PINE AND PAL 
 
 HENRY HOLT 
 
OCTOBER, 1887. 
 
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 JOHN BRENT. 
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LEISURE HOUR SERIES. No. 207. 
 
 PINE AND PALM 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 MONCURE D. CONWAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1887. 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1887, 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT & CO. 
 
 Press W. L. Mershon & Co., 
 Rahway, N. J. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 MY WIFE. 
 
 M57407 
 

PINE AND PALM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COURT IN DANE HALL. 
 
 A MERICANS whose memories stretch vividly 
 IJL across one generation bear with them the im- 
 press of a period when the United States Senate was 
 aglow with splendors of eloquence since visible as 
 writings of flame on its walls. As the century neared 
 its noon the agitation which had burthened every 
 hour of its history was rapidly reaching its crisis. 
 Northern Abraham and Southern Lot were awaiting 
 the stroke of an hour which must part them, because 
 " the land was not able to bear them that they might 
 dwell together." But between the two stood certain 
 Senators, grown gray in defense of the Union, to 
 whom it had become an idol. They were so willing 
 to sacrifice themselves before it that they could not 
 conceive how any interest or sentiment should be 
 raised above its priceless integrity. On that altar 
 Webster was laying enthusiasms of Young Massachu- 
 setts ; and Clay tottered up the steps of the Capitol to 
 Utter those seventy speeches which summoned the 
 
2 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 country to the last compromise that consoled his 
 dying eyes with its delusive victory. 
 
 It was not many years after this debate that the 
 
 irrepressible question was causing excitement in the 
 
 small world of Harvard University. However 
 
 small this scholastic arena, a political prophet might 
 
 watch the discussions : among young men unawed by 
 
 co&.iiiuencfes v^rfi ^pener anxiety than the debates 
 
 ^at Washington ; fox theSe.were senators of the future, 
 
 : ;ajJ<J'''tsjkteV*oT: ih^tf '"dispute studies of to-morrow's 
 
 history. 
 
 In the Moot Court, where fledgling lawyers plumed 
 their casuistic wings on the interminable issues 'twixt 
 John Doe and Richard Roe, political questions had 
 been avoided ; but on one occasion, in the absence of 
 the vigilant head of the school, Judge Minott, a case 
 in constitutional law led to a point affecting slavery, 
 and a perilous controversy was sprung on the 
 assembly. 
 
 The ablest southerner in the law school was Ran- 
 dolph Stirling of Virginia. His father, Judge Stirling, 
 had scandalized some of his neighbors by intrusting 
 his son to a northern university ; and indeed the 
 judge himself, though he had not with the younger 
 generation outgrown the anti-slavery traditions of 
 Virginia, sometimes wondered at his own eccen- 
 tricity in this matter. His misgivings had always 
 ended in reverie over an episode in his life remem- 
 bered with a satisfaction almost poetic. A good 
 many years before, Richard Stirling, recognized 
 head of the Fauquier Bar, while examining certain 
 documents of the Supreme Court at Washington, met 
 
THE COURT IN DANE HALL. 3 
 
 there Mr. Russell Minott of Msasachusetts, similarly 
 employed. So many pleasant conversations passed 
 between these two gentlemen that they fairly fell in 
 love with each other. They secured adjacent rooms, 
 walked arm-in-arm to the library of the court, and 
 passed their evenings in the same sitting-room. The 
 Boston lawyer listened with delight while the Virginian 
 evoked from southern court rooms, barbacues, and the 
 like, a procession of droll and pathetic figures ; the 
 Virginian laughed, till waiters paused in the corridor, 
 or again he listened like a spellbound child, as this 
 new friend told his stories of "down east." Fine 
 law points were discussed between them, and valuable 
 suggestions interchanged concerning the cases that 
 had brought them to Washington. When at length 
 they had to part, two facts remained thenceforth 
 established that Richard Stirling was " the truest 
 gentleman in the world," and Russell Minott "the 
 finest legal mind in the United States, yes, sir, the 
 very finest." 
 
 But neither of these simple-hearted gentlemen 
 knew how much provincialism had slipped away from 
 him during that brief sojourn together. For 
 the Virginian especially the experience was fruitful. 
 It must be admitted that hitherto Richard Stirling's 
 map of his country had held a small Arctic space 
 called u Yankeeland " marked with chimeras bearing 
 the names of violent disunionists ; but now that region 
 was populous with Minotts ; and when his old friend 
 became Dean of Harvard Law School he resolved to 
 send to that institution his eldest son, just graduated 
 at the University of Virginia. Neighbors shook their 
 
4 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 heads, but the judge stuck to his argument "I 
 know the head of that school, and he is the finest 
 legal mind in the United States, yes, sir, the very 
 finest." 
 
 " But what if Randolph should become an aboli- 
 tionist ? " 
 
 " I know my boy, sir : he may have faults, but dis- 
 loyalty is not among them ; nor is idleness, and 
 Randolph will have enough to occupy him without 
 attending to crack-brained fanatics." 
 
 So one day Randolph left the Palms, his Fauquier 
 home ; left his brother Douglas, grave and anxious, 
 beside their two weeping sisters, Gisela and Penelope, 
 and his father gazing into the fire where a tender face 
 shaped itself as he asked, " What would she have 
 said?" 
 
 Judge Minott was touched by his friend's confi- 
 dence, and when he first looked upon Randolph his 
 heart went out to him. The youth was large of frame 
 and strong, but of a sensibility almost femi- 
 nine, no doubt increased by care for his sisters since 
 their mother's death ; in his speech was that sweet- 
 ness which is the natural accent of simplicity and 
 humility. He had known the friendship of his father ; 
 he had never been without a true and wise man to 
 look up to ; and now he sat blushing and happy 
 before a man to whom his father looked up. When 
 Mrs. Minott presently wondered that so prudent a 
 man as her husband could insist on having a stranger 
 in the house for a week, the judge confessed he had 
 been bewitched by the youth, and only begged 
 that his further reproof might be deferred, The 
 
THE COURT IN DANE HALL. 5 
 
 reproof never came. The guest was soon taken to 
 the wise lady's heart. 
 
 There Stirling first met a law-student regarded as 
 a son in that household. This was Walter Wentworth, 
 the only representative of an old Boston family. His 
 mother had died by an accident, and his father, a dry 
 business man, had soon followed her to the grave, 
 broken-hearted. Walter, too young to know his 
 bereavement, was left to the charge of his maternal 
 grandmother, and to Judge Minott the guardianship 
 of his substantial inheritance. The grandmother 
 was a learned lady ; she had herself, mainly, prepared 
 him for college. She lived to witness his honorable 
 graduation, at Harvard College, but died the same 
 year ; and when Walter entered the law school he 
 would have been homeless but for the affectionate 
 welcome always extended to him by the Minotts 
 themselves childless. He had the gravity usual in young 
 men brought up among elderly and literary people. 
 Though not deficient in humor, he smiled rather with 
 his eyes than his mouth, whose firmness suggested a 
 certain retractile element in his generally equable 
 character. There had been through his undergradu- 
 ate years a sort of " Wentworth cult " in the college ; 
 when he was speaking his young admirers saw 
 laurels crowning the fine curve of his head. His 
 reputation as " a thinker " was transmitted to the law 
 school, and he had long been accorded the palm for 
 oratory. The Virginian orators had not prepared Stirl- 
 ing for this new variety of eloquence, at once pas- 
 sionate and restrained. He was carried away by the 
 first speech he heard from the Bostonian, and, taking 
 
6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 his hand, silently beamed his delight. Wentworth 
 became his hero. 
 
 Stirling also had a reputation. " He is a man 
 of genius," said Wentworth one day, and his opinion 
 gained currency. When Stirling was counsel, the 
 court in Dane Hall was sure to be crowded. His 
 speech was unique ; he so merged himself in his 
 theory that his gestures became quaintly expressive, 
 and had they not been so few would have verged on 
 the grotesque. His voice was melodious, and it -used 
 to be said that Stirling could draw tears for the basest 
 of sham criminals. 
 
 One day when Mr. Webster visited Cambridge, and 
 was walking through the Yard with Judge Minott, this 
 proud professor pointed to his two distinguished stu- 
 dents, moving arm-in-arm, and pleasantly remarked 
 that when those young men entered the political arena 
 the greatest senators would have to look to their laurels. 
 Stirling and Wentworth had formed a warm friend- 
 ship, but one subject was suppressed between them. 
 Wentworth knew that his friend's family were slave- 
 holders, and, though he himself represented the 
 awakening of the university to the new radical age, 
 was careful not to say any thing to Randolph on that 
 subject. Perhaps it had been better if these friends 
 had at once joined issue on the question and had it 
 out, for the burning question could not be repressed, 
 and at length blazed up between them with consuming 
 intensity. 
 
 On this memorable occasion Stirling had submitted 
 a vigorous argument in affirmation of the national 
 character of slavery, and garried the sympathies of a. 
 
THE COURT IN DANE HALL. 7 
 
 majority of his audience. This success tempted him to 
 lapse into something like a stump-speech, in which he 
 denounced as " pseud-philanthropy," the spirit of 
 " those who, overlooking the evils of northern society 
 serfdom of labor without the parental care enjoyed 
 by the slave must needs wander South and mourn 
 over the sins of other people." When Wentworth 
 rose to reply he felt that if his cause were not upheld 
 by him there it would not be upheld at all, for anti- 
 slavery views had not yet made much progress in the 
 university. But he had not realized how much he 
 was stung by that phrase " pseud-philanthropy," until 
 it caused his artistic instinct to fail him. He began 
 where he should have ended, dealing at once with 
 Stirling's stump peroration instead of with his argu- 
 ment. For this he never forgave himself. Until his 
 unfortunate retort was irrevocable, Wentworth never 
 suspected the stormy susceptibilities that lay beneath 
 his own equability, and his admirers were amazed by 
 the lightning that darted from the eye of their calm 
 Apollo. " If," he said, with an unreal appearance of 
 deliberation, " there is such a thing as pseud-philan- 
 thropy, there is also such a thing as lying inhumanity, 
 and it seems exemplified by those who, after living 
 North, can compare the lot of its free laborer with 
 that of the slave who sees his wife and child sold like 
 cattle." 
 
 On the utterance of these words a Carolinian sprang 
 up and cried " Men of northern manners do not 
 know that among gentlemen the lie is equal to a 
 blow." Then the whole court lost its calmness ; there 
 was vociferation on all sides. Wentworth stood still. 
 
8 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 and had already framed an apology, when the terri- 
 fied chairman arose and declared the court closed. 
 Unable in the hubbub to utter his apology, Went- 
 worth hastened to Stirling and offered his hand, but 
 the hand was thrust away it was almost a blow 
 and Stirling walked out of the room followed by a 
 train of excited " Southrons." 
 
 That evening Wentworth sat in his room revolving, 
 as it were a wheel of torment, the thought : He saw 
 my regret, the apology on my lips, my hand stretched 
 out ; he fairly struck it, and turned on his heel. Then 
 memories of their friendship moved him. He went 
 to his window and looked toward that of Stirling ; it 
 was near midnight, but a light was burning there, and 
 shadows moved on the curtain. He descended the 
 stairway, went over to the door and gave his well- 
 known knock. There was enough movement within 
 to add a sting to the silence with which his knock was 
 received, and he returned to a painful pillow. 
 
 At Wentworth's knock Stirling had started, and 
 had he followed his impulse would have opened his 
 door and his heart ; but with him were several 
 " Southrons," and behind them a cloud of witnesses 
 demanding that he should uphold the honor of his 
 family, of his State, of the South. Innumerable voices 
 commanded challenge him, or never return to Vir- 
 ginia ! 
 
 " Well," said the confused youth, " I suppose it 
 must be so, but 
 
 " Suppose ! " shouted Montgomery of Charleston ; 
 " are we who patronize northern colleges working on a 
 plantation with Yankee whips cracking over us ? " 
 
COVRT IN DANE HALL. 9 
 
 V Come now, Montgomery," said Stirling, "con- 
 sidering the region we come from, the less said about 
 cracking whips the better. However, fellows, I put 
 myself in your hands ; write what you all think nec- 
 essary, I'll copy and sign it." 
 
 " Of course he'll not accept," said Armistead of 
 Richmond. 
 
 " You do not know Wentworth if you think him 
 wanting in courage," said Stirling. 
 
 While four southerners were framing the challenge 
 Stirling lay on a sofa, still, but torn with conflicting 
 emotions. At length the conventional challenge was 
 completed. Stirling copied it without criticism 
 silently and mechanically but the signature was 
 marred with a blot. 
 
 Stirling vainly tried to sleep ; whenever he was 
 about sinking into slumber he heard three familiar 
 taps at his door, and started up crying " Come in, 
 Wentworth ! " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHANGELINGS. 
 
 ON the morrow of the scene in Dane Hall a council 
 of northern students sat in Wentworth's room. 
 Some were for refusal of the challenge on moral and 
 legal grounds ; others for meeting it with a proposal 
 for arbitration ; but the majority were for acceptance. 
 It was not the first time, these urged, that northern 
 students had been bullied at their own doors. If, 
 as the South believed, there is no fight in a Yankee, 
 let the fact be frankly acknowledged and southerners 
 recognized as their natural masters ; if the fact be 
 otherwise, the sooner that is known the better. Had 
 the challenge said any thing about apology or arbitra- 
 tion that would be another matter, but it simply 
 demanded a fight. Let them have it ! 
 
 Had Wentworth been able to postpone the decision 
 for a few days his advisers might have reflected that 
 the true victory, in such situation, were to maintain 
 their civilization against relapse into the barbarism of 
 single combat. But he had not time to consider the 
 novel affair in all its bearings. In the interest of 
 Stirling and himself he took the precaution to return 
 the challenge, saying that he must decline to receive 
 it in Massachusetts, and naming an evening when he 
 would be at the Queen's Hotel, Montreal, to consider 
 any communication that might be sent. 
 
CHANGELINGS. s II 
 
 When Burgess of Rhode Island handed back to 
 Stirling his challenge, it was dashed on the floor. It 
 flashed through the Virginian's mind that his friend 
 was greater than he thought, that he had bravely 
 declined, and so saved them both from these agoniz- 
 ing coils. When Wentworth's verbal reply was de- 
 livered the messenger remarked the look of disap- 
 pointment on Stirling's face. " There was no trace 
 of fear, but a look as if he had heard of his best 
 friend's death." Poor Stirling had indeed lost his 
 hero. 
 
 Then he began to "set his house in order." He 
 wrote to his father informing him of the circumstances 
 under which he was about to meet a student who had 
 insulted himself and the South. He should inclose 
 this letter, he said, with souvenirs for his sisters, in 
 one to Judge Minott ; and though he could not in 
 honor allow that dear friend and teacher now absent 
 from home to hear of this unhappy affair for a few 
 days, he had written to him some expression of his 
 affection. Had Stirling, while writing this, known 
 how Wentworth was occupied at the same moment, 
 this affair might have been brought to an abrupt end. 
 With no near relatives of his own to consider, Went- 
 worth had been thinking about those of Stirling, and 
 wrote to Judge Stirling a letter of the most consider- 
 ate and handsome character, to be posted at some 
 sufficiently distant point on the northward journey. 
 With such feelings deep in their hearts, these excel- 
 lent fellows started for Canadian snows, there to 
 exchange shots instead of their usual kindnesses. 
 
 The parties took their seats in different cars to be 
 
12 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 borne by wings of civilization to their medieval ordeal. 
 After passing Lowell, Stirling slipped away from his 
 two friends and sat alone in the adjoining car. There, 
 in gloomy reverie, he gazed on the panorama through 
 which he was passing. The snow-marbled hills, the 
 trees silvered with hoar frost, the bright houses, the 
 crystal ponds and the shining Merrimac, the merry 
 skaters, how beautiful they all might have been 
 but, ah, how frequent seemed the village cemeteries 
 along that road ! Near one station it was Enfield 
 Stirling remarked a pretty group of girls and chil- 
 dren descending the steps of a terrace with a lovely 
 maiden ; she kissed them and hurried to gain the 
 forward car. The unhappy youth soon forgot the 
 maiden and her little friends. 
 
 Nevertheless it was into the hand of that casual 
 maid that Stirling's fate quietly passed the thread of 
 his destiny. She happened to take her seat imme- 
 diately behind his seconds no other being near 
 and those two were exchanging excited whispers 
 which she could not help hearing, and which filled 
 her with terror. 
 
 "Stirling will never return from this Montreal 
 journey alive. Wentworth is a sure shot and will cer- 
 tainly kill him." 
 
 " My God, I'm afraid it's so. I almost wish the 
 train would smash. I can see that Stirling feels 
 himself in the wrong about this duel too. He hates 
 the whole thing." 
 
 There were more of these half whispers, and they 
 smote the girl's ear like thunder. She felt that 
 she ought to do something. The responsibility of 
 
CHANGELINGS. 13 
 
 sounding an alarm was too heavy for her. Should she 
 speak to the conductor there might be a fight, per- 
 haps shots ; or these gentlemen might be imprisoned. 
 In twenty minutes they would reach White River 
 Junction, where she must leave the train. She would 
 hardly be able to consult her father, keeper of the 
 hotel there, who would be occupied in serving the 
 passengers with dinner. Usually she was frhe account- 
 ant in the Junction restaurant, and she remembered a 
 device by which she and her father had detained a 
 fugitive defaulter until his train had gone. But here, 
 she was single-handed, ignorant of the circumstances. 
 She had nearly made up her mind that she could do 
 nothing, when there approached the finest looking 
 man she had ever seen. 
 
 " Well, Stirling, I reckon you're tired," said one of 
 the youths, trying to smile. 
 
 " Not very. We are coming to White River Junc- 
 tion now. You fellows will dine with me. I shall be 
 offended if either of you pays any bill en this trip, 
 unless it has to be when you're coming back." 
 
 Stirling smiled faintly as he said this. The girl was 
 moved with pity and horror ; there rose before her 
 a vision of the noble youth stretched stark and dead 
 on the Canadian snow. Surely he must be saved. 
 The train had slackened speed at West Lebanon ; it 
 was moving slowly over the Connecticut. The first to 
 leap from it was the pretty accountant. When her 
 father met her she whispered in his ear : she hurried 
 from the embrace of her sister into the dining-room. 
 There she assumed her place at a desk, and, while the 
 passengers were making the most of their twenty 
 
14 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 minutes, a council of three was in close consulta- 
 tion. 
 
 Wentworth and Stirling almost met when posting 
 their letters, written before starting. They sat with 
 their respective friends in the dining-room. The 
 seconds had appetites, and those of Stirling were 
 nearly the last to rise. 
 
 And now occurred a singular and irritating inci- 
 dent. Stirling handed five dollars to a collector at 
 the door, to pay for his party, and was requested to 
 wait for the change. After waiting until the last 
 diner had disappeared from the saloon, he called to 
 the collector. 
 
 " If you can't give me my change I must go with- 
 out it." 
 
 " Just a moment, sir, plenty of time," said the man, 
 rushing to the bar ; whence, however, he presently 
 returned with his superior. 
 
 " This is a counterfeit, sir." 
 
 " Then here is another," said Stirling. 
 
 " But that won't do ; a man can't go about offering 
 bad money and then slip off when he's caught." 
 
 " I have friends on the train to answer for me, but 
 don't detain me. You can point me out to the con- 
 ductor and tell him about it." 
 
 The saloon men rushed wildly about calling for the 
 conductor, wherever he was least likely to be, while 
 Stirling tugged madly at the locked door. Only as 
 the engine gave its parting cry was the door opened. 
 Had he been on the way to his wedding instead of 
 his possible grave, Stirling could not have been more 
 dismayed. He had lost the only train that could 
 
CHANGELINGS. ! 15 
 
 bring him to the rendezvous at the appointed time ; 
 he already saw the sneering faces of his " Southrons." 
 That the honor of Virginia should be trailed in the 
 dust, that the Yankees should wag their heads, all on 
 account of a beggarly beefsteak, was too much for his 
 equanimity ; he straightway collared the collector 
 and began shoving him furiously among the chairs. 
 
 " Don't, sir ; don't ! " shouted that alarmed func- 
 tionary. " It's all right, sir ! " 
 
 " All right ! What do you mean, you scoundrel ! " 
 
 " It's all right" 
 
 " I tell you it's all wrong," cried the infuriated Vir- 
 ginian. 
 
 " I mean the money, sir ; that counterfeit wasn't 
 yours after all, and I humbly apologize." 
 
 " Apologize ! Idiot ! When you've made me lose 
 my train, and " 
 
 Stirling again clutched at the man, who ran calling 
 for help, and the master of the establishment inter- 
 vened. 
 
 " Come, sir ; don't be angry ; accidents will hap- 
 pen sometimes, and that stupid fellow shall be pun- 
 ished. There's a midnight express, or if you'd rather 
 travel by day you shall have the best accommodation 
 my house can afford, gratis. Very sorry sir ; but it 
 can't be helped now, you know, and the best way's to 
 put as good a face on it as you can." 
 
 " Is there a telegraph office in this infernal hole ? " 
 asked Stirling. 
 
 " Just there at the corner, sir." 
 
 Stirling at once sent a telegram, addressed to the 
 care of the conductor on the lost train for delivery to 
 
16 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 his friends. These were in the utmost dismay. They 
 had supposed their principal was seeking solitude 
 somewhere on the train, but at length one of them, 
 becoming uneasy, strolled through the cars to return 
 with the astounding report that Stirling was not to be 
 found. Wentworth turned pale ; a suspicion of sui- 
 cide flashed through his mind. The conductor was 
 summoned, and promised to telegraph an inquiry to 
 White River Junction. 
 
 As Wentworth's friends were presently leaving him, 
 for a consultation requested by the others, he 
 beckoned them back for a moment. 
 
 " Remember," he said, "nothing will be said by any 
 man who respects me disparaging to the honor of 
 Stirling." 
 
 The Virginian's seconds were not quite so confident 
 in their principal, and had to suffer some shame for 
 their misgivings when the conductor brought Stirling's 
 telegram stating that he had been detained on a 
 ridiculous charge and would follow them by the next 
 express. 
 
 But Stirling did not follow, either by the night or 
 the next day's express. Wentworth and his friends 
 were relieved, the southerners annoyed and 
 angry. They were all weary, and with one exception 
 slept through the night on their way back to 
 Boston. When their train stopped for a moment, 
 about three in the night, at the Junction, Went- 
 worth peered out into the darkness, but saw no one. 
 
 After Stirling had been left by his train he paced 
 the depot till the cold drove him into the restaurant ; 
 . there he strode up and down the dining hall, angrily 
 
CHANGELINGS. 17 
 
 refusing the proprietor's solicitations that he would 
 take food. Fatigue and worry overcame him at last, 
 and when the hotel-keeper begged him to cross the 
 street to his hotel, where a room was prepared for 
 him " and no expense, sir, if that may be mentioned " 
 he yielded. He was conciliated by the persistent 
 good-nature of the man through all repulses. " Why 
 should I be angry with this simple-hearted Yankee, so 
 eager to serve me ? If Gisela and Pen were here they 
 would throw their arms around his neck for making 
 me miss my train." The kindly host, as he left him 
 in the neat apartment with its bright fire, said, " You'll 
 be entirely alone." 
 
 Alone indeed. The wild wind was the only voice 
 he heard. How far that dear home in Virginia ! One 
 friend he had found in this northern clime, tender as 
 his brother, but this friend's familiar knock had been 
 refused, and he had compelled him to become an 
 enemy. While gazing into the fire with dim eyes he 
 started at a gentle knock on his door had it only 
 been Wentworth's once more ! A comely young 
 woman brought in a dainty repast. Stirling had 
 a confused sense of having seen her face before. 
 
 "My father hopes you will eat something," she 
 said, with friendly tone. 
 
 " Your father is kind, I suppose it is he who 
 invited me in here. I've been rude to him and ask 
 his pardon. But I do not feel like eating, thank 
 you." 
 
 " Try, sir ; father says you have eaten nothing. He 
 is not vexed at any thing you said ; it was quite 
 natural ; we hope you will let us make up for the 
 
1 8 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 trouble caused you with this little dinner and a com- 
 fortable bedroom." 
 
 There are circumstances under which any woman 
 with kindly look and voice may represent all beloved 
 women. In his loneliness Stirling saw beside this 
 maid, so delicately ministering to his need, the faces 
 of his sisters. 
 
 "I will eat because you are good enough to wish 
 it," he said rising ; but the next moment he sank back 
 in his chair and buried his face in his hands. Since 
 his excited speech in Dane Hall the poor youth, natur- 
 ally emotional, had passed two sleepless nights and 
 hardly tasted food. And now this tender voice 
 brought Went worth's gentle unanswered knock thun- 
 dering again at his heart, and breaking it. 
 
 The roses faded from the cheek of the young host- 
 ess, her eyes grew large and soft, as she looked on 
 this strong youth bowed down with anguish of 
 mind. A deep sympathy was in her voice when she 
 spoke. 
 
 " What can I do for you, sir ? I can not know what 
 distresses you, but if the loss of your train means 
 some other loss, we would all be very sorry and will 
 do all we can to make it good." 
 
 Her tones were a balm, but Stirling had not quite 
 caught what she said and made no answer. 
 
 " Cheer up, sir," she continued, after some moments' 
 silence ; u many things that seem hard come right in 
 the end. Perhaps it may be all for the best that you 
 cannot go on." 
 
 " Cannot ! " cried Stirling, raising his eyes " I 
 must ! I must go on this night, though I had rather 
 
CHANGELINGS. 19 
 
 die this moment." Again his head was bent in his 
 hands, over which was a burning forehead. 
 
 Her word " cannot " was artful ; it might mean only 
 that no northward train was at hand ; but his ominous 
 words, their undertone of horror if not of guilt, with- 
 held her from changing what she had spoken. Here 
 was a noble youth on his way to something worse than 
 death. He should not go ! No friend was near him, 
 and she must do her best. 
 
 The fatal hours flew swiftly to midnight, 
 soon after which the train would arrive. The 
 gracious hostess had brought Stirling a good supper, 
 and taken it away, like the dinner, scarce tasted. 
 She had brought him books also, but he could not read. 
 He passed the evening smoking and walking the floor. 
 About midnight there was a knock, and again the 
 young hotel dame appeared. 
 
 " Did you ring, sir ? " she asked, with a blush at 
 the pretense. 
 
 ;< No, but I am glad you have come. I would like 
 to settle." 
 
 " There is nothing to pay. We shall certainly take 
 no money." 
 
 " Not even for my wine to-day ? " 
 
 " Not for the wine." 
 
 " Well, you are carrying your compensation very 
 far. I am much obliged. Has my train been sig- 
 naled ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; and it will not be. You can not go on 
 to-night." 
 
 " What, has any thing happened ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have had a warning which leads me- 
 
20 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 leads me Oh, sir ; do not try to leave here this 
 night ! " 
 
 "Who has warned you? What do you know?" 
 demanded Stirling, sharply. 
 
 " What do I need more than your own anguish and 
 tears ! You said you'd rather die. That's enough. 
 Your heart says no, and you can not go on." 
 
 "Your feeling is kind, and I ought not to have 
 troubled you with my worries. I must go on there 
 is no help for it." 
 
 " There is help for it. Forgive my boldness, but 
 you are in trouble not mere worry and I can't 
 leave you so. You said it was worse than death. I'm 
 afraid it's something wrong." 
 
 Again that knock of Wentworth at his door sounded 
 through his brain, gentle, appealing. His face was 
 suffused with shame ; his head began to swim, but no 
 tears relieved his burning eyes. He shook his head 
 silently and arose to take his hat. But in his way 
 stood no compliant hostess ; he was confronted by a 
 pale compassionate Fate. 
 
 " Somewhere in the world there are women who 
 love you ; I am speaking for them ; you will 
 surely go no step further towards what is un- 
 worthy of you, and would bring them grief and 
 shame." 
 
 She had spoken like one inspired, had thrilled him 
 by her authentic voice, but only now had touched the 
 quick. He was indeed standing between love and 
 friendship on one hand, grief and shame on the other. 
 Stirling closed his eyes and sat still before the 
 alarmed girl for almost a minute ; then he started up 
 
CHANGELINGS. 21 
 
 with a look of determination, and words leaped from 
 his lips. 
 
 " I will not ! I'll not go a step further in this 
 damned baseness never, by God ! " 
 
 " You have now given your word to God," said the 
 girl. 
 
 "And I give it to you. I don't care who sneers. 
 I'll be a man. I'll tell you the whole story I love 
 one man above all men and have forced him to " 
 
 At that moment the scream of an approaching train 
 was heard, and Stirling rushed to the door. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 THE secret of the proposed duel had been well 
 kept at Harvard. The two councils in which 
 it was arranged had sworn secrecy ; the whole 
 thing was too incredible to circulate swiftly. When 
 Wentworth was soon after seen walking about as 
 usual all might have blown over, but for the non-ap- 
 pearance of Stirling. When it was observed that the 
 Virginian had not appeared at Miss Upham's board- 
 ing-house for several days, rumor took a bold flight ; 
 it whispered that the Bostonian had left his man dead 
 in the field. This rumor was presently confirmed by 
 the sudden flight so it was construed of Went- 
 worth himself. He had remained in Cambridge two 
 or three days after his return from the north, but 
 after that did not appear at the law school, and 
 knocks at his door were unanswered. 
 
 Wentworth had returned to Cambridge fully expect- 
 ing to find Stirling there. Having ascertained that 
 he had not been seen since he started for Canada, the 
 Boston " principal " became uneasy about the Vir- 
 ginian, and sent a dispatch to the landlord at White 
 River Junction, the reply to which had caused his 
 sudden departure. 
 
 When Stirling, on the point of telling the burden 
 
THE MEETING. 23 
 
 on his mind, rushed to the door, as we have seen, he 
 found it locked, the sympathetic young hostess hav- 
 ing quietly fortified that point. Turning round she 
 saw Stirling fall. She called, but the noisy train 
 drowned her voice. She saw that he had fainted, and 
 bathed his forehead, but he did not at once recover 
 and she ran for her father. 
 
 Between the two Emanuel and Emanuella 
 Rhodes a brief interchange of theories then occurred. 
 
 " Father, it's a great trouble." 
 
 " Child, it's starvation." 
 
 " Father ! " 
 
 " Don't tell me ! I've watched that young man 
 like a hawk, ever since he lost his train ; he hasn't 
 had as much as a mouthful, and how far mayn't he 
 have come ? " 
 
 Nuella looked reproachfully at her prosaic father, 
 but remembered with misgivings the untasted food, 
 with a pang of regret that she had not managed to 
 have the poor man eat something before pleading with 
 him. She summoned waiters to put him to bed. 
 After he had been carried thither, Nuella again 
 entered ; he was breathing gently, as if in sleep. 
 After a silent hour, in which she watched some cov- 
 ered dishes set near the fire, the young man moaned 
 as if trying to say something ; she listened and heard 
 him breathing heavily. Emanuel looked in from time 
 to time and at length read an unfavorable bulletin on 
 his daughter's face. Thoroughly alarmed about the 
 day's transactions now ending so seriously, he sent for 
 the doctor ; but the only one in the place had gone to 
 a patient several miles away. The long sleigh drive 
 
24 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 after him was undertaken by Emanuel, and Nuella 
 watched through the painful night. Once Stirling 
 started and sat up in bed, and she managed to have 
 him swallow a little broth ; but he did not appear con- 
 scious, and it was a great relief to the anxious hostess 
 when, about daybreak, the. doctor arrived. 
 
 Wentworth when he arrived at once had a consulta- 
 tion with Dr. Chase, who said the patient had a severe 
 fever ; he would not like to have three more beats 
 per minute added to his pulse : but he had a good 
 constitution and it would probably parry the blow. 
 Constant care would be required, and no oppor- 
 tunity for nourishment lost. Nuella had a sis- 
 ter of seventeen years competent to relieve her of 
 many duties in the hotel, so that she could devote her 
 attention to the invalid. A room adjoining that of 
 Stirling was assigned to Wentworth, with whom Nuella 
 now shared the care which for the larger part of the 
 week she had borne almost alone. To Wentworth 
 alone she confided all that had passed between Stirl- 
 ing and herself, and from him learned that this youth 
 was far from his southern home and that he was 
 worthy of the kindness she had bestowed, and 
 that, though the purpose of his journey involved no 
 moral baseness, she had done good service in prevent- 
 ing it. 
 
 AVentworth and Nuella took their needful rest by 
 relays. It was under her watch that the patient's for- 
 midable fever began to abate. On the second morn- 
 ing after Wentworth's arrival she brought the happy 
 tidings to his door. 
 
 M I'll be with you in a moment," he said. 
 
THE MEETING. 25 
 
 "I think you had better wait till I call you ; he is 
 very weak and should eat before talking." 
 
 That monarch for whom, when near his end, all 
 manner of meats were kept turning on spits in case 
 his majesty might desire some particular dainty, was 
 not more cared for than Stirling, for whose possible 
 need Nuella kept things always simmering and ready. 
 Her answer to Stirling's first intelligent question was 
 a plate of broth. 
 
 " Not until you have eaten something/' she said ; 
 " I'll tell you every thing then. The doctor says you 
 need food, and must obey me in every thing." She 
 blushed a little, but reflected that the doctor ought to 
 have said this. 
 
 Stirling began to eat feebly but proceeded raven- 
 ously ; and when, with some misgivings as to what 
 the doctor might think, Nuella suggested " perhaps 
 that may do for a little time," he smiled ; to this 
 smile, the first she had seen on that pathetic face, 
 Nuella responded with a laugh an audible laugh, with 
 which she glided out of the room and burst into tears. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Wentworth, approach- 
 ing at the moment, " Has any thing happened ?" 
 
 " Oh no, sir, he is better, I am happy." 
 
 " Miss Rhodes, you have had no rest, no sleep 
 you are broken down you must " 
 
 " Don't think of me it is nothing go to him ! " 
 
 " But stay," she whispered, " I wonder if that would 
 be best before the doctor has seen him." 
 
 Dr. Chase was soon brought by Wentworth, and 
 after seeing the patient hinted that a friend had 
 arrived. 
 
26 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " It is Wentworth," said Stirling ; " let me see him." 
 
 Wentworth had been alive to the danger of sud- 
 denly meeting Stirling, and had kept out of the way 
 of his eyes when they were open. He meant to be 
 prudent now, but could not refrain from bending over 
 to kiss the pale forehead, making it burn again. Stirl- 
 ing was nevertheless sore of spirit, and, so soon as his 
 recovery was assured, Wentworth left for Cambridge 
 for fear of an agitating conversation arising concern- 
 ing their unsettled misunderstanding. Before leaving 
 he warmly expressed his gratitude to Nuella. 
 
 " You have saved him and me from a calamity ; 
 you have carried through his illness as noble a man 
 as ever breathed ; to have done that is all the reward 
 you want, I know : but I beg you keep this address, 
 and if, in all your life, you should want a friend, be 
 sure you can count on me if I am alive." 
 
 Nuella answered with a few deprecatory words and 
 went off with throbbing temples : she was over- 
 whelmed by finding her little life surrounded 
 with strange events. Stirling remained nearly a week 
 after Wentworth had gone. During his convales- 
 cence Nuella often read to him, and they became good 
 friends. Stirling could not know all she had done 
 for him, but he remembered her oracular "cannot," 
 when on his way to a hostile meeting with his friend, 
 and attributed to Nuella mysterious insight. Her 
 time went on with happy hours until Stirling left. 
 
 Emanuel received compensation, but no one ven- 
 tured to approach Nuella with money. She parted 
 from Stirling silently and withdrew to her room, 
 whither we will not follow her. Manuel did, indeed, 
 
THE MEETING. 27 
 
 presently follow her there, and came out with face 
 much less merry than usual. He called to his other 
 daughter, Ruth, who, after a few words had passed 
 between them, undertook the affairs of the house for 
 the rest of the day. 
 
 One encounter no Nuella could prevent. Stirling and 
 Wentworth, notwithstanding their meeting at White 
 River Junction, had felt a certain shyness since their 
 return to Cambridge about being seen with each other. 
 None had formed any definite theory to explain why 
 the affair of honor did not come off in consistency 
 with the essential postulate that both men had behaved 
 with absolute honor and courage. After a few days 
 of oppressive silence on the part of every body con- 
 cerning what was uppermost in every body's mind, 
 Stirling began to feel somewhat sore that Wentworth 
 suggested no apology or other settlement, while the 
 latter wondered why the challenge was not with- 
 drawn. Probably both of them were restrained from 
 taking any immediate step by a feeling that they 
 would have to meet in the presence of the college 
 authorities. This was a suspended sword over them 
 that must soon fall. Judge Minott, however, had 
 persuaded the authorities to ignore the incident, leav- 
 ing its due treatment to himself. When notified of 
 his desire to see them in his library both youths felt 
 a certain relief ; but when they actually met they found 
 it sufficiently embarrassing, and stood silent, flushed, 
 perhaps a little irritated. 
 
 "Your meeting here," said the judge, "may be 
 vexatious, but less so than if it were before a magis- 
 trate as it might have been. I have not brought 
 
28 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 you together for a scene, but some painful words 
 must be spoken. As a teacher of law I have the 
 right to expect that differences between our students 
 shall be settled by other means than those declared 
 criminal alike by the laws of Virginia and Massachu- 
 setts. I might add, settled by other weapons than 
 those with which any bully could triumph over the 
 wisest man in the country; that blackguard, for 
 instance, who lately challenged Webster. As a friend 
 I might have expected that my arbitration might 
 have been sought " 
 
 The young men started forward simultaneously, as 
 if to grasp the hand of their friend, but he proceeded 
 as if their movement had been unobserved. 
 
 " Well let it be that I am nothing to men whose 
 fathers trusted me ; I abdicate ; but reason does not 
 abdicate. I hear that the trouble began with some 
 personal remark by you, Walter ? " 
 
 " It is true. The moment after I realized what 
 I had done, and had not the court been foolishly 
 broken up would have tendered an apology ; as it was 
 I went to Stirling to apologize." 
 
 " Of course," said the judge, " a hand offered in 
 private is no apology for an insult in public. But 
 somehow I can not recognize either of you in these 
 transactions. As you were friends, I assume that all 
 efforts to reach an understanding were exhausted." 
 
 Stirling began to feel uneasy ; it dawned upon him 
 that he had surrendered himself too fully to his 
 " Southrons " in the framing of his challenge. 
 
 "Of course, Randolph," said the judge, "you 
 demanded that he should apologize or fight ? " 
 
THE MERTING. 29 
 
 Stirling's face reddened ; he made no reply. 
 
 " I am glad to conclude that it wasn't you, Ran- 
 dolph, who wrote that challenge, though sorry you 
 should have surrendered yourself to a set of braggarts 
 spoiling for a fight by proxy, and fancying themselves 
 defenders of southern honor." 
 
 "But I have done worse, sir," cried Wentworth ; 
 " I gave myself to bad advisers in a region, unlike 
 Stirling's, whose public sentiment would approve a 
 refusal to fight. After insulting my friend i consented 
 to shoot him " 
 
 "Walter," interrupted the judge, "let us stick to 
 the truth. Randolph, I received a letter from your 
 father the other day, with an inclosure that may 
 interest you." 
 
 Stirling read as follows : " Hon. Richard Stirling, 
 Dear Sir, It has been my misfortune to utter 
 words which, being generally deemed insulting to 
 your son, have caused him to demand satisfaction. 
 It may be that some rumor of our leaving Cambridge 
 for a hostile meeting may cause anxiety to yourself 
 and family ; I therefore beg that you will be under no 
 apprehension ; nothing could induce me to harm your 
 son. The only danger under which he stands is that 
 of burthening his memory with a regret, and I rely on 
 your affection never to add to that regret by revealing 
 the contents of this note. I am, sir, your obedient 
 servant, W. Wentworth." 
 
 " Oh, Wentworth," said Stirling, with a great pain 
 in his voice. 
 
 "It wasn't fair to give him that note," said Went- 
 worth. 
 
30 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Hush, Wentworth," said Stirling ; " we have had 
 our meeting ; you have conquered ; the man who 
 challenged you is dead." 
 
 " The man who accepted can not survive," said 
 Wentworth, taking his friend's hand. 
 
 Judge Minott touched a bell, and soon after Mrs. 
 Minott appeared. The young men passed out to 
 dinner, leaving their changeling selves dead in the 
 library. As Stirling preceded with Mrs. Minott. the 
 judge moved slowly enough to whisper to Wentworth 
 " It is probable that your duty to North and South 
 would hardly have been fulfilled in the eyes of your 
 seconds. I happen to know that Stirling also had 
 resolved to be shot without shooting. What fine 
 stage assassins you two would make ! " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE JUDGE PROPOSES AN AFFAIR OF HONOR. 
 
 THE reconciliation just described did not termin- 
 ate the Wentworth-Stirling incident so completely 
 as that little dinner company may have hoped. The 
 partisan feelings excited could not subside at once. 
 When Stirling said to his friend " the man who 
 challenged you is dead," the words were truer than 
 he thought. He showed coolness towards the framers 
 of his challenge, without concealing from himself his 
 own fault in that matter. Knowing now Wentworth's 
 unbroken loyalty, he felt so guilty that he must needs 
 do penance, and refrained from assuring his friend 
 that he also had resolved not to fire at him. Went- 
 worth, as we know, had been informed of this by 
 Judge Minott, to whom Stirling had said it in a note 
 to be delivered after the hostile encounter, but this 
 he did not suspect, and felt that it was only what he 
 deserved if Wentworth should continue to believe he 
 really meant to kill him. On the other hand Went- 
 worth also had been running up an account against 
 himself for not having refused a friend's challenge 
 compelled by southern sentiment. 
 
 When these principals, at a time when one or both 
 should have been duly lying stark on Canadian snow, 
 were distinctly observed walking arm-in-arm once 
 
32 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 more, the sight was not regarded with universal 
 satisfaction. In the Harvard republic two camps had 
 been formed, and each feared its champion had shown 
 the white feather. Naturally, the chief cloud of 
 suspicion gathered around Stirling. It was all so 
 transparent that loss of a train and supplementary 
 illness ! Such innuendoes reaching Wentworth just 
 before a meeting of the court in Dane Hall gave a 
 certain impressiveness to an apology he had prepared. 
 He " humbly apologized " to the Court, and to its 
 distinguished member Mr. Randolph Stirling, for a 
 hasty and injurious phrase uttered on an unhappily 
 notorious occasion. His words, he acknowledged, 
 were " susceptible of an insulting application, and he 
 could never sufficiently regret having wronged a gen- 
 tleman of truth, honor, and courage, who had, with 
 characteristic magnanimity, forgiven him, and whom 
 he was proud to call his friend." 
 
 The mean view of this incident was the first to 
 make itself heard. It was all a "plant." The two 
 had their private understanding all along ; one was 
 to miss reaching the rendezvous, the other to pro- 
 claim him the soul of honor. Such posings were too 
 thin. But the theory which gradually prevailed was 
 that Stirling, disappointed at finding a Yankee who 
 would fight, had backed down as plausibly as he could, 
 and Wentworth had compassionately covered his old 
 friend's retreat with an apology. Such was the form in 
 which the gossip presently reached Stirling. He did 
 not feel humiliated, but even experienced a certain 
 satisfaction in such completeness of his penance. He 
 was now about " square " with Wentworth, who had 
 
AN AFFAIR OF HONOR. 33 
 
 got ahead of him in chivalry by that public apology, 
 to which he had only been able to reply with a low 
 bow. But Wentworth would not regard it as " square " ; 
 on the contrary he was furious. It was even asserted 
 that when the charges against Stirling were last 
 mentioned in his hearing he uttered an oath big 
 enough to embarrass the recording angel. He did not 
 rest until he had submitted all the facts, as known to 
 him through Manuel, Nuella, and the physician, 
 before a company of leading law-students, northern 
 and southern. Stirling did not know of this con- 
 clave for some time, but he began to perceive that this 
 Bostonian was more jealous for his honor than any 
 southerner. The atmosphere around him became less 
 sultry with suspicion, and presently cleared altogether ; 
 but a change had been wrought in him greater than 
 he could realize. It had come about that his ideal 
 gentleman was now a Yankee abolitionist. 
 
 It was equally impossible for these experiences to 
 leave Wentworth just where he was before. This 
 slaveholding southerner, so sensitive about his honor 
 yet so patient under calumny, so eager to take more 
 than his share of the disgrace consequent on their 
 joint folly, raised the whole South in his estimation. 
 Could such a man, or the community which produced 
 such, be cruel toward helpless negroes ? Thus these 
 youths were somewhat withdrawn from the camps 
 they had done so much to form, and alarmed their 
 followers with conciliatory sentimentG. 
 
 Judge Minott perceived that a fictitious affair of 
 honor between his young friends had been succeeded 
 by a real one. They were contending in the presence 
 
34 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 of partisans, for the honor of surpassing each other in 
 magnanimity. In that competition both had con- 
 quered, and it set the judge to dreaming. What if 
 the South and North could similarly end their dis- 
 sensions, come close to each other's heart, and van- 
 quish each other with generosity ! And why might 
 not these two noble leaders in the university become 
 leaders in the nation, and help to bring about the 
 happier era ? It is easy to be philosophical after the 
 fact, but in those days many were the straws floating 
 on the flood which to their discoverers appeared 
 material for an ark. The judge's dream was that of a 
 man accustomed to consider both sides of every ques- 
 tion, also of an optimistic temperament. He was 
 awakened from his dream by the sound of a shell 
 bursting on Fort Sumter ; but meanwhile that dream 
 had not been without its effect on the lives of the two 
 young men with whom it was associated. 
 
 Wentworth and Stirling also had their dreams, and, 
 as their graduation drew near, one vision acquired the 
 consistency ot a purpose : they would pass together a 
 year in Europe. Stirling's sisters did not quite like 
 this ; and Penelope pouted through the longest letter 
 she ever wrote. Judge Stirling had enjoyed too few 
 similar opportunities in his youth to deny his son 
 any he had power to give ; so he wrote Randolph a 
 cheerful consent, with tears in his eyes. But when 
 the friends visited Judge Minott one Sunday afternoon 
 to talk over their plan, they perceived with dismay 
 that it was unwelcome. Very soon he was pleading 
 against the European tour with unwonted warmth. 
 Had they not better know more of their own country 
 
AN AFFAIR OF HONOR. 35 
 
 before wandering abroad ? Northern and southern 
 men in the West were beginning a war which might 
 spread from Kansas over the whole country ; and what 
 else could be expected when even northern and south- 
 ern scholars can not discuss the constitution of their 
 country without a proposal to exchange shots in 
 Canada ? What do those rude combatants in the 
 West know of each other ? An educated northern 
 student describes the South, and his best friend, who 
 has lived there, is amazed at the picture. An 
 educated southern student characterizes the North, 
 and his best friend, a northerner, is aghast at the 
 description. Not realizing that this kind of mis- 
 understanding is bringing on a struggle between 
 millions, faintly foreshadowed by their own abortive 
 combat, these scholars repair to classic lands. They 
 return perfectly agreed on measurements of the Par- 
 thenon, and relative merits of Florentine and Venetian 
 schools, but sundered like repellent poles on a vital 
 issue they dare not name to each other, and which will 
 surely shatter their friendship as it is shattering their 
 country. Europe would keep. Whether their own 
 country would, was becoming doubtful. They had 
 been able to form hostile camps in the university ; if 
 they had to do all over again they would try to make 
 those camps friendly ; they might at least try to do 
 that in the nation. But they could only help bring 
 warring sections to some common ground if they first 
 get there themselves. " You will never be true friends 
 until that old issue, suppressed between you, is 
 honestly fought out and settled. Your hearts warned 
 you it could not be settled by proving which is the 
 
36 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 best shot ; you both found that to be an affair of dis- 
 honor, and resolved not to shoot. Now let me propose 
 an affair of honor : instead of shots, exchange resi- 
 dences for a time ! Let the southerner explore the 
 North, the northerner the South. Let the year be 
 devoted to study of the social conditions which each 
 is believed by his best friend to misunderstand. Then 
 meet, and God save the right ! " 
 
 The friends went off in disappointment ; but that 
 evening they had their first conversation on the 
 slavery question and, though they could not agree, 
 they talked quietly and parted as friends. 
 
 " What goody-goodies you are making these college 
 heroes of yours ! " 
 
 Very true, O piquant reader ! I look through my 
 diary of those days, search my memories, and find 
 these two youths steadily appearing and reappearing 
 through rainbow archways, with morning-glories about 
 their brows. Mo doubt it was absurd. Possibly, 
 were I there now with the same fellows, I might de- 
 cribe Wentworth as priggish and Stirling as quixotic. 
 But the most democratic man is a blind loyalist at 
 college ; he will have his king and hold that His 
 Majesty can do no wrong. When lately I walked the 
 Yard with a comrade of those years we met ourselves, 
 and smiled to see what ridiculous devotees we were; 
 may-be, had we lingered longer, we should have met 
 our young gods wearing gilt aureoles. But these 
 realities granting them such do not give one so much 
 pleasure as illusions of the earlier time. So pray 
 indulge me, for the present, by accepting the images 
 
AN AFFAIR OF HONOR. 37 
 
 left by our heroes in our foolish hearts. For their 
 college days are ended. They must now win or lose 
 their haloes from your cynical self. I can only add 
 that to the last we were all fools about those 
 two boys. Why, on the evening after Class Day, when 
 Walter and Randolph gave their friends a supper in 
 Boston, the northern and southern camps were so 
 demoralized that they touched glasses, vowed eternal 
 friendship, and supported each other in a movement 
 on Cambridge. We beheld the great sectional dis- 
 cords ended then and there. Is it to be supposed 
 that all this milk was poured out of a champagne- 
 bottle ? It may have been so in one or two cases, I 
 fear that Biglow of South Carolina and Calhoun of 
 Rhode Island would never have spoken to each other 
 but for that last Mumm, but in truth these fellows 
 could never have been brought together by any except 
 Walter and Randolph: but for their magic the cham- 
 pagne would have turned to vitriol. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WORM OF SPINDLETON. 
 
 ON a soft Sunday morning of early autumn a working- 
 man strolled along one of the rural lanes where 
 virginal nature is not yet devoured by the fire-breath- 
 ing jaws of Spindleton. She knows that her time 
 must come ; the monster is not of the classic kind that 
 guarded pretty gardens, but of the modern virgin- 
 devouring kind ; and King Cotton, who ruled in 
 Spindleton, had ne'er a knight at his court inclined to 
 defend any beauty from such fate. Out here, how- 
 ever, where the workman strolled, was a beautiful 
 retreat. The hills were already putting on their 
 purple and gold ; the air was warm, and a mystical 
 mist softened like gauze the autumnal tableaux. 
 The sun had just come forth from his tent, but not 
 as a strong man to run a race, rather as one shorn of 
 his locks in the lap of dusky Delilah, and to be looked 
 at without fear. Over the tall chimneys of Spindleton 
 remained a canopy of smoke, the ever-ascending smoke 
 of its toilers' torment, shutting off the blue-and-gold 
 day. Far over it floated a mass of white cloud which 
 seemed now a Madonna looking down with pity, now 
 an eagle with spread wings and curved beak. 
 
 Presently church-bells sounded across the distance ; 
 suggestions above the smoke-roof, fairer than the 
 
THE WORM OF SPINDLETON. 39 
 
 white cloud-shapes, were wafted into the saunterer's 
 mind, and he rose from his wayside stone to seek the 
 city. The sunshine was gradually extinguished as he 
 came within the black coils of Spindleton. He passed 
 a little Bethel offering itself as the fount of living 
 waters ; a small brick Zion where some were recogniz- 
 ing the shekinah ; and at length an organ-peal allured 
 him into a stately Gothic edifice, whose tower looked 
 proudly down on the poor conventicles beneath. It 
 was a fine interior ; the congregation was fashionably 
 dressed, the choir sang sweetly. The preacher was 
 handsome, with a ruddy eupeptic look, middle-aged, 
 gold-spectacled, a model of respectability. His sermon 
 was a rebuke of those who are " wise above what is 
 written," among whom he included agitators trying to 
 interfere with the institutions of the country. It was 
 nothing to those fanatics, about to meet in Spindleton, 
 that patriarchs held slaves, or that Paul returned the 
 fugitive to his master ; fancying themselves wiser than 
 Abraham or Paul, they were really dangerous infidels 
 undermining all authority. This part of the sermon 
 evidently gave much satisfaction. 
 
 There were only three or four in the congregation 
 who looked like work people. As all were going off 
 our workman observed an elderly man in coarse dress, 
 whose face, or its momentary expression, interested 
 him. He followed him a little way, then came to his 
 side and accosted him. 
 
 " Fine weather, sir." 
 
 " Yes, stranger, weather's good enough." 
 
 " Saw you in church ; what did you think of the 
 sermon ? " 
 
40 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Well, sermon's good enough fur a sermon, fur's 
 thet goes, but he'd oughter had a cotton-bale fur his 
 pulpit." 
 
 " A cotton-bale ! " 
 
 " Jess so. That's wut it all meant. He was preachin* 
 to fine-dressed bales in the pews, and you and me was 
 the spools. Every body 'bout here's either bale or 
 spool." 
 
 " I've heard that cotton is king." 
 
 '' Then ye've heard wrong ; Cotton is Goda- 
 mighty." 
 
 " You're in a cynical mood to-day." 
 
 " A wut ? " 
 
 "You're in a comical mood to-day." 
 
 " Strikes me that wasn't jess wut ye said afore. 
 Must 'a' been pickin' up fine words som'ers. AVorkin' 
 in the mills ? " 
 
 " Just come. Mean to try for work to-morrow." 
 
 "Well, they'll card ye inter fine shirtin's, an' yer big 
 words too. This be my way. Good-day to ye." 
 
 The younger workman walked slowly away with a 
 dubious look, as if not satisfied with the conversation. 
 After moving some thirty paces he turned, and saw 
 the old man gazing after him. He stopped and 
 returned the gaze stolidly, upon which the other 
 beckoned, and the two met half way. 
 
 " Young man, I should like to know jess why ye 
 spoke to me jess now." 
 
 " I thought I'd like to make an acquaintance, for I 
 don't know a soul in Spindleton, no offense meant." 
 
 " No, there's no offense. P'r'aps ye'll obleege me 
 with yer name." 
 
THE WORM OF SPINDLETON. 4! 
 
 ' Brooks, Peter Brooks." 
 
 The elder workman's eyes probed the younger very 
 keenly for the few more minutes of cross-examina- 
 tion, but in the end his voice grew more friendly. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Brooks, ez ye're minded to know some- 
 thing about the Spindleton fellers, maybe ye kin 
 come 'round to-night to the Out-an'-Outers. No end 
 o' gab, an' 'taint allers wuth much, but ye'll find how 
 the wind sets. 'Bout seven." 
 
 " Where ? and may I give your name at the 
 door ? " 
 
 " Room back o' Baxter's Bar. 'Taint exactly pri- 
 vate, seats free, but only workmen allowed. Ef it's 
 wanted, my name's Jethuel Minor. Pretty well known, 
 but not a pop'lar character. Good-day agin." 
 
 Peter walked through several dingy streets to the 
 tenement which for thirty-six hours had been his 
 abode. It was the boarding-house of seven or eight 
 workmen without families, who were already lounging 
 about the dining-room waiting for their meal. This 
 consisted of cold pork and beans, which the men 
 swallowed rapidly, as if eager to be at something else. 
 After the repast the new-comer was approached, with 
 some shyness, by a fellow-boarder. 
 
 " Take a hand at high-low-jack ? " 
 
 " Don't mind." 
 
 The game was played in an upper room, and for 
 cent stakes. Peter soon lost some dimes. His stoi- 
 cism under steady bad luck raised him in the esteem 
 of the others, and when at length he rose to go, sev- 
 eral hands were offered which he did not appear to see. 
 
 Out into the street again went Brooks, intending to 
 
42 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 make a tour of the poorer quarters. But he soon wearied 
 of this. The sad sameness of every thing and every 
 body ; the endless rows of small houses broken at 
 intervals with squalid barracks of the ragged regi- 
 ments of toil ; the group of loafers at the street- 
 corner which, after he had passed, turned up at the 
 next, as if all had slipped around to waylay him 
 again with vacant or sullen stares ; all this produced 
 in his soul a hard depression, like that written on the 
 whole face of Spindleton as it toiled through its task- 
 less Sabbath. He paused to read the advertisement 
 of a " Spiritual Seance " to be held that evening. It 
 announced that Mrs. Ellerton, the celebrated Trance 
 Speaker, would " deliver an inspirational poem on a 
 subject selected by the audience ; " that " Dr. Abel 
 Dovedale would hold a seance ; " and that " Raphail 
 Summerland would voice the spirit-breathings at the 
 harmonium." As he turned away from this, a thread- 
 bare colporteur placed in his hand a tract against 
 "Lying Spirits." Peter Brooks then returned to his 
 lodging-house, took some sips of a dismal decoction 
 called coffee, and consoled himself in his room with a 
 smoke. 
 
 Brooks was glanced at sharply that evening as he 
 passed through Baxter's bar-room to a half open door, 
 beyond which he found the assemblage of Out-and- 
 Outers. He took his seat in the lower part of the 
 room, with an air of familiarity which was presently 
 put to confusion ; for when a boy asked him what he 
 would take, he replied "nothing." He was informed 
 that the room was paid for by every body taking some- 
 thing. He then asked for " grog," a generic anach- 
 
THE WORM OF SPIfrDLETON. 43 
 
 ronism which raised a laugh around him, amid 
 which a man said " Bring the stranger an eye-opener." 
 Then Brooks laughed, but nobody else did ; he found 
 it was no joke ; nor was it a joke to sip the " eye- 
 opener " when it was brought. The new-comer longed 
 to be invisible, and made himself as small as possible. 
 There were about eighty persons present, counting 
 by heads, but, counting by heads' contents, only two 
 Jethuel Minor, and the seventy-nine-necked Out- 
 and-Outerism opposing him. Jethuel must have been 
 speaking before Brooks arrived, for when presently 
 a small man, with flat ashen face arose, the whispers 
 went round" Miller," " Englisher," " Now Jethuel 
 '11 catch it ! " Mr. Miller, from whom so much was 
 expected, began in a high key and screamed invec- 
 tives till his voice gave way. The capitalist was the 
 devouring dragon against which his rage was directed. 
 He lived in a palace, dined on roast turkey hevery day, 
 drank wine like a lord, never siled his kid gloves with 
 work, wile we slaves for 'im and 'ardly get the crumbs 
 from 'is table. Very likely his lordship 'as 'is favrits 
 a sarcastic bow to Jethuel who 'ave a good 
 word to say for 'im. [Laughter.] Wen a feller 'as a 
 bit o' the turkey 'e can afford to say grace. For these 
 hand all other musseys the Lord make us thankful ! 
 [Loud laughter.] But there's a thousand 'ungry 
 mouths in Spindleton for hevery one that gets enough 
 to say grace over. Capital's grindin' the face of the 
 widdy and horphan ! Capital's a-robbin' 'ard-'anded 
 labor of 'elth and 'appiness. [Applause, after which, 
 while the orator took a sip of something, Jethuel said, 
 "Tell us wut ye're agoin' to do about it, Danby Miller."] 
 
44 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " What am I agoin' to do ? Mr. Minor wants to know 
 what I am agoin' to do. I'll soon tell him what I'm 
 agoin' to do. [Another sip from the glass, continuous 
 throat-clearing, and other dilatory items suggesting 
 that the Englishman's prescription was not quite 
 ready.] Capital's got to disgorge. It's got to give us 
 shorter howers an' more wages. [" S'pose it won't," 
 said JethueL] S'pose it won't ! Then s'pose we won't 
 work. [" Will that bring yer turkey ye're so fond 
 of? "] Well, it'll make the grass grow in the streets o' 
 Spindleton. If capitalists 'aven't got 'earts they've 
 got 'ides, and we can take it out of their 'ides." 
 
 Some applause followed this retort and the speaker 
 was quick enough to perceive that he had better stop 
 there. He was the most glib of the majority's tongues, 
 but a more impressive utterance was given to the bit- 
 terness deep in the workmen's souls by the faltering 
 and sullen wrath of others who followed. These men 
 were unable to save anything from their wages ; there 
 was no spark before them which hope might keep 
 alive with dreams of its one day flaming above their 
 desert and leading them out of bondage. The raison 
 d'etre of Out-and-Outerism was hopelessness ; its only 
 relief was a war-cry as hopeless as its pain. 
 
 "Wall, stranger, what's your idee? " 
 
 Brooks affected unconsciousness that this question 
 was addressed to himself. It came from a fellow 
 whom he promptly brevetted "bully," and whose 
 eyes had several times stared at him with sullen spite. 
 This fellow now whispered to some near him, and 
 they all clamored for the " stranger " to pronounce 
 under which king he had enlisted. 
 
THE WORM OF SPINDLETON. 45 
 
 " I have nothing to say." 
 
