the halo of manhood in its broadest sense, for 
 he stands there before you, a firm, strong, reliant and hand- 
 some man. Handsome now indeed, the objectionable fea- 
 ture to an otherwise faultless face being shadowed entirely 
 by a thick, dark mustache. 
 
 Not until perfect quietness was restored did he open his 
 subject, and the deep, thrilling, yet musical voice, the flash- 
 ing, restless, intense eyes, and elegant gestures, soon gained 
 for him the interest and undivided attention of those 
 present. Every eye was riveted upon him, profound at- 
 tention waited on every word he uttered, and when he fin- 
 ished, with a thrilling force that seemed to carry conviction 
 to every heart, all had a clear idea that happiness was not a 
 terrestrial boon, but rather a celestial experience. 
 
 Charlotte Howard sat shrinking back, and gazed like a 
 guilty creature on this object of her young heart's love and 
 9 adoration. With a heart-fainting sensation she knew that 
 the old love, which she had been battling against, and which 
 she had thought conquered, had only been dormant, and 
 now at sight and in sound of the old, sweet, familiar voice, 
 had come rushing back in a torrent of thrilling, poignant 
 love, came back now with redoubled intensity, painfully 
 bitter as she felt her failure, and knew this love was an un- 
 dying attachment, utterly hopeless as it was. 
 
 As one in some painful trance, she sits there and listens 
 in a charmed fascination, which is only dispelled as his 
 ^oice dies away and she sees his full, smiling glance rest 
 
228 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 upon Miss Burgoyne, who had thrown a laurel wreath 
 with such dexterity that it lodged upon his head. 
 
 Charlotte Howard sank back pale and wretched, a sharp, 
 terrible pain seeming to rend her heart in twain. To a 
 careless eye perchance she seemed the same, but ah, how 
 altered to herself ! Hope now lay mute at her heart, and 
 in its stead despair coiled serpent-like about her being, 
 stinging in its cruel venom, and the heart, burnt, crushed, 
 withered up, lay in miserable desolation — stagnant, almost 
 pulseless. That weariness which hath no outward part, 
 but which makes life taste the bitterness of death, stole 
 over her, and she sat there the remainder of the time 
 like one absent to all around, the whole strength of her 
 body and soul being centered in one mighty effort to 
 crush down the revived love, and quell the bitter jealousy 
 rankling in her heart. It had been one of her studies to 
 hide this secret, consuming love, and though for a while* 
 under the severe test it had given away, she drove it back 
 again, crushing it with her iron will from mortal vision ; 
 but, alas ! to herself there was no opiate to lull the deep, bitter 
 pain to rest, for passionate love will ever plead for utter- 
 ance. The water rippled smoothly enough on the surface, 
 but the violent turbulence beneath was beyond quieting. 
 
 In the general confusion of breaking up, she did not 
 see him, and it was not until seated in her carriage, waiting 
 for her brother, that he ran up hastily, and springing lightly 
 upon the step he held out his hand, saying in an eager man- 
 ner. "Howdy, Miss Charlotte, I am very glad to meet you 
 again. Your absence has been so protracted, that it is very 
 pleasant to see you among the old familiar uices once 
 more." Could there have been a more trying ime for the 
 poor girl, her heart full of passionate tenderness for this 
 object, yet compelled to hide it from him ? His eyes, bent 
 on her, were full of searching inquiry, his face flushed and 
 eager, making him so handsome ; but with a calm smile and 
 unflinching eye, she extended her hand and replied pleas- 
 antly, a tinge of restraint and feigned indifference in her 
 tone and manner : 
 
Commencement. 
 
 229 
 
 " Yes, it is very pleasant for me to be home again, and I 
 am very glad to meet, and see you looking so well, Mr. 
 Montaine. "Will you allow me to offer my sincere congrat- 
 lations for your brilliant success on this very interesting oc- 
 casion." 
 
 "Certainly, and I thank you kindly for them," was his re- 
 ply ; but chilled by her rather cool manner, he bowed a 
 hasty retreat. 
 
 That evening a gay, merry scene was presented in the 
 town-hall; where the relieved young graduates and their 
 lady friends, gathered to participate in the Commencement 
 ball, and although the night was warm, at the first sound of 
 the music, the floor was full of tripping feet in the mazes of 
 the dance. 
 
 While the third lancers were being filled, Louis 
 Montaine approached Charlotte, for the first time that 
 evening. She looked very fair, as she sat by an open win- 
 dow, chatting gaily with Walter Hayne and Florence Bent- 
 ley. She was very sore at heart, for thrice had Louis Mon- 
 taine and his beautiful affianced, superb in glistening silk, 
 rich jewels and laces, swept by her in the dance, and as he 
 now bowed, and stood before her, she looked coolly askance, 
 a slight curl of scorn w T feathing her lip. 
 
 "Can I have the pleasure of your hand for the lancers Miss 
 Howard ?" he enquired, and her prompt reply came with 
 cool hauteur, "Please excuse me, Mr. Montaine, my card is 
 filled for every set I care to dance the remainder of the 
 evening." 
 
 A flush came to his brow, he bit his lip, and bowing again 
 retired. 
 
 A short while afterwards, Charlotte saw him waltzing 
 gaily with his cousin, but he did not come near her again. 
 
 It was the "wee sma" hours of the next morning before 
 the tired revellers dispersed. Charlotte Howard found Wal- 
 ter Hayne was ready to escort her home, and with perfect 
 satisfaction that young gentlemen offered his arm, and with 
 tender gallantry conducted her to a buggy. By it was an 
 open carriage, and as Charlotte took her seat, she noticed 
 
 15 
 
230 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 that a lady sat within it, and by the starlight she easily re- 
 cognized her to be Irene Burgoyne, and with a sudden heart 
 throb she next saw Lonis Montaine standing apparently 
 just about ready to spring in. 
 
 "Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Joyce, Hayne ?" she heard 
 him ask in a disturbed tone, and was answered indifferently 
 by Mr. Hayne, as he sprang in and complacently took his 
 seat by her side. As he gathered the reins preparatory to 
 starting, Charlotte glanced back, intending to * bestow a 
 parting bow, but with an involuntary shudder and strange, 
 bewildering sensation, she drew back quickly. 
 
 In that glance she had seen Louis Montaine perfectly 
 transfigured. His tall form crouching, his ever pale face 
 livid, dark, purple veins standing out like cords on his white 
 forehead. His eyes gleamed like two coals of fire, his 
 mouth sternly compressed, while a white, clenched hand 
 was raised towards them. 
 
 A few minutes later Charlotte sat in her room, her hands 
 clasped tightly, her face pale, weary and anxious, her young 
 brow drawn with mental inquiry, her heart wrapped up in 
 its burden of anguish and deep perplexity. The proud, 
 stern face and elegant form of her young heart's secret 
 idolatry stood before her in imagination. She seemed still 
 to feel the wild heart-throb as he stood before her that 
 night and asked her to dance. There was that subtle some- 
 thing about him that had made her whole being vibrate 
 with painful, yet exquisite emotions, and with a moaning 
 shudder she thought of how hard yet obligatory it was for 
 her to draw a shield over her glowing, passionate heart and 
 appear indifferent and formal. 
 
 Again the mental scene shifted. She recollected with a 
 shiver his changed appearance and clenched hand that night. 
 What did it mean ? What inward emotion had wrought 
 that mighty change? Had that threatening gesture been 
 directed toward Walter Hayne ? and if so, why ? And in 
 trying to define it a wild thought of sudden joy flooded 
 her soul — did Louis Montaine love her ? For several min- 
 utes the girl gave herself up to this delicious reverie, al- 
 
Commencement. 
 
 231 
 
 most feeling the sweet, transient illusion was reality ; but 
 soon it was wafted away as other realizations came. How 
 could this be when his actions showed he loved his cousin, 
 and whom he was to marry very shortly ? With a shudder- 
 ing sob, and full sweeping tide of all the old anguish rush- 
 ing back on her soul, she threw herself on her couch. 
 
 Only a little space away, when all nature was quiet and 
 at rest, another suffering, intensely disturbed heart throbbed 
 — another battle was fought but not won. Louis Montaine, 
 in the quiet of his chamber, walked to and fro, his brow 
 wrought with an energy of thought, while his hands were 
 clasped firmly across his back. Slowly, with his full pow- 
 ers of mind and body concentrated upon the broad, open 
 facts of his position, he treaded the room. And what is 
 the matter ? Why does he look like a caged animal ready 
 to burst his prison bars and be free ? Louis Montaine had 
 been looked upon that night as the most blest and happi- 
 est of mortals ; the deepest throes of envy had been felt ; 
 jealousy had burned brightly on many a heart's sacred altar, 
 hatred's malignant waters had been stirred, as he moved 
 quietly, and as they felt, haughtily about, in and out among 
 them. Better it would be, I think, if the inner life were 
 known If each of us knew of the secret burdens, heart- 
 aches and misery of others, there would be no enmity on 
 earth. Sympathy would make us all fellow-bondsmen of 
 the earth. Ah, envy not the brilliant outer life of those 
 around us until understanding what is hid from mortal 
 vision ! 
 
 The outer life of Louis Montaine was all bright, glitter- 
 ing and enviable ; the inner a conflicting, lonely, dissatisfied, 
 craving heart. The ceaseless longings for a mother's and 
 sister's love and care; a strong, undying, passionate, but 
 hopeless love for one, and the sense of a repugnant obliga- 
 tion to another, ever at war battling but neither van- 
 quished. 
 
CHARLOTTE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 week later, Charlotte Howard again sits in her cham- 
 ber alone and in anguish. A brilliant diamond glitter- 
 ed upon her tightly clasped hands, and the pale, still 
 agonized face told, ah, too plainly it proclaimed, a betroth- 
 al repugnant to every fibre of her nature. 
 
 She sits there, the betrothed wife of Walter Hayne, while 
 all her heart's love is for another. To save her sick mother, 
 unselfish aunt, and proud, handsome brother from disgrace 
 and ruin, she had sold herself for gold, and now sits brood- 
 ing over her misery, her degradation. 
 
 "My God forgive me," is the earnest, pleading prayer of 
 her heart. "If I have done wrong, Thou knowest that it is 
 done for the sake of others,f or those Hove. I feel it my duty 
 to save them from the certain ruin and penury before them. 
 I sacrifice all, my dearest rights for my darling ones, and if 
 I am wrong oh, God forgive me ! I do not love this man ; 
 but I will do my duty toward him as his wife, and will try 
 to make him happy ; but I can never love him, for in driving 
 out the old, wild, passionate idolatry, the deep-seated, endur- 
 ing love there now, the heart will be dead to another love; 
 but if I cannot love him, I will be a loyal wife to Walter 
 Hayne. And oh ! dear Savior, give me this strength. I can- 
 not let poverty, disgrace, and disappointment, come upon 
 poor mamma and dear Arthur. They must be saved, no 
 matter what I suffer." 
 
 With couiageous determination not to be crushed by this 
 heavy but as she felt unalterable burden, the suffering girl 
 rose, and with white lips, but a firm step and steadfast 
 light in her eyes, she approached the desk and, unlocking a 
 secret drawer took therefrom a small package, and untying 
 it gazed with a look of concentrated pain at its contents. 
 
Charlotte s Sacrifice. 
 
 233 
 
 Several notes, a lot of dried flowers, several sheets of copied 
 music and a picture ; all souvenirs of that fatal association 
 out in Virginia three years before. She took the latter up, 
 the hand shaking violently that held it before her gaze. 
 Long and earnestly her burning eyes rested upon the calm, 
 proud, handsome face of Louis Montaine, then raising it to 
 her dry, white lips, she kissed the inanimate likeness of the 
 man she so madly loved, and then with a dry, gasping cry 
 she tore it into bits, and with the other worthless but cher- 
 ished articles, made valuable to her heart as coming from 
 hands alas too dear to her, she placed them on the hearth 
 and igniting them with a match, she stood watching them 
 with dilating eyes, from the terrible wrench and tear that 
 her heart experienced as they curled and crisped until they 
 became a blackened mass. She stood there in her agonized 
 watch until they were a charred funeral pile of all her 
 hopes, her youthful bliss and fondly cherished but soon 
 vanished dreams. Then clasping her hands across her heart, 
 she threw herself on her knees, wailing forth in her wild 
 gony: 
 
 "Oh, God, and must I give him up? Oh, Louis, Louis, my 
 heart will break from this terrible pain, this terrific forcing 
 away from its cherished shrine of thy worshipped image!" 
 
 The shudder and pain of death seemed to sweep over her 
 being, as she knelt there, her dry eyes raised imploringly 
 while her lips seemed to move in silent, fervent prayer. 
 
 Gradually she grew calmer, her face becoming more com- 
 posed and her eyes humid. The worst agony was over, and 
 the brave, self-sacrificing girl was prepared to go forth and 
 engage in the new, fierce warfare before her. 
 
THE REVELATION. 
 
 harlotte Howard stands at the death-bed of her old 
 protege, Mrs. Hayes, her face is full of pity and con- 
 cern, and in a voice tender and low she speaks to the 
 sick woman : 
 
 " Why did you not send for me before, grandma ; you 
 seem very ill, what can I do for you V- 
 
 u Some water, child, I am faint and dry, but there is none 
 in the house and you can not get it from the well." 
 
 " O yes, I can ; I know where the well is down by the 
 old fence. You see how quick I will be back with it." 
 
 With alacrity she took up an old pitcher, and throwing 
 back a window ran from out the door, drawing a long 
 breath of relief as she emerged out into the open air. 
 Speeding down the overgrown pathway she soon found the 
 well, and throwing down the old, rusty pail, soon drew from 
 the depths below cool, sparkling spring water. Washing the 
 pitcher thoroughly, she filled it hastily and returned to the 
 house. 
 
 As she entered the door she started involuntarily — Louis 
 Montaine stood at the bedside, a look of undisguised pity 
 and disgust on his pale, handsome face. 
 
 " You sent for me this morning, Mrs. Hayes, but I could 
 not come until now, and hope it will do just as well," Char- 
 lotte heard him say, and the next instant his eyes fell upon 
 her. He started and colored, and for an instant the two re- 
 garded each other as if mutually palsied, but with a smile 
 he recovered himself, and coming forward said, as he took 
 the pitcher from her hand : 
 
 " It is rather a surprise to us both to meet here. Mrs. 
 Hayes sent for me this morning, and I have just found 
 time to answer her summons." 
 
The Revelation. 
 
 235 
 
 A gasp in the bed interrupted further talk, and hastily 
 approching the sick woman, Charlotte said, " Please, Mr. 
 Montaine, bring me some of that water, I believe the old 
 lady has fainted.'' 
 
 Quickly she was obeyed, and holding the basin for her, 
 the young man stood by and watched with a sort of fasci- 
 nation the small white hand as it tenderly and dexterously 
 bathed the clammy, begrimed face of the sick woman. 
 
 " Had I not better go for a physician, Miss Howard ?" he 
 inquired, but opening her eyes, the woman jumped up, and 
 shaking her fist, said : 
 
 u No, he shall not enter these doors, I am better now, the 
 faintness has gone ; give me the water, child.'' 
 
 The young man sprang forward to hand the desired water, 
 he looked about for some vessel, and with a grimace held 
 forth a greasy old cup inquiringly toward Charlotte, With 
 a smile she nodded assent, and rinsing it out, he filled and 
 brought it forward. She held out her hand to receive it, 
 and as it came in contact with the cup, the declining rays 
 of the setting sun glancing in the open door, caught the 
 fire of the diamond upon her finger. 
 
 A sudden spasm seemed to distort his features, and draw- 
 ing back chilled to the heart, he remembered his momen- 
 tary folly. Had he forgotten in that brief time the gulf 
 between them? 
 
 64 Please take this basin, Mr. Montaine," she asked sweet- 
 ly. " And now, Mrs. Hayes, as you seem better, please 
 attend to the business you have with Mr. Montaine. I will 
 go into the next room and come when you call me." 
 
 "No, my child," called the old woman, roused from her 
 temporary lethargy, " what I have to tell him concerns 
 you, and as I can not tell it twice, just stay and hear it 
 now, and as I might go off any moment I will begin at 
 once, and though I do not like to reveal this trust, I can not 
 die in peace. I know if I do not confess my sins and make 
 reparation as far as it lies in my power, I could not be ab- 
 solved. I have wronged you, child ; I have been a thief, a 
 perjurer, just for the sake of gold, which has done no good, 
 
2 3 6 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 but instead brought only misery, fear and remorse. Satan 
 tempted, and like Eve of old 1 fell. But let me come to 
 the point, and while I have strength recall this secret and 
 ease my mind. You do not know me, Louis Montaine ; 
 but, ah ! how well do I know you ! " and she fixed her eyes 
 upon the proud, rather indifferent face of the young man 
 who stood at the foot of the bed. " Have you never heard 
 of Mary Hayes ? Did your father, or Mrs. Renolds ever 
 speak to you about me ? I expect to see you shake your 
 head. They had their reasons to let my name sink into ob- 
 livion. I do not like now to reveal their secret, to expose the 
 trust laid upon me, but I dare not die and let this matter 
 rest. I knew your mother well, young man, and as 1 look 
 upon you now, I think I can see her before me. Your 
 mother was very young when you were born, a frail child, 
 you may say, and I was your foster-mother. But, oh ! — 
 Holy Jesus ! — this spasm again ! Let me tell you quick, 
 for I am going, Louis Montaine ; the girl raised by Mrs. 
 Howard, the girl that is an exile now, wanting and lonely 
 in a land of strangers, is your sister. Yes, I swear it on 
 my dying-bed, the girl known as Lila Howard is the 
 daughter of your mother — your sister. Charlotte, my 
 child, Lila is his sister, not yours. Mr. Montaine gave me 
 money to take it away, and instead of raising it myself, I 
 
 stole the money and put it off on your father. My soul 
 
 is stained with falsehood and theft. But 
 
 may God have mercy upon me 
 
 through His blessed Son and the ador- 
 able Mary. Stoop down here 1 want — 
 
 to whisper— something to you. This pain 
 
 is terrible ! In the iron box under the 
 
 bed is your rightful money. Take 
 
 it for it is your mother's.'' 
 
