s 
 
 2 
 
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MRS. H. V. STIT/KL. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT 
 
 N 
 
 OYEL, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. H. V. STITZEL. 
 
 God is behind all things, but all things hide God. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 PORTLAND, OREGON : 
 
 PUBLISHING HOUSE OF GEO. H. HIMES. 
 1878. 
 
ffgs 
 
 Copyright, 1878, 
 
 BY HENRY STITZEL. 
 
IIS 9*. 6 
 
 Library 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 'HEN the old Knights, from Amadis to 
 Quixote, rode forth into the domain of ad 
 venture, they did not expect that their course 
 would remain unchallenged ; and so, in these halcyon 
 days, when an author, in the shining mail of the types, 
 invades the disputed realm of literature, he cannot be 
 wholly unprepared for rude buffets and deadly thrusts. 
 And yet the following pages appear under circum 
 stances which may mitigate the asperity of that criticism 
 which cannot, in the nature of things, be escaped. Not 
 that MRS. STITZEL has passed under the friendly aegis of 
 the maxim de mortuis ; not that the book is the first ef 
 fort of an unpracticed hand; not that ill-health, distract 
 ing household cares, and philanthropical labors are 
 pleaded in extenuation of its faults but that it does not 
 fully represent the mental pdwer and culture of the 
 author. Shortly after the death of MRS. STITZEL, in 
 January last, her unfinished manuscript, in the crude and 
 imperfect condition of the first writing, was placed in the 
 hands of Mr. SAM. L. SIMPSON, who has simply con- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ducted the story to a natural conclusion, and prepared 
 the whole for publication. The author herself, had her 
 life been spared, had undoubtedly made a better book 
 of it; but her husband and friends were unwilling that 
 even the unripe fruits of her toil should perish utterly, 
 and thus, under exceptional conditions, WHAT CAME 
 OF IT is submitted to a generous and sympathizing pub 
 lic. It is, at least, the production of a good heart and a 
 bright and active mind, and in whatever else it may 
 fail, will cast no vicious stain upon the abounding river 
 of human thought. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE . . ..'. 
 WHAT CAME OF IT 
 
 WAIFS AND ESTRAYS. 
 
 - WRECKED 275 
 
 JOHN MARVIN 2 g r 
 
 COMPARISON BETWEEN VOLTAIRE AND ST. PAUL . 289 
 
 ERNEST TREMAIN 
 
 RELIGION ^ 
 
 UNCHANGEABLE LOVE .... o OI 
 
 EMINENT ENERGIES 
 
 304 
 
 LEGEND OF LIFE (A POEM) ...... 307 
 
 THE SOUL AND THE FLOWER 317 
 
 MOTHER'S GRIEF , 
 
 318 
 
 WHOSE CHURCH is THIS? 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 some distance from the public road, and but 
 a few miles from the metropolis of British 
 America, there was, in the days through 
 which this narrative extends, a little white 
 cottage, over whose front porch a rose tree and a 
 honeysuckle were striving for the victory of space, 
 challenging admiration by the sweet perfumes they 
 breathed through their dancing leaves, among which 
 the sunbeams played at hide-and-seek with the cradled 
 darlings of fond mother birds. 
 
 In a commodious chamber, with a southern aspect, 
 of this retired though pleasant dwelling, reclining in 
 an easy chair, was a venerable, white-haired woman, 
 habited in a soft gray morning gown. Her lower limbs 
 were paralyzed, and the hard lines of her aged face, as 
 well as her general manner, testified to no ordinary de 
 gree of mental disturbance and bodily pain. Some 
 times she would sit for hours abstractedly gazing out 
 of the window, and again she would seemingly be 
 possessed of the demon of unrest, muttering inco 
 herently and moaning like one in agony. At such times 
 
IO WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Echo, her grand daughter, was the only one that could 
 sooth her perturbed spirit. 
 
 At the close of the day, Echo, seated on a low chair 
 at the feet of her grandmother, Mrs. Clifford, was read 
 ing, in a sweetly modulated voice, from the family 
 Bible. The perfect form of the girl was arrayed in a 
 white dress of delicate texture, while falling over the 
 pin which secured her ruff, was a cluster of purple pan- 
 sies and creamy rose-buds. 
 
 Beneath her transparent complexion the full blue 
 veins were distinctly traceable, while the masses of her 
 rich brown hair, tinged with gold, fell luxuriantly about 
 her shoulders, and constituted the flowing frame-work 
 of a face transcendent in its loveliness. Her eyes were 
 of a brilliant brown color, with those shifting lights and 
 smouldering gleams of purple which give such eyes an 
 ineffable splendor and power of fascination. 
 
 At the commencement of our story Echo was just 
 gliding into the dreamy age of sixteen. She possessed 
 considerable book-culture for one so young, but of so 
 ciety and its ways she knew comparatively nothing. 
 She had lived a peculiarly secluded life in the little 
 white cottage, with her grandmother and an aged nurse 
 the latter having died some three months previous to 
 the beginning of this narrative. The only changes she 
 could remember in the quiet monotony of her life, were 
 the transitions of the seasons, the advent of a stranger to 
 the country parsonage, the death of her venerable nurse 
 and instructress, and the recent sickness of her beloved 
 guardian. When a child she had often wondered if she 
 was like other children who had mothers, for she had 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. II 
 
 never heard the name of her's mentioned, and she early 
 came to understand that the subject was a shrouded 
 mystery in the household. All she knew of her father 
 was from a painting of a roguish-looking boy hanging 
 in her grandmother's room, and smiling down upon her 
 with eyes marvelously like her own. 
 
 She had been taught obedience, and