 It may seem an innocent remark, but as Brooks 
 uttered it the room became sultry with suspicion. It 
 was not the voice of a workingman. A thrush may 
 pass for a wren so long as it is silent. Peter Brooks' 
 short speech had not only betrayed him, it had revealed 
 a lot of things about him that he never dreamed of. 
 
 " NothhV to say ! " 
 
 " But keeps up a devil of a thinkin' ? " 
 
 " Mum's the word ! " 
 
 " How much d'ye git for the job ? " 
 
 Such were the sarcastic cries that hurtled through 
 the room. Brooks sat silent, but there was an amused 
 look on his face at which the crowd waxed wroth. 
 
 " Who brought the spy ? " cried the seventy-nine 
 throated Out-and-Outer. 
 
 " Don't be fools," said Jethuel, rising ; " I met that 
 man for the first time to-day, by accident, an' seein' 
 he was a workman an' a stranger, asked him to come 
 'round. What's he done that you should all o' sudden 
 take to worryin' him ? " 
 
 " Oh, he's your friend, is he ? " 
 
 " Thought so." 
 
 u Damn all such " 
 
 " One moment, gentlemen ! " 
 
 As Brooks said this, rising to his full height, there 
 was a hush. 
 
 " I am a stranger in your town ; I have been here 
 two days ; I hope to get work in a mill to-morrow. 
 That is as much as I choose to say about myself just 
 now. If any body chooses to think any thing more 
 about my affairs he's welcome provided he keeps a 
 
46 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 civil tongue. I came here to learn something about 
 the people I'm going to live among. I've learned 
 enough for one night, and now I'm going to bed." 
 
 " No, you ain't," cried the bully, stalking to the 
 door, " things ain't settled yet." 
 
 " Settle them to suit yourselves, but allow me to 
 pass." 
 
 " No, you don't ! " 
 
 In another instant the bully was spinning among 
 the benches and Brooks quietly moving through 
 Baxter's bar-room. As he reached the street he 
 touched a package of documents in his breast pocket, 
 which, had they been handled by the Out-and-Outers, 
 might have made his teapot tempest serious. 
 
 " A spy ! " said Brooks, as he lay on a bed softened 
 only by his weariness. " Precisely ! " 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE COTTON WITCH. 
 
 IT was in the days of the Cotton Witch, whose mira- 
 cles seem incredible to the young generation, 
 how she took certain malvacean plants, with capsules 
 of white wool, of these made men, and so decorated 
 them that they were chosen rulers and divines. One 
 day the Cotton Witch took a notion to unmake what 
 she had made ; she fired a gun and lo ! all the mal- 
 vacean princes and priests disappeared. Some now 
 say that this fantastic creation of the Cotton Witch 
 never existed, none who belong to it being discov- 
 erable, but they are mistaken ; the splendid cotton 
 people really lived, and Spindleton was their capital. 
 
 Peter Brooks sought work at the Union Mills, but 
 there was no work to be had there ; there were more 
 than a hundred applications on file. As he was about 
 to leave, a gentleman, who had just been conversing 
 with some others, accosted him. 
 
 " What is it you want, my man ? " 
 
 " Work, sir." 
 
 " Ah, we are overstocked, but I hear they want 
 hands at the Print Works, Prescott Street." 
 
 Brooks hastened to the Print; Works, and the mana- 
 ger there put some questions to him. 
 
 " What region are you from ? " he asked at last. 
 
4^ PINE AND PALM, 
 
 " South." 
 
 " It isn't often we have applications from that sec- 
 tion. We may find a place for you next week. Mean- 
 time if you will call on Captain Meshach Jones, num- 
 ber ninety, lower door, he may be glad to see you. 
 Tell him you are from the South, don't forget 
 that." 
 
 Captain Meshach Jones was not found at any Mills, 
 but in the back room of a small unfurnished house, 
 into which Brooks was ushered by an ingeniously ugly 
 doorkeeper. The captain was of middle age, black with 
 broadcloth from head to foot ; but for his red nose 
 he might have been mistaken for a preacher. Our 
 workman did not find him prepossessing especially 
 not his white eyes, one of which by a cross movement 
 seemed trying to cover the over-curious stare of the 
 other. His face the nose excepted was colorless, 
 and it was a cracked voice that said to the ugly usher, 
 " You can go, Scully." 
 
 " Well, sir, what do you want ? " said the captain 
 to Brooks. 
 
 " Work." 
 
 " Who sent you to me ? " 
 
 " Manager at the Print Works near by." 
 
 " Ah take a seat." 
 
 As Brooks looked round for a chair he glanced out 
 of the window and saw a group of roughs in the 
 back yard. 
 
 u Where are you from ? " asked the captain in a 
 friendly way. 
 
 " I've been working near Boston." 
 
 " Do you belong to any party in politics ? " 
 
THE COTTON WITCH. 49 
 
 " Does that make any difference in my getting 
 work ? " 
 
 " Well, you see the manager at the Print Works 
 don't know it, oh no, don't suppose he knows it but 
 it isn't mill-hands we are wantin' to-day. There's a 
 political matter on hand, and I told him if he met any 
 workmen out of work I'd like to see them. He must 
 have known you are of the right stripe that is ah 
 he must have known you were out of work. Oh, bless 
 you, he don't know no more'n a child ! " 
 
 While Brooks was debating whether " Whig "or 
 " Democrat " were trumps, he saw distrust gathering 
 in Captain Meshach's cross eye, and said, " I'm a 
 Democrat." 
 
 " A fine able-bodied fellow, too, Mr. didn't catch 
 the name ? " 
 
 " Brooks." 
 
 " Well, you see, Mr. Brooks, times are bad for us 
 up here, in the cotton business. The southern people 
 are getting mad. They've been writin' from the 
 plantations to our leading men in Spindleton that they 
 won't stand this abolition business any longer. They 
 say they'll make grass to grow in the streets of Spin- 
 dleton. Think of that ! Well, the question is, what's 
 to be done ? Now what do you say, Mr. Brooks? " 
 
 Brooks shook his head solemnly and dubiously. 
 
 " You're out of work. Thousands are out of work, 
 and the abolitionists want to make Spindleton swarm 
 with niggers to take the bread out of your mouth. 
 And where will the work be and the bread when the 
 South ships all the cotton to Europe all because o' 
 them pesky abolitionists? That's what they say. 
 
50 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 They are publishin' all the northern firms that ain't 
 friendly to the South, and all places where the aboli- 
 tionists are allowed to hold meetin's. And, would you 
 believe it, they've got Spindleton down ! It was sent 
 to one of our bosses in a Georgia paper, and it's in 
 that drawer. Does seem to have been a little aboli- 
 tion mee.tin' here six months back, kind o' private 
 like, but none o' the boys hearn of it. But the abo- 
 litionists have give out for a big meetin' Thursday 
 night in the nigger meetin'-house. What do you 
 think of that, Mr. Brooks ? Are we a-goin' to allow 
 that ? " 
 
 "What can be done?" 
 
 " Done, Mr. Brooks ! What was done at Riceport 
 the other day, where not one of the infidel set went 
 away with a sound skin ! It's the Lord's work it is. 
 They're all infidels. Why, one of them lit a match 
 and burnt the Constitution of the United States 
 burnt it to a cinder. A man told me he seen it done 
 with his own eyes, and wondered it didn't bring down 
 a judgment. Are we again to stand that kind o' 
 atheism in Spindleton ? " 
 
 " Should think not," said Brooks. 
 
 " Any family ? " inquired Captain Meshach, ten- 
 derly. 
 
 "None." 
 
 44 Them that obeys orders this week gets five dollars 
 down and five one week from to-day, and more if they 
 get into trouble, and sure of a place in the mills if 
 they want it." 
 
 " I must think over this," said Brooks, rising. 
 
 The captain's straight eye glared at him an instant, 
 
THE COTTON WITCH. 51 
 
 the cross eye searched him successfully, the thin lips 
 spoke unctuously. 
 
 " Of course we don't expect trouble, Mr. Brooks, 
 but we must be prepared for the worst when excitin' 
 meetin's like this takes place. Our citizens are nater- 
 ally excited and may be roused to violence. We must 
 have men on hand to to keep order." 
 
 " To keep order ! " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Brooks, to keep order. Hope I've not 
 been misunderstood ? " 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " I hope not. We must do our best to keep order, 
 and when we're warned of danger we must employ 
 extra men. This duty has been allotted to me, and I 
 must perform it to the best of my humble ability. I 
 may be abused and slandered slandered, sir for 
 my efforts to discharge my duty, but that duty shall 
 be fearlessly done." 
 
 " Good morning, Captain Jones." 
 
 " Good morning. It's my official duty to admonish 
 you not to mention any thing said in this room." 
 
 " Thank you," said Brooks, with an affectation of 
 meekness which made Captain Meshach livid. 
 
 " This way," said the captain, opening a door into 
 the inclosure of the roughs, " you'll find a gate at the 
 bottom of the yard." 
 
 The rowdies gazed at Brooks as he passed, and when 
 he had disappeared Captain Meshach went out to them. 
 
 " Boys," he said, " he's an abolition spy. If you see 
 him about anywhere a good handlin' won't do any 
 harm ; but be careful ; he's strong and likely to be 
 (jangerous. He oughtn't to be there Thursday." 
 
52 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 A few hours later Brooks was at the anti-slavery 
 rooms in Boston telling the story ; after which he at 
 once returned to Spindleton. 
 
 The abolitionists held their meeting in Spindle- 
 ton, and mustered all the stronger because of the 
 information Brooks brought them ; for that peculiar 
 people delighted to ftock where they were least wanted. 
 Stephen Foster was there with his bitter arraignment 
 of the clergy, as dumb dogs whose cowardice was 
 guilty of all done by the wolves. His startling gen- 
 eralization was illustrated by the crushed hat he wore 
 and a coat picturesquely split down the back. " This 
 hat," he said, " was battered in by the church in Rice- 
 port, and this coat " (turning his back to the audience) 
 " was torn by the ministers of Christ in Vermont." 
 
 " Damned infidels all of you ! " shouted a voice. 
 
 " What church in Spindleton do you preach in ? " 
 cried Foster. 
 
 Splash went an egg into the speaker's face, followed 
 by a mad yell from the crowd. The roughs rose en 
 masse, showing themselves to be two-thirds of those 
 present. 
 
 " At 'em, boys ! " cried a ringleader. 
 
 Straightway the mob began climbing over the 
 benches toward the pulpit, waving sticks and roaring. 
 The front benches were occupied by abolitionists, 
 chiefly women, who made gallant obstruction and were 
 considerably bruised. The mob was determined to 
 get at the leading abolitionists who sat in front of the 
 pulpit. Garrison's beaming face was visible above 
 the raging mass he vainly tried to still. The melodi- 
 ous voice of Phillips was drowned as a flute might bs 
 
THE COTTON WITCH. 53 
 
 by drums. Angry yells greeted the colored orator 
 Charles Remond. Matters began to look serious 
 enough ; the mob evidently meant mischief. Suddenly 
 a stentorian voice near the door cried " Let's hang 
 that nigger, any way ! " 
 
 Just then from a remote corner stepped forward a 
 quaint little man, with large luminous eye, whom few 
 even of the anti-slavery men recognized as Thoreau, 
 and placed himself in front of the rush, so quietly as 
 if he did not see it that the crowd was surprised into 
 momentary stillness. " Doubtless/' he said, " you all 
 remember that fine passage in the Bhagavatgita where 
 Krishna says to Arjuna, Thou and I have met many 
 times." The mob was breathless. " I may now say 
 that you and I have met in various ages of the world." 
 Here somebody exploded in a laugh, which made the 
 crowd laugh. The mob that laughs is lost. The ring- 
 leaders vainly tried to rally their forces. Thoreau 
 was heard to the end of his estimate of how many 
 births the mob and the abolitionists had gone through. 
 A few howls and cat-calls were all that could be 
 achieved against the subsequent speakers, and a " suc- 
 cessful meeting in Spindleton " was reported in next 
 week's Liberator. 
 
 It was from that paper that our workman, Peter 
 Brooks, learned the particulars of the meeting. He 
 had set his heart on being present, but alas, while 
 these scenes were occurring, he was withheld by 
 inglorious repose in a cell of Spindleton police-station. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FRAULEIN ROSE. 
 
 ON the day following his interview with Captain 
 Meshach Jones, Peter Brooks had again tried to 
 obtain employment, but in vain. In the evening he 
 went to a Music Hall, and found a dismal perform- 
 ance going on. It was a company of roughs instead 
 of the workmen whom Brooks hoped to meet there ; 
 and there were no women at all except those who 
 appeared from time to time on the wretched little stage. 
 These were tawdry and tiresome enough, and our 
 workman was about to leave, when he observed a fel- 
 low staring at him impudently, and apparently speak- 
 ing of him to three others drinking with him. Brooks 
 was by this time accustomed to the rude glances that 
 greeted a stranger at Spindleton, result, perhaps, of 
 instinctive hostility to a new competitor for wages, 
 but this fellow's look was unusually sinister. 
 
 At this moment the pianist announced that a Ger- 
 man cantatrice, Fralilein Rose, would appear for the 
 first time in the United States, and sing in the peasant 
 costume of her country. The Fraiilein was very dif- 
 ferent from the preceding singers ; she was modest, 
 pretty, fresh, and began her ballad with a clear sweet 
 voice. But her broken English was received with 
 derision and grotesque mimicry. The interruptions; 
 
FRA ULEIN ROSE. 55 
 
 began so immediately that Brooks suspected a con- 
 spiracy ; and when somebody called out " Let the 
 girl have a chance," he applauded vigorously. Just 
 then loud hisses broke out, and the poor girl moved 
 from the stage weeping. Brooks could not repress a 
 cry of " Shame ! " and at that moment heard a brutal 
 voice beside him. " Is that your girl ?" 
 
 Brooks recognized the fellow who had been inspect- 
 ing him so insolently, and lost his temper. 
 
 " Puppy ! " he exclaimed, " speak when you're 
 spoken to." 
 
 The fellow raised his stick, and was felled with a 
 blow. Instantly two others leaped on Brooks, and 
 when one of these was disabled, another rushed 
 viciously at our workman and clutched his right arm. 
 
 " Four to one's hardly fair," called a voice from the 
 circle that pressed around, and somebody grappled 
 one of the assailants. The fight threatened to extend, 
 when the saloon-keeper and pianist managed to stop 
 it. Then policemen rushed in, and finding Brooks 
 with two men at his feet arrested the three. They 
 were marched to the station and there ushered into 
 the presence of Captain Meshach Jones. 
 
 Brooks saw a sparkle in the captain's cross eye, but 
 the straight one stared on and gave no sign. He 
 wrote down the accusation, " causing disturbance in 
 a saloon," with the name, age, and address given by 
 each prisoner, and nodded toward an inner door. 
 
 " Take the prisoner Brooks into number five, and 
 come back for the others." 
 
 As Brooks passed out he gave a steady look at one 
 pf his assailants ; he thought he had seen him before 
 
5 6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 that evening, and carried the fellow's photograph in 
 his eye. About midnight he remembered that it was 
 Scully, the captain's ugly usher. 
 
 Only on the third morning after the fray was Brooks 
 brought before the magistrate, who asked why he had 
 not been brought earlier. He was told that there 
 seemed to be some mystery about this prisoner and it 
 was suspected that he had given a false name. There 
 had been delay for inquiries, but nothing had been 
 discovered, and no one appeared against him. 
 
 Soon after his discharge Brooks read a report of 
 the riot at the anti-slavery meeting the evening before, 
 and suspected the reason why his case was postponed. 
 He resolved, too, to postpone his case against Captain 
 Meshach, and to leave Spindleton. Personal encoun- 
 ters there were becoming monotonous, and he was in 
 danger of becoming famous. He would go and try 
 Peacefield, whose name at least promised repose. It 
 required but one more evening to settle his small 
 affairs at Spindleton, and next morning he was at the 
 depot ready for the early train. 
 
 While so waiting our workman observed a young- 
 woman dragging a wooden trunk along the platform, 
 and hastened to her assistance. When she looked 
 up to thank him he recognized in her the German 
 singer who had fared so badly in the saloon. She 
 presently sat on the box ; and as Brooks paced the 
 platform he saw tears in her eyes. He debated within 
 himself whether he should speak to her. Her con- 
 tinued distress in the car, where they presently sat, 
 almost alone, determined him. He saw that she was 
 an honest simple-minded woman, and in trouble, 
 
FRA ULEIN ROSE. 5 7 
 
 Taking a seat near her he said in German, " You are 
 in trouble, and seem to be alone." Her eyes filled 
 with tears again ; she gazed silently out of the window 
 for some moments, then looked into the eyes of her 
 neighbor. 
 
 "You speak German," she said, "but you are not 
 German?" 
 
 " I am not. I saw you Tuesday evening at the 
 Music Hall and was angry at your outrageous treat- 
 ment." 
 
 " It was all planned beforehand. Here are letters 
 telling me I would not be allowed to sing there." 
 
 "It is infamous," said Brooks, looking over the 
 scrawls. 
 
 " The manager wants to be rid of two other girls 
 there; but their friends plot against every new singer. 
 He told me." 
 
 " You must have been in need before you could go 
 to such a place, Fraiilein " 
 
 " Rose Mathilde Rose is my name. Yes, I have 
 very little money and no friends. Mr. Senker he 
 that keeps that saloon, his father is a Hanoverian like 
 me could not help me with more than a dollar, but 
 gives me a letter to one in Peacefield who may get me 
 some work. At home, near Verden, I got up little 
 plays at Christmas and Fastnacht; I had a pretty 
 dress, from our carnival, and hoped to earn something 
 at a beer-house concert. My father taught me 
 English; he learned it in England." 
 
 Here she broke down again. Our workman could 
 not make up his mind to leave this poor Fraiilein to her 
 fate, but was sore puzzled about the way to assist her. 
 
58 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 11 Can I help you in any way ? " he presently said. 
 
 " You are kind, you can not help me. I came from 
 Germany to find my Franz, but can not ; now I must 
 give up.*' 
 
 Her blush rendered it needless to inquire her rela- 
 tionship to Franz. The mention of that name made 
 her feel that she had taken this casual friend into her 
 confidence, and indeed the Fraiilein was plainly glad 
 to talk with any one whose tone was kind. 
 
 " How did Franz come to leave you ? " asked 
 Brooks. 
 
 u Do not think it was his fault; no, my Franz is true. 
 My father did not like him ; he would not let us meet. 
 Franz came from Baden to a farm near us, but he had 
 no relations, and he went to America. My mother 
 was dead, my father loved me his only child I 
 could not leave him ; so Franz had to give me up. 
 My poor father was drowned ; out of his money near 
 three hundred thalers came to me, and then I must be 
 in the same fatherland with Franz. My money is 
 gone, I can yet work for bread. If I get not work I 
 can die, and not be sorry." 
 
 " Did you ever hear from Franz after he sailed ? " 
 
 " One letter came and my father found me reading 
 it ; he snatched, he burned it. I had not yet noticed 
 the address, but on the envelope is " Boston." I 
 hoped it was a little place, and that he might get the 
 letter I wrote there, but I never heard from him 
 except that once after he left Bremen." 
 
 " Do you know just when he left Bremen, and the 
 name of the ship? " 
 
 " Yes; it was April loth, last year, on the Silesia. 
 
&RAVLEIN ROSE. 59 
 
 Oh sir, is it possible to learn any thing of him by 
 that ? " 
 
 " I fear not, but we can try," said Brooks, writing 
 down the items. 
 
 The engine screamed ; Peacefield was near. Our 
 good Samaritan found this case sufficiently embarrass- 
 ing. The oil and wine required were not of the kind 
 that money could buy. 
 
 " Where are you going in Peacefield ? " he asked. 
 
 " Heman Wilder, Boarding House, 37 Merrimac 
 St.," she read, from a letter in her hand. 
 
 " Very well," said Brooks, copying the address ; 
 " now let me advise you. I will pay a man to take 
 you and your trunk to that house. Even if Heman 
 Wilder can not give you employment you had better 
 stay in his house for a time, paying board. I can lend 
 you some money. At any rate stay there till you see 
 me or hear from me. I hope to call this afternoon, 
 and if you have no employment, will try to find you 
 some." 
 
 " Who are you ? " said the Fralilein, trembling ; " I 
 am frightened. You saw me in that low place at 
 Spindleton, where good men do not go and 
 yet " 
 
 " Were you not there also, Fraulein ? " said Brooks, 
 with a reassuring smile. " I believe you had honest 
 reason to be there, and you must believe the same of 
 me." 
 
 " Did you see the fight that night ? Mr. Sadler, 
 that's the pianist, said a man took my side and was 
 set upon by the men who hissed me, and he knocked 
 them down Oh oh lieber Gott ! it was you ! " 
 
6o PINE AND PALM. 
 
 His blush under the Fraiilein's clear eyes had 
 betrayed him. 
 
 " It was you, it was you ! " she said, trembling with 
 emotion. " Are you a prince in disguise ? Have you 
 met me to-day on purpose ? " 
 
 " No, I never dreamed of seeing you again. I could 
 not get work in the Spindleton Mills and am going to 
 try Peacefield." 
 
 There are unconscious expressions that can not be 
 mistaken. Fraiilein Rose looked into this man's face, 
 then at his coarse dress ; through the surprise in her 
 eyes beamed perfect confidence. 
 
 " I may never know w r ho you are," she said, in a 
 low, reverent tone, " but you have lifted a weight 
 under which I was sinking. I obey you. No I don't 
 want any money yet, I have over three dollars ; but I 
 thank you from my heart, little as that may help you." 
 
 " It helps me more than you think," he answered 
 gently. " Now remember ; remain at Heman Wilder's 
 till you see or hear from me. On this paper is my 
 name." 
 
 At Peacefield depot Brooks paid the driver of an 
 humble conveyance to convey the Fratilein to her 
 boarding-house. For himself he took from his large 
 wooden box a fashionable overcoat and hat, with 
 which he entered the toilet-room, returning presently 
 with some garments which were placed in his box. 
 At the hotel to which he drove he escaped scrutiny, 
 but his box ! That huge chest, suitable for an emi- 
 grant, remained ostentatiously in the hotel entry, 
 a problem for clerks and porters, until it was per- 
 sonally demanded by its owner Randolph Stirling. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PEACEFIELD PINES. 
 
 ISSUING from his hotel, merry at relief from his 
 1 masquerade, Stirling passes through the main 
 business street of Peacefield, makes inquiry of a way- 
 farer, saunters through an avenue of superb elms and 
 edifices, leaves the town behind, and after a happy 
 half hour's walk stops at the gate of the old mansion 
 known as " Peacefield Pines." The spacious lawn, 
 the flowers and trees, were so beautiful that he moved 
 but slowly to the door. There he asked for Mr. 
 Derby Leigh. 
 
 " He is in Boston, sir," said the rosy maid-servant. 
 
 " And Mrs. Leigh ? " 
 
 " She has driven into town. Would you like to see 
 Miss Hilda, sir?" 
 
 She went off with Stirling's card, and he was soon 
 yielding himself to the enchantment of a wondrous 
 drawing-room, wainscoted like his own home in Vir- 
 ginia, and hung with portraits of ancestral Leighs. 
 One especially lovely face was beaming on him as if 
 with friendship, when the daughter of the house 
 entered, hat in hand. 
 
 "I am sorry my father and mother are absent," 
 said Hilda. 
 
 " I have no very urgent affairs with either of them, 
 
62 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Miss Leigh, and can call again if you will tell me 
 when Mr. Leigh will be able to see me. I am a friend, 
 I may say, and lately a student with Judge Minott of 
 Cambridge, who has given me a letter to your father." 
 
 " Father would be sorry to miss you ; he will return 
 by a rather late train this evening, but be home all day 
 to-morrow. He thinks Judge Minott one of the best 
 of men and would be glad to serve a friend of his." 
 
 " I have little to trouble your father with except a 
 number of questions. I had indeed thought to con- 
 sult him to-day about a matter that has engaged my 
 sympathies and put me under some responsibility." 
 
 There was now one of those inevitable pauses which 
 follow the gambit of opening acquaintance. While 
 Hilda was expecting a remark on the picturesqueness 
 of Peacefield, Stirling had moved a pawn that required 
 her attention. Stirling found turned toward him a 
 face whose type he had never before seen in the 
 North, and but rarely in the South, a placid, or 
 almost languid, face, very fair, with translucent com- 
 plexion, wavy brown -and -gold hair and soft brown- 
 and-gold eyes. She was of large frame, and might 
 have been supposed a well-advanced spinster until her 
 voice the only sure test revealed the nearness of 
 her teens. Her repose, her largeness, a way of half- 
 closing her eyes while listening, impressed Stirling 
 with a feeling that the Fraulein's little romance might 
 well be confided to this grave and gracious young 
 lady, if she offered occasion. Hilda's answer was 
 sympathetic, but her eyes were incurious. 
 
 " You may feel sure of father's interest in whatever 
 you consult him about. Will you not stay to lunch- 
 
PEACEFIELD PINES. 63 
 
 eon ? Mother will then return : she will be glad to 
 see you, and also to hear about the Minotts." 
 
 " Willingly," answered Stirling, with a smile hardly 
 comprehensible to Hilda, who little knew how long it 
 had been since her guest had really lunched or dined. 
 
 " That is well," said Hilda, " and as it is early per- 
 haps you will enjoy a stroll in our grounds." 
 
 As Hilda with her furzy russet hat, a bit of warm 
 red ribbon about her throat, led the way through an 
 aisle of pines to a grove of many-colored trees, and 
 there moved on the carpet of brown and tinted leaves, 
 Stirling recognized in her the creation of Indian Sum- 
 mer. The day folded its veil tenderly around her, 
 the leaves rustled rhythmically under her tread, a 
 serene joy overspread her face, as if her youth were 
 maternally quieted by this afterglow of summer. 
 Stirling too was content. The rude world he had 
 been mingling with was here as a fable, the past 
 was really past ; even the Fraulein's face, bathed in 
 tears, vanished out of memory under the unconscious 
 spell of this guileless Vivien of the Peacefield wood. 
 
 They had walked a quarter of a mile, conversing 
 but little, yet with a growing satisfaction in each 
 other's society, when they reached a small gate beyond 
 which was a cottage. 
 
 "If you will wait for me here," said Hilda, "I 
 would like to call on an old colored woman, an aged 
 servant whom we have to look after." 
 
 Hilda entered the cottage and Stirling strolled far- 
 ther in the park about a hundred yards, where he 
 stopped to pick blackberries from bushes that made a 
 hedge at that part of the grounds. While thus list- 
 
64 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 lessly engaged he perceived two men, suspicious char- 
 acters he thought, crouching under bushes beyond the 
 fence, near a road. They did not see him, and were 
 absorbed in their silent watch for something or some- 
 body in the direction of the cottage. Stirling felt 
 that they meant mischief, but was puzzled what to do, 
 for they were beside an apparently public road. He 
 resolved to return to the cottage where he had left 
 Miss Leigh and report what he had seen. When he 
 knocked, Hilda herself appeared, pale, trembling, her 
 eyes flashing. 
 
 " Come in, pray," she said hurriedly, then locked the 
 door behind them. 
 
 Stirling saw before him a handsome young mulatto, 
 and three women of the same race, one aged, all 
 much frightened. The man was a fugitive slave. 
 That he saw at a glance, and he knew why these men 
 were crouching under the hedge. He had seen 
 such men dragging just such a trembling runaway 
 through the streets of Warrenton, followed by a train 
 of gaping boys. He did not need, and hardly heeded, 
 Hilda's information, being already deep in the diffi- 
 culties of the case. 
 
 "This man," she said, " has escaped from his mas- 
 ter in Maryland ; he was tracked to Boston, and ran 
 from there last night, traveled all night on foot, and 
 reached here at daybreak." 
 
 " He has been tracked here," said Stirling ; " I have 
 just seen two men watching this house." 
 
 Hilda sank into a chair with horror, but recovered 
 herself when the women began to cry. 
 
 " Hush ! " she commanded ; " no noise at all ! Now 
 
PEACEFIELD PINES. 65 
 
 what can we do ? This man is under my protection 
 and must be saved." 
 
 " There is danger," said Stirling, to whom she had 
 appealed ; " the law respects no protection short of 
 Canada. For that country he must race with his 
 pursuers. Do any of you know any man in this 
 region who has ever helped a runaway ? " 
 
 The fugitive drew from his breast a bit of paper on 
 which Stirling read : " John Moor, Marble Works, 
 Cemetery, Peacefield." The man said this address 
 had been given him in Boston. The women knew 
 something of Moor ; his place was two miles distant. 
 Stirling pondered for a time. 
 
 " Miss Leigh," said he at length, " can a swift 
 conveyance be got without being brought too 
 close ? " 
 
 " The stable is half way to the house, and the dog- 
 cart is there, with a boy." 
 
 " You," said Stirling to the smaller of the women, 
 " walk quietly to the stable don't appear to hurry 
 and have the dog-cart and driver in readiness. And 
 you," addressing the larger but younger sister, " are 
 you willing to give this boy your clothes and wear his 
 for a short time ? " 
 
 The poor creature was aghast, and the mother 
 raised her hands in alarm. 
 
 " I'm willing to dress in the man's clothes," said 
 Hilda. It was now Stirling's turn to be aghast. The 
 possibility of this sublime maiden being carried off by 
 negro hunters visions of parental consternation 
 rose before him. How like his sister Gisela she now 
 looked, her languor gone, her repose that of the 
 
66 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 smooth cataract : fancy Gisela in the clutch of a slave- 
 driver ! 
 
 " No," said Stirling, " that would not do at all. 
 We must have the dark complexion. The men must 
 be deceived and follow this woman, supposing her to 
 be their man. She must run ; they will overtake her ; 
 she must not say a word but hide her face with her 
 hands and appear to cry. I will walk with this man 
 to the stable, then come back. This woman in his 
 clothes will wait till she sees me coming ; then let her 
 leave the door and hurry towards the town. I will 
 not lose sight of her, and will come up in time to save 
 her from any worry. She must not say a word." 
 
 " This fugitive must use my gown at any rate," 
 Said Hilda, " for the men who are watching saw us 
 both coming and should see us both leaving. Maria, 
 come in here with me and we will arrange things." 
 
 Hilda's dress was presently thrust through the door ; 
 the mulatto put it on and walked with Stirling to the 
 stable where a negro stable-boy was waiting with the 
 dog-cart. The fugitive being sped on his way to 
 Moor's Marble Works, with money in his pocket, 
 Stirling hastened back. As he came in sight of the 
 cottage he saw the woman in man's clothes leave the 
 door and run along a small road into the woods. He 
 hurried on, but presently saw with dismay that the 
 men had a covered buggy and swift horse for their 
 pursuit. Stricken with fear, he leaped a fence, ran 
 across a field to the wood, and there plunged along 
 the road, but he could see neither the woman nor her 
 captors. Running a hundred rods farther, he 
 mounted a small hill, and then saw, half a mile 
 
PEACEFIELD PINES. 67 
 
 beyond, one of the men opening a gate for the other 
 to drive through. Cursing his stupidity in not reflect- 
 ing that the men would never try to carry a fugitive 
 without a vehicle, Stirling was bewildered. Fortun- 
 ately a grocer's w r agon came along the road on its 
 way to town. Stirling hailed it. 
 
 " Young man," he said to the driver, " if you want to 
 earn a dollar or two, take me up and drive into 
 Peacefield like lightning." 
 
 " Get in ! " 
 
 Stirling was out of breath for a few moments, but 
 presently told the youth that some fellows were 
 carrying off a woman and must be caught. A whistle 
 of amazement and a tremendous lash on his horse 
 were the driver's comment on this strange story. No 
 word passed till the gate opening on the high-road 
 was reached. 
 
 " Where am I to take you in Peacefield ? " asked 
 the driver. 
 
 " Let me think a little." 
 
 The few moments' silence that followed was broken 
 by the young driver's pride in his horse. 
 
 " That one cut was enough, sir, don't she dash 
 splendid ? She knows sutthin's up." 
 
 " Drive to the police-station." 
 
 Stirling's instinct told true : as they came in sight of 
 the police-station he saw the buggy in front of it. 
 
 " Here is your money. You had better wait out- 
 side a little time to see if I need you again ; but don't 
 answer any questions mark, my friend, you've done 
 good service, now do me that." 
 
 In a few moments Stirling was in the office confront- 
 
68 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 ing a constable, and summoning what calmness he 
 could. 
 
 " Did some men bring a nigger here just now ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, we don't generally answer questions here 
 till we know who's asking them. Have you any 
 business with me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; two men ran off with my nigger in that 
 buggy out there." 
 
 " How am I to know that ? " 
 
 " There's my card." 
 
 The constable read " Mr. Randolph Stirling. The 
 Palms, Warrenton, Va." 
 
 " Of course," said Stirling, " if my nigger chooses to 
 leave me when I'm traveling north I can't help it, but 
 I'm not going to have him abducted by force." 
 
 " Wait a moment, Mr. Stirling, we must see about 
 this. Two men did leave a nigger here and they've 
 gone off to find the Marshal. They said this wasn't 
 their man, but he had got theirs off, and we must 
 keep him till they brought the Marshal." 
 
 " Well only let me see that nigger and you'll hear 
 all about it." 
 
 " I'm ready to do whatever's lawful, Mr. Stirling, 
 but we must wait till the Marshal comes. The negro 
 is quite comfortable in the other room, all by himself. 
 You needn't be afraid, provided he wants to go with 
 you. He hasn't spoken a word yet." 
 j'fStirling fretted a good deal about poor Maria, 
 knowing how terrified she must be. He dismissed 
 the driver who brought him, and ordered a carriage to 
 the door. Just then the two slave- 
 
PEACEFIELD PINES. 69 
 
 hunters returned with the Marshal. They preceded 
 Stirling a little into the station and he hurried after 
 them. He saw them at the end of a corridor where the 
 constable was unlocking a door. He swiftly followed 
 them into the dark room, in a corner of which 
 crouched Hilda. 
 
 Overwhelmed with amazement and fear, Stirling was 
 about to cry out, when he saw Hilda touch her lips ; 
 he was also calmed by the slightly mischievous glance 
 she cast at him. Hilda made up well as a young man, 
 but her color had been put on hastily a mixture, one 
 would say, of coffee and soot. She was aware that 
 this was her weak point, and had crouched in the 
 darkest corner, where she drew her hat over her face 
 as well as she could. 
 
 "Come now," cried one of the Marylanders, "get 
 up here, you damned " 
 
 "Stop a moment," said Stirling, placing himself in 
 front of Hilda " is this your boy ? " 
 
 " No, but he's got on our boy's clothes, I do believe, 
 and he's come a trick on us." 
 
 " Show the Marshal your documents. Let's see if 
 you've got a warrant to catch any nigger at all," said 
 Stirling, wondering what Hilda would think of his 
 swagger and vulgar dialect. 
 
 " Jim Bounce's got the papers ; he took 'em off to 
 get the warrant while Bob and me watched the house 
 where the boy went. While we was watching the feller 
 made off and we follered " 
 
 " But it isn't the fellow," said the Marshal ; " I gave 
 Mr. Bounce his warrant an hour ago, and that's not 
 the fugitive described in the papers. Come, gentle- 
 
7 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 men, we are ready to try and return your slave if you 
 get hold of him, but you'll find that hard enough with- 
 out trying to carry off somebody in his place." 
 
 "This gentleman," said the constable, pointing to 
 Stirling, " claims the negro as his property, and gave 
 me this card." 
 
 " Peacefield seems overrun with masters and slaves 
 to-day," said the Marshal, examining Stirling's card. 
 
 "My God, I do wish Jim Bounce was herej" 
 exclaimed one of the slave-hunters piteously. " It was 
 his man ; I never seen him till I see him go into that 
 house. This feller looked like him behind." 
 
 " Probably," remarked Stirling, " Mr. Bounce has 
 gone back to the house with his warrant and by this 
 time has got his own nigger. As for my boy there, I 
 sent him out to that house to wait while I transacted 
 some business with Mr. Derby Leigh ; if he found a 
 runaway nigger there, flying from a cruel master, he 
 might have swapped clothes to draw off these men. 
 Niggers will be niggers. If these men haven't been 
 so sharp as the darkies it's their lookout. But I don't 
 believe they're right. I didn't notice the boy's clothes 
 this morning, but they look about right." 
 
 " Can't we wait here till Jim Bounce comes ? " 
 whined the slave-hunter pathetically. 
 
 " These gentlemen," said Stirling, bowing politely 
 to the Marshal and the constable, " may be able to 
 accommodate you, but I have already lost more time 
 than I can well spare. If my boy Sam there wishes 
 to leave me and claim his freedom he has now a 
 chance ; I admit that, Mr. Marshal, for I brought him 
 north at my own risk ; but if, as I hope, he has found 
 
PEACEFIELD PINES. 71 
 
 me a good master, and wishes to stick by me, and see 
 his old mammy and daddy again, I trust the Marshal 
 will protect us from further annoyance and allow us 
 to go in peace." 
 
 The Marshal, impressed by Stirling's little speech 
 it was in his best Dane Hall manner bowed 
 assent. 
 
 "Well, Sam, my boy," said Stirling, " what do you 
 mean to do ? " 
 
 Hilda, shunning the gaze of the sharp-eyed Mary- 
 landers, leaped forward and knelt before Stirling, 
 grasping his hand. The Marshal was touched by such 
 affection. 
 
 " Constable, let this gentleman and his servant out 
 without interruption ! " 
 
 " Darnation seize Jim Bounce ! " cried a despairing 
 voice behind them as Stirling and Hilda hurried away 
 she holding her sleeve to her eyes as if crying, and 
 so hiding her clumsy complexion from too much light. 
 
 But the attendant constable was a connoisseur in 
 human figures, and when they reached their carriage 
 Stirling saw on that functionary's face a knowing 
 smile as he searchingly regarded Hilda's form. Hilda 
 was pushed roughly into the carriage, but the con- 
 stable was not to be deceived ; he distinctly winked 
 at Stirling. 
 
 "Young men will be young men," he whispered. 
 
 An instantaneous debate passed in Stirling's mind 
 whether he should knock the constable down or give 
 him five dollars. 
 
 "Young men know whom they can trust," he whis- 
 pered, slipping something into the official's hand. 
 
7 2 PINE A&D PALM. 
 
 " Tell the driver to go up that high road as fast as 
 possible, and he'll be well paid." 
 
 They were none too quick in getting off. The 
 rumor had reached Peacefield negro-quarter that a 
 fugitive slave was being carried off, and a score or 
 two of furious men rushed to the police-station just 
 as the carriage dashed off. But not without a black 
 face being seen in it. The mob at once pursued, 
 crying " kidnappers " ; the negro driver heard the cry, 
 and when stones crashed against his coach held back 
 his horses. Stirling thrust his head out and called to 
 the driver, " Don't be afraid ; we are leaving the kid- 
 nappers behind and saving this boy. Drive fast, 
 straight to Peacefield Pines." 
 
 At that moment a stone struck Stirling's head, and 
 he sank back into the coach. " It is nothing," he 
 said, and became insensible. The driver, who knew 
 nothing of the blow, dashed on ; he had no fear that 
 any kidnapper would wish to be taken to Derby 
 Leigh's house. The mob was left far behind. To 
 Hilda, holding the apparently lifeless man in her arms, 
 the horses moved as snails. 
 
 The Leigh household was in terrible commotion. 
 On her return home several hours before, Mrs. Leigh 
 found the colored woman from the cottage weeping 
 with terror. She was met with the wild story that her 
 daughter, dressed in man's clothes, had gone off with 
 a strange gentleman. She had to be stern with the 
 bewildered woman before she received any intelligible 
 account ; she drove to the telegraph office to call her 
 husband back by first train, then to the office of her 
 brother, Dr. Endicott. The physician, with what 
 
PEACEF1ELD PINES. 73 
 
 meager information she could give, started off in her 
 carnage, and she returned home in his brougham. 
 She found and read Judge Minott's letter of introduc- 
 tion, then went to the front gate and watched till 
 she saw a coach rapidly approaching. She felt that it 
 was coming there and swung open the gate. She 
 required all her courage after a glance into the car- 
 riage. To see her daughter, her lovely, luxuriant 
 Hilda, now sooty, blood-stained, clasping a man's 
 head, so shook her nerves that she could hardly fol- 
 low the coach. 
 
 " Bring the men," said Hilda to the servants gath- 
 ered at the door. " Coachman, this gentleman was 
 struck by a stone we shall need your help. Maria, 
 stand by the horses' heads and keep them still. 
 Emma, some brandy." 
 
 She remained seated, with Stirling in her weary 
 arms, until the gardener, coachman, and stable-boy 
 were ready to lift him into the house, where he gave 
 signs of returning consciousness. 
 
 Dr. Endicott had driven to the negro-quarter, 
 where he was told that a fugitive slave had been taken 
 to Moor's Marble Works : he drove there and learned 
 that the mulatto was far on his way. He then drove 
 to his sister's house for further inquiry, and arrived in 
 good time to attend to Stirling. He found the 
 wounded man conscious, but weak from excitement 
 and loss of blood. He could not say yet whether the 
 wound was dangerous, but bound it up carefully. He 
 then turned his attention to Hilda. She had almost 
 become her tranquil self again. Only a big bruise on 
 each arm told that ruffian hands had been upon her. 
 
74 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Dr. Endicott's conservatism suffered by sight of these 
 bruises, and when later he returned from a drive into 
 Peacefield he reported, with illicit satisfaction, that 
 the mob, distanced by Stirling's coach, had got hold 
 of the negro-hunters, who had to be locked up for 
 safety. 
 
 Mr. Derby Leigh was met at the depot by Dr. Endi- 
 cott. His apprehensions being relieved about his 
 family, he at once entered Stirling's room ; he inquired 
 where his trunk was, and whether there were any thing 
 he wished to have attended to. Stirling mentioned his 
 hotel, and then said he would like to have Miss Rose, 
 at Heman Wilder's boarding-house in Peacefield, 
 informed that the man who traveled with her from 
 Spindleton was prevented by an accident from calling, 
 but he would surely come to her and fulfill his prom- 
 ise, if he lived. Stirling's voice became very feeble, 
 and Mr. Leigh had to lean over him to catch the last 
 words. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 
 
 MR. DERBY LEIGH that evening undertook the 
 visits to the hotel and to Heman Wilder's board- 
 ing-house, and returned with a batch of what he least 
 liked mysteries. One mystery was a huge wooden 
 box of clothing, brought from the hotel after much 
 hesitation in accepting the evidence that it must be 
 Stirling's. Another mystery was the impression left 
 by his interview with Miss Rose. He had found him- 
 self conversing with a servant, and when he gave her 
 Stirling's message she was greatly agitated. " Oh, 
 sir," she exclaimed with tears, " I hope he is not much 
 hurt is he, sir, is he ? He is so good and kind ! Ah, 
 I would help him ! " Mr. Leigh was in a hurry to 
 leave, but left his address that she might call and ask 
 about her friend the next day. This Miss Rose, he 
 could not but see, was pretty and otherwise attractive; 
 there was also a certain dignity about her, servant as 
 she was, which prevented his questioning her about 
 her relations with Stirling. When he reached home, 
 this simple gentleman, who never had a secret in his 
 life, was perplexed almost to irritation. His wife and 
 daughter were alone, and fixed on him eyes so fraught 
 with questions that utterance of any particular one 
 would have been misleading. 
 
 " Well, Constance," he said, " I have seen little more 
 
76 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 than the nose of the person upstairs, but if Hilda 
 there didn't guarantee him I might have doubts of his 
 identity." 
 
 " Father ! " 
 
 " Why the man's only trunk is a big and rough box 
 an emigrant's box and the only person he has any 
 communication for is a servant girl in a Dutch board- 
 ing-house. Is that a man for Minott to introduce 
 into my family ? " 
 
 " Yes, father," said Hilda, encircling his neck with 
 an arm that ached as she did so " that is Judge 
 Minott's friend ; it's well you haven't really seen him 
 yet, for I should lose faith in your eyes. I have 
 known him a whole year in one day, and a truer gen- 
 tleman never crossed your threshold." 
 
 Mr. Leigh never appealed from a verdict sealed 
 with a kiss, but on this occasion was bold enough to 
 remark that it was curious. 
 
 " Hilda," said Mrs. Leigh, " I don't yet know just 
 what your knight has done, or whether you owe him 
 fealty of Maiden rescued from Dragon, but I would 
 like to know whether the German servant is also a 
 rescued maiden." 
 
 " Not the least doubt of it," said Hilda. " Did she 
 say when she would come, father ? " 
 
 " No ; but your uncle said when you must go to 
 bed, unless we want two invalids in the house 
 namely, at nine, and that you must not rise till he has 
 seen you. These are my parental orders. No, not 
 another word, only my kiss. Good-night, my 
 darling." 
 
 Derby Leigh's voice did not often quiver ; the ter- 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 77 
 
 rible thought that this heart on which his life rested 
 had been near to danger and harm, was almost too 
 much for him. Hilda suddenly clasped him in her 
 arms and caressed him as if he were a child. Mrs, 
 Constance took the occasion to have out the cry she 
 had been reserving for her pillow. 
 
 A servant ? Then, reflected Hilda on her way up 
 stairs, she will probably come early, soon after the 
 people have had their breakfast. She found Emma, 
 her maid, waiting in her room, and somewhat hys- 
 terical. She soothed her, and then enjoined that if 
 any body should call after the wounded gentleman, 
 that person must not leave without the name being 
 first brought to herself. This injunction was care- 
 fully repeated and Emma promised obedience. 
 
 Next morning Hilda returned to a troubled con- 
 sciousness. The pallid blood-stained face of the man 
 struck down at her side shaped itself before her wak- 
 ing senses. Her uncle had good prevision in forbid- 
 ding her to rise the next morning ; her|back was stiff 
 and both arms ached. At cost of a twinge she rang 
 her bell, which was answered by Emma. 
 
 " When uncle Endicott comes " 
 
 " He came last night, miss, to take care of the gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " Well, you may go ; but don't forget about the 
 Ger Don't forget that I want to see any one who 
 comes to ask after the gentleman." 
 
 Soon after Dr. Endicott visited Hilda, and gave her 
 permission to rise when her limbs gave theirs. 
 
 " Now, uncle, dear uncle " the half-closed eyes 
 were leveled at him " tell me the exact condition of 
 
78 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Mr. Stirling. I'm not one to worry. How bad 
 is it?" 
 
 " Well, child, the blow was about as deep as it could 
 be without fracture. He has not had a good night, 
 and worse may follow. But he is sound and strong, 
 otherwise, and if erysipelas be escaped the wound 
 will heal fast." 
 
 " Give me a kiss, uncle, and come again when I 
 send for you. And now, remember, I am an invalid, 
 and must not be crossed in anything ; will you please 
 give that order to every body about the house ? " 
 
 " Hilda, are you turning humbug after all ? " 
 
 " Uncle, from this time I am a nervous and agitated 
 invalid, and if I happen to have a whim it must be 
 respected." 
 
 Dr. Endicott went off laughing, and as he was 
 presently driving through the gate he met the Frati- 
 lein, who asked if that were Mr. Leigh's house. He 
 gave her a scrutinizing glance with his answer, and 
 drove on. Emma, who answered the Fraiilein's ring, 
 had too much unsatisfied curiosity to bear in mind her 
 mistress' instructions. 
 
 " The gentleman is hurt bad," she said ; " did you 
 see it all ? how did it happen ? " 
 
 " No," said the Fraiilein, " I do not know about it. 
 He was friendly with me. Can I see him ? " 
 
 Emma stared at her and smiled at her accent and 
 manner. 
 
 "Who is that?" called Mrs. Leigh, just passing 
 through the hall. 
 
 " A young person asking about the gentleman up 
 stairs, ma'am." 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 79 
 
 " Ah," said Mrs. Leigh, a faintest frown gathering 
 on her brow as she approached the door. " Emma, 
 you may go ; I will see this person." 
 
 " Pray, madame, will you tell me how the man is, 
 and what has happened to him ? " 
 
 " He was struck by a stone and much injured." 
 
 " Ach, lieber Gott ! " exclaimed the Fraulein, her 
 eyes brimming. 
 
 " Is he a a relation of yours ? " 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 " A friend." 
 
 " Yes, madam, my one, my true friend. Can I. see 
 him ? " 
 
 " Not now, he is too ill." 
 
 The Fraulein bid Mrs. Leigh " adieu," and turned 
 slowly away from the door. 
 
 Casually entering Hilda's room, after dismissal 
 from the front door, Emma found that young lady 
 restless. 
 
 " Has no one been here yet to inquire for Mr. Stirl- 
 ing ? How can I trust you, Emma ? " 
 
 She saw the guilt in Emma's face. The maid flew 
 down stairs, and, the Fraulein having gone, ran wildly 
 after her on the high road. She was easily overtaken, 
 for she had sat down on a wayside rock to weep. She 
 was led back to Hilda, who said : " Thank you, 
 Emma," in a forgiving tone, and added, " You need 
 not come again till I ring." 
 
 "Take a seat," said Hilda to the Fraiilem, 
 rather coldly. " I am not allowed to get out of bed 
 just now." 
 
 " Are you ill, miss ? " 
 
o PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " No, but they're afraid I will be. You can speak 
 to me in German, Fraiilein ; I will tell you if I don't 
 understand any thing." 
 
 The German looked at the lovely American on her 
 luxurious couch with wonder, while Hilda's eyes 
 closed for a moment, as if fearing they might reveal 
 her anxiety, which stirred a little by sight of the 
 attractive object of Stirling's solicitude. This was no 
 commonplace servant. 
 
 " You called to ask after Mr. Stirling," said Hilda, 
 the eyes slightly opening. 
 
 " After him that is hurt ah ! I could not sleep for 
 thinking of him in pain. I came as soon as I could. 
 Ah, miss, is it dangerous ? The last hope of my life 
 will die Oh, " the last words ended in tears. 
 
 " We all hope it is not so bad as that," said Hilda, 
 vainly trying to get kindliness into her voice by reflect- 
 ing that allowance must be made for foreigners. 
 
 " Is he a relation of yours? " asked Hilda. 
 
 "No, Miss." 
 
 "A friend?" 
 
 " My only friend." 
 
 "You know him intimately." 
 
 " How ? I know him, I feel him to be a true and 
 loving and godlike heart, however he may look on the 
 outside. One can not judge by appearances." 
 
 Hilda was so bewildered by this remark that her 
 scheme for this interview was disarranged. The out- 
 side ? She looked into Fraiilein's eyes for light on 
 the dark saying, but none was caught from their sky- 
 blue simplicity. 
 
 " He has been very good to you, then" ? 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 81 
 
 " Ah, indeed was he ! He found me without home 
 or friends ; he raised my heart out of trouble ; once 
 more I found hope." 
 
 " Where did you first meet him ? " 
 
 "In a railway station. He helped me with my 
 box and afterwards we have traveled together. Then 
 he spoke to me, oh, so sweetly ! " 
 
 The languid white face on the pillow was suffused 
 with a blush ; the long eyelashes came down this 
 time to repress something was it a flash or a tear ? 
 It was some moments before Hilda ventured to 
 speak. 
 
 " He wished us to send you word that he would 
 come to you and fulfill his promise to you if he lived." 
 
 " Ah, that is like him ! I can see him, I can hear 
 him as he said it. It is wonderful. What was there 
 in poor me that he should load me with favors ? " 
 
 Hilda considered the Fraiilein's question. There 
 could be no doubt that she was pretty, ingenuous 
 though perhaps slightly sentimental and fairly edu- 
 cated ; why might not the warm-blooded southerner, 
 mastering the scholar, be fascinated by this servant 
 girl ? But, alas for the suggestiveness of those 
 words about the meeting in the depot, " he helped me 
 with my box and afterwards we have traveled 
 together ! " If, as Hilda now feared, there had been 
 wrong, it must be some treason, and this girl was its 
 victim. She had been too cold to the poor child. 
 
 " Is he your man, miss ? " asked the Fratilein. 
 
 " My man ! " 
 
 " Has he got work here ? " 
 
 " Work? What can you mean? Keep to your 
 
82 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 German, Fraulein, I understand it better than your 
 English." 
 
 " I mean is my friend a servant on this place ? He 
 could not get work in the mills at Spindleton and was 
 trying to find some here." 
 
 Hilda was thoroughly mystified. While she reflected 
 there rose in her vision that emigrant box carried to 
 Stirling's room ; she remembered her father's passing 
 doubt about his identity. Her hero of the morning 
 was tottering on his pedestal. For the first time in 
 her life she seemed to be getting a glimpse into the 
 dark depths of man's perfidy. This was indeed the 
 gentleman whom Judge Minott had introduced in 
 glowing terms Hilda had read the letter but in 
 some way he had deceived this poor German girl ; 
 who must now be undeceived, however painful the 
 task. 
 
 " My friend," said Hilda, u come closer to me. No 
 leave that hard chair, here is one beside me. 
 There ! Now, take my hand ; I have been cold to 
 you but am not so now. You have had troubles." 
 
 u Ah, I have had troubles ; I have long been alone 
 and never expected to have a friend again, when your 
 workman took my side he fought for me, he helped 
 me with his money, he promised to to " 
 
 " To do what ? " asked Hilda eagerly, the Fraulein 
 having ended her sentence with a blush and with 
 tears. 
 
 Hilda drew a little sigh of relief. She could hardly 
 have explained why ; she was even more puzzled 
 than ever about 'the relation between this young 
 woman and Stirling, but the revelation that he had 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 83 
 
 fought for her in some emergency set the Virginian 
 somewhat straighter on his pedestal. 
 
 " We shall be good friends, shall we not ? " said she, 
 pressing the Frattlein's hand. " Tell me now all about 
 yourself and this man. He is not our workman ; we 
 have never seen him before yesterday ; he is here only 
 because he is wounded." 
 
 " So ! " exclaimed Fraulein Rose with amazement ; 
 " then you do not know ? " 
 
 At that moment Mr. Derby Leigh entered the room. 
 He did not know that the Fraulein was with Hilda, 
 but bowed politely to her. 
 
 " You darling papa," said Hilda, as he kissed her, 
 " for once in your life you've come too soon/ 1 
 
 " Then I'll go at once, but I had a secret to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Darling papa, why didn't you come sooner ? " 
 
 " Can this young lady spare you a moment ? " 
 
 " Fraulein, will you step outside a moment ? " 
 
 The girl having gone Mr. Leigh informed Hilda that, 
 it having become necessary to open Mr. Stirling's box, 
 a workman's suit was found, which he had explained 
 by saying that, in traveling to observe the working 
 classes, he had used that disguise. 
 
 " How droll ! " said Hilda. 
 
 " What sort of girl is this ? " 
 
 " A good girl. She was about to tell me her story, 
 I believe, when you came in. Do call her now, and 
 tell mamma I think still she will prove to be one of our 
 knight's rescued maidens." t 
 
 A few moments after, Hilda was listening to the 1 
 Fraiilein's romance, 
 
84 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " And this promise to you, which he said he would 
 fulfill if he lived ? " 
 
 " Ah, that : he took down the name of my Franz's 
 ship, and the time he sailed, and said he would try to 
 find him ; he promised too to try and find me some 
 work. Ah, is he not kind ? " 
 
 " He is indeed," said Hilda, turning away to laugh 
 at the comedy she had been acting with the simple 
 Fralilein. At last she turned her eyes, which merri- 
 ment had moistened, on the wondering and abashed 
 girl, and took her hand again. 
 
 " Forgive me, Fraulein, I am laughing at myself. I 
 had formed some ridiculous fancies about you and 
 this gentleman down stairs. For he is not a working- 
 man as you suppose, but was only dressed in that way 
 for a kind of of masquerade." 
 
 " Lieber Gott ! " 
 
 " Don't think he meant harm. He meant good to 
 just such people as you ; and yesterday he was wounded 
 while saving a poor slave. Don't you remember your 
 Marchen of princes going about in disguise ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I asked him if so he was." 
 
 " You have made me happier, Fraulein ; will you 
 not come again to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Indeed I will, miss," answered the pleased and 
 blushing girl. 
 
 " And do not tell any one the story you have told 
 me ; and do not talk of your friend here except to 
 me, and do not ask about him when you come again. 
 I will tell you that." 
 
 At this moment Dr. Endicott knocked and was 
 admitted. He bowed politely to Fraulein Rose, whopi 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 85 
 
 his niece introduced, then turned to his blithe pa- 
 tient. 
 
 " You seem to be a rather lively case of nervous and 
 agitated invalid, Hilda. Well, is there any thing I 
 can do, I'm just going home." 
 
 " Nothing, uncle but yes, there is. I wish you 
 would take this friend of mine to her home in Peace- 
 field in your carriage." 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " Oh no," exclaimed the Fraiilein, " I will gladly 
 walk." 
 
 " My niece must be obeyed in every thing for this 
 one day ; so I beg your company, miss," said the 
 doctor, opening the door. 
 
 Soon after Dr. Endicott had driven off with the 
 Fraiilein, to the astonishment of all, and of Emma in 
 particular, Hilda surprised her parents by rushing 
 upon them, as they were walking on the lawn, and 
 declaring herself exceptionally well. 
 
 " But you look anxious, both of yon," she said ; 
 " what is it ? " 
 
 " Well, Hilda, your father and I are considering 
 what we can do for Mr. Stirling. He may require 
 nursing. We might bring Maria from the cottage, but 
 I fear Lucy could not take care of her mother, by 
 herself." 
 
 u Mamma," said Hilda merrily, " do Rescued Maid- 
 ens give up their wounded Knights in that way ? That 
 German girl, about whom we have been mystified, is 
 Mr. Stirling's acquaintance of two hours ; he defended 
 her from insult, helped her in trouble, promised to try 
 ancl find her work, an(J to try and find some trace of 
 
86 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 her lover. The poor child has followed some despair- 
 ing youth all the way from Germany without knowing 
 where he is a veritable bride asking for her beloved ! " 
 
 " Well, that is odd," exclaimed Mr. Leigh. 
 
 " Hilda, for once I believe you're romancing," said 
 her mother. 
 
 " Not a bit, mamma. Now she and I are )^our res- 
 cued maidens : she must remain here ; Emma is to 
 be married next week and this Fraulein is the very 
 person I want. The gardener may watch with Mr. 
 Stirling at night, but if woman's help is needed Frau- 
 lein and I " 
 
 " Hilda, do be serious ! " 
 
 " Child, you've taken laughing-gas ! " 
 
 There were other parental exclamations, to which 
 Hilda listened with the sweet submissiveness of one 
 sure to have her way. 
 
 The next day Fraulein Rose, as she was preparing 
 to walk to the Leighs' house, found their carriage at 
 Heman Wilder's door. In obedience to a letter that 
 came with it she prepared her trunk, was driven to the 
 mansion, and installed in a pleasant room there. She 
 moved through it all with a sort of dazed happi- 
 ness. 
 
 "My mother," she said to Hilda, " would sometimes 
 call me her Dornroschen, and she must right be. I 
 am favored by fairies and tooken out from the briers." 
 
 Stirling thus seemed in a fair way to become, for a 
 second time, an interesting object of maidenly care ; 
 but, unfortunately for the pathos of such situation, 
 Dr. Endicott interfered the very next day. 
 
 "I know it's cruel news, my dear Hilda," he said 
 
A MORROW OF MYSTERIES. 87 
 
 sadly, " but nothing can save this youth from getting 
 well almost immediately." 
 
 " Uncle ! " 
 
 " Why, what young fellow wouldn't keep his broken 
 head to be a hero nursed by tender damozel ? " 
 
 " Incorrigible bachelor ! " 
 
 " But it can not be helped, the poor fellow is already 
 well enough to go home with me ; for it is I that must 
 tend his wound." 
 
 And so the wounded knight came down in casque 
 of white bandages, and was driven off by the officious 
 physician. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 
 
 ABOUT the time when his friend reached Peace- 
 field, Wentworth for the first time touched the 
 " sacred soil " of Virginia. The first house he entered 
 there was not, however, especially sacred; it was the 
 human shamble of Messrs. Gephart & Co., in a town 
 not far from the District of Columbia. The Boston- 
 ian had stored up all his cynicism for this visit, and 
 presented a blast front to the slavedealer's keen eyes. 
 
 " Is it cash ? " asked Gephart. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You only want a man ? We've a nice lot to-mor- 
 row, man and wife." 
 
 " I can't wait. I'm not sure about wanting more 
 than the man." 
 
 " Well, I'll show you what we've got." 
 
 Wentworth followed the dealer through several 
 groups, and at length fixed his eye on a handsome 
 defiant face, one of five in a room through which 
 Gephart was hurrying. 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Wentworth, " let's look at 
 these." 
 
 " These are for far south." 
 
 " You mean they are sold ? " 
 
FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 89 
 
 " Not yet, but they must be sold on condition of 
 going down south." 
 