 She fell back fainting under the great pain that racked 
 her being, the livid hue of death overspread her face, great 
 drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead, and her 
 eyes became glassy and set. 
 
 With an imploring cry to Heaven for pardon, and to 
 
The Revelation. 
 
 receive the soul of the dying woman, Charlotte threw her. 
 self on her knees, while Louis Montaine stood gazing at 
 the now almost corpse like one petrified into a stoae 
 image. 
 
 The next day the mortal remain? of old Mrs. Hayes, the 
 town's thorn, were committed to the earth, and as no one 
 was there to claim her effects, they were left to the disposal 
 of two old women who had performed the last sad offices 
 for her, but at Charlotte's instance Arthur had the old 
 iron box removed to their home, and on opening it it was 
 found to contain a paper proving to be a will, bequeathing 
 to Charlotte Howard a pile of bank-notes amounting to 
 over ten thousand dollars. 
 
 Arthur shouted and bounded with joy and relief, but 
 poor, doomed Charlotte sat in her room with clasped 
 hands, and in despairing tones murmured, gazing upon the 
 jeweled ring that seemed to bind her to misery, "Too late, 
 too late ! ah, too late ! only one week too late ! 
 
THE SILVER CASKET. 
 
 ((/^ ome in," responded Mr. Bentley, as Louis Mori taine 
 doubting, yet convinced by many circumstances 
 cS^ that there might be some truth in the revelation he 
 had heard, knocked at his guardian's study-door to find out, 
 if possible, something further regarding this painful dis- 
 closure. 
 
 "Guardie," the young man said, using the old familiar 
 epithet he had accustomed himself to style his guardian, 
 "I do hope you are not busy, for I want to have a short 
 talk with you on a very particular subject." 
 
 "I am at your disposal, my son, take a seat.'" 
 
 Drawing a chair forward, Louis Mon taine said in a low, 
 troubled tone : 
 
 "I have just now heard a very strange, inexplicable reve- 
 lation. I do not want to, in fact can not, believe it. Did you 
 ever hear that I had a sister ? that I was not the only child 
 of my parents, which I always believed?" 
 
 A decided pallor came to Mr. Bentley's calm face, and a 
 troubled expression to his mild e^es, which fell for an 
 instant under the questioning gaze bent upon him, he hesi- 
 tated, then asked : 
 
 "Why, where did you hear this from, my son?" 
 
 "Mr. Bentley, is this so? Do not tantalize me. What 
 does it all mean ? I will and must know. I always felt 
 there was a mystery about my life; something about my 
 mother kept from me, and for God's sake, if you know 
 what it is, do not keep me in suspense ! I can see you 
 know about this, and pray relieve my mind ; this suspense 
 is worse than any thing you could tell me,'' and the ques- 
 tioner grew intensely pale and seriously agitated. 
 
 " My son, being unauthorized, I can not say any thing on 
 
The Silver Casket. 
 
 239 
 
 this subject ; but will give you a casket entrusted to my 
 care by your father on his death-bed. I have wished, and 
 so had your dear parent, that I could have destroyed it, 
 and thus keep from your knowledge the painful contents. 
 But as I see you intend to marry your cousin shortly, the 
 time has come for me to deliver it into your keeping. It 
 was the wish, the labor of your father's life to keep it 
 from you, for ) our happiness and peace ; but it is yours 
 now, and I will get it from this drawer where it has lain 
 undisturbed since I put it there four years ago." 
 
 Rising, with intense emotion, Mr. Bentley went to his 
 private drawer, and taking therefrom the silver casket con- 
 signed to his care under such sad circumstances, laid it up- 
 on the table, then clasping his hands he said : 
 
 u Louis, my son, before we part let me implore God 
 to give you His strength to bear this heavy trial before 
 you." 
 
 Pale, intensely pale, his hands clasped nervously, the 
 young man knelt and remained in humble, devout attention 
 while a fervent petition went up to Heaven for aid, direc- 
 tion, and especially a forgiving heart toward an earthly, 
 erring transgressor. 
 
 "I can take this now?" was all he said, as he arose from 
 his knees and laid his tremulous hand upon the tarnished 
 casket. Mr. Bentley nodded, and the young man left the 
 room. 
 
 With pale agitation, Louis Montaine, after reaching his 
 apartment, with some difficulty undid the clasp of the box 
 so unexpectedly put into his possession. The cover flew 
 up and disclosed to his view its contents. Several sheets 
 of paper closely written and turning yellow from age lay 
 within. With considerable trepidation, and with the intense 
 interest he felt portrayed on his face, the young man took 
 up the top sheet of the long letter he knew, from the chi- 
 rography, to be from his father. It was dated five years 
 back and ran verbatim as follows : 
 
 My Beloved Boy and Only Idolized Child — My hand shrinks from the 
 task, my heart stands appalled to put here in written words the story 
 
240 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 of my wrongs, the bitter misery of my life, and addressed to you, my 
 cherished son, my only child. May God, in His infinite mercy, so order 
 it that you may never read these lines, but if not, oh ! my boy, forgive 
 me for casting a shadow of my sorrow over your young life. I feel a 
 strange foreboding at times that I will not live to see you arrive to man- 
 hood. What it is I can not define, but a conviction seems to warn me 
 that I will not live much longer. If it was not for you, I would gladly 
 lay down the burden of life; but it is agony when I* feel if I go you will 
 be left alone in this sin-stained and oft joyless world. 
 
 It has been my study, my determination, to keep what I am about to 
 divulge from you, for the knowledge of it will only embitter your free, 
 nappy life, and ease or help my sorrow none. 
 
 The quiver which has sent with merciless darts its arrows at my heart 
 is not yet satisfied, and now in these latter years, when the freshness of 
 the wound prints is somewhat healed and life not quite so unbearable, 
 another, and poignantly bitter one, is sent from the same hand. And 
 what increases its intense sting, it comes this time through you, my dar- 
 ling boy. I do not blame you, my child ; you do not know how you 
 are cutting the lacerated heart of your dear father, and it is my wish, 
 my prayerful desire, that you should never know, not until every other 
 means is exhausted to dispel the fatal attachment that enthralls you 
 now. My boy, my noble, noble Louis, you can not, you must not wed 
 your cousin, the daughter of Horace Burgoyne, and, as a last resort, I feel 
 compelled to let you know my objections. 
 
 Is it an unforgiving heart for terrible wrongs, and an utter disregard to 
 the divine command, "Not seven times, but seventy times seven, ye 
 must forgive your brethren their trespasses, if ye wish to be forgiven," 
 that I protest against this union of my boy and the daughter of Horace 
 Burgoyne? If so, may my pitying Master judge me in mercy. I try to^ 
 forgive but I can not reconcile my mind to allow this man to triumph 
 over me more, by allowing you to exalt his offspring to the dignity of 
 your proud name, and through you let him and his enjoy the wealth 
 he covets, and which through his base instrumentality was made worthless 
 to me A life of happiness spoiled and blotted out, a stain of the deep- 
 est dye to mar the fair fame of a pure, sweet, trusting woman, a soul 
 lost forever, perhaps. Would it not require Divinity Himself to for- 
 give the friend who, like the serpent of old, invaded an earthly Para- 
 dise and wrought this blight, this curse within its holy precincts, and 
 yet my child, my noble boy, I ask you to forgive. Oh ! how the heart 
 smarts to recall these agonizing memories ; but, for your good, I will 
 try to graphically sketch my past life, and explain to you the reason 
 why 1 never spoke of your mother, whom you, in the loneliness of your 
 childish years, learned to love and venerate. I shrink from breaking 
 this sweet joy and privilege of your life, but as I am not the only 
 witness of these scathing, cruel truths, I think it best sometimes that 
 you should hear it from me. 
 
 As you know, your aunt Harriet and I, were the only two surviving chil- 
 dren of the seven who once clustered around your paternal grandparents 
 hearth. Five of us died in childhood, our lives being spared to drink the 
 bitterest cups of woe. For a short time my life seemed very bright and 
 joyous to me, and even now, at this late day, ruy being thrills with trans- 
 ports of bliss when I recall the first wedded months of my life, and when 
 you, my boy, was first given to me and I saw your young mother rally 
 from the brink of the gra ^e, restored to life and health, I felt indeed that 
 
The Silver Casket. 
 
 241 
 
 Elysium was open to me. But alas, how soon was it dispelled, blasted 
 forever ! 
 
 We had been traveling in Europe up to this time, but when you were 
 about three months old, we returned to Charleston and commenced 
 housekeeping at our grandly furnished and elegant home on street. 
 
 After a short rest, and general arrangement, cards of invitation were 
 issued for a grand reception, and very soon our palatial home became 
 the centre of attraction for the elite and fashionables of the city. Your 
 mother, fully restored to health, refined from travel, and mingling in pol- 
 ished European society, her beauty fully matured, vivacious, elegantly 
 graceful and courteous, eager for pleasure, popularity, and the desire to 
 shine as a star in the brilliant life opened before her, and untrammelled 
 by maternal cares, (for Mrs. Hayes, your foster-mother, was an efficient and 
 kindly nurse) your young and beautiful mother went heart and soul into 
 every pleasure that presented itself. 
 
 Gradually but painfully I began to experience the effects of having a 
 fashionable wife. ~The old, happy, quiet hours spent together, the sweet 
 communion, waned day by day — until soon no time was found for me — 
 on she drifted, just as it suited or pleased her, and remonstrance from 
 me was like chaff before the wind. 
 
 Those few months, brilliant, butterfly, but dangerous, fatal months to 
 my dear little Florence, my erring, blind child-wife, passed like some 
 fevered dream to me. My son, can I form in words the import of all this 
 hidden anguish that swept all, and forever, the joy and short-lived happi- 
 ness from my life and stigmatized your mother? Ah ! would to God that 
 I could hide it ; but if you will, with that young mother's inherent self- 
 will, persist in marrying your cousin, necessity compels the upheaval of 
 all this hidden misery. 
 
 During our absence abroad, your aunt Harriet had married a handsome, 
 fascinating adventurer, with nothing to recommend him but his polished, 
 gentlemanly manners, his winning beguilements, and the great beauty of 
 his face and form. With genuine good-will and Southern hospitality I 
 welcomed them to our home, as they had been traveling and had not yet 
 decided to settle down. 
 
 Very soon he won my affection, and with a trusting heart as to the 
 faithfulness of my gay young wife, I thought nothing when I heard Flor- 
 ence call him a splendid man, and smiled indulgently when she wondered 
 how Harriet had won such a divinely handsome husband; but with a 
 poignant pang of jealousy, but no fear, heard her say regretfully, " I al- 
 ways wanted to marry a handsome man, just such an Apollo as this, and 
 to think I was cajoled into marrying such an old, ugly creature like 
 you?" 
 
 This was in the beginning, and all through the brilliant, but to me 
 miserable life of which I have written, Horace Burgoyne figured conspic- 
 uously. By degrees, almost imperceptibly, he grew more devoted to 
 your mother, familiarly styling her " Sister Florrie," and taking open, 
 unchecked privileges with her. Well, and what was the end? Ah, God! 
 and must I tell you, my son ? Louis, pity your father ; but, in God's 
 name, pity your erring, blind mother, the charmed victim of a vile 
 serpent! Fain would I stop here ; but you must know all, even if it has 
 to cast a stigma on your parents' name, and make you turn with loathing 
 from the being who brought you into existence. Well, let me try and 
 bring this trying time to a close. That spring your mother, my wife, left 
 her lawful husband's home and protection, and fled with Horace Bur- 
 
242 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 goyne to Europe. Harriet going with them, hushed any wide-spread 
 slander ; but in anguish and degradation, I went over to the plantation to 
 hide my shame and agony. You were my onty solace then, my boy. 
 
 Five months after that terrible night, when I first learned of her flight 
 she came back pleading for mercy, for shelter from the world's scorn, 
 and I took her in. It was almost impossible to recognize a remnant of the 
 sweet, bright, beautiful girl, whom you know as your mother, in the ghast- 
 ly, wild-eyed woman who knelt at my feet praying for pity and for- 
 giveness. 
 
 Ah, my son, when you were wont to stand and gaze upon the representa- 
 tion of that youthful parent, in all of her unsullied purity, another por- 
 trait was painted in vivid, glowing colors on my memory, which would 
 call unbidden a heavy sigh from my burnt, seared heart, often causing a 
 shadow to flit over your free, joyous boyhood. 
 
 Early in November, not much more than a year after you were born, 
 she gave birth to a child, a living witness to her shame and degradation, 
 and died a few minutes after. I called Mrs. Hayes, your kind foster- 
 mother, and bribing her heavily, she left the country that night with the 
 child, promising to rear and take good care of it, but never to return, nor 
 divulge a word of this trust imposed .upon her. Through Mrs. Renold's 
 forethought and kindness to me and you, not an individual around, nor 
 on the plantation, knew of this, and so, one drop of balm to my cup of 
 anguish was, that no whisper of slander was ever heard abroad. Mr. 
 Bentley and Horace Burgoyne, to my knowledge, are the only two living 
 witnesses of my sullied name. 
 
 And now, my son, my darling boy, do you still wish to marry Irene 
 Burgoyne, the "daughter and counterpart of your young mother's be- 
 trayer ? 
 
 I am weary and agonized at the raking up of all this sad, harrowing 
 event of mv'life, and will close with one last, earnest prayer, that you 
 will forgive and pity, and still love the memory of your young, tempted, 
 unfortunate mother, and do not attempt to avenge her or my wrongs. 
 Your loving, but unhappy, sorrowing father, 
 
 Edwin Montaine. 
 
 Word for word, without pausing, his eyes like burning 
 orbs, his face white and livid, his mouth compressed like a 
 vice, and his cold, almost nerveless fingers grasping the 
 letter, Louis Montaine sat and read as if in a trance, and 
 like one under the delusion of some nightmare he laid it 
 down. For several seconds he sat thus ; still, motionless, 
 stunned beyond comprehension. Gradually but vividly 
 the fatal truth began to unfold itself, and soon dawned with 
 noonday clearness to his recovered senses. 
 
 Clasping his hands to his head, he exclaime ! in accents 
 of piercing anguish and remorse, "Oh ! God, my poor fath- 
 er !" His frame shook with the shuddering pangs that seem- 
 ed to rend his soul as he murmured, "Father, father, and 
 
The Silver Casket. 243 
 
 to think that I, his only child, his only solace, should turn 
 the keenest edge to his sorrow. Oh ! father, would to God, 
 that I could kneel at your feet and crave your forgiveness. 
 But ah, it is too late, too late now ; would that I could have 
 seen my folly and infatuation as I see it now, before death 
 came and snatched you from me. But my father, happy in 
 Paradise, I have suffered untold agony. I have suffered, 
 and am suffering now. God has dealt me out my punishment 
 for my disobedience to you." 
 
 And thus he moaned out his misery and contrition, as 
 crushed, sorrowful, and remorseful he sat, wave after wave 
 of fresh thought, new torment, and poignant remorse 
 breaking over him. No balm to ease, to erase one sting, no 
 plea to offer his merciless conscience; no consolation to 
 soothe the keenness of his sorrow, no sympathizing heart 
 near to soften his anguish. Alone he had to meet, wres- 
 tle and endure. 
 
 Still clearer, more vividly, the full meaning and charac- 
 ter of the Jetter he had just read dawned upon him, as the 
 misty effects of the stunning blow cleared away. Other 
 emotions, with maddening intensity superseded the first sen- 
 sation of pain and remorse ; anger and repugnance, with a 
 wild wish for vengeance took possession of his excited 
 mind, and with the hot flush mantling his brow, his eyes 
 kindling with the inward fire that burnt to a white heat of 
 fury, he paced the floor feverishly. At each step thought 
 surged madly on, and as the full realization of the cruel 
 blow dealt by Horace Burgoyne came yet clearer to his 
 mind, he hissed : 
 
 "And is this the man that I have shielded? Is this the 
 man that I would gratify by wedding his daughter, and thus 
 allow him to trample yet more upon my noble father's 
 proud name, and give him future security to tread Ameri- 
 can soil, and sully it by his foot-prints ? Ah ! no, never ! 
 Faithless adulterer, thief, murderer, demon in human 
 guise, I will punish you yet !" 
 
 "Father, father, I will avenge thy wrongs ! Life has no 
 charms for me. Horace Burgoyne shall pay for the wrongs 
 
244 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 meted out to yon. I will not rest until you, and my ruin- 
 ed mother, are amply avenged ; and then let life give what 
 it has in store for me. If your life was blighted, your 
 hopes ruined, I am heir to the same. With his life blood 
 shall Horace Burgoyne pay for the tarnish he has r5ut upon 
 our proud name. He shall kneel and crave for pardon, 
 but shall obtain none ; he had no mercy on mine , and I 
 shall have none on him." 
 
 With a stern, resolute face and compressed lips, he took 
 his seat before the desk and wrote : 
 
 Miss Irene Burgoyne — Sudden and unapprehended circumstances have 
 transpired which will of necessity and unalterably, certainly, forever sever 
 the ties that have existed between us. We will not get married this spring 
 as arranged, and never hereafter. I have just learned my father's objec- 
 tions to our union, and fully agree with him that you can never become 
 my wife. Let this explanation suffice. Would that I could also cast aside 
 the relationship that compels me to name you cousin. I do not require 
 thai you should return any gift received from me, but leave it to your 
 pleasure. I leave to-night for New York, and from thence will start im- 
 mediately for Europe, where I hope to meet your father and explain 
 matters to him. 
 
 Please let what I have said suffice, and give up at once and forever all 
 hope of ever becoming my wife, for understand that no power in Heaven 
 nor on earth could make me now marry a child of Horace JUirgoyne. 
 
 Louis Montaine. 
 
 Without flinching he folded, sealed and addressed this 
 cruel missive, little dreaming or caring what anguish it por- 
 tended to its intended recipient. As he laid it aside a 
 quick, transient look of relief flitted over his face, but it 
 was soon superseded by an expression of pain and suffering, 
 lie laid his head on the desk in a weary dejection; for a 
 moment a convulsive shudder shook his frame, and a moan 
 of anguish came from his highly wrought heart; then rais- 
 ing it suddenly, he drew paper before him and wrote: 
 
 Mm Howard — I intend leaving to-night for New York, on my way to 
 Europe, where 1 will remain for an indefinite period. The wish to say a 
 few words and request a favor at your hands, prompts these lines which I 
 hope yon will excuse. 
 
 The strange story related this week by old Mrs. Hayes, thougli in some 
 few particulars true, is not altogether so, for your adopted sister, Lila, as 
 vouched by her, is not my sister. She prohably believed so, and felt safe 
 in swearing to it as a fact; but she was under a grievous, a decided mis- 
 take. I am certain of this ; I have positive proof that I am the only 
 
• 
 
 The Silver Casket. 
 
 245 
 
 child of my father ; he never had a daughter. And, Miss Charlotte, may 
 I ask. as a last favor, that you will never reveal what you have heard, as 
 it might originate a very unpleasant and wholly untrue slander against 
 my sainted father's name ? 
 
 And now allow me to bid you an indefinite, perhaps final, farewell ; and 
 in your anticipated coming happiness think sometimes in kindness of the 
 exiled wanderer, who will ever wish for your happiness and welfare. 
 
 As you will doubtless hear. I will tell you my engagement is broken 
 with my cousin. I am free at last from those galling fetters ; but. Miss 
 Charlotte, you will never hear of my marriage with another, and if you 
 should hear of some monstrous deed committed by me, let me stand in- 
 demnified in your heart, and believe the provocation more than justified 
 the offense. 
 
 I leave to-night, and may God grant that you will some day think better 
 of me. I always loved yon truly, exclusively, and will continue to do so 
 until you have become the wife of another ; then the crime will force me 
 to think of you no longer, and my empty heart will have to return and 
 feed upon the sad past only. 
 
 Again, beloved of my soul, farewell, 
 
 Yours despairingly, Louis Montaine. 
 
 Louis Montaine left that night on his voluntary self- 
 exile. It would be hard to say which of the trio was the 
 most wretched. 
 
 The one, smiling and happy and gloriously lovely, await- 
 ing her lover's coming, is borne to her room in wild, ago- 
 nizing hysterics, clutching convulsively the white sheet of 
 paper which is a death-warrant to all her bright dreams of 
 almost realized anticipations of happiness and triumph. 
 
 The other, silent and pale, a still anguish in the depth of 
 her eyes and stamped upon the beautiful, suffering face, 
 has to stifle it down with a whisper of agony, and go down- 
 stairs an hour later to entertain her unloved lover. 
 
 Louis Montaine realizes not the woes he leaves behind 
 him that night, as he leans back on his couch in the whirl- 
 ing train in a moody, stern dejection, but is thinking of his 
 father, his mother. Heedless of the command of Jeho- 
 vah, "Vengeance is mine," he is trying to devise some 
 potent, sure revenge on the base serpent who had despoiled 
 his father's Eden. Could he have seen the half-crazed girl 
 he had cast off and realized her disappointment, her baf- 
 fled, crushed hopes and deep despair, he must have felt the 
 Scriptural truth that the child was atoning for her parent's 
 misdeed, but he thinks not of behind as he speeds away, 
 
 16 
 
246 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 but is only thinking of his purpose to avenge his wronged 
 parents, and purify the blemish on his proud name, until 
 the one thought rose paramount to all other considerations; 
 traveling on, the one wish on his heart, forgetful of all 
 else, to visit sure, dire punishment on the vile bet^yer of 
 his young mother and the traitorous enemy of his dear, 
 noble father. 
 
"VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY." 
 
 • 
 
 fT was the latter part of August, six weeks since the 
 revelation of his father's wrongs had cast its gloomy 
 pall over his life, and whether he had repented of his 
 vow of vengeance, or had not definitely determined what 
 course to pursue in visiting it upon the base criminal, ex- 
 iled on foreign land, or whether the sublime grandeur of 
 Niagara held him at bay, we can not say, bat certainly one 
 reason or the other made Louis Montaine linger. 
 
 On a beautiful afternoon of this regal month we find 
 him sitting alone, a broad-brimmed hat on his head, and a 
 sketch-book idly lying by his side. Sitting and watching 
 in rapt attention and awed admiration the magnificent 
 spectacle before him, its thundering voice and majestic 
 beauty loudly proclaiming the power of its mighty Archi- 
 tect. 
 
 He looked pale and haggard ; his eyes had a weary, sad 
 expression lurking in their depths and were circled by heavy, 
 dark lines, and his mouth compressed into its characteristic 
 sternness made one instinctively feel that he had not 
 smiled for many a long day, and casting a repelling, haugh- 
 ty look over his otherwise refined, handsome visage. 
 
 While thus lost seemingly to all around, soaring above 
 finitude and reality, oblivious to every thing, in a lofty 
 dream of awe and wonder to the Great Creator of so grand 
 and soul-thrilling a scene, a party of young ladies came up 
 to where he was sitting, and in their wild expressions of 
 delight and admiration, and as if with a kindred feeling of 
 sympathetic emotions, he was instantly attracted toward 
 them. They were strangers, and handsome, stylish-looking 
 girls, and from their behavior he judged they were recent 
 arrivals. 
 
248 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " Oh ! Ada, how beautiful, how grand ! " exclaimed one, 
 in a rapture of delight. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it is grand, sublime ! " was the rejoinder 
 in tones of rapt admiration. 
 
 4< I wish we had come here earlier in the season, > could 
 never tire of so much beauty and magnificence. And 
 what a lovely view from this spot ! It is superb, Ida." 
 
 " Perfectly so," was the reply of the third one of the 
 party, a pretty, insipid blonde, who stood seemingly rapt 
 in admiration and awe. " The half has not been told us of 
 the interest and beautiful sublimity of this lavish expendi- 
 ture of nature's gifts. Description falls into insignificance 
 with the realization of its grandeur. Oh, Lois, how stu- 
 pendous and beautiful it is ! " and she clasped her hands in 
 a dramatic style, with a covert, coquettish glance at the 
 young gentleman so near by, for whose benefit they seemed 
 acting, as they were careful he should hear what they had 
 to say ; and Louis Montaine, without any breach of honor, 
 felt privileged to listen, as they knew of his presence, and 
 thus became an interested listener to what followed, 
 
 " Yes, indeed, my dear Ida, it is past all my most sanguine 
 expectations," was the reply. Then, while a shade flitted 
 over her handsome, brilliant face, she continued, addressing 
 the first lady, and apparently the youngest of the three : 
 
 " Ada, how I wish that Wallie had come with us, I feel 
 the enchantment of this scene would prove a balm soothing 
 to his almost broken heart, and chase much of the melan- 
 choly from his spirits. Don't you think we had better 
 write at once, and endeavor to prevail on him to join us 
 here and remain with us until we return home?" 
 
 "Yes, Lois, I think it would interest him much more 
 than the tame boating and bathing at Long Branch. As 
 you can wield the pen so much more eloquently and effec- 
 tually than I, perhaps you had better undertake the task of 
 persuading him hither. I would like him, too, for we have 
 no escort as yet, and we will want to stroll out and see 
 these stupendous falls by moonlight. Do write at once, 
 Lois, and use every art you can command to prevail on his 
 
" Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay.' 
 
 249 
 
 instant coming. I know it will be a very beneficial ab- 
 straction. Poor, dear Walter, I am so sorry for him." 
 
 "Were you acquainted with the young lady that has 
 treated him so shamefully ?" asked Miss Ida, a look of 
 interest and concern on her fair, pretty face. 
 
 "No, we were not, I am happy to say," was the con- 
 temptuous reply, u we were about to make her acquaintance, 
 that is, we intended to stop and obtain an introduction 
 when we came for you and Marie on our way, and calcu- 
 lated to induce her, on Wallie's account, to accompany us, 
 but he met us at the depot, pale, haggard, and seemingly 
 aged ten years. 'It is all up with me, mother ; that bright 
 dream has fled, and I do not care what becomes of me now. 
 
 We will not go to S . She has cast me off, spurned 
 
 my love, and our engagement is broken ; so, of course, 
 you and the girls will not be welcomed,' but," and the 
 young lady colored and laughed, "I should not be reveal- 
 ing his secrets, still I am that provoked and indignant to 
 see my brother, my handsome Walter, who could aspire to 
 the highest lady in our land, spurned and rejected by a 
 country girlj the very idea makes me half mad with vexa- 
 tion. If he only gets over it without serious detriment to 
 his heart, of course we will all like it much better, for 
 though we made no objection, you know it is not pleasant 
 to have a total stranger brought to you and be expected to 
 love and serve her like some exalted creature of earth, or 
 Heaven rather, for Walter deemed her an angel, or at any 
 rate possessing angelic qualities." 
 
 The young ladies laughed, and Lois remarked quite 
 spitefully : 
 
 "I presume his opinion is altered now, for I should not 
 think any one so divine would stoop to coquetry and enjoy 
 making conquests." 
 
 " Were they engaged, as I understood, or was he only 
 paying court to her ? " asked Miss Ida, trying to appear un- 
 concerned, but in fact looking very interested. 
 
 " Formally engaged," was the answer in chorus, and 
 Lois went on : "I saw her letter accepting his offer of 
 
250 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 marriage, and papa gave Wallie a superb diamond of great 
 bean t v and cost as the betrothal ring. Walter left home 
 perfectly insane with joy, vowing he had won a perfect 
 angel, and predicted that we would all fall down in love 
 and worship when we had seen and knew her. We* all ac- 
 cepted it in good faith, and behold ! in one month after he 
 comes back almost broken-hearted, and says it has all come 
 to an end. It is no use trying to gain his confidence, he 
 will not say what happened, but reiterates that it is all over, 
 and that he is just ready to die." 
 
 "She must have been very heartless and exceedingly 
 hard to please,'- was Miss Ida's comment. " Who was 
 she?" 
 
 " Miss Howard — Charlotte Howard. I thought her very 
 beautiful and sweet-looking, if one could judge from a 
 picture." 
 
 "Why, is it possible ?" exclaimed Miss Ida, her blue eyes 
 opening with surprise. M I have seen her several times at 
 the ' Head,' and now, recalling the circumstance, I re- 
 member seeing your brother out riding with her one after- 
 noon, and he was quite attentive to her at the Commence- 
 ment ball. 1 know her well by sight, having seen her ride 
 by the hotel a number of times in company with a tall, 
 delicate young man — some minister's son I was told — who 
 was very spoony in that direction. She looks to be very 
 proud and heartless. In fact, I heard she was a real coquette, 
 and had broken the hearts of several of the young students, 
 and I presume your brother is one of her charmed but 
 stung victims." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I presume so," echoed the sisters, their faces 
 flushing indignantly and their eyes flashing sparks of fire. 
 "I only hope Wallie will see her in her true light and not 
 break his heart on so worthless an object, but transfer it on 
 some one else. Set your cap, Ida, he will be a good catch, 
 and I would, for one, dearly love to call you sister ; 
 but in earnest, do try, Ida, to cure him of this blind infatu- 
 ation/' 
 
 "Why, Lois, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," was 
 
"Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay." 251 
 
 the laughing rejoinder, and the young lady blushed pret- 
 tily. 
 
 "Don't blush, Ida," laughed Ada, "I know you are pretty 
 well affected in that quarter, and I, for one, always wanted 
 you for Wallie. Do your best, darling, to capture him 
 when he comes ; it is the only cure for these disappointed 
 swains, and they generally make the best of husbands 
 too." 
 
 "Hush, hush, Ada, do not make her blush so ; and do 
 you know it is getting late ? Let us start, or we will be out 
 at an unfashionable, or, in fact imprudent hour ; look at 
 the sun how rapidly he is declining," and laughing and 
 chatting, arm in arm the girls glided away. 
 
 Louis Montaine watched them as they walked from his 
 sight, a curious look of interest on his face and a deep, 
 strange light in his eyes, which they had not worn for many 
 a long day. He arose and also wended his way to his hotel, 
 his step lighter, and a decided change resting on his counte- 
 nance. Had the conversation been for his benefit, or was 
 it a providential circumstance that had conveyed to his 
 knowledge the dissolution of an engagement which had 
 cost him such pain, and blasted his hopes, and made life 
 such a dreary burden ? Was Charlotte Howard free ? The 
 very thought sent the blood coursing wildly through his 
 veins, dying the pale cheek with a sudden fire, and lighting 
 the handsome, expressive eyes into their wonted beauty. 
 The thought seemed to fan into a leaping flame the dying 
 embers of hope on his heart's altar, and a new, joyous 
 aspect in life seemed to open before him, making his step 
 grow springing and buoyant as of old, and dissipating 
 much of the habitual sternness that had overcast his face 
 of later days. 
 
 "I am quite a sanguine fool," he soliloquized, checking 
 the sudden rebound of his feelings, "to let this little bit 
 of feminine gossip or hearsay inspire me with this sudden 
 enthusiastic joy, and infuse new hope and life into my 
 being. If they have quarrelled and broken their engage- 
 ment, it might possibly be made up again, and even if it is 
 
252 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 not, how do I know, or presumptuously hope, that it can 
 be of any benefit to me ? She does not care fcr me, I am 
 afraid, and there are plenty eager to win her favor. 
 That 'minister's son,' is Harry, I know, and I am very 
 much disposed to think that he is the favored one in the 
 lady's eyes," but this latter argument did not seem to make 
 much impression. A secret something, an instinctive, 
 intuitive feeling, made him run up to his room that night 
 quite another being from the night before. 
 
 He made his evening toilet with unusual care, brush- 
 ing his dark hair in alamode style, and smoothing his gray 
 kids into their perfect fit, and to the astonishment and de- 
 light of many bright-eyed fair ones, and their mammas, 
 entered the brilliant and well thronged drawing-room. A 
 single glance satisfied him that his search was unsuccessful. 
 The young ladies who had entertained him so agreeably 
 that afternoon were not present, and he divined they were 
 not stopping at that hotel. His idea, likely, was to obtain 
 an introduction and endeavor to glean something further on 
 the subject thrilling his being, and defend the slandered, 
 misrepresented character of Charlotte Howard, who he 
 felt had been unjustly censured. 
 
 Restless, excited in mind by the sudden reaction of 
 thought, and sweet whispers of hope thrilling his every 
 fibre, Louis Montaine retired early, (much too early to please 
 the disappointed, expectant fair seekers, who had for a 
 month vainly striven to attract this bright, eligible star, little 
 divining that the night he had condescended to enter the 
 parlors, he was farther out of their reach than ever,) retired 
 to his room, wishing to be alone, or feeling his own 
 thoughts the most agreeable company at present. 
 
 Was that seemingly insurmountable barrier broken asun- 
 der? Was Charlotte Howard, that passionately loved ob- 
 ject, disenthralled from her engagement? Was she unfet- 
 tered, free ? 
 
 Such thoughts crowded upon his mind, and he paced his 
 floor in a delicious, rapt reverie, but it did not last long. 
 The slender thread on which he rested his new hopes gave 
 
" Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay." 253 
 
 way, the recurrence of the supposition that perhaps it was 
 only a transient lovers quarrel, and ere this had been recon- 
 ciled ; then the thought of his still unavenged parents and 
 uncarried-out determination came with stunning, painful 
 realization. The light and color faded from his face, the 
 old gloom and misery coming back, and with a weary sigh 
 he threw himself dejectedly on a chair placed by a table, 
 upon which lay the unfolded, still damp evening paper, 
 the gas jet flaring invitingly above. 
 
 With a desire to abstract his perplexity and unrest, rather 
 than his usual avidity at its perusal, he took it up and me- 
 chanically rustling its leaves, while his gaze, though seem- 
 ingly on it, was far away, and his mind pre-occupied. List- 
 less he scanned the "local news," but the interest was lacking ; 
 the recent and vital news he had heard came forward per- 
 sistently, and in evident disgust he pushed it from him. 
 
 As he did so, something seemed to attract his eye, he re- 
 took it up, a re-awakened interest coming to his face, and 
 a strange look to his eyes. 
 
 What was it that sent the life blood from his face, a 
 livid pallor taking its place, and made him read with such 
 sudden interest % 
 
 " A shocking announcement." "Melancholy ending of a 
 life of sin and crime, licentiousness and lawlessness." 
 
 After this preface it went on to say with merciless news- 
 paper publicity, that an American, an incarnate fiend and 
 lawless man, by name Horace Burgoyne, had come to a fear- 
 ful death in a drunken, riotous brawl, in one of the most 
 disreputable dens of licentious crime in Paris. Giving a 
 glaring and rather high colored account of his career for the 
 past twelve or fourteen years in Charleston, New Orleans, 
 New York and Paris, and winding up with a vivid descrip- 
 tion of his last end, and disgraceful, terrible, but well merit- 
 ed death. 
 
 Louis Montaine, pale, intensely shocked and full of con- 
 trition, clasped his hands and raised his eyes toward Heaven, 
 involuntarily exclaiming : "Vengeance is mine, I will 
 repay." 
 
254 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he soliloquized a few minutes later, having 
 recovered somewhat from his surprise and shock, " well 
 may I have, like my poor, suffering, wronged father, 
 left the punishment of this wicked, godless man in 
 Jehovah's care, feeling sure he would not go on much 
 longer in his crime and lawlessness unpunished. Terrible 
 and sudden as was his reckoning, Horace Burgoyne deserv- 
 ed it all. And great, eternal Father! 1 thank Thee, that 
 Thou hast seen fit to avenge my wronged, suffering, 
 parents. And to think, for weeks I have been planning, 
 and devising some means to visit dire vengeance on his 
 guilty head, but my prayers have been heard and, without 
 staining my soul with crime, or burdening my conscience 
 with guilt, my father, my betrayed, young mother, are 
 avenged. " My father ! Oh ! my father ! would that I had 
 obeyed thy voice and left this man in an Eternal Justice's 
 hands ! " • 
 
 " Forgive me! my God, for my folly and sin, and let me 
 learn to have a perfect faith in Thy revealed Word : " The 
 wicked shall not go unpunished,'' and again, 'Vengeance is 
 mine, I will recompense.' " 
 
 His feelings and thoughts were too deep for further ut- 
 terance, and for an hoir or more he sat silent, wrapped in 
 cogitation and speculation. 
 