 Why ? " 
 
 " One thing and another. That yeller gal's got to 
 go because some youngster's taken a fancy to her. 
 The Missis won't 'low her nigher'n Louisiana. Rest 
 got into trouble, mostly thieving, and let off on con- 
 dition of being sent to the plantations." 
 
 " What of this young man ? " 
 
 " Wust o' the set. Kep' the whole neighborhood 
 in terror with his devilry, and at last burned down a 
 barn jes for a fourth o' July bonfire. Would 'a' been 
 hung if his master hadn't promised to sell him to the 
 plantations. You're not after cotton hands, sir?" 
 
 " Is that man married ? " 
 
 " Wesley, are you married ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the barn-burner, curtly. 
 
 " Where's your wife ? " 
 
 " Don* know. Ain't seen her this two year." 
 
 After one or two other lots had been inspected 
 Wentworth and Gephart returned to the counting- 
 room. 
 
 " Seen any thing you like, sir ? " 
 
 " I suppose that fellow who burned the barn can't 
 be trusted ? " 
 
 " Well, you see, that don't matter on the plantation; 
 not much chance for mischief there." 
 
 '* Cheap lot that, of course ? " 
 
 " Nat'rally ; bad character, forced sale, strict con- 
 ditions; anybody making oath to take him to a cotton 
 state can get him for five hundred." 
 
 " I'll take him." 
 
90 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " I didn't understand you was going that way. 
 What state, sir ? " 
 
 " South Carolina." 
 
 " When do you start ? " 
 
 " Day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Where's he to be delivered ? " 
 
 " Can I take him now ? " 
 
 " There's papers to be made out." 
 
 " I'm at Willard's in Washington." 
 
 " Can't send him there; he must go from here straight 
 south." 
 
 " I shall be on the Acquia boat day after to-morrow." 
 
 " If you don't mind adding five dollars he shall be 
 at the Acquia Landing when you get there." 
 
 "All right. Papers must be sent to Willard's 
 to-morrow morning, showing clean title ; the money 
 shall be exchanged for the man next day at Acquia, 
 with signed oath to take him to South Carolina, and 
 through tickets shown to that state." 
 
 " Tied," said Gephart. 
 
 4< Oh, you needn't tie him." 
 
 " Perhaps our talk up here isn't plain to Carolina 
 gentlemen; it's our bargain that's tied, sir." \ 
 
 " Ah yes, of course," said Wentworth, blushing at 
 his slowness. " I thought you might think it neces- 
 sary to tie such a dangerous character. Can I seethe 
 rascal alone a moment ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Jes walk in the yard; I'll send him." 
 
 Wentworth strolled into the yard, which was 
 inclosed with high walls, and waited beneath a tree at 
 the farthest corner until he was approached by Wesley 
 Hampton. Intelligence and insolence mingled in the 
 
FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 9 1 
 
 handsome face, whose complexion was that sometimes 
 called " saddle-colored." He confronted Wentworth 
 with a reckless look that speedily vanished. 
 
 " My man," said Wentworth, with a gentleness that 
 made the negro start and tremble, " I have bought 
 you, and you know the conditions; you must be taken 
 South." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, now, listen to what I am about to say, do not 
 forget a word of it, and do not show any excitement. 
 You will travel with me day after to-morrow, and I 
 may not have a chance to talk with you privately till 
 we get to Richmond. But however I may treat you 
 at Acquia, or on the way, from the time you belong 
 to me you are a free man. Don't speak of it, don't 
 look it, let nobody suspect it ; be perfectly quiet and 
 act like an obedient servant. I am your friend, and 
 you shall be free, but I shall want your help too. 
 Now remember, be careful ! " 
 
 " O master ! O Lord ! " gasped the negro. 
 
 " Keep quiet look sullen don't let those negroes 
 know a whisper of what I say. Be dumb except when 
 alone with me. Mark you, man, a blunder may cost 
 your liberty. Don't thank me. Now's your chance 
 to show your sense ; look as stupid as you can and as 
 sorry and sullen as you can. Now we'll go in." 
 
 " Just a moment, sir," said the man, turning his eyes 
 to the northern horizon, and wiping with his sleeves 
 the drops of sweat that started out on his forehead. 
 
 " By the way," said Wentworth," " you said you had 
 a wife; where is she ? " 
 
 u Gone where I've been trying to follow her to 
 
9 2 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Georgia. She belonged to Mr. Bullen and when he 
 died two years ago all the niggers was sold. She was 
 sold to Georgia. Niggers from here mostly go there, 
 sir. That place couldn't be worse than where I was, 
 and I wanted to go there too. Easiest way to go 
 there was to kill somebody they don't hang only 
 free niggers but I hadn't it in me to more than fire 
 a house." 
 
 " Well, Wesley, we shall visit that region, and if 
 you know where she is " 
 
 " I know exactly " 
 
 " We may be able to help each other a good deal. 
 But we must be good actors. Now down with your 
 face, and go in ! " 
 
 A week later Wentworth and his smartly-dressed 
 servant sailed from Charleston to seek a coast island 
 famous for its variety of cotton, a considerable order 
 for which had been intrusted to him, through the 
 influence of a friend, by a New England firm. He 
 would thus not be without excuse for his presence on 
 plantations, should any be required. The little 
 steamer that plied as far as Leroy Island had place 
 also for his horse and buggy, purchased in Charleston. 
 It was under a beautiful dawn that the two men 
 landed and immediately set forth for the planter's 
 residence. The roads were heavy, but Wentworth 
 was beguiled by the rich vegetation, the forest aisles 
 and arches, the vast ferns, the birds of brilliant plum- 
 age. Gradually, however, the sparseness of human 
 life and the silence became oppressive, and then 
 Wentworth forgot both the beauty and the solitude in 
 listening to the story of Wesley Hampton's life. This 
 
FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 93 
 
 man, who had been surreptitiously given some educa- 
 tion by a pious old mistress, did not fail to recall the 
 kindly hearts that had sometimes mitigated the 
 rigors of servitude, and confessed that he would not 
 care for liberty if he had a kind owner and felt secure 
 against being parted from his wife. 
 
 At length Wesley drove up to the door of Leroy 
 House. The long veranda of the white mansion, 
 adorned with lemon-trees and oleanders, the flower- 
 beds on the lawn attesting tender care, had already in 
 a way introduced the mistress of the house before 
 she appeared. Mrs. Leroy met Wentworth affably 
 and said she had sent his card to her husband, who 
 would soon return. She smiled pleasantly while he 
 was apologizing for his intrusion and regretting that 
 Mr. Leroy should be disturbed. Meanwhile fruit and 
 wine were brought ; and while he was enjoying this 
 refreshment the planter arrived. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, sir, and hope you will 
 feel yourself at home." 
 
 The man who with these words grasped Wentworth's 
 hand was about forty years of age, but with a more 
 youthful look in his dark eyes and rosy cheeks. 
 When Wentworth apologized and declared he had no 
 business of sufficient importance to call the planter 
 from his affairs, Leroy interrupted him merrily. 
 
 " You are welcome without any business at all. 
 Any gentleman who comes all the way out of the 
 world to visit our little nook needn't apologize. 
 There are the children now, peeping at you as an 
 interesting novelty Sumter, Eva, come in ! " 
 
 The boy scampered off, but a little dame of some 
 
94 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 nine summers entered, nestled about her father, and 
 beamed welcome on the stranger. Wentworth found 
 every thing assumed for him. As he had not been 
 asked whether he would have food, he was not allowed 
 to say whether he would remain : he was simply shown 
 to his room, and told that dinner was at half 
 past two. When he presently descended he was 
 received with -friendly interest by two pretty young 
 ladies somewhere between seventeen and twenty 
 years of age and " all this time," he reflected, " hot 
 one of them knows who I am, why I am here, or that 
 I am not a rogue." 
 
 After dinner Wentworth was asked whether he 
 would drive out, or walk, or sleep in a hammock, or 
 play graces, or do nothing at all. He selected the 
 walk and was guided by Mr. Leroy, his wife, and the 
 two elder daughters Fanny and Bertha through 
 a glade with archways of flowering trees to a 
 rivulet flowing amid palmettos. The air was warm, 
 the young ladies wore light white raiment and wide 
 straw hats, and the Bostonian was charmed away from 
 his misgivings about his right to all this cor- 
 diality. Supper was ready soon after their return. 
 Wentworth was warmed into a new kind of happiness 
 by this unexpected hospitality ; he talked like an old 
 friend of the family, told his best stories, and resolved 
 that he would never withhold any fact about himself 
 from such confiding people. Now and then, however, 
 he became grave and reflected whether a perfectly 
 frank word on his part might not turn these bright 
 faces pale, and transform his trustful host into an 
 enemy. A little time afterward, when Mr. Leroy and 
 
FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 95 
 
 Wentworth were smoking together on the veranda, 
 the first step toward a confession was taken. 
 
 " Mr. Leroy, I have heard of southern hospitality, 
 but yours is more than I could dream of any one 
 extending to a stranger." 
 
 " I know a gentleman when I meet him, Mr. Went- 
 worth, and while he is under my roof all that I have 
 is his." 
 
 " But you have not inquired who I am or why I am 
 here ? " 
 
 " Well, you have come a long way to see me ; the 
 first ^thing after a journey is rest, and the making of 
 acquaintance ; when the time comes for any business 
 you may have with us, I shall be at your service. It 
 happens to be my inclination and I may be a sharper 
 fellow than you think to let you say as much or as 
 little about yourself as you like till I have occasion to 
 ask more." 
 
 " I am grateful to you and your family for this con- 
 fidence and kindness. Now I wish to say this much 
 about myself. I am from Boston. The dearest friend 
 1 have is a Virginian ; we have been for some years 
 classmates at college ; he and his friends have given 
 me letters of introduction to gentlemen in various 
 parts of the South ; I am traveling that I may learn 
 more of this region, the people, and especially more of 
 the system of slavery. In coming to this plantation I 
 did not count on being a guest in any private house : 
 my buggy is loaded with provisions, and even a tent. 
 I meant to buy a lot of cotton for a New England 
 firm, ask to be shown over the estate, learn as much 
 as planter or overseer chose to tell me about the 
 
9 6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 hands and their work, pay my way, and travel on 
 elsewhere." 
 
 " A very fair purpose, Mr. Wentworth ! As for the 
 cotton, you will have to deal with our warehouses in 
 Charleston. For the rest, I fear you'll find little to 
 repay your journey, but you have the freedom of my 
 estate and of the cabins. You are welcome to all the 
 information we can give you. I don't expect you to 
 fall in love with our institutions, but the more facts 
 you gentlemen of the North have about us the better. 
 We didn't make the world, and take it as we find it. 
 On this plantation, where my father and my grand- 
 father dwelt before me, there are some seven hundred 
 men and women, white and black, all hard at work 
 making their living and making it as they must. We 
 are all alike servants of a necessity. There is not an 
 idle one among us, not even one of my daughters in 
 there." 
 
 " I have said my best friend is a Virginian ; now I 
 may say the most generous treatment I ever received 
 is from a Carolinian. It is worth many journeys only 
 to have this conversation with you." 
 
 " Handsomely said, sir : it would surely be better 
 for the country if northern and southern gentlemen 
 could exchange ideas instead of affronts." 
 
 The notes of a guitar flitted out on the soft 
 evening air. The two elder sisters sang together a 
 Spanish song, which blended with murmurs of the 
 trees, and the light of an evening star that almost cast 
 shadows. And this was a cotton-plantation ! Went- 
 worth glanced in at the window on the tableau of fair 
 and happy faces, and remembered the words of the 
 
FROM THE SHAMBLE TO LEROYLAND. 97 
 
 man whose body and soul he had bought " If I 
 
 could only feel secure against being parted from my 
 wife ! " Fancy an auction-block set beside that 
 happy group, and a cold-blooded stranger putting up 
 that lovely lady, those daughters, to the highest bid- 
 der ! < Here, gentlemen, is a first-rate lot. Stir your- 
 self, girl, and show the gentlemen how you can play 
 the guitar ! ' Wentworth shuddered at the thought, 
 and it flitted away among the bats. 
 
 When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies there was 
 more music, which was suspended during a visit from 
 the Baptist preacher. A good phlegmatic sort of man, 
 apparently, was this Mr. Haswell, who had the chief 
 care of souls on the plantation. He now came to 
 make some usual reports. Old Nancy was dead at last. 
 They say Old Joe was seen near the house last night 
 that superstition continues. " Aunt Nancy died this 
 afternoon ; she sent her love to you all especially 
 Miss Fanny, with thanks for the preserves, and hopes 
 she will give her heart to the Lord." (The sisters 
 droop their heads : Fanny drops a tear as she says 
 " poor Aunt Nancy.") Blind Peter was rather better, 
 and Dr. Burrows believes he will last the winter ; 
 "the old man talked a good deal about you, Miss 
 Bertha your visit cheered him up. Old Adelaide 
 hopes you'll come again ; she's had a blessed vision, 
 since you sang her that hymn, which she mustn't 
 tell to any body but you." The minister continued 
 these reports for some time, little knowing how deeply 
 they interested the stranger present. 
 
 " How many are to be baptized Sunday, Mr, Has- 
 weil ? " asked Leroy. 
 
98 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Yours and Scott's together, there'll be thirty 
 gathered in. Scott's Virginia man, Charles, who killed 
 your hand Humphrey, has been converted and will be 
 baptized Sunday. There's great rejoicing over him. 
 Jane's to be baptized at the same time. I think they'll 
 be married before long." 
 
 "Won't you spend the night, Mr. Has well ?" said 
 Mrs. Leroy, as the preacher took up his hat. 
 
 " No, thank you. I must call on Petty a moment 
 to-night, and start for Scott's early. Is there any 
 thing you've got to suggest about next Sunday's 
 sermon, Mr. Leroy ? " 
 
 " I believe not. Old Nancy, as you know, was a 
 faithful servant. Fanny, is there any thing you wish 
 said ? " 
 
 " Only this she was always glad to hear the new 
 hymn Cousin Lucy sent me, ' Nearer, my God, to 
 Thee.' Mr. Haswell knows it." 
 
 " I've heard you and Miss Bertha sing it, but I 
 don't remember all the words. Could you send them 
 to me ? " 
 
 " I'll send them to-morrow." 
 
 " Daughters, why not sing them on Sunday ? " said 
 Leroy. 
 
 " That indeed would be a help," said the preacher. 
 
 The young ladies having consented, the preacher 
 left, and soon after the family retired. Wentworth 
 lay Bwake with his thoughts for some time, then sank 
 to sleep, and to a dream of moving over a blue sea 
 with Stirling. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A CAROLINIAN PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 
 
 T7ARLY the next morning, while Wentworth lay 
 L/ contemplating his pretty room, its snow-white 
 drapings, its brass-mounted mahogany furniture, dark 
 with age his man Wesley brought his boots and a 
 whisk for his clothes. 
 
 " Good-morning, Wesley ; have you had a good 
 rest ? " 
 
 " Perfect, sir, thank you, and hope the same of 
 you, master." 
 
 " Yes, I slept well. I suppose your new acquaint- 
 ances have a good deal to say about this place and the 
 family ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Mr. Leroy and his family are famous 
 among colored people a hundred miles round as the 
 best people in the country to their servants. Every 
 hand wants Mr. Leroy for a master." 
 
 " Did they ask you about yourself and me ? " 
 
 " They were curious, sir, but I remember what you 
 told me ; I only let them know I came from a hard 
 master to a good one." 
 
 " They all like the Leroys, then ? " 
 
 " The only fault they find in them is that they ain't 
 saved." 
 
 " Aren't saved ! " 
 
 "Mr. Leroy don't go to meetin', sir, 'less it's a 
 
ioo PINE AND PALM. 
 
 funeral, and won't join any church. Every month 
 the 'piscopal parson comes round and preaches in the 
 neighborhood ; the family go to hear him ; but most 
 colored folks don't look on that as any religion at all. 
 The parson stays here when he's in the neighbor- 
 hood, and plays cards with them, and they all dance. 
 That's why they say the family ain't saved. No fault 
 found with them but that." 
 
 " Well, AYesley, they are ' saved ' enough for me 
 if they treat their servants well." 
 
 " You are right there, sir. Even the overseers here 
 are good 'cept one." 
 
 Breakfast an overwhelming breakfast was 
 through by eight. There was rejoicing at the arrival 
 of St. George, eldest of the Leroy offspring and near- 
 ing his majority, who had been sent on a responsible 
 expedition to a remote part of Georgia to superintend 
 the transfer of some negroes consigned by a law-suit 
 to the Leroy estate. The youth was good-looking, 
 sun-tanned, full of animal spirits, and proud of having 
 acquitted himself successfully in this important trust. 
 Wentworth read in St. George's eye a suspicion that 
 he was after one of his sisters. When he was intro- 
 duced as "a gentleman from Boston," that theory dis- 
 solved into the supposition that the guest was a 
 Yankee manufacturer come for bargains. St. George 
 was transparent as a rivulet, and happily his babble 
 was rather melodious. 
 
 "You must not consider it necessary to rise so 
 early, Mr. Wentworth," said Mrs. Leroy. " We have 
 to be early people, but you can always get some 
 breakfast later." 
 
PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 
 
 " Thank you for the \indtilgeace, >but vl 
 been lately used to college hours and desire 
 to make the most of my time. I find my north- 
 ern notions about you southerners at fault ; you 
 are supposed to rise late, spend your time in ham- 
 mocks, or sipping juleps and sherbets, while 
 watching negroes at work ; but I find you stirring 
 with the early birds. I fear Boston aristocracy is at 
 this moment in deshabille/' 
 
 Wentworth's frankness made an agreeable impres- 
 sion ; the ladies turned on St. George glances that 
 said plainly you see he is a manly fellow, comes out 
 with what he thinks : we like him, and so must 
 you. 
 
 After breakfast a bell was sounded through the house 
 and grounds by a small negro lad, who magnified his 
 office ; some thirty servants, Wesley among them, 
 filed into the room and occupied seats along the wall. 
 Leroy read a psalm from the family Bible ; the sisters 
 sang a hymn in which St. George joined, but not the 
 negroes, one or two of the women, however, swaying 
 to and fro with the music, their eyes closed. Then all 
 kneeled, and the planter, with reverential voice, read 
 a prayer. 
 
 Horses for Leroy and his guest were ready at the 
 door, and they were soon on their way to the fields 
 devoted to upland cotton. From a hill-top Wentworth 
 presently looked for the first time on the white wonder 
 of plains whose plants, bending and rising under the 
 wind, made a creamy sea, in which there were forms 
 that looked in the distance like sportive bathers. The 
 scene was strangely beautiful, The bolls were all 
 
PINE -AND PALM. 
 
 , there .vya? ,iiq effect of snow on the land- 
 scape, for a tint as if left by a golden dawn toned the 
 expanse to a character of its own. When an intervening 
 quarter of a mile was passed, Wentworth listened for 
 some voices from that soft foam, but heard none ; the 
 sportive bathers had turned to silent negroes picking 
 bolls and bearing them in baskets. They were pictur- 
 esque, the men in shining straw hats and white or 
 blue shirts, the women in white gowns, and some with 
 gay bandana head-dresses. Beneath this sky, amid 
 these fields, they were aesthetically in the right place ; 
 their dark faces and natural movements were har- 
 monious with the animation of the scene. But their 
 silence was oppressive. Only one voice Wentworth 
 heard as he presently walked along the rows, an old 
 woman's voice crooning a funeral hymn, with long 
 spaces of silence. This was the solitary note that 
 reached him from the scene that appeared so gay in 
 the distance. 
 
 An overseer moved about vigilantly, but bore no 
 whip or visible weapon. Long before Darwin was 
 heard of, natural selection on southern plantations 
 had evolved the rebellious out of existence, and pre- 
 served the submissive. One man, unarmed, could 
 command these hundreds. But he could not make 
 them laugh or sing. 
 
 After the rest of the morning had been passed 
 in examining the steam-gins, Leroy proposed that 
 they should return home ; at which his guest's regret 
 was evident. 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Wentworth, you are not under neces- 
 sity of hurrying your observations ; it takes a little 
 
PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 103 
 
 time to show even what little we have in this monot- 
 onous region." 
 
 "It is not monotonous, I am much interested, 
 but I must soon start on my further travels." 
 
 " If you must go I must speed the parting guest ; 
 but I should do so with uncommon regret. I think you 
 would make a mistake in rushing through what you 
 have come so far to see." 
 
 " I am very grateful to you and Mrs. Leroy " 
 
 " Are you ? " interrupted Leroy laughing, " Then 
 show it. Mrs, Leroy and the girls are planning a little 
 something-or-other which your leaving would upset." 
 
 But" 
 
 " Ah, confess, there's no necessity in the case, only 
 politeness. You do not wish to press on our hospi- 
 tality. But consider the other side : may I not desire 
 to know New England as much as you the South ? 
 Is it fair to see our ways, then run off before I have 
 begun to explore yours ? No, sir you will find me 
 shrewd as a Yankee, and not be released so easily." 
 
 " You southerners are a race of lawyers. I accept 
 your hospitality and stay till Monday." 
 
 " Sufficient unto Monday is the evil thereof. For 
 the present I must reflect that I am under promise to 
 give my Lily a ride home, and to be in good time for 
 dinner. Mammy that's cook has a haunch of ven- 
 ison in hand, and if it has to wait she becomes a 
 whole negro insurrection in herself." 
 
 In such merry mood Leroy galloped with his guest 
 to a cabin in a grove the school-house as he 
 explained where the children of several families were 
 taught by Miss Stringfield, the parson's sister ; she was 
 
104 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 originally employed by the Leroys for their own chil- 
 dren alone, and lived with them, though absent the 
 last night. There was no lack of voice among these 
 little laborers ; the cabin was humming like a hive ; 
 but it grew still with excitement when the two gen- 
 tlemen entered. Miss Stringfield, a tall handsome 
 lady of some two and twenty years, received them 
 graciously. The children sang one English glee for 
 them : after which Leroy asked for a recitation, 
 declaring that the teacher was accomplished in 
 that way, and particularly successful in training ora- 
 tors. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Leroy," said the blushing mistress, " you 
 always make a swan out of your goose." 
 
 "But I never make goose out of swan, Lotty. 
 Come, bring us out an orator which shall she, or he, 
 be?" 
 
 " Sumter would have a right to be jealous if I didn't 
 choose him, for he spoke l Marion's Men ' well on 
 Wednesday." 
 
 " Let's have it, sonny." 
 
 The boy came forward cynosure of eyes glistening 
 with his reflected glory and took his stand on the 
 neatly-decorated platform. He was nervous at first ; 
 when he came to " The British soldier trembles," the 
 Briton's agitation got into Sumter's voice ; but he 
 soon righted himself and went on bravely to the end, 
 receiving due applause.. 
 
 " A noble poem," said Leroy. 
 
 " And nobly recited, here in Marion's land by 
 one bearing his gaHant comrade's name too," said 
 Wentworth. 
 
PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 105 
 
 " I wonder how it is the South does not produce 
 poets to sing her own deeds ? " said Leroy. 
 
 " Perhaps such are growing in this room," said 
 Wentworth. 
 
 " We may have the Marions, but hardly the 
 Bryants," said Miss Stringfield. 
 
 " May I take Lily ? " said Leroy. 
 
 " Certainly Lily get your hat." 
 
 u It will be your turn next time, Eva," said Leroy 
 to another little one, who looked rather grave. 
 
 " If you can carry Miss Lily, surely I can take Miss 
 Eva," said Wentworth. 
 
 Blankets were laid behind each saddle, the chil- 
 dren sat like Amazons ; and when Wentworth, who 
 had never known much home life, felt the little arm 
 clinging to him, another was added to the silken 
 threads which the sunny South was beginning to 
 weave about him. The horses were gentle pacers, 
 the day was charming, and they took a circuitous 
 route in order to give the children a longer ride. 
 
 A drive in the afternoon with Mrs. Leroy to visit 
 some of her pensioners ; listening to their dreams and 
 lore and patois ; a lesson on his return in the play of 
 graces ; a tale told the children ; made time pass 
 swiftly for the guest. In the evening, while the three 
 gentlemen were smoking on the veranda, bursts of 
 merriment from within broke on their ears. 
 
 " Lotty Stringfield," explained St. George ; " I sup- 
 pose she's telling them a yarn about her visit to the 
 Barnwells last night. There never was such a woman 
 for yarns. I do believe if Lotty had only seen a 
 watling fence there she'd have the girls crying or 
 
lc6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 laughing about it. She's a one-er, is Lotty. Just 
 look, sir ! " 
 
 Wentworth glanced in at the window that opened 
 on the veranda, and saw Miss Stringfield, buttressed 
 by Eva and Lily, the rest massed in semi-circle around 
 her. It was a pretty picture ; the teacher in that 
 frame of young faces, all in the mellow candlelight, 
 was of unique beauty. St. George threw away his 
 freshly-lighted cigar and went to join them. 
 
 " Between you and me," said Leroy with a laugh, 
 " I sometimes think that boy of mine is half in love 
 with the parson's sister." 
 
 " Judging by her looks his taste were not bad." 
 
 " But she's two years older." 
 
 " That does seem a little too much." 
 
 " Too much ! I should say so." 
 
 " Still, if that's the only thing against her, he might 
 do worse." 
 
 " I must say, that's the only thing. She has not 
 much money, but she has what money can't buy, good 
 sense and heart. She is educated ; she comes of 
 good family the Stringfields of Virginia. But surely 
 only infatuation would make a youth marry a woman 
 older than himself." 
 
 " In some of the happiest marriages I have known 
 the disparity of years was on the lady's side. It might 
 not do for all, perhaps not for St. George, but there 
 are men who might be all the better for a sort of 
 maternal as well as wifely influence." 
 
 " An ingenious paradox ! " said Leroy laughing. 
 " I fear it would hardly be safe in this region, where 
 girls mature so early." 
 
PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 107 
 
 " Perhaps Virginians may not resemble Carolinians 
 in that." 
 
 " Possibly. Miss Stringfield's mother was a Balti- 
 more beauty, and she was educated there." 
 
 " That is the city called Beautiful, so far as its 
 women are concerned." 
 
 Next day Leroy took his guest to a remote part of 
 the plantation where his best Sea Island cotton was 
 produced. The border of this tract was swampy, and 
 at one place so disagreeable was the toil that it was 
 reserved for evil-doers " Not a hell," Leroy said, 
 " but a sort of purgatory." Rice and a few other 
 things were produced there for use on the estate. 
 It was on the edge of a savannah hedged with jungle, 
 in which grew enormous fungi and other rank growths. 
 
 " A negro's eyes are remarkable," said Leroy ; " one 
 of his eyes is a magnifier, the other a multiplier. One 
 snake becomes a thousand vipers, and presently an 
 army of dragons. Slimy imps lurk about here, and 
 ghosts especially about a certain old graveyard half- 
 adopted by the swamp. Thus the poor fellows make 
 their own purgatory." 
 
 " What are their chief offenses ? " 
 
 " Lying of course is habitual with every slave ; it 
 is his natural defensive shell under which he draws 
 up like a tortoise. Drunkenness is their chloroform for 
 all troubles. Then they are very jealous. A pretty 
 girl on a plantation is as dangerous a creature as 
 Helen of Troy. The rivals become panthers when 
 they fight." 
 
 u And the punishments ? " 
 
 " The discipline is developed out of the conditions 
 
loS PINE AND PALM. 
 
 of each plantation. The punishments are subsidiary 
 to the one great end the best average crop. An 
 overseer indulging persona Ivengeance is discharged ; 
 it would tell on the crop. A hand disabled for one 
 day means two hundred and fifty pounds of cotton 
 disabled. The regulation is hurt sometimes but 
 never harm. There are disagreeable kinds of work 
 for the refractory." 
 
 " But in the case of crimes ? " 
 
 " The law is merciful to a homicide worth a thousand 
 dollars. Imprisonment is more costly to master than 
 slave. Why sentence him to hard labor when he has 
 it already ? Slaves can not be punished like free men. 
 Courts compound their felonies. There are negroes 
 in all these states who would have been hung long 
 ago had they been free. Fortunately the negro is 
 rarely a daring criminal, for he is the man least 
 restrained by law." 
 
 " In the cabins which they visited Wentworth rec- 
 ognized many indications of the good will with which 
 Leroy was regarded by his subjects. He already 
 realized that he was on the estate of an exceptional 
 man. The slave system could not be studied in all 
 its actualities on this plantation : here were the lights, 
 but he must seek elsewhere for the shades. 
 
 But the thought of leaving the Leroys saddened 
 Wentworth. In this sunny land confidence between 
 him and them had been a quick growth. There was 
 already friendship between him and Leroy. This 
 island to which he had drifted was so environed with 
 beauty of strange and alluring kind, so full of antique 
 charm, that old romances as if Ponce, and Prester 
 
PROSPERO AND HIS ISLANDERS. 109 
 
 John were made real. Or had he not found the Isle 
 of Prospero and Miranda, and 
 
 " Caliban," bluntly asked his northern conscience. 
 " Oh yes out with it ! Caliban is Prospero Leroy's 
 long-heeled, thick-lipped slave, for whom you were 
 just now pleading at Cambridge. How brutal beside 
 the planter's pretty masque ! " 
 
 Whereto his Minott-Stirling conscience answered, 
 that he had engaged his abolition-conscience to 
 remain for a time in judicial suspense. There is 
 always something provincial about a man's conscience 
 even a Boston conscience. What would his friends 
 there say if they heard he had bought a slave and was 
 the guest of a planter ? They would say much that 
 wouldn't be true as you, Mr. Wentworth, may have 
 been saying much that isn't true about such men as 
 Leroy ! 
 
 Thoughts like these were vaguely haunting Went- 
 worth as he lay on the grass while Leroy was convers- 
 ing with the overseer. He had heard from Wesley 
 Hampton that one overseer was an object of negro 
 dislike. The retributive overseer, probably this 
 man Corbin by name might have horn and hoof in 
 the slave's eye ; but to Wentworth his wooden per- 
 functory look and manner, however disagreeable, were 
 only a human-like part of the swamp and its condi- 
 tions. The unruly might keep away from him and 
 them if they chose. The man wouldn't be so bad, he 
 thought, if one were sure that he had offset in cor- 
 responding forces, vigilant to allure the negro to the 
 right and happy way as he was to enforce conse- 
 quences of the reverse. 
 
HO PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Just then came dashing up on horseback the three 
 young ladies and St. George. Their healthy faces 
 and clear eyes appeared to Wentworth as if summoned 
 by his thought. What civilizing capacities lay in those 
 maidens ! What if they were watching over the rude 
 minds around them as jealously as yon machine-like 
 overseer watches that the average yield of his slimy 
 savannah shall be secured ! 
 
 They all rode home together St. George and Miss 
 Stringfield indulging in a race, the victory being gal- 
 lantly surrendered to the lady, but the prize passing 
 to him in her heightened beauty. 
 
 " Ah, poor Saint," said she, " the next time we'll try 
 who can come in last then you'll be sure to win." 
 
 " No, Lotty, the next time I'll ride Black Bess, and 
 you'll be nowhere. I gave you Bob, and took Samson 
 who's five hundred years if he's a day and that's 
 the thanks I get. But laugh on ! " 
 
 When the house was reached Miss Stringfield leaped 
 from her horse without waiting for assistance ; but the 
 excited animal gave a start, her foot missed the block, 
 and St. George sprang forward barely in time to save 
 her from falling under the horse's feet. She limped 
 as she entered the house, but was laughing at the 
 alarm of the youth on whose arm she leaned. 
 
 " She's broken her leg," he called out, pale with 
 fear. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Charlotte, lightly. 
 
 " Probably a sprain," said Mrs. Leroy, anxiously. 
 
 Charlotte was laid on the sofa and surrounded 
 by the entire family. Mrs. Leroy discovered 
 that the arnica was gone, and was about to 
 
PROSPERO AND ftfS '&Q-tfl>&&$. ill 
 
 Send for some, when Wentworth appeared with a 
 leather box, from which he drew a bottle of the needed 
 lotion. The children glanced curiously at this box, 
 and it presently divided attention with Charlotte ; out 
 of it he drew scissors, needles, spools, corkscrew, 
 knife, lenses, nut-cracker, twine, and a dozen other 
 useful things ; causing much merriment, especially to 
 Charlotte, who forgot her foot. 
 
 " It's only a slight punishment for laughing at 
 Saint," she said meekly. 
 
 " No, Lotty, but for not waiting for me to help you 
 down. I hope you'll wait for me hereafter. The race 
 is not always to the swift." 
 
 " Nor always to the slow," said Bertha. 
 
 "Bertha," said Charlotte, " I'll send you into a 
 corner if you say another word. Saint was never slow 
 in his life ; if he hadn't sprung like lightning I 
 would have been trampled. Thank you, Saint, I'll 
 wait for your hand next time." 
 
 Charlotte kept her flow of spirits during the even- 
 ing, the usual circle gathering around her sofa. St. 
 George was ambitious to carry her to her room in his 
 arms, but she declared that an elephant required two 
 men, and limped upstairs between him and Went- 
 worth. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BESIDE THE JORDAN. 
 
 ** I'M puzzled to think what to do with you to-day," 
 1 said Leroy to his guest during the Sunday 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Mere existence is enough on such a day," said 
 Wentworth. 
 
 "Yes, St. Martin shares his cloak with us also, a 
 son of Huguenots may say. The Indian Summer is 
 not aboriginal." 
 
 " The ' Great Spirit ' smiles alike on Yankee and 
 southerner/' 
 
 " On Sunday our plantation becomes a bit of 
 ancient Judea. Indeed it is largely that all the time : 
 one place is called Canaan, the meeting-house is 
 Bethel, the creek near it Jordan." 
 
 " Ah, Jordan did I not hear there were to be 
 immersions to-day ? I have never seen such bap- 
 tism." 
 
 " The very thing ! " 
 
 They rode off soon after breakfast, the Jordan 
 being four miles distant. As they approached the 
 meeting-house, a huge wooden building, Leroy said 
 he would have been glad to make it prettier, but the 
 negroes have a pious objection to beauty in churches. 
 Already a long white-robed procession was moving 
 Coward the water, accompanied by a large crowd in 
 
BESIDE THE JORDAN. 113 
 
 its finest raiment. The long cotton robes of the can- 
 didates for baptism, reaching to the feet, formed a 
 graceful and even classical drapery. When the 
 stream was reached the negroes sang, with much 
 enthusiasm, " On Jordan's stormy banks I stand." 
 Mr. Haswell, the preacher, also arrayed in white, read 
 the narrative of the baptism of Jesus, then uttered a 
 prayer containing personal allusions, amid ejaculations 
 of increasing fervor among the negroes. He then went 
 slowly into the water until it nearly reached his waist, 
 and the candidates came to him, one by one. The min- 
 ister called out each name after the words " I baptize 
 thee," and placing one hand on the back, the other on 
 the breast, threw him or her backward till the form 
 disappeared, and lifted them again. Meanwhile 
 hymns were sung by the assembly on the bank. Each 
 person baptized was received by friends on emerging, 
 and enveloped in a cloak. There were greetings, 
 embraces, and ejaculations of joy. The waxing emo- 
 tion in the crowd became ecstasy when one ha'ndsome 
 youth entered the water. This, Leroy whispered, 
 was the notorious fellow who killed one of his 
 (Leroy's) men for flirting with his sweetheart. There 
 were shouts when he came up from the water, and a 
 renewed outburst when he was succeeded by a comely 
 quadroon, who proved to be the sweetheart for whom 
 he had slain his rival. Wentworth found the scene 
 picturesque and impressive ; he could never forget 
 the radiance on the faces of those who came from 
 the water : to those uplifted eyes the poised hawk 
 might seem a dove, and every noise on the air (ell of 
 their beloved. 
 
H4 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 In the meeting-house, an hour later, Wentworth 
 was an object of keen observation. Did the negroes 
 perceive that he was not a southerner ? Perhaps his 
 intent interest in all that occurred betrayed his alien- 
 age. There were nearly a thousand negroes present 
 and their united voices were glorious. Before the 
 preacher appeared the assembly began a wild chant, 
 quick and loud, of four lines : 
 
 His feet like polished brass, 
 
 His legs like marble pillars ! 
 
 His head is white as any lamb's wool, 
 
 And his voice like many waters ! 
 
 When the multitude had got as far as " many " the 
 leader had already begun again with " His feet." It 
 was all unison, and it had a peculiar impressiveness 
 for Wentworth ; perhaps it was the first time he had 
 heard singing strictly meant to be heard in heaven, 
 and without intention to please any earthly ear. 
 
 Mr. Haswell's sermon was one of the many that by 
 their po'verty make cultured listeners grateful for the 
 Bible. The good man's resources were small, partly, 
 no doubt, because not needed, his humble hearers 
 requiring nothing less than apocalyptic utterance in 
 every sentence. These burning biblical sentences 
 were as orient gems set in the Haswellian lead. 
 Happily the humble preacher's lead did not try to 
 glory in the presence of his chain of quotations which 
 linked these dusky islanders with far lands and ages, 
 bore them through wildernesses to promised lands, 
 and raised them to the New Jerusalem. Strains of 
 eastern poetry set to music of heavenly harps became 
 audible as angel-voices to people whose soul? hacl 
 

 BESIDE THE JORDAN. 115 
 
 already reached their resurrection, the earth-life 
 being sepulchred in slavery. Songs sung in many an 
 ancient night, plaintive cries and hopes born of 
 ancient bondage, living through thousands of years, 
 had found their way to bondmen of the present and 
 gave them wings to rise above a world become their 
 grave. How many tempest-tossed souls would ex- 
 change wealth and power for the burdens of these 
 lowly ones, to know their absolute faith, and visions 
 that impoverish palaces shining on these unquestion- 
 ing eyes ! It was no mere anthropological immortal- 
 ity that had been revealed to these babes. As the 
 preacher invested Aunt Nancy with imagery of 
 Patmos the assembly saw her as a spirit beautiful 
 beyond fairest queens, singing amid the palms. The 
 dance of ancient Egyptians around their dead, 
 celebrating their entrance to paradise, had simply 
 passed from feet to face and voice in these believers 
 whose funeral cry was Glory ! 
 
 At the end of the sermon Fanny and Bertha stood 
 in front of the congregation and sang the hymn Aunt 
 Nancy was said to have loved " Nearer, my God, to 
 Thee ! " It is probable the old woman loved the 
 singer rather than the song. The negroes listened 
 silently ; they were evidently grateful to the young 
 ladies, but this hymn was not for them. It is the 
 hymn of an age that dreams it is dreaming. 
 
 " What pleased me also in the sermon/' said Wen^- 
 worth, when they were talking it over on their way 
 home, "was his use of hopeful prophecies and absti- 
 nence from * the terrors/ He never summoncc] 
 Satan price./' 
 
Ii6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " It would be idle," said Leroy ; " the darkies think 
 they are about square with Satan, hell being for Dives. 
 There is a preacher at Ebenezer who has thinned his 
 congregation with ' the terrors/ The negroes, I 
 sometimes think, believe the devil is chained up ; and 
 at any rate he has a wholesome fear of Jordan water, 
 which renders them invulnerable to his fiery 
 darts." 
 
 " I shall never forget the impression of this day," 
 said Wentworth. " Now that my visit draws to a 
 close my gratitude is struck speechless." 
 
 " You will go then, when we have not half ex- 
 changed ideas and experiences ; Massachusetts and 
 South Carolina being left as far apart as ever ? " 
 
 Wentworth was genuinely embarrassed. Leroy 
 must be saved from his generosity, and in some way 
 be made to feel how profoundly it was appreciated. 
 
 " I will stay one day more," he said. 
 
 " Good ! Now, will you let me know if there is any 
 thing more you wish to see or know about our 
 negroes ? " 
 
 " Yes their amusements. We hear of their ban- 
 jos, dances, songs." 
 
 " I am sorry to say you can not see that kind of 
 thing nearer than the northern theaters. It is the 
 burnt-cork negro alone who now fiddles and dances. I 
 can show you any number of prayer-meetings, but 
 there hasn't been a negro dance in this region for 
 many years. I can barely remember seeing one ' break- 
 down ' when I was a boy." 
 
 " How do you account for the change ? " 
 
 " The gause, a.s J think, is profound. There 
 
BESIDE THE JORDAN. 117 
 
 to be insurrections, and more attempts of that kind 
 than were reported. It was the dancing negro who 
 was the insurrectionist He still lived in this world ; 
 he had some worldly hopes left. By inevitable 
 necessity he was * weeded out ' of the plantation, 
 roses would be weeds if they grew amid cotton. 
 There was required a hand that would adjourn his 
 dance to the next world, hang up his banjo to be 
 resumed as a heavenly harp. What frolicsome spirits 
 remained, after the worldly and rebellious were 
 improved out of the earth, were driven into camp-meet- 
 ing convulsions. The preacher who instills the belief 
 that pleasure is hateful to God, and present affliction 
 the measure of future bliss, is the real overseer. He 
 has reduced flogging to a minimum ; but this peace 
 sometimes strikes me as something like that of a ceme- 
 tery. I tried one Christmas to get up a dance for the 
 negroes, but failed." 
 
 On reaching home they were met with the sad report 
 that Charlotte's foot was worse ; the doctor had 
 shaken his head, and she was in bed, troubled by his 
 doubt of her ability to attend school. The rest 
 were in gloom because a pic-nic had been 
 planned, and Charlotte had agreed to give half 
 holiday. A pic-nic without Charlotte was inconceiv- 
 able. 
 
 " It is indeed unfortunate," said Leroy, " for Went- 
 worth can stay only one day more." 
 
 " Only one day more ! " cried three ladies at once, 
 
 " I'm sorry he has tired of us so soon," 
 
 " I assure you, Mrs. Leroy " 
 
H8 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " But our place is very dull." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Leroy-" 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth feels he has been here six months 
 since Thursday." 
 
 " You too, Miss Bertha ! " 
 
 " Give it him, girls," said Leroy, with mock aside, 
 adding, " Wentworth, I am shocked by the satire of 
 these ladies, but what authority has a husband or 
 father in these degenerate days ? " 
 
 " My dear kind friends, I have coolly quartered 
 myself on you, man and beast. I have no home 
 in which you can come and quarter yourselves. 
 Do you mean me to settle down to law practice 
 here ? " 
 
 " Do ! " cried Bertha ; " and we'll try the case 
 whether you shall go or stay." 
 
 "What's the excitement?" asked St. George, just 
 entering. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Wentworth says he must go, he's 
 going Tuesday." 
 
 " Of course he's going," said St. George, " do you 
 think he's got nothing better to do than stick herewith 
 you girls ? No, he's going ; he's going with me for 
 two days' shooting in Turkey Forest. I've made all 
 the arrangements." 
 
 " Oh, that's it," said Fanny ; " then all we can do is 
 to sit by Lotty and mingle our sighs till you both 
 come back." 
 
 In the course of the evening Wentworth conversed 
 with his man Wesley, whom he found enjoying his 
 stay and trying to make hirqself useful. At night he 
 
BESIDE THE JORDAN. 119 
 
 lay awake revolving the situation in which he found 
 himself, but without finding it grow clearer. Then he 
 sank to sleep with a pleasing memory of the planter's 
 daughters, in their simple white dresses, singing to 
 the slaves. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ONE DAY MORE. 
 
 TTTENTWORTH was half awakened by chatter of 
 VV birds, so near his window that he could see 
 their tiny forms traced in shadows on his curtain, 
 with the boughs on which they sat. Sorrowfully he 
 looked out on the fading dawn of his " one day more " 
 in this beautiful abode, where he had found friendship. 
 But need it be one day only ? At least he might 
 accept St. George's invitation for a shooting excursion. 
 It was plain that the young man would be grateful for 
 his company. 
 
 " Poor Charlotte is worrying dreadfully," said Mrs. 
 Leroy at the breakfast-table. 
 
 " Is her foot worse ? " asked Wentworth. 
 
 " No, or not much ; but it is out of the question for 
 her to attend her school to-day, and that troubles 
 her." 
 
 "Tell her not to mind that," said Leroy; " we'll 
 send word that she has sprained her foot, and the 
 children will be consoled by a holiday." 
 
 "Mamma, what does papa mean by consoled?" 
 asked Lily, whose private question happened to be 
 heard by all, and caused a smile. 
 
 " He says the children will be so glad of a holiday 
 hat they won't feel so bad about Charlotte's foot ; but 
 
ONE DAY MORE. 1 21 
 
 papa doesn't think how much you all love her, does he, 
 Lily?" 
 
 " No mamma, he don't. I'm sorry, and like to have 
 her well." 
 
 " Lily," said Leroy, " mamma has suggested a possi- 
 ble and even plausible, but hypothetical and by no 
 means essential construction of my phraseology, never- 
 theless " 
 
 " Don't listen to him, Lily, he doesn't mean any 
 thing at all this time." 
 
 " What does Charlotte wish to do ? " asked Leroy. 
 
 " She hinted about the children coming to her here, 
 but that will not do ; she'd never get well that way." 
 
 " It would do if it were necessary, but it isn't." 
 
 " So I told her, but you know, Mr. Leroy, what kind 
 of person she is, and how she hates not to fulfil all 
 her engagements. There are also two new pupils 
 coming to-day, Mrs. Millward's children, and Char- 
 lotte had set her heart on giving them a pleasant 
 reception." 
 
 " Mamma," said Eva, just entering, " Miss Char- 
 lotte's crying." 
 
 This news caused Bertha to slip out, and a sympa- 
 thetic silence reigned around the table, till St. George 
 said it was "too bad to have Lotty troubled that 
 way." Then Wentworth had an inspiration. 
 
 " Leroy," he said, his face flushing, " in response to 
 your generous desire to have me remain I said ' one 
 day more ; ' this is the day may I enjoy it as I like ? " 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " Then let me attend to the school in Miss Char- 
 lotte's place." 
 
122 PINK AND PALM. 
 
 " Oh Mr. Wentworth ! " echoed round the table, 
 
 " That is just the one service I feel able to do fof 
 those who have done me many favors ; it would ease 
 my mind and perhaps the sufferer up-stairs. I can 
 not do all she does but I will do my best." 
 
 "Where are you running to, Eva and Lily?" cried 
 Leroy. 
 
 " I'm going to tell Miss Charlotte," said Eva. 
 
 " Wentworth, this appeared to me a small matter, 
 but nothing is small that will give you any satisfaction. 
 I honor a teacher, yet can't quite like to have you set 
 to work ; this fine day too ; but I shall not oppose one 
 word to your desire." 
 
 Next was heard Charlotte's own voice from the 
 head of the stair. 
 
 " Tell him I will not hear of such a thing ! " 
 
 " Gracious ! she's got out of bed run, Fanny ! " 
 
 " I beg you, Miss Leroy, to tell Miss Charlotte that 
 if I can not be of any service here at all I can not be 
 happy, and will leave at once. Or perhaps you'd bet- 
 ter tell her she's too late I've gone. Come, chil- 
 dren ! " 
 
 Wentworth glided away, the children rushed after 
 him, and Charlotte from her window saw him disap- 
 pearing with them. 
 
 The " one day more " crept into others. The pic- 
 nic and the shooting were indefinitely postponed. 
 The doctor said Charlotte would be lucky if she could 
 drive out at the end of the week, and Wentworth said 
 no more about leaving. Every morning he walked 
 with the children to school ; in the afternoons enjoyed 
 any pastime proposed ; in the evenings smoked and 
 
OXE DAY MORE. 123 
 
 chatted and found happiness in his growing intimacy 
 with these new friends. Just how he fared with his 
 pupils will perhaps never be made known with histor- 
 ical exactness ; but it is known that in several homes 
 simultaneous reports were made by delighted chil- 
 dren which brought simultaneous notes begging 
 the Leroys to come and see them, and " bring the 
 gentleman who has taken Miss Stringfield's place, the 
 last few days." Moreover we have the report of Eva 
 and Lily, who, on returning with Wentworth the first 
 day, were unable to pursue usual amusements, even 
 neglected domestic duties of the baby-house, but sat 
 clasping Charlotte's hands, their joint memory con- 
 veying to her eager ears some account of what was 
 said and done. 
 
 " Soon as he came he shook hands all round and 
 asked every one's name. . He talked first to Susan 
 and Charley Millward . . they are nice, Miss Char- 
 lotte . . he said he hoped they'd like the school and 
 all of us. . Then Andy Scott and Tim Barbour got 
 to laughing . . yes, Eva, and Belle too, for I saw 
 her . . and Mr. Wentworth didn't take no notice . . 
 any notice, Eva. . He rose up . . just as pleasant as 
 could be. . And he said we needn't take our books, 
 'cause he had something to say. . ^cause, Lily. . 
 The boys stopped laughing . . and Belle too. . And 
 all was so still. . He said you had sprained your 
 foot and couldn't come, and he would teach till you 
 were well. . He loved to teach. . He said so many 
 nice things, we all listened. . My ! Didn't we, Eva. 
 . He said he wanted to ask us questions. He asked, 
 is it right to make a noise in school . . And nobody 
 
124 PINE AX> PALM. 
 
 said a word. He said perhaps that young gentleman 
 . . that was Tim, my ! wasn't Tim pale . . He will 
 tell me is it right or wrong . . Tim says wrong . . Will 
 someone else tell me why it is wrong. Nobody spoke . . 
 He said we must not be afraid, he was our friend . . He 
 said, noise isn't always bad, and laughing is good, but in 
 school we ought to be quiet . . If any body was about 
 to be noisy in school he ought to say to himself, if I 
 am noisy another boy or girl might be so too, and all 
 may be . . then there couldn't be any more school at 
 all . . Miss Charlotte who is trying to do you good 
 would bid you good-by and never come back . .Oh 
 oh . . Don't cry, Lily . . Children might be happy 
 in school. He liked that . . and laugh too if there 
 was any thing to laugh at . . And it wasn't making 
 fun of anybody, and hurting their feelings . . But gig- 
 gling and playing in school, is mean . . are mean 
 . . He said, will any one tell me the difference 
 between laughing and giggling. Eva, can you tell 
 me ? Oh Miss Charlotte. I was choking, but he 
 looked so . . Eva says, we giggle sometimes and 
 can't tell why. That's right, Eva, he said . . Just 
 think, Miss Charlotte, I was right. He says, when 
 people laugh and don't know why, they are giggling 
 . . That ain't . . isnt, Lily . . always wrong out of 
 school . . And what do you think he did ? He just 
 went to the blackboard and drew a lot of children . . 
 not us, but any children . . Some had their mouths 
 wide open laughing fit to kill . . one was poking 
 another . . two or three hiding their faces with books 
 . . And then a picture of the teacher . . it wasn't 
 you . . but she was pretty . . she was holding her 
 
ONE DAY MOKE. 125 
 
 fingers in her ears . . 'cause o' the noise . . Realise 
 Lily. And oh how we laughed ! He said, you're not 
 giggling now because you've got something to laugh 
 at . . He wanted to show us how a school would look 
 if all fell to laughing . . giggling . . and he was 
 going to wipe it all out, but Andy says, please wait 
 till Miss Charlotte sees it . . He said no, I'm glad it 
 made you k merry, but we must now go to our books 
 . . To-morrow we'll talk again . . and he taught just 
 like you . . and there wasn't any noise all day . . 
 And oh Miss Charlotte, but he is nice ! " 
 
 Again, next afternoon, swing, hoops, baby-house, 
 were forgotten, dolls pined in neglect ; this time not 
 Eva and Lily alone but Sumter also contributed to 
 the report, while Fanny and Bertha swelled the 
 audience. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Charlotte, such a talk ! He got the 
 boys to talk too . . He talked about how people 
 ought to treat each other . . Every body ought to be 
 polite . . 'Specially to Miss Charlotte . . No, Lily 
 . . He said teacher, though . . He asked Charley 
 Millward how a gentleman would treat a woman . . 
 Charley said he would be polite and do things for her, 
 and he turned out to be right . . He asked Sumter, 
 why. Sumter said focause men was . . were, Lily . . 
 stronger than women . . most always . . Mr. Went- 
 worth said he saw St. George dash and catch Miss 
 Charlotte and keep hertfrom falling under the horse 
 . . St. George was against the horse's hind legs, and 
 the horse kicked and it's a wonder he didn't hurt him 
 . . but St. George didn't think about himself . . Real 
 gentlemen think of others first . . 'Specially ladies 
 
126 PINS AND PALM. 
 
 . . He told us the story of St. George and the Dragon 
 . . He said the Dragon meant any danger at all . . 
 and the Princess any woman at all . . Then he talked 
 about old people and how young people should behave 
 to them . . they ought to offer them their seat . . 
 and listen to what they think . . He asked Tim why 
 . . He said because they had lived longer . . He 
 asked Susie Millward if living longer made people 
 know more . . She said yes . . She was right . . 
 * Sir ' means older . . So does Senator, and what 
 else Sumter ? . . The Indian ' Sachem ' means Aged 
 Man . . Old people may be mistaken, and not know 
 so much as young sometimes, but they ought to be 
 respected . . The young people will grow old and 
 then they'll want to be respected." 
 
 Every morning, as it seemed, Wentworth devoted 
 a half hour to such conversations ; the children were 
 so eager to hear them that none was ever late. Duty 
 to parents, to each other, to animals, were successively 
 discussed and many a good story told. One delicate 
 theme he thought of dealing with duty to servants ; 
 but he had forgotten there was no school on Satur- 
 day, and it never came off. His week was out. The 
 doctor said Charlotte could resume her duties on 
 Monday. 
 
 After dinner Wentworth was invited to see Char- 
 lotte in her own room, where he found her looking 
 quite well, though she remained seated in her wicker 
 chair. 
 
 11 How glad I am to see you and your pretty room 
 too," said Wentworth, looking around, rather artfully, 
 for he saw that Charlotte was finding it difficult to speak. 
 
ONE DAY MORE. 127 
 
 " Thank you," she said, "we women pet our rooms. 
 But sit down and be devoured with thanks poor as 
 they are for the riches lavished on my children." 
 
 " Oh, no ! How glad I am your foot is nearly well." 
 
 " And able to take me to school. You've good 
 reason after all your work." 
 
 " Miss Stringfield, may I see your foot ? " 
 
 " My foot ? " exclaimed Charlotte laughing, " what 
 on earth for ? " 
 
 " Of course, if you object " 
 
 " Well, there," said Charlotte, as a shapely foot 
 peeped out. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, but I meant the culprit foot, the 
 invalid foot ; I want to thank it for the happiest week 
 I ever had." 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth, you've sealed your doom, and 
 that of my wretched foot too ; now it will never get 
 well Oh, oh, a twinge already ! You've got to go 
 on, and on, and on, teaching those children to the 
 last syllable of recorded time ! " 
 
 " But think of the cry of the children ; had you 
 only seen their sparkling eyes when I said you 
 would be there Monday ! " 
 
 " I have seen some children's eye-sparkles too in 
 this room. I mean to be serious. I have seen these 
 Leroy children growing under my eyes this week, 
 mentally and morally. I have heard about others. 
 You have got at their hearts, and what you taught is 
 graven on their minds with a diamond." 
 
 " This is indeed encouraging." 
 
 " But it is discouraging to think of it ceasing. Oh, 
 why can not a beautiful thing last forever ! " 
 
128 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " The beautiful work went on before I came and 
 shall go on now that I leave. I found those children 
 devoted to their teacher, the thought of what she 
 would approve always in their minds, their studies 
 advanced ; the cabin grew poetical as it was revealed 
 what loving art had set there at its task." 
 
 Charlotte did not venture to speak, but her cheeks 
 were eloquent. At length she said, " When ? " 
 
 " Do I leave ? Monday." 
 
 " Now be confiding ! You can say to me what "you 
 would not to the Leroys, and I shall not tell them : 
 are you leaving from inclination or by demand of 
 duties ? Do trust me ! " 
 
 " I will," said Wentworth, after hesitation. " The 
 imperative duty is not to press unfairly the boundless 
 generosity of these dear friends. I have had two 
 weeks of happiness, but must go." 
 
 " You are making a mistake. But I will not argue 
 it now ; we are all about to drive out, and I will be 
 obliged for your arm down stairs. Thank you. Now 
 I will beg as a personal favor, that you will not leave 
 Monday, but stay one day more." 
 
 " How would that help you ? " 
 
 " Why," said Charlotte, limping a little, as they 
 approached the stairs, " it will be my first venture my 
 foot you know I might have to move about there 
 are a dozen reasons why I want you Monday." 
 
 " That is sufficient ; you want me I stay." 
 
 " What's the matter, Charlotte," cried Mrs. Leroy 
 from below, seeing the teacher leaning on Wentworth's 
 arm and limping ; " have you hurt yourself again ? 
 You moved about briskly this morning." 
 
ONE DAY MORE. 129 
 
 " You hateful woman ! You can't let a body do a 
 bit of acting but you must come out at the wrong 
 time and catch 'em ! " 
 
 With these words Charlotte ran down stairs with a 
 ringing laugh and stood there awaiting her escort. 
 
 " A clear case of false pretenses," he cried " Oyez, 
 oyez ! " 
 
 " Please the court, if weak woman can only get 
 things from tyrant man by false pretenses" 
 
 " What mischief has she been up to ? " asked 
 Mrs. Leroy. 
 
 " Not guilty, but don't do it again/' said Went- 
 worth. 
 
 " Never ! An' may the blissed saints reward yer 
 'onor ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A SUNDAY PIC-NIC. ! 
 
 THE Rev. Phayr Stringfield did not come to the 
 Leroys on Saturday, as they expected, being 
 under promise to stay that night with the Scotts, but 
 sent word that he would return with them from church. 
 Wharton Church was ten miles distant, but it was a 
 pleasant drive, and the monthly service there was 
 occasion for a parish pic-nic. The ancient building 
 was in shape of a Greek cross, without architectural 
 pretensions, but grateful to the eye by reason of its 
 large and solid dignity, and its situation in a venerable 
 grove of white oak and hickory. It was a colonial 
 edifice, more than a hundred and fifty years old cer- 
 tainly, built of large red bricks. Above one gable rose 
 a square tower, with belfry. There was a tradition 
 that when, for many years, the church was deserted, 
 slave traders had made it their headquarters, imprison- 
 ing there the smuggled Africans till disposed of among 
 the planters. The walls inside, lofty and spacious, 
 had no ornament save texts in evergreen, and black 
 wooden tablets with golden letters, on which were 
 inscribed the Decalogue, the Lord's Prayer, and the 
 Apostles' Creed. The massive pulpit was perched 
 high at a central angle, and two reading-desks were 
 passed in the ascent to it. The round-arched windows 
 
A SUNDAY PIC-NIC 131 
 
 were stained only by the autumn foliage visible through 
 them. 
 
 More than a hundred persons gathered for the 
 morning service, generally of the wealthy class. All 
 greeted each other as they entered, and were seated 
 some time before the clergyman arrived. Wentworth 
 found the airy church, so full of light, the placid faces, 
 the red and golden leaves outside the great windows, 
 all so restful, that he dreaded to have the sweet silence 
 broken. But the clergyman came, the old litany was 
 read, the hymns sung without choir or organ and 
 Mr. Stringfield began his sermon. A striking figure, 
 certainly tall, slightly bent (though not more than 
 thirty), long-headed, heavy-browed, with small mouth; 
 the large nose buttressing a full brow under bushy 
 brown hair; the gray eyes of variable shade, the pale 
 complexion at times overspread with swift color. His 
 voice was sympathetic, his manner was simple, and 
 almost sleepy when he began; but there was a certain 
 charm in the eye, which appeared as if resting on the 
 pastoral scene he described. For the subject was the 
 Good Shepherd. His manner became less languid as 
 he passed from the primitive shepherd life gradual 
 extermination of the violent and preservation of the 
 peaceful animals by human vigilance and fidelity to 
 the symbol which grew out of it. The rude picture 
 drawn by some hunted Christian on a wall in the Cata- 
 combs of the Good Shepherd bearing a lamb in his 
 arms, the later splendors with which art invested the 
 humble theme, were described with fine touches, 
 Some doctrinal details followed which Wentworth lost. 
 The present was too interesting for the past to charm 
 
132 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 him away; Leroy Island was too full of wonders for 
 his imagination to wander even in Palestine ; before 
 him rose visions of the white-robed slaves beside their 
 Jordan, the Leroy sisters singing in the island Bethel, 
 and Charlotte bearing the lambs in her arms. How 
 unconscious they were in their gentle service ! What 
 awaited them in the future ? And what would befall 
 those sheep of poor Haswell's pasture, so dumb before 
 their shearers ? 
 