 Was he glad this vile enemy of his father was divinely 
 punished and out of his way ? That he was released from 
 his vow of vengeance ? Doubtless he was. A feeling of 
 unutterable relief and satisfaction diffused itself through 
 his whole being. Wot that he was a coward, or shrank 
 from his determination formed, it is true, in a moment of 
 heated and over-wrought feelings, but that it was in direct 
 opposition to his father's wishes and command. If he 
 sought out and demanded satisfaction from Horace Bur- 
 goyne it would be disobeying his father's dying behest ; 
 disregarding his prayers, and degrading himself to a level of 
 one of Satan's basest -allies. 
 
 All these considerations had made him hesitate, falter 
 and procrastinate, in his first furious, heated threatenings of 
 
" Vengeance Is Miue, I Will Repay! 
 
 255 
 
 vengeance. But now it was done for him. Horace Bur- 
 goyne no longer cumbered this earth nor stood a living fear 
 and torment to him. He had been punished by an over- 
 ruling Power whose justice is as terrible and sure as His 
 mercy and goodness is great. No wonder the soul of the 
 young man burst forth in utterance of thankfulness as he 
 recognized the divine Hand in whom his father had left 
 his wrongs with a perfect, unwavering, child-like faith. 
 
 But in the midst of these feelings the sudden recollec- 
 tion of the orphaned girls, his unprovided for and unpro- 
 tected young cousins came across his mind. " What will 
 become of them? What will 'Rene do without her father's 
 maintenance ? Poor girl," he murmured, " What will be- 
 come of her? Cast off by me, deprived of her father's 
 support, what will she do? Then Sadie and Maud, they 
 depend on a home with Irene. I promised to take them 
 abroad, and do such great things, which, under present cir- 
 cumstances, I cannot fulfill. 1 wonder how 'Pene takes 
 her imposed freedom ? Not a word have I heard of or from 
 her. Irene Burgoyne can never become my wife ; no, 
 never. But can not I, without going against my father, 
 still do for them ? Settle an annuity on them until they 
 marry ? Or, if 1 am ever settled in a home of my own, could 
 I not offer them the protection and support of it ? They 
 are my cousins, and if the children of Horace Burgoyne, 
 they are also the children of aunt Harriet, and for her 
 sake I know my father, if he were here, would not let them 
 suffer, and neither will I.'' 
 
 This matter settled in his mind, his thoughts took a new 
 channel, and from the expression of his face, and bright 
 gleams from his eyes, we suspect they dwelt on a very in- 
 teresting, delightful subject. 
 
 Hope grew very strong, notwithstanding his attempts to 
 put a damper on it. A restless, excited longing seemed to 
 possess him, and at last, with a flushing brow and glitter 
 of his deep, passionful eyes, he determined to return to 
 his guardian's home and find out for himself how matters 
 stood. 
 
256 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 u I will find out this time what is my fate. Charlotte 
 Howard shall decide it for me, and if it is to be apart from 
 her, God only can give me strength to meet and bear the 
 weary burden of life in the future. For what is life to 
 me without her f " 
 
A BRIGHT DAWN. 
 
 t was with quite different feelings that Louis Montaine 
 started on his return to his guardian's home. His 
 heart throbbed wildly, his eye would kindle, and his 
 cheek flush and pale alternately with his impatient desire 
 and trying suspense to know whether what he had heard 
 was really true, a substantial fact, that Charlotte Howard 
 was free. 
 
 At any other time the travel would not have been con- 
 sidered the slowest of the slow, so eager was he to find out 
 what was to be his fate. Was he ever to be happy again, 
 or doomed to disappointment ? It would be hard to realize 
 his actual emotions and thoughts during that unexpected 
 journey back to the scenes and sad recollections of the 
 past four years, or to imagine his experience as the train at 
 last stopped, and his eyes fell upon familiar objects in the 
 fast deepening gloom of the autumn day. 
 
 But he w*s .yet doomed to further disappointment and 
 suspense. He found his guardian's family sad. Harry 
 had gone to commence his theological course ; Arthur had 
 left the day before for Charleston to begin his medical 
 education, and Mrs. Howard, her sister and daughter, had 
 gone that morning to pay a visit to old Mr. Graham, in 
 Virginia. 
 
 In conversation with Florence he learned all he wanted 
 to know — that Charlotte Howard's engagement with Wal- 
 ter Hayne was really dissolved, and the next day he started 
 back North. 
 
 " I wish you god-speed, Louis ; she is a dear, sweet girl, 
 worthy of the best man that lives," whispered Florence, as 
 she bade him goodbye ; but a quiver was in the tone, and 
 her heart felt that poor Harry had this time a formidable 
 
258 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 rival indeed. Charlotte Howard had not hid her secret so 
 securely as she had thought. 
 
 A rich, mellow October day was drawing to a close; the 
 god of day was wheeling down the crimson and azure west, 
 and the gorgeous banners of purple and gold were waving 
 and curling in majestic glory above his declining chariot. 
 The cool atmosphere and delightful breeze gracefully waft- 
 ed the rich old curtains of the comfortable library of Gra- 
 ham Hall, bearing on its welcome breath the farewell per- 
 fumes of the shrubbery and choice flowers without, filling 
 the whole place with a delicate, refreshing perfume, un- 
 noticed and unappreciated just then by its sole occupant. 
 
 Charlotte Howard sat there alone, gazing out from the 
 open window, her cheeks fanned by the scented air, but 
 she seemed nob to notice the majestic beauty without, so 
 buried was she in deep, soul-questioning thought. She 
 looked very sad and weary, yet beautiful, pure and gentle, 
 the glow without coloring her pale cheeks to a roseate hue, 
 and casting a rich, yet subdued light over her rather sombre 
 gray poplin dress. So entirely was she wrapped up with her 
 reverie, dreamy and delightful at times, and again varying 
 into sadness and weariness, that she did not hear the door 
 open nor notice a light foot-fall upon the carpet ; and un- 
 noticed and unheard Louis Montaine entere^d,*and stood a 
 few paces behind her chair. In a low, thrilling voice, al- 
 most a whisper, he called : 
 
 " Miss Charlotte ? " 
 
 Unconscious of all around, doubtless dreaming of the 
 object wtiose voice broke in so unexpectedly upon the 
 brooding, dream-like silence, the girl started up, and at the 
 sudden joy of beholding one whom she thought miles away 
 across the mighty Atlantic, she breathed in tones of tender- 
 ness and pathos : 
 
 "Louis.'' 
 
 But scarcely had the name escaped her lips, when she re- 
 covered her dreamy senses, and realized how far she had 
 committed herself. With a burning blush deepening into 
 intensity, and with a painful confusion, she drew back and 
 
A Bright Dawn. 
 
 259 
 
 stammered, " Please excuse me, you took me so by surprise ! 
 I thought you were in Europe ? but I am very glad to see 
 you, Mr. Montaine. Have you seen any of the family ? I 
 will go and call grandpa ; please take a seat.'' 
 
 Too generous to notice her confusion, yet thrilling in 
 every nerve, Louis Montaine with gentle courtesy replied, 
 averting his eyes and crossing the floor : 
 
 "Do not trouble yourself, Miss Charlotte, the servant 
 told me the family was out, and asked me to walk in the 
 library, so you will please excuse my seeming intrusion. I 
 was not aware of your presence until upon you. We were 
 mutually surprised, and I trust equally pleased to meet 
 again." With a desperate effort, the girl recovered her com- 
 posure, and though her eye drooped and the blush still 
 burned on her cheek, her voice was calm and pleasant as 
 she replied : 
 
 "Yes, I believe they are all out, so in grandpapa's name I 
 extend a cordial welcome to you at the old hall. Please be 
 seated and make yourself at home. You did not go to 
 Europe, as intended, if I can judge by your appearance 
 here in Dixie." 
 
 " No, I changed my mind," was the rejoinder, as with a 
 low, merry laugh he took a seat, with a quick, searching 
 glance at the young lady who had seated herself in the 
 shadow of a corner. " I have been revelling in lonely 
 solitude, amid countless numbers, amid American scenery 
 and nature's beauteous gifts, and became so interested that 
 I forgot about foreign climes, or postponed my visit there 
 until a more auspicious period. I was not entirely pre- 
 pared to go abroad yet, as I have several urgent claims to 
 detain me yet awhile. At present I am as unstable as the 
 winds, with no fixed purpose, carried hither and thither ; 
 and yet there is a magnet attracting me to one spot. All 
 the world seems a weary, dreary desert with but one oasis. 
 A halo of joy, peace and happiness lingers there, round- 
 about it, and it is for me to find out whether I can stop and 
 be refreshed, and strengthened with its entrancing rest, or 
 driven out into the cheerless wilderness again. But per- 
 
26o 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 haps you do not understand me," he continued, rising and 
 standing before the girl, his arms folded across his back and 
 an expression of suppressed excitement over his pale face, 
 u so I will discard the figurative and put it in plain style. 
 Miss Charlotte, near five years ago, when a boy of seven- 
 teen, I met you on a railroad train bound for this place, 
 and after an acquaintance of two days we parted with no 
 thought of ever meeting again. I returned to my home, 
 my duty, my many and varied pleasures, with a lingering 
 regret ever haunting me that a bright, sweet something 
 had crossed, then passed from, my pathway ; the vividness 
 and reality of the thing waning into mistiness as the days 
 came and went, till it seemed only like a phantom follow- 
 ing me. Then upon my boyish vision, my hungry, craving 
 heart, a creature of beauty, witchery and glorious enchant- 
 ment flashed, fading every other emotion into insignifi- 
 cance. In my inexperience and charmed senses I thought I 
 loved, madly it is true, but truly, deeply, this beautiful 
 creature, and the future was painted in gorgeous tints 
 through her coloring. With a magic wand she led, con- 
 trolled and held me in an abject idolatry. To secure her I 
 sacrificed every other consideration, even casting aside a 
 most tender filial affection for a dear parent, who hitherto 
 had been paramount in every thing. % • 
 
 u His death following soon after, somewhat cooled off my 
 mad, blind infatuation ; but though I knew he was against 
 this marriage it did not break in upon my charmed senses 
 deep enough to waken me to my folly, and one week after 
 he died she was my betrothed wife, my mother's betrothal 
 ring glittered upon her finger. 
 
 " In obedience to my father's wish I accompanied Mr. 
 
 Bentley to your native town and entered College, but 
 
 I had no wish nor desire then to relinquish my prize, and 
 left Charleston bound by vows to be fulfilled in the future, 
 But I was not happy ; God alone only knows with what a 
 torn and troubled heart I arrived at S . Miss Char- 
 lotte, when I met you again I had only been engaged three 
 days. Then it was that four years of the most intense, the 
 
A Bright Dawn. 
 
 261 
 
 bitterest, the darkest remorse, regret and unhappiness that 
 has ever fallen to the lot of a poor mortal has been endured 
 by me with but a faint streak of light, if ever, beaming 
 across my pathway, for, Miss Charlotte, it was not long 
 after my separation from my betrothed that I found I did 
 not love her. Away from her witchery, I found I had 
 only been charmed, and when I discovered this mistake, 
 and knew that my heart was being taken irresistibly from 
 me by another, and that this one did not care for me, did 
 not return the deep, yearning love I felt for her, and that 
 I was bound by vows which my honor forbade me to dis- 
 regard, then it was I knew what it was to suffer. You 
 must understand me, Miss Charlotte, for as God above is 
 my witness, I declare unto you that I have and still love 
 you only ! The seed planted five years ago took root firmly 
 and has steadily grown and waxed into strength, notwith- 
 standing every adverse wind and discouragement, and now 
 again, for the th'rd time, freed from galling iron chains, I 
 tell you that I love you. I do not come begging for a love 
 in return if it is not mine. As I offer a whole, undivided 
 heart, I wish the same in return. I do not want your pity, 
 but your love." 
 
 Charlotte Howard was very quiet and pale, but one could 
 plainly see deep, intense emotions stirred her whole being. 
 She had listened without moving or lifting her eyes, her 
 hands clasped firmly yet tremulousy. 
 
 " Mr. Montaine," she said in low, quivering tones she 
 vainly strove to make calm, " before I answer you I want 
 to ask if it was in hopes of winning me that you have 
 broken your engagement, rejected your cousin, and left 
 her to pine, perhaps die of a broken heart, for I hear she is 
 but a shadow of her former self, and is slowly but surely 
 dying?" 
 
 "JN"o, it was not with such hope or idea," and the young 
 man looked eager and excited. " I had lost all hope of ever 
 being any thing to you, for were you not the betrothed wife 
 of another ? An unexpected but imperative circumstance 
 occurred which released me from that irksome, un- 
 
 17 
 
262 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 happy engagement. I can never marry Irene Bnrgoyne ; 
 even if 1 loved her I dare not marry her. I have done 
 all I can do for my cousins, made them comfortable in 
 material matters, but henceforth an insurmountable barrier 
 divides us. It was six weary weeks afterwards, while I was 
 striving to reconcile myself to endure a future existence of 
 miserable bachelorhood, that I accidentally learned that you 
 were free. The slumbering hope revived instantly ; the 
 old, never-dying love rushed with tenfold ardor, and I de- 
 termined to return and try once more for the last time. So, 
 please make me understand my fate and what is your de- 
 cree." 
 
 " I loved you all through those dark days of doubt and 
 confusion, but how could I tell you so when I knew you to 
 be the affianced husband of another ? I thought it my duty 
 to try and crush it from my heart, for I felt certain you 
 would marry your cousin, and it was this that made me 
 accept Mr. Hayne. I felt sorry for him, and intended to 
 try and make him happy ; but realized how sinful I was, 
 and begged him to release me. You must not blame me, 
 Mr. Montaine. I thought I was. right in treating you 
 coldly and indifferently under the circumstances ; in fact I 
 did not know how to act. All I wanted to do was to act 
 right, and made a sad blunder of it after all." 
 
 M And you loved me all the time, and I thought you 
 scorned and despised me ? Would that I had known this, 
 how much pain and bitterness it would have saved me ! 
 But you are perfectly justified in treating me as you did ; 
 appearances were against me. But, Miss Charlotte, is this 
 coveted love still mine, or did you crush it out in your 
 strivings ? " 
 
 The girl laughed and blushed in a delicious confusion, 
 seemingly shrinking from being vanquished even by so 
 desirable a conqueror, and did not immediately reply. 
 
 "And you love me now, Lottie?" was the thrilling 
 query — a glad light overspreading the handsome face bent 
 eagerly forward. 
 
 The beautiful eyes, beaming and moist with the rush of 
 
A Bright Dawn. 
 
 263 
 
 tenderness and love so long pent up, now welling over with 
 liquid profusion, she shyly lifted to his, which were bent 
 upon her face — the lips parted in a smile, and her cheek 
 grew warmer as she replied, under her breath : 
 " You know I do." 
 
 The peace and bliss of heaven seemed to descend upon 
 the young man's countenance. He held out his hands, a 
 smile of inviting tenderness wreathing his mouth, lighting 
 the face into rare beauty and joy — and with a wild, flutter- 
 ing cry of joy, Charlotte Howard sprang into his impas- 
 sioned embrace. 
 
 " God be praised that this happiness is at last mine, my 
 darling, my own !" he breathed as he strained her to his 
 heart. 
 
 But we must not linger at this moment of extreme joy. 
 It is too sacred for the public eye — too indescribable for 
 description through the cold medium of the pen. 
 
ABROAD. 
 
 ^jr would be useless, and I do not intend to enter in 
 Q \ d;: account of the days, weeks and mo:: hs that Eat 
 L "\r lowed. Those who have experienced the time interven- 
 ing between the betrothal and marriage, understand, and 
 those who have not can imagine, as a general thing, that it 
 is a very happy, entertaining and busy time. Sometimes 
 the happiest portion of life allotted to man. 
 
 And there was no exception to the rule in the case of Char- 
 lotte Howard and her lover, indeed it was a time of almost 
 perfect bliss, if I can use the term for human experience. 
 The course of their love, though decidedly true, ran very 
 smoothly. Xot a cloud nor ripple seemed to obscure or 
 disturb the peaceful, joyous current of their life. 
 
 Charlotte seemed her old self again. The brightness* 
 vivacity and joyousness of her nature, though modified 
 into refinement and extreme gentleness, shone forth with 
 resplendent glory, making her indeed beautiful and charm- 
 ing. 
 
 She seemed as happy and as buoyant as when a free, care- 
 less child, all the past years of pain and trial seemingly 
 forgotten, fading from her memory as from her life. 
 
 '•Perfee: love caste th out fear." was truly verified in this 
 instance. Her love for her fond, devoted and handsome 
 lover was true and loyal. There was ::o more talk nor 
 thought now of remaining at home with mamma, as an old 
 maid. Ah ! no. how eager, how willing to leave all. home, 
 mother and friends, and entrust herself to his care without 
 a fear or hesitation, even when she knew thousands of miles 
 would separate her from loved ones, and all the sweet asso- 
 ciations of childhood and girlhood ! ' Your people shall be 
 my people : your God my God. 5 ' He was her world, her 
 
Abroad. 
 
 265 
 
 sun, her all ! Ah, the faith and love of woman is sublime, 
 and what a pity it is so often cast aside like prairie roses, 
 that creep and fling their richest bloom upon the earth ! 
 
 The winter rapidly sped away and the first breath of 
 spring found the extensive preparations for the coming 
 nuptials nearly completed. They were to be married in 
 April and start immediately for Europe, where they con- 
 templated making an extensive tour. " 
 
 Several times during the winter Louis Montaine had 
 visited Charlotte, arranging his affairs, and Charlotte had 
 seamstresses and a fashionable modiste from New York, 
 busily engaged preparing a handsome and rich trousseau. 
 
 " No news of Lila yet, Louis ? " inquired Charlotte, after 
 his third and last visit to Charleston. 
 
 " No, dearest ; I can hear nothing of the runaway's 
 whereabouts," was the reply, a worried look flitting over 
 the handsome face. " I have tried my very best to trace 
 her out ; not so particularly for her sake, but on your ac- 
 count. I want so much to lift the care from your heart, 
 so I can know you are happy ; but do not despair, we may 
 come across her in some of our travels. And, darling, I 
 have a pleasant item of news for you. Gerald Hastings is 
 to be married, and will accompany us on their bridal tour, 
 and I trust you will like his bride, for it wil make it much 
 pleasanter for you to have a lady companion, for you will 
 get tired of me sometimes, and will like to have a sympa- 
 thizing ear with which to discuss the latest fashions and 
 gossip of the day." 
 
 A nd so the mystery which enveloped the fate of the un- 
 fortunate Lila was left, if not entirely forgotten, in the 
 more happy anticipations and engrossing preparations of 
 the next few weeks which sped away on blithesome, joyous 
 wings. 
 
 Charlotte Howard flitted about like some stray sunbeam, 
 a 6ong ever on her smiling lips, joy in her heart, and love 
 beaming from her soft, beautiful eyes. In her coming 
 happiness she grew strangely forgetful of others, seem- 
 ing not to think of the blank it would be to those left 
 behind. 
 
266 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 At the appointed time they were married, and after the 
 sumptuous wedding breakfast, amid the adieux and well 
 wishes of friends, well nigh exhausted from the embracing 
 of relatives, her cheeks wet with a fond mother's tears of 
 farewell, the newly wedded pair were driven off to catch 
 the train. 
 
 Three days later the following dispatch was received by 
 Mrs. Howard from her son-in-law : 
 
 "We arrived safely and well at six o'clock, a.m., in New York, they 
 tell me, but I feel it is Paradise. We are delightfully accommodated at 
 
 hotel, where we will remain a few days for rest. Mrs. Montaine 
 
 will write more definitely. I will try to spare a little love for all, but 
 fear it will be a very little. Affectionately, Louis. 
 
 In due time the newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Hastings arrived, and were warmly, courteously welcomed 
 by Louis and Charlotte. Mrs. Hastings was a tall, stylish 
 girl, with well cut features, black, passionate eyes, and 
 raven-hued hair. She was haughty and reserved in man- 
 ners, but highly cultured and refined ; a courteous, high- 
 bred lady; the only daughter of wealthy, purse-proud parents, 
 she bore herself with considerable consequence. Esteeming 
 Charlotte her equal, if not superior, she became very gra- 
 cious and lovingly polite, and the two very soon became 
 fast friends, and started off on their European tour on the 
 best of terms — gay, pleasant and pleasing — to explore the 
 beauties and wonders of foreign lands. Charlotte, with 
 heart and soul absorbed, determined to enjoy and appre- 
 ciate the delightful privilege which was hers, to perfect 
 herself in languages over which she had studiously labored 
 to become thoroughly conversant, informed and polished, 
 to make herself in every way an accomplished, intelligent 
 and high-bred lady, so that she could grace, embellish, and 
 creditably fill her position as mistress over her husband's 
 proud ancestral home, and do its honors without a failure. 
 The other only to satisfy the demands of fashion. Which 
 would enjoy themselves the most can easily be imagined. 
 
 I do not intend to go with them on their extended ex» 
 plorations, but on a delightful evening of the autumn 
 
Abroad. 
 
 267 
 
 following their start we find the four tourists, tired from a 
 day's rambles, seated out on the stone verandah of a hotel, 
 at Yenice, Italy, chatting and laughing gaily, and watching 
 with evident interest the gaily dressed, and happy-go-lucky 
 inhabitants traversing the watery streets below, in their 
 swift, graceful gondolas. They had been there two days, 
 enjoying to the fullest extent this, to them, novel way of 
 living. Mr. and Mrs. Hastings intended leaving the next 
 day, direct for home, but Louis and Charlotte, after a few 
 days' longer stay, contemplated visiting Genoa and Flor- 
 ence, where they intended wintering, and start the follow- 
 ing spring on a more extended travel. 
 
 " This scene is really lovely," exclaimed Charlotte after 
 a slight pause in the conversation. " How much prettier 
 than seeing people walk the dusty streets. Look how the 
 water sparkles — just like jewels." 
 
 " It looks pretty enough," observed Mr. Hastings, " but 
 I prefer solid ground. It looks dangerous.'' 
 
 " Yes, I do not like it," said Mrs. Hastings, with an in- 
 voluntary shudder. " I would suppose drowning to be of 
 frequent occurrence." ^ 
 
 " O no. I presume they a*e cautious," rejoined Louis, 
 putting his arm about his wife and drawing her to him. 
 " Do not lean over there, darling, you might get giddy." 
 
 "It makes you feel as though you were on shipboard. I 
 imagined just now I felt the motion of the water," and 
 drawing back she nestled in her husband's arms. 
 
 " I wonder who she is ? " queried Mrs. Hastings, after a 
 while, interrupting an animated conversation going on, 
 motioning as she spoke toward the tall form of a woman in 
 long, black, trailing robes, who stood a little apart intently 
 looking down on the waters beneath — standing there alone, 
 quiet and still. 
 
 x Gerald Hastings shrugged his shoulders mysteriously. 
 Louis and Charlotte glanced toward the dark object and 
 shook their heads. 
 
 " She was out here last evening, too," whispered Mrs. 
 Hastings. " I wonder who she is ? It seems to me that 
 she is dogging us." 
 
268 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 u You are nervous, my pet. Do you want to go in ?" 
 
 " O no, not yet ; it is too pleasant to go in. But I do 
 wish that nun-like object would move away." 
 
 There was a general laugh, and conversation again flowed 
 on pleasantly. 
 
 About fifteen minutes or so afterwards the sombre, dis- 
 turbing object moved from her silent post, walking back 
 and forth several times rapidly, then made a full halt in 
 front of Gerald Hastings, stood there a moment, then dis- 
 appeared within a door near by. 
 
 " What is the matter with that woman, Gerald ? " ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Hastings in a whisper, a sudden awe instinc- 
 tively falling over the others. Even in the uncertain light 
 it could be seen that Gerald Hastings turned ghastly white. 
 He tried to laugh, but it sounded hoarse and unnatural. 
 Charlotte and Louis looked on askance, a puzzled expres- 
 sion on the former's face. 
 
 "Somehow I feel there was something familiar about 
 this woman. I wish I had seen her face," observed Char- 
 lotte reflectively. 
 
 " I just caught a glimpse of it,'' replied Mrs. Hastings. 
 " It was lividly pale, with ^*eat blazing eyes. Oh ! I de- 
 clare she is mad ! Let us go in, Gerrie ? " 
 
 " All right , I am tired anyhow," and he arose. " Louis 
 and Mrs. Montaine will excuse us, as we leave early in the 
 morning and need a good night's rest." 
 
 " Certainly, you are very excusable ; but do not leave in 
 the morning without seeing us. We will stay out here a 
 little longer." 
 
 " We will see ; but fearing we may not, I will bid you 
 goodbye now," and leaning over, Mrs. Hastings kissed Char- 
 lotte. " Good night, Mr. Montaine," an(J with a smile on 
 her lips and pleasant good humor on her face she stood an 
 instant, and with a laugh was about to turn away with 
 some laughing remark, when suddenly, like a flash, para- 
 lizing all around into inaction, the black-robed figure glided 
 swiftly, unseen, until upon them, and with superhuman 
 strength seized upon Claudia Hastings and threw her into 
 
Abroad. 
 
 269 
 
 the rippling water beneath. Then with a loud, wild laugh, 
 she shook her clenched hand into the face of the stupidly 
 horrified Gerald Hastings and screamed : 
 
 " Man ! incarnate fiend ! do you know me? This is my 
 revenge ! May the blood of your two wives rest upon your 
 head and destroy your soul ! " 
 
 Before the witnesses of this terrible tragedy could recov- 
 er themselves, the wretched woman sprang over into the 
 water below. 
 
 A frantic shriek had rent the air as Mrs. Hastings went 
 head-long down and fell with a crash and splashing into the 
 water, and with it still vibrating on the air, her murderess, 
 with the curse just issuing from her lips, followed, and 
 again disturbed the troubled, glistening surface of the 
 water which opened to receive her. 
 
 Gerald Hastings, with a deep groan, fell prone upon the 
 fioor in a deadly swoon. Charlotte clung with convulsive, 
 terrified horror to her husband, who seemed for the awful 
 moment to be paralized, so sudden had been the calamity. 
 Yain would it be to attempt to describe the scene of con- 
 fusion and dismay that followed. Crowds of terrified 
 people gathered around, the falhting man was borne in and 
 placed upon his couch, a physician was summoned, and Char- 
 lotte left by him, her face expressive of the keenest sym- 
 pathy and solicitude. Louis, recovering himself, had gone 
 below hoping the wretched woman and her innocent victim 
 had been rescued. As he had anticipated, ready hands and 
 strenuous efforts had been made, and the insensible forms 
 of the two women had been recovered and were being at- 
 tended by tender hands, and a skillful physician was doing 
 his utmost to restore animation. But, alas! his efforts 
 were futile. In # her fall, Mrs. Hastings had struck her 
 head on a projecting column, and falling into the water in- 
 sensible, had sank without any effort to save herself. When 
 her body was recovered life was nearly extinct, and a very 
 few minutes after, with a fluttering sigh, she breathed her 
 last. Unconscious, but alive, the murderess was conveyed 
 to a room under surveillance, and Louis gave orders to have 
 
2JO 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 the corpse removed to his wife's private parlor, and with 
 the aid of her maid and a few sympathizing ladies, the 
 bride of a few brief, happy months, was laid out in her 
 final, last sleep. 
 
 Louis broke the sad, overwhelming news as gently as 
 possible to the grief-stricken, bereaved young husband, who 
 white with a guilty agony and quivering form, stood and 
 looked with unutterable anguish and keen remorse on the 
 still, stony face of the bright, beautiful and happy girl he 
 had taken from her home and parents but a few months 
 before. 
 
 n Great God ! " he moaned, a wild wave of anguish sub- 
 merging his soul, " what will I tell her mother, her 
 father ! How dare I go back and tell them their child is 
 dead, dead; and that I, her husband, who vowed to pro- 
 tect and cherish her, stood by without lifting a finger to 
 save, and see her murdered before my very eyes? Oh! 
 Claudie, Claudie, my wife, I wanted to save you ! I wanted 
 to carry you back safe. An unseen hand warned me back. 
 An instinctive fear haunted me. I felt danger was in 
 Italy, but you laughed at my foolish fears. You would go ; 
 for what? To be murdered/ My wife is murdered, and 
 her blood rests upon my head ! Great God ! I cannot tell 
 them she is dead! Claudie, Claudie, you are not dead! 
 Speak to me ! Tell your miserable, wretched husband that 
 you are not dead !" 
 
 Moaning and raving, resisting every effort made to in- 
 duce him to leave the room and take some rest, unheeding 
 sympathizing words and expostulations, the guilty, grief- 
 stricken husband hovered about the corpse of his wife the 
 whole night, the first faint rays of the morning making 
 him break forth in wilder, deeper grief: ,"1 was to carry 
 her home this morning, and now she is dead ; gone, gone!" 
 
 " Ah, gone to a better home than to what you could carry 
 her," suggested a watcher. But there was no balm, no ease 
 for the wretched, guilty mourner. A guilty conscience, 
 added to his keen pangs of grief, and miserable fears of 
 meeting her parents stung too deeply for words to alleviate. 
 
 * 
 
Abroad. 
 
 271 
 
 En another room in the same hotel, another scene was 
 being enacted. Another guilty, wretched, unhappy crea- 
 ture passed the night. A wrecked, sinful, but ah, greater 
 sinned against, life was fast ebbing out its last tide of 
 mortal existence. With clasped hands, her sweet face 
 pallid with the fearful remembrance of the sad event just 
 happened, dry, tearless eyes, looking upon the quiet, 
 peaceful form which lay before her in the solemn, fearful 
 stillness of death, a mute inquiry in her heart if she had 
 been prepared to meet her God, so suddenly sent into his 
 presence, Charlotte, leaning on her husband's arm, stood in 
 awed silence, her warm heart gushing with tender sympa- 
 thy for the stricken husband, and sad, regretful emotions 
 stirring the depths of her soul, for she had learned to love 
 the young wife who had been her companion in so many 
 pleasant, delightful hours of intercourse amid the beauties 
 of foreign lands and ancient lore, and she had looked for- 
 ward to the future when she should return to her native 
 land, and begin life in her husband's native city, a stranger 
 there, she would meet and resume their friendship. 
 
 Absorbed with these sad reflections and regrets, she 
 started as a servant approached and touched her arm, say- 
 ing in Italian that the lady who had fallen over into the 
 water was not dead, and had sent to request her to come to 
 her a few mmutes, as she had not long to live, and wished 
 to communicate something of importance. 
 
 Charlotte nodded assent, and in a low tone made her 
 husbaad understand the girl's errand, adding, "Can I go V 9 
 
 "Not alone," was answered, and drawing her hand within 
 his arm the two left the room and, preceded by the girl, 
 were led up a long corridor, at the end of which a door 
 stood ajar. 
 
 "She wants you alone," said the native, looking at the 
 gentleman who was also about to enter. 
 
 "He is my husband," explained Charlotte, "and I do not 
 care to go in alone." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders and opened the door, 
 and as the husband and wife entered closed it behind them, 
 
272 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 thus leaving them in the presence of the murderess and 
 dying woman. It was a small, meanly furnished apartment, 
 with unmistakable signs of poverty and neglect about it. 
 Upon the low, uncurtained couch lay the woman, her long, 
 thin, transparent hands clasped together upon her breast ; 
 her luxuriant, fair hair lying tangled and still damp from 
 her deluge in the water upon her pillow ; her face pallid, 
 even unto the hue of death ; her white forehead, so trans- 
 parent that the blue veins stood out visibly, was damp with 
 the perspiration of death ; her eyes, large and wild, were 
 glazed, and it was apparent that her life was fast ebbing 
 out, that her allotted days were numbered. 
 
 Timidly, with an instinctive horror creeping over her, 
 Charlotte approached the dying woman, her husband stand- 
 ing at the head of the couch out of sight, yet near his wife. 
 
 "You sent for me," said Charlotte in Italian, leaning 
 forward. "Do you wish to tell me something ?" 
 
 The woman turned her large eyes with an eager, ques- 
 tioning and yearning look upon the girl, and said in 
 English : 
 
 "I do not understand Italian. Let me hear my native 
 tongue and your sweet, kind voice again. No one ever 
 spoke to me with such kindness and true love after I left 
 you, Lottie. Oh ! Lottie, tell me you love and forgive me, 
 for I am nearly gone ; my life's miseries are* nearly ended, 
 only to begin in a new, terrible state of eternal torment. 
 Lottie, Lottie, do you not know me?" 
 
 All fear, every other feeling, was gone, and with a cry 
 of joy, reproach and pity mingled, Charlotte sprang for- 
 ward, and taking the cold hands in her warm, loving clasp, 
 she kissed the pallid lips and cried : 
 
 "Lila, Lila, have I found you at last ? My sister, my 
 poor, dear Lila !" 
 
 With a sudden start and deep pallor Louis sprang for- 
 ward, but restraining himself, drew back and remained a 
 silent listener to what followed. 
 
 " Oh, Lottie ! do not kiss me ! do not call me sister !" 
 said the feeble tones of the dying girl. " I am a stained, 
 
Abroad. 
 
 273 
 
 sinful reptile; a wretched creature not n't enough for per- 
 dition, but oh, Lottie ! I saw you this evening, and your 
 husband, and could not die without seeing you once more 
 and begging you to forgive me ! Oh ! that I had never 
 left the safety and protection of your home ! turned away 
 from your true, sisterly love. But it was aunt Lucy and 
 Arthur's fault, they wanted me to marry an old man I 
 hated, ; they drove me from the only home I knew, out on 
 the cold, cruel world that has driven me to perdition. Oh, 
 Lottie ! no one can know what I have suffered ; no one can 
 imagine what I have endured. I have drank the dregs of 
 the cup of woe and now, to complete it, will die a murder- 
 ess — a suicide ! But oh, Lottie ! do not blame me, you 
 do not know how I was goaded, driven to it ! I am damned,, 
 but God is a liar, unjust, unmerciful, if He does not damn 
 others for what they have done for me. I am a sinful 
 wretch, an outcast from earth and Heaven, but with my 
 dying breath I swear I have been sinned against more than 
 I ever wilfully sinned !" 
 
 " Yes, dear, I know that," said the soothing, tender voice 
 of Charlotte, smoothing back the damp hair, " but do not 
 think of all your injuries and excite yourself so much ; do 
 not abuse yourself, poor child, and say such harsh things. 
 We are all sinners, but don't you know Christ Jesus died to 
 atone for our sins ? ' Though your sins be as scarlet I will 
 make them whiter than snow' He said. No matter what 
 you have done only "throw yourself on His mercy in peni- 
 tence and sincerity, and He will pardon all and receive you 
 into one of His many mansions. No one is cast from 
 Heaven, Lila, if they desire to obtain that eternal happiness 
 and implore Christ to forgive and wash away their sins. 
 You have sinned, Lila, so have we all, but you do not re- 
 joice in them. You are sorry ; they burden your soul and 
 your heart's cry is for mercy. God is love, and He pities 
 and loves you, Lila$ even if you have strayed away. He is 
 ready, waiting to receive you as one of those washed in the 
 blood of the Lamb. Christ is waiting with outstretched 
 arms, and will you not ask Him to receive you to Him- 
 self ?" 
 
274 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 The dying girl shook her head mournfully and muttered, 
 " There is no hope for me !" 
 