 How far the clergyman had gone in his sermon 
 Wentworth knew not, when his reverie was broken by 
 a movement at his side : it was a bronzed old squire 
 feeling for his handkerchief; tears were on his hard 
 cheek. Wentworth raised his eyes to the preacher, 
 whose head presently appeared encircled with soft 
 light, while his voice was pure melody. Do not 
 imagine, he said, that the Good Shepherd gave his 
 life for the sheep only in Palestine, or bore in his arms 
 only the lambs of flocks long perished. On these 
 islands and savannahs he moves to-day. Whenever 
 hearts are faithful to their lowly trust, there is he : 
 wherever maternal love sleeplessly watches over souls 
 that may stray where evil passions lurk, wherever 
 paternal prudence guards young steps that may move 
 upward or downward, where lower tendencies are 
 restrained by high example, sorrow soothed by sym- 
 pathy, wrath turned away by the soft answer there 
 see the Shepherd daily giving his life for the sheep ! 
 Think not that an age of asylums and schools has out- 
 grown the need of individual care for each several 
 mind and heart, with its several sorrow or danger. It 
 is the Good Shepherd whose patient care cultivates 
 
A SUN DA Y PIC- NIC. 133 
 
 the individual thinker, the finer character, the pure 
 love and friendship, the happy life, in our homes. 
 Shall we not consider the poor, as well as provide 
 poor-houses ? Shall we not be good shepherds to our 
 servants, so kelpless in our hands? While worship- 
 ing the Great Shepherd on high, shall we feed his 
 African sheep only for our own fatness? Their lot is 
 not to be deplored; it needs only our compassionate- 
 ness to be made almost enviable. No political systems 
 can make human beings happy; under any. system 
 that must remain the work of the Good Shepherd who 
 cares for every soul, and feeds the heart's hunger with 
 his flesh and blood. 
 
 These thoughts, spoken with great freedom no 
 cautious interpolations arrowlike, feathered with 
 pathos, shining with sincerity, found their way to 
 every breast, and there turned to roses. The sacra- 
 ment followed, after which the congregation distributed 
 itself in groups under the trees. Hampers were brought 
 forth, cloths spread on the grass, so near each other 
 that all virtually dined together ; and there was plenty 
 of mirth. 
 
 "I'm sorry for you," said Leroy, taking Went- 
 worth's arm, " but the school-children have spread 
 your fame and you're in for it ; one party bids for you 
 with partridge, another with sucking-pig. The par- 
 son's delighted to have a vice-lion, for he hates to eat 
 and talk before preaching again. So meet your fate 
 like a man ! " 
 
 Wentworth was presently bowing to blushing 
 maidens with chicken or pastry in their dainty fingers, 
 and apologies struggling from full mouths. Men 
 
134 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 grasped his hand, matrons thanked him, for the hap- 
 piness he had given their children ; several asked him 
 to fix a day to visit them ; young ladies, lily-like in 
 their pretty dresses, besieged him with dainties till he 
 cried mercy. He was rescued by Leroy, who brought 
 up the clergyman. 
 
 " You'll drive home with him, Stringfield," said 
 Leroy ; " for the present know this Wentworth is 
 my friend and I am his." 
 
 " Then I'm his friend too," said the preacher. 
 
 " And I am yours," answered Wentworth, warnily. 
 
 The clergyman hastened to his vestry ; the bell 
 sounded, and the pic-nic resolved itself to a congrega- 
 tion again. The subject of the sermon was " The Day 
 of Small Things." Wentworth's attention did not 
 wander again, and he heard counsels that helped him 
 to recognize the days that were surprising him with 
 rich experiences. 
 
 Wentworth had brought Bertha in his buggy, but it 
 was arranged that he should return with the clergy- 
 man. While he waited many of the flock gathered 
 round their pastor, and after he had started a gentle 
 lady stood in the way to say that she must tell him 
 how he had helped her that day. Farther on another 
 stopped him to say, " Never before have I heard such 
 sweet thoughts from human lips." And far in the 
 woods they were again waylaid. 
 
 " May I speak a word ? " said a young man, advanc- 
 ing timidly. "I am from North Carolina, a stranger 
 in this country, where I have come to live, but have 
 no friends ; I came to church lonely and sick, but now 
 I am well and happy." 
 
A SUNDAY PIC-NIC. 135 
 
 " That makes me happy, my young friend ; give 
 me your name and place, and we will meet again." 
 
 He pressed the youth's hand, and they passed on 
 the preacher remaining silent for a time. 
 
 " These people,'* he at length said, rubbing his eyes 
 with two fingers, " have discovered my weakness. I'm 
 as fond of being praised as a child. I'm as tickled as 
 can be now because they liked my sermons." 
 
 " If any one did not feel what you said to-day he 
 must be a stock or a stone," said Wentworth, with a 
 slight dimness about his eyes too. 
 
 " Sometimes I come here heart-sick like that young 
 man ; but these people preach to me they don't know 
 it, just a warm word or look and I go away happy. 
 What a cheap thing happiness is ! But one thing 
 brings me down when I think of it the emptiness of 
 that negro gallery. Only four coachmen in it this 
 morning. The negroes will not come to either of my 
 two churches, yet no people in the world are such 
 church goers. They would live in meeting-houses if 
 they hadn't to work. It isn't a question of race ; they 
 crowd to white Baptist and Methodist preachers. How 
 do you account for that ? I've tried all my bunch of 
 keys on that problem. Do you happen to have a key 
 about you ? " 
 
 " If you had asked me last year I could have offered 
 keys warranted to unlock all questions concerning 
 negroes." 
 
 " And where were you last year ? " 
 
 " At Harvard university." 
 
 " Ah, you found omniscience easy there ? But you 
 are a southerner? No? I knew you were not a 
 
136 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Carolinian, but thought you might be from the 
 South-West." 
 
 " I was born in Boston, and such keys as I have to 
 southern problems were manufactured there.'* 
 
 " Out with them ! Here we are amid the brave 
 pines, man to man : is thy heart right with my heart, 
 son of Rechab, then your hand ; our buggy shall be a 
 chariot of truth. Now tell me, in a word, what you 
 . think of us southerners, our institutions, laws, climate, 
 negroes, geology, botany but forgive my frivolity ! 
 I declare to you, after I have just got over the 
 strain of preaching what must affect people for 
 good or ill, I'm unfit for serious society. Not a 
 grave thought in my brain, but only a buzz of con- 
 ceits." 
 
 " Well, out with them ! Those ground-squirrels are 
 in keeping with these Gothic pines." 
 
 " Leroy knew what he was about when he confided 
 me to you. And you, a Boston man, are friend of that 
 prince of planters ! Where did you know him ? He 
 was never north in his life ; he and I were at the 
 University of Virginia together. A unique man ! The 
 old Frenchman who sowed that seed in South Caro- 
 lina will never die so long as Laurens Leroy lives. I 
 don't know what the Merriwether mixture may do for 
 his children. His wife was Margaret Merriwether. 
 He met her at Charlottesville. Leroy had too much 
 heart to keep the faith of his Huguenot fathers, but 
 I can't make him an Episcopalian either : he worships 
 the sun Soli Invicto, you know which shines alike 
 on good and evil " 
 
 " Southerners and Yankees " 
 
A SUNDA Y PIC-NIC. 137 
 
 " Exactly. Now we're not all up to that or down 
 to that : which should it be, Mr. ? " 
 
 " Wentworth. I think it should be * up/ Mr. 
 Stringfield, when we're talking of Leroy." 
 
 " I sometimes think a little more divine wrath were 
 better for him." 
 
 " The wrath of the Lamb, perhaps." 
 
 " Good ! he has that ; baseness hides from his 
 gentleness. Ah, * wrath of the Lamb,' thank you 
 for my next text ; I hope you're used to having your 
 pocket picked ; my fingers are providentially contrived 
 for that industry." 
 
 " Perhaps you are taking stolen goods." 
 
 " No matter ; honor among thieves ought to oblige, 
 but doesn't always. Now let us go back to that empty 
 negro-galiery. That conspicuously absent colored 
 man is my Mordecai at the gate, only I don't want 
 him to kneel to me, but with me." 
 
 " You spoke just now of the strain of sermons that 
 must affect human beings for good or ill. Your 
 sermons to-day assumed in your hearers freedom, 
 power to be providential to others, active or indolent, 
 unselfish or self-indulgent. Is that applicable to people 
 whose moral responsibilities are on the shoulders of 
 others ? Grant, as you said, that the slave's lot is not 
 deplorable, one would say it must modify the moral 
 conditions of his nature. Whether it be so, you can 
 say better than I." 
 
 " No, I can not ; one can't read a page too close to 
 the eye any better than one too far. But what is 
 slavery ? The subjection of one will to another. The 
 home and society are impossible without that, The 
 
13 8 PINE AXD PALM. 
 
 principle is only extended when this particular subject 
 is disabled from choosing his master." 
 
 " But that added thing may make a vast difference ; 
 as a half-ounce of bone more or less in a bird's wing 
 may bind it to earth or bear it aloft." 
 
 " Sometimes our freedom appears to me over-rated : 
 life is so complex, we are so ignorant, so laden with 
 inherited tendencies, might we not be happier if half 
 the problems were decided for us and our paths 
 determined ? " 
 
 " However better, it would cost us the comprehen- 
 sion of such sermons as yours. St. Anthony warning 
 the fishes against snares of the fowler were weak 
 beside a Baptist pointing them to a pool secure from 
 the net, whence they pass to become gold-fishes in a 
 sea of glory." 
 
 " Therefore Haswell succeeds with colored folk and 
 I don't. Have you heard Haswell ? " 
 
 u Yes. His whole Bible was the book of Revelations, 
 while yours includes the sermon on the Mount." 
 
 " Well, I have put my question and got my answer. 
 You must be aware that our answer to northern 
 argument exudes from these pines, that our corollaries 
 are supplied by our feathered fauna. But you may be 
 astonished to hear that I am eccentric enough to 
 thank you for your thoughts, which I will ponder. 
 You will increase my gratitude if you give me your 
 opinion on this question : how can a parson, who can 
 not preach to these negroes, yet benefit them ? " 
 
 " Mr. Stringfield I have been talking too much, I 
 meant to sit at your feet, and have been garrulous." 
 
 " You have said too little : you will have to say 
 
A SUNDAY PIC-WC. 139 
 
 more. I let you off now, for here's the house but 
 
 not for long. I'm a horse-leech ; also the garrulousest 
 
 man you ever saw 
 
 " Well, Eva, how goes it, dear ? and there's Lily of 
 
 the Valley too, mind the wheels, sweetheart. Ah, 
 
 Lotty, aren't you a little pale ? I get kisses, you see, 
 
 comrade." 
 
 " Oh ! punning to Mr. Wentworth already ! " 
 
 " Let me recommend you to be a venerable parson, 
 
 Mr. Wentworth ; it's sometimes better than this ; 
 
 Fanny and Bertha are shy and only give me one-and 
 
 a-half apiece before company." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 
 
 ^TT7ELL, Wentworth, how do you like our par- 
 VV son?" 
 
 " Like ! I love him." 
 
 " Hallelujah ! " 
 
 "But, my dear Leroy, why didn't you hint what 
 I was to hear ? " 
 
 " Impossible ; there's no predicting Stringfield, 
 except that he'll always be strong ; he spreads him- 
 self like a green bay tree one month, but it can not 
 be found the next in place of it a palm, or maybe 
 a sweet-brier. What was he to-day ? " 
 
 " Several things now I heard the Pastorale, and 
 now the house was filled with the sweet perfume." 
 
 " That man declines calls to cities ; he might be a 
 bishop ; he sticks by his two country congregations 
 Wharton and St. Marks, he calls them his Rachel 
 and Leah and when we tell him to marry, says he 
 has two wives already." 
 
 " Which is which ? " 
 
 " He says he can't tell till the morning comes. 
 In fact, I didn't dare to talk to you about String- 
 field. I love him so much that my estimate can't be 
 trusted. I thought he'd come out for a smoke after 
 supper, but I suppose they are making him take a 
 rest." 
 
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 141 
 
 The truth was, Charlotte had spirited away her 
 brother to her own room, brazening out charges of 
 being " too mean for any thing," had closed her door 
 solemnly, and sentenced him to imprisonment for one 
 hour. 
 
 " They may gnash their teeth down stairs, but here 
 you've got to stay^brother Phayr, unless you want to 
 see your sister explode with what she's got to say. 
 Better take an easier chair, and here's your cigar it 
 will keep your mouth shut while you listen. There ! 
 Do you feel like the Grand Turk ? You'd better ! " 
 
 " I I yam, I mean I do." 
 
 " Well, yawn now, for you won't afterwards. Lis- 
 ten ! This Mr. Wentworth is a man " 
 
 " Thought as much." 
 
 " You need boxing. Well, you never saw such a 
 man in your life." 
 
 " I must defend truth I've driven ten miles with 
 such a man. A powerful intellect, polished till it 
 shines." 
 
 " Fifteen minutes taken from your captivity by that 
 knowledge. A man of that kind doesn't come into a 
 little neighborhood like this without being felt. He's 
 been working miracles without knowing it. You 
 needn't smile ; I'm not in love." 
 
 Charlotte then told the story of Wentworth's twelve 
 days on the island, ending with the sad words " and 
 he declares he must leave Tuesday." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " He must not ! " 
 
 " And you're not in love ! " 
 
 " No ; I'm the exception. But I'm in love with my 
 
142 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 school, and he has opened a new path there ; he must 
 see us fairly on it before he goes. That for one thing. 
 Brother Phayr, in all history never but one man came 
 to Leroy Island for a high human purpose, except 
 you ; are we to let him slip in this way ? " 
 
 " Is it reasonable to expect a scholar like that to 
 bury himself on this island ? " 
 
 " What else does my brother do ? Now I have 
 extorted from Mr. Wentworth, under promise that the 
 Leroys shall not know it (mark !), that he would 
 rather remain longer but can not trespass on their 
 hospitality and they, every one, longing for htm to 
 stay ! " 
 
 " That alters the case without making it more hope- 
 ful. People of fine instinct will not easily perceive 
 the generosity of accepting much generosity ; in that 
 they are right ninety-nine times in a hundred/* 
 
 " This is the hundredth. Brother Phayr, you see 
 through the whole thing ; it will certainly be better 
 for him and us to keep him longer, and you must 
 help." 
 
 Mr. Stringfield smoked in silence for a few 
 moments, then broke into a laugh. 
 
 " It is so funny, Lotty, for us to be contriving how 
 to catch a hare that wants to be caught, but enters 
 neither snare nor gum." 
 
 " He goes to my school to-morrow ; it must be his 
 gum." 
 
 " You'll find yourself mistaken ; there are schools 
 in Boston too. That man's soul is stirred by the pro- 
 foundest problems of his time. These charming talks 
 with your children are as easy to him as for me to 
 
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 143 
 
 smoke this where did you steal it, Lotty ? If he 
 stays it will be for severer work than that." 
 
 " I have felt that too ; but thought that if my 
 school, the girls' plans for excursions, Mr. Leroy's 
 friendship, Margaret's well she's downright in love 
 with him were all twisted together " 
 
 " I think not ; he will go with a heavy heart, but he 
 will go, unless you can add another strand to your 
 rope." 
 
 " That must be you ! put your arms around him 
 tight ! " 
 
 " The arms must be stronger than mine." 
 
 "You have something in your mind : do you mean 
 a love affair ? " 
 
 " No, Lotty ; the new strand must be black. If this 
 man remains it will be for the sake of the negroes." 
 
 " Heavens ! " 
 
 " I can't tell you all I think now. Mr. Wentworth 
 is a new kind of man, a mind bred by an era ; his 
 presence here means more than he realizes. He is no 
 vulgar abolitionist, but his "interest in the slave has 
 brought him here, and he has a new interest in the 
 master." 
 
 " What a fool I was not to see that ! ' 
 
 u I will think it over, and do my best. And now, 
 haven't I a right to be jealous ? You haven't asked a 
 word about poor me, and I with splendid news to tell. 
 No ! it's too late I bury it in this solitary breast for- 
 ever. Leave your Phayr and go to your What's-his- 
 name ! " 
 
 " You bushy-headed, stony-hearted brother, if you 
 don't tell me, I die instantly at your feet." 
 
144 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Stop ! my feet are not at my neck you're chok- 
 ing me ! Well, I've got lease of Selwood." 
 
 "At last, at last ! " cried Charlotte, moved to tears. 
 " Now we shall part no more. Oh my brother, why 
 did you not tell me before ! Oh the joy of it ! Do 
 they know it down stairs ? " 
 
 " No, I kept the secret for you. Scott got Ravenel 
 over last night and he unexpectedly agreed to my 
 terms." 
 
 In another moment Charlotte rushed out to publish 
 the tidings, joyful indeed, for Selwood was a cottage 
 near by which they had been long trying to secure for 
 Mr. Stringfiekl. Although the clergyman's residence 
 in the neighborhood would involve Charlotte's with- 
 drawal from their abode, the Leroys knew that his 
 coming was the only security for her remaining long. 
 She would still be their near neighbor, and her brother 
 also. The event was thus of immense importance to 
 them, and Leroy insisted on bumpers of champagne 
 to the new master and mistress of Selwood. 
 
 Afterward Mr. Stringfield drew Leroy away for a 
 stroll in the moonlight. Leroy having spoken with 
 warmth of Wentworth, the clergyman told him about 
 their conversation on the way from church. 
 
 " It's really too bad to have him go away ; we've 
 tried to keep him in vain," said Leroy. 
 
 " Have you had much talk with him about the con- 
 dition and prospects of the negroes ? " 
 
 " Not enough ; he has asked questions and I have 
 answered freely." 
 
 " Tell me some of his questions." 
 
 " He asked about their chief faults and offenses, 
 
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 145 
 
 our methods of punishment ; he asked about their 
 amusements, and was disappointed not to find banjos 
 and breakdowns in full blast.'* 
 
 " I don't wonder at his disappointment. Well, as 
 you all want him to stay I must do my best to help 
 you ; but you must give me carte blanche and agree 
 beforehand to all I engage." 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 Next morning, according to promise, Wentworth 
 accompanied Charlotte to her school, prepared to give 
 the children a farewell talk. It had been his intention, 
 as we know, to speak of kindness to servants, but 
 after Mr. Stringfield's words on the subject, in his 
 sermon, he resolved to be silent on that delicate mat- 
 ter, and suggest to the teacher a talk from her brother 
 with the children about it. So Wentworth selected 
 " Fun " for his topic. While he was cross-examining 
 the boys about their sports, Mr. Stringfield entered 
 and took his seat with the pupils. Wentworth flushed 
 a little but went on to make clear the distinction 
 between horseplay and fun ; chalked on the board a 
 bully in knickerbockers teasing a sensitive child ; and 
 told them that as their sports trained their sinews and 
 senses for the serious activities of after life, so their 
 dispositions were largely formed in the play-ground. 
 Charlotte and her brother were now and then appealed 
 to and made to answer questions, and there was a 
 rapid growth of freedom and confidence on the part 
 of the children in their replies. 
 
 When Wentworth, in a few simple words, expressed 
 the happiness he had enjoyed in the days passed with 
 them ? and bade them farewell, the children's cvc - 
 
146 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 began to swim. Mr. Stringfield restored their smiles 
 by holding up his hand, with " Please, sir, may I 
 speak ? " He then spoke a few words of gratitude to 
 the teacher who had taken his sister's place, carried a 
 vote of thanks from every little hand, and proposed a 
 holiday, to be improved by all walking over to Sel- 
 wood where, he was glad to inform them, he and his 
 sister were coming to reside. 
 
 When two cultured intellects, representing the sub-,, 
 tie spirits of widely different societies, are brought 
 into affectionate contact, the result sometimes sur- 
 passes the surprises of chemistry. While this Har- 
 vard man was talking to the children about " fun," 
 showing the large relationships of sport and amuse- 
 ment, spiritualizing them, certain vague feelings in 
 the clergyman crystallized to a purpose. On the way 
 to Selwood he managed to get Wentworth to lag with 
 him behind the others. 
 
 "You said good things, Mr. Wentworth, of the 
 serious advantages of amusement for children, but 
 what of our negroes, these grown-up children who 
 have no amusement at all ?" 
 
 " That is the saddest thing I have found in the 
 South. When poverty and toil become conscious, 
 that is the curse ; when laughter dies, then terrors are 
 in the way." 
 
 " I can not express how fully I agree with you. A 
 morbid religiosity has overspread these plantations 
 like dry-rot, blighting all beauty for these Africans. 
 For them no flower blooms, no bird sings. Do you 
 remember my question yesterday which you did not 
 answer? No? I asked how you thought a clergy- 
 
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 147 
 
 man they would not hear might yet benefit these 
 colored people." 
 
 " I remember the question, but I can not answer it." 
 
 " What do you think of this ? suppose such a 
 clergyman should make a sustained effort to recall 
 human gladness to their hearts, to surround them 
 with some kind of beauty, to beguile them from care by 
 some little amusement ? " 
 
 " How strange that you should say this ! I thought 
 of talking to the children to-day about kindness to 
 servants, but some words of yours in your sermon 
 determined me to bequeathe that to one from whom 
 it would come with a better grace. Kindness to them 
 would, with me, mean too much, for instance, teach- 
 ing them to read, which is illegal." 
 
 " There were centuries during which the masses 
 could not read, and yet the Church taught them many 
 beautiful histories and truths ; it was by means of 
 music, images, pictures, legends, symbols " 
 
 " Plays." 
 
 " And plays, acted in the churches by priests. It 
 occurs to me that our colored masses, forbidden to 
 learn letters lest they should read controversies about 
 themselves and conspire, appear much in the position 
 of the Europeans before printing was discovered. 
 Yet those people were reached by the Arts, had a fair 
 culture, and their serfdom was softened." 
 
 " You amaze me. Do you really think any thing 
 of that kind can be done in the South ? Would not 
 the same influences that banished the banjo resist all 
 amusement ? " 
 
 " Possibly ; but sufficient unto the day is the puritan- 
 
148 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 ism thereof. One needn't cross a shaky bridge till he 
 comes to it. I believe that if these laborers could be 
 amused with pictures, poetry, music, for a few hours 
 a week, their lot would be better than in the banjo- 
 and-breakdown days ; and not so bad a lot on a 
 plantation like this, where they are kindly treated, 
 never parted from their families, and need not be 
 more anxious about to-morrow than the lilies." 
 
 " A few days ago, after sitting in their dismal 
 meeting-house, and hearing from Leroy that they 
 dreaded decoration, also that they had no amusements, 
 some such thought as yours rose in me like a dream, 
 and flitted away. What miracles, I thought, could 
 a little paint, a little illusion, work for these children, 
 for whom gilt were the same as gold. Say it were a 
 theater, introducing them into elegant society, beguil- 
 ing them with some romance from their small round 
 of cares and the inner chains. Do you mean to treat 
 this dream seriously ? " 
 
 " I mean that we should try to do a small thing, if 
 we can't do more. Consider this island. Here is a 
 planter with a thousand slaves, children included, for 
 whose welfare he will do all he can. Here are so 
 many starving souls whose bejeweled heaven with 
 eternal concert proves their craving for the beauty 
 unknown to them on earth. We have a company of 
 fairly educated people with talent, taste, benevolence. 
 There are ladies who can sing and recite, lads 
 too ; and there is one woman who is a born 
 mimic and actress even my sister there. Here 
 is a demand, here a supply; they are one inch 
 apart/ 1 
 
A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY. 149 
 
 " In geology it takes a long time to add an inch to 
 a stratum/' 
 
 " But man may do in a day as much as nature in a 
 thousand years. Perhaps you would like to free these 
 slaves to-day : it can not be done, even if it were 
 well. But, whatever larger thing you or I might desire, 
 or respectively work for as ideals, might we not try to 
 effect some smaller thing where we see eye to eye 
 one that might become a large thing in the end ? " 
 
 " A thousand times yes ! " 
 
 " Ah, possibly a large thing even probably. Leroy 
 has taken you over his plantation, nay, he has taken 
 you over Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi ; should you 
 leave to-morrow and travel the coast you will see 
 continuous cotton-fields, cabins^ negroes ; then you 
 would find you had tried to analyze an ocean to obtain 
 elements which Jordan creek can give you just as 
 well. But could you only be content to stay and help 
 us with some humane experiments, and we should 
 succeed, what is to prevent our success spreading like 
 a fire over regions where the stubble is the same ? " 
 
 u My fellow-dreamer, I swear I will not go ! I will 
 live in a cabin, I will be slave of your lamp, will do 
 any thing to follow such an aim, even if it fail." 
 
 " Well, now let us overtake that party ; they are 
 casting evil eyes on me for keeping you to myself." 
 
 When Charlotte and the children were overtaken 
 they were already waiting in the veranda of Seiwood, 
 not having brought the key. Fortunately Leroy came 
 with it ; but before he had unlocked the door Went- 
 worth, glowing with enthusiasm, spoke to him. 
 
 " Leroy, I have a great favor to-ask." 
 
150 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 11 It is granted." 
 
 " It is that you will make some arrangement by 
 which I may remain longer, perhaps even till after 
 Christmas." 
 
 " Wentworth, what is this ? you ask a favor and then 
 grant me one. Charlotte, Stringfield, come here ! 
 what spells have you cast on this man he says he 
 will not leave us ! " 
 
 " But this is too good to be true ! " cried Charlotte ; 
 " Mr. Wentworth, have you really said so." 
 
 " I have ; but I must be employed somehow. I 
 must make believe to earn my bread and butter. May 
 I lecture to the children now and then ? " 
 
 " I engage," said Leroy, " to make you admit I am 
 m your debt before the year is out," 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TAMING A TIGER. 
 
 fact that the Leroys had a guest from Boston, 
 1 handsome, scholarly, apparently rich, became 
 well known in the island after the Sunday at Wharton. 
 It caused some sensation in every household, but in 
 one breast excited emotions of a painful kind. Robert 
 Ravenel, a rejected but desperately hopeful lover of 
 Bertha Leroy, had seen the new-comer driving her 
 in his buggy toward Wharton Church. In connection 
 with the fame of Wentworth's accomplishments the 
 sight had suggested a dreaded theory, afterwards to 
 be branded on his heart as fearful fact : this Yankee 
 manufacturer was after one of the rich planter's 
 daughters. But which ? A funereal thump in 
 Robert's breast gave answer. There was but 
 one lady on earth to whom all must aspire. Such 
 was Robert's bad case after he had seen them on 
 their way to church himself unperceived and he 
 was filled with longing to plead with Bertha once 
 more. This desire of his had done her friends a ser- 
 vice : it was he who had persuaded his father to let 
 Selwood to the parson, knowing well what pleasure 
 that would give the Leroys. 
 
 The Ravenels were a Huguenot family whose heads, 
 for a hundred and fifty years, had kept vendetta 
 
152 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 against the church which had persecuted their ances- 
 tors. The sins of the Carolinian English Church had 
 been steadily visited on its Episcopal successor in the 
 fifth generation by this one branch of the Ravenels. 
 There being no Presbyterian Church on Leroy Island, 
 a room at Rochelle, their family seat, witnessed weekly 
 assemblages of the household for scriptural readings, 
 some old divine supplying the sermon. St. Jean 
 Ravenel, presiding magistrate of his county, was not 
 a hard man apart from his attitude toward the church 
 of the other gentry. He lived in the fashion of his 
 fathers, grand without gaiety, read Latin, French and 
 English classics, and was a generous patriarch to his 
 sons and daughters. He could not quite forgive 
 Leroy whose grandmother was a Ravenel for not 
 supporting his pet feud against the Episcopal Church, 
 and might have frowned on Robert's suit had he 
 known of it. These feelings had prejudiced him 
 against the clergyman, whom he never saw, and hard- 
 ened him in the matter of Selwood. Mr. Stringfield 
 might have succeeded better, perhaps, had he 
 approached St. Jean personally, but he had been repre- 
 sented by Leroy, whose appearance reminded the old 
 gentleman of his duty to Huguenot shades. He 
 raised difficulties about the house, and did not con- 
 ceal the fact that he did not want the parson in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 After Selwood had remained without tenant for a 
 year, Mr. Scott took the matter in hand again. Rob- 
 ert was seated with his father in the Rochelle veranda 
 when Scott's messenger came with the note. The ok} 
 gentleman read it with vexation , 
 
TAMING A TIGER. I S3 
 
 " Tell your master, with my compliments, that I 
 can not come," he said, putting the note in his pocket. 
 
 " What is it, father? " asked Robert, when the mes- 
 senger had gone. 
 
 " They are worrying me again about Selwood. It 
 is Scott now ; he wants me to meet Stringfield at his 
 house and talk it over. I have talked it over ; it's 
 settled." 
 
 A cloud came over Robert's face, but he said noth- 
 ing. He began thinking of the pleasure it would give 
 Bertha and those around her if his father were more 
 friendly in this thing. He felt that he and his sisters 
 were in some way isolated, and it might even be that 
 Bertha left him without hope because of the separate 
 traditions of their family. They never attended balls, 
 because of their hereditary Calvinism, and never went 
 to church because its colonial predecessor persecuted 
 Huguenots. After long silence, Robert, rendered 
 desperate by rumors of Wentworth's honors in the 
 Leroy family, ventured for the first time in his life to 
 oppose his father. 
 
 " Father, doesn't it seem rather useless to keep Sel- 
 wood closed all this time ? " 
 
 " If I choose it so, I can't see that it concerns you, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " Oh, of course not. I was only thinking that is 
 j 
 
 "Well, sir, let's have your valuable thoughts." 
 "You shall have them, father," said Robert, with a 
 look that startled the old gentleman. "It con- 
 cerns me it concerns my sisters that we should 
 have the reputation of being unfriendly to our neigh- 
 
154 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 bors, and never mix with them, and not oblige them 
 in a thing like this. You have my thoughts, father, 
 valuable or not, as you please." 
 
 The particulars of the storm that followed Robert's 
 outbreak need not be given. St. Jean was at first 
 aghast, then accused his son of ingratitude, their 
 voices at length becoming so loud that Eleanor, the 
 eldest daughter, hastened to the verandah. She 
 caught her father's arm as he stood, trembling with 
 anger, pointing Robert away from the house. 
 " Go, sir, go ! " 
 
 " Father, what is all this ? " cried Eleanor. 
 " That ungrateful boy has insulted me in my own 
 house ! " 
 
 " I never dreamed of such a thing," said Robert 
 with quivering voice, " I would get on my knees to 
 you rather than insult you." 
 
 " You have done so, sir ! " cried St. Jean, disap- 
 pearing into the house. 
 
 Robert had a faithful confederate in Eleanor, a year 
 older than himself, and told her all that had occurred, 
 and the motives that had impelled him to speak out. 
 " You are in the right," said Eleanor, " but you 
 know that obedience has been the rule of this house 
 since it was founded ; there is only one thing to be 
 done before dinner you must find father and ask his 
 pardon, without justifying yourself in the least, and 
 with a good grace." 
 
 Meanwhile, irate St. Jean had gone to his wife with 
 an account of what had occurred, and was not satis- 
 fied with her reception of it. She wept, and would 
 not say a word. 
 
TAMING A TIC En . 155 
 
 He next encountered Eleanor with the story, but 
 she also was silent, and to his charge that his family 
 were turned against him, tears were her only reply. 
 He went off to his office, at the end of the garden, 
 and had remained there nearly an hour when Robert 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 "Father," he said, "I have come to ask your for- 
 giveness. I am very sorry that I worried you. I had 
 no business to interfere in your affairs ; it was entirely 
 wrong of me, and I beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 " Well, my son, let us say no more about it. I want 
 to be alone now till dinner." 
 
 There was, nevertheless, some constraint and undue 
 silence at dinner. In the evening Eleanor was sum- 
 moned to her father's office, though what the subject 
 of their conversation was she did not mention. But 
 next morning, as Robert was about riding off, his 
 father called to him. 
 
 " Where are you going, Robert ? " 
 
 " To Sullivan's Ford, sir," said Robert, bringing 
 his horse close to his father ; " the county nomina- 
 tions are arranged to-day." 
 
 " Ah, I had forgotten. If you meet Scott, tell him 
 I shall come over this evening." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The thing was done. Robert's heart gave a little 
 leap as he galloped off straight to Scott's, of course. 
 Next morning he was informed by his father that 
 Selwood was let to Stringfield. 
 
 " I need your forgiveness all the more," said Robert 
 handsomely, " for nobody ever had a better father, 
 and I hope, sir, you will never doubt my love for you," 
 
156 PINE AA T D PALM. 
 
 Robert hoped to be the first to carry the good news 
 to Leroy House. While the holiday company which 
 we have already accompanied to Selwood were spec- 
 ulating about the rooms which should be Charlotte's, 
 which the study, and how they should be decorated 
 the eager lover was telling the tidings to Bertha. 
 Although these had partly preceded him she was 
 " dying to hear all about it," and was so sweet and 
 affable that his hope rose high. Bertha inconsider- 
 ately ran on with what they were all so full of ; it was 
 Mr. Wentworth said this and Mr. Wentworth did that ; 
 until presently her words elicited no answer, and on 
 looking up she saw a thunder-cloud in place of the 
 hopeful face she had greeted. She was appalled and 
 began to ask how all were at home. 
 
 " Home ! I have no home. Every body can have 
 a happy home but me." 
 
 " Oh, Robert, don't talk so ; you have a home and 
 dear sisters." 
 
 " I am almost twenty-four ; nearly every man of my 
 age around here is engaged, or married, and settled 
 down to something ; but I am a wanderer on the face 
 of the earth." 
 
 " Well, Robert, why don't you settle down to do 
 something useful." 
 
 " What for ? A man works for love or money. I 
 don't want money, and I've got nobody to love me." 
 
 " That isn't true ; your sisters love you." 
 
 " You know what I mean. Oh Bertha ! " 
 
 She heard footsteps in the hall and hoped somebody 
 \7ould enter, but they died away, and she must pass 
 through her ordenl. 
 
TAMING A TIGER. 157 
 
 "I begin to feel," said Robert, struggling with his 
 emotion, " as if some curse was on me. Our family 
 somehow stands alone. Father didn't mean to let the 
 Stringfields have that place, but I tackled him on it 
 the first time in my life and was almost ordered out 
 of the house ; then he gave up. I did it because I 
 wanted to break down the wall between us and other 
 people." 
 
 " That was grand of you, Robert. I'm glad you 
 told me that." 
 
 " Oh, are you glad ? I have made you glad. Bertha, 
 it was for you I did it. Wall or no wall is all one to 
 to me but for you ! Only try and love me it's awful 
 to go on as I've been since since that day." 
 
 " I'm so sorry. Much as I like you, Robert, it's 
 impossible to change the answer I gave." 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " 
 
 Robert threw up his hands, as if shot. Then he 
 slowly arose and looked out of the window, unfortu- 
 nately just as the party from Selwood appeared, St. 
 George being now with the children and Wentwor^h 
 with Charlotte behind them. The last time Robert 
 had seen the Bostonian he was with Bertha, and now 
 on the instant he received authentic revelation that 
 this smiling gentleman was her accepted lover. 
 
 "Bertha!" he cried, "tell me this are you in 
 love with somebody else ? " 
 
 " What a question ! " 
 
 " Answer me ! " he thundered. 
 
 Anger answered anger : in an instant Bertha was 
 on her feet, but not being a lover under jealous 
 delusion, she could still be cool and satirical. 
 
158 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Please, master, don't whip me too hard," she 
 whined out. 
 
 " I know ! " shouted the maniac. " It's that 
 damned Yankee who drove you to church." 
 
 " Oh, I'm a runaway, am I ? Set the dogs on 
 me " 
 
 " I'll kill him ! " shouted Robert, on whom the 
 girl's sarcasm was wasted. 
 
 " And now, please master, I'll go, or you might kill 
 me too ; and I've heard enough foul language for one 
 day." 
 
 She darted out the door. Her words, " foul 
 language," roused him to some confused conscious- 
 ness of his misbehavior, and he felt that he should 
 see her no more. At such moments more reasonable 
 men sometimes seek scapegoats for their sins ; but 
 Wentworth had already been selected to be that of 
 Robert, who glared at him furiously as he passed out. 
 Every one observed the glance except its object, who 
 seemed fey, as the Scotch say. 
 
 ^"Gracious !" exclaimed Charlotte to her brother. 
 " Some of Bertha's work ! " 
 
 St. George hurried over to the horse-rack, where 
 Robert was mounting, and offered his hand ; but it 
 was not taken, and with a few muttered words the 
 agitated youth dashed off. 
 
 " Poor Bob," said Saint, when he returned to Char- 
 lotte, " he's awfully cut up. I didn't like what he 
 said, either." 
 
 " What was it ? " 
 
 " ' Damned Yankee ! I'll do for him ! ' " 
 
 " Don't repeat that, Saint," 
 
TAMING A TIGER. 159 
 
 Charlotte found Bertha upstairs in a swoon, with 
 Fanny sprinkling water in her face. They soon got 
 her to bed, but she became hysterical, and it was long 
 before she was able to tell what had happened. She 
 kept back Robert's brutal language, but confided to 
 Charlotte and her elder sister the delusion he was 
 under, and his threat against Wentworth. 
 
 " Why in the world didn't you undeceive him ? " 
 
 " It was impossible. I can't tell you just why, 
 Lotty. He lost his head and I couldn't keep mine." 
 
 " You'll have to write to him." 
 
 " Never ! nor will I ever speak to him." 
 
 Charlotte laid her cheek to Bertha's, and then the 
 tears began to flow. Fanny quietly left them 
 together. 
 
 " And you can not love him? " 
 
 " I am not in love, Lotty. I believe I'm a baby in 
 that kind of thing. It all seems a long way off. I'm 
 so happy with you all, so wrapped up in what we're 
 all doing, that this is like a great trouble breaking in. 
 Ever since spring, when Robert spoke, I've been 
 trying to forget it but, oh, how frightened I am ! " 
 
 And indeed Bertha's teeth chattered. Charlotte 
 tried to soothe her, but she became feverish, and ran 
 on with mingled tears and laughter . 
 
 " Oh, Lotty, if you had only seen him ! I felt like 
 a mouse before a tiger. Did you ever hear of a mouse 
 marrying a tiger ? That's me marrying Robert. His 
 eyes grew big as saucers, without the least exaggera- 
 tion. It's a mercy he didn't eat me." 
 
 Charlotte gradually gathered what had occurred, 
 and it made her uneasy. She and the Leroys knew 
 
160 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 that Robert was no mere vaporer, and there was 
 some consultation about his menaces. Of all this, 
 however, the individual most concerned knew nothing, 
 but passed the afternoon writing letters for the next 
 day's mail one to Stirling, another to Judge Minott ; 
 a third was addressed to " Messrs. Dolland, Manufac- 
 turers of Scientific Instruments, Boston, Mass.;" a 
 fourth was to " Abrahams, Costumer, Cornhill, 
 Boston." 
 
 The Selwood property included a large building 
 for cotton storage, latterly used as a barn, and on this 
 Wentworth fixed a more adrniring eye than even upon 
 the pretty cottage with roses climbing on its verandah. 
 The Barn was now empty, and, although he heard 
 Leroy already negotiating for its use, the big build- 
 ing presented possibilities of divine uselessness to this 
 peculiar Yankee's eye which prevailed with its new 
 owner. The Barn at once became the scene of mys- 
 terious labors. St. George was full of resources in 
 handiwork, and Wesley Hampton had been given 
 some training as a mechanic. Some planter of the 
 past had happily made preparations for the crop our 
 Utopian sowers hoped to harvest there, by leaving 
 plank enough for a stage. 
 
 One day toward the close of the week, work at the 
 Barn being now well advanced, Bertha walked over 
 there. It so happened that Robert had just been to 
 Selwood to direct some repair, and was riding past 
 the Barn when Bertha knocked at the door. She saw 
 him and he saw her, he must also have seen Went- 
 worth admit her into that long-unused building, and 
 carefully close the door. St. George was more dis- 
 
TAMING A TIGER. 161 
 
 turbed even than herself when she whispered what 
 had occurred ; he went out but Robert was nowhere 
 to be seen. Wentworth was puzzled by their agita- 
 tion, and when Bertha had gone managed to get from 
 St. George the whole story of Robert's jealousy and 
 threats. 
 
 "Poor fellow," said Wentworth, "he saw the 
 * damned Yankee ' admitting his sweet-heart into a 
 lonely Barn. I wonder he didn't shoot me ! " 
 
 " Tell truth, I wonder he didn't ; he's equal to it." 
 
 "What sort of a fellow is he, Saint?" 
 
 " Not a bad fellow ; he's got a heart ; but he doesn't 
 do any thing but go to political meetings and rave 
 about Southern Rights." 
 
 " Has Bertha any thing particular against him ? " 
 
 " Think not. Bertha's young, every body pets her 
 at home, and she never cared for beaux." 
 
 " Does this Mr. Ravenel contemplate any pro- 
 fession ? " 
 
 " Think not. They've lots of money. He wanted 
 to be an artist but his father put his foot down on 
 that." 
 
 " Can he paint ? " 
 
 " He used to beat every thing at drawing ; he made 
 a funny picture of every boy at school, and one day 
 old Carter at the Landing paid him ten dollars for 
 painting a sign for his tavern. I don't know if he 
 paints now, but somebody told me he made a pretty 
 picture of his sister Eleanor sitting in the verandah." 
 
 " Where do the Ravenels live ? " 
 
 " Rochelle about five miles on the high road. It's 
 a good road for you to keep away from just now. In 
 
162 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 fact, though I hate to say it, there's danger in Bob, 
 and you must take my pistol along when you come 
 to-morrow. He's a red-hot southerner, he's jealous, 
 he isn't safe." 
 
 " Thank you for the warning. I'll think it all over. 
 But I must at once decline the pistol." 
 
 Wentworth did think over the situation very care- 
 fully. The result was that, in the course of the next 
 morning, while the work was going on briskly in the 
 Barn, he slipped out, mounted a horse which Wesley 
 brought up on the moment, and rode swiftly toward 
 Rochelle. Three miles on the way he met the for- 
 midable man himself, whom he could not recognize. 
 Robert's horse was steaming ; he snorted when reined 
 up, and pawed the ground, as if sensible of his 
 master's fury. 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth, I believe," said Robert with a 
 dark look. 
 
 " Yes ; and you ? " 
 
 " Ravenel is my name. You are the man I want to 
 meet." 
 
 "At your service, Mr. Ravenel." 
 
 " One of us must die." 
 
 " I hope not just yet." 
 
 " I demand satisfaction, you know for what." 
 
 " You shall have satisfaction." 
 
 " When you please, where you please, how you 
 please ; I stake my life against yours." 
 
 " I would suggest as the time six months hence ; 
 because " 
 
 " Because you are a coward and can sneak off to 
 your damned Yankee land." 
 
TAMING A TIGER. 163 
 
 " That's not the only reason. I have two or three 
 others for not wishing to be hasty.'* 
 
 "Well, let's hear them," said Robert, lashing his 
 boot. 
 
 " First, I wish to give you fair play. You are nerv- 
 ous. You are under the delusion that there is some 
 kind of love affair between Miss Bertha and me. 
 That is a mistake. I don't wonder you fancy so, for 
 she is a lovely young lady, but there isn't the ghost 
 of a chance that we shall ever be more than good 
 friends. You are under the wilder delusion that she 
 and I had a clandestine meeting in Selwood Barn, 
 and do not know that St. George and others were 
 inside." 
 
 Robert saw truth in the face before him ; his eyes 
 fell, his head sank, a pallor of shame overspread his 
 face. 
 
 " These delusions so agitate you that you couldn't 
 shoot steady. I should have the advantage. If you 
 happen to have a pistol will you lend it me a 
 moment?" 
 
 Robert drew out a pocket-pistol and handed it 
 helplessly. There was a sharp report and a sparrow 
 lay dead some paces distant. 
 
 " I'm glad that isn't you," said Wentworth, returning 
 the pistol ; " even a Yankee coward is not always 
 cowardly enough to shoot an enemy whose hand is 
 trembling. No, sir, we must meet when you're 
 cooler." 
 
 " You've got me down," gasped Robert. 
 
 " There's another reason why our duel should be 
 postponed," said Wentworth, without seeming to hear 
 
1 64 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Robert's words ; " your help is needed in an impor- 
 tant matter, and I was just coming to beg for it." 
 
 " My help ! " 
 
 " Yours. But since you have challenged me and 
 I have accepted, the Leroys will have to send some 
 other messenger. Good morning ! " 
 
 " Stop, for God's sake ! You have got me down 
 and I deserve to be trampled on. Good God, what a 
 jackass I've been making of myself. Just wait a 
 minute." 
 
 Robert wiped the sweat from his brow ; it was some 
 moments before he could speak. 
 
 " There's one thing I ought to say, Mr. Wentworth. 
 You find me with a pistol and think I meant to 
 to" 
 
 " Shoot me." 
 
 " I do not often carry one, and it was not for you ; 
 more likely that bullet would have gone into my own 
 heart." 
 
 "Then, indeed, we are well met." 
 
 " I have made a fool of myself about you, and I ask 
 your pardon. If you knew how miserable I am you 
 might not think so hard of me." 
 
 " I can guess something : I am not your enemy ; I 
 would like to be your friend were that possible to a 
 Yankee." 
 
 " There's my hand, sir. You're the first northern 
 man I ever met, and I could bite my tongue out for 
 having insulted you." 
 
 " Now that we are friends," said Wentworth, after 
 shaking hands, I will say what I was coming for. I 
 hear you know how to paint." 
 
TAMING A TIGER. 165 
 
 " Daub." 
 
 " Well, daub. Now, it's a secret at present, but we 
 are getting up some theatricals in that same Barn " 
 
 " Oh Lord ! " 
 
 " And we have every thing except scenery. We 
 don't need much the inside of a room, and a kind of 
 hall, to begin with." 
 
 " I can't paint worth looking at." 
 
 " I feel sure you can paint what we require. There's 
 plenty of canvas. Fanny and Bertha will sew it for 
 you, and I'm certain you will accommodate the 
 ladies." 
 
 " You are the gentleman I wanted to kill." 
 
 " Oh no, it wasn't you but your ghost ; I saw it was 
 your ghost I was meeting ; you never meant me any 
 harm." 
 
 " It's brave to say so, but I can't forgive myself, 
 and and I'm ashamed to ever meet her again." 
 
 " Oh, you'll soon make that up." 
 
 " You don't know half. I've treated her like a 
 brute. I've insulted her and cursed her, and accused 
 her of heinous crimes, and acted like a run-mad jack- 
 ass" 
 
 " Come, now, I don't believe you. You're drawing 
 it too strong and then jackasses don't run mad. 
 The donkey is a picturesque animal ; and if you've 
 been a little foolish, why come and be pictorial in 
 the Barn." 
 
 " There's nothing I'd not try to do for you to atone 
 for my behavior ; but the favor's the other way the 
 prospect of making myself useful is the best any one 
 can set before me," 
 
166 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Good ! And now we're mounted, what say you 
 to riding to the Barn for a look at things." 
 
 The visit was made, the dimensions taken for the 
 scenery, and Robert promised to come next day with 
 his pigments. In parting with Wentworth he said, 
 " If you live a hundred years you'll never know what 
 you've done for me this day." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ART AND ARTIFICE. 
 
 A BUSY month followed. Never since the Revo- 
 lution had Leroy Island known so much activity 
 among its white inhabitants as attended the sojourn 
 of its first northern visitor. By the last week in No- 
 vember much had been accomplished : the String- 
 fields were housed at Selwood, the Barn was full of 
 benches, the performers were versed in their parts. 
 On a day, two mysterious boxes had been brought 
 from the Landing for Wentworth, curiosity concerning 
 which threatened some of the Leroy household with 
 fever until their contents could partly be inferred from 
 the First Programme. This, as submitted to the 
 assembled family council, was as follows : 
 
 LEROY ISLAND ENTERTAINMENT. 
 
 Part Song " Home, Sweet Home," 
 
 Misses Fannie and Bertha Leroy. 
 
 Recitation " Marion's Men." . . . Master Sumter Leroy. 
 Flute Solo Scotch Strathspey, . . . Mr. St. George Leroy. 
 Song " The Four-Leaved Shamrock," Miss Bertha Leroy. 
 Guitar Song" The Blue Juniatta," . Miss Leroy. 
 Magic Lantern The Prodigal Son, 
 
 Mr. W. Wentworth, exhibitor. 
 
 Recitation "Crime and Remorse," Rev. Phayr Stringfield, Miss 
 Stringfield, Mrs. Leroy, Mr. Wentworth. 
 
 " Crime and Remorse ? " said Charlotte ; " is that 
 better than ' Scenes from Macbeth ' ? " 
 
1 68 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 "Leroy and I think we had better not hint any 
 thing theatrical," said Wentworth ; " gentle Shakes- 
 peare will forgive us for not mentioning him ; his 
 rose will smell as sweet by another name." 
 
 The vigil of the first rehearsal was one of excite- 
 ment. Sumter sank to sleep with Marion's Men 
 marching on his lips ; Mrs. Leroy had to warn her 
 daughters that they were making sweet home sour 
 with their midnight singing ; and Charlotte, who was 
 passing the night there, heard a voice warning " Lotty 
 Macbeth " that, if she didn't stop her sleep-walking 
 and her damns, said voice would be too sleepy to play 
 the flute next night. 
 
 St. George had been astounded when, on the day 
 after he had warned Wentworth against Robert, the 
 latter entered the Barn. Saint sprang forward with 
 alarm, and could hardly stammer an apology for his 
 brusqueness when he saw Wentworth greeting his 
 enemy. When Wentworth presently whispered 
 explanations Saint said "you're a magician." Robert, 
 with Eleanor's assistance, had prepared a large can- 
 vas, and now set to work, only begging Wentworth 
 not to let him have to face her> nor let any body else 
 know he was working at the Barn. Robert worked 
 daily until he had painted a brilliant palatial interior. 
 Only when Wentworth begged it as a favor did he 
 consent to be present at the first rehearsal. 
 
 None of the Leroy children had ever seen a theater, 
 and no Parisian stage ever gave habitue half the 
 delight which filled these Arcadians when the curtain 
 at the Barn was drawn and the lamp-lit scenery 
 revealed. 
 
ART A Kb ARTIFICE. 169 
 
 " Oh-h-h ! Isn't it just perfectly beautiful ! " was 
 the first chorus heard in Selwood Barn. 
 
 " Who could have painted it ! " cried Bertha. 
 
 " It came from the north in one of Those Boxes," 
 said Charlotte. 
 
 " No ! Guess again ! " said Wentworth. 
 
 "I know, I know!" cried Bertha; "Mr. Went- 
 worth painted it. " 
 
 " Isn't that girl smart ? Why didn't we think of it 
 before ? " said Charlotte. 
 
 " Because it isn't so. I only wish I could paint like 
 that." 
 
 "Artist ! Artist ! " cried Charlotte ; "every body 
 call artist ! " 
 
 Poor Robert had crept to a dark corner near the 
 door, and heard the call with terror. He was relieved 
 by hearing Wentworth say that the artist would be 
 known in good time, but they must now prepare for 
 rehearsal. But under pretext of looking at Bertha's 
 music he whispered to her the secret. 
 
 " The artist is Robert Ravenel ; he and I are good 
 friends and he has been working with us for two 
 weeks. He's in the far corner on the left of the door, 
 and afraid to meet you." 
 
 " I can't sing at once," said Bertha ; " let Sumter 
 come on first." 
 
 Sumter had hardly got through when a little scream 
 was heard near the door. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! There's somebody down here there's 
 a man here ! " 
 
 It was Bertha's voice. Robert had seen her wan- 
 dering his way, absorbed in her music, and crouched, 
 
170 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 with his back turned to escape recognition. His 
 blood curdled at her cry. 
 
 " Why ! " she said innocently, when all had rushed 
 up, "if it isn't Mr. Ravenel ! " 
 
 Robert came forward, looking sheepish, and Bertha 
 clapped her hands. 
 
 " I know ! This time I do know ; the artist is 
 Robert Ravenel ! " 
 
 " Right ! " shouted Wentworth and Saint together. 
 
 Robert could not escape his ovation. Leroy and 
 Stringfield shook his hand with warmth, the latter 
 expressing the hope of seeing him at Selwood. When 
 last of all came Bertha, the rest now returning 
 toward the stage, the culprit shrank back. 
 
 " It's beautiful, Robert, and we owe you so much 
 for it ! " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Bertha," he said in a scarce audible 
 tone, " don't speak to me ! I've committed the 
 unpardonable sin." 
 
 " I won't hear of that." 
 
 " You don't know half. I wasn't only a brute to 
 you, but to him he'd never tell you, but I tried to 
 murder him yes, on the highway and he the gent- 
 lest gentleman that ever lived. No, it's no use, I've 
 committed the unpardonable sin, I'm not fit for you 
 to speak to I'm not fit to be here, but he begged me 
 to come." 
 
 " Let bygones be bygones, Robert ; you must come 
 and listen, we want you to criticise do come ! " 
 
 "Where's Bertha ? " cried several voices. 
 
 " Here I am ! Where are your eyes, shouting at a 
 body when she's studying her music close by you ? " 
 
ART AND ARTIFICE. 171 
 
 In a few moments the sisters were singing their 
 duet, and Robert was drawn by fascination to a bench 
 behind Wentworth, to whom he whispered when 
 the duet was over. 
 
 " Is she not an angel ! She even came and spoke 
 to me after all my crimes. I'm in hell and it's 
 too good for me. I'm going now to hide my head 
 somewhere, but to my dying day I'll not forget what 
 you've done. Should we never meet again " 
 
 " Will you please shift that scene a little forward," 
 cried Wentworth, as if he had not heard the whispers 
 behind him. " Wait a moment, Saint, Mr. Ravenel 
 will put the scene where it will be brighter." 
 
 Robert was soon on the stage, and when the really 
 needless change was made Wentworth thanked him 
 and said : " Please don't go, for I need your help 
 with my Magic Lantern." 
 
 The rehearsal having passed off to general satis- 
 faction they all walked home, Bertha managing to 
 get some private conversation with Wentworth on the 
 way. 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth, did you and Robert have any 
 hostile meeting ? He said he tried to murder you." 
 
 " Nonsense. The fellow exaggerates everything 
 against himself. Why, he told me he insulted you, 
 abused you, accused you of heinous crimes ! " 
 
 " He must have dreamed most of that, but he was 
 terrible, and his language wasn't proper." 
 
 " What ! Did he use improper language to a lady ! " 
 
 " Oh, not exactly toward me but " 
 
 "About me ; still, I'm shocked that, before a lady, 
 he could use coarse " 
 
172 PINE AND PALM, 
 
 " Oh dear me, it wasn't exactly that either ; I 
 don't like to repeat it." 
 
 " Language you can't repeat ! I give him up." 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth, hold your ear down," said Bertha, 
 and she whispered " He said damn ! " 
 
 11 Dreadful ! but I think I'll take him back again. 
 He was in great pain, and that sometimes calls up 
 expressions people have heard in church." 
 
 " But how did you soften him ? I do believe you 
 could enter the lions' den, like Daniel." 
 
 " I wouldn't be afraid if the lions were in love with 
 pretty lionesses, and knew I was a friend of the lion- 
 esses : they'd all turn to lambs." 
 
 " That's like ^Esop's fables," said Bertha, turning 
 crimson. 
 
 " Now tell me something about these Ravenels." 
 
 Bertha gave some account of the family, and Went- 
 worth asked if it was likely that any of them would 
 assist in future entertainments. Fanny was summoned 
 to advise on this point. They were not certain. If 
 old Mr. Ravenel shouldn't take up a prejudice against 
 the scheme Eleanor might sing a song. The younger 
 sister Netty was bright and pretty but they knew little 
 of her. There was a general consultation on the same 
 subject that evening. The sympathy of the Ravenels 
 with their projects was regarded by Leroy as so 
 important, especially that of the magistrate, that 
 Wentworth resolved to visit Rochelle the next day. 
 
 St. Jean and Robert were absent when Wentworth 
 arrived at Rochelle ; but that the visitor did not 
 regret, for he desired a preliminary interview with 
 Eleanor. This lady met him with a warmth which 
 
ART AND ARTIFICE, 173 
 
 suggested knowledge of his relations with her brother 
 her "rash brother," and her tears started when 
 Wentworth said he might be rash but had as true a 
 heart as ever beat. Eleanor was half won to the Barn 
 movement before he came : at the end of an hour 
 there was formed a conspiracy of three women 
 Madame Ravenel, Eleanor, and Netty and two men 
 (Robert being taken for granted) to secure the old 
 Huguenot's favor for the entertainments. In case of 
 their success Eleanor would not refuse her ballads, 
 and Netty would " participate in a recitation " 
 euphemism agreed on for " acting " in any small part. 
 In view of the important end to be attained Wentworth 
 accepted an invitation to remain to dinner, for which 
 St. Jean and his son duly returned. 
 
 Whatever might be the faults of St. Jean Ravenel, 
 inhospitality was not among them. To him his guest 
 was of all men the superior. Wentworth was made at 
 ease in his presence, and the dinner passed off 
 pleasantly enough. The Martin-summer, as it was 
 called at Rochelle, continued, and the gentlemen 
 smoked in the verandah St. Jean his silver-mounted 
 corn-cob pipe. The Bostonian was fairly fascinated 
 by the elder Ravenel, having never before seen so 
 picturesque a personage. His silvery hair with its 
 queue, his ruffles, and snow-white cravat flowing 
 through a large sapphire ring, his ancient watch-seals 
 falling beneath the waistcoat, and blue dress-coat with 
 plain brass buttons, were all in harmony with the 
 gracious dignity of the man. Wentworth thought 
 that if he were getting up theatricals in Boston he 
 could wish nothing better than have such a figure 
 
174 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 simply appear on the stage. When his fellow-conspir- 
 ators had left him alone with St. Jean, Wentworth 
 found that he had been too much interested in this 
 unique old gentleman to consider properly any plan 
 for besieging him. He opened rather feebly. 
 
 " I can hardly imagine a pleasanter place than you 
 have here," he said, and then, with compunction for 
 the commonplace, added," it's a place for com- 
 munion with poets." 
 
 " Yes, we have some leisure for reading, but I find 
 good books rare. My family have less difficulty ; 
 they are just now making an ado about a Mr. Kingsley, 
 but I've not looked into him yet. I stick to my Moliere, 
 my Milton, and Shakespeare ; they are likely to last 
 my remnant of days." 
 
 " In the company of such giants I don't wonder 
 modern writers seem pigmies. I myself was brought 
 up on Milton, and to this day he appears to me almost 
 incomparable/' 
 
 " For thirty years no week has passed without my 
 reading something from Milton. And, by the way, if 
 you are interested in such things I have an old edition 
 of Milton that belonged to my grandfather ; his 
 pencilings are in it." 
 
 "I should much like to see it." 
 
 " It is at my office ; will you go with me ? " 
 
 Passing through a garden, and an avenue of aspens 
 for some two hundred yards, they entered a white 
 frame office with neatly-turned pillars in front. The 
 walls were well stocked with books, the table loaded 
 with business papers. The Milton was at once laid 
 before Wentworth. 
 
ART AND ARTIFICE. 175 
 
 " A Hollis ! " he cried, " there's his owl ! But this 
 is rare." 
 
 " And pray who or what is Hollis ? " asked St. Jean. 
 
 " An admirable Englishman who lived a hundred 
 years ago and brought out a superb edition of Milton : 
 this copy is from his own library." 
 
 " How could you tell ? That name is indeed inside, 
 but it never conveyed any meaning to me/' 
 
 " Every book in his library was bound in red, with 
 an owl on it ; if he thought the book not wise the owl 
 was reversed. Any Hollis book brings a solid 
 price, but a Hollis Milton is worth its weight in 
 gold." 
 
 " This is very interesting. Where can I find more 
 about this Mr. Hollis ? " 
 
 " I own a copy of his Memoirs, and it shall be in 
 your hands next week. If you will pardon my 
 egotism, I passed my college life in a building named 
 after him, * Hollis Hall/ for he was a great benefactor 
 of Harvard university." 
 
 The old gentleman was grateful for the promise but 
 deprecated the trouble it might involve. Wentworth 
 assured him it would be a pleasure, and began to turn 
 over the pages, meanwhile summoning his wits to 
 follow up his lucky hit ; for Leroy feared that St. 
 Jean's disfavor might even prove fatal to the innova- 
 tion at the Barn. He concluded at last to try and 
 utilize Milton. 
 
 " I never read these majestic poems," said Went- 
 worth, " without thinking what a grand thing it would 
 be if passages from them could be recited before 
 masses of men," 
 
176 PINE AMD PALM. 
 
 " In the way he himself has described/' said St 
 Jean with some eagerness, " do you remember that 
 passage ? " 
 
 " Can you find it readily ? " 
 
 " Easily, here it is, in the Plea against Prelaty." 
 " It would delight me to hear you read it." 
 " Certainly : * But because the spirit of man can 
 not demean itself lively in this body without some 
 recreating intermission of labor and serious things, 
 it were happy for the commonwealth if our magis-* 
 trates, as in those famous governments of old, would 
 take into their care, not only the deciding of our con- 
 tentious law-cases and brawls, but the managing of 
 our public sports and festival pastimes ; that they 
 might be, not such as men authorized a while since, 
 the provocations of drunkenness and lust, but such as 
 may inure and harden our bodies by martial exercises 
 to all warlike skill and performance : and may civilize, 
 adorn, and make discreet our minds by the learned 
 and affable meeting of frequent academies, and the 
 procurement of wise and artful recitations, sweetened 
 with eloquent and graceful enticements to the love 
 and practice of justice, temperance, and fortitude, 
 instructing and bettering the nation at all opportu- 
 nities, that the call of wisdon and virtue maybe heard 
 everywhere, as Solomon saith : " She crieth without, 
 .she lifteth up her voice in the streets, in the top of 
 high places, in the chief concourse, and in the open- 
 ings of the gates." Whether this may not be, not 
 only in pulpits, but after another persuasive method, 
 at set and solemn paneguries, in theaters, porches, or 
 what other way may win most upon the people to 
 
ART AND ARTIFICE. 177 
 
 receive at once both recreation and instruction, let 
 them in authority consult." 
 
 " That is great ! " cried Wentworth, " where else 
 can be found such writing, such sublime truth. 
 
 " My grandfather has added on the margin : 
 ' Behold a lighthouse among lanterns ! These words 
 should be written in gold over the head of every 
 magistrate.' " 
 
 " The marginal note should be printed in gold over 
 that owl." 
 
 " He was indeed a fine old magistrate, albeit book- 
 worm, my son bears his name, Robert Julian Rav- 
 enel." 
 
 " Mr. Ravenel, you were led to that passage by a 
 happy inspiration, for it opens up a subject I am 
 anxious to consult you about. Being in the neighbor- 
 hood, and connected for a time with a school, I am try- 
 ing to get up something of the kind described by 
 Milton, something that will unite instruction with 
 recreation in a small way indeed, but we must not 
 despise the day of small things." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Many a time, when sots 
 have been brought before me from brawls at cock- 
 fights and dog-fights, our county amusements, I have 
 reflected what a blessing would be some elevating 
 recreation in this region." 
 
 " This gives me hope that you will sympathize with 
 my efforts." 
 
 " I can give you no aid, I am old, and can barely 
 jog on my daily round to the end." 
 
 " To have your good will in my effort to do 
 something in the spirit of that glorious passage 
 
178 PIKE AND PALM. 
 
 you have read, were help and encouragement 
 enough." 
 
 " That you have with all my heart. And though 
 I am too old for more, perhaps my young people may 
 be able to render service in a thing like that." 
 
 When Wentworth returned to the verandah with the 
 venerable St. Jean, the conspirators saw success on 
 his beaming countenance. 
 
 " Now you must take your nap, father," said Eleanor, 
 " Mr. Wentworth will excuse you." 
 
 " No, child, I don't need it at all." 
 
 " But you must, father." 
 
 "Pray do, sir," said Wentworth, "or I should never 
 dare to come again, as I meant to ask permission 
 to do. " 
 
 " You troublesome girl," said the old man rising. 
 " My children read in their Bible * Parents obey your 
 children.' I hope you will remain for the night, Mr. 
 Wentworth." 
 
 u Another time I shall be glad to do so, but 
 must deny myself now. Good by for the present, 
 sir." 
 
 " Good-by, and let us see you again ! " 
 
 Wentworth's success caused less surprise to the 
 other conspirators than he expected. Eleanor 
 remarked that though her father might have a few 
 prejudices he knew a good deal of human nature, and 
 could tell when a man was animated by the right 
 spirit. 
 
 " But," said Wentworth bowing, " magistrate though 
 he is, I fear he can not always recognize guilt. I 
 never felt guiltier than when I found myself out there 
 
ART AND ARTIFICE. 179 
 
 practising stratagems on a large heart whose gates 
 were all open." 
 
 u Perhaps you knew the sesame to open them." 
 " No, he found even that himself it was Milton." 
 " Whom he holds next to his Bible," said Madame 
 Ravenel. 
 
 Before Wentworth left the second programme was 
 already arranged and the parts Eleanor and Netty were 
 to take. He was met by the Leroys with upbraidings 
 for his absence from dinner, but these were silenced 
 by the happy story he had to tell of his visit to 
 Rochelle. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. 
 
 IT had been arranged that the negroes should 
 come to the entertainments by relays, as the 
 Barn could hold only three hundred and fifty. Mr. 
 Haswell, who from the first had been consulted, 
 announced the arrangements from his pulpit ; and the 
 evening, anticipated with many speculations, came at 
 last a never-to-be-forgotten Saturday ! Punctually 
 at eight the curtain was drawn by an invisible hand, 
 revealing the interior of a palace, which elicited an 
 exclamation of delight from one voice with several 
 hundred throats. Then Leroy made a little speech. 
 
 " My colored friends, we have come to amuse and 
 interest you. All of us have work enough to do, and 
 it won't harm us to have a little play now and then. 
 We all have troubles, and it will do us good to forget 
 them. We haven't asked white folks because we 
 wanted all the room for you. Next time we shall have 
 the younger colored people, and white folks must wait 
 for the third table." 
 
 " Thanky, sir," said a voice. 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " cried other voices, to the last. 
 
 " No," said Leroy, "you needn't hold your tongues. 
 AVhen any song or recitation is going on it is better to 
 wait till it is through before saying what you think or 
 
MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. 181 
 
 feel ; but don't feel tongue-tied here, nor afraid of 
 anybody. My daughters will now sing " Home, Sweet 
 Home." 
 
 When Fanny and Bertha appeared in their simple 
 white dresses there were lively exclamations " Ain't 
 dey pooty ! " " Dey's angels, dey is ! " They sang 
 tenderly, and now and then a plaintive note from some 
 listener mingled with the refrain. Sumter did fam- 
 ously, eliciting cries of " Ain't he smart ! " " Dat 
 chile'll be a preacher, sartin ! " 
 
 Bertha's shamrock spells, preceded by Leroy's 
 explanation of the Irish superstition, were sweetly 
 woven, and her applause was fi Bless her heart ! " 
 " She'd make every body happy if she could ! " The 
 music was indeed all successful, and the interval that 
 followed was filled with a general buzz of delight more 
 musical to some ears present than the concert. There 
 was deep stillness when the lights were put out. All 
 the performers except Wentworth and his assistants 
 Stringfield and Robert slipped out among the spec- 
 tators, oblivious of caste in their eagerness to see the 
 magic pictures. When a great circle of light on the 
 sheet revealed them standing along the wall the 
 negroes sprang up to offer them seats. 
 
 *' Sit still ! " cried Leroy ; " we are the servants 
 now, and wish to stand." 
 
 " That ain't proper, marsa." 
 
 " Yes, it is, Ben. If you wish to please us keep 
 your seats and watch the pictures of the Prodigal Son 
 which our friend and yours, Mr. Wentworth, has taken 
 much pains to obtain for us." 
 
 The pictures were pretty and caused emotional 
 
1 82 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 delight. Stringfield's melodious voice was heard from 
 behind the scene reciting each part of the parable as 
 it was illustrated, an occasional " Bless the Lord," or 
 other word responding out of the darkness in front. 
 The Prodigal was seen parting from his parents, 
 feasting with luxurious and dissolute companions, 
 ragged and haggard among the swine, journeying 
 homeward, the father falling on his son's neck, the 
 Feast of the Fatted Calf. Then Stringfield's voice 
 filled the room " This my son was dead but is alive 
 again ; he was lost but is found." 
 
 " Glory to God ! " cried a voice from the front. 
 
 " Glory ! glory ! " answered a hundred. 
 
 " Show us that agin, please marsa ! " 
 
 Wentworth went over the series again, and then 
 there was a scene of wild excitement, amid which an 
 old negro cried, " Let us pray ! " In a moment all 
 kneeled, and out of the darkness came a prayer no 
 longer to be contained a prayer to Jesus who "came 
 to seek and to save de loss," that he would "bless 
 Marse Leroy and his family, and de gemman who has 
 showed us pore cullud people dese picters bless dat 
 Marse Wentfur in 'tickler and bless Miss Fanny and 
 Berthy and Marse Saint and Sumter and de Lord 
 'specially bless missis for teachin' her chillen to 'mem- 
 ber de pore and needy sweet Jesus don't forget 'em 
 [Amen !] no, Lord, 'member 'em when dou comest in 
 dy kingdom [hallelujah, come Lord !] put dy arms 
 right roun' all dar necks an say, 'Well done good and 
 faithful servants, ye was kind to dem pore niggers, 
 and I'm agwine to be kind to you.' " 
 
 " Amen ! " The last words of the prayer were lost 
 
MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. 183 
 
 in the shout, and a female voice began singing, 
 " Canaan, Sweet Canaan," the Barn being presently 
 filled with a great surge of sound. 
 
 Mr. Stringfield now briefly told the story of Mac- 
 beth, which was the next thing in order. The cos- 
 tumes sent by Abrahams would hardly have satisfied 
 an antiquarian, but fortunately no Dryasdust was 
 present. Wentworth as Macbeth wore semi-military 
 dress, and Lady Macbeth (Charlotte) was an impos- 
 ing figure in her black robe, hoopless, long trained, 
 low at the neck, on her head a dazzling coronet. 
 When the curtain rose she was seen in the gorgeous 
 palace listening at the door while Macbeth was com- 
 mitting the murder within. When he rushed out 
 exclaiming " I have done the deed," there was a visi- 
 ble sensation in the crowd ; and, as the guilty pair 
 were exchanging their horrors, little Lily began to cry, 
 Fanny soothing her with assurance that they were 
 " only making 'tence." Wentworth made an impres- 
 sion with the words 
 
 " Methought I heard a voice cry, ' Sleep no more ! 
 Macbeth does murder sleep/ the innocent sleep, 
 Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, slow labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds " 
 
 " That's so ! " cried a woman. 
 
 " B'lieve you, honey," said another. 
 
 When Lady Macbeth said " 'Tis the eye of child- 
 hood that fears a painted devil," a voice cried " You 
 jes wait till he get hold of you ! " Charlotte's red 
 hands, after she had smeared the grooms, caused mur- 
 murs of horror, and the knocking at the door that fol- 
 
1 84 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 lowed thrilled the assembly into awe-struck silence. 
 On this the curtain fell. When it rose, the doctor 
 (Stringfield) and waiting gentlewoman (Mrs. Leroy) 
 held their colloquy, and presently Lady Macbeth 
 appeared in white gown, bearing a candle in her hand, 
 her face whitened to ghastliness. The sharp crash of 
 the fallen candlestick made all start : a weird half- 
 light was left on the scene. There was a minute of 
 awful silence ; then the hand was raised to the star- 
 ing eyes, slowly lowered, rubbed with the other, the 
 words hissing out u Here's a spot ! " When the 
 curdling cry came " Out damned spot ! out I say ! " 
 the horror became incontainable. 
 
 " It's blood on her hands ! " 
 
 " What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? " contin- 
 ued the actress. 
 
 " Cussin' won't clean 'em." 
 
 " She need de Jordan, she do." 
 
 " Pore creeter, an f in her nightgown too ! " 
 
 The doctor's final words " Good God forgive us all" 
 elicited many " amens " ; and after the wailing female 
 voices were heard without, and the queen's death was 
 announced, an old man cried " Thar sin hath foun' 
 'em out ! " 
 
 The curtain fell, the entertainment was over, but 
 the crowd seemed loth to go ; Leroy presently found 
 that the " keening " of the women at the death of 
 Lady Macbeth had shaken the nerves of some ; they 
 " hoped they was all right back thar," but so anxiously 
 that it was deemed prudent that the actors should 
 show themselves, smiling, hand in hand. There was 
 no applause no negro among them had ever been to 
 
MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. 185 
 
 an entertainment before, or knew the custom of audi- 
 ences but as they filed out and passed to their cabins 
 their voices could be heard in eager discussion of 
 what they had seen. 
 
 This thrice-given entertainment was so successful 
 that its promoters were much encouraged. The white 
 audience was enthusiastic, and it was soon made 
 known that several families included one or more in- 
 dividuals able to assist in future entertainments. 
 Leroy Island burgeoned with unsuspected talent. 
 On the second occasion Eleanor Ravenel sang " Lord 
 Ullin's Daughter," Sumter recited " Hail, Holy Light" 
 from Paradise Lost, the Leroy sisters sang the duet 
 " I know a bank where the wild thyme blows," and 
 there was a beautiful magic lantern series from " The 
 Pilgrim's Progress." In the trial-scene from the "Mer- 
 chant of Venice," Charlotte made a perfect Portia and 
 Netty Ravenel a piquant Nerissa. Wentworth took the 
 part of ShyJock and Leroy that of Antonio. The 
 negroes were so excited by the Jew's refusal of thrice 
 his money in his eagerness for the pound of flesh that 
 their protests became noisy, and the Venetian judge 
 (Stringfield) found it necessary to promise that it 
 would come right in the end. 
 
 " What we wants to know, sah, is what fur he do it. 
 Whyn't he take de cash an' whut he want de man's 
 meat fur ?" 
 
 "Well, my friend," said Stringfield, " Shylock's 
 been badly used for a long time, especially by this 
 same man, who used to spit upon him till he wanted 
 his money, and even then said he'd do it again. Shy- 
 lock is also the chief man of the Jews, and all his tribe 
 
N& AND PALM. 
 
 had been so despised and persecuted that he wants to 
 avenge his race. Bad as his thirst for revenge is, 
 there's some feeling of justice in it." 
 
 " Thanky, sah, an beg pardon for interfering but it's 
 hard to bar in mind dat it's all in fun." 
 
 Portia's plea for mercy moved all hearts, and Shy- 
 lock's obduracy after it caused some hearer to mur- 
 mur " Dat Jew'cl crucify de Lord." But when the 
 tables were turned on Shylock, his property taken, his 
 life threatened, and he moved to the door amid jeers, 
 some sympathy gathered to his side. 
 
 " Pore ole man ! " 
 
 " Dey's harder'n he was." 
 
 " But dey's gwine to baptize him, dat's somethinV 
 
 From the day of the first success Stringfield had 
 formed a scheme which would have been too daring 
 in a more sophisticated neighborhood nothing less 
 than to usher in Christmas with tableaux of the Nativ- 
 ity. Wentworth was charmed with the clergyman's 
 audacity. It was determined that this entertainment 
 should begin on Christmas-eve with lantern-pictures, 
 Wentworth having among his slides Abraham enter- 
 taining the Angels, Ruth and Boaz, the Queen of 
 Sheba visiting Solomon, Job in his tribulation, Job in 
 his triumph, and the Star of Bethlehem with Shep- 
 herds. All these were to be given in the above order, 
 and the tableaux vivants follow so as to bring that 
 of the Nativity at midnight. 
 
 Robert Ravenel never worked so hard in his life as 
 on the scenery. St. George hunted for ten miles 
 round for a donkey and at last brought back the pic- 
 turesque little animal which, in that region, was a show 
 
MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. 187 
 
 in himself. Stringfield, an accomplished chorist him- 
 self, drilled a choir of boys and maidens to sing hymns 
 appropriate to the tableaux. Much work was required, 
 but enthusiasm and enterprise prevailed over, all diffi- 
 culties. The young people of the neighborhood never 
 before saw so much of each other as during these 
 preparations, and the Barn was associated forever 
 with the merriest Christmas known in Leroy Island. 
 On the eventful evening the Barn was crowded to 
 its utmost capacity. Stringfield 's voice, now familiar 
 to the audience, accompanied the lantern-pictures 
 with descriptive words and texts. Then in front of 
 the stage moved a chorus of twelve genii, Eleanor 
 Ravenel leading the female, Stringfield the male chor- 
 isters. They were dressed in different colors, but 
 the robes of all reached to the feet from infant waists, 
 and all had large sleeves which, when their arms were 
 raised, bore a purposed resemblance to wings. Each 
 head was bound with a golden fillet, the hair falling 
 loose beneath it. It was like a rainbow become ani- 
 mate when they formed a curve before the cur- 
 tain ; their voices rang out their rapture and their 
 arms were waved with energy as they sang the glad 
 tidings. While the lantern-picture of the Star and 
 Shepherds was yet lingering in the vision of the spec- 
 tators the genii sang " While shepherds watched their 
 flocks by night ; " at its conclusion they parted to 
 either side and the curtain rose on Mary kneeling 
 before the Angel. Fanny had the Madonna face, and 
 was lovely as, clothed in bridal white, she knelt beside 
 a tall lily, her eyes down-dropt but shoulders erect, 
 her hands crossed on her breast. A quaint and lyrical 
 
1 88 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 beauty, enhanced by floating light hair, made Netty 
 Ravenel a picturesque angel ; she bore in her hand a 
 palm-leaf. A breathless stillness prevailed, as if each 
 feared by any sound to startle away the vision. As it 
 faded the genii sang, " Hark the glad sound ! the 
 Saviour comes." The second tableau (Salutation of 
 Elizabeth) was preceded by the hymn- 
 Love divine all love excelling, 
 Joy of heaven to earth come down. 
 
 The embrace of Mary and Elizabeth (Mrs. Leroy 
 and Fanny) could not be seen but as that of mother 
 and daughter through mist of tears. Leroy was 
 Zecharias. 
 
 The hymn that preceded the tableau of the Nativity 
 and Adoration was " Hark the herald angels sing ! " 
 This scene was a wonder. In the stable-interior the 
 heads of oxen seen above their stall were painted, 
 with straw and realistic rack. Joseph (Went worth), his 
 legs bare and bronzed, stood behind the ass, his look 
 reverently bent on Mary ; she (Fanny) was seated with 
 the child, a doll of Lily's, almost as large as herself, 
 whose face was concealed. The curtain being lowered 
 for a moment, the genii sang " O come all ye faithful," 
 at the end of which the same tableau was shown with 
 addition of the Three Kings. The great planter as 
 Caspar kneeling between two fine-looking negroes, 
 one (Wesley) light, the other (Uncle Zeb) very black 
 Melchior and Balthazar all in rich barbaric cos- 
 tumes, was a supernatural sight for the spectators. 
 The choristers sang " Brightest and best of the sons 
 of the morning," in which a duet by Masters Andy 
 Scott and Charley Millward gained them fame and 
 
MIRACLE-PLAYERS TO SAMBO. i8 
 
 Cemented their friendship. This tableau was called 
 for again and again, poor Joseph not having time even 
 to disturb a flea settled on his calf, " characteristi- 
 cally," as Stringfield said when he saw him rub the 
 spot, " shedding his blood for the slave." The furzy 
 donkey was effective in the tableau of the Flight. In 
 the closing tableau (Jesus in the Temple) St. George 
 was Simeon. Mary had provided herself with two 
 white pigeons which she held fluttering about her with 
 blue ribands, and the favorite hymn " Come Holy 
 Spirit, heavenly dove," was sung. 
 
 The effect of these tableaux is indescribable, hardly 
 imaginable. These negroes had never seen an artistic 
 creation in their lives ; their untrained sense was as 
 little able to see the beauty in nature as their mind to 
 read geologic records in the alluvium they dug. The 
 Biblical poetry had been vulgarized to them. The 
 sun had sent new rays since the Barn was opened. 
 The Ixion-wheel of toil stood still for one evening in the 
 seven, and its victims were compensated with glimpses 
 of a transfigured world. 
 
 Leroy gave his Christmas bounties from the stage, 
 each dollar being multiplied miraculously by the cir- 
 cumstances. They received it from Gaspar he had 
 not laid aside his costume who had knelt beside 
 black Melchior and Balthazar before their common 
 Lord. After this these joyful people, for whom the 
 Star had now for the first time risen and the angels 
 sung of good-will to men, formed a procession ; 
 headed by Uncle Zeb, with his crown on, they marched 
 away singing 
 
 "I'm a pilgrim, and I'm a stranger, 
 I can tarry, I can tarry but a night ! " 
 
t$0 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Wcntworth, Stringfield, and Leroy, last to leave the 
 darkened Barn, stood to listen as the chant became 
 fainter; after it was lost an occasional " glory " or 
 " hallelujah " was wafted back through the mild air. 
 
 " In all the theaters of the world," said Wentworth, 
 " no company has witnessed scenes so beautiful and 
 elevating as those which these humble people have 
 seen this night." 
 
 " There are splendors which can be revealed only 
 to babes," said Stringfield, pausing to listen again 
 the procession having taken some turn from which the 
 refrain was faintly heard once more " I can tarry, I 
 can tarry but a night." 
 
 " But a night," said Stringfield, turning toward the 
 east where the morning-star stood above the horizon; 
 " but it will never be a starless night in Leroyland, my 
 miraculous Yankee ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SHADOWS BENEATH THE DAWN. 
 
 WHEN Laurens Leroy descended from his room 
 on Christmas morning he found Jacob Corbin, 
 overseer, waiting for him, with an ugly look on his 
 face. 
 
 " I have nine-niggers set down for Christmas work," 
 said Corbin, " five of them for nightwork : stealing, 
 drunkenness, insolence. Butler brought me your order 
 that every nigger at my place must be at Selwood Barn 
 to-night." 
 
 " Well, Corbin, this is the day of peace and good 
 will you know; and we have something at the Barn 
 which I believe will improve them ; so I'll be glad if 
 you'll overlook their offenses this time." 
 
 " Mr. "Leroy, it will never do. I warned them all 
 two weeks ago what they would get Christmas if they 
 didn't behave; yesterday I picked out these nine. I 
 can't shilly-shally with niggers you see for yourself, 
 sir." 
 
 " Don't get warm, Corbin. Under ordinary circum- 
 stances I shouldn't interfere, for very likely they'd all 
 get drunk to-night. But just now we have a gentle- 
 man here who has taken a deal of trouble and expense 
 to get up some elevating exhibitions for the negroes ; 
 
192 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 to-night we will repeat one of peculiar and religious 
 importance, and I should be sorry to have any one 
 miss it." 
 
 " I haven't been to the shows myself, sir, and it's not 
 for me to say any thing against them, though I can't 
 say the effect on the niggers seems to me good. 
 But that's none of my business. My business is to 
 keep the hands at my place in order, and make them 
 do their duty to you; and I can't do that if my word 
 isn't stood to." 
 
 " But my word also has been given, and I must 
 stand by it; so pray tell them you'll forgive them this 
 time, and bid them come with the others to the 
 Barn." 
 
 The overseer disappeared, and the Leroys hurried 
 off to Wharton Church. There Mr. String-field was 
 surprised by a marvelous Christmas-gift a crowded 
 negro-gallery ! 
 
 Some little time after his interview with Corbin, 
 Leroy found that though the offending negroes had 
 been permitted to go to the Barn, they had been 
 subsequently flogged. In reply to his inquiry the 
 overseer explained that since his awards ha*d been 
 overruled the negroes generally had been insolent, and 
 it had been necessary to re-establish his authority by 
 showing that though the sentenced negroes had been 
 required on Christmas-night by their owner, for their 
 moral improvement, it was not meant that they should 
 escape punishment altogether." 
 
 " But I did request that they should be forgiven." 
 
 " Niggers can't be forgiven on a plantation, Mr. 
 Leroy not without overthrowing authority. The 
 
SHADOWS BENEATH THE DAWN. 193 
 
 impudent rascals have been laughing at me ever since 
 that day. I can't stand it, and it's not for your interest 
 I should." 
 
 " Well, Corbin, I shall take no further notice of this 
 particular case, though I don't like it. We've been 
 going on a certain system for a long time, but I'm not 
 sure it's the best. Since Mr. Wentworth has been here 
 and we've been giving the hands a little entertain- 
 ment, there have been numerous expressions of their 
 kind feeling for me and my family. If you would 
 take some interest in these things perhaps you might 
 find a better spirit prevailing toward yourself. At 
 any rate let there be no further floggings without 
 extreme necessity. You must be prepared to find me 
 more careful in such matters; I've got some new 
 notions." 
 
 "I hope they are good ones, sir," said Corbin with 
 effort at a smile, which turned out sardonic. 
 
 " I hope so," said Leroy pleasantly, as he mounted 
 and rode off. 
 
 " That gentleman ! " muttered Corbin, " always 
 ' that gentleman/ " 
 
 At this interview there had been a third party invisi- 
 bly present the slave. The negroes did not like 
 Corbin ; they knew there had been an issue joined 
 between him and his master in which he had been 
 given a taste of the cup he made bitter for them. 
 They assumed that Corbin was in disgrace and treated 
 him with a contempt which he could only meet with 
 the lash. Demoralization prevailed in his domain ; 
 the number sent to the whipping-post was so large 
 that the other overseers reported to Leroy that a reign 
 
194 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 of terror was imminent. Corbin's authority could now 
 be recovered only by a large measure of severity from 
 Leroy himself ; for this the planter was in no mood, 
 and the discharge of Corbin became a necessity. 
 
 The humiliation of the retributive overseer was 
 regarded by the negroes not merely as their victory 
 but as a token of their owner's good-will. Indeed the 
 other overseers impressed that view, and asked the 
 negroes, when inclined to be lazy, whether they felt no 
 gratitude to such a master. The effect was so great 
 that " Corbin's Tract " ceased to be regarded as a 
 purgatorial place, Leroy having declared that in 
 future hands drafted for disagreeable service should 
 be rewarded by some extra allowance of food or time 
 for rest. There was no urgency about appointing a 
 new overseer. Uncle Zeb, or Balthazar as he was 
 beginning to be called, superintended work there, 
 and no deficiency was threatened in the supplies from 
 that part of the estate. 
 
 On the other hand the morale of the discharged 
 overseer did not improve, but the reverse ; he became 
 sullen and bitter, nor could he be appeased by the 
 pension allowed him until he could find another place. 
 In Wentworth he saw the cause of his troubles. 
 Until " that gentleman " (that Yankee, interpolated 
 Corbin), came, all had gone on well. What was he 
 poking his nose about here for, any way ? Corbin had 
 been shocked by the rumors about the Barn, espe- 
 cially that the planter had appeared kneeling between 
 two negroes. He was convinced that this Yankee had 
 gained a dangerous influence over Leroy. And now, 
 in his enforced idleness, Corbin became the prey of 
 
SNA DO WS BENEA TH THE DA WN. 195 
 
 that special satan that finds mischief for active minds 
 with unoccupied hours. 
 
 Every thing conveyed from the Landing had to pass 
 under Corbin's notice, while he was overseer, and in 
 this way he had observed, and copied in his note-book, 
 names on two boxes addressed to W. Wentworth. He 
 now referred to these names " Dolland, Scientific 
 Instruments, Winter Street, Boston;" "Abrahams, 
 Costumier, Cornhill, Boston." The only other name 
 he knew in Boston was that of a certain cotton broker, 
 and gradually the purpose grew in him to write to 
 this man. He stated that an individual from the 
 North had come to their plantation under suspicious 
 circumstances, gave all the names in his possession, 
 and begged that secrecy might be observed in making 
 inquiries. 
 
 There was another personage on Leroy Island who 
 was dissatisfied with proceedings at the Barn, namely, 
 the Rev. Ezra Harding. He was a preacher difficult 
 of classification. The great comet of 1843 came so 
 near the earth that its tail turned the heads of some 
 pious people, and struck many of the impious with 
 terror ; this being especially the case among southern 
 negroes, who passed much of that time in prayer- 
 meetings. While the panic was at its height on Leroy 
 Island, this preacher Harding, generally described as 
 a " Millerite," passed through the Sea Islands prophe- 
 sying the immediate end of the world which the 
 famous William Miller had fixed for that same year. 
 Harding had an immense following of negroes, and, 
 when the comet and the year had passed without 
 catastrophe, enough of his adherents still stuck to him 
 
196 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 to form a considerable congregation. Leroy had 
 given them the use of a deserted meeting-house called 
 Ebenezer, originally built for the Methodists, not far 
 from Wharton Church. He was a fiery but not unat- 
 tractive preacher, yet was steadily distanced by Mr. 
 Haswell, the negroes having a pronounced preference 
 for immersion, which Harding denounced. Ebenezer 
 however was far away from Bethel, and was without 
 rivalry from Wharton Church, which had never been . 
 attended by negroes. 
 
 But suddenly there was a change. The perform- 
 ances at the Barn had made Mr. Stringfield favorably 
 known among the negroes, and when they had filled 
 his hitherto empty gallery on Christmas he spoke to 
 their condition so pertinently and with such passionate 
 eloquence that the accession was maintained. Sunday 
 after Sunday when he came the gallery was crowded. 
 But the fly that got out of Mr. Stringfield's ointment got 
 into that of Mr. Harding. The crowded gallery at 
 Wharton Church meant thin benches at Ebenezer. 
 The chief white patron and nearest neighbor of Hard- 
 ing was Corbin, who now had ample time to discuss with 
 him affairs at the Barn. The preacher's soul was 
 filled with pious horrors intensified by vacancies in his 
 chapel. He had read or heard that the theater was 
 main door to the Pit, and it broke on his mind like 
 another comet that such a door had been opened on 
 Leroy Island. Against this device of Belial he began 
 to rage in his pulpit, denouncing a certain " pretended 
 preacher of the Gospel " as a wolf in sheep's clothing 
 devouring the lambs. The zealous man learned from 
 Corbin that a Yankee " living on the Leroys " was at 
 
SHADOWS BENEATH THE DAWN. 197 
 
 the bottom of these frightful immoralities, and he 
 resolved to seek out that blind guide and rebuke him 
 to his face. 
 
 The weekly entertainments at the Barn had not 
 interfered with Wentworth's services to the school. 
 Since Stringfield had settled at Selwood it had become 
 the custom of the two scholars to accompany the 
 children, and such of the young people in the neigbor- 
 hood as could go with them, on long walks, during 
 which they sometimes paused for conversation or 
 instruction. One Saturday the talk fell on popular 
 superstitions. A lad mentioned that u Old Joe " was 
 said to have been seen near the Barn. Leroy explained 
 that " Old Joe " was a phantom surviving from a negro 
 of that name who lived in the island sixty yeass before. 
 He was a negro of extraordinary intelligence, and 
 occult powers were ascribed to him by colored people. 
 He had disappeared probably escaped to another 
 country but the negroes believed he had learned how 
 to make himself invisible, and was lurking in the neigh- 
 borhood. He had been a sort of preacher, and fam- 
 ous for speaking at funerals, so he was now supposed 
 to appear when a death was near. If living, Old Joe 
 would be a hundred and thirty years old. The com- 
 pany talked of the banshee and the baying dog, 
 monitors of death descended from Cerberus at the 
 gate of Hades ; of the correspondence of " Old Joe " 
 with undying Barbarossa and the Wandering Jew ; 
 and between Wentworth and Stringfield many a 
 fallacy was buried that day in the grave of its explana- 
 tion. 
 
 This discussion of superstition and fanaticism was 
 
198 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 ended by a salient example. Out of the wood rushed 
 the Rev. Ezra Harding red with wrath. He first 
 confronted Wentworth, charging him with leading 
 people to " damnation," and, when Leroy interposed, 
 turned his vials on the planter. The worst of these, 
 however, was reserved for Stringfield. Leroy tried 
 to calm the man, but his oil was fuel to the flame. 
 The preacher's language became so outrageous that, 
 for the sake of the frightened children, Leroy brought 
 it to a full stop. 
 
 " Mr. Harding, stop just here ! Say another word 
 and you never preach another sermon on my planta- 
 tion ! " 
 
 The fanatic turned instantly from red to white, and 
 was as if struck dumb. 
 
 " Your mind," said Leroy, " has been filled by 
 somebody with lies and nonsense. The best way to 
 get rid of your delusion is to come to the Barn and 
 see what you are ignorantly denouncing." 
 
 " God forbid ! " 
 
 " Otherwise you may be led to say from your pul- 
 pit to my servants what you have said here. But 
 understand clearly that, while you are free to preach 
 your doctrines there, Ebenezer chapel belongs to me, 
 and if you say a word there against any one now 
 before you it will be in your last sermon." 
 
 Harding trembled but answered not a word ; pres- 
 ently he hurried off into the woods again, where he 
 had left his horse. He rode swiftly to the house of 
 Corbin, whom he found reading a note just received 
 from J. Summerberry, the Boston cotton-broker to 
 whom he had written. " I have instituted inquiries," 
 
SHADOWS BENEATH THE DAWN. 199 
 
 wrote the broker, " concerning the man Wentworth, 
 to whom Abrahams sent goods (supposed to be dis- 
 guises), and find he is a dangerous abolitionist. He 
 once tried to kill a Virginia gentleman named Sturline, 
 and no doubt is up to mischief on your plantation. 
 Confidential." 
 
 The preacher was for carrying this document at 
 oncetoLeroy, but Corbin would not consent. "They 
 are all so possessed with the scoundrel, they wouldn't 
 believe a word against him. It would only bring us 
 into more trouble. We must wait for our opportunity. 
 You'd better be cautious about your preaching too ; 
 the niggers will repeat what you say and Leroy will 
 always do what he says." Corbin then informed 
 Harding that he had obtained a position on a rice 
 plantation near Savannah, and must carry a certificate 
 of honesty and competency from his previous 
 employer ; this was another reason for his not wishing 
 a row just then. But he desired the preacher to 
 keep his eyes and ears open and let him know every 
 thing that should happen. He hinted that it might be 
 better if he would accept Leroy's proposal and go to 
 the Barn, and " act friendly ; " but Harding was too 
 irreconcilable for that. Besides, Baptist Haswell had 
 countenanced the affair a plain proof of its wicked- 
 ness. He consented, however, to express to Leroy 
 some apology for his vehemence in the woods, and 
 even to Wentworth, on Corbin's suggestion that he 
 might " learn something " in such interviews, and 
 render more secure his tenure at Ebenezer. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 
 
 AT length a real shadow fell on Leroy Island: 
 Wentworth announced that he must go. This 
 time, instead of pleadings and manoeuvres, silent sor- 
 row met his announcement ; for all felt that the end 
 had inevitably come. He had remained till the first 
 breath of summer surprised him ; he knew that the 
 time was at hand when planters must take their fami- 
 lies to the seaside. The Leroys would have had him go 
 with them, stay with them always ; he knew that as 
 well as the mournful company he was about to leave. 
 It could not be : he had his life to live, and it could 
 not be on that island. 
 
 When the time of departure came Wentworth dis- 
 tributed among these loved friends all he had brought, 
 his lantern to Robert Ravenel, and to St. Jean the 
 Hollis Memoirs lent him ; to St. George and his elder 
 sisters the costumes ; to the children books ordered 
 from Boston for the purpose ; and suitable souvenirs 
 for Mr. and Mrs. Leroy. It seemed to them all like 
 bequests made before death. He in turn was loaded 
 with presents. On the occasion of his last appearance 
 in a performance at the Barn he was surprised by a 
 present from the negroes, who had put together their 
 cents and got Leroy to obtain from Charleston a 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 201 
 
 finely-bound Family Bible. On it was printed : 
 "Walter Wentworth, from the servants on Leroy 
 Island, in remembrance of what he has done for them." 
 The venerable Balthazar, who presented this, broke 
 down with emotion ; and Wentworth could only falter 
 out his reply, at last clasping the volume, kissing it, 
 and shedding tears with those around him. One 
 morning Wentworth did not appear : a brief and 
 touching note was found in his room, promising that 
 he would return some day. 
 
 " That is the way such invisible figures as ' Old 
 Joe ' are formed," said Stringfield, when the school- 
 walk next occurred. " Those that love and follow 
 them, and they themselves, can not endure a parting ; 
 they disappear, leaving the soothing promise of 
 return, though they never return. Some will think 
 they see the dear face again hovering near in 
 twilight or moonlight, especially in time of trouble, 
 when they long for him. Our beloved Went- 
 worth has gone. He will do his duty in the great 
 world, and make it better, as he has made us and our 
 island better. Let him linger among us, not as a 
 phantom but a reality in our hearts, leading us to 
 imitate his strangely beautiful life, and to continue 
 the pathetically noble work he has begun among us." 
 
 Wentworth and his man Wesley had driven away 
 with the horse and buggy which brought them. In 
 the note found in his room he said these would be 
 left at the Landing, as he wished to present them to 
 Stringfield and his sister. On the road he was met 
 by the Rev. Ezra Harding. The preacher had apolo- 
 gized to Leroy, and two days before had learned from 
 
202 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 him that it was probable Wentworth would leave by 
 the next boat. Wentworth, unconscious that he was 
 waylaid, felt touched by the kindliness now manifested 
 by his gainsayer, and freely told him where he was 
 going. The preacher had been reduced by Corbin to 
 the level of a spy : he expressed apologies to Went- 
 worth for what he had said against him ; but took 
 care to meet the letter-carrier following, and send on 
 the same boat with Wentworth a letter, with penciled 
 postscript, to Jacob Corbin, Hayne's Mills, near 
 Savannah. 
 
 Although Corbin's place on Leroy Island had been 
 a purgatory for negroes, for himself it was a paradise 
 compared with Hayne's rice swamp. In the Yankee's 
 absence his sins were visited on the negroes, but Cor- 
 bin did not forget Wentworth. He had not long to 
 wait for his revenge. Soon after his arrival at Savan- 
 nah our Bostonian got into serious trouble, to which 
 Corbin was able to add a contribution. A Savannah 
 paper brought to Hayne's Mills this startling para- 
 graph : " Abolitionists at work in Georgia. An 
 individual, ascertained to be a Boston lawyer named 
 Wentworth, was yesterday charged before Justice 
 Shelton with complicity in abducting or stealing a 
 negro woman belonging to John Braxton, Esq., of 
 Thorpe Hill. The case was adjourned for inquiries 
 and will be heard on Thursday. The magistrate 
 expressed regret that a person of gentlemanly appear- 
 ance should be brought before him on such a charge." 
 
 Corbin easily obtained leave of absence and hastened , 
 to Savannah, where he placed his letter from the Bos- 
 ton cotton-broker at the disposal of the prosecution. 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 203 
 
 Soon afterwards he had the pleasure of seeing Went- 
 worth brought to the court-house through a mob 
 clamoring for the privilege of tarring and feathering 
 " the damned Yankee." Corbin's pent wrath broke 
 loose. 
 
 " I know all about that man/' he shouted ; " he's 
 been at his work among the niggers in Carolina." 
 
 At these words the mob gave a yell and a dash, drag- 
 ging Wentworth from the hands of the two frightened 
 constables as they were ascending the court-house 
 steps. When Corbin saw his victim in the grasp of 
 half-a-dozen powerful hands the blood flew to his 
 head ; he aimed a vicious blow at the Yankee's face, 
 on his own private account. The^blow left its mark, 
 however, on the cheek-bone of the judge, who at that 
 moment leaped from the door and stood in front of 
 the prisoner. 
 
 " Cowards ! " cried the judge. " Mighty brave 
 southerners you are, a hundred men to one ! Officers, 
 conduct that man into the court-house, and if any one 
 of these rowdies interferes, shoot him." 
 
 " Judge Lynch," like the cur that he is, recoiled 
 before the eyes of Judge Shelton, and Corbin was the 
 said cur's tail, for his fist had left on the judge's face 
 an ugly bruise. But no sooner had the officers entered, 
 and the court-house filled to its utmost capacity, than 
 another mob came storming along the streets, and an 
 angry clamor surrounded the building while the trial 
 was going on. Corbin, uneasy about the judge who, 
 however, had apparently not noticed him was going 
 off ; but the commonwealth's attorney met him, and 
 insisted on his return to support the information he 
 
204 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 had previously given. This popular attorney, unaware 
 of the preceding scene, bowed politely to the mob who 
 cheered him as he passed into the court-house. 
 
 The attorney stated to the court that the prisoner 
 had stopped at a tavern called " Price's " on the big 
 road near Thorpe Hill, the previous Friday ; he 
 brought with him a young negro man, who left 
 Price's the same evening and did not return till next 
 morning ; when the two went off together. It would 
 be proved that they were seen that Saturday morning 
 talking in the field with the woman in question. The 
 same evening the prisoner visited Mr. Braxton and 
 offered to purchase the woman, but was told she was 
 not for sale. On Sunday, prisoner attended the negro 
 meeting a significant fact. That night the negro man 
 left Price's and can not be found. The woman also 
 disappeared that night and can not be found. Dili- 
 gent search has been made, but no trace of either dis- 
 covered. When the prisoner was arrested fifty-nine 
 dollars were found on him, and cards showing him to 
 be one Walter Wentworth, counselor at Boston. 
 Whatever doubt might have been felt about the case 
 had been largely cleared away by evidence proving 
 that the prisoner is well known in the North as a dan- 
 gerous abolitionist who once made an attempt on a 
 southern gentleman's life. 
 
 While Mr. Braxton was giving his evidence a mes- 
 senger came from Oglethorpe Hotel to say that a man 
 named W T entworth had stopped there a single day of 
 the previous week, and had left his trunk, also a pack- 
 age containing documents and money, sealed and 
 deposited in the hotel safe. An officer was at once 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 205 
 
 sent, with keys found on the prisoner, to search the 
 trunk and bring the sealed package into court. 
 
 Wentworth conducted his own case, and asked Mr. 
 Braxton if he had explained why he wished to buy 
 the woman. 
 
 " You said she had been the wife of your servant/' 
 
 "What was your reply." 
 
 " That I knew nothing of that, and believed she was 
 now in the family way." 
 
 Corbin having given venomous evidence, Went- 
 worth told his plain story. " The Summerberry let- 
 ter can only refer to a ridiculous 'affair of honor,' a 
 miserable misunderstanding that brought me, while 
 at college, a challenge from a class-mate ; a meeting 
 never occurred, and that Virginian, spelled " Stur- . 
 line " by Mr. Summerberry, is the best friend I have 
 in the world namely Randolph Stirling." 
 
 " Son of Judge Stirling of Virginia ? " asked the 
 justice. 
 
 " The same. It is through that friend, whose life I 
 am said to have attempted, that I am in the South 
 now. After a winter in South Carolina, I came to visit 
 Savannah, in pursuance of my wish to know more 
 about the South. I went to Thorpe Hill because my 
 man wished to see his wife, from whom he was sepa- 
 rated by her sale in Virginia some years ago. The 
 man reported to me a painful story about his wife, into 
 the details of which I will not go unless required, and 
 from sympathy with his distress I tried to purchase 
 the woman. I suppose it was in despair, after my 
 failure, that the man ran off with his wife. By that 
 Mr, Braxton and I have lost our servants. I do not 
 
206 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 see why I may not as plausibly accuse him of abduct- 
 ing my man as he accuse me of abducting his woman. 
 If your Honor finds it necessary to commit me on 
 account of the Summerberry letter, I can only regret 
 that the credit of the court and of myself should suffer 
 by an imposition which, however, can easily be 
 exposed. Otherwise, and assuming that it is no crime 
 for a Bostonian to visit Savannah, I submit to your 
 Honor that there is no case for committal." 
 
 "And I submit, your Honor," cried the prosecuting 
 attorney, leaping to his feet, "that this information 
 from Boston, not written to bear on this case but provi- 
 dentially fallen into our hands, reveals the remarkable 
 coincidence that simultaneously with the appearance 
 among us of a ' dangerous abolitionist ' is the disap- 
 pearance of a valuable slave. I observe that the pris- 
 oner has not ventured to repudiate his abolitionism. 
 For the rest his ingenuity does credit to the Boston 
 bar, but it doesn't explain the facts. Could these two 
 negroes have vanished so swiftly and completely had 
 there been no prearrangement ? Who supplied the 
 money ? How could plans be laid in a country neigh- 
 borhood without connivance of this very peculiar slave- 
 holding abolitionist? I submit, sir, that the prima 
 facie appearances require committal for trial when 
 we may know something more about this man." 
 
 " I confess," said the magistrate, " that it appears 
 to me important to await the package from the hotel. 
 Meantime, Mr. Macnulty, if you have more to say on 
 the facts before us you can go on." 
 
 The opportunity for a stump speech was tempting. 
 Macnulty was just describing the subtle serpent of 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 20? 
 
 abolitionism stealing into the southern paradise, when 
 the officer from the hotel entered. He reported that 
 nothing of public interest was found in the prisoner's 
 trunk. The sealed package was handed to Justice 
 Shelton, and a letter for the prisoner which had just 
 arrived. The magistrate examined the contents of 
 the package carefully. 
 
 " God bless me," he presently exclaimed, " here's 
 a letter to me ! " The crowded court-room grew still 
 while the justice silently read this letter, pausing now 
 and then at some yell from the increasing mob outside. 
 At length he spoke, with some agitation. 
 
 " This package contains letters of introduction to 
 eminent southern gentlemen, and one to myself from 
 one of the first planters in South Carolina which I 
 read aloud. * Dear Shelton, The gentleman this 
 introduces, Mr. Walter Wentworth, is a friend 
 unspeakably dear to us all. He has passed some 
 months with us by sheer compulsion ; we would not 
 let him go, and submit at last only on promise of his 
 return. It would require a volume to tell you all he 
 has done for us on this estate, for our school, our 
 negroes, our households. He goes for a few days to 
 Savannah, which never had a more cultured and 
 worthy visitor, as you will certainly realize when you 
 know him.' A few words follow on matters not 
 relating to the prisoner. There is another letter here 
 to a gentleman in Savannah. Mr. Wentworth, will 
 you inform me why you did not deliver these letters, 
 or refer to them when first arraigned before me ? " 
 
 " I meant to deliver them on my return from Thorpe 
 Hill. I did not mention them when arrested because 
 
2oS PINE AND PALM. 
 
 I could not run the risk of involving the name of any 
 citizen with my own while under a charge likely to 
 excite the community." 
 
 "The prisoner is at liberty to open the newly- 
 arrived letter himself," said the justice. 
 
 " This also," said Wentworth, after a glance, " is 
 from Leroy, who gave me the letter to your Honor. 
 I prefer you should open and read it." 
 
 It was a cordial letter, and one passage caused a 
 sensation in the court-room. " I hear," wrote Leroy, 
 " that my late intractable overseer, Jacob Corbin, has 
 preceded you to Siivannah, having found employment 
 in that neighborhood. I hope you will not fall in his 
 way, for, from what I hear, I suspect he bears you a 
 grudge, and would not be sorry to do you a mischief. 
 I have not put any body in his place, and indeed 
 doubt I shall need any overseer at Corbin's Tract 
 except foreman Balthazar you remember Uncle Zeb, 
 for my hands there never worked so well. This I 
 owe to your sojourn with us. Come back, dear friend 
 come back ! " 
 
 " After this evidence of character, and of animus on 
 the part of the witness Corbin," said the attorney, 
 " the case against the pris against Mr. Wentworth 
 breaks down. I withdraw from it, with your Honor's 
 permission." 
 
 " There is an inclosed letter," said the justice. 
 
 " Pray open and read that also," said Wentworth. 
 
 " It is signed Richard Stirling " 
 
 " Father of the southerner whose life I am said to 
 have attempted." 
 
 " My dear sir," the letter began, " I have learned 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 209 
 
 your address in South Carolina, after some difficulty, 
 and write to entreat that you will visit us as soon as 
 possible " 
 
 " Enough," said the justice ; " there is no need, Mr. 
 Wentworth, to read more of your correspondence. 
 This charge is dismissed. Stop, Mr. Corbin, you have 
 made an impression on me, outside this court and in 
 it. Sheriff, bring that witness before me to-morrow. 
 I am glad you have withdrawn, Mr. Macnulty, but I 
 can not think it would be even-handed justice merely 
 to discharge this gentleman, and turn him over to the 
 perils of popular excitement. It can not be too widely 
 known that a man has a right to his principles about 
 slavery, or any thing else, if he does not injure others 
 or break the law. If this gentleman holds anti-slavery 
 views, it is the more to his credit that he has passed 
 months on a plantation and left it followed by the 
 friendship of the planter. That is just the northern 
 man whom the South should honor, and I deeply 
 regret that Mr. Wentworth should not have presented 
 these letters last week ; while honoring a man who 
 preferred going to gaol rather than risk placing others 
 in an unpopular position. Such magnanimity is not 
 so common as to pass without my gratitude, at least. 
 I will thank you, Mr. Macnulty, to announce to the 
 crowd outside that the accused gentleman is proved 
 entirely innocent. And I will be glad, Mr. Went- 
 worth, if you will presently enter my carriage and 
 drive with me home, and remain my guest during your 
 stay in Savannah. The court is adjourned." 
 
 The mob, enlightened by Macnulty, cheered the 
 magistrate anc{ bis guest when they appeared, Before, 
 
210 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 they drove off Mr. Braxton came up and expressed 
 his regret at the mistake, and said that if Wentworth 
 would visit Thorpe Hill he should be welcomed as 
 a guest. The apology was politely accepted, and 
 they drove on. 
 
 "I dare not thank the judge," said Wentworth, 
 " but may say that you were mistaken in no particular. 
 The negro man had received from me a hundred dol- 
 lars which I thought he might want for his wife. She 
 had been compelled by an overseer to yield to his lust. 
 My man prudently concealed from me his plans. I 
 remember now that he got from me the address of a 
 lawyer in Washington with whom I had left a pro- 
 vision for his freedom." 
 
 " It is wonderful what coincidences meet us in this 
 world," said Mr. Shelton. ' Those Stirlings are not 
 unknown to me. A dissipated brother of mine, now 
 dead, married a beautiful lady, also a Shelton, who 
 had to separate from him. They were then living on a 
 property of hers in northern Virginia. The decree of 
 divorce was pronounced by Judge Stirling. My sister- 
 in-law's troubles brought on illness, during which the 
 Stirlings kept her in their house. By their aid her 
 property was satisfactorily sold. She was a fine artist 
 and traveled abroad. Then she settled somewhere in 
 New York with some community in which she is now 
 a kind of queen. Young Randolph Stirling once 
 visited her there, and reported that she was happy, but 
 had strange enthusiasms. Among other things she 
 wants to abolish marriage. Poor Maria, I don't 
 wonder ! " 
 
 The carriage presently stopped at an old-fashioned 
 
GOING FARTHER AND FARING WORSE. 211 
 
 mansion, where Wentworth was kindly received by a 
 refined family. But dark care had begun to follow 
 him. In the solitude of his room he read Judge Stir- 
 ling's letter. 
 
 " My dear Sir, I have learned your address in 
 South Carolina with some difficulty, and write to 
 entreat that you will visit us as soon as possible, as 
 we are in sore trouble about our dear Randolph. I 
 know of no one so likely to be in his confidence as 
 yourself, and trust you will help us to discover what 
 has befallen him. Some time since one James Bounce, 
 resident in Maryland, inclosed to a magistrate of our 
 neighboring town, Warrenton, my son's card, bearing 
 this address, saying he had it from the police of Peace- 
 field, Mass., while there to recover his fugitive slave. 
 Bounce asserts that it was subsequently ascertained 
 that the negro was assisted in his escape from Peace- 
 field by the owner of this card. The Warrenton 
 magistrate is not friendly to us, and the information 
 appeared in the local paper, the names suppressed 
 but hinted. There being some excitement in the com- 
 munity, I wrote to Randolph for an explanation, but 
 grieve to say that his reply delayed for several weeks 
 was not satisfactory. I have no doubt that Ran- 
 dolph did only what he thought honorable, but he had 
 evidently been mixed up in the affair in a way that 
 would not be tolerated here. He said tha.t under the 
 circumstances he would not return to us at present. 
 Heavy as were the tidings, we felt that this course 
 was necessary. I sent him money, and asked him to 
 meet me in Washington. A mysterious letter came 
 from a Mr. Derby Leigh, of Peacefield, saying that my 
 
212 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 son had been ill in his house, but had left, and he 
 would forward the letter when his address was dis- 
 covered. I did not again hear from Randolph till 
 recently. A letter came from Iowa acknowledging 
 receipt of the money, and containing the astounding 
 announcement of his marriage ! His wife, he stated, 
 is the daughter of a hotel-keeper, and he would have 
 married her in any case false gossip having connected 
 her injuriously with himself because of a service she 
 had rendered him but he had found her lovely and 
 lovable in herself, and was happy. This is appalling 
 to us. We can not help fearing ruin of the hopes 
 built on our dear Randolph. We know not what to 
 do. We know not where he is. We crave your counsel 
 under these painful circumstances. I am, dear Sir, 
 your obedient servant, RICHARD STIRLING." 
 
 It was to be a long time before Wentworth could 
 learn what had really happened to his friend. He 
 could not even imagine the name of the woman he had 
 married. He could only hasten to Virginia and to 
 The Palms. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " TO THE RESCUE OF HER HONOR, MY HEART ! " 
 
 QTIRLING, whom we left fallen, but in pleasant- 
 O est Peacefield places, speedily recovered, and 
 thereafter enjoyed a visit at the home of the Leighs. 
 He was happy to find the Fratilein well established 
 there. Hilda declared she would never part with her 
 Mathilde unless to the romantic Franz, and was never 
 weary of listening to the Fraiilein's folk-song and 
 folk-lore. To hear her tale of the Pied Piper was bet- 
 ter than to read it in Browning. Mr. Leigh was able 
 to add to the southerner's knowledge of northern 
 institutions and ideas, and being a large employer of 
 labor, introduced him to the actual conditions of free 
 industry. Randolph and Hilda formed their friend- 
 ship rather on the brother-and-sisterly lines, but there 
 is no saying what it might have developed into had 
 the youth's visit been prolonged. In such favorable 
 propinquity unsuspected spells are woven between fc nat- 
 ures too like for sudden love affairs, as were those of 
 Hilda and Stirling, but fate easily breaks them unless 
 they have a longer time to mature than Atropos per- 
 mitted here. When Stirling received the distressing 
 letter from his father, telling him that his connection 
 with the Peacefield fugitive slave had been divulged 
 at home, he easily made Hilda his confidante and was 
 
214 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 comforted by her sympathy. But when a more real 
 calamity came upon him he felt that he must face it 
 alone. 
 
 He was preparing to leave Peacefield for Cambridge, 
 when the said fate spun across his path one of her 
 small threads that turn to chains and can not be 
 broken. Among letters forwarded to him from Cam- 
 bridge was a dirty one from White River Junction in 
 which terrible words were scrawled : 
 
 " Mr. Sturling, Colleg, Cambridg. 
 
 "Sir, It aint right for citty an colleg gentles to 
 com in places an ruin poor girls as hav no mothers 
 Nuela Rhodes is gon bad an ran way sence you 
 ruined her repetation an her old father in misry an 
 you enjoyn yorself Its mighty mean I think." 
 
 Stirling tried hard to regard this anonymous note 
 as a hoax, but the bit of blotted foolscap had a fatal 
 look of its own : after a sleepless night he made what 
 excuses he could, answered the Leighs' cordial invita- 
 tion with a promise to return some day, and was soon 
 speeding along a road already haunted with tragical 
 memories. 
 
 The proprietor of the Green Mountain House, 
 White River Junction, was surprised and delighted 
 at seeing a gentleman entering his door. His hotel 
 had a sublime name, but sank under the weight of it 
 when actually entered. Stirling registered his name 
 with lawyer-like illegibility, entered the bar-room, 
 called for beer, and began casual talk with the bar- 
 keeper. He inquired about hotels in the neighbor- 
 hood, and gradually drew the conversation around to 
 the people at the " Junction House," Alas, the.re, 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF HER HONOR. 215 
 
 could be no doubt about it : Nuella had disappeared. 
 It was believed by some, doubted or denied by a few, 
 that her flight was necessary to conceal the probable 
 result of an intrigue with some student who had been 
 " took sick at the hotel and staid some time." 
 
 Late at night Stirling walked through a chilling 
 rain to the restaurant at the depot : the last day-train 
 had passed, the porters were getting what sleep they 
 could before the night-express required them ; only a 
 red danger-signal cast light upon the railway track on 
 which, full of dread, he passed to a further point, to 
 see if there was any light in the private parlor of the 
 darkened Junction House. There was a light ; 
 approaching closer he could just see Manuel's head, 
 still as if carved, with the glow of firelight on his 
 down-bent face. He entered a back door, which was 
 not locked, moved through the corridor he knew so 
 well, and knocked at the little room. Manuel opened 
 the door wide that light might fall on the form before 
 him ; he was bewildered for a few moments, but at 
 last held out his hand and burst into tears. For an 
 instant there came before Stirling the vision of a 
 daughter's face beside the gray head, but that face 
 swiftly grew corpse-like and vanished. 
 
 " My dear old friend," said Stirling, "I have come 
 to see you ; if possible to comfort you. Tell me all ! " 
 
 " She has gone/' cried Manuel piteously, " my dear 
 child has gone, I do not know where." 
 
 " Your sorrow is mine. Do try and tell me some- 
 thing about it ! Why has she gone ? You and Nuella 
 once did me a great service. I am here to learn if 
 there is any thing I can do for you, Trust nie \ " 
 
2l6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " You were always thankful and kind, Mr. Stirling, 
 and we never thought of you but as a true and 
 upright gentleman. I will tell you all I can, but 
 much of it is my fears and suspicions, and mayn't 
 be true. Before you ever came here there was a man 
 named John Layman who had been courting her. She 
 didn't like him much, for one thing, he is ignorant, 
 and Nuella is educated ; but he's a well-to-do farmer 
 and most people thought it would be a good match. 
 I had my suspicions that his eye was on a house and 
 farm settled on Nuella by her uncle that's dead. But 
 I would never interfere with a girl in such things, 
 unless she asked me. Nuella didn't seem quite 
 decided until " 
 
 "Until?" 
 
 " Well, you want the truth, sir. After you staid 
 here Nuella couldn't endure Layman, and when he 
 came to the point told him she could never be his 
 wife. That made him very mad, as she told me. 
 Nuella began to mope, and one day, when I 
 found her crying, says I : ' Child, you have no 
 mother, your brother is far away, Ruth is young, 
 why not trust your old father ? ' The girl put her 
 arms around my neck, and at last says : ' Father, 
 I feel as if I longed for somebody who can never 
 come, and I sometimes wish for one of those con- 
 vents, only without the priests and errors where I 
 could bury myself for awhile, doing some kind 
 of work, and never seeing any body but you and 
 Ruth, or people needing help.' From that time I 
 devoted myself to the girl, and gradually she got 
 jiiore cheerful, till one day a terrible thing hap- 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF HER HONOR. 217 
 
 pened. Nuella had a class in the Sunday-school 
 at West Lebanon, some of the nicest children 
 'round here. One day she got a note from the 
 superintendent, saying she wasn't wanted there any 
 more. It was awful. When I went to ask about 
 it the superintendent sent me to the minister, Mr. 
 Grace, and little by little I drew it out of him, for 
 he hated to tell me, that there were evil reports 
 about Nuella Oh, think of it, my sweet Nuella, 
 pure like the driven snow ! " 
 
 " Horrible ! " 
 
 " Several families had said their children shouldn't 
 go to the Sunday-school while she was there. Well 
 I tried to keep back the facts from Nuella, but some- 
 how she found out there were stories about her. Oh, 
 sir, she couldn't eat or sleep, Ruth was nearly as bad, 
 and I was miserable as could be. I went to minister 
 Grace again, and after a good deal of talk he showed 
 me a letter, without any signature, saying he had kept 
 it back to save my feelings, and would have despised 
 it if there had not been reports. Here's the letter; I've 
 kept it in my pocket-book. I never showed it to 
 her." 
 
 Stirling at once recognized the handwriting as that 
 of the anonymous note to himself. 
 
 " Rev'd Mr. Grace, Dr. sir, Nuella Rhodes ain't 
 proper person to mix with respectble girls and teach 
 sunday-school every body knows as she maks too 
 free with gentles at junctn. House ! " 
 
 " Do you know who wrote this ? " asked Stirling. 
 
 " No, but have my suspicions that it was the keeper 
 of a small hotel here, Tom Benton, who has a grudge 
 
218 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 because we get the most custom. His is the Green 
 Mountain House. I got two or three notes from him 
 before he came here ; I can't find them, but somehow 
 when I saw this letter, that man's face rose before me." 
 
 " Let me keep this note to-night. And now tell me 
 about her going away.'* 
 
 " Well, things went worse. Nobody spoke to the 
 girl at church, and same in the street; she took on so, 
 I thought I'd leave the town, though the business is . 
 good. One day she asked me to let her go up to 
 Boston to see her aunt Rhodes, widow of my brother, 
 and her cousins. They'd always wanted her, but I 
 didn't encourage it, because they are full of spirit- 
 rapping and such notions. But I thought a change 
 would be good. After she had been there some days 
 she wrote me a letter it's in the drawer here." 
 
 The letter was full of affection; it gave some humor- 
 ous account of spiritualistic stances in her aunt's 
 house ; and then followed a passage of startling sig- 
 nificance to Stirling, who read it silently: " On Sun- 
 day evening we all went to a little hall to hear a lec- 
 ture by a lady from New York, whose name is Maria 
 Shelton. I didn't care much about going, but when 
 that woman appeared it was like a star shining out. 
 Such a voice! such deep eyes! she was like Tennyson's 
 Princess. I was spellbound. No speaker ever 
 reached my soul before. I found out where she was 
 staying and went to see her alone. It has made me 
 feel happier than I have been for a long time. I 
 meant to come home Saturday, but shall stay over 
 Sunday to hear her again. And now, dear father, I 
 have a favor to ask. I want a large sum of money 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF HER HOXOR. 219 
 
 a thousand dollars raised on the estate uncle left me, 
 and sent to me here at once. You know I am careful 
 about money and do not spend it except for something 
 important. You will trust me, father, whoever does 
 not. Trust me to the end ! " 
 
 "I never saw my poor child again Oh, my God!" 
 Stirling took the old man's hand, and waited in 
 silence till he was able to resume his narrative. 
 