 " Yes there is, Lila, to the vilest sinner there is hope. 
 Christ condemns none if they will only go to Him for par- 
 don. He has the power and is willing, eager to save — to 
 cleanse us from all unrighteousness. Forgive those who 
 have done you wrong and then ask God, through the merits 
 of His son, to forgive you all." 
 
 " Ah ! there it is !" and the voice grew strong and wild, 
 " I must forgive if I wish forgiveness ; but I can not, will 
 not forgive. You do not know how I have been wronged, 
 scorned, deceived, goaded unto desperation. Lottie, if my 
 sins are mountain high my injuries reach to the skies. From 
 my very birth I have been wronged, deceived, cheated, and 
 you are the only one that ever loved or cared for me. Masie 
 was good and gentle but she thought it her duty to love all ; 
 but you, Lottie, really loved and cared for me. But oh ! I 
 was so proud I would not heed your precious letters and 
 come back. But oh ! how often have I wished I had ; I 
 would not have been the wretch that I am now ! Though 
 you know me to be a murderess you look at me kindly, you 
 kiss me, and do not shrink back from contact with one so 
 vile, such a wretched, criminal creature.'' 
 
 " Lila, Lila, my sister ! do not exeite yourself so. If you, 
 think I love and pity you, and feel there is no contamina- 
 tion to kiss and love you, I who am mortal and sinful, how 
 much more so is the gentle, loving Jesus who knows all 
 your trials, has felt temptation's power, and as a dear, elder 
 Brother, pities and yearns over you ? Lila, pour your 
 wrongs, your sins, into His sympathizing ear and He will 
 save, pardon and receive you." 
 
 „Yes, if I pardon; but I can not, even if I am sent to 
 Hell ! Lottie, like the crowd of others around, doubtless 
 you think I was very cruel and inhuman to snatch from 
 her husband's arms an innocent woman who wronged me, 
 but unconsciously, and for me to take vengeance into my 
 own hands. If God would do it, why did he wait so long, 
 until I was maddened past all endurance ? You did not 
 
Abroad. 
 
 27.5 
 
 know it, but since you left Paris I have clogged your foot- 
 steps day and night, watching my chance to avenge my 
 bitter wrongs. It looks cruel and heartless to murder an 
 innocent girl, a happy wife ; but it was the only way I 
 knew how to punish him, to make him feel a taste of the 
 woe he laid upon me to endure ; but I am not satisfied yet; 
 you look upon Gerald Hastings as a gentleman ; you give 
 him your friendship ; but he is a coward, a deceiver, a liar, 
 and disgraces the name of man. Lottie, I am weak, failing 
 fast ; but before I go let me tell you all, and perhaps it 
 may justify me somewhat in your eyes :" I was an innocent, 
 pure girl, having fled from the city to protect myself from 
 the evil that ever menaced me there, and in the quiet 
 home of honest people I was virtuously and honestly earn- 
 ing my daily bread. It was on his father's plantation, in 
 the home of his father's overseer. One day he came there 
 from the city ; we met, and within one week I had passed 
 from earth to the abode of Elysium. I loved this man 
 madly, wildly, but, ah ! truly, faithfully ; and he made me 
 believe my love was returned as truly and ardently. As fate 
 would have it, his mother prevailed upon me to undertake 
 the tuition of her little girls for a few months. You will 
 remender I gave Mr. Bentley and your husband's name as 
 my reference, and was employed to my satisfaction by his 
 
 mother. We met often ; he was at College in C , and came 
 
 over to the plantation every Saturday. It was not long 
 before he declared his love and in secret we were betrothed, 
 he making me promise to keep it a profound secret until 
 he left College, when, in spite of every obstacle, he vowed 
 to make me his honored wife. Fool that I was, I believed 
 it all, and oh ! Lottie, how I loved him, madly, adoringly 
 loved him, God and him only know ! Whenever home, he 
 managed, unknown to his proud family, to have a secret 
 meeting, and often after midnight, when all around was 
 wrapped in the first sound hours of sleep, I would steal out 
 to meet him. With his arms around me, his unholy kisses 
 upon my lips, his warm breath fanning my cheek as he 
 whispered reiterated protestations of love and fidelity to 
 
2-6 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 me. I was beguiled nn wittingly to my rain. I trusted him 
 implicitly and was completely in his power, at his mercy, 
 and he did not hesi: ate to impose upon my child-like, trust- 
 ing faith. Those blissful days did not last long ; that was 
 in the winter and spring, and the summer found his family 
 on their way abroad, and I was left with my humble friends 
 again, but I was better satisfied. The overseer's family 
 was to return to the city, and I felt happy to know I would 
 be nearer him. that I could see him every night without 
 the miserable fear of being found out by his people, for 
 he was left behind at College. A week or so later I was 
 once more in the city. I felt hungry, eager to see my 
 lover, for I had not laid eyes on or heard from him for 
 two whole weeks. I wrote, telling him of my arrival and 
 where I was. feeling sure he would come to me that night, 
 but in vain I waited. The next day I wrote again, and 
 that night waited and watched for his coming, but still I 
 heard nothing from him, nor did he come near me. Stnng 
 and mortified at this unexpected neglect. I waited, wonder- 
 ing and chafing, but was too proud to write again, and thus 
 day after day went by and still I heard nothing from hini, 
 and nothing of him than that he had been seen on the Col- 
 lege campus by one of my little pupils, and so 1 knew he 
 was in the city. ^Vhile in this distress, knowing not what 
 to do or how to act. I discovered that I had been betrayed. 
 In my dismay and horror, my first impulse was to throw 
 myself overboard and end my life before my shame was 
 known : the next, and which I acted upon, was to go to 
 him and implore him to save me by making me his lawful 
 wife. All that day and the two next I walked the 
 streets trying to meet him alone, and did not 
 succeed until the afternoon of the third day, 
 when I saw him part from some young men, and 
 cross the street alone. I walked up very rapidly, 
 and just as he was about to turn a corner I was upon him, 
 and called "Gerry." He turned quickly, saw and recog- 
 nized me. In the evening dusk I saw him turn pale ; but 
 he laughed and said: "Well, darling, what do you want? 
 
Abroad. 
 
 277 
 
 It does not suit for me to stop here now, it is too public. 
 I will see you after a while. Walk down that street slow, 
 I will overtake you/' 
 
 He turned away abruptly, and I did as he had said. 
 Walking very slowly down the designated street, I had 
 gone quite a long distance and felt nervous and frightened 
 to be out so late alone, for it was now after dark, and this 
 street seemed to be very dimlj lighted, so I turned back 
 and soon was met by Gerry Hastings. I care not to dwell 
 on the interview that followed. He tried to make me 
 understand that he could not marry me, although he loved 
 me passionately ; but that he would let me live in luxurious 
 ease if I would become his mistress, and he vowed he 
 would marry and proclaim me his lawful wife when he was 
 of age and his own master. But in vain he explained, 
 pleaded and promised. I resisted all his entreaties and 
 expostulations, and vowed if he did not marry me now and 
 save me from shame, right the wrong he had done, that I 
 would denounce him publicly — that I would go to his 
 father and tell him all. " Make me your wife, and I will 
 willingly hide myself from every living soul." No one 
 should ever know it until he was ready to proclaim it him- 
 self. He saw I was deadly in earnest, that he could not 
 make me do wrong, and was afraid of my threat, and with 
 the vilest villainy still further deceived and made me a 
 willing victim of his deceit. 
 
 " If I marry you, will you swear to keep indoors, and 
 never reveal it until I say you can ? " he asked presently. 
 
 "Yes, I will swear before God never to reveal it to a 
 human being until you say I can, and I will hide myself 
 from every one. !No one shall ever see me or know that 
 I am your wife from my lips. Make me your lawful wife 
 — I want or ask nothing more." 
 
 " Come, then, we will see about it at once. But Lila, at 
 your peril, let this ever be known and I will he disinherited, 
 disowned. Kemember, be faithful to me and I will be 
 true to you." 
 
 " I can not walk with you," he said, "for fear of meeting 
 
 18 
 
278 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 some acquaintance, and then there will be some great scan- 
 dal. Draw your veil over jour face and follow me at a 
 little distance behind." 
 
 He started off and I did as requested, following him 
 from one street to another, streets I knew nothing of, but 
 could see he was taking me into an unfrequented and 
 lonely portion of the city, for some of the streets were 
 not even lit, and we met very few persons in an hour's 
 steady, rapid walk. At last he halted, and when I came 
 up he laughed and said, drawing my arm within his : " My 
 little darling must be tired, lean on me now, we are most 
 there, and then you will have a long rest. Secret doings 
 are not always very pleasant, eh ?" 
 
 As he spoke he opened a gate and entered without 
 knocking ; it was dark and I could not distinguish any thing 
 as he hurried me through the yard. Keaching the house, a 
 small house, I saw he took a key from his pocket and • un- 
 locked the outer door, ushered me into the hallway and in 
 the dark led me up a flight of stairs. On landing he struck 
 a match and lit a candle which stood on a table within a 
 maesive silver candlestick. He then led me into a small, 
 but daintily, luxuriantly furnished chamber, and drawing 
 me to him whispered : " See, I have been getting ready, 
 intending to come after you by and by ; but meeting you 
 this afternoon, have hurried matters somewhat. I have no 
 attendants yet engaged, so you will be left here tomorrow 
 alone I am afraid ; but you need not mind, there is ente- 
 tainment enough here for a while," and speaking thus he led 
 me into the next room, a handsome, luxurious parlor, rich- 
 ly carpeted, with books, pictures, ornaments and a hand- 
 some piano with a good stock of music upon it. I noticed 
 heavy rich curtains draped the windows in both rooms, 
 rendering them quite private from without. 
 
 " Well, how do you like your prison ? " he asked, putting 
 his hands with a firm grip upon my shoulders, standing in 
 front of me, and looking with saucy impudence into my 
 face. 
 
 " The prison is unimportant, the jailer is what I will like 
 
Abroad. 
 
 279 
 
 or dislike. But, Guerrie, you said we were to be married, 
 and it is getting late ? " I felt uneasy and doubtless showed 
 it in my manner and looks. 
 
 " Yes, I know that, my dear, but I do not like to leave 
 you alone here while I go for the minister." 
 
 " I am not afraid. Lock the door and gate, and please 
 go at once. Nothing can molest me." Ah, how well I 
 remember his laugh, as he shook his head and said, kissing 
 me passionately : 
 
 "I will make it all right in a few minutes, Miss Prudence, 
 I see nothing can be done until a minister says you are my 
 wife, so goodbye for a little while ; go curl your hair and 
 look pretty when I come back." He laughed again 
 and kissing me, left. I heard him lock the outer door, 
 and I began to brush up and look as pretty as I could. 
 
 And I was happy ; my whole being was thrilled with 
 delight as I thought that I would so soon be his wife. He 
 was gone a long while — hours it seemed to me — but in fact 
 not much more than an hour, yet I was getting impatient 
 and fearful, every thing was so still and desolate. I could 
 not see or hear any thing from the street for the house stood 
 far back, a deep yard in front, with several large trees, the 
 thick summer foliage hiding it completely from the street. 
 A very prison indeed, I thought as I turned from the win- 
 dow with an involuntary feeling of discomfiture and fear. 
 But it vanished when I looked around the pretty, elegant 
 little parlor and felt it would soon be my rightful home, 
 and though a prisoner for a while I would not have to work 
 but could live in ease with a husband to care for me. You 
 know I always hated work. Just as I began to get nervous 
 I heard the door open below, and heard voices as they as- 
 cended the stairs, and felt wonderfully relieved when Gerry 
 entered accompanied by a tall, clerical-looking young man, 
 and an elderly, respectable-looking white woman. They 
 were introduced to me as the Rev. Mr. Norris, a young Bap- 
 tist divine, and Mrs. Ridley. The former at once pro- 
 ceeded with the ceremony and a few minutes afterwards I 
 thought I was Gerald Hasting's lawful wife. Giving me a 
 
28o 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 marriage certificate at my request, he departed, and Gerry- 
 then explained that Mrs. Ridley was to live down stairs and 
 do for me, but that I must stay up in my two rooms and 
 not interfere with her in any way. At his command she 
 left to prepare us supper, as he declared he was starving, 
 and I felt very hungry also, for I had eaten nothing that 
 whole day since breakfast. When we were left alone Gerry 
 took me in his arms with a husband's privileged liberty, 
 bestowing on me unlimited, rapturous caresses, declaring 
 how he loved me, how happy he was that I was his darling 
 wife, and made me vow again that I would keep our rela- 
 tionship a profound secret and call myself Mrs. Gerry, 
 never letting Mrs. Ridley or any one know his name was 
 Hastings. 
 
 I first felt the misery of this secrecy when he left me 
 the next morning to attend church, and I was left alone 
 until midnight, when he came in and repaid my weary 
 waiting with his passionate (even for a husband) excessive 
 caressing and fondling. 
 
 For the next month I dwelt in satisfied happiness ; Ger- 
 ald was all I could desire him to be. He let me want for 
 nothing ; brought me books, music, flowers, fruit and the 
 finest French confectionery. Giving me money sufficient 
 to gratify any desire of finery in dress I should fancy, but 
 oh, I was such a close prisoner, never even going down- 
 stairs, nor could I see a person on the street so entirely was 
 this house (built for the purpose I sometimes thought) hid 
 away, buried among large, luxuriant oak trees, yet it was 
 very delightful to me, who had had to struggle for ruy daily 
 bread, to be thus provided and cared for. And though I 
 only saw very little of my husband, for he only came in 
 late at night, leaving very early in the morning, I was 
 happy. He was so fond, loving and demonstrative in his 
 affection, that it repaid me amply for the monotonous, lonely 
 hours when he was away. One night that winter he 
 laughingly told me Louis Montaine was in town making 
 quite a rigid search £or me and that I must keep very close. 
 I laughed and replied that he would not find me; but even 
 
Abroad. 
 
 281 
 
 then I felt sorry that I was such a prisoner. I longed to 
 see the street and human kind once more. And what made 
 it harder to bear, my health began to fall me rapidly. I 
 grew very weak and had gloomy, despondent spells which 
 I could not overcome and would have to lie by the hour on 
 the bed. But Gerald was not concerned as I felt he should 
 be ; his visits became fewer ; his lavieh caresses lessened, 
 and I saw with poignant anguish that he was getting satiated. 
 I felt keenly hi6 love was not true and lasting ; that I was 
 to become that miserable object, a neglected wife. 
 
 In March, unattended by any physician, Mrs. Ridley, my 
 only attendant, my child was born, a black-eyed, black- 
 haired baby girl, the image of her handsome father. She 
 was seven days old when he came to see me, and I was 
 very ill and weak. He stood by my bedside and oh ! Lot- 
 tie, told me such terrible things. He said the child was not 
 his — he was not its father ; my practiced deceit and crimi- 
 nality was apparent, for he and I knew who its father was, 
 and that I need never think he would ever own or care for 
 it. He left me in scorn and anger, and for several weeks, 
 while 1 hovered on the brink of the grave, he never came 
 or sent a line or one cent's worth of nourishment. He 
 wanted me to die, but I saw his aim and rose up determined 
 to baffle him. Fortunately I had money, which, in his first 
 days, he had lavished upon me and which I had very little 
 occasion to spend, and so did not want now, notwithstand- 
 ing his neglect and desertion. With a desire to find out 
 what was the matter, and an irresistible longing to see the 
 outer world again, I began to venture out, day after day, 
 keeping it up, and soon began to feel the invigorating ef- 
 fects of pure air and out-door exercise, and with the view 
 to regain my strength, I went out regularly^ leaving my 
 baby with Mrs. Ridley. I had not seen Gerry now for 
 seven weeks, when one day I came upon him suddenly in 
 company with some young men. He recognized me, 
 doubtless, though I wore a thick veil, for that afternoon I 
 received a note from him warning me to keep in, that he 
 had been away but would come and see me soon. I un- 
 
282 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 heeded the command and the next afternoon went out, and 
 as fate would have it, I saw him again, this time driving 
 out beside a beautiful girl in a gay, dashing vehicle. I 
 stood still, all the old bitter miseries welling up with poig- 
 nant pain before me. The sun of my life set suddenly, 
 leaving all dark, cold and dreary within. Those keen y 
 guilty eyes saw me again, and that night he came. A 
 stormy scene ensued. He forbid me to go out, while I 
 taunted. He had lost all power to force me into obedience. 
 "Do not think, Gerry, that I will stand by tamely and allow 
 you to gallant another lady about, leaving your wife home 
 alone and wanting." "My wife V he sneeringly laughed. 
 "Who said you was my wife ? That is only a little dream 
 of yours, my dear." Oh! God, how he maddened me. I 
 raved wildly. Yowed that I would go to his father and to 
 the lady with whom I had seen him and show them my 
 marriage certificate and his child. "You cannot deny that 
 it is your child ; God has, in justice to me, stamped it your 
 very image. She is a perfect Hastings. In a court of jus- 
 tice they would declare it your child, and why Should you 
 deny what you know to be the truth. Mark your daughter 
 well, and see in her your very counterpart, your very self," 
 and I snatched up the innocent little creature and held it up 
 to his view. 
 
 " You had better not tell me it is my child," he said with 
 a bitter laugh and hard glitter in his angry, black eyes, "for 
 I can take it away from you, and then where is your boast- 
 ed power? Mind, Lila, how you taunt and threaten me. 
 Be quiet and good, and keep in, and it will all be well. I 
 am only flirting with the girl to blind and satisfy my par- 
 ents, and will come and see you again. I have been away. 
 In the meantime, take this," and he threw a heavy purse 
 upon my bed, leaning forward and kissing me and the baby. 
 " Mind, do not go out. If I meet you on the street again 
 it will not be well. Beware ! " and he was gone. More for 
 fear to keep me quiet than any return of his old love, his visits 
 and gifts became quite frequent ; but understanding it all, I 
 was not the tame, deceived dupe of old, and would go out. 
 