 " On the Monday when we expected her back 
 this letter came you may read it." 
 
 " BELOVED FATHER: The money came safe. When 
 I last wrote I meant to return and see you and Ruth 
 once more before taking the step on which I have 
 resolved. But I can not bear parting, and I have 
 resolved to live no longer at White River Junction. 
 For the present I must remain entirely apart. My 
 aunt and cousins think I have returned home. I have 
 made my arrangements so that it will be impossible to 
 trace me, and I entreat you not to try. Do not adver- 
 tise, if you love me, and do not feel alarmed. I shall 
 not harm myself nor ever do any thing to cause you 
 shame for me. I shall be where kindness will sur- 
 round me. You know I speak truth. Now and then 
 I will write. Farewell. Your loving NUELLA." 
 
 " Have you received any other letter ? " 
 
 "Yes this note." 
 
 " Dear father," said this note, which was postmarked 
 " Boston " " I am well, and happier than I ever hoped 
 to be again. Love to Ruth, and to brother Alfred 
 when you write. Your NUELLA." 
 
 " One thing more," said Stirling, turning pale, " do 
 
220 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 you think Nuella ever heard these slanders associated 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Good God ! I never heard of that," exclaimed 
 Manuel. 
 
 Manuel considered this startling suggestion for 
 some time in silence, and became much agitated. 
 
 " I feel pretty certain that Nuella never told me all 
 she had heard. It's just like John Layman to be sus- 
 picious, and he was hanging round a good deal while 
 you was here. He might have hinted something of 
 that kind to her. Ah ! No I can't say." 
 
 " AVe'll try and get to the bottom of it," said Stirling, 
 rising. " And now I must bid you good-night and 
 leave." 
 
 " What, not stay here ! " 
 
 " I were afraid of breaking in on you suddenly, and 
 put up at the Green Mountain. I'll come in the 
 morning. Keep a brave heart ! I must sleep on these 
 letters." 
 
 Stirling kept awake on the letters, and next morn- 
 ing his nerves were not so calm as they should have 
 been for the purpose he had formed. On requesting 
 an interview with the proprietor of the hotel,Mr.Benton, 
 he found him eager for conversation. Stirling 
 inquired about the town, its inhabitants, the price of 
 land, meantime measuring his man. 
 
 " How many hotels are there in the place ? " 
 
 " Three that includes a small house across the 
 river." 
 
 " Which is the largest ? " 
 
 " The Junction is rather the biggest, but very noisy 
 if a man wants to sleep." 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF tf& HONOK. 22 1 
 
 " But for that, is it a respectable family hotel ? " 
 
 " Well, it used to be considered respectable." 
 
 " But isn't so now ? " 
 
 "Well, some say the women there ain't all they 
 should be." 
 
 " It looks like clearing up," said Stirling, carelessly 
 walking to the window. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but the wind's east yet." 
 
 " Will you please make out my bill ? " 
 
 " Dollar and a half, sir." 
 
 " Be kind enough to write the account and receipt 
 it. I'm particular about such things. There's pen, 
 ink and paper." 
 
 " Let's see, what name ? " 
 
 " Mr. Randolph." 
 
 Benton wrote out the account and Stirling, having 
 handed the money, scrutinized the paper. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Benton, I have a heavier account to 
 settle with you. Certain slanderous letters, affecting 
 the reputation of a lady in the place, have been written 
 by you." 
 
 " I don't know what you're driving at, stranger ; I 
 haven't slandered any body, but if you want to pick 
 a quarrel you'll find you've waked up the wrong 
 passenger." 
 
 " Here are two notes slandering Miss Rhodes ; 
 there is your receipt ; they are in the same handwrit- 
 ing." 
 
 " And what if they are ? " 
 
 "It will go hard with you unless you can prove 
 what you have said. I am that lady's friend and her 
 lawyer. There is no use in getting excited. You 
 
222 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 may be perfectly certain that the maker of that charge 
 will either prove it or be in prison this day." 
 
 " It's all along of John Layman," gasped the pallid 
 wretch, sinking into a chair. 
 
 " I'm not surprised to hear that, and if you'll now 
 make a clean breast of it, perhaps it may not go so 
 hard with you." 
 
 " I'll own up," said Benton, wiping the sweat from 
 his forehead, " for I'm miserable enough about it. I 
 never had any thing against the girl, but I did hate 
 her father. Layman he came one day and told me 
 the girl was a bad 'un, and she had gone wrong with 
 a college man, Mr. " 
 
 " Stirling. I'm the man." 
 
 " Good Lord ! " 
 
 " Go an. Here's a glass of water." 
 
 " Well, sir, he tempted me like the devil, did Lay- 
 man. He said he couldn't write, and if I would write 
 two or three letters for him it would drive the 
 Rhodeses out of town, and he'd help me get the 
 Junction House. I didn't misdoubt what he said 
 about the girl was true, for she'd been his sweetheart. 
 My children went to her Sunday-school and I didn't 
 think she was a proper person." 
 
 " How many such letters did you write ? " 
 
 " Six or seven. I gave them to him and don't know 
 who he sent them to." 
 
 " Does that include this, which you sent to me at 
 Cambridge ? " 
 
 "No. That was wrote after the girl went off. 
 Fact was, I felt bad and sneaky when I heard she was 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF HER HONOR. 223 
 
 gone. I thought the man who ruined her ought to 
 know it and do something." 
 
 " That shows you have some little conscience left." 
 
 " Many a time I'd given any thing if I hadn't wrote 
 them letters." 
 
 " Why did Layman say he wanted to injure her? " 
 
 " He said the girl wouldn't have him and he'd found 
 out certain that the reason was she was dead in love 
 with you and was going to have a " 
 
 " Stop ! don't speak his foul words about that 
 innocent lady. It's all a 1 damnable lie a venomous 
 snake and a greedy pig conspiring to ruin an angel. 
 By God, it shall be paid for ! " 
 
 " Oh, sir, what will be done to me ? I'm a man of 
 family." 
 
 " So is Manuel Rhodes. However, you did have 
 some pity when the girl had fled, and if you want to 
 make the thing as easy as it can be made you'll now 
 help me undo part of what you have done. Sit down 
 there and write a letter to Manuel confessing that, at 
 the instigation of John Layman, you wrote slanderous 
 letters about his daughter, and beg his pardon. That's 
 your only chance." 
 
 The confession received, Stirling learned from Ben- 
 ton that Layman generally came in from his farm to 
 West Lebanon post-office when the ten o'clock mail 
 opened. He crossed the railway bridge with a lad 
 who could point out the man. A group of people 
 were waiting at the door of the office when Layman 
 drove 'up in a buggy. Stirling waited until the stal- 
 wart farmer had hitched his horse to a paling, and 
 met him about ten yards from the crowd. 
 
224 PINE AXD PALM. 
 
 " Is your name John Layman ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Some vile slanders on Miss Rhodes have been 
 tracked to you, Mr. Layman, and you must now 
 answer for them. My name is Stirling, a man you 
 have charged with ruining an innocent woman." 
 
 " I never said any thing about you at all." 
 
 " You lie ! You were too cowardly to put it into 
 the vile letters concocted between you and Benton, 
 but you have named me." 
 
 " I deny it ; and if there ain't any thing between you 
 and her you'd better mind your own business." 
 
 " That is what I am now doing." 
 
 " I didn't write any letters." 
 
 " Then you are ready to face Benton and swear you 
 never asked him to write any letters about Miss 
 Rhodes, and never uttered a word against her char- 
 acter ? " 
 
 " I may have said what I heard." 
 
 " Tell me the name of somebody from whom you 
 heard any such thing." 
 
 " I heard several people " 
 
 " Tell me one ! " 
 
 " Don't bully me ! " 
 
 " Tell me one ! " 
 
 " The girl's a notorious " 
 
 The sentence was never completed. How easily 
 may civilized man relapse through the centuries that 
 separate him from the faustreicht of his forefathers, 
 and, invoking majestic Law with one breath, in the 
 next knock a man down ! Layman's large form lay 
 prostrate; and Stirling, with a constable's hand on 
 
TO THE RESCUE OF HER HONOR. 22$ 
 
 his shoulder, said to a wondering crowd " Gentle- 
 men, that reptile slandered a lady of your neighbor- 
 hood ; he was just repeating it and I couldn't help 
 striking him." 
 
 Stirling begged to be taken immediately to the 
 magistrate, and sent for Manuel. The magistrate 
 was easily persuaded to release him on his own and 
 Manuel's recognizances, and the two recrossed to the 
 Junction House. Stirling advised Manuel to show 
 the confession to the minister, Mr. Grace, and consult 
 him about every step he should take. No anger 
 against Benton or Layman must lead him to any mis- 
 move. Stirling then said he must leave but would 
 return, and left an address through which he might 
 be reached. He did not wish to buoy up Manuel 
 with hopes that might fail, and did not tell him his 
 immediate purpose. But he felt lighter at heart than 
 the circumstances seemed to warrant, and both Manuel 
 and Ruth felt their cloud lifting a little before the 
 hopeful look in his face. He ate a hearty dinner, 
 gave a cheery good-by to Manuel and Ruth, and was 
 soon on his journey to a distant retreat in New York 
 State where, four years before, he had sought out his 
 early friend, Maria Shelton. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 BONHEUR. 
 
 IN the dusk of the following day Stirling reached -a 
 remote nook in New York State, and alighted at 
 a " crossing " where few trains stopped. Leaving his 
 trunk at the depot, whose sole occupants were an old 
 man and a boy, he walked, valise in hand, to the 
 house, a few hundred yards distant, where he had 
 found Maria Shelton four years before. He remem- 
 bered it as a sort of summer hotel which she and her 
 friends had occupied. He now found it vacant, 
 barred up, deserted, and returned to the depot if a 
 small shed and lamp-room may be so called with 
 misgivings. He met the man and boy going off, and 
 learned that the people who last occupied the house 
 had left two years before for Bonheur, a settlement 
 several miles away. There was no place of rest nearer, 
 no conveyance to be obtained, and Stirling set forth 
 in the direction pointed out. 
 
 The road was new and rough, and through lonely 
 woods, but a friendly moon arose to light the way- 
 farer. He had leisure to review the situation in which 
 he found himself. If indeed Nuella had taken refuge 
 from evil tongues with Maria Shelton, what should 
 he say, and how act ? In the solemn darkness of the 
 forest, picking his way on a new road, its stumps 
 
BONHEUR. 227 
 
 scarce revealed by the moonlight struggling through 
 a roof of trees, he saw phantom faces appear and 
 pass : Nuella's face now beaming with the happiness 
 of helping him, now drooping under disgrace incurred 
 by that service ; his father's face ; the faces of Gisela, 
 Penelope, pale and anxious ; and Hilda's face, which 
 lingered till he came to a puzzling fork. " I will fol- 
 low my light/' he concluded, and took a road that 
 opened against the sky. Emerging presently from 
 the wood, he saw the village-lights in the vale beneath. 
 A few hundred yards further he met a figure in blowse 
 and broad hat, which grew mysterious as it approached. 
 Stirling called across the street, into which the road 
 had now widened. 
 
 "Will you tell me, sir, if this is Bonheur ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you know, miss, where Mrs. Shelton lives ? " 
 
 " I will guide you to her house." 
 
 Stirling begged her not to go out of her way, but 
 she said she was only taking a stroll in the moonlight. 
 The young woman in trowsers, and skirt reaching to 
 the knees, had a pleasant voice and was fair ; if our 
 traveler had not suffered so many sleepless nights he 
 might have enjoyed a longer walk. She told him as 
 they were passing the small white houses, all newly 
 built, that they were a poor and happy little commun- 
 ity ; some of them refugees from a world inharmoni- 
 ous with their ideals ; others having come for the 
 benefits of a school kept by a fine teacher ; but most 
 of them attracted by the presence of " the grandest 
 woman on earth, whose house you seek. Here it is. 
 Good-evening." 
 
228 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Stirling stood in the long porch, hesitating, hand on 
 door-bell, because it was so late ; but he heard voices 
 conversing within, and rang. A gentleman came to 
 the door and invited him to enter, but he asked to see 
 Mrs. Shelton at the door. " Tell her, quietly please, 
 that some one would speak to her privately. I am an 
 old friend, but prefer you should not mention that." 
 Maria when called out did not at once recognize him, 
 but when she did was much delighted. She was about 
 leading him into the room where the others were, but 
 he paused. 
 
 " I should like to know whom I will meet.' 1 
 
 " Only Oscar Murray, who opened the door, Naboth 
 Warriner, our patriarch, and my adopted daughter, 
 Rhoda Shelton." 
 
 " How long adopted ? " 
 
 " Come, I must instruct you at once that close ques- 
 tions about people are not asked at Bonheur," she 
 said merrily. 
 
 " I need not ask. I know who she is, and before I 
 meet her must have a confidential talk with you. I 
 have traveled far to find her. I am tired and hungry, 
 but can not rest till I have consulted you." 
 
 Maria put her head in at the door from which she 
 had come and bade them good-night, as an old friend 
 had arrived and she must take care of him. 
 
 " Can I help you ? " said a voice which Stirling 
 knew. 
 
 " Not this time, daughter." 
 
 Maria led Stirling into her studio, brought him sup- 
 per, and sat down before him with wondering eyes. 
 Nueila had confided to this woman, who had capti- 
 
BON H EUR. 229 
 
 vated her, nearly every thing ; had told her of the 
 slanders ; but the deepest secret of her heart she had 
 not uttered. Indeed she had hardly confessed to her- 
 self the love which Randolph had left with her. 
 That episode, which had become the whole volume of 
 her life, might perhaps have been discovered by Maria 
 had she referred to her own acquaintance with the 
 Stirlings, but she had never had any occasion to do 
 so, and now first learned that Nuella, in seeking asy- 
 lum with her, bore in her breast an arrow feathered 
 by its love. She was moved by Stirling's narrative to 
 tears, but these had to be checked by anxious thought 
 for the morrow. 
 
 Stirling declared that marriage was the only solu- 
 tion. Maria urged that marriage was a bad thing ; 
 Stirling, that if it were bad as homicide it were better 
 than such wrong as Nuella suffered. Maria said 
 Nuella did not suffer at Bonheur, where she was a 
 valued teacher in their school ; Stirling, that her fam- 
 ily were in disgrace and, knowing this, Nuella could 
 not be happy. Maria said none could be entirely 
 happy, but Stirling declared that his own life would 
 be blighted if he were to be forever attended by the 
 phantoms of that old father and his daughters ruined 
 by the man they saved. 
 
 "But may it not add to Nuella's wrongs to marry 
 her without really loving her ? " 
 
 " Why should I not love her ? I do love her. If she 
 is not now the lovely girl she was when I knew her, it 
 is on my account. I will not dissect my heart to dis- 
 cover just how much gratitude there is, how much 
 love. Enough that I believe she can not be happy 
 
230 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 without me, and know I can not be happy without 
 her." 
 
 " Then," said Maria, yielding, " she will have to be 
 deceived. If she thinks you have come to save her 
 reputation by marriage, she will never consent. I 
 know her. Another thing I may tell you : Nuella has 
 supernatural eyes in her heart, and if you do not really 
 love her there will be no use in saying so." 
 
 " There seems to be no help for it she must not 
 know that I have come here after her. My visit 
 must be to you meeting her a happy accident. Can 
 you find me board near by ? " 
 
 " Not while I have a house." 
 
 " If I stay I must pay." 
 
 " Very well, and I'll send the money to pay your 
 father for keeping me in his house two or three months. 
 Come, Ran, I'm not needy. Go to bed and don't appear 
 till twelve, when you've got to be astounded at meet- 
 ing Nuella, just then from her school." 
 
 Maria guided her old friend to his room. As she 
 was passing out of the door she turned : whether it 
 was that his simple " good-night " revived recollec- 
 tions of happy days at The Palms, or that some 
 feeling about his mission there moved her, a sudden 
 emotion overcame Maria. 
 
 " O you great heart ! " she cried, and clasping him 
 in her arms kissed him again and again. 
 
 It had been long since Stirling had known such 
 refreshing slumber as he now enjoyed. It was late in 
 the morning when he awoke, and for a serene hour he 
 lay tracing the fairy forests on his window ; memory 
 and imagination sauntering together through mimic 
 landscapes of the frost. 
 
BONHEUR. 231 
 
 Maria met Nuella at the door, on her return from 
 the morning school, and led her into the breakfast- 
 room, where a plate was laid. She explained that a 
 dear friend had come to see her, son of a judge in 
 whose family she once passed some time. 
 
 " He visited me several years ago when we first 
 came into this neighborhood." 
 
 " How glad you must be ? What is his name ? " 
 
 " Stirling. What's the matter, child ? " 
 
 " His first name ? " 
 
 "Randolph." 
 
 " Oh, hide me ! " cried Nuella, sinking on the floor 
 
 Just then Stirling entered and understood what ha'd 
 occurred. He lifted the unconscious form to a sofa, 
 and sat chafing her hands until the pallor passed 
 away. The return of consciousness was signaled with 
 a deep blush, and from beneath each closed eyelid 
 started a tear. 
 
 " Nuella," said Stirling, softly. 
 
 " It is you indeed," she said, in a low tone, looking 
 up to- his face. 
 
 " And it is you, my dear friend." 
 
 " No, not the one VQU knew. My name is not 
 Nuella." 
 
 " You are my daughter, now," said Maria ; " are 
 you better ? " 
 
 " I am strong enough," said Nuella, sitting up ; 
 " Mr. Stirling, I am sorry to have met you with a 
 worry." 
 
 " Don't think that. I am the one fated to worry 
 people." 
 
 She turned a scrutinizing glance on him, but it was 
 
23 2 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 he who learned most from it : he had blundered on 
 the fact that she had indeed heard his name connected 
 with the slanders. After luncheon Nuella was well, 
 and, as she had no afternoon duty at school, strategy 
 had to begin before the strategists were quite prepared. 
 
 " I will go to my room, mother," said Nuella " I 
 have found a mother since I saw you, Mr. Stirling 
 you must have much to say to each other." 
 
 " No, don't go, Rhoda he has nothing to say to me 
 that that you may not hear." 
 
 " Three's a crowd. Why, he must have traveled 
 ever so far to see you. Where did you come from, 
 Mr. Stirling ? " 
 
 " I left Peacefield, Massachusetts, a few days ago, 
 but stopped on the way." 
 
 " A dreadful journey and in the cold ! You are 
 mistaken for once, mother ; I know he must have come 
 on important business." 
 
 " He has come to spend his Christmas at Bonheur, 
 and we must all be as merry as the pious, plunged in a 
 gulf of dark despair and dining on turkey ; -which 
 reminds me that I have directions to give ; no, Nuella 
 I must be the Martha this time ; your nerves got 
 the shock, and you two must chat till I return." 
 
 Since Stirling and Nuella had parted she had, in a 
 sense, lived ages, but they had not aged her physic- 
 ally ; they had stolen some of the rich color from her 
 cheek, and from the mouth some of its dimpled mirth- 
 fulness ; but the childlike voice was left, and the brow 
 retained its pure repose. To Stirling she appeared 
 more beautiful than before : he looked into this face 
 as into a serene evening sky overarching a horizon of 
 
BONHEUR. 233 
 
 shadows ; his soul stirred with the hope of setting 
 there the star of love. 
 
 " It seems long, Nuella, since I was listening to your 
 favorite poems in the little parlor. Do you remember 
 how we roamed with ' Pippa ? ' ' 
 
 " Unhappy days for you, but " 
 
 " Were you about to say they were not unhappy for 
 you ? I hope so ; for they were not unhappy for me, 
 and I should be glad to think I was not merely a bur- 
 den to you." 
 
 " I have had unhappy days in my life but those 
 appear bright when I saw you getting well." 
 
 "Nuella," said Stirling, in a merry tone, for he saw 
 a shadow stealing over her face, " doesn't your con- 
 science confess to a little deception on that night when 
 I first saw you ? As I remember you somehow made 
 me suppose there was no train to go on by ; and also 
 surprised me into a confession." 
 
 " How can I recall such remote antiquity ? And if 
 it's true, what's a woman to do with a man twice her 
 size to keep from some mad thing or other ?" 
 
 " Just what the big man ought to do when he has to 
 keep a woman from harm from harming herself with- 
 out knowing it." 
 
 " What, deceive her ! A woman should never be 
 deceived." 
 
 " Only men ? " 
 
 " Only men." 
 
 " Deception is a female prerogative ? " 
 
 " I thought every body knew that. You must learn 
 your a-b-c." 
 
 " Be my teacher ! " 
 
234 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 "Women are like the defenseless little creatures 
 that grow to be like twigs and leaves, so that the birds 
 shall not notice them." 
 
 " Isn't that dangerous doctrine ? " 
 
 " It is. How awful must tyranny be, when its vic- 
 tims must dissemble for truth's own sake ! " 
 
 " Wome-n, then, love truth ? " 
 
 " Too much to let it be trodden into falsehood." 
 
 " I feel flattered that you cast yours before me, for, 
 people rarely tell the truth about truth. Every body 
 denounces deception, but every body practices it in 
 emergencies some selfishly, making deception a lie, 
 some honorably, like a patriot saving his country by 
 stratagem." 
 
 " How profound we are becoming ! Tell me 
 where you have been, and what you have been 
 doing." 
 
 " The way is paved for a confession : I have lately 
 been a living deception, a walking whopper ; I have 
 been traveling about in disguise." 
 
 " Now you arc deceiving me. No ! " 
 
 While Stirling told his adventures at Spindleton, his 
 journey with the Fraiilein, the slave's escape, the 
 drive with Hilda, his wound and recovery, she listened 
 like a Desdemona to her hero. 
 
 " Now prepare yourself, Mr. Stirling ; I have one 
 thousand questions " 
 
 " To be continued in our next," said Maria enter- 
 ing. " The table must be set for prosaic dinner, and 
 you must do something with yourselves." 
 
 " I am to set the table," said Nuella. 
 
 " Not to-day," urged Maria, 
 
30NHEUR. *35 
 
 " Leave my premises, or fear the vengeance of an 
 angry daughter ! " 
 
 " Maria," said Stirling presently, " it's going to be a 
 hard matter to suppress the facts ; I wonder if it's 
 necessary ? " 
 
 " I've been thinking over it every moment since you 
 came. My conviction is that if you should marry her, 
 and she then ever suspected that you came here 
 because of her troubles, a tiny worm would be at the 
 core of her joy, and it would decay as it ripened." 
 
 " Mother, may I speak to you ? " said Nuella, at the 
 parlor door, which she closed when Maria came out 
 to her. 
 
 " Mother, I trust you have not told Mr. Stirling of 
 any of my. troubles." 
 
 " Not a whisper." 
 
 " And you will not tell him ? I entreat you." 
 
 " I will not," said Maria, re-entering the parlor. 
 
 " She does not dream yet that you know her trouble," 
 she said, " and has just entreated me not to tell you. 
 Nuella is as if on the brink of a mental consumption ; 
 you must act as a physician who would save his 
 patient by concealing what might prove fatal." 
 
 Stirling was not anxious for Nuella to get through 
 her thousand questions ; he dreaded to have their 
 conversation turn upon her own experiences. But he 
 was more and more charmed by her presence, and as 
 she devoted her mornings to the school he longed for 
 a lotus-land where it is always afternoon. This 
 peripatetic inquirer was too deeply absorbed in the 
 personal experience through which he was passing to 
 make the most of his opportunity to learn more about 
 
23 6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 northern institutions, but he listened with interest, in 
 the long evenings, to discussions of the economic and 
 social principles represented by Bonheur. Maria held a 
 sort of salon, assisted by Naboth Warriner, manager of 
 the community, Oscar Murray, a retired merchant, and 
 Thomas Alden, the teacher, her receptions being on 
 Wednesday and Sunday evenings. Naboth explained 
 to him their economic system, that time is money, 
 an hour's labor compensating an hour's labor, this 
 being modified in favor of disagreeable labor, and 
 variable with corn. Five hours' professional service 
 were equivalent to eighty pounds of corn, but the corn 
 could be had for a less time of drudgery. The social 
 basis of Bonheur was " individualism," the freedom 
 of each to think, speak, live, without any limit, save 
 the equal, right of others, to their genius. Though 
 few of them might have heard of Thelema, the motto 
 of Rabelais' Utopian abbey had embodied itself in 
 this American forest village : Fats ce que voudras. 
 Whatever Stirling might think of their visions, the 
 visionaries had to be taken seriously : they were 
 generally thoughtful and high-minded people. Nor 
 could there be doubt that his hours with Nuella and 
 Maria would be found under par if measured against 
 the superior claims of ' disagreeable occupation ' in 
 Bonheur. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 
 
 NO bells rang in the Christmas day at Bonheur. 
 There was a temple in the place, a small white 
 parthenon, but no regular assemblages in it. It was 
 always open, and when any one of the community had 
 something to say there, it rested on such to send 
 notice to every house and to build fires in the temple 
 if needed. In this way it had been announced that 
 Maria Shelton would speak on Christmas morning. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, the air so still and clear 
 that the sun was able to soften the heart of winter. 
 Stirling and Nuella started out early enough for a stroll 
 through the village. The streets were presently alive 
 with temple-goers ; or one might say variegated with 
 them, for " do what thou wilt " being the only regula- 
 tion in dress, the figures presented the picturesqueness 
 of a masquerade. Even the men had some touches of 
 color in their dress. Some of the ladies had antici- 
 pated the aesthetic era, but their skirts were generally 
 short of every degree between knee and ankle the 
 Turkish or other trowsers being worn by some, but 
 the majority contenting themselves with stockings of 
 various shades. There could not be the slightest sus- 
 picion of boldness among them : the Arcadian atmos- 
 
238 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 phere was too potent over the secluded land for Mrs. 
 Grundy to invade it with questions of propriety in 
 costume. To Stirling, at any rate, they appeared as 
 happy children on a holiday, and he was afterwards 
 surprised to recognize in the seated assembly so many 
 gray heads. 
 
 Behind the lecture-desk the wall was hung with 
 pictures, placed there for the occasion by Maria, 
 which were examined by those present before her 
 arrival. The subjects were from Palestine and chieffy 
 scenes in Jerusalem, some of them painted there by 
 Maria herself. In the center was a fine copy of 
 Filippo Lippi's " Madonna and Child in the Wood." 
 No woman could appear worthier to stand beside the 
 picture than Maria Shelton, who presently appeared 
 before her audience in robe of purple velvet, and with 
 no ornament but a white flower at her breast. 
 
 She began with a quietly humorous description of 
 her arrival in Jerusalem; the discomfort caused by 
 competition for making her comfortable; the guides 
 denouncing each other as infidels, Jews, Moslems, 
 apparently the only species of crime in their decalogue. 
 Next she described the groping amid ruins over 
 ancient streets sunk to ruts, leading to tombs whose 
 inscriptions have followed into eternal silence the 
 memories they once preserved. Maria's artist face 
 appeared as she described the panorama of alternating 
 antiquity and modern splendor, with the permanent 
 figure of human degradation crouching under gilded 
 walls of Christendom as once under palaces of the 
 Pharaohs. Reverently and tenderly she spoke of 
 prophets, poets, sages ; of the spiritual flower of their 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 239 
 
 race, whose effort to save the poor from despair 
 had woven a halo round his own and his mother's 
 head. Her voice grew passionate as she pointed to 
 the burial of that sacred city under ruins of time, 
 under more ruinous holy wars and oppressions, till left 
 with ditches heaped with blind guides and their fol- 
 lowers priestly guides, hating each other even more 
 than the dragomans whose curses compete for your 
 guidance to Calvary. The Holy City was then made 
 a type of imperial Christendom, with its crumbled 
 shrines, its moral highways buried under rubbish of 
 superstition, its great souls succeeded by selfish 
 guides, its Saviour dragged down to be the patron of 
 each vulgar sectarian shop, on which one seems to 
 read " Pope & Co.," or " Canterbury & Co.," or 
 Calvin & Co.," " Soul-savers to H. R. H. the Prince of 
 Peace." The old shrines broken, the old streets lost, 
 the guides untrustworthy, Christmas tells its sweet 
 tale of a supernatural Mother and Babe to a generation 
 that keeps watch by night, but sees in the East no 
 pointing star. Now must each turn to the firmament 
 within, where shines the star of love and thought. 
 For those who have left the conventional guides to 
 follow that inner light the new star burns through the 
 darkness of our time, and guides the pilgrim to a true 
 Bethlehem. And may it not be here, she said, even 
 in Bonheur, veritably as in the past ? Behold in this 
 old picture the paternal and maternal spirit in the 
 universe out in the lonely Wood : the Voice in the 
 Wilderness is there also, and the dove of peace. In 
 these our American woods the ancient miracle is 
 renewed for those who cease to seek it amid ruins of 
 
240 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 the past, and the parasites with which they are over- 
 grown. 
 
 Such was the tenor of Maria's Christmas discourse; 
 but how impossible to convey the charm of her speech, 
 and how unimaginable the beauty of the woman 
 transfigured in mild enthusiasm ! A profound silence 
 followed her last word, the audience sitting still as if 
 loth to move. Then an aged woman arose and cried 
 " O Maria Shelton, blessed art thou for the sweet 
 thoughts thee has spoken this day ! " 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Thomas Alden, "the oldest of us are 
 her children, and we rise up and call her blessed." 
 
 By one impulse all present arose and stood for a 
 few moments in silence. Maria moved forward as if 
 about to speak, but there was only the faintest move- 
 ment on her lips. She bowed low, then walked from 
 the platform and disappeared through a door near it. 
 
 " Friends ! " cried a voice near the entrance. It 
 was a new and startling voice, though not loud, and 
 every head was turned. Was this an eagle trans- 
 formed to a man ! Tall and lank, clothed in brown 
 wool, gray-bearded, mouth wide and thin, nose hooked, 
 the forehead overshadowed with thicket of iron-gray 
 hair, the eyes steel-like in hue and glitter, this man 
 was one to command attention. 
 
 " Friends, I am a pilgrim to your woods, I am a 
 seeker of the New Jerusalem, and if you will listen to 
 me I will tell you where that holy child Jesus is, and 
 where Herod is, and where the babes are massacred. 
 My name is Gideon, Captain Gideon, and I beg 
 madam, the lecturer, that I may be heard." 
 
 " The stranger has the same freedom to speak here 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 241 
 
 as ourselves," said Maria, who had reappeared with 
 cloak and bonnet. 
 
 Those who hoped to hear any thing about the Babe 
 of Bethlehem were disappointed. For any thing in 
 this captain's address, Christmas might as well never 
 have dawned on the world. The negro bondmen of 
 the South were Jehovah's people ; the slaveholders 
 were taskmasters to be overthrown in a Red Sea, 
 they were also Cain slaying Abel, and particularly 
 they were Midianites whose raids on Israel this 
 Gideon had been punishing in Kansas with the sword 
 of the Lord. Strong as was this eagle, the atmosphere 
 of the temple was too etherial just then to sustain his 
 wing. After a few minutes of Jehovistic wrath he 
 fluttered down ; but, from his more quiet and hesitat- 
 ing harangue that followed, a pathetic and sometimes 
 thrilling story was gathered. There in the far West 
 slavery was trying to make a fair land into its own 
 image. On every acre of Kansas it meant to 
 set up an auction-block for the sale of men, women 
 and children. On the other hand a small band of the 
 soldiers of liberty were there to die rather than 
 the great crime should be done. The captain gave 
 many instances of the wickedness of the Missouri 
 Midianites, many examples of the righteousness ter- 
 ribly retributive of the Free State men ; but the most 
 impressive and touching part of his speech was that 
 in which he described the slaves running to them, 
 stretching out their hands for deliverance. In con- 
 clusion he made an appeal that they should all send 
 some contribution to the Kansas committee. "For 
 myself," he said, "my life is consecrated to the work 
 
242 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 of liberating the slave, and if I could only persuade 
 one soul here to join me in that cause of Almighty 
 God, I should feel that he has sent me out here with 
 a message to that soul." 
 
 The few comments made on his address must have 
 suggested to Captain Gideon that he was somehow/ 
 missent to Bonheur. A man rose up to say that 
 he thought the southern negroes better off than the 
 same race in the north, and about as well off as the- 
 toiling whites ; a woman, that her sex was enslaved, 
 and chanty begins at home ; but the severest trial for 1 
 the captain was a speech maintaining that the Bible 
 was on the side of the slaveholder. 
 
 One person, however, had been deeply moved by 
 the captain's speech, Nuella. As the people were 
 moving away she desired Stirling to accompany her in 
 approaching the old man, who was walking off with 
 bent head, and an appearance of dejection. He 
 started at hearing his name. 
 
 " Here is a lady who wishes to speak to you," said 
 Stirling. 
 
 " How d'ye do, madam," said the captain with a 
 polite bow. 
 
 "I wish to ask if you have ever met a man in 
 Kansas named Alfred Rhodes ? " 
 
 " I know him well. There isn't a better man out 
 there than Colonel Rhodes." 
 
 " Was he well when you last saw him ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. He has a fine claim out there, a first- 
 rate piece of land is Rhodes's and the ruffians would 
 be glad to get hold of him and his place ; but they've 
 got their match. He has one qr two neighbors neaj 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 243 
 
 his cabin with families, but isn't married him- 
 self." 
 
 " He is my relation. I hope," said Nuella, with a 
 candid blush, " that you will feel that many hearts are 
 with you in your brave work, though their hands are 
 too weak to help. I was interested in your address 
 to-day more than I can express. Good-by ! " 
 
 In the afternoon Nuella and Stirling took a walk in 
 the woods. Their conversation naturally turned on 
 the addresses in the temple. 
 
 " Bonheur is an open secret," said Stirling. " Naboth 
 may say what he will about standards of value, but 
 the basis of the community is a great-brained woman." 
 
 " Listening to her to-day I was at times in a trance, 
 and as if beholding angels descending on a ladder." 
 
 " For me, I remembered the saying of Socrates' 
 young friend, that to listen to his discourse was a 
 sufficient end of life." 
 
 " You luxurious man ! Ah, Mr. Stirling " 
 
 " Well, Miss Rhodes," 
 
 " Why Miss ? " 
 
 "Why Mister?" 
 
 " I don't believe I could say simple Randolph, 
 You'll have to give me a day or two to try it over by 
 myself." 
 
 " After to-morrow it must be Mister no more. What 
 were you about to say ? " 
 
 " I've forgotten." 
 
 "You said it was luxurious to want to listen to 
 Maria for the rest of life." 
 
 " The rest of life ! The words have two meanings. 
 Most of those in the village have come from tempests. 
 
244 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 clinging to fragments of their wreck, and found rest 
 on Maria's heart ; but you, starting out on a fair sea, 
 how could you dream of rest in poor little Bonheur ? 
 You visit your southern friend, depart, and if you 
 remember us it will be with a smile." 
 
 " I may be more of a waif than you think. What 
 does each know of the other ? Many a Bonheureuse 
 believes she alone knows real trouble." 
 
 " It's not mere trouble that makes people leave the 
 great world for a convent, or a place like Bonheur. 
 The heart is born for an unbounded world, and if it 
 turns away from it the motive is either religious, think- 
 ing to find the gate to a boundless world, or some- 
 thing that renders life with mankind impossible. Not 
 even the charm of Maria could give rest to one flying 
 from a vocation in the world." 
 
 " How long do you expect to remain in Bonheur ? " 
 
 " During its life or mine." 
 
 " Then you are happy here." 
 
 " I would be happier with more to do." 
 
 There was a hopelessness in Nuella's tone, rather 
 than in her words, that weighed on Stirling's heart ; 
 he found nothing to say, and they walked in silence 
 till Nuella felt that she had been making their walk too 
 gloomy. 
 
 " Mr. Stirling " 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " Mr. Randolph, then ! " 
 
 " Better." 
 
 " I haven't asked half my questions yet." 
 
 " You said a thousand, and have asked nine hun- 
 $red and ninety-nine, I've counted/' 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 245 
 
 " Tell me more of that Lady Hilda, who put on the 
 negro's clothes. That's a woman ! Maria would do 
 a thing like that." 
 
 " So would you." 
 
 " Do you think so ? really ? I have dreams of brave 
 free action, rising above custom, ignoring sex like 
 Lady Godiva to strike some stroke for justice. It 
 would be glorious to do as your Hilda did, on the 
 moment, so absorbed in the duty before her that ques- 
 tions of clothes, of what people may say, of conse- 
 quences to herself, could never even occur to her ! " 
 
 " It was indeed sublime to see her blackened, and 
 in the coarse clothing of a slave. Were I an artist I 
 would paint the picture." 
 
 " I suppose she watched over you after you were 
 wounded. When are you to be marrried ? " 
 
 " Nuella, does it always follow that when one is 
 watched over and helped through illness by but 
 there, I will be merciful. No ; her uncle was a doc- 
 tor and took me to his own house. Afterwards I saw 
 a good deal of Hilda, but we didn't fall in love. Per- 
 haps she was too happy in her home ; perhaps I was 
 too too " 
 
 " Too what ? " 
 
 "I suppose there are mysterious conditions for love 
 as for diamonds ; all the elements may be brought 
 together in right proportions, but the gem doesn't 
 flash out." 
 
 " You know all about it, Mr. Randolph. You've 
 been In love." 
 
 " I have not been, I am in love/' 
 
 Just then fate put in a word. Hearing a step 
 
246 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 behind them they turned and saw Captain Gideon 
 approaching, bag in hand, on his way to the station. 
 
 " I hope, young lady," he said, after shaking hands 
 with both, " that your heart is as good as your face, 
 and that you will encourage this young man to serve the 
 right, like Colonel Rhodes. I do not know what you 
 are to each other. I pray God to bless you both and 
 lead you to set about his work. Do not let earthly 
 affections draw you from God's work. There are 
 great wrongs to be righted. Woe to them that lead 
 lives of ease when God is calling for helpers ! Blessed 
 are they that lose their lives for his sake ! But I 
 can not tarry. Farewell ! " 
 
 Their eyes followed the captain's gaunt figure until 
 it disappeared. 
 
 " What a strange man ! " said Nuella. 
 
 " Strange indeed ; he strikes me as suffering a sort 
 of sane insanity." 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " while he was pleading 
 about Kansas a longing to go there came over me ? I 
 felt that perhaps the service of life might be found 
 there, if not its happiness. He must have mesmerized 
 me ; if he had come to me and said, ' Rise and go 
 with me,' I might have followed him." 
 
 " I suppose the face of your brother I supposed it 
 was a brother you asked about rose before you. But, 
 Nuella, it pains me to hear you talk in that tone, about 
 finding your life's service without its happiness. Is 
 it not morbid ? " 
 
 " Pejhaps partly. Yet I should like to go where 
 I could bind up wounds, or help poor negroes flying 
 rom pursuers, and minister to brave men defending 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 247 
 
 liberty. Yes ! " her eyes flashed, " I should like to go 
 with that man ! " 
 
 " Nuella, go with me ! " 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 " Go with me ! " 
 
 They were the eyes of a child that turned to those 
 of Stirling, but the eyes of a woman that started at 
 what she read there, then drooped toward the 
 earth. 
 
 " You have taken me at my word suddenly/' she 
 said, trying to speak lightly ; " going to Kansas is a 
 serious business." 
 
 " Perhaps you mean going with me is a serious bus- 
 iness. It is even so ; to me infinitely more serious 
 than going anywhere. Nuella, wherever you go, go 
 with me ! Nuella, I love you ; where you go I will 
 go ; we must part no more." 
 
 Nuella stood speechless, gazing on the dead leaves, 
 only a faint last autumnal tint discernible on them 
 here and there. Light snowflakes were beginning to 
 fall ; nature would weep for her, and for this love that 
 came too late, though the tears were frozen. At length 
 her eyes, tearless but full of pain, turned piteously to 
 him. 
 
 " Randolph, true and good as ever, come close, for 
 once let me clasp you to my heart for once, my Ran- 
 dolph!" 
 
 " For once and forever." 
 
 " For once and for the last time," she said, trem- 
 bling in his arms. 
 
 " No, Nuella, no ! " 
 
 " Yes, we must part, * I can not be your wife. 
 
248 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 though love for you has long been the secret of my 
 life." 
 
 " Nuella, my love, what is this ?" 
 
 " It is as I have said. It is not much I could have 
 brought the man I love, only my devotion ; but one 
 thing I would have to bring him, and that I now can 
 not an untarnished name." 
 
 As Nuella said this she disengaged herself quietly 
 from his arms and stood apart, as if the abyss were 
 already yawning between them. The youth's whole 
 nature flowed out to this womanly soul, standing there 
 the martyr of love and innocence. He. stretched 
 forth his hands, but she did not come ; her resolution 
 fixed her apart, as if a statue in which the eyes alone 
 were alive. 
 
 " Nuella, this is all some miserable mistake ; what 
 is any silly gossip to me if I have the wife I love, and 
 know her to be pure and true ? " 
 
 " It is noble to say that, it is like you, but your honor 
 is dearer to me than your love. You must now hear 
 all, hard as it is to tell. Malicious tongues have 
 accused me of unchaste conduct, our family has been 
 publicly disgraced, and we are defenseless against the 
 slanders. The disgrace is ineffaceable, and I am hid- 
 ing at Bonheur." 
 
 " You shall find honor and protection in your own 
 home, and at my side," cried Stirling, starting for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Impossible," said Nuella, waving him back. 
 
 " Now see, Nuella, we happen to be in the same 
 case. I also am in disgrace at home. I am unable to 
 yeturn there because I helped a fugitive slave. I arn 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BONHEUR. 249 
 
 disgraced for something I did, you for what you 
 never did. If nevertheless I long to make you my 
 wife, to have you share my disgrace, why should you 
 not let me share yours ? " 
 
 " It is different. You are accused of what in my 
 eyes is to your honor." 
 
 " And you, Nueila, is not your accusation based on 
 something that in my eyes would be to your honor ? 
 It can not be that malice could fasten on you without 
 some fact to pervert, and I know that fact would be 
 something worthy of the woman I love Nueila, you 
 do not answer. I entreat you in pity, tell me that. 
 There was something, and I swear, before you speak, 
 you were slandered for what would make me proud 
 of you." 
 
 " I am frightened. I fear your reasoning. Be mer- 
 ciful never let me lower the man I love in the eyes 
 of those to whom his name belongs. No, Randolph, 
 never can I be your wife. The air grows bitter this 
 snow stings. Let us go back to Bonheur." She 
 started, but he held her by the arm. 
 
 " Speak out like your frank self, my Nueila be 
 bold as your innocence. You say you have loved me ; 
 was not your secret known ? did it not turn some jeal- 
 ous man into your enemy ? " 
 
 " Let us return the snow is thickening." 
 
 u Nueila, Nueila, I entreat an answer." 
 
 " I am not able, I can only obey my heart it says, 
 beware ! " Now her tears began to flow, and he caught 
 her in his arms again. 
 
 " You have been suffering, my sweet. Let the snow 
 fall you are in your shelter. In some way your love 
 
250 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 has brought on your troubles ; then I have the right 
 to help you bear them and I will." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " When you can think of it calmly you will see that 
 I must. By no power can it be prevented. Send me 
 away, I go ; but the face of the woman blighted 
 through me must move by my side forever. You can 
 leave me, Nuella, but you can not take away that life- 
 long pain." 
 
 " Do not talk so ! Pity ! What have I said ? I 
 never said you had any thing to do with it. Do not 
 ask me questions ; I don't know what I answer. I am 
 in a place where one false step would Father in 
 heaven, help me ! " 
 
 " Nuella, my wife that must be, a voice within 
 says it is through me you suffer. I stand by you. 
 You will be vindicated by me. Your slanderers will 
 be put to shame. We will scorn them, forget them, 
 in our happiness." 
 
 " I am bewildered. You have come into my little 
 life like a god, you overwhelm me with your greatness of 
 soul, your gratitude where I have done nothing ; I 
 can return you nothing, but I will never tarnish your 
 name ; the nobler you are, the stronger I am to save 
 you from that." 
 
 " Yield to me, darling ; do not doom us both to inev- 
 itable life-long unhappiness. I pledge my honor to 
 make you see with me that our fates are bound 
 together. If when you have thought it all over you 
 still have doubts, never dream that you are under any 
 bond." 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " 
 
CHRISTMAS AT BON H EUR. 251 
 
 " Return with me to your old home ; we will be 
 married in the church you have attended " 
 
 Nuella raised her eyes to the horizon, and a radiance 
 was in them as if she had caught some celestial vision. 
 She moved on swiftly, silently, then paused, and 
 turned to her lover eyes full of dreamy wondering 
 trust. But suddenly her ear caught a sound whose 
 omen she understood better than the southerner a 
 sound as of bullets singing through the air, which 
 began to freeze as if an iceberg were floating through 
 it. " We must hurry," cried Nuella, and began to run ; 
 but it was too late, for the Arctic dragon was upon 
 them with tornado coils, teeth of ice, and vomit of 
 stinging blinding snow. The hurricane was against 
 them ; the snow did not fall to the ground but was 
 held in the air, and it was like moving against a mar- 
 ble wall. Nuella began to stagger, and turned her 
 back to the furious blows of the storm. Stirling, 
 realizing the danger, implored her to keep moving, 
 but at last she sank exhausted. He lifted her in his 
 arms and struggled on until a horror shot through 
 him it was as if he were carrying a log. He called 
 her by name, but there was no answer. Near the foot 
 of a large oak he laid her down, covered her with her 
 shawl, his overcoat, coat, waistcoat placing a log 
 beneath the folds so as to secure air should she be 
 covered by a drift and then ran toward the village, in 
 the face of the storm. His burning heart alone kept 
 Stirling from sinking until he fell on the threshold of 
 the nearest house that of Naboth Warriner, who was 
 soon on his way with a wagon to rescue Nuella* 
 Half-frozen as he was Stirling also returned, and 
 
25 2 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 they found a white mound where he had laid Nuella. 
 Haggard with fear he tore away the snow, which, the 
 hurricane having passed, had settled to a thickness of 
 several inches over her. Nuella, perfectly comforta- 
 ble under that white wool, rose up as from a happy 
 slumber. 
 
 When they were talking over the adventure next 
 day, Nuella said she remembered only his taking her 
 in his arms, and then laying her down ; the rest was 
 a pleasant dream. 
 
 " Let us resume our talk," said Stirling ; " you 
 were about to say when our wedding should take place 
 in West Lebanon Church" 
 
 " Was I ? " 
 
 " I hope so. At any rate you didn't say no the 
 last time, and silence is consent." 
 
 " Unless one's lips are frozen." Whereupon Ran- 
 dolph closed them otherwise. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A WREATH OF WINTER BLOSSOMS. 
 
 WHEN Stirling left White River Junction to seek 
 Nuella, Manuel hastened to show Benton's con- 
 fession to Mr. Grace. The minister was deeply moved, 
 rose to his feet with a cry for justice, and started with 
 Manuel to find a lawyer. At the parsonage door they 
 met Benton coming, overwhelmed with fear, to ask the 
 minister's intercession with Manuel. Layman, he 
 said, had disappeared from the neighborhood. Ben- 
 ton declared that he did not know the innocence he 
 was smirching, that Manuel would find him anxious 
 to make what reparation he could, and that he was 
 ready to leave home and search for Nuella. Manuel 
 and the minister concluded to forego for the time 
 appeal to the law. Mr. Grace demanded that the 
 offender should be present in his congregation on the fol- 
 lowing Sunday morning. On that occasion he preached 
 about " false witness," and caused great excitement as 
 he spoke pointedly of u the vile and cruel slanders, 
 now confessed, which had recently driven a pure and 
 honorable young lady from the congregation she had 
 adorned." 
 
 On New Year's Eve Ruth, grown womanly under 
 her responsibilities sat with her father in his own 
 
2J4 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 room. The accounts of the passing year had been 
 balanced, save the heaviest of them all. Manuel gazed 
 into the fire with tearful eyes, and Ruth sat on the 
 floor caressing his hand. She started up at a knock 
 on the door, and the next moment gave a scream cf 
 delight : two letters were handed in, one bearing her 
 sister's handwriting. They could hardly read, through 
 happy tears, the sweet story told by Nuella. Manuel's 
 letter was from Stirling. It begged him to arrange 
 for the wedding to take place in church in six weeks, 
 and desired that when Nuella came nothing should be 
 told her of his late visit to the Junction, or of his 
 encounter with her slanderers. She need only be 
 informed that they had confessed. " Please be very 
 careful on that point ; it is important. The marriage 
 should be announced from the congregational pulpit. 
 We feel sure Mr. Grace will be glad to see justice 
 done. We shall arrive February 10. We are happy." 
 
 Great was the sorrow of Bonheur at Nuella's 
 departure. The school children assembled in the 
 temple, where she was crowned with flowers, and 
 sung to, and addressed by Maria with faltering voice. 
 Mr. Alden read a poem written for the occasion. A 
 procession of the whole village attended the lovers to 
 the station. 
 
 The sorrow of Bonheur was the joy of White 
 River Junction and West Lebanon. Sparkling 
 was that wedding day which, after the long black 
 night, dawned over the beautiful hills. The two 
 rivers which, in immemorial time, joined their forces 
 to break the high barriers, but preserved their white 
 and brown colors, now with one sheen of ice united 
 
A WREATH OF WINTER BLOSSOMS. 255 
 
 the towns they normally separate. When at twilight 
 the bell sounded from the white spire of West Lebanon 
 it evoked responsive sleigh-bells ; along the bridges 
 and the rivers they were heard, and lights as merry 
 danced over the snow beneath the soft moonlight. 
 The romance had been told from every pulpit, and at 
 the Seminary, and the very elms and beeches around 
 the pretty church seemed to have put on snow-pure 
 veils to welcome the innocence so grievously wronged, 
 and the crowds coming to witness her vindication 
 and happiness. 
 
 When Nuella alighted at the church door a dazzling 
 splendor burst from the interior. As the lovers 
 advanced from the vestibule, the little girls Nuella had 
 once taught there attended her, singing a chorus of 
 welcome. Nuella had been told of the confession 
 and flight of her slanderers, but she was not prepared 
 for this scene. She could not repress her emotion, 
 and stopped in the aisle to embrace these children 
 who were as angels in white raiment welcoming her at 
 the gate of heaven. Nor had Stirling any knowledge 
 that such a reception awaited them. Proud and elated 
 he pressed the trembling hand more firmly on his 
 arm, as they were received by Ruth with the other 
 bridesmaids and groomsmen. The girls of Tilden 
 Seminary, where Nuella was educated, conspiring with 
 conservatories far and near, had made the pulpit a 
 pyramid of flowers ; beneath an evergreen arch stood 
 the bride and bridegroom, fit frame for the tableau in 
 which the scene centred. A choral antiphon had been 
 arranged between male voices (a college choir from 
 Dartmouth) near the organ, at the church entrance, 
 
256 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 and female voices (the Seminary choir) near the pul- 
 pit. Nuella in white bridal dress and veil was so 
 beautiful that homage could be heard whispering 
 through the crowded assembly. The singing gave 
 time for her bewilderment to pass away ; an infantine 
 joy smiled in her eyes and the faded roses again 
 bloomed on her cheek. As the chorus closed she 
 turned her face to Randolph as if about to say some- 
 thing, but her eyes alone he met them with a trium- 
 phant smile spoke the fullness of her joy in that 
 supreme moment. 
 
 When the ceremony was over the minister, in his 
 brief address, said that during his long connection 
 with the church he had never before known another 
 occasion so fraught with general joy as this. By 
 spontaneous good-will the community had united to 
 offer this festivity to their young sister and her hon- 
 ored husband ; nobody had to be urged, all were 
 eager. By favor of Miss Ruth the wedding gifts had 
 been sent to the church. At this moment the choir of 
 maidens parted, a curtain was drawn back, and a table 
 laden with presents was displayed. 
 
 " Could I only kneel to you ! " whispered Nuella. 
 
 Stirling's answer was a kiss. 
 
 The venerable minister held out his hand, but 
 Nuella threw her arms around him and kissed him. 
 Then followed Manuel and Ruth, with embraces, tears 
 and laughter : then the children Nuella had taught, 
 and suddenly the whole crowd surged forward to 
 shake hands. Ruth led them to see the presents. A 
 handsome piece of silver was engraved with the words : 
 " Emanuella Rhodes. From the Sunday-school." 
 
A WREATH OF WINTER BLOSSOMS. 257 
 
 The Junction House ball-room was presently the 
 scene of a dance and a supper of a magnificence 
 hitherto unknown in that region. The night trains as 
 they passed showed a head at every window, won- 
 dering at the illumination and the violins making the 
 ear of night tingle. The rose of dawn was unfolding 
 when the lastdeparting sleigh-bells were heard. 
 
 A happy week at White River Junction followed 
 the wed'dmg, but the end of it brought sad tidings 
 from Kansas. A package came from Alfred Rhodes, 
 inclosing the title to his land claim there, with a 
 bequest of it to his father, and a letter stating that he 
 was wounded. The letter was written by himself. 
 The package had been brought by hand to Tabor, 
 Iowa, and there mailed by Captain John Brown, who 
 also wrote to Manuel. Colonel Rhodes, he said, had 
 been shot in the side by Missourians ; he did not 
 know how serious the wound might prove, but from 
 what he had heard, thought it not necessarily fatal. 
 Unfortunately, however, it was hardly possible for the 
 sufferer to receive proper care. He expected to hear 
 again about the colonel in a week's time and would 
 forward any information he might receive to his 
 father. 
 
 Nuella had long forgotten her notion of going to 
 Kansas it belonged to an oubliette closed and sealed 
 with the year just dead. But now it rose again and 
 Stirling, remembering her words in the wood at Bon- 
 heur, spoke to her silent thought, and said, " Where 
 you wish to go, I will go." 
 
 " Alfred was always an affectionate brother," was 
 her only reply. 
 
258 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Suppose we should go to this Tabor it sounds 
 like the region of our Captain Gideon and decide 
 there whether we can, or need, attempt the further 
 journey ? " Stirling suggested. 
 
 This, after much consideration, was the course 
 determined on. A week was given to preparation 
 on one day of which Nuella slipped off alone, and 
 after a grievously long absence from her husband, 
 privately confided to Manuel's care her signed and 
 attested will. The next day Stirling and Nuella took 
 their places on a westward train : the journey of their 
 life was begun. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A BY-WAY OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 TT 7ENTWORTH left the northward train at Fred- 
 VV ericksburg, where he bought a horse, having 
 resolved to travel on horseback to The Palms. His 
 baggage was intrusted to a grain-wagon returning to 
 Fauquier, except what was packed in his ample saddle- 
 bags. Thus equipped he started at daybreak. 
 Reaching the edge of the town he paused on the brow 
 of a hill to observe the picturesque scene. On his 
 right the Rappahannock flowed peacefully through its 
 meadows, bearing here and there a scow laden with 
 grain and propelled by negroes with long poles. For- 
 ward, in the distance, the river disappeared beneath 
 a long bridge, beyond which rose high green hills, on 
 each height a mansion whose white walls gleamed 
 through stately trees. On his left was the marble 
 monument of the mother of Washington. As he rode 
 on he met carts on their way to town laden with early 
 summer fruit. On the bridge he moved slowly, look- 
 ing at the rapids, the fish-traps, the islets, with here 
 and there a troop of merry swimmers. It was all 
 pretty and idyllic ; but as he passed through the vil- 
 lage beyond he reflected that in New England a river 
 with such falls near its head of navigation would run 
 
260 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 golden sands. From the top of a hill beyond he sur- 
 veyed again the beautiful vale, the shining river, and 
 distant steeples mirrored in its peace. Little could 
 he dream that where he paused artillery would pres- 
 ently be planted, the tranquil air tremble with shot 
 and shell, that peaceful town on the horizon become 
 historic in the annals of war. 
 
 As the rider traveled on, the sun began to burn, but, 
 shaded by an umbrella, he was able to enjoy the nov- 
 elties of a Virginia summer. Houses and people 
 became rare ; now and then negroes gazed at him 
 from the fields of maize ; occasionally he met one of 
 the long white-bonneted wagons which railway trans- 
 portation had not yet fossilized ; but for the most 
 part the waysi'de liveliness was contributed by shrill 
 concerts of the cicadas, bright lizards, spotted snakes, 
 striped ground-squirrels, the dove's cooing, the colin's 
 call, Ah, Bob White j and once he stopped to listen to 
 the melodies of a mocking-bird. The road was fringed 
 with wild flowers, the Virginia creeper was decorating 
 fence and field, and sometimes through a dark wood 
 the voiceless " nightingale " flashed like a torch. 
 
 For seven or eight miles of the way, Wentworth felt 
 as if he were getting beyond the human habitat ; he 
 could not hear even the lowing of a cow or baying of 
 a dog, but only wild sounds ; and a sense of loneli- 
 ness oppressed him. He sank into a long reverie, 
 from which he was recalled by a human voice. He 
 looked up and saw a handsome dwelling-house, fifty 
 rods from the road. There was another call, and he 
 presently saw, within the road-side fence, a gentleman 
 who was hailing him. 
 
A BY-WAY OF OLD VIRGINIA. 261 
 
 " Good morning, sir, are you traveling far? " 
 
 " To the neighborhood of Warrenton." 
 
 " Won't you alight for a time ? You've a long ride 
 before you." 
 
 " Thank you, but I think not." 
 
 " It's near dinner time, and you're welcome to food 
 for yourself and horse. If you're a stranger to these 
 parts I may warn you that you've passed the only 
 tavern." 
 
 " Yes, I am a stranger, but I have some food." 
 
 " But your horse may suffer. You had better rest 
 a little, sir. I don't know that we've much to offer, 
 but I shouldn't like to think of your going on without 
 any refreshment." 
 
 " I will not refuse your hospitality, so kindly 
 offered." 
 
 " I'll meet you at the gate a little further on." 
 
 The Virginian gathered from his guest as they 
 moved slowly to the door that he was on his way to 
 The Palms. 
 
 " Ah, Judge Stirling's place ! Very glad to meet 
 you, sir. The judge hasn't his superior in Virginia. 
 We have known each other many years, and I should 
 never forgive myself if I'd let any relation of his pass 
 my door without coming in." 
 
 " I'm not a relation, but one of his family is my 
 best friend." 
 
 " I'll be bound it's Gisela. I'd have to challenge 
 you, sir, if it's Gisela no help for it but to eat my 
 bread and salt. Tom ! see this gentleman's horse fed. 
 You'll stop for the night, Mr. ? " 
 
 " Wentworth. No, thank you I must get on." 
 
262 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Welcome the coming, speed the parting, guest is 
 our way here. My name is Eden Marshall Eden." 
 
 Thus on the lonely high-road our traveler was way- 
 laid and presently found himself captive in a circle of 
 attractive people. The matron presided with grace at 
 her board, and the sons and daughters around it were 
 refined and affable. After they had learned that he 
 was on his way to The Palms there were not wanting 
 significant smiles, which the guest suspected might 
 be due to a " reckon " that he was going there 
 as a suitor. The young people ran on with enthusi- 
 asm about Gisela and Penelope, who had visited them, 
 and gave him loving messages for them. 
 
 It was nearly three o'clock when he started on his 
 way. He hoped to reach Warrenton that evening and 
 ride over to The Palms several miles away from that 
 town in the afternoon of next day, which was Sun- 
 day. But his plans were destined to be upset, and 
 he was to have another experience of the hospitality 
 of this region. At about five o'clock a sudden thunj- 
 derstorm arose, the sky was palled, the thunder and 
 lightning grew furious ; and in the distance the rain 
 was as a mighty wall moving toward the high-road. 
 No umbrella could live in the hurricane, and Went- 
 worth had resigned himself to a drenching, when he 
 saw a negro running toward him, shouting and waving 
 his arms. The man said his master had seen him, 
 and hoped he wouldn't think of facing such a storm. 
 Wentworth had no hesitation this time, and galloped 
 to the house through pursuing hailstones. 
 
 " Come in, sir, come in ! " said the sturdy old 
 farmer who met him in the porch. "Lucky I caught 
 
A BY-WAY OF OLD VIRGINIA. 263 
 
 sight of you, for it's going to be a mighty hard 
 storm.*' 
 
 " You are watchful people in this region. This is 
 the second time to-day I've enjoyed Virginia hospi- 
 tality." 
 
 Entering the parlor they found the family gathered 
 in the center of the darkened room, their feet on each 
 other's chair-rounds traditional securities against 
 lightning. They greeted Wentworth and invited him 
 to join their circle. It was too dark for faces to be 
 distinguished, and the thunder was too loud and con- 
 tinuous to admit of much conversation ; but even this 
 terrific storm was not enough to paralyze curiosity. 
 