Abroad, 
 
 283 
 
 He had broken his vow to me, why should not I do the 
 same? Again and again I saw him out riding and walking 
 with Miss Claudia Ennes ; heard passersby remark on her 
 wealth, beauty and gentle birth, and say that young Hast- 
 ings would do well. When he came in at night to see me, 
 I would taunt him with the street scandal, and one night 
 he became infuriated, and recklessly exposed his villainy, 
 by declaring that I was not his wife ; that the ceremony 
 had been a sham, performed by one of the students to sat- 
 isfy my scruples ; that my child was of ignoble birth, etc. 
 In a rage he left. Stupified and shockeclthat I had been 
 so villainously duped, and that I was the vile, dishonored 
 thing he represented me to be, made me ill, and I often 
 wondered how I survived the fearful shock — the horrible 
 knowledge ! When the reaction came I arose, my heart 
 burning with vengeance, my brain fired with the thought 
 how I could punish him best. I will go to her, carry my 
 child and tell her all. Ask who the child's father is \ She 
 will know without me telling her. I will denounce him, 
 the incarnate fiend ! But, horror ! when I attempted to 
 start on my errand of vengeance, I found I was a prisouer. 
 The key was turned in the hall door, and I knew there was 
 no other outlet except from the high windows from which 
 I knew I dare not attempt to escape. Oh ! how I raved 
 in my helplessness! How I boiled with fury when I 
 thought he was free and courting the girl whom he would 
 marry ere I could tell her what a wretch he was! My 
 meals were brought to me daily and put within my door, 
 the stern, paid tool leaving instantly, heedless of my 
 prayers, tears and passionate entreaties to let me out. 
 Twice I had tried to rush past her as she opened a crack in 
 my door to place the tray within, but was seized in an iron 
 grip and put back like a helpless little child, as she locked 
 and bolted the door without. For nearly two years I was 
 thus kept a close prisoner, when quite unexpectedly one 
 night Gerry came and said he was going to France, and 
 that if I would forgive him for the past, and go with him, 
 he would be so glad. He said his harshness and seeming 
 
284 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 cruelty was fear of his father who would disinherit him if 
 he found out his love for me, but out in foreign lands he 
 would be free to do as he liked, and he vowed, with his 
 arm about me as in the old fond days, that he still loved 
 me dearly, passionately. I believed and forgave him again, 
 for I still loved this man madly, passionately, though he 
 had been so cruel. Without doubting I made hasty pre- 
 parations, and the next night he came for me and drove off 
 in a close carriage winch quickly conveyed us to a large, 
 sombre looking steamer, puffing and steaming at one of 
 the wharves, in readiness to start. He put me in a cozy 
 little state room and made me lie down, and said I must 
 stay there as a preventive of sea-sickness, that he would 
 be back after a while, having to look after our luggage and 
 would take Zoa out on deck to see the boat start. Try and 
 go to sleep, I will be back in a few minutes." As he spoke 
 he lifted my beautiful little Zoa in his arms, a sweet, prat- 
 tling child of two years, who was as much in love with him 
 as I was. Ah ! how I remember that moment, a moment 
 of supreme joy and happiness to me, as 1 saw my little 
 darling one nestle lovingly in his arms and lay her black, 
 curly little head on his shoulder, and saw him hug her to 
 his breast and kiss the cherry little mouth, and I thought 
 we were to be happy together once more. " You know I 
 love this child, Lila," he laughed as he leaned over and 
 kissed my cheek, at the same time laying a handkerchief 
 over my face saying : " This will keep you from getting 
 sick. Smell it." I was passive, inhaled the chloroform 
 (which I found out afterwards) plenteously, and in a few 
 minutes was oblivious to all. 
 
 The next day was far advanced, and the ship was far out 
 on the great, billowy deep when I awoke, awoke to find 
 myself alone. I was mad then, a raving maniac in my 
 grief and wild despair, for I found out very soon that I was 
 being carried to a strange land without any means of sup- 
 port. This was his work to rid himself of me : he had 
 done this, and to make the deed more cruel and heartless, 
 he had stolen my child, my only comfort, for the Captain 
 
Abroad. 
 
 285 
 
 told me he had gone ashore with the child. I felt at times 
 that I would throw rnyself overboard, but no, that would 
 be pleasing him ! I would live and see the day that I could 
 punish him for what he had done for me. I went to the 
 Captain and told him I was being carried abroad against 
 my will, and begged him to send me back, but he only 
 laughed and said he had been directed to carry me to 
 France, and it would be impossible for me to get back until 
 the ship left for America. To make a lifetime of agony 
 brief, I arrived there at last, and was put off, a stranger in 
 a strange land. Think you that there could be a more 
 heartless, cruel act conceived and vilely carried out? Death 
 would have been preferable. Luckily I had a little money 
 and some jewelry, but it was not sufficient by a great deal 
 to pay my way back ; so, hoarding it away, I took cheap 
 lodgings and began at once to look out for some employ- 
 ment, legal, dishonorable, degrading, any thing would suit, 
 so long as I could make enough to keep me from starving 
 and pay my way back and confront this villain and de- 
 nounce him to the world. I heard from my hostess a 
 stage-manager wanted some beautiful women to make up 
 scenes and engage in ballet dancing. I was reckless; vir- 
 tue and purity were subservient to my wild desire to make 
 some money. I applied for the place and was at once em- 
 ployed. The pay was poor, the work hard, still I kept at 
 it, being able to lay but a very little aside for my cherished 
 purpose. At the end of a year, with joy I counted the 
 sum I had saved, and knew it was enough to take me back. 
 
 Searching in the papers for information when a ship 
 would sail direct for America I accidently caught the name 
 of Hastings and Montaine, and read of a recent arrival, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gerald Hastings, Mr. and Mrs. Louis Montaine. 
 It quite changed the current of my deliberations, and I 
 searched for the hotel where their names would be regis- 
 tered. I found it, and, disguising myself as best I could, 
 I repaired thither. I hovered around hour after hour, 
 keeping the entrance in sight, and was finally rewarded to 
 see the four come out. I instantly recognized Gerald Has- 
 
286 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 tings, and knew the lady on his arm was my rival ; the girl 
 who had caused him to weary of and treat me as he had 
 done. I also recognized Louis Montaine, but did not know 
 who you were at first, and can scarcely believe you are the 
 Charlotte Howard I knew and once called sister, you have 
 grown so beautiful and distinguished looking. I watched 
 yon with interest for I saw you were his wife, and yet you 
 were not Irene Burgoyne — another bitter, hated enemy of 
 mine — and I was glad, glad to know Louis Montaine was 
 not^ier husband, that she had lost him, for I had hoped, 
 wished, to see that day and was repaid at last. And now, 
 vengeance for the terrible wrong practiced upon me by 
 Gerald Hastings and then I would die content, even if I 
 had to suffer eternal torment for it ! 
 
 Lottie, like your shadow I followed you from place to 
 place, using the money I had saved, watching my chance to 
 snatch from him this lawful wife. That chance came a 
 few hours ago, as you know, of which I took advantage. 
 Do you blame me ? Think you that I will go to Hell for 
 it ? Well, I am not afraid ; Hell can not be worse than what 
 I have felt here on earth ! 
 
 The dying girl had spoken for the most part in a rapid, 
 yet feeble tone, which grew weaker and weaker as she pro- 
 ceeded, and at times speaking with great difficulty, her 
 breath coming in quick gasps, as she recalled her bitter 
 wrongs and recited the tale of her wretched life. Her 
 listeners, perfectly petrified with the tale of her woe, and 
 horrified to have such a fearful, monstrous charge of crime, 
 cruelty and heartlessness laid at the door of one that Louis 
 Montaine had from boyhood loved and esteemed as a dear 
 friend, and whom Charlotte had looked upon as a high-toned, 
 honorable gentleman and Christian character, the husband 
 and wife exchanged expressive glances of amazement, pain 
 and incredulity, but made no remark, for fear the knowledge 
 of his presence would excite the sick woman who was fail- 
 ing rapidly. 
 
 Uninterruptedly she was allowed to narrate her wrongs 
 and sufferings, and as she finished and appealed to Char- 
 
Abroad. 
 
 287 
 
 lotte with eyes wild and glassy, and a high pitch of excite- 
 ment in tone and manner, with a soothing, sorrowful voice 
 she replied, gently putting the hair away from her forehead r 
 
 " My poor Lila, you have indeed been fearfully sinned 
 against and suffered. You have had enough to goad you 
 on to desperation ; but, my dear sister, I can not tell you 
 that you were justified to take vengeance in your own 
 hands. God would have avenged them surely, if slowly, 
 and although you could not trust Him, and felt He tarried 
 too long, He W*ould have punished without fail the oppres- 
 sor and cowardly tyrant that dealt so falsely and cruelly by 
 you. Are you sure, Lila, you do not err in making such 
 fearful charges? It is so hard to believe Mr. Hastings is 
 guilty of such monstrous injustice and cowardly cruelty. 
 He seems so gentlemanly, true and kind." 
 
 " By your God, Charlotte, every word is true, and in- 
 stead of exaggerating, I have painted his villainy far too 
 faintly. Oh ! he has treated me shamefully, cruelly ! and 
 oh ! I loved him so passionately, dearly. Lottie, I could 
 have knelt at his feet and worhipped him ! But his scorn, 
 his cruelty drove me mad ! I was wild, reckless. I could 
 not see him love and cherish another. I could not stand by 
 and see another happy and blest with the love that I 
 would have laid down my life to obtain. I can not be 
 sorry for him, he has done me so badly. I have labored, 
 waited and panted with an insatiable thirst for vengeance ; 
 to foil him of anticipated bliss ; to make him feel what 
 I have endured ; s.nd I had the strength and the courage to 
 do it, and can now die satisfied. I am avenged ! Yes, 
 yes, Lottie, it is all true ; for though I am a wretched, lost 
 sinner, I would not in this fearful moment dye my soul in 
 a deeper stain of guilt and die with a falsehood on my lips, 
 and I swear with my latest breath that it is all true. Oh ! 
 Lottie," and her voice grew strong and wild, " why did I 
 leave my home ? why did I go out alone — so young, so 
 fair and frail — into the wide, wide — and oh ! such a cruel 
 — world? If I had only married o]d Mr. Yerneer I would 
 have been safe ! But now I am a murderess, a castaway 
 
288 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 from Heaven, a fit object for Hell ! A despised, miserable, 
 degraded creature ! Oh ! will I go to Hell ? Will I suffer 
 eternal torment ? Will I be cast into outer darkness, where 
 there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth ? But he will 
 go there too ! Gerald Hastings will go there ! I will 6ee 
 him there ! And Irene Burgoyne and her serpent father ! 
 They have all wronged me ! She was the first vile enemy 
 that polluted my good name : destroyed public confidence"; 
 cheated me from making an honest livelihood ! They will 
 all be there ! If I burn in torment, it will be a balm to see 
 them burn too ! Oh ! Lottie, Lottie ! save me ! It is fear- 
 fnl to burn eternally ! I smell the sulphur and brimstone ! 
 I feel the awful heat ! Oh ! Lottie ! Lottie ! save me ! " 
 
 She sprang up wildly, her eyes glaring, her hands 
 clenched, and looked about her, then with a heart-rending 
 shriek she fell back on the pillow. There was a 
 gurgling sound, foam issued from her mouth, the hands 
 relaxed, the glassy eyes set, and the next moment her spirit 
 fled its mortal tenement, and all that remained of the poor, 
 misguided, wronged and unhappy Lila was her cold, lifeless 
 clay. All her miseries, sins and wrongs were over, and 
 can not we trust she had gone to a better, happier home, 
 even eternal mansions above, where sorrows and tears are 
 unknown? for if her stubborn will would not say in words, 
 "Lord, help or I perish/' and, "God be merciful to me 
 a sinner," her soul's anguished cry was for pardon and 
 help. She had keenly felt she was a sinner; she feared 
 God's wrath, the God she had pretended to deny, yet in 
 the last anguished throes of death she instinctively felt 
 His power and feared His offended justice; and think 
 you the pitying, gentle Jesus, who knew what it was to 
 be tempted, scorned, reviled, would not pity this frail, 
 erring child of sin and sorrow — a divine pity, even unto 
 forgiveness and love ? 
 
 Assistance was summoned, Louis Hontaine retired, and 
 the unfortunate girl was prepared for burial. With her 
 own hands Charlotte combed and curled the fair, luxuriant 
 
Abroad. 
 
 289 
 
 hair, closed the sad, beautiful eyes, and furnished soft, 
 fleecy garments of her own to deck her for the grave. 
 
 "It is far better she has gone from this painful, sad life, 
 poor, erring, nameless waif, than to live on in misery and 
 shame, with no rightful name, no knowledge of any parents t 
 which, if she knew, would only add bitterness and grief 
 to what she had already to endure," murmured Charlotte 
 as she kissed the cold, icy forehead and folded the limp 
 hands upon the lifeless breast. "Poor, poor Lila, so young, 
 so fair and so wronged and sinned against ! Prayers are 
 unavailing for thee now, but Jesus, who forgave and con- 
 demned not the most flagrant sinner, will not cast thee out, 
 but give thy soul the rest and peace in Paradise which 
 would never have been yours here on earth." 
 
 In her trunk were found a child's clothing carefully 
 packed away, a box of letters and many dried, pressed 
 flowers, her supposed marriage certificate sealed and hid 
 away, stern witnesses of the guilt and cruelty of her heart- 
 less seducer. A wedding ring was on her finger, and a 
 simple gold locket, with the likeness of the dark, hand- 
 some face of Gerald Hastings on one side and a dark, 
 silky tress of hair on the other, was suspended around her 
 neck with a black ribbon. No money or other valuables, 
 and very scant, poor clothing, showed plainly the destitu- 
 tion and suffering of the unhappy girl. Charlotte con- 
 veyed them to her husband, tears of pity and sadness in 
 her gentle eyes. " Poor, heart-broken Lila ! Can you 
 believe, Louis, that Gerald Hastings is guilty of such 
 heartless cruelty ? These are his letters and his marriage 
 certificate, written proofs of his deception and treachery.'' 
 
 " Shall I show them to him and let him know we under- 
 stand his foui, wicked deed V Louis Montaine asked, a red, 
 angry spot on his cheek, a glitter of excitement in his eyes. 
 " I feel outraged to think we have been on such friendly 
 terms with the heartless fiend ! Just to imagine the cow- 
 ardly, outrageous cruelty of sending a helpless, beautiful, 
 dependent girl to such a place as Paris ! It is monstrous ! 
 I can scarcely refrain from confronting him with his guilt, 
 
290 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 and let him understand he is no further a friend or associate 
 of mine, for it is certain he shall never enter my home. His 
 very presence would contaminate the pure atmosphere sur- 
 rounding my wife.'' 
 
 " No, no, my husband, do not get angry and excite your- 
 self. He is suffering now, atoning for his guilt. Let me 
 keep these sad mementoes of poor Lila, for no matter what 
 she was I loved her as a sister. She was the victim of 
 others' sins and criminality, and how she suffered, what she 
 •endured, I shudder to recall ! But she is at rest now, her 
 wrongs righted, and will you not for my sake let it all be 
 buried with her ? Leave Mr. Hastings to God ; it is not 
 for us to condemn. His guilt, remorse and the loss of his 
 wife, whom he loved dearly I believe, will punish him with- 
 out any interference on our part. His suffering, and I 
 trust deep contrition and remorse, is a sting, without us 
 trying to add to its venom. When we bury Lila let us bury 
 all animosity in her grave. For think how wretched and 
 exaggerated were her sufferings by cherishing vengeance in 
 her heart and stubborn unforgiveness in her soul. Let 
 God deal with Mr. Hastings, Louis, and let us look more 
 closely at our own imperfections and failings before we 
 stand in judgment against a sinful, erring, but I hope 
 awakened, penitent, brother sinner." 
 
 " Let it be as you will it, my darling wife," was the fond 
 husband's reply, as he kissed the tear-stained cheek, deep, 
 adoring emotions swelling his heart. M It is best to keep 
 quiet and let a higher power deal with him. Any inter- 
 ference on my part might bring exposure of what we wish 
 to be buried forever. His father is the holder of our fear- 
 ful secret, my mother's degradation, and if I expose the 
 son the father might not scruple to expose me. It is best 
 she is dead, and best, safest as you say, to bury all in her 
 grave. Poor girl ! Keep carefully the box you have with 
 the witnesses of his guilt, one day we might need them." 
 
 The next day the seemingly aged and bereaved husband 
 left for home with the corpse of the beautiful, proud girl 
 he had six months before claimed as his bride ; and it is 
 
Abroad. 
 
 291 
 
 needless to add that a more crushed, conscience-stricken and 
 remorseful man could not be found, for he had loved his 
 wife with a true, devoted affection, quite unlike the more 
 youthful, licentious and quickly satiated passion that he 
 had had for the lovely, gifted, but unfortunate music- 
 teacher. Claudia Ennis, proud, and a spoiled child of 
 wealth and doting parents, had many endearing and attrac- 
 tive traits of character ; her redeeming quality being a true, 
 unselfish love for her husband, whose affection, instead of 
 waning had increased during those almost unalloyed months 
 of their honeymoon, and they were returning with bright, 
 joyous anticipations of future wedded bliss, but nipped in 
 the bud by the avenging hand of an offended Deity, as a 
 severe but just chastisement for his cruelty and cowardly 
 treatment of a helpless, unfortunate girl, whose dependence 
 and helples ness should have elicited his protection and 
 pity instead of an object to vent his unholy, licentious pas- 
 sions upon. Oh ! would that we feared God's wrath more, 
 and believed that the cries of the helpless and oppressed 
 reached and elicited attention from that great God who 
 will not let a sparrow fall to the ground unheeded ! 
 