 " Are you on your way to the Camp Meeting, sir ? 
 good gracious ! wasn't that loud ! " 
 
 " No, madam" a venture " I am going to The 
 Palms." 
 
 " Oh, the Sterlings' place." 
 
 " We said " farmer's voice " we thought you 
 might be one of the preachers." 
 
 " I never saw a Camp Meeting." 
 
 " Indeed ! " (three female voices). 
 
 " It is an interesting my ! that must have struck 
 
 something ! " 
 
 " I wish I could never see another Camp Meeting " 
 (youthful male voice). 
 
 " Nonsense, Bob, it's lots o' fun" (young female 
 voice). 
 
 " I wonder you both are not afraid to talk so while 
 the very lightnings of heaven are around you " (thin 
 and elderly female voice). 
 
 " Well, Aunt Sarah, I'm in earnest" (Bob). " There's 
 
264 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 more rascality Camp Meeting times than all the rest 
 of the year, and no hand's fit for any thing." 
 
 " But people can't go on the year round without 
 
 some little excite oh, oh ! wasn't that a crash ! " 
 
 (young but serious ; female). 
 
 " I don't belong to any church " (farmer), " but 
 respect them all. However, I can't say I think much 
 of these Camp Meetings. I've seen a good many, and 
 rather dread when they come round." 
 
 "The first time we met, Mr. Morton, was at a Camp 
 Meeting " (soft matronly voice, followed by a chorus 
 of laughter). 
 
 The thunder presently died away, the lightning 
 flashed at longer intervals, but the rain continued, 
 and Wentworth was persuaded not to go further that 
 evening. He made himself agreeable, entered into 
 the young people's games, taught them new ones, and 
 the little ones included him in their good-night kiss. 
 When the rest of the family had retired he joined the 
 farmer and his eldest son in a smoke. In the course 
 of their conversation he learned that the Stirlings had 
 been in some trouble about the eldest son, who " was 
 said to have become an abolitionist and got into some 
 row about a runaway negro." As to which Robert 
 said, " I've known Ran Stirling all my life, and I 
 won't believe he ever did a mean thing unless he tells 
 me so himself and I don't know that I'd believe it 
 then." To this sentiment Wentworth responded 
 warmly ; but he carried an anxious head to his 
 pillow. 
 
 The Sunday dawned bright, and all the family were 
 going to the Camp. Wentworth was glad to go with 
 
A BY-WAV OF OLD VIRGINIA. 265 
 
 them ; it was not much out of his way, and he did not 
 wish to reach The Palms until after dinner. The 
 Morton cavalcade started early. The sun was hot, 
 but the rain had laid the dust and the ride was pleas- 
 ant ; Wentworth found it especially amusing, for he 
 had a witty companion in the family reprobate Julia 
 who sat her horse well, and gave him an anecdotical 
 account of every body and every thing. As they 
 approached the Camp the roads were massed with 
 processions of wagons, gigs, buggies, sulkies, carioles, 
 coaches, horses with two on most of them, and endless 
 lines of negroes on foot. The Camp was in a forest. 
 Tents and shanties, three deep, surrounded a vast 
 horse-shoe space filled with plank seats. Outside the 
 circle of tents were booths for cider and lemonade, the 
 bars for strong drinks being farther off. Gay parties 
 filled the tents and grounds. The early prayer- meet- 
 ing was not quite over in the rude forest chancel when 
 Wentworth arrived. He took his position at a point 
 which commanded a near view of the congregation of 
 negroes, whose benches were behind the platform- 
 pulpit. 
 
 By ten o'clock the seats were crowded. There was 
 much expectation from the preacher of the morning, 
 a famous young revivalist from Washington. He was 
 a handsome, unmarried (the fact was widely repeated) 
 and rosy man, under thirty years. Appearing last 
 among the score of preachers on the platform, his 
 coming excited a sensation similar to that of a prima- 
 donna's entrance among her chorus. He was dressed 
 in newest broadcloth and starchest white cravat and 
 linen; his hair concealed his ears with arabesque rolls; 
 
266 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 a complacent smile was on his mouth, but his eyes 
 were fixed and solemn. 
 
 He began his sermon with studied gesture and 
 memorized rhetoric spoke of " the star-fringed bosom 
 of Night," and of " the cross, like the lightning-rod, 
 drawing to itself the thunderbolt of Eternal Justice." 
 Perhaps he would have been glad to go on exciting 
 wonder by his imagery and knowledge ; but that was 
 not what he was brought there for. In front of him 
 were several long benches which he had to fill with 
 awakened and imploring " mourners." So after some 
 fifteen minutes of ornamental discourse his voice grew 
 loud, his form began to tremble, a pythonic rage 
 dilated his eye, which seemed to behold the lost souls 
 in their torment. 
 
 There were some scoffers just behind Wentworth 
 who talked in half- whisper. 
 
 " You take your brimstone neat at this bar, hey, 
 Bill ? " 
 
 " That's so. No hell-and-water here." 
 
 " He's been there and knows all about it." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said an 
 txcited woman to the young men ; "you'd better be 
 thinking of your poor perishing souls." 
 
 The preacher seemed to be conscious that he had a 
 large mass of this contemptuous defiance before him. 
 There was no word for the skeptic, none that implied 
 the possibility of an intellectual doubt or negation ; 
 the preacher was concentrated upon the task of fan- 
 ning the spark of fear or feeling in each soul till it 
 caught fire, or rubbing the driest sticks of conscience 
 till they burst into flame. His trained ingenuity 
 
A BY-WAY OF OLD VIRGINIA. 267 
 
 sounded like the gust of inspiration. His arms now 
 beat wildly, his face grew red, his heaving chest shot 
 out agonized appeals. Suddenly from among the 
 negroes a wild shriek was heard, then another, a 
 moaning yell. It only needed this signal : mingled 
 shouts and cries broke forth behind the platform, and 
 a large number were seized with convulsions some 
 rolling on the ground. Above these weird noises from 
 behind him the preacher's voice climbed higher and 
 higher, till the moanings began in front, among the 
 whites. On he went, picturing the gay youth, the 
 worldly girl, torn from the pious mother's arms to be 
 cast into eternal billows of fire, the father's cry for 
 his beloved boy in vain, in vain ! Into the burning 
 lake they are plunged to be tossed forever and ever. 
 
 " Mercy ! Mercy ! " 
 
 " Oh, save me ! " 
 
 The cries broke out here, there, as if arrows'had sped 
 at random and pierced hearts everywhere ; one after 
 another pale, terrified women more rarely men 
 were led into the inclosure to kneel at the Mourners' 
 Bench. As the orator's voice began to sink from 
 exhaustion, preachers on the platform uttered excla- 
 mations " Hallelujah ! " " Praise the Lord ! Another 
 soul coming to the mercy-seat ! " " Glory to God ! 
 Thirty souls seeking the Lord while he is near ! " 
 " Brethren, let us have that next bench for the pore 
 sinners." Most of the preachers and several from the 
 inclosure beneath them, now roamed through the 
 crowd, bending to whisper persuasion wherever a 
 down-dropped head or tearful eye was seen. Weep- 
 ing women were entreating husbands or sons to go 
 
268 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 and be prayed for. Many were led forward, amid 
 shouts of the already converted. 
 
 Most of the " mourners " were from the " poor 
 white " class, then so-called ; a few, however, were 
 fashionably dressed, and over these the shouts were 
 especially loud. Wentworth remarked the refined ap- 
 pearance of one girl, about fourteen years of age, led 
 in by a coarse, red-faced man of middle age. Her face 
 could not quite be seen a handkerchief being held to 
 her eyes but the shapely figure and simple dress de- 
 noted a lady. Her approach to the altar excited much 
 commotion ; whispers went around, hundreds stood 
 on benches to see her. Unusual importance was 
 evidently attached to the surrender of this girl. But 
 just then a young man dashed along the aisle, leaped 
 like a leopard from bench to bench, rushed into the 
 inclosure, parted the girl from her red-faced captor, 
 whispered a word in her ear, and placing her hand in 
 his arm led her away. The crowd made a path before 
 the angry flash of his eye, but cries from the preach- 
 ers followed him. 
 
 " There goes a soul dragged off to perdition ! " 
 
 " God pity that pore soul ! " 
 
 " It's hard for the rich to enter the kingdom ! " 
 
 " Young man, you'll have to answer for her at the 
 last day ! " 
 
 Unheeding these wrathful cries the youth moved 
 on, resolute and flushed, and disappeared from the 
 grounds. The incident chilled the meeting and virtu- 
 ally ended it. The congregation broke up into 
 groups ; some followed the disappearing pair, others 
 went to the tents and refreshment stalls ; the orator's 
 
A BY-WAY OF OLD VIRGINIA. 269 
 
 exciting pictures had been surpassed, and there were 
 left only a few to pray and sing with the mourners. 
 When Wentworth found the Mortons they were pre- 
 paring dinner on the grass, and eagerly discussing the 
 sensational scene. Some declared the youth was 
 right, others that he was wrong. Wentworth listened 
 with idle curiosity until a casually mentioned name 
 smote his ear. 
 
 " Who were those two who made such a scene ? " 
 he asked of Julia Morton. 
 
 " Why, didn't you know ? Penelope and Douglas 
 Stirling." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE PALMS. 
 
 fine old mansion called The Palms was so 
 1 named by its first owner, Bennett Randolph, after 
 the paternal home of his wife in Louisiana. Madame 
 Randolph, nee Regnault, justified the name of the 
 home built for her in Virginia, though* originating in 
 sentiment, by nursing two palmettos of the hardy 
 kind (chamerops humilis) in front of her door. Her 
 children declared themselves jealous of these palms, 
 which indeed were tucked in their coverlets as care- 
 fully as the rest of the family. But madame died a 
 hundred years ago, and her palms followed her ; the 
 name only remained. Mrs. Richard Stirling had been 
 her grand-daughter. Her husband, the judge, was 
 descended from a gallant adherent of the Earl of Mar 
 who had been among those imprisoned at Newgate 
 while their chief was flying. At midnight he was 
 taken out of prison by two men, carried to a ship in 
 the Thames, given a thousand pounds, and warned 
 that if he again set foot in that country he would be 
 beheaded. Tradition explained that this young rebel 
 was a natural son of the Duke of Argyle, against 
 whom he fought. The next land seen by this exile, 
 Douglas Stirling, was Virginia, where he bought 
 
THE PALMS. 271 
 
 piedmont lands from which his sons reaped for- 
 tunes. 
 
 It was about four of the Sunday afternoon when 
 Wentworth tied his horse to the rack and walked up 
 a long gravel path, fringed with flowers, to the door 
 of The Palms. He was not without some trepidation 
 lest he might obtrude upon a family scene,, conse- 
 quent on that at the Camp. The reverberant 
 hammer of a huge brass knocker made him quake, 
 but the face of a gentlemanly mulatto reassured 
 him. The judge, he said, was not at home 
 but he would see if his son was. Wentworth was 
 ushered into a spacious parlor, richly supplied with 
 old-fashioned furniture, and with portraits. In one 
 of these he recognized the source of his friend's inde- 
 scribable charm ; it was the picture of a youthful lady 
 in gauzy white drapery seated beneath an arch made 
 by two palms. While waiting Wentworth heard voices 
 from which he was separated only by folding-doors. 
 Both of these voices were pleasant, but one was so 
 rich, so cheerily sympathetic, that he was still as one 
 who fears to frighten a bird of beautiful song. 
 
 " My poor Pen, how terrified you must have been 
 to let that miserable Lawson hold your hand and take 
 you among those people." 
 
 " I didn't know it was him ; I never knew any 
 thing at all till Doug spoke, then I peeped up and saw 
 the horrid man. If I'd dreamed it was him I'd 'a' 
 took to my heels. My ! wasn't I glad to get away ! " 
 
 " But I can't understand your getting into it." 
 
 " Well, it was just awful the way that preacher 
 preached. Doug left me a moment with Fanny Eden 
 
27 2 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 and the Wallers called Fanny off, and I hadn't any 
 thing to do but listen, and oh h, such things he said 
 about Satan, and the burning lake of hot fiery brim- 
 stone, and all out of God's own Word ; and he said if 
 I didn't believe it I was calling God a oh, I wouldn't 
 repeat it for any thing." 
 
 " Which shows you are better than he was ; he was 
 talking of what he knows nothing." 
 
 " But he said almost the same as what Dr. Hunton 
 read in the Lesson last Sunday ; only he was so 
 anxious to make me feel it, and Dr. Hunton wasn't. 
 He said the wicked shall be burned into hell and all 
 the nations that forget God." 
 
 " You dear goosey, you are not a nation that forgets 
 God." 
 
 " Yes, I am. You may laugh, Gisela, but I forgot 
 God this morning when Fanny and I were saying 
 where we were going to eat she was to dine with the 
 Wallers who were going to have ice-cream. I hadn't 
 thought a bit about God until I saw that preacher 
 watching me yes, he looked right at me, and stretched 
 out his hands to me, and said, ' O young and thought- 
 less girl, think how it will be when you are trying to 
 reach your dear mother's arms in heaven to be dragged 
 down by a mocking demon and plunged into burning 
 hell ! Turn, I beseech you, before it is too late ! Come 
 to Jesus ! Close in with the overtures ! ' Gisela, what 
 are ' overtures ' ? I thought you played 'em on pianos." 
 
 " My poor darling, I can't help laughing, but I'm 
 sorry too; I should not have let you go to that Camp." 
 
 " He said it all straight at me he cried so loud I 
 thought his head would burst, he looked on fire, his 
 
THE PALMS. 273 
 
 arms seemed to reach over the people's heads and 
 touch me, a chill shot down my back, I followed him, 
 and then I waked up and found it was that horrid 
 Lawson who used to sell whisky." 
 
 " I'm glad Douglas saw you before you knelt among 
 those vulgar people." 
 
 " My ! I am glad. But, Gisela, isn't it dreadful to 
 roll in a sea just like melted lead forever and ever 
 and ever ? " 
 
 " My sweet good sister, do rid yourself of such fool- 
 ish notions." 
 
 " But Dr. Hunton said one day " 
 
 " No matter what any one says, such notions are 
 false." 
 
 " Won't bad people be punished ? " 
 
 " I suppose so, but we don't know how bad people 
 are, or how much they ought to be punished. Jesus 
 says they will go to prison but come out when their 
 debt is paid ; and Jesus who once paid the debts of 
 sinful men can pay them again. The fire and brim- 
 stone spoken of in the Bible are metaphorical." 
 
 " Metawhat ? " 
 
 " Metaphorical. That is they don't mean exactly 
 what they say, just as when you said the preacher 
 looked on fire ; you didn't mean he actually caught 
 fire." 
 
 " Ah, I see, that's what it means." 
 
 " That is what it means. And you mustn't think 
 that you .are forgetting God when you are not exactly 
 thinking of him. Whenever you are doing your best 
 in any thing you are thinking of him. You forget 
 God only when you forget yourself, and do wrong, 
 
274 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 and that isn't often, dear Pen. So let this be your 
 last worry of that kind, and don't believe every thing 
 you hear from preachers. Good men are sometimes 
 mistaken." 
 
 An exchange of kisses followed,* and presently a 
 third voice was audible. 
 
 " It's a gentleman I never saw before." 
 
 " Father will be back in an hour. I've made 
 Douglas take a nap. I'll see the gentleman myself." 
 
 When the door opened Wentworth looked on .the 
 loveliest face he had ever seen. The tear-mist lingered 
 on Gisela's eyelashes, and the laughter still played in 
 her eyes. It was the dimpled mouth of infant inno- 
 cency under a strong brow, upheld by a straight deli- 
 cate nose ; the ample cascades of auburn hair could 
 not hide the wide forehead ; the force in the face 
 found its softening touches in the translucent skin, 
 the rounded outlines, and the large candid eyes quick 
 with intelligence and affection. The golden mean of 
 nature was attained in this perfect form, less hid than 
 expressed by the casual summer raiment investing her 
 unconscious beauty. 
 
 " This must be Randolph's sister," he said, " I am 
 his friend Wentworth." 
 
 " How glad, how glad I am that you have come ! 
 We feared the heat had made you migrate north, and 
 pass us by." 
 
 The tears started to her eyes as she took his hand, 
 for he revived thoughts of her wandering brother, and 
 she turned quickly to throw open the folding-doors. 
 
 "Pen!" she cried ? "Penelope, it is Mr, Went- 
 worth ! " 
 
THE PALMS.^ 275 
 
 Flushed and sparkling Pen darted forward, then 
 paused with a shy laugh, and Wentworth seized both 
 of her hands. 
 
 " And this is Miss Penelope ! of whom Randolph 
 has talked a hundred, no, a thousand times ; but 
 Miss Stirling mustn't be jealous, for he has talked of 
 her a thousand and ten times." 
 
 " Run, Pen, and tell Douglas who is here." 
 
 "You'd better not disturb him." But Pen was 
 gone. 
 
 " He'd disturb us if he wasn't told. Papa dined 
 with a friend to-day, but will be here soon. Every 
 day he wonders if you will come." 
 
 "I wrote from Richmond that I was on my way." 
 
 " We shall probably get the letter to-morrow, but 
 the surprise is pleasant. There's Douglas." 
 
 The face which Wentworth had seen in the morn- 
 ing flashing wrath on the crowd around his sister, was 
 now all sunshine. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you, sir. No man in the world, 
 unless brother Randolph, could be welcomer here than 
 you." 
 
 " And I am happy to be here. Have you heard 
 from him lately ? " 
 
 " I'm glad to say we have, a short note to say he 
 is well and happy." 
 
 " And we have received a more important one," 
 said Gisela, " from an old friend of ours, a lady who 
 knows his wife intimately, describing her as so lovely 
 that we feel much easier about him." 
 
 " There's papa ! " cried Penelope, darting out to the 
 gate. All went to the hall to meet the judge, who 
 
276 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 greeted Wentworth with emotion. As the general 
 conversation proceeded it became evident to the vis- 
 itor that the judge's children had withheld from him 
 what had occurred at the Camp, and he did not men- 
 tion his presence there, while relating his adventures on 
 the way, and delivering friendly messages from the 
 Edens. After supper the judge, apologizing for his 
 " selfishness," took Wentworth to his library, where 
 the conversation soon turned on the subject upper- 
 most in the thoughts of each. 
 
 " There," said the judge, pointing to a batch of let- 
 ters yellow with age, " are some letters that passed 
 between my great-grandfather and my grandfather. 
 I had not read them for thirty years when I came 
 across them last week. I remembered nothing very 
 striking in them, but thirty years can give a man new 
 eyes as well as take away the old ones," he added, 
 as he put on his spectacles. 
 
 " My grandfather," continued the judge, untying 
 the letters, " was in Edinburgh studying medicine, and 
 in his last term formed the acquaintance of a young 
 lady to whom, in the free Virginian way, he paid a 
 certain amount of attention, not intending any thing 
 very serious. But gossips began to handle the lady's 
 name injuriously on account of his visits, and this 
 youth of twenty-one promptly proposes marriage and 
 is accepted. He writes to his father about it ; the 
 old man protests ; the son is determined ; the father 
 threatens to disown him ; the youth maintains that his 
 honor is involved as well as that of the young lady, 
 claims a small inheritance once bequeathed to him, 
 and in the end brings his young wife to Virginia, 
 
THE PALMS. 277 
 
 His father saw and loved her. Poor thing ! she died 
 of her first confinement, the child also died, and noth- 
 ing remains of her in our family but her name, Gisela, 
 and the little romance recorded in these old letters. 
 And now, Mr. Wentworth, it has all come round again 
 not all, either, I hope ; for though Randolph has 
 acted in the same spirit as his great-grandfather, I 
 am thankful to say I never threatened to disown him. 
 From that my faith in Randolph saved me. And now 
 I have received a letter from a valued friend, a Mrs. 
 Shelton of New York, saying that his wife is her inti- 
 mate friend, and a woman we will all love." 
 
 " What was the name of Randolph's wife ? " 
 
 "Emanuella Rhodes." 
 
 Wentworth had to search his memory a little, and 
 then told the judge how Nuella had devoted herself 
 to Randolph in his illness. He did not fail to make 
 the most of her attractions, but he was full of wonder 
 at this strange event. 
 
 There had been important consultations in the par- 
 lor on the subject of the visitor's entertainment, and 
 next day, at breakfast, Gisela informed him that 
 about midnight she had seen a ghost. 
 
 " A ghost ! " cried Pen," Oh, do tell us, Gisela ! 
 I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." 
 
 " I didn't till last night, but after I had been in bed 
 an hour but I assure you perfectly awake the door 
 opened and a sheeted figure it may have been a 
 shroud or a nightgown " 
 
 "I do declare, Gisela, you are too bad for any 
 thing," said Pen, blushing and laughing. 
 
 " I assure you, Mr, Wentworth and Douglas, it is 
 
278 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 perfectly true, the white figure approached my bed, 
 bent down think what an awful moment !- and 
 spake." 
 
 "What did it say?" cried Wentworth excitedly, 
 "don't keep us in suspense ! " 
 
 " You wicked, wicked sister ! " said Pen, her hands 
 tight over Gisela's mouth. 
 
 " The fi-fi-gure s-s-said, ' I know what to do, take 
 him to the Tournament.' That's a warning, Mr. 
 Wentworth." 
 
 "It was a good ghost," said he, "and I like her." 
 
 " How do you know that it was a her, Mr. Went- 
 worth ? " said Pen. 
 
 " A him wouldn't -have been so considerate. If 
 either of you know that ghost I would be obliged if 
 you'd ask her to walk with me in the woods and show 
 me wild flowers and things." 
 
 " Can't I ? " asked Penelope. 
 
 " It ought to be that ghost that was so thoughtful 
 for me." 
 
 " I reckon you'll have to take me," said Pen, " but 
 Giselawas naughty." 
 
 Wentworth's walk with Pen, whom he found an 
 accomplished naturalist in the butterfly-world, was 
 the first of almost daily expeditions. His horseback 
 excursions were with Gisela or Douglas. His first 
 week at The Palms glided with hours too unconscious 
 of their serenity to be recorded. 
 
 Blessed are the days that have no history ! But 
 these, alas, too often lead on the day to which the 
 heart vainly cries, " Stay, thou art fair ! " Around 
 pretty, but somewhat sleepy, Warrenton there is no 
 
THE PALMS. 279 
 
 imposing scenery ; it is a land of gentle slopes and 
 languid rivulets, of deep woods, green lanes, and many 
 flowers ; a land of fair ladies, of whom one was fair 
 enough to make our Bostonian write to a northern 
 friend " This is the most picturesque country I have 
 ever seen." The words came from one wandering in 
 an enchanted land, his brief southern life rounded 
 with a dream. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FAIR DAYS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 
 
 BUT dreams pass, the happier the swifter. Went- 
 worth realized it with a heavy heart when, after 
 a fortnight of happy days, he awoke one morning with 
 the vision of a beloved face receding from him and 
 vanishing away. The great tender eyes which had 
 kindled a new warm life in his soul might mislead the 
 morn with their beautiful light, but they could not 
 stay the advance of that stern day whose remorseless 
 voice said, " Thy repose must end : the task of life is 
 waiting." 
 
 Gisela also had her dreams ; they were fair but 
 haunted by the like stern presence which said, "Yes, 
 he must go : resign yourself to the inevitable ; and 
 remember, if by any appeal to this man's weakness 
 a word, a look you withdraw him from the vocation 
 that waits, you smite him to fruitlessness." 
 
 The main stem of friendship between Wentworth 
 and the family at The Palms was grown before his 
 arrival ; his presence had carried it to leaf and flower. 
 Brief as his visit seemed, on that sad day that warned 
 him it must end, the intimacy formed registered years 
 instead of weeks. Penelope met him that morning 
 with a shining face, and a copy of The Flag containing 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 281 
 
 an announcement that the tournament at the Springs 
 would take place in three weeks. 
 
 " Won't it be nice for us all to go ! There's to be a 
 masquerade in the evening. I know what I'd like to 
 go as. Please beg Gisela to let me go ! " 
 
 " Certainly you must go ; but don't you remember 
 the ghost ? You'll have to go as a ghost." 
 
 " And what will you go as ? " 
 
 " I think I'll have to be present as another ghost." 
 
 " What fun ! " 
 
 In the afternoon all of them rode farther than usual, 
 and they reached the Rappahannock, halting there in 
 a grassy glade shaded by sycamores. There was 
 visible only a small frame house, at the end of the 
 riverside grove, to qualify the solitude. 
 
 " An old white witch lives in that cabin," said 
 Gisela, " a lucky witch, who casts on you the good 
 instead of the evil eye. She makes her living by 
 telling happy fortunes. Our swimming shore is near 
 there, and she keeps our costumes." 
 
 Wentworth desired to visit this " Mother Collamer," 
 and they found her at her door smoking a shriveled 
 crone in cotton gown. 
 
 " Come for yer fortens or a swim ? " said the 
 delighted old woman. 
 
 " Let's have our fortunes told," said Wentworth. 
 
 " I'll fetch the cards in a minute, Miss Gisela. I 
 seed two of ye on them cards this blessed mornin' ; ses 
 I, thar's a pair a-comin' of pertickler luck. Come in ! " 
 
 The interior of the cabin was surprisingly neat. The 
 black cat the regulation familiar of witches met 
 them with glassy eyes and leaped on Penelope's lap, 
 
282 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 whereon Gisela winked and nodded to Mother Col- 
 lamer in a way to signify that Pen was their new 
 friend's favorite. This rather confused the cards in 
 their prognostications. 
 
 " Water's fusrate this arternoon," said Mother Col- 
 lamer, " clean and wholesome, and yer purty gowns 
 ready fur ye, ladies/' 
 
 The bath was at first declined, but when they were 
 all presently strolling beside the silvery river its erl- 
 king peered up at Gisela, and she could not resist his 
 fascination. From childhood she had passionately 
 loved the water, and equaled her brothers as a 
 swimmer ; now her soul, which had become feverish, 
 cried for baptism in this pure flood. Douglas gave 
 his costume to Wentworth, while for himself the witch 
 had to conjure a dress out of her mysterious universe, 
 somewhat grotesque, but clean. Mother Collamer's 
 house had two rooms for their preparations, and they 
 soon had their swim. They had a grand match across 
 the river and back, which Gisela won. 
 
 Another victory she might have won had it not been 
 already hers. If there were coquetry in Gisela and 
 she did not come out of a pious tract it was left 
 behind when she entered the water. There the beau- 
 tiful arms, embracing waves pure as her liquid eyes, 
 the dimpled chin kissing dimples of the stream, the 
 radiant face, were charmed from all self-conscious- 
 ness ; in ecstasy of a love as yet faintly dreaming, 
 Gisela became part of the sunshine, and of the snowy 
 cloudlets to which she looked up as they too floated 
 in their azure depth ; in that hour she was a self- 
 forgetting child again, and Penelope appeared the 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 283 
 
 elder. In this southern solitude Wentworth for the 
 first time beheld in one maiden the form of Innocence 
 and face of her sister, Freedom. No last shreds from 
 monastic ages, no thought for past or future more 
 than the lily is haunted by, clung to this naiad of the 
 Rappahannock, on whom no eyes looked but those of 
 purest love. 
 
 The sun was nearly set when they mounted their 
 horses ; a great flame overspread the West to light 
 them home ; the note of the whippoorwill was already 
 heard. Wentworth and Gisela rode quietly, but the 
 others dashed on ahead. 
 
 " We shall be late," said Wentworth. 
 
 " Fortunately I am an irresponsible creature about 
 tea-time, and only looked for when I arrive." 
 
 "You are fortunate. My idea of happiness is to 
 roam without any string tugging to pull me back at 
 this time or that." 
 
 " I have snapped several such strings, and advise 
 you to snap yours. The last I snapped was early tea. 
 I haven't managed supper yet, for papa is woe-begone 
 if we are not all at supper." 
 
 " I'm suffering a severe pull from my string just 
 now." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I must leave and go to work." 
 
 Gisela was grave and silent. Several times she 
 seemed about to speak, and Wentworth waited. 
 
 " Let's have a gallop ! " she presently cried, at the 
 same time touching her horse sharply with the whip. 
 
 It began as a canter, but Gisela again and again 
 touched her horse, which became excited and dashed 
 
284 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 forward at full speed. At last a gate had to be 
 entered and the freak ended. While Wentworth was 
 holding open the gate for Gisela to ride through, a 
 young man passed by on a fine horse, touched his hat 
 to Gisela, cast a vexed look at her companion, and 
 rode forward on a canter. 
 
 "It is George Pinwell," said Gisela, "son of a mill- 
 owner." 
 
 " And your admirer." 
 
 " What made you think that ? " 
 
 " He told me so as he passed." 
 
 " He didn't say a word." 
 
 " Except with his eyes." 
 
 " So you really think of leaving us ? " 
 
 "Yes. It is a question of duty or pleasure, and 
 pleasure must give way." 
 
 " Duty or pleasure. Those words have a sort of 
 foreign sound to me. For me life divides itself into 
 happiness and necessity. Happiness is my religion ; 
 necessity a dark unconscious demon which I pro- 
 pitiate. As for ' duty,' our departed parson made it 
 mean every thing disagreeable, our poor Aunt Dabney 
 made it out what other folks wanted us to do, whether 
 we thought it wrong or right ; between them they 
 scratched the word out of my dictionary." 
 
 " May not Duty be better described as moral neces- 
 sity, what one is compelled to, not from without but 
 from within ? " 
 
 " You know we shall be sorry to part with you ; you 
 can not be mistaken about that ; but a judge's daughter 
 can understand the noblesse oblige of a professional 
 man. Are you fond of the law ? " 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 285 
 
 " I haven't had a case yet." 
 
 " Since I've grown old enough to be interested in 
 papa's decisions 1 do not think quite so highly as 
 once of the legal profession. Papa lately read me 
 something about the ancient wager of combat out of 
 which duelling arose ; it was supposed that in the 
 combat God would protect the right, but was aban- 
 doned because he did not seem to attend duels 
 regularly. But now there is a wager of wits. It 
 depends on a trial of wits between Mr. This and Mr. 
 That whether Mr. The-other shall be strangled, or 
 some baby's estate be devoured by a cormorant." 
 
 " One of these days we may have female lawyers, 
 and then " 
 
 " The legal devices will be more more devicious 
 than ever (a pun ! I'll tell Doug that). Portia used 
 to be my goddess, but I've lived to discover that her 
 law was as bad as the sneak she pleaded for, and the 
 fortune-hunter she married." 
 
 " If you are ever admitted to the Bar I hope you'll 
 be my that you will be on my side of every case." 
 
 " Ah, that will be far away in Boston. Well, you 
 must go I know that and make your career among 
 your people. That is both your necessity and happi- 
 ness ; things rarely one in this big world, though we 
 sometimes unite them in our small sphere at The 
 Palms." 
 
 As the conversation continued, this fair lady some- 
 how appeared to Wentworth as one eluding him, or 
 passing into reservations of thought and feeling where 
 her personality was intrenched. The fortress might 
 seem to be air, but to his touch it was adamant. 
 
2S6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 On the day following Judge Stirling requested an 
 interview with his guest in his library. 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth," he said, "you are my elder son's 
 friend. As we get older we use that word ' friend ' 
 more rarely. You are his friend. I feel certain you 
 would be glad to do Randolph a service." 
 
 " You do me characteristic justice. Randolph is 
 rarely absent from my thoughts, and it would be my 
 happiness to serve him." 
 
 " It happens that he is far away, and his position 
 here under a cloud, at a time when his interests require 
 legal attention. A valuable property, bequeathed him 
 on arrival at majority, has become involved in dis- 
 putes, at certain points. Randolph's titles are clear 
 to my own mind, but of course can not be decided on 
 by his father. The case will come on in October. 
 The papers are numerous and require careful sifting ; 
 there must be examinations in Fairfax clerk's office 
 and elsewhere. Randolph is here only by power of 
 attorney, which I can confer. There is no attorney 
 at our Bar who could or would do for Randolph, even 
 for the heavy sum he would require to act at all, what 
 a friend can do for him, in conjunction with his father." 
 
 " You can not know," cried Wentworth, grasping 
 the judge's hand, " what happiness you open before 
 me. I fear I'm hardly sorry enough that Randolph's 
 interests are questioned, so glad am I at the prospect 
 of working for him, and of making myself useful to 
 you and your family." 
 
 " It will bring you little money or glory." 
 
 " That makes me happier. To think that my first 
 law-work should be for him ! " 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 287 
 
 " Then it is agreed that you will work for us. If 
 you have other affairs you had better look after them, 
 for this work will not end till the middle of Octo- 
 ber." 
 
 " I am without parents, and have not begun prac- 
 tice. I live on an income left by my father. I need 
 not leave this neighborhood. No doubt I can procure 
 lodgings near you." 
 
 " Near me ! you must live beneath this roof ; your 
 work must be in this room." 
 
 The old man rose up and walked to the window, 
 where he stood for a few moments, looking as if at 
 the sky ; at length he came slowly back and stood 
 before Wentworth, to whom he spoke in a low tone. 
 
 " You have no father, take me ! " 
 
 Never before had Wentworth been so moved ; he 
 managed presently to lift his eyes to the benignant 
 face bent over him, to hold out his hand, and for the 
 first time in his conscious life to say father ! 
 
 Wentworth would have uttered the word with yet 
 deeper emotion had he known that, after he had 
 retired the night before, another ghost had moved 
 softly through the house, a more mature ghost than 
 Penelope, and had whispered to the judge that his 
 guest was about to leave. 
 
 " We should all be sorry ; we have our summer 
 schemes for his amusement ; but he is not the man to 
 remain unless it could be made a favor to you. Can't 
 you get him to do something for you, papa ? He's a 
 lawyer, can't you find some documents requiring 
 arrangement or something ? " 
 
 " Gisela, this man is stealing your heart." 
 
288 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " How preposterous, papa ! I am only grateful to 
 him for Randolph's sake. Why, I'm two years older 
 than he is. I feel sure he has his love affair cut and 
 dried long ago. Never fear ! So long as my dear old 
 dad lives, I live at his side." 
 
 " Well, child, I will tell you to go no further that 
 there are some serious legal questions affecting Ran- 
 dolph's property about which I had resolved to con- 
 sult his friend, and if he will remain he may render 
 important assistance." 
 
 " Oh, papa, the very thing ! " 
 
 A soft kiss, and the ghost vanished. Of this Went- 
 worth never knew. On the other hand there were 
 certain things Gisela did not know : for instance, her 
 northern friend's eccentric views on the advantages 
 of a wife being somewhat older than her husband. 
 Had she known this she might not have been so free 
 with their guest. Whatever feeling may have been in 
 her secret heart she did not draw out for analysis : 
 she arranged her theory of a right relation between 
 Randolph's friend and herself with the possibility of 
 marriage left out ; had such contingency as his falling 
 in love with her suggested itself, she would even have 
 secured his departure. When it was arranged that 
 he should remain, it was the natural outcome of her 
 theory that she could harmlessly enjoy his friendship, 
 even if she must pay the cost in sighs when he had 
 gone. 
 
 " Now then you are our brother," she said, giving 
 him her hand ; " you take Randolph's room, attend to 
 his affairs, adopt us, but without replacing him in our 
 hearts you bring him nearer. But remember, you 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 289 
 
 are my younger brother Randolph told us your age, 
 and elder sisters are tyrannical." 
 
 " I unhesitatingly submit," said Wentworth, with a 
 courtly bow, kissing her hand. 
 
 " I declare ! " exclaimed Pen, just entering ; " if 
 you oughtn't to do that at the Tournament ball, Gisela 
 as Queen Elizabeth and you as Sir Walter Raleigh ! " 
 
 " Excellent ! " cried Gisela ; " Pen, you shall go to 
 the ball for saying that." 
 
 They chattered on, and when Douglas came in 
 every thing was chattered over again. To crown 
 their joy a letter came from Randolph, written in a 
 cabin in Kansas, saying that he hoped to be within 
 reach of a Christmas dinner at The Palms. When the 
 judge brought in this letter Pen began to caper, and 
 Wentworth seizing her waltzed until they were 
 exhausted. 
 
 It may have occurred to the reader that the atten- 
 tion given by this abolitionist to the subject that 
 brought him South had not been absorbing, during 
 his stay at The Palms. The estate consisted of over a 
 thousand acres, on which were nearly a hundred and 
 fifty negroes, considerably more than were needed, 
 but Judge Stirling would not sell a negro. Went- 
 worth had roamed a good deal about the farm often 
 with Pen, pet of the servants had talked with them 
 in the melon-patches, and eaten whitest heath-peaches 
 selected by them ; he had remarked their content- 
 ment, and understood why Randolph had resented 
 accusations against slaveholders. His general views 
 of slavery had not been consciously changed, but the 
 subject was daily becoming more, remote. His ideas 
 
290 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 of the method of dealing with the institution, with 
 master and slave, had been affected more than he 
 knew by residence on Leroy Island : his mental 
 attitude had altered too ; instead of dwelling on 
 shades of the picture he was detecting its lights. One 
 anti-slavery superstition of his had utterly perished, 
 that the negroes of the South, as a race, were pining 
 for freedom. Judge Stirling, unwilling to part families 
 or countenance slavedealers, had to feed and clothe 
 many more negroes than could repay him by labor, 
 and once Went worth heard him say that if he should 
 hear some morning that fifty had run away he should 
 feel as if an estate had been left him. 
 
 One day a brother judge visited him at The Palms, 
 and several eminent lawyers were invited to dinner, 
 which was an hour later than usual and prepared with 
 much care. Penelope was not present, and Gisela 
 was the only lady at the table. The guests expressed 
 satisfaction at meeting a member of the Boston Bar, 
 and the conversation steered clear of the perilous 
 issue between North and South until toward the close 
 of the dinner. Gisela had taken care that no " fire- 
 eaters " should be invited, but only old-school Vir- 
 ginians, whose sentiments concerning " slavery in the 
 abstract " were inherited from Washington and Jef- 
 ferson, though they had developed a comfortable 
 modus vivendi with the actual institution, and resisted 
 all interference with it. Gisela was a little nervous 
 when the subject was raised, and made an ineffectual 
 attempt to give the conversation another turn. It pro- 
 ceeded affably enough, however, and Wentworth 
 received from the head of the table a grateful glance 
 
FAIR DAYS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 291 
 
 for the tact he displayed. He hardly deserved it, for 
 he felt but languid interest in the conversation, being 
 held by the vision of that superb being in her faultless 
 costume, the grandly simple architecture of the 
 woman, not cold enough to be classic but rather of 
 mystical beauty. At length, at the close of the 
 dinner, it became necessary for the Bostonian to say 
 something on the subject. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Judge Stirling, addressing the table 
 through his brother judge, " we can not wonder that 
 people exaggerate distant evils : northern people hear 
 of a few instances of cruelty to negroes and multiply 
 them a millionfold, whereas if they lived among us 
 they would realize that such things are exceptional. 
 My Boston friend here has just passed nearly a year 
 in the South, and, though we have not conferred on 
 the matter, I doubt if he has observed many instances 
 of such inhumanity." 
 
 " I have witnessed few indeed," said Wentworth ; 
 " on the contrary I have seen enough kindness toward 
 that race, and comfort among them, and enough jus- 
 tice among their masters, to modify my " 
 
 " Papa and gentlemen, will you excuse me if I now 
 retire ? " 
 
 As Gisela suddenly rose with these words all 
 present stood and bowed. Wentworth, whose words 
 had been interrupted, looked straight at her and saw 
 lightning in her eye ; superb still, but coldly statu- 
 esque, her neck and shoulders turned to marble, she 
 bowed and moved out of the room. What could have 
 occurred ? It was indeed a custom at The Palms for 
 ladies to retire from the table, leaving gentlemen to 
 
292 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 enjoy their coffee and cigars, but Gisela had gone 
 prematurely, and while a guest was speaking. Went- 
 worth cast a sharp glance at the gentlemen who had 
 sat next her, having a suspicion that one of them had 
 taken too much wine and forgotten himself. 
 
 When the guests were leaving, Gisela, now with Pen 
 at her side, parted from them in the parlor. She was 
 still pale and worried. When all had gone Wentworth 
 expressed a fear that she was not feeling well ; but 
 she only answered. " Forgive me, I can not speak 
 now," and with a strange look was it pity or anger, 
 or both ? she passed wearily out of the room and did 
 not appear during the evening. 
 
 A weight was on Wentworth's heart ; a dull incom- 
 prehensible care sat beside him through the evening, 
 and lay beside him on his bed. He ascribed his sleep- 
 lessness to the heat, but his pain warned him it was 
 not that. 
 
 Was it in a dream ? He thought he heard a low 
 knock at his door. It was past midnight ; he had been 
 the last to retire and could not imagine that any 
 
 other in the house was awake. Gisela might be ill in 
 
 danger ! He sat up in bed and listened, breathlessly. 
 The knock came again, gentle but unmistakable ; it 
 sounded as if requesting quietness, and he stepped 
 softly to the door, opened it a little way and peered 
 out. It was Gisela, her eyes red with weeping and 
 expanding with painful agitation. 
 
 " Put on clothes," she whispered, " but no shoes. 
 Take this candle. I will wait for you." 
 
 Wentworth quickly reappeared, and Gisela, bare- 
 foot, moved softly before him along the corridor, down 
 
FAIR DA YS AND A FEARSOME NIGHT. 29$ 
 
 little flights of steps and up others, without uttering a 
 word, until she reached her own room. She noise- 
 lessly opened the door and closed it after they had 
 entered. 
 
 " You said you had not witnessed the cruelties of 
 slavery look there ! " 
 
 She pointed with one hand, holding forward the 
 candle with the other, and Wentworth saw on the 
 floor what at first seemed a heap of clothing; but as 
 he gazed a head was raised from the dusky mass, a 
 young and handsome but now haggard quadroon face 
 was uplifted, and large plaintive eyes stared wonder- 
 ingly at him. 
 
 " Look there ! " said Gisela, her bare arm pointing 
 like that of an avenger ; " you may see what you have 
 not seen slavery. There are no polite gentlemen here 
 to hoodwink you : look ! It is no worse than what 
 these eyes have seen many a time. That woman, 
 Alice Ross, has some education, I taught her myself 
 in secret, because it is unlawful: she has a heart ; 
 she was married a few months ago to a man she loves 
 as much as your Boston girl can love; he and she are 
 to be sold at the Woodward auction to-morrow, and 
 parted forever." 
 
 The poor woman began to sob, and Wentworth gazed 
 on her; then he looked up to Gisela, whose eyes were 
 fixed upon him in them, visible through her tears, 
 pity and anger. 
 
 " Can nothing be done to stop this business ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Nothing. I only brought you to see one of the 
 victims you are deserting. I could only weep for 
 
294 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 your weakness, but God has rebuked it. I lay sleep- 
 less with sorrow that a man should bend from his 
 cause ; and that woman was groping through the dark 
 woods by midnight, and called beneath my window. I 
 am her only friend. Now that you have seen her you 
 can return to your repose." 
 
 " I accept your reproach and scorn," said Went- 
 worth, utterly humiliated, " but I am not worth a 
 minute's notice in the presence of this woman's dis- 
 tress. I will go." 
 
 He bowed low, his face on fire, but when, at the 
 door, he turned a last look on the two women, he was 
 pale as death. That piteous look of his smote Gisela 
 with a horror at what she had done which for a 
 moment paralyzed her. She presently followed him 
 hurriedly, but it was too late. She could only pause 
 before his door the commonplace wooden door and 
 reflect what forces must be locking it fast, for her 
 to return without rushing in to shed her fast-falling 
 tears at the feet of the man she had so cruelly treated. 
 
 Gisela sat for a few moments on a step in the cor- 
 ridor, then returned to her room, where for some time 
 she was occupied in making up a bundle of clothing 
 for Alice. The day was faintly breaking when, with a 
 last kiss, she parted with her humble friend at the 
 kitchen door, and watched till, with a despairing wave 
 of the hand, she blended with shadows. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR IN A NAUGHTY WORLD. 
 
 "QEHIND a barn, which supplied shade for a 
 fj " shady " scene, a score of men gathered to bid 
 for the human stock of the Woodward estate, in chan- 
 cery for payment of its late owner's debts. These 
 bidders were not southern gentry, but its agents, its 
 left hand doing sinister work which its fair right must 
 not know. The company looked askance at one man 
 who joined them; he was not of them or known to 
 them. 
 
 The silent trembling chattels were successively 
 sold, at prices ranging from five hundred to a thousand 
 dollars until Alice Ross was brought forward. She 
 did not look her best, being haggard from causes 
 known to but one of the company. The bidding lan- 
 guidly reached six hundred and there stopped. 
 
 " A fine healthy young woman, gentlemen a little 
 peeky just now but worth a good deal more than is 
 bid. Speak up, gentlemen ! Six hundred bid." 
 
 And ten," said the stranger, bringing all eyes on 
 him. 
 
 " Twenty." 
 
 " Thirty." 
 
 " Forty." 
 
 There were whispers and murmurs among the 
 
296 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 dealers. Angry glances were cast at the interloper, 
 who perceived that they were not competitors, but a 
 ring for dividing the negroes among them at pre-ar- 
 ranged prices. He had to fight a combination, and the 
 bidding for Alice mounted to a thousand. This 
 was the stranger's bid, and then the dealers began to 
 sneer. 
 
 " A thousand and ten." 
 
 "What are you a-bidding for, Snellings, when a 
 gent's got his eye on a fancy lot ? " 
 
 " Ha-ha, he-he ! " 
 
 " And twenty." 
 
 " And thirty," cried a bidder angrily. 
 
 " There's Bob now. Don't interfere with the course 
 o' true love, Bob ! " 
 
 " Mr. Auctioneer," said the stranger, " I desire to 
 make my bids without remark. If not, I can only 
 leave, and report to the court that the sale was not 
 fair." 
 
 u Quite right, sir ! Gentlemen, I must insist that no 
 offensive " 
 
 " Who is the fellow, anyhow ? " cried an enraged 
 bidder. 
 
 " None of your business, Mr. Sands ! " shouted the 
 frightened auctioneer, " and if you can't behave you 
 can go ! " 
 
 The bidding now proceeded quietly, the dealers 
 making their bids spitefully, till the stranger made a 
 bid of thirteen hundred and turned to go. A bidder 
 had added " and twenty," but when the previous bid- 
 der still moved away he became alarmed. 
 
 " Are you all done, gentlemen ? Once twice " 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 297 
 
 " Stop ! I take back my last bid the man may 
 have her." 
 
 " Can't be done, Mr. Crupps, you've bid and must 
 stand to it. Once twice " 
 
 " I'll take the bid off Mr. Crupps's hands if he 
 wants," said the stranger. 
 
 " Then it's your bid, sir. Is any more bid for this 
 lot ? Going once twice thrice gone ! " 
 
 After the sale of Alice, the dealers got off a little 
 way and held an excited consultation, causing some 
 delay. 
 
 " Gentlemen," called the auctioneer loudly, " let 
 me have your attention, if you please ! I have to 
 announce that the next lot, 97 in the catalogue, is 
 withdrawn. There was some question about the 
 man's ownership by the estate, and it was agreed he 
 should pass by private arrangement to Mrs. Wood- 
 ward's brother, Colonel Lewis, of Harper's Ferry. So 
 we'll now take lot 98." 
 
 Alas, the omitted " lot " was Darnley Ross. After 
 all Wentworth had not saved poor Alice's husband. 
 He waited till the sale ended, paid for his purchase 
 with a check on the Warrenton Bank, and started out 
 to prepare his buggy. As he did so, he observed the 
 man Crupps, who had withdrawn his bid, talking 
 excitedly with another, whose face he remembered 
 George Pinwell. When presently alone with Alice she 
 informed him that she had friends with whom she 
 could stay for a time, Uncle Josh Williams and his 
 wife, belonging to Judge Stirling and living at a 
 remote part of the estate, to which she could direct 
 him. They had driven a few hundred yards when 
 
fipS PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Mr. Crupps stepped out of some bushes and asked for 
 a few words. 
 
 "I'm sorry I let that bid go now," he said with a 
 smirk, " and wouldn't mind giving you twenty or 
 thirty dollars for your bargain. Fact is, there's a 
 gent considibly set on getting the gal, and " 
 
 " He'll not get her," said Wentworth, with a vicious 
 lash on his horse. 
 
 Alice said her husband had been taken to Harper's 
 Ferry the night before without her seeing him. 
 Wentworth consoled her with a promise that she 
 should follow him to that neighborhood. 
 
 " I didn't know there was but one angel in the 
 world," said Alice, " but now I know there's two." 
 
 " There's but one, my girl, and that is the lady we 
 saw last night." 
 
 Uncle Josh Williams who with his family received 
 their friend Alice with great delight, after consulta- 
 tion about Darnley, drove with Wentworth to see a 
 free negro, who, he said, could discover any thing 
 about distant negroes. This was Caleb Stone, 
 squatter on a bit of ' No-man's-land,' who was 
 instructed to learn whether the new owner of Darnley 
 would part with him, or, if not, whether a place could 
 be found near him for his wife ; who would be given 
 freedom and a few hundred dollars. Having advised 
 caution and given the men money, Wentworth left 
 them too much dazed to thank this providence which 
 had surprised them, and drove his buggy back to its 
 livery-stable in Warrenton. 
 
 Meanwhile consternation had prevailed at The 
 Palms. Gisela, having over-slept the breakfast hour, 
 
A GOOD DEED SHttfES FAR. 2Q9 
 
 hastened to the library with her carefully prepared 
 apology, only to find her father mystified by Went- 
 worth's non-appearance at his urgent work. When 
 he did not return for dinner, wildest fears took pos- 
 session of her. He had apparently taken nothing 
 from his room, and had gone off after a hurried break- 
 fast without speaking to any one. Gisela watched at 
 her window through the long, long afternoon ; and 
 when, at dusk, she saw him walk in at the front gate, 
 hastened to his room and awaited him there. With 
 confused look and agitated voice she began her peti- 
 tion for forgiveness, but when he took her hand and 
 said : " I have bought Alice," she sank on her knees, 
 silently clasping his hand, which was wet with her 
 tears. 
 
 Caleb's negro-telegraph soon brought tidings that 
 Darnley's master would not sell him " there's some 
 of the family blood in the boy," that he had a good 
 home, that Alice could find a residence at Harper's 
 Ferry by calling on a free negro named Dory Curtis. 
 Darnley, it was added, was in great joy about the 
 .news from his wife, and prayed God's blessing on the 
 gentleman and Miss Gisela. He hoped to thank them 
 in heaven if he never had a chance to do it in this 
 world. Some days later, Alice, with well-filled trunk 
 and money enough to make her feel like a princess, 
 was on her way to Harper's Ferry, with a pass from 
 her purchaser. 
 
 This matter happily settled, the young people at 
 The Palms gave their attention to preparation for the 
 festivities at Fauquier Springs. For some time, indeed, 
 quaint pieces of brocade and other relics of grand- 
 
300 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 maternal finery had been visible about the house, and 
 one. day Wentworth found a Walter Raleigh suit in 
 his room, beside an ordinary one, which had disap- 
 peared for a time from his wardrobe. Rooms had been 
 engaged for them at the Sulphur Springs Hotel, and 
 a more cheerful party could not be imagined than the 
 four who drove from The Palms on the eve of Tour- 
 nament-day. Pen darted about like quicksilver, till 
 Douglas threatened to put her with the driver. He 
 was answered with a hug and kiss ; then she kissed 
 Gisela, and when Wentworth wept bitterly because he 
 wasn't kissed, called him her " poor 'ittle darling he 
 sail have a kiss " while Gisela cried " Oh, shocking," 
 and hid her face. Then they stopped for Wentworth 
 and Pen to gather chinquepins, and farewell-to-sum- 
 mer, or other flowers. Pen was standing up in the 
 open carriage and twining Wentworth's hat with flow- 
 ers, when two men on horseback made way for the 
 carriage, after passing whom the Stirlings broke into 
 laughter. One was a colporteur and had thrown some 
 tracts into the carriage, the other was red-faced Mr. 
 Lawson who had once led Pen to the Mourners' Bench. 
 Wentworth pretended to be mystified by the laughter 
 and Pen's blushes ; but when presently the others got 
 out for pawpaws he confided to Gisela his knowledge 
 of the Camp-meeting scene. 
 
 On occasion of its midsummer festival the Fauquier 
 resort was very gay. The hotel dinners and suppers 
 were banquets. The companies promenading along 
 the colonnade, or distributing themselves through the 
 embowered walks in front, made a fairylike scene 
 under glimpses of the moon through a canopy of foli- 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 301 
 
 age. Pen was the first to grow somnolent, r but she 
 found a bat in her bedroom, which Wentworth and 
 Douglas were both required to expel. When Went- 
 worth was returning from this exploit to the veranda, 
 where he had left Gisela alone, he saw a gentleman 
 beside her. The two were at the end of the veranda, 
 where it was rather dark, and Wentworth loitered. 
 He did not recognize Gisela's companion till he sud- 
 denly left her and presently passed him with an angry 
 scowl. He saw that it was George Pinwell, pallid and 
 furious, and a certain sympathy shot from his heart 
 to the poor fellow who was leaving such a prize as 
 Gisela. Had he answered the scowl at the moment 
 it would have been to say " we are in the same sink- 
 ing boat, so let us not quarrel." For Wentworth now 
 felt certain that Gisela could never be his wife ; she 
 had built up her whole relation with him on a differ- 
 ent basis ; she was elder-sisterly at times, at others a 
 child at his knee, but always so free in his presence, 
 so businesslike, so careless of the impression she 
 might make, that the possibility of any nearer relation 
 between them had plainly never entered her mind. 
 
 " Poor fellow/' said Wentworth, resuming his seat 
 beside Gisela. 
 
 " Did you kill him ? " she asked calmly it was too 
 dark for her expression to be seen. 
 
 " Kill him ! why do you jest ? " 
 
 " I didn't know you had so much sensibility." 
 
 " Yes, I have. Any man in love moves my sym- 
 pathy." 
 
 " Gracious ! who are you talking about ?" 
 
 " Mr. Pinwell." 
 
302 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Oh dear, I was thinking about the bat ! " 
 
 Having received satisfactory assurance that she and 
 Pen were secure from bats for the night, Gisela asked 
 Wentworth the cause of his compassion for Mr. Pin- 
 well. 
 
 " He loves you and you do not love him," said 
 Wentworth. 
 
 " You do not know him ; he would like to put a 
 brass collar round my neck with his name in full on it, 
 he would like to use our connexion to rise higher in 
 society than the Pinwells soar ; but he is incapable 
 of love, because inherently mean. Your girl, Alice 
 Ross, could tell you a story about him which would 
 prevent your ever associating his name with mine." 
 
 " Our connexion ! " The words were proud, and 
 Wentworth's heart trembled. Had not the half-dark- 
 ness veiled her expression he might have recognized 
 that infinite contempt for Pinwell's motives was con- 
 sistent with utmost humility. In fact, Gisela's fault 
 was deficiency of self-esteem. Before Wentworth, to 
 whom she knelt when he bought Alice Ross, she 
 remained kneeling ; had she seen into his heart as 
 they now sat on the veranda she might have felt some 
 pain at finding a lover in place of a demigod. 
 
 " Associating his name with mine ! " These too 
 were proud words, and Wentworth's heart sank ; but 
 it was with self-reproach. He remembered that he 
 had seen Pinwell with Crupps just before that slave- 
 dealer had tried to buy Alice from him for " a gent 
 set on getting the gal," the brutality of the 
 offer in the girl's presence having angered him. He 
 did not know, however, that Pinwell had dogged his 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 33 
 
 buggy that day until he saw him enter the house of a 
 free negro suspected of connivance with escaping 
 slaves. Another thing Wentworth did not know 
 that jealous rage had just impelled Pinwell to inform 
 Gisela that he had seen her " Boston friend " driving 
 about the country with a pretty colored girl ; being 
 thereupon ordered by the lady to leave her instantly 
 and never dare approach her again. The dusk had 
 enabled Gisela to conceal her agitation and meet 
 Wentworth after the bat exploit in the merry vein 
 that sounded inconsiderate. But even in the dark- 
 ness he saw the flash of her eye as she uttered those 
 final words. An oppressive silence followed. He 
 felt that the incident had removed Gisela further from 
 him. He had, in thought, associated her with a base 
 fellow ; it was an indignity from which, she must feel, 
 a fine instinct would have saved her. He longed to 
 do her justice and himself. 
 
 "Gisela/' he said, "your life with such a father, and 
 such brothers, has raised your standard of male human- 
 ity so high that other mortals toil after it in vain." 
 
 " I am not conscious of it ; but whatever my stand- 
 ard, it matters little to Fauquier mortals. Douglas 
 would fight any man under sixty who came too close 
 to us, and my affections are lavished on the grand- 
 fathers of the neighborhood." 
 
 " What ! Do you mean you never had a lover ? " 
 
 "Walter, the dim moonshine invites confidences 
 sometimes, but at others, as Bottom found, it causes 
 an exposition of sleep, and makes one a donkey : that 
 is my case now ; I am yawning, and shall presently 
 bray." 
 
304 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 u Gisela, I never contradict a lady, but you were 
 never wider awake in your life." 
 
 "Oh-ah-h. What was that last remark? I was just 
 dozing off." 
 
 " Actress ! " 
 
 " Sweet dreams, Walter ! " she cried, leaping up 
 with a burst of laughter. 
 
 Gone ! A moonlit cloudlet of white, with infantine 
 face laughing through it, flitted to the nearest of the 
 little porches bordering the grounds, and vanished, 
 leaving the puzzled youth alone with the waning light, 
 the dreamy nocturne of the frogs, and unanswered who 
 of an owl. He wandered beneath the trees till the 
 last window of the hotel was darkened, then passed to 
 his room. " I can not sleep," he said, but listened to 
 the serenade of a whippoorwill, and sank into slum- 
 ber so profound that breakfast gongs failed to break 
 it. At nine he ate the remnants of a past meal with 
 sauce of suggestions from Pen, abetted by Gisela, that 
 he should appear at the ball as one of the Seven 
 Sleepers. 
 
 The Tournament, despite an occasional tendency 
 to the grotesque, was a brilliant scene. The young 
 men rode fine horses, tilted at ring pendent over grassy 
 lane, and when successful bowed with pride before 
 the queen and her court on platform of purple and 
 gold. The victorious Ivanhoe of the occasion was no 
 other than George Pinwell, who was crowned amid 
 acclamations by the queen a stately belle fron Staun- 
 ton. This conquering hero was escorted to the hotel 
 in grand procession of knights and ladies, and the 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINE'S FAR. 305 
 
 rest of the afternoon was given up to the promenade, 
 and the strains of a military band. 
 
 The grounds were brilliantly lighted for the/^ of 
 the evening ; arches of many-colored lanterns 
 stretched between the trees and the hotel columns. 
 The lower rooms were decorated and thrown open 
 for the dance. All their picturesque characters had 
 stepped from the pages of Scott and Byron. Douglas 
 was a Corsair, Penelope a piquant Pocahontas. When 
 Gisela, as a naiad, her white dress shimmering with 
 silver threads, entered the room leaning on the arm 
 of Sir Walter Raleigh in his courtly velvet, the 
 noisy room became still. Two handsomer figures 
 never appeared even at the Springs, so famous for 
 summer beaux and beauties. They stopped to greet 
 the Edens, and Wentworth was introduced to several 
 agreeable ladies with them. His intimacy with the 
 great family of Stirlings, fabulous rumors of his 
 wealth, his fine looks and manners, made Wentworth 
 a lion, not to the entire satisfaction of all gallant 
 Southrons present, and, as we may easily guess, 
 decidedly to the dissatisfaction of victorious Ivanhoe. 
 Gisela danced with many gentlemen, and evidently 
 enjoyed her dances, floating in the waltz as if her 
 naiad dress were again in eddies of the Rappahannock. 
 She was swiftly surrounded by admirers. A " rising 
 young professor " from Charlotteville was " devoted," 
 and managed to secure two dances and a promenade in 
 the portico with her. Sir Walter had then only got 
 one, and consoled himself by galloping with Pocahon- 
 tas till he was exhausted, and wondered she wasn't. 
 
 v I only get tired standing still," said Poqahontas, 
 
30(5 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 but I do wish somebody would be about to kill 
 
 somebody with a tomahawk, so that I could save him." 
 
 " Well, whom shall I kill ? " asked Sir Walter. 
 
 "Not him," said Pen, indignantly, as Pinwell 
 passed " I wouldn't save him." 
 
 " What have you against him ? " 
 
 " I never could bear him, and I just now heard him 
 say something horrid about somebody I know. He 
 didn't know I was behind him. After that he had the 
 impudence to ask me to dance." 
 
 The masquerade meant to last through the night. 
 Conspiring mammas and chaperons understood it, 
 and slipped off for naps, watching each other's charges 
 by relays. At about one o'clock Sir Walter had a 
 glorious waltz with the naiad, after which they strolled 
 out under the starlight, for the moon had gone down 
 and the lanterns were flickering into extinction. They 
 strolled as far as the great stone basin in which the 
 fountain splashes, and seated themselves there. 
 
 " You have been happy to-night, Gisela." 
 
 " Perfectly. I am happy. Are not you ? " 
 
 " I haven't inquired of myself yet." 
 
 "I've had several things to make me happy I've 
 met people I'm interested in, I love to dance, and 
 but no matter for more." 
 
 "Teil me the third thing, that's the postscript, 
 always the best part." 
 
 "If you will have it, I was glad to have these 
 Southern gentlemen meet a gentleman from the North, 
 and understand that's all. I'm glad to have you 
 meet some of our best people. What do you think of 
 the costumes ? Isn't Pen beautiful ? " 
 
A GOOD DEED SHIA T ES*.FAR. 307 
 
 " Indeed she is, and she has danced me like an elf. 
 A good many costumes are beautiful, Fair Rosa- 
 mond's, Rowena's, the Maid of Orleans, a dozen oth- 
 ers." 
 
 " And not a word for the poor naiad ! " 
 
 " I heard hers admired on all sides, but I renem- 
 ber her in a more beautiful costume." 
 
 " And pray when and where was that ? " 
 
 " Once, near this hour, on a sacred night," 
 
 " What did naiad have on then ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Her character was, a Madonna." 
 
 " What a memory you've got ! Now, I'm cultiva- 
 ting a faculty for forgetting things, still I can't forget 
 my frantic behavior and injustice the night poor Alice 
 came, though I have never asked your forgiveness." 
 
 " You were right, and needed no forgiveness. I was 
 not perhaps so yielding to those gentlemen at the table 
 as my tone implied, but I might have given way before 
 this if you had not sprung to my side. It had begun to 
 seem so unimportant to any human being what I might 
 think or say, especially down here among men doing 
 their best, that my conscience was getting silent. 
 Then another conscience rose to remind me of my 
 duty." 
 
 " Duty Boston word for happiness, I suppose. I 
 never saw a happier man than you when you sent to 
 Harper's Ferry two thousand dollars to be seen no 
 more." 
 
 " It would be obtaining credit on false pretenses to 
 let you suppose my happiness came only from helping 
 those negroes. I might have clone that in any case, 
 but my chief happiness came otherwise," 
 
308 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 There was something ominous in these slow words 
 and low tones ; Gisela became uneasy ; she went to 
 the fountain, drank a mouthful of the water, and 
 stood there a moment, then glanced toward the hotel. 
 
 " You do not ask what caused my happiness," said 
 Wentworth, "but I will try and tell you it isn't easy." 
 
 " It's never easy to analyze our happiness," said 
 Gisela, catching at a straw, and ran on volubly " so 
 many things enter into it a mood, a bit of news, a 
 friend's smile, a " 
 
 " That's it a friend's smile. I lost a friend's smile 
 one day and it returned the next. It gave me happi- 
 ness ; and my heart whispered what if that smile 
 were always on you ! " 
 
 " How beautifully this water flows in the soft star- 
 light ! Listen it is musical too. But Pen will need 
 me." 
 
 " She is not the only one that needs you." 
 
 " How a half-light transfigures things ! That 
 Hygeia is poor plaster by day, but now she is ideal ; 
 to-morrow she will be mere plaster again." 
 
 " Then it were a pity the day should dawn." 
 
 " But it must dawn, and the goddess be common- 
 place again. Glamour would be sweet if it could last ; 
 but it fades, and only the hard reality remains. Come ! Jf 
 
 M No, Gisela, stay with me and bear with me." 
 
 " I have engagements to dance, and really must go." 
 
 " Not till you have decided where I am to go in 
 this world, and for life. Gisela, you once saved me" 
 
 " Walter, I mean to save you now. Ple.ase take me 
 to the hotel." 
 
 "What can you mean, Gisela? There is but one 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 309 
 
 word that can save me, and you must speak it. Dear 
 Gisela, you have my whole heart ; say only take my 
 hand for life ! " 
 
 Gisela sank on the stone seat, and sat still as if a 
 carven part of it, her face bent and hidden in her 
 hands. Wentworth tried to take one of her hands, 
 but she shook her head, and a great sob came from 
 her heart. 
 
 " O my friend," she said at last, laying her hand on 
 his shoulder, " how fearful is all this ! My true and 
 dear friend, what a heavy wrong have I done you ! " 
 
 " No wrong, Gisela, but every good except the last 
 and greatest ; now complete your work. Gisela 
 take me to your heart forever ! " 
 
 " O Walter ! There are mountains between us. I 
 know you I see your future a leader among your 
 people, by your side the wife now waiting for you in 
 that great world. Hasten away to-morrow. What ! 
 tie yourself to an old woman, in this little corner of 
 the world which she can not leave ! It is out of the 
 question. Oh, this is terrible ! " 
 
 Gisela threw up her arms as if bewildered, and 
 trembled violently. Wentworth placed his arm around 
 her and pressed her head on his shoulder. 
 
 " My own, my love, I do not know the cause of this 
 grief," he said, as he stroked her hair. 
 
 " I have done you great wrong," she said, starting 
 to her feet " I ought to have persuaded you to leave 
 us instead of contriving to keep you. Now I must 
 strike the best heart that ever beat. It will not do. 
 My age my father whom I can not leave your 
 career think ! " 
 
310 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " Gisela, you say you are the older. A year or two 
 perhaps. It is but a superstition that the wife must 
 be the younger. Your father ? He is mine the only 
 one I have and I do not mean to part from him. 
 You reason against me, but there is only one reason 
 which can send me from you. If you can not return 
 my love, I am hereafter dumb." 
 
 Gisela tried to answer, but silently sank again on 
 the stone seat and clutched it as if about to fall. 
 
 " Say it now, Gisela, if my sentence must come I 
 will wait till day-break. If you can not love me 
 and I know I am not worthy of it I will strive no 
 more." 
 
 " Be strong, Walter and let all this be as a dream." 
 
 " A dream indeed, if my love is unanswered. But 
 is that so ? Something is making me bold. Is it 
 truly so ? " 
 
 " Ah, if I were only dead ! But I am determined 
 I say no ! " 
 
 " Because you have no love, Gisela ? " 
 
 A burst of tears was Gisela's answer. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Wentworth, " I am loved by the 
 woman I love, and nothing shall part her from me. 
 Now you may struggle, but it is from love, and in 
 vain. If there be any mountain between us I will 
 wear it down if it take many years. But it shall be 
 done. You see I am calm, Gisela. This is no sud- 
 den passion." 
 
 " You are trying to put on a chain." 
 
 " No I am gaining a wing. It has lifted me over 
 the mire before this, and I hold on to it." 
 
 Wentworth with a great passionate power clasped 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 311 
 
 her in his arms and kissed her again and again ; she 
 struggled a little, then her head lay still on his breast, 
 and he heard the low tones of a prayer. 
 
 There was a silence in that seclusion as if the sur- 
 rounding world had ceased to exist, though they might 
 have heard the music and dance at the end of the 
 grove had not diviner harmonies held them. But 
 presently a closer sound startled Gisela, and she 
 leaned forward. There were approaching steps, and 
 low voices distinguishable as three when they came 
 near. The speakers were close to the basin of the 
 fountain. 
 
 u The mere fact that a man's a Yankee is not enough, 
 Pinwell, unless he says or does something against us." 
 
 " I tell you I watched him, and saw him enter 
 Caleb's house with a nigger." 
 
 " That does look suspicious, fellows." 
 
 " What I say is this ; just get him by himself and 
 tell him he's got to leave this state." 
 
 " That's easy to say, Pinwell, but suppose he 
 won't." 
 
 " I know he will, if he thinks he may get the Stirl- 
 ing's into trouble." 
 
 " That shows, Pinwell, that you think he's a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " There's reason why he ought to like the Stirlings, 
 he's living on them." 
 
 "But they say he's rich." 
 
 " The fact is, fellows, you must excuse me. I can'i: 
 see that the man's done any harm, and to tell the 
 truth, Pinwell, I'm afraid you are thinking morq 
 about Miss Gisela than southern rights," 
 
312 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 " I feel the same way, Pinwell. The man might 
 have been talking to the negroes about fishing or 
 shooting. I'm off." 
 
 " Damn him, I'll tackle him myself." 
 
 This was Pinwell's soliloquy, as the others walked 
 off. Wentworth listened until his enemy also moved 
 away, muttering oaths, then laughed aloud ; but 
 Gisela said " hush," and was in more anxiety than she 
 cared to express. She was silent on their way to the 
 hotel, and felt that Pinwell's eyes were watching 
 them, her shining dress could be seen from the 
 furthest covert. They entered the ball-room Justin 
 time for a Sir Roger, and the masquerade came to an 
 end. 
 
 "Where is Walter?" asked Gisela, as she entered 
 the breakfast-room next morning, where she found 
 Douglas and Pen. 
 
 " I don't know," answered both. 
 
 " Douglas, please go and find him now, without 
 finishing breakfast and," she added, in his ear, 
 " whatever you do, keep near him all the time till we 
 leave this afternoon. I'll tell you why when you come 
 back it's important." 
 
 Douglas walked over towards the fountain, and 
 quickened his steps when he saw Wentworth confront- 
 ing Pinwell and two others. As he was approaching 
 he saw there was a quarrel. 
 
 " I am ready to give account of myself to any gen- 
 tleman who has a right to ask it," said Wentworth, 
 "but have nothing to say to this ill-bred spy " 
 
 At this Pinwell struck Wentworth, who, with a swift 
 blow, sent his antagonist reeling against a tree. Doug- 
 
A GOOD DEED SHINES FAR. 313 
 
 las reached the spot just in time to catch Pinwell's 
 hand as it was drawing a pistol. 
 
 " No, you don't no murder ! " cried Douglas, firing 
 the pistol in the air, and so drawing a number of 
 people to the spot, while Pinwell's two comrades 
 slipped off. 
 
 " Damn you and your abolition friends," cried Pin- 
 well, "you and your brother are no better." 
 
 " Stop, George Pinwell ! if you say another word 
 about my brother I'll thrash you right off you 
 sneak ! " 
 
 " Well, you're two against one, but I'm ready for 
 you." 
 
 " Clear out, you cur ! " said Douglas, taking Went- 
 worth's arm and turning toward the hotel. 
 
 So ended the Pinwell incident. He and his two 
 companions strangers to Douglas disappeared from 
 the Springs before dinner, and Wentworth never saw 
 Pinwell again. Gisela and Pen knew nothing of what 
 had occurred until, as they were about to start for The 
 Palms, a young man, whose voice Gisela had recog- 
 nized as that of an acquaintance when he repudiated 
 Pinwell at the fountain, came to the carriage and 
 asked to be introduced to her friend. 
 
 " Mr. Burroughs, Mr. Wentworth." 
 
 " I congratulate you, sir, on having given the con- 
 quering hero a lesson he needed. 1 hope you'll not 
 believe many southerners capable of assassination. 
 The feeling about here is entirely with you, and the 
 fellow has had to run." 
 
 Wentworth answered graciously, and took off his 
 hat to the company in the veranda, who all bowed 
 
314 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 smilingly as the carriage drove off. Gisela was 
 aghast, Pen bewildered, at what they had heard. The 
 whole story had to come out when they were on the 
 road, and Gisela, forgetting herself, put her arm 
 round her lover and leaned her head on his shoulder. 
 To Pen this seemed so natural that she did the like, 
 her tears streaming. Poor Douglas was blushing for 
 his sisters' exceeding affectionateness, when Gisela 
 caught sight of his face and burst into a laugh. 
 
 " Dear Doug doesn't know what to make of us ; 
 give your old sister a kiss, boy, and say who you'd 
 like best for a new brother ! " 
 
 " Gisela, are you daft ? " 
 
 " Quite, Doug." 
 
 "She's only daft enough to become my wife." 
 
 A tremendous crack of a whip in the air reminded 
 these demoralized travelers that they had a negro 
 driver ; a scream from Penelope, who seemed to be 
 fainting, happily gave them something to do. 
 
 " Are you going away ? " cried the child, throwing 
 her arms around her sister's neck with a burst of 
 tears. 
 
 " She'll never part from you, dear Pen, nor I either," 
 said Wentworth, who was rewarded with kisses so 
 soon as the little mouth could straighten again. 
 Douglas grasped Wentworth's hand, in evident agita- 
 tion. 
 
 In the evening Wentworth was giving reassurances 
 to the father, declaring that they would never part 
 from him. 
 
 The venerable face grew pale, but the just judge 
 answered, albeit with quivering lip. 
 
A GOOD DEED S&INES FAR. 315 
 
 " Gisela is near to my heart, but she will forsake all 
 others and cleave to her husband when that is the 
 right thing to be done. You and I know what a 
 heart you have found, my son : there is only one man 
 on earth to whom I would yield her with joy. He 
 now has her. I would say to her, where he goes go 
 you ! though my life departed with her." 
 
 For some days the judge was caressed by Gisela 
 and charmed by her confidences from his feeling of 
 loneliness. Douglas too required comforting treat- 
 ment. Wentworth was unremitting in affectionate 
 attentions to father and son ; he made Douglas go 
 with him to Prince William Court-house and to Fair- 
 fax, where records had to be examined in Randolph's 
 interest, and their friendship gained daily in depth 
 and fullness. 
 
 How wonderfully a happy man can work ! Went- 
 worth seemed always to have leisure enough ; he 
 could ride with Gisela, capture butterflies with Pen, 
 shoot wild turkeys with Douglas, play whist with the 
 judge ; but, the while, masses of documents were 
 digested, a ream of paper covered with notes, and, 
 six weeks after the excursion to the Springs, a clear 
 statement by this Boston lawyer in the Fauquier 
 court secured all the claims of Randolph Stirling. 
 The Palms now needed but the return of the wander- 
 ing son and his bride to complete the happiness of its 
 circle. This was promised. Another note came say- 
 ing they had started on their eastward journey, and 
 hoped, on reaching Washington, to learn that no 
 trouble need be apprehended if they should come to 
 The Palms. 
 
3i6 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 About this time occurred that event at Harper's 
 Ferry which shook Virginia like an earthquake, and 
 was felt throughout the land. Wild rumors spread 
 through the neighboring counties, in which white 
 invasions and black insurrections were confused, and 
 the panic was universal. When the raid on Harper's 
 Ferry occurred Wentworth was on a visit to Boston ; 
 this was perhaps fortunate, for the Pinwell element in 
 most southern towns was raised to the surface by that 
 tempest, and a Yankee in Warrenton streets might 
 have proved a tempting victim for the sins of his sec- 
 tion. At any rate Douglas returned from town one 
 day much excited by something he had heard ; also 
 Uncle Josh Williams reported to Gisela that he and 
 Caleb Stone had been questioned by a small company 
 of men, including Pinwell, as to the subject of Went- 
 worth's interview with them in the early summer. 
 Under menaces the negroes had confessed that the 
 gentleman wanted Caleb to tell him the whole story 
 of his mother's ghost which appeared the fourth of 
 July and told Caleb she died of poison in Tennessee. 
 It would not have done to mention Harper's Ferry, 
 where Alice had gone. 
 
 Wentworth suspected something of this when he 
 received in Boston a letter from Gisela more cheerful 
 than usual about his absence, and expressing the hope 
 that he would accept an invitation, of which he had 
 written, to visit the Minotts. But little did any of 
 these happy young people imagine that amid the 
 stormy events of that time a special thunderbolt was 
 making its way toward them, under their rosy sky, 
 where all the morning stars were singing. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 
 
 IN a small room at Tabor whose only furniture was 
 a stove, a cot, and a pine table on which lay a large 
 map of Virginia Captain Brown (alias Gideon), sat in 
 eager conversation with Randolph Stirling through the 
 small hours of night. A purpose had formed in the cap- 
 tain's mind for which co-operation of a Virginian were 
 worth more than an army corps; for indeed this puritan 
 wool-grower turned warrior, what time the dew of a 
 mission to smite slaveholding Midianites settled on his 
 fleece, heard his heavenly Man of War warn him 
 against too many soldiers, lest Freedom should vaunt 
 itself, and say, Mine own hand hath saved me. He 
 wanted a few only, but above all he desired a Virgin- 
 ian : he had never met with another man from that 
 state so friendly to freedom as Stirling, and with char- 
 acteristic superstition leaped to the conclusion that 
 here was his heaven-sent Purah, his spy, to help him 
 discover the secrets of the spoilers. This belief led 
 him to speak with Stirling about the mountains of 
 Virginia, declaring that they had been built by Jehovah 
 to be the refuge and fastness of a race defending its 
 freedom. It needed only that trumpet should answer 
 trumpet along those heights, for all the oppressed to 
 
318' PINE AND PALM. 
 
 flee to the mountains and find the shield of Almighty 
 God about them. Stirling had lost his early faith in 
 slavery; he felt strong sympathy with fugitives from 
 oppression; but he recognized in Brown's notions, so 
 far as he could think what he was driving at, not only 
 fanaticism but a great and dangerous fallacy, namely, 
 that the slaves were a race groaning for liberty. The 
 slaves, he urged, are now evangelized; they believe in 
 the command " servants obey your masters," and that 
 they will offend God by disobeying it ; they dread the 
 northern climate; too many of them have comfortable 
 homes to seek uncertainties elsewhere. 
 
 " What is a comfortable home without the God- 
 given right to freedom ! " cried the captain. 
 
 " But they do not find it God-given, and have long 
 been taught to resign themselves to affliction for the 
 greater glory hereafter. But whatever their motives, 
 I am convinced, by long intimacy with that race, 
 that the fugitives fly from special hardships, and 
 that the majority would stay where they are even if 
 you could open the gates of liberty before them as 
 you can not." 
 
 " Young man, is there a God ? His arm will be laid 
 bare. And when you shall see it, will you stand on 
 his side ? Should I be able some day to show you 
 these oppressed people you think so contented coming 
 by thousands from the house of bondage, would you 
 then stand at my side to help them ? " 
 
 " Wherever I shall see man or woman whom I can 
 save from wrong and suffering I trust my help will 
 not be found wanting." 
 
 " Young man, for the moment your eyes are held in 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 319 
 
 some things, but I feel that the Lord of Hosts has an 
 appointed work for you, because of which he has 
 opened your eyes to the evils of slavery, though you 
 were born in the house of the taskmaster. Before 
 long I may remind you of your promise to help those 
 fleeing from oppression, and call on you to see the 
 salvation of God." 
 
 With this the Captain gave the mystified Virginian 
 his hand, cast on him a strange sorrowful look, and gave 
 him an envelope containing directions for a journey 
 into Kansas with letters of introduction to one or two 
 friends there. For on the arrival at Tabor they had 
 heard that Nuella's brother was still alive, and resolved 
 to try and reach him. They carried with them many 
 things which might be of service to the suffering man. 
 
 A strange wedding journey ! Severe as it was, this 
 pilgrimage of love had compensations ; it was through 
 sublime scenery, it was healthful, and it gave Stirling 
 and his wife the intimacy of years while developing 
 the character of both into greater strength. 
 
 They reached the cabin of Major Felzen, to whom 
 Captain Brown had directed them, only to hear that 
 Colonel Rhodes had been removed from the neighbor- 
 hood. He had nearly recovered from every trouble 
 except a fractured right arm, when it was discovered 
 that a party of raiders, hearing he was disabled, had 
 resolved to capture him and some things of importance 
 believed to be in his possession. Under the circum- 
 stances it was thought best that Colonel Rhodes should 
 leave the territory for a time, and he had gone off with 
 friends; but whither, Major Felzen could not say. The 
 major gave them hearty welcome. He had no wife, 
 
320 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 but there were in his house a Swedish woman .and her 
 daughter, who had immigrated with Mormons but 
 refused to join their community, and found asylum 
 with this countryman. There were also in the house a 
 negro woman and her husband, escaped from Missouri, 
 and in much dread of pursuit. 
 
 It was soon proved that the fears of these negroes 
 were well-grounded. On the third morning after the 
 arrival of the Stirlings the tramp of Missourian horses 
 was heard. Felzen's door was barricaded, the men all 
 armed themselves, and a siege was awaited. At length 
 a voice at the door demanded admittance, at hearing 
 which the terrified negro wife whispered " It is my 
 master ; he will kill Charley/' Hardly had she spoken 
 when the door was broken in and Felzen shot dead. 
 The rush of the six Missourians was too sudden for 
 resistance. The negroes were first bound and Stirling 
 held fast. He had managed to knock an assailant 
 down, but that was all. 
 
 " Shoot the white man," cried one of the raiders, 
 " but keep the gals. Gals is skeerce." 
 
 " Shooting's too good, we'll hang him up as a skeer- 
 crow for nigger-stealers." 
 
 Stirling and Nuella could only exchange looks of 
 silent despair. This then was the end of their sweet 
 romance ! 
 
 Though in those days there was no escaping negro 
 without a slave-hunter on his track, there was also no 
 such hunter without a free-state avenger on his track. 
 These six Missourians had been pursued for two days 
 and their triumph was brief. The free-state men 
 crept up velvet-footed, nine men, and the raiders were 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 3 21 
 
 overpowered a few minutes after they had broken in 
 the door. They fought with tooth and claw their 
 weapons being instantly seized, but had to yield. 
 One ruffian, just tying Nuella's hands behind her, had 
 leaped in front of her and grappled with fury a man 
 who came to her rescue, and they rolled on the floor. 
 Stirling, whose hands were tightly bound behind him, 
 bounded to the assistance of the free-state man, though 
 he could only use his feet. In another moment his 
 cords were cut. 
 
 While the two men were presently engaged in bind- 
 ing this huge ruffian, they did not look at each 
 other. As they rose up their eyes met : once more 
 Stirling and Layman stood face to face. Layman 
 hardly recognized the man who had struck him down 
 in the street at White River Junction ; but at sight of 
 Nuella he was stupefied. There was an ugly gash on his 
 forehead, received from the man at his feet, and his 
 men, who spoke of him as " Colonel Layman," now 
 pressed around to know if he was much hurt. Nuella 
 could not see at once the man who had fought her 
 ruffian, but knowing he was wounded brought hand- 
 kerchiefs. At her approach Layman hung down his 
 head, but she recognized him. As she was tying a 
 handkerchief around his forehead she spoke to him 
 gently. In her happiness she had already forgiven 
 and forgotten him. 
 
 " Kow glad I am it is you. Randolph, this is an 
 old acquaintance of mine from West Lebanon, Mr. 
 Layman, this is my husband Mr. Stirling." 
 
 Stirling had already spoken warmly and now again 
 poured out his gratitude. Layman looked at him 
 
322 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 steadily, and perceived that he did not wish the fact 
 of their having met before to be mentioned. 
 
 " Your wife is forgiving, Mr. Stirling," said Colonel 
 Layman, " after the evil I once done her." 
 
 " All was over-ruled for the best," said Nuella ; 
 " you have risen to be a rescuer, and have saved me 
 and my husband." 
 
 " Henceforth we are all friends," said Stirling ; 
 " whatever is unhappy in the past is blotted out with 
 this blood of yours." 
 
 Poor Felzen was silently buried in the forest. The 
 raiders were brought out bound, to surround the grave 
 of the man they had slain. When the shallow grave 
 was nearly filled the Swedish girl planted an evergreen 
 in it, and said, " He was a good man and very kind 
 to us." While she and her mother were shedding 
 tears on the grave of their friend, a strange cry was 
 heard. 
 
 " Let us pray ! " 
 
 A bareheaded young man, apparently deranged, 
 made his way to the grave, and was recognized by the 
 free-state men, also by two of the Missourians, who 
 had once driven this poor youth trotting before their 
 horses nine miles under a fierce sun. The sunstroke 
 had not yet lifted from the brain of Captain Brown's 
 son, who now gave a glance of pity at the bound men, 
 then fell on his knees beside the grave. 
 
 " O God," he cried, with uplifted face, "bless the 
 poor men who are tied and dragged and trampled 
 under horses, and bless their mothers who are crying 
 for them at home. Save them from being hunted 
 with bloodhounds ! Poor men, I will undo your ropes," 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF D&ATH. 3 2 3 
 
 he added, springing up and moving towards the Mis- 
 sourians. 
 
 " Oh, don't hurt them," he cried, as Layman's men 
 restrained him, " they have mothers and wives and 
 children." 
 
 The prisoners were released, their horses and 
 money given to the two negroes. The valuables 
 in Felzen's house were collected, the Swedish 
 women taking their own with them. They all then 
 made for a point twenty miles away. Colonel Lay- 
 man told the Stirlings that he had helped Colonel 
 Rhodes to get off, that he had gone northward with 
 a wagon party, and no doubt would find his way 
 to White River Junction. On the day following 
 there was another funeral ; the Swedish mother 
 could not recover from the shock of the struggle 
 at the cabin, Felzen's death, and the fatigue of 
 traveling. She confided to Stirling her daughter, to 
 be taken to a relative in Detroit, and her little 
 treasure of money and jewelry. At the small 
 free-state camp which they reached at length, they 
 found four more fugitive negroes, just arrived with 
 two wagons, in which they were about starting for 
 Iowa, with the hope of making their way to Canada. 
 After consultation it was determined that Stirling 
 should undertake the conveyance of the six negroes, 
 two of which were men, to Canada. Colonel Layman 
 took care that they should all, even the women, be 
 armed, as pursuit of the negroes was probable. 
 
 Their itinerary included a small German settlement 
 near the south-west corner of Iowa, and on their 
 approach to this place occurred the first incident of 
 
324 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 importance to our story in this weary journey. Stirl- 
 ing was told that he could rely on these Germans for 
 assistance. While yet a mile distant he was hailed 
 while passing a saw-mill. Two Germans, having 
 observed the negroes, came out to warn them of 
 danger : a strong party of Missourians had been 
 prowling about there for twenty-four hours, pro- 
 fessedly to arrest a murderer, but really, it was believed, 
 to overtake fugitive slaves. The leader of the Mis- 
 souri party had stated that the murdered man was a 
 worthy German named Felzen, whose valuables had 
 been carried off by the assassin and his confederates. 
 After consultation it was arranged that the wagons 
 should be left at the saw-mill, to be driven into the 
 village by the Germans a few hours later. The party 
 led by Stirling was to break up into groups of two, 
 and go on foot to the village at different times and by 
 different directions. On arrival there they must all 
 find their way to the house of a man named Hener- 
 mann. 
 
 This plan brought Stirling's party safely to Hener- 
 mann's house, where a consultation was held. The 
 eastward road being certainly watched, the escaping 
 party were advised to leave as they had entered, on foot, 
 and in separate groups, but in a southerly direction. 
 The wagons were to be driven out by Germans and to 
 await the gathering of the party at a point two miles 
 south, from which they were to veer eastward again 
 by an unusual route. They were to start that night- 
 there was moonlight and at the same time a decoy 
 wagon would start on the watched road. All this was 
 perilously complex. There was little danger of their 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF QEATH. 325 
 
 not reaching the wagons, but the route after that was 
 obscure and a mistake might carry them into Mis* 
 souri. Stirling inquired if there could be found some 
 German who, if handsomely paid, might be willing to 
 go out with the wagons and accompany them as a 
 guide till they should reach a more certain road. 
 
 And now occurred one of those coincidences whose 
 marvelousness grows with their frequency. While 
 Henermann and his friends were suggesting persons 
 possibly available for this task, Stirling caught one 
 name Hartmann which had a familiar sound. He 
 could not at once remember where he had heard it, and 
 asked Hartmann's first name. " Franz ! " The man 
 was at once sent for, and proved indeed to be the 
 Fraiilein's lover. . Nothing could exceed the young 
 man's amazement and delight on hearing tidings of 
 his sweetheart, and Stirling told enough of his own 
 services to her to engage his gratitude for their assist- 
 ance. The lover was a new-comer, and swiftly made 
 his arrangements to travel with the party to the east, 
 having resolved not to rest until he had found his 
 bride. 
 
 It was near daybreak when this glad impatient 
 Franz sat waiting with the wagons for the arrival of 
 the fugitive company. They came, group after group, 
 by their devious ways. Stirling, his wife, and the 
 Swedish girl were alone waited for. They had started 
 across a field for a road that passed along the edge of 
 a thicket, and all eyes were now strained in that direc- 
 tion. At length in the far dusk the shadowy form of 
 a woman was seen bounding, as if winged, toward 
 them. It was the Swede, her face ghastly, who rushed 
 
326 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 to them and sank with exhaustion and terror, gasping 
 out her fearful tidings. 
 
 " She is shot ! she is dying ! her husband may get 
 killed too ! " 
 
 Alas, it was but too true. A sharp report in the 
 thicket, and Nuella, who was next it, fell, just as 
 Stirling fired back into the covert. 
 
 " Randolph, O my husband," she said, as he took 
 her head in his lap, " fly, fly, they will kill you ! " 
 
 " My wife, my darling, where are you hurt ? " . 
 
 " I am sinking, hurry, don't stop," whispered the 
 failing voice, " you can not help me, I am dying." 
 
 " And for me, for me O my God, if I had only 
 been on that side ! " 
 
 " Would it have struck you ? " whispered Nuella ; 
 "then I'm happy. You made my life beautiful." 
 
 " Nuella, live, live, live ! O my sweet oh ! " 
 
 She had expired with her last kiss. A great cry of 
 horror came from his heart, he sank back ; the little 
 head was pillowed in peace on his prostrate form. 
 
 Had his own life only been at stake, Stirling could 
 not have parted from the lifeless form of Nuella, who 
 had twined herself about all his heart-strings, and 
 before whose nobleness he had bowed more reverently 
 every day since their marriage. But when they had 
 laid her on the ground beneath an oak just as the 
 rising sun ushered in the darkest of nights and the 
 negroes began a wailing hymn, Franz Hartmann 
 said " Hush ! you must not sing ; there is danger 
 around us ! " Then Nuella's brave face appealed to 
 him whom her heart had once more shielded, that he 
 should forget self, and even leave her dear slain self 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 327 
 
 to fulfill his trust. Her remembrance should be the 
 safety of those hunted human beings. So Nuella was 
 buried under the oak, and the sorrowful fugitives and 
 their deliverers moved on. 
 
 Wherefore, from whom, came this stroke out of the 
 dark was never known. As they drove on Franz 
 strained his eyes toward the wood where the tragedy 
 occurred, but Stirling when he next raised his head 
 looked in another direction : he stood up in the 
 wagon, gazed on the southern horizon, then 
 stretched his hands toward it and said " Pitiless, 
 pitiless ! " If there had lingered in his mind any doubt 
 concerning the spirit of slavery it was left buried in the 
 grave of Nuella. But no feeling of vengeance rose in 
 him ; and when, a few hours later, as they were driving 
 over a bridge, a negro handed him his revolver, picked 
 up on the scene of the tragedy, Stirling calmly hurled 
 it into the stream, saying, " I have fired my last shot." 
 
 In the evening Stirling conversed with the Swede in 
 German, and she told him a strange history of her 
 life ; the negroes also had stones to relate which he 
 found instructive ; and had Nuella been there the 
 journey might have proved one of thrilling interest. 
 But the ever-recurring horror permitted nothing to 
 beguile him ; it seemed a weary life-time before they 
 reached Detroit. There the Swede was consigned to 
 her friend, and the rest passed on to Canada, where 
 they were received with welcome. Franz, of course, 
 by this time was well on his way to Peacefield and his 
 Mathilde. Stirling told him the address in Canada 
 where he could be reached by a letter for a week or 
 two, and begged him to write. 
 
328 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Stirling, his charge fulfilled, desired only to hide 
 himself and pass silently through his ordeal of grief. 
 He found a little hotel in the neighborhood of the 
 negroes, whose experiences he heard and studied a 
 good deal. He wrote the story of his brief married 
 life, from its happy opening to its heart-breaking end, 
 to send to Manuel when he could summon courage to 
 do so. He wrote long letters to his dearest friends 
 to Wentworth, Judge Minott, Maria Shelton keeping 
 them, however, beside him, adding a little from day to 
 day. He was loth to send them ; perhaps he dreaded 
 to reveal yet the hermitage of his sorrow. But on an 
 early day in October his solitude was penetrated. He 
 had given a somewhat vague address to Franz, but a 
 letter from Hilda, after some delay, found him out. 
 
 " Franz Hartmann," it said, " has found his Math- 
 ilde at last, but in their joy are mingled tears for their 
 benefactor. Alas, for the heavy tidings he brings 
 concerning you. We had heard through Judge Minott 
 something of the touching circumstances of your 
 marriage, and he promised to send us your address if 
 he could discover it, for we longed to have you more 
 than fulfill your promise to visit us again, by bringing 
 your wife. Before the fearfulness of your bereave- 
 ment words sink into lifeless things. But w.e can not 
 think without concern of your lonely stay in Canada, 
 nor forget that a deed of humanity, similar to that 
 which has now made the tragedy of your life, deprives 
 you of the solace of your father's home. May we not 
 claim the privilege of friends, and beg you to come to 
 us here at once ? We had hoped for your promised 
 return under happy circumstances, but under none 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 3 2 9 
 
 could have desired it so much as now. Come, dear 
 Mr. Stirling, and make our house your home. You 
 shall have what seclusion you may desire. The world 
 shall not obtrude on your sorrow. It seems longer 
 than one brief year since we walked together in our 
 grove, but the Indian Summer is again here to soothe 
 your trouble. And there are hearts here that sympa- 
 thize with you. My father is absent this week, but 
 my mother sends expression of her deep sympathy, 
 and trusts, with me, that you will answer this note with 
 your presence." 
 
 Stirling sat holding this letter for a long time ; then 
 he wrote a grateful note declining the invitation, and 
 started with it for the post-office. But it was some 
 distance, and as he walked his steps became slower ; 
 a gentle sympathizing face, with some of Gisela's look, 
 rose with friendly persuasion before him ; the dingy 
 tenements around were hid by vision of a quiet grove ; 
 he turned upon his steps, and in the evening wrote 
 to Hilda that he hoped to be at Peacefield Pines 
 before the middle of the month. 
 
 But in the following week this plan was changed, 
 and Stirling's mind much disturbed by two letters 
 brought him by a negro. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I hear from friends in Canada of 
 your safe arrival there, under the providence of God, 
 with six souls delivered from the house of bondage. 
 This shows that what you said at Tabor was not mere 
 words. I have also been informed of the murder of 
 your wife by slave-hunting assassins. Terrible as is 
 this blow, I feel assured that the Lord has chosen this 
 
330 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 means of bringing home to you the condition of the 
 millions of wives and husbands who are in the power 
 of such murderous oppressors. I pray and believe 
 that your eyes must be now fully open. You said to 
 me at Tabor, that if you should see human beings 
 escaping from bondage you would help them. The 
 time has come for me to remind you of that promise 
 and require, in the name of God, its fulfillment. If 
 you will meet me on the bridge at Harper's Ferry on 
 Sabbath evening, the 23d inst., your doubts (if they 
 remain), of the slaves' desire to rise, will disperse ; 
 you will see the outstretched arm of Almighty God, 
 and the deliverance of those who cry to him day and 
 night. Private. Yours faithfully, BROWN. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Captain John Brown has been much 
 excited the last few days by a letter received from 
 Canada concerning you. He read it to us, and says 
 that he knows you, and has reason to believe that you 
 will be at his side when his long-meditated blow is 
 struck. Though I am writing this by another hand, 
 and do not give my name, you and I have met, and I 
 am anxious to save you from danger. Captain Brown 
 has mustered here (at a place called Kennedy's Farm, 
 Maryland, about two hours march from Harper's 
 Ferry) about twenty men, with whom he means to 
 attack that town, seize the arms there, distribute them 
 among the slaves and overthrow slavery. This scheme 
 could only succeed by a miracle ; but the captain fully 
 believes that miracle will occur literally. He believes 
 that he has been appointed by certain signs to deliver the 
 slaves, and that, if necessary, the Potomac would open 
 
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 331 
 
 for him and his people to walk through dry-shod. He 
 has received in the north large sums of money from 
 persons who can hardly know that it is intended to 
 lead a handful of young men like sheep to the slaugh- 
 ter. Some of our number are in ignorance of the 
 doom that is over them. We are all bound to him by 
 solemn oaths. I am willing to die, but I feel bound 
 to warn you not to be induced by any thing he may 
 write to join us, unless, indeed, you have such 
 influence over Captain Brown as to be able to stop 
 his insane project. In this case you might save lives 
 by coming here. He told me he meant to take a look 
 at Harper's Ferry on the i6th. You might see him if 
 you were there, or could easily inquire your way to 
 this farm-house. But unless you are certain of such 
 influence over him, I implore you do not be misled 
 into joining us. We are doomed men. A FRIEND. 
 
 Stirling resolved to try and stop this wild business. 
 He would secure an interview with Brown in some 
 hotel or hostelry, and there if he could not be dis- 
 suaded he should be detained, quietly. But there was 
 no time to be lost. By going through Cleveland and 
 Columbus he believed he could just make Harper's 
 Ferry by October sixteenth. He traveled night and 
 day. 
 
 But the anonymous correspondent and Brown him- 
 self had not rightly indicated the time when the 
 attack was made. On such small wires hang great 
 weights. Stirling was asleep in his berth, after mid- 
 night of the Sunday he had hoped to pass at Harper's 
 Ferry, when he was aroused with the other passengers 
 
332 1 INE AND PALM. 
 
 by a loud cry " Wake up ! wake up ! there's trouble 
 going on ! " All started up in panic, and heard with 
 dismay that the train had been seized by robbers. 
 The bewildered passengers were marched off under 
 guards to a railway hotel. There they were told that 
 robbers had taken possession of the town. While 
 Stirling was making inquiries of servants in the 
 kitchen, the train moved off about sunrise. He 
 remained a prisoner in the hotel all day, but felt that 
 perhaps this was best, for he had now little doubt that 
 Captain Brown had struck his blow. On the morning 
 of the day following, the guards having disappeared 
 from the hotel doors, he walked out toward the armory. 
 There he beheld Captain Brown seated on the ground, 
 covered with blood, with several officers around him, 
 while frantic men were rushing to and fro, and shots 
 were heard in every direction. Stirling was standing 
 on the opposite side of the street, and when Brown 
 looked toward him, incautiously waved his hand in 
 token of recognition and pity. The next moment he 
 was struck by a bullet and fell. 
 
 " You are shooting your own citizens," cried Brown, 
 "that man is not with me he is a Virginian." 
 
 The man who had fired on Stirling hurried away. 
 Brown was at once carried off. Stirling lay unno- 
 ticed, and gradually recovered sufficient consciousness 
 to crawl through a rude gate that stood open in pal- 
 ings near him, and to close it. Beyond this was a 
 small stable which he managed to reach and enter. 
 There he lay on straw and lost consciousness again. 
 After some time a negro brought a horse into the 
 stable, and Stirling was aroused as if from sleep. 
 
INTO THE JA WS OF DEA TH. 333 
 
 " My man/' he said to the trembling negro, " I am 
 shot and will probably die, but try and bring me 
 water." 
 
 The man crept softly away and presently returned 
 with water, and accompanied by another negro. " He 
 is one of the men that came here to die for us," said 
 one of the negroes. The two bore him to a vacant 
 stall, nearly covered him with hay, and placing bread 
 and water beside him, said they would remove him as 
 soon as it could be done without their being observed. 
 Then Stirling again sank into unconsciousness. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S REST. 
 
 "T7NCOURAGED, as we have seen, by Gisela, 
 \2/ Wentworth postponed his return to Virginia 
 and accepted the invitation to visit the Minotts, 
 who were eager to hear about his experiences in 
 the South. 
 
 One morning, while they were lingering at the 
 breakfast-table, a letter was opened by Judge Minott 
 which extorted from him a cry of horror. It was from 
 a negro man, and rudely written, a letter from Stirling 
 being inclosed. This, the negro wrote, had been 
 found in the pocket of a gentleman wounded in the 
 fight at Harper's Ferry, and now lying there in the 
 house of a free negro. He seemed to be nearly 
 senseless. " We are doing all we can but are afraid 
 to say any thing about him to the white people, who 
 are furious. The only doctor who has seen him is 
 myself, but I don't know much about a thing like this, 
 and only doctor colored people in little things. His 
 wound is in the head, and I'm afraid he won't live. 
 He ought to have help. If anybody comes after him 
 let them ask the sexton of the Baptist meeting-house. 
 I will send this to be put in the letter-box at Baltimore." 
 
 The letter of Stirling inclosed told the tragical 
 story of his wife's death. A penciled postcript added : 
 
THE WANDERER'S REST. 335 
 
 " Although I have written this letter I dread sending 
 it. I am now on a train bound for Harper's Ferry, 
 where I hope to prevent the fanatical scheme of a 
 good but misguided abolitionist, fraught with danger 
 and evil. I then hope to reach my dear old home in 
 Virginia." 
 
 The first southward train bore Wentworth and 
 Dr. Jeffries Wyman. Cautious inquiries at Harper's 
 Ferry brought them by midnight to the bedside of the 
 sufferer. He was lying in the best room of the free 
 negro's house, where his constant attendant was Alice 
 Ross. For it had speedily become known among the 
 colored people of the neighborhood that a man 
 wounded in the John Brown fray was hidden in this 
 house, and Alice had at length identified him. She 
 lived in a house near by, where Darnley came every 
 evening. 
 
 The bullet had not entered the brain, but had plowed 
 deep and driven a portion of the skull upon it, with 
 what extent of lesion could not yet be known. Tre- 
 phining was required, and having removed the bits of 
 bone pressed into the brain, the surgeon could do 
 no more. Before leaving he went with Wentworth to 
 a physician connected with the United States service, 
 who agreed to take charge of the case, evidence being 
 given that Stirling was a Virginian who had come to 
 prevent the Brown raid. They all agreed, neverthe- 
 less, that secrecy was desirable on account of the 
 prevailing excitement. 
 
 Meanwhile that negro-telegraph, which we have 
 once before known in operation between Harper's 
 Ferry and The Palms, had borne the tidings to 
 
336 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Gisela. Her father had just gone on circuit, so she 
 could easily leave, and was soon on her way to 
 Harper's Ferry. She was there guided by a friend of 
 Caleb Stone to the house where her brother lay. 
 Into an inner room she passed without knocking, and 
 found there a young man, whom she supposed to be a 
 physician, and a colored woman, who was kneeling at 
 the foot of the cot. Gisela's step was so soft that the 
 woman did not raise her head. At a low moan from 
 the sufferer, Alice Ross, for it was she, lifted her face 
 and saw her beloved friend seated beside the bed. 
 
 " I have prayed for you and you have come," she 
 said, coming close to Gisela. " Master has gone for 
 medicine but will soon be here. This gentleman has 
 just arrived." 
 
 Gisela looked upon the wasted form of her brother, 
 then closed her eyes for a few moments. Presently 
 she glanced at the stranger with an expression of 
 inquiry, and he came forward to whisper the explana- 
 tion of his presence. 
 
 " You are a near acquaintance of his ? " he said. 
 
 " I am his sister." 
 
 " I come from her he lifted out of grief." 
 
 " From his wife ? " 
 
 "Ah, you do not know his wife is dead." 
 
 " Heavens ! Oh, Ran, my poor brother, what have 
 you been suffering, all alone your sister so far 
 away ! " 
 
 " My name is Hartmann," said the stranger, when 
 the inquiring eyes were again turned on him ; " she 
 was helped by him in need who is now my wife. I 
 am here to help." 
 
THE WANDERER'S REST. 337 
 
 When Wentworth and Gisela presently met they 
 felt less surprise than might have been expected, 
 neither having heard from the other since Stirling 
 was wounded. How could either be absent at such 
 a time ? The negro who owned the house now gave 
 it up to the friends of the wounded man. Gisela, 
 Wentworth, and Hartmann took up their abode in it, 
 Alice Darnley preparing their food in her house near 
 by. Thus they entered upon their sorrowful watch. 
 Franz was unwearied in his services, and seemed none 
 the less fresh for sitting up all night. Franz told 
 them of Stirling's adventures at Spindleton and 
 Peacefield, as Frau Hartmann had related them ; and 
 the evenings he beguiled from some of their heavi- 
 ness with the romance of his own life. Gisela did 
 not fail to write to Mathilde of her husband's devoted 
 services to them, and of their attachment to him. 
 
 The physician did not appear hopeful. The patient's 
 eyes, even when open, gave no sign of recognition, 
 and though he sometimes muttered words they could 
 not be understood. The symptoms indicated a severe 
 lesion, attention to which had been too long delayed, 
 and when at length a crisis was foreseen it was 
 with apprehension. During one day he had been 
 especially restless, and had made repeated efforts to 
 speak. The doctor then resolved to pass the night 
 at the bedside. There was nothing that the watchers 
 could do but sit with folded hands, their hearts filled 
 with forebodings, while the sufferer tossed feverishly 
 on his cot. A little before daybreak he uttered some 
 words and the physician drew close to listen, the oth- 
 ers standing around the bed. A little later his eyes 
 
33$ PINE AND PALM. 
 
 were fixed on Franz who was at the foot of his bed, 
 and a few feeble words came, " Nuella, you have 
 come ... I am glad you have come ... I 
 thought you would not leave me." 
 
 " Wandering still," said the doctor, " we must be 
 prepared for the ah ! " 
 
 " No ... It is not Nuella ... I saw her 
 die." His eyes closed, and tears fell on his cheeks. 
 
 "Who is this he speaks of?" askjd the doctor 
 quickly. 
 
 " His wife, Nuella, lately dead." 
 
 "Then if he can rally, I believe he is saved." 
 
 The doctor waved them all out of the room. The 
 greatest caution had to be taken that the patient 
 should have as little emotional agitation as possible. 
 But the improvement was maintained, and one after 
 the other Gisela and Wentworth were allowed to 
 greet him. Stirling's first smile answered the infor- 
 mation that his sister and friend were betrothed. 
 
 " I thought I could never again be happy, but 
 all is not lost/' he said. 
 
 "Right, Ran," said Gisela "don't lose courage. 
 Soon you will be at home again. Your suffering 
 in trying to save others, will make father feel 
 prouder of you than ever." 
 
 " Ought you not to be with him ? " 
 
 " Yes, Ran, he will soon return from circuit, and I 
 must be there, but Walter will remain, and this 
 kind gentleman who has come to assist us." 
 
 " Why ! " exclaimed Stirling, as Hartmann came 
 forward. " It is my comrade Franz. Have you come 
 all this way for me ? " 
 
THE WANDERER'S REST. 339 
 
 " Miss Hilda and my Mathilde can not rest, mein 
 Herr, while you were in trouble. At their home they 
 some time looked for you, but always you did not 
 come, and Miss Hilda from the frau richterrin Minott 
 got the schrecklich news. I must be here. Daily I 
 send them one telegraphisch word. First it was, 
 * alas.' Forgestern it was, ' hope.' To-day it was, ' joy.' 
 Their eyes will drip with much fun. When you may 
 travel, at Peacefield Pines find you your welcome." 
 
 " When you return," said Gisela to Franz, laying 
 her arm on the pillow around her brother's head, 
 "carry to those kind ladies our love, but say that 
 his first welcome will be in his father's house." 
 
 After Stirling's severe trials and disappointments, 
 it is satisfactory to record the fulfillment of one of his 
 hopes : he passed his Christmas at The Palms. It was 
 some weeks more before he could be removed even 
 by stages, but at last the wanderer returned to his 
 father's house and embrace. What Christmas tales 
 were told, day and night, to beguile him from sorrow- 
 ful memories tales of Leroy Island, of Wentworth's 
 man-and-woman purchases, of the Tournament, and 
 Sir Walter's combat with Ivanhoe ; also a sweet love- 
 tale ; and the story of one securing the interests 
 of his distant friend by his first law-case. 
 
 Before the year was out, Stirling also did a bit of 
 professional work. Manuel and Ruth had several 
 times written to him Colonel Rhodes, also, who told 
 him that poor Layman perished at Harper's Ferry. 
 One of these letters contained a copy of Nuella's will. 
 She had bequeathed her farm and homestead to her 
 husband ; if he should not survive her, it should go to 
 
340 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Ruth. To Ruth was at once transferred the set- 
 tlement, and she went to live on it after her marriage 
 with Rev. Arthur Farwell, Mr. Grace's successor. 
 
 But Wentworth and Stirling, as partners, argued 
 their first case in the library at The Palms. A judg- 
 ment at once paternal and judicial had to be given 
 on the conduct of Randolph in the fugitive-slave 
 cases, at Peacefield and in Kansas. After it had been 
 argued by the young men, the case was after all 
 gained by Gisela who, in a Portia-like argument, 
 pleaded that in such situation a human being flying 
 from a cruel master the master must be held tech- 
 nically to his pound of flesh. The fugitives helped 
 by Randolph were not covered by legal process ; he 
 could not assume that they were slaves at all ; and so 
 forth. The judge might have sifted these positions 
 somewhat more severely, had it not been for a very 
 serious event that happened about that time in his 
 personal affairs. It was, indeed, an event that placed 
 him in a situation not unlike that of his son. 
 
 Judge Stirling's legal career had from the first been 
 singular. He had resolutely declined cases in whose 
 justice he did not strictly believe. Lawyers laughed 
 at the youth, and predicted that he would soon out- 
 grow his scrupulosity ; but he did not ; and then 
 friends remonstrated, for he was known to be refusing 
 large retainers. But the young lawyer adhered to his 
 principle, and in the end gained such a hold on the 
 confidence of jurors and judges that his mere appear- 
 ance in a case was almost equivalent to its being won. 
 The common run of lawyers could not stand against 
 his moral and intellectual power combined, and had 
 
THE WANDERERS REST. 34* 
 
 him put on the bench to get him away from the bar, 
 On the bench judge Stirling's reputation for integrity 
 and learning spread beyond his own circuit ; and ori 
 the day before this memorable Christmas, he received 
 an appointment to the Court of Appeals. High as the 
 honor was, the judge had taken it under considera- 
 tion, for he was getting on in years, and he did not 
 like the prospect of passing so much of his time in 
 Richmond. But, before the time requested for 
 advisement had elapsed, he had to decide a case con- 
 cerning which pro-slavery feeling was much excited. 
 A hundred slaves gained freedom by the decision. 
 The family interested was influential, the agitation 
 attending the raid and execution of John Brown had 
 not yet subsided, and the manumission of these 
 slaves caused so much feeling against Judge Stirling 
 that his appointment to the Court of Appeals was 
 revoked. The probabilities were already against his 
 acceptance of the unsought honor ; but this incident 
 struck deep in the judge's mind. For the first time 
 he awakened to the fact that he had fallen upon a 
 new generation. The day he well remembered, when 
 his relative Judge Leigh had formally renounced his 
 vast bequest under John Randolph's last will, in order 
 to overthrow it in favor of another, written in sound 
 mind, liberating the Randolph slaves. That day was 
 gone. The Old Dominion had fallen under control 
 of smaller men. The judge concluded that the new 
 elements by which they were surrounded were not 
 much more congenial to himself than to his son Ran- 
 dolph ; and one morning he surprised his family by 
 announcing his retirement from the bench altogether. 
 
342 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 The judge's resolution was received by his children 
 with sympathetic expressions, with indignation at the 
 causes which had led to it, but not with exclamations 
 of regret. When he had spoken, quick glances were 
 exchanged across the table, and eyes grew brighter. 
 A curtain that had long hung motionless before a 
 future of happy scenes, now visibly swayed and might 
 possibly even probably rise. 
 
 From this time Gisela, Wentworth, and Randolph 
 held daily and prolonged consultations, and in the 
 end brought before the judge certain revolutionary 
 proposals. The Palms to be let, after the celebration 
 therein of a marriage ; the family to reside together 
 in Washington ; an office there to bear on its door the 
 words, " Stirling & Wentworth, Attorneys at Law." 
 
 " I thought," said the judge, " that I had retired 
 from the bench, but you have brought me the 
 heaviest docket I ever had to deal with in my life ; 
 and you must not be surprised if judgments are 
 reserved for a considerable time." 
 
 One case in this last calendar of the judge was 
 adjudicated very soon. He desired that the marriage 
 should not be delayed. That step taken, more light 
 might rise on the next. So it came that the first 
 warm breath of spring clothed The Palms with rare 
 and wondrous blossomings. It was Gisela's choice, 
 somewhat to the surprise of the others, that this wed- 
 ding should be translated from a fairy-tale. Whether 
 it was that she desired all neighbors to know that they 
 of The Palms bore no grudge for bygones, nor were 
 any whit less happy for provincial inappreciation of 
 the Three Greatest Men on Earth ; or whether her 
 
THE WANDERER'S REST. 343 
 
 historic sense required that the last festival of the 
 Stirlings in their old mansion should be the culmina- 
 tion of its traditional hospitalities ; so it was, that no 
 care or cost was spared in the preparations for this 
 wedding. Its magnificence now belongs to the folk- 
 lore of Fauquier. Mammas whose hearts are yet ruddy, 
 though their heads may be a little white, still tell 
 their daughters of that enchanted day when the mock- 
 ing-bird's magical music, and eye-chimes of the 
 gopher and the Judas-tree, led on to a warm full 
 moon, and lawns aglow with colored lights, amid 
 which Gisela moved as a goddess, loves and graces 
 dancing around her and her happy bridegroom through 
 the charmed night, while the baronial banquet ceased 
 not till sunrise. (For some phrases in this last sen- 
 tence the author acknowledges his indebtedness to 
 certain " Lines on a Scene at The Palms," which 
 appeared in " The Flag of '98 " just after the wed- 
 ding.) 
 
CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 FLOWER O* THE PINE AND PALM. 
 
 CATS cling to houses, dogs to their inmates. Like 
 man's faithful friend, our interest will follow those 
 who have founded their new home in Washington. 
 Twenty-seven years ago a picturesque old mansion on 
 Capitol Hill was still defending its .acre of homestead 
 from siege of brick and mortar ; and though, to-day, 
 the inclosure contains a villa residence, also a two- 
 storeyed office between that and the old mansion, 
 these buildings represent some years' history of 
 friendly invaders from The Pines and The Palms, 
 who have brought these names with them. 
 
 The office of the young law-partners in Indiana 
 Avenue soon became a center of prosperous business. 
 The only anxiety of the family now was about Ran- 
 dolph, who could not easily recover from the effects 
 of his tragical experiences. He worked with painful 
 eagerness, and even the inexhaustible wit of Pen won 
 but faint smiles to his face. An occasional cough 
 caught the quick ear of Gisela. She remembered a 
 tradition that some great-grand-uncle Randolph had 
 died of consumption, and poor Ran had to make the 
 acquaintance- of cod-liver oil. One day Wentworth 
 suggested that they should fulfill their college dream 
 of a tour in Europe, but Randolph said he desired 
 nothing so much as constant occupation. 
 
FLOWER a THE PINE AttD PALM. 345 
 
 "I'm going on a little journey in the opposite 
 direction," he added. Two weeks later he sat beneath 
 the oak in Iowa, where he last looked on the face of 
 Nuella, while a workman was setting a marble memo- 
 rial on her grave. 
 
 But it pleased dame Clotho to knit again the thread 
 she once began spinning at Peacefield, which was so 
 rudely cut by her sister Atropos. On a May after- 
 noon, Randolph, just from the West, was walking 
 through the Capitol grounds, his eyes bent on the 
 earth, when he came close on an old friend, moving 
 listlessly before him, with eyes following the birds, or 
 perhaps the cloudlets. 
 
 " Hilda Leigh ! " burst from his lips. 
 
 Hilda seemed to wake up at sound of her name, and 
 her face was filled with glad surprise. Her father, 
 summoned to Washington by the government for con- 
 sultation on a financial scheme, was then in the capi- 
 tol, and she had accepted the invitation of Spring for a 
 stroll. Randolph heard all about their ideal lovers, the 
 Hartmanns now officially established on the Leigh 
 estate, the happiest herr and frau in Peacefield. Even 
 Hilda's eyes betrayed some curiosity on learning that 
 she was only a few hundred yards from Gisela and 
 other members of a family whose wraiths had some- 
 times flitted about the Peacefield grove. Reciprocal 
 informations past, there ensued a pleasant silence, at 
 length broken by Hilda. 
 
 " Mr. Stirling, we are waiting for your promised 
 return to Peacefield." 
 
 The half-closed eyes were on him once more ; the 
 face that had appeared in vision, hovering near him 
 
346 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 in hours of anxiety and anguish, was again before him 
 beaming from its heaven of repose. The leaden 
 cloud which no zephyr, no bloom, no roundelay of the 
 Spring, could lift from his heart, now waned and 
 receded before visible harmony, which carried all sub- 
 tle-sweet meanings of zephyr, bloom and song. Had 
 Randolph replied to her last remark with what floated 
 through his mind, he might have startled this serenest 
 of maidens out of her Nirvana of unconsciousness. 
 He walked on in smiling but silent reverie. 
 
 " When is it to be, Mr. Stirling ? " 
 
 " Do you know, Miss Hilda, that if you keep on, I 
 shall go ? " 
 
 " When is it to be, Mr. Stirling ?" 
 
 " When you return." 
 
 " The first of June." 
 
 Mr. Derby Leigh discovered that his daughter was 
 a rather perilous person to introduce to Washington 
 society. She had not the remotest consciousness of 
 her peculiar charm. On the bachelor congressmen, 
 and others who buzzed around this beauty of unfamil- 
 iar type, Hilda's glowing nature shone with such equal 
 uninquiring warmth that each was in danger of feeling 
 himself the immediate jewel of her soul. She was 
 so unconscious of the spell she was weaving around 
 Randolph that she was ready to accept Gisela's invita- 
 tion to stay with her. Mr. Derby Leigh, however, had 
 read his young friend's face, and said he could not 
 leave his hotel, and he could not spare Hilda. But 
 she saw a good deal of the Stirlings and Wentworths, 
 and they contributed much to the pleasure of her 
 month in Washington. When her mother sent her a 
 
FLOWER 0* THE PINE AND PALM. 347 
 
 paragraph from a Peacefield paper saying she was the 
 "belle" of Washington just then, Hilda only said 
 " how silly," but she was glad when the time came to 
 return to The Pines. 
 
 And there, sure enough, Randolph again walked 
 with her in the grove, in growing forgetfulness of 
 the cruel winter that lay between the Indian summer 
 of their parting and this June, flowering beyond all 
 Junes since creation. Mr. Leigh introduced him to 
 the old romance of Peacefield, to haunts of famous 
 witches and gabled homes of ancient gentry ; Hilda 
 made him acquainted with the several pines, their 
 needles, the varied wild-flowers, the choir of birds 
 and their vestments. Stirling saw all these as root, 
 stem, leaf, leading to one immortal flower. Droll that 
 he should have groped about to explore New En- 
 gland, when all its history, meaning, genius, were gath- 
 ered up in this one product Hilda. Gradually there 
 was formed in the mind of this Virginian an oration 
 which would have thrilled Dane Hall, but there was no 
 audience for it here, unless he should utter it to all 
 New England as represented in Hilda amid the pines. 
 One afternoon, indeed, the new inspiration did break 
 forth, but poured itself in one word. 
 
 "Hilda!" 
 
 She stood still, but no other word followed : this 
 one soft plaintive cry out of a heart longing to recover 
 its early dream, two hands stretched out to her for 
 rescue, this was what Hilda heard and saw in that 
 solitude. Her hands met Randolph's silently ; where 
 her heart had gone her life followed. 
 
348 PINE AND PALM. 
 
 Some twenty years ago, the Wentworths, leaving 
 their little Pen with her Auntie Pen (Mrs. Basil Stirling) 
 at The Palms, Warrenton, visited the Leroys and Rev. 
 Mr. and Mrs. (Eleanor Ravenel) Stringfield in South 
 Carolina. On their return they brought two selectest 
 palmettos, (one presented by Mrs. Bertha Ravenel, 
 and the other by Mrs. Charlotte Leroy), which, 
 in warm season, stand at their door on Capitol 
 Hill to justify the name of their house. Hilda, 
 not to be out-done, has two evergreens from Peace- 
 field for sentinels at The Pines. The gardens are 
 the realm of Wesley Hampton, who found out his 
 master and demanded the right to serve out the time 
 between his flight from Savannah and the proclama- 
 tion of emancipation, and remains as master of most 
 people about the place. Under his especial sway are 
 two venerable widowers, Judge Stirling and Derby 
 Leigh, who, in the home built for them, are sometimes 
 visited by their old friend Minott. The three vener- 
 able heads, crowned with white blossoms, laugh 
 together as they see clouds that once covered 
 them floating as tinted islets in their evening sky. 
 The last time Judge Minott dreamer to the last 
 parted from his old friends, he paused to observe 
 Gisela's palms and Hilda's pines : as he looked the 
 small trees climbed high, and intertwined their 
 branches ; and through their green arch shone a fair 
 vista,- northward, southward. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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