 That afternoon the remains of Lila, the nameless waif, 
 were committed to their final resting-place until the resur- 
 rection morn, in a sequestered portion of an Italian ceme- 
 tery. A plain, white slab to mark the place, with an 
 inscription in English, at Charlotte's suggestion, which she 
 said would attract attention from the many strangers that 
 visited the place yearly, and perhaps they would out of pity 
 for the lonely, neglected grave, pluck the truant weed and 
 place a flower, or bestow some little attention upon it. 
 A frail flower, snatched rudely from a delicate tendril, and 
 crushed beneath the heel of a masculine boot, was the 
 suggestive design above the simple inscription : 
 
 "LILA. Aged 21," 
 
 proclaiming pretty clearly the fate of the lonely sleeper 
 beneath. 
 
 "Poor, unfortunate, wronged girl," sobbed Charlotte, 
 
292 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 hers the only tears shed upon the desolate grave. " Would 
 that I could have found her sooner, and saved her from 
 this terrible end — of filling the grave of a murderess, a 
 suicide — and left unknown, unloved, unmourned, in a land 
 of strangers, a sad victim of the sin and wrong of 
 others." 
 
 Saddened and depressed by this sudden, fearf nl tragedy, 
 the young couple determined to leave immediately, con- 
 trary to former plans, and the next day saw them on their 
 way to Genoa, where they contemplated remaining some 
 time to rest, for their travelling mania was not over, as 
 they intended in the early spring to revisit Baden-Baden, 
 Switzerland, and the Holy Land, hoping by the following 
 autumn to return home, well satisfied with their foreign 
 tour, by which time their future winter's palatial residence 
 in Charleston would be in readiness for their occupancy. 
 
HOME AGAIN. 
 
 ^N^Ppon the deck of a proud, noble champion of the 
 deep, a goodly crowd were assembled, many with 
 ^KCf sad hearts and tearful eyes as they waved an adieu 
 with their handkerchiefs to friends and relatives left be- 
 hind, others happy, gleeful, knowing they were returning 
 home and would soon meet loved ones once more, as the 
 
 steamer noisily, as if to show her importance, left 
 
 the busy port of New York on a particularly glorious au- 
 tumn afternoon, bound southward. 
 
 Among the latter we recognize some of our old friends. 
 Louis Montaine and his wife stand a little apart, no regret 
 on their faces at leaving this busy emporium of life for the 
 quieter city by the sea, which was home, but rather happy 
 and satisfied. They had traveled nearly three years, and it 
 had been a time of rich enjoyment and complete satisfac- 
 tion, marred only by the sad fate of Mrs. Hastings and 
 Lila. But Charlotte was at last surfeited, and began to 
 talk of home, and with his ever ready willingness to have 
 her suited, Louis Montaine at once turned homeward. 
 
 They both look well and happy. He handsomer than 
 ever. His happy wedded life, perfect freedom from care, 
 and release from the remorse of his more youthful days, 
 having obliterated the sternness and almost habitual gloom 
 from his face, making him very handsome indeed. Few 
 men could be found handsomer than Louis Montaine at 
 this time, for, without any partiality, he was a decidedly 
 striking, handsome and high-bred looking man. 
 
 And Charlotte, sweet, pure and beautiful as ever ; a trifle 
 paler and slenderer than when we saw her last, a more import- 
 ant, maternal air characterizing her, very easily explained 
 and excused by the bright, restless, cooing boy of ten 
 
 19 
 
294 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 months, who knows her as mother, and who is known to be 
 their son by the striking resemblance he bears to his hand- 
 some father, held by a nurse (old Mammy Chloe) who sits 
 near by. 
 
 At a little distance another young couple stand, seeming- 
 ly very well satisfied at their departure, but not with their 
 position, for she says : " The wind is too cool ; and, oh! I 
 am so afraid of getting sea-sick. Do let us go in Wallie ! " 
 and she draws a shawl about her closely. 
 
 " What ! already thinking of getting sea-sick ? " he ex- 
 claimed laughing, but turning to do her bidding. The 
 same conviction seemed to strike Charlotte, for at that mo- 
 ment she turned to give directions to have the baby carried 
 in out of the fresh and rather cool air, and thus facing the 
 two trying to walk steadily from the deck. 
 
 u Mr. Hayne!" 
 
 " Miss Charlotte ! " 
 
 She held out her hand with a smile, gentle and cordial, 
 and with a little hesitation and change of color he took it. 
 A slight embarrassment followed, instantly dissipated by 
 her unconcerned manner and sweet courtesy, as she called 
 her husband's attention to the meeting, both expressing in 
 warm terms their pleasure at meeting him again. 
 
 Walter Hayne introduced his wife, and Louis Montaine 
 with a smile at once recognized Miss Ida Nathan, of Niag- 
 ara fame. 
 
 " I am delighted to see you are married happily, Hayne," 
 Louis Montaine said during the general conversation that 
 followed, "and I hope the old feud is over between us, and 
 that in the future we will be friends." 
 
 " I hope so," was answered, with a laugh rather con- 
 strained, the young man fidgeting and flushing as he glanced 
 at his interested better-half. "I never could understand 
 why we were such foes, until I heard of your marriage, for 
 I never once supposed you were my rival. I always liked, 
 but could never run smoothly with you." 
 
 " It was my fault, you see. I looked upon you as my 
 successful rival and could not be friendly. But it is all 
 
Home Again. 
 
 295 
 
 right now ; you are happy, so are we, and we can take the 
 past to laugh at, eh ? " 
 
 " It is good you waited until now to speak thus. When 
 I first heard of your marriage, I could have killed you 
 with a keen relish ; and I thought I would never get over 
 that appetite either — but this lady cured me." 
 
 " I knew you would thank me finally for what you con- 
 sidered heartlessness in me," said Charlotte gently. " No 
 one should marry without reciprocal love, or else they need 
 not expect any happiness. How long have you been 
 married ? " 
 
 "Five months," was smilingly answered by Mrs. Hayne. 
 "We are just returning from our honeymoon, having 
 spent the summer at Saratoga. Is that your baby, Mrs. 
 Montaine?" 
 
 "Yes,'' and now the face is radiant, the eyes beaming, as 
 the young mother took him from his nurse and brought 
 him forward. "Isn't he the image of his father V 
 
 "Decidedly," was assented with a laugh. 
 
 "Yery complimentary to me," remarked the proud 
 father, "for every one says he is the handsomest baby they 
 have ever seen, and I think so myself." 
 
 "He is a remarkably fine child, certainly," said Walter 
 Hayne, his tone and look envious, certainly admiring. 
 
 "And looking so much like his father, I presume he has 
 his name ; I am alwas interested to know a baby's name," 
 remarked Mrs. Hayne, a tinge of jealousy in her tone, 
 evidently not relishing her husband's notice and admiration 
 of the son of her former rival. 
 
 "Quite mistaken there, Mrs. Hayne, Mrs. Montaine had 
 that idea, but I would not agree to it on any consideration. 
 She would necessarily become too formal, styling me Mr. 
 Montaine, to distinguish me from her son Louis. We call 
 him Howard, as 1 wish to perpetuate a name that has 
 brought me much happiness in my family. He has not 
 been christened yet, but that will be his name," 
 
 Charlotte laughed merrily. "He is afraid, Mrs. Hayne, 
 I might love one Louis better than the other, and has yet 
 
296 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 to learn a wife's and mother's love is distinct. No child 
 can ever take one particle from what was first and will 
 ever be his ; but perhaps this is not desired information, 
 and I am keeping Master Howard out too long ; take him 
 in, Chloe, the wind is too bleak,'' and much to that young- 
 ster's disp]easure he was taken off, scolding and kicking as 
 only a baby knows how to perform the feat. 
 
 "And I must go in also and lie down, for I am so afraid 
 of sea sickness. This is my first voyage, so please excuse 
 us." 
 
 "You are very excusable," smiled Charlotte, "we are 
 quite sea hardy, and I prefer being out in the fresh air 
 when I am on shipboard, which accounts for my exemption 
 from sickness, and I would advise you not to keep too 
 close ; the state-room is stifling to me, and you will find 
 your ocean trip far more pleasant, entertaining and less 
 wearisome out on deck." 
 
 "The sight of the water makes me giddy. Adieu, we 
 will meet again,'' and laughing she determinedly forced her 
 rather unwilling husband away. 
 
 The two young couples became very sociable, and the 
 voyage passed over very agreeably. The weather was de- 
 lightful and calm, and notwithstanding her fears Mrs. 
 Hayne suffered very little from sickness. It was a glorious 
 autumn afternoon, the sky all ablaze with the glowing sun- 
 set, the atmosphere balmy and invigorating, when the 
 proud old steamer, after a very favorable and uneventful 
 trip, entered the beautiful harbor and hove in sight of the 
 old City by the Sea. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hayne's home was at Columbia, but having 
 never visited Charleston, they intended to stop here for 
 a while before going into the interior. 
 
 " Won't you go home with us, Hayne ? " asked Louis 
 Montaine as they stood out on deck, the city being near 
 and very distinct. You will find it pleasanter than stop- 
 ping at a hotel, and we will be very happy to entertain 
 you. Charlotte is a stranger, this being the first time she 
 will see her future home, and of course she will want to* 
 
Home Again. 
 
 297 
 
 see every nook and corner of a city she has heard so much 
 about, and in chaperoning her around it will give me great 
 pleasure to have you and Mrs. Hayne's company.'' 
 
 " O please come home with us ! I will be so deiighied," 
 pleaded Charlotte, and seeing no way of escape, the cordial 
 invitation was accepted. 
 
 " You will meet some old friends, Mr. Hayne. I forgot 
 to tell you that mamma, aunt Lucy and Arthur are down and 
 intend to spend awhile with us. Brother Arthur is to be 
 married this winter, and I will then revisit my old native 
 town to attend the wedding." 
 
 For the next half hour very little conversation went on, 
 all being interested at the near approach of their destina- 
 tion, and it being nearly dark, Louis could not point out 
 many familiar objects and landmarks. All was bustle and 
 noise now ; hurried, excited preparations going on to land ; 
 hearts beating high at tiie expectation of meeting loved 
 ones — all glad to be able to leave the prison of the last few 
 days. 
 
 O Louis, I see brother, dear Arthur ! " gasped Char- 
 lotte, with an almost hysterical cry of delight grasping 
 her husband's arm. "See him by that light?" and look- 
 ing upon the radiant, glowing face of his wife, the husband 
 knew how glad she was to get home and meet kindred and 
 friends once more. 
 
 " I see him too ; but do not jump overboard ; he will 
 come to you soon," and Louis Montaine laughingly, fondly 
 put his arm around her. 
 
 The next instant he was aboard. The meeting must be 
 imagined, not described. 
 
 " Mother and auntie are waiting with eager impatience," 
 he said, after first gainiug his breath. " I would not let 
 them come down, for mother is like one crazy to see her 
 Lottie, her son and grandson. But where is the latter ?" 
 
 " See him in that bundle ; but do not disturb his lordship 
 until we get in the carriage. Come, come, do not keep 
 mamma waiting ! " 
 
 After greeting Walter Hayne, gracefully acknowledge 
 
298 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 ing the introduction to his bride, the party laden with 
 light traveling luggage were soon on terra firma and rap- 
 idly stowed away comfortably in the handsome old family 
 coach, and driven off, a thousand questions asked and 
 answered during the homeward drive. 
 
 " Here we are, darling," whispered Louis. "How do 
 you like the appearance of your future home ? " and he 
 threw open the window, ordering the coachman to stop a few 
 minutes before entering the open gate. 
 
 A magnificent, palatial residence, bright lights gleaming 
 from every window and door, which were thrown open as 
 if in welcome to theyoung master and lady who would so 
 soon preside there, after the gloom of the past seven years ; 
 the white marble steps, gleaming statuary, glistening foun- 
 tains in the lovely and artistically laid out garden still in 
 high bloom from a careful culture, met the fair, young wife's 
 and mistress' eyes. For a few seconds she looked in wrapt 
 attention, emotions too sacred for utterance swelling her 
 bosom, then, regardless of all around, she threw herself on 
 her husband's breast, and in a thrilling whisper said : 
 
 It appears very grand and formidable to a little country 
 maid, but I am not afraid to take my rightful position as its 
 future mistress, and promise you here, before I cross its 
 threshold, that I will make it a happy home for you and 
 our boy ; a brilliant place for the elite and fashion of the 
 city ; a pleasant resort for old and valued friends ; an open 
 asylum and happy home for your relatives, and will never 
 make you blush nor regret that you choose your wife, 
 the mistress of your proud, ancestral home, from the 
 country." 
 
 " Do I doubt it, my darling ? I am too happy and proud 
 of my peerless treasure, that has made earth an Eden for me, 
 to doubt or fear for the future. A country maid, indeed ! 
 Where in Charleston, w'th all its gentility and boasted re- 
 finement, could I find one to rival you, my beautiful, 
 accomplished and beloved wife ?" was the whispered reply, 
 as he kissed her with passionate, lover-like fondness. 
 
 " The old love still burns brightly I see," commented 
 
Home Again. 
 
 299 
 
 Arthur, his face beaming with happiness and satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 A few minutes later Charlotte was in her mother's arms, 
 who welcomed her with wild demonstrations of joy and 
 delight. Miss Graham was quieter, but tears of happiness 
 stood in her eyes as she clasped her dearly loved niece to 
 her heart, then turned to welcome her husband and kiss, as 
 well as she could, the astonished but satisfied Master How- 
 ard, who cooed his baby language loudly, and submitted 
 graciously to the unusual amount of kissing and fondling 
 bestowed upon him. 
 
 Mrs. Renolds, in shining black silk und white lace neck- 
 erchief, her kindly face radiant with satisfaction, now came 
 forward and welcomed " her boy," and the young mistress, 
 expressing in warm terms her pleasure and delight to see 
 them home safe after their long tour. The old, faithful 
 family servants came in and were introduced to their future 
 young mistress, who, with a few kind words, and her win- 
 ning grace, impressed them favorably, for they left with 
 broad faces of satisfaction, grinning, and freely expressing 
 their delight " Dat it was not Miss 'Rene, for sure it will be 
 a pleasure to wait on such a sweet, kind looking lady as 
 Mars Louis' wife." 
 
 The next few days were devoted to rest and the final 
 installation in their grand, sumptuous, and elegantly fur- 
 nished home, Sunday making their appearance at St. Paul's 
 in the remodeled and richly upholstered old family pew, 
 at which time the young son and heir was baptized into the 
 faith of the Holy Catholic Apostolic Church. 
 
 The following Tuesday a fashionable reception was held, 
 the magnificent parlors, decorated with rare, beautiful 
 flowers, thrown open, and as Charlotte stood with graceful 
 ease and elegant, polished courtesy, attired in trained, glis- 
 tening silk, costly laces and rich jewelry, receiving the 
 numerous visitors, the cream of Charleston's proud, refined 
 aristocracy, her young, adoring husband had naught to be 
 ashamed of or to regret his too well chosen partner, but rather 
 every thing to make him proud, satisfied and happy, which 
 
3<x> 
 
 The Waif; or, The Web of Life. 
 
 he really was if judged by his radiant, peaceful face 
 during this exhibition of his future elegant style of living, 
 and with the full consciousness within that it was not all 
 outward glitter; that the beautiful, courteous woman was 
 not simply a devotee of this outward conventional life, but a 
 true, loving, practical wife ; a congenial, amiable com- 
 panion, and one of the fondest, most faithful of mothers. 
 
 Thus begun, life opened with brilliant, flattering pros- 
 pects of future enjoyment and happiness, but not entirely 
 unalloyed, for such is not earthly experience. Safely ven- 
 turing there is not, or ever was, perfect peace, joy and 
 happiness upon earth, for if such were possible we would 
 not be sojourners here, seeking a better, even a heavenly 
 home. If there were no drops of bitterness, no full 
 measures of woe here, why should we desire or need 
 Heaven ? Louis and Charlotte Montaine were happy and 
 peaceful in each other. Life was cast in pleasant, delight- 
 ful places for them. They were admired, loved, courted. 
 Every elegance and comfort that wealth could procure 
 surrounded them. Every pleasure, self-gratification, was 
 attainable, still they knew and realized it was not Heaven. 
 Often, amid their brilliant, loving career, sad, bitter 
 memories would steal in upon them of the past. Could 
 Louis Montaine forget his father's blighted life, his young 
 mother's wrongs and shame? Could he feel perfectly 
 happy and easy at heart when he knew his boyish infatua- 
 tion ? his own cousin, the once beautiful, haughty Irene, 
 was in the sure grasp of relentless disease — slowly but 
 surely dying with consumption, as all thought, but in fact 
 with a broken, crushed heart, caused by her keen disap- 
 pointment and scorned, rejected love — suffering for the com- 
 mon necessaries of life, working in a stranger's home for the 
 pittance given a nursery governess, yet proudly refusing 
 his aid, and turning in contempt from his offer of a luxu- 
 rious home of ease, and the tender love and care of one 
 who would have been a kind, devoted cousin and friend, 
 yet whom she hated for innocently usurping her place in 
 the heart and home of the man she had loved with the 
 truest, most passionate adoration. 
 
Home Again. 
 
 301 
 
 Could Charlotte banish the memory of her ill-fated foster 
 sister, her sad, sinful end, ever and constantly reminded of 
 her wrongs and sufferings by meeting in her " circle" the 
 willful, fiendish seducer of the poor, unfortunate, nameless 
 waif ? Could the tender, loving heart help feeling pity for 
 the pale, sad, disappointed yet devout young divine whom 
 she knew had loved her from boyhood, and still remained 
 faithful to that devotion, daring not to seek a wife when 
 
 eyes, as they gazed upon her once, seated in her luxurious 
 pew, attired in her costly panoply of wealth, implied much 
 that was not so, yet ever haunted her with uneasy memories. 
 
 Harry thinks I married Louis for his wealth, this bril- 
 liant life, but ah ! God, Thou knowest it was not so ! I 
 only liked Harry as a friend or brother, but my darling 
 Louis with an all-absorbing, passionate, whole-hearted, 
 adoring love, and I am not to blame that he is rich. God 
 knows, and I know, that his wealth did not influence me 
 any, but still I wish Harry could know this too." 
 
 he had no heart to give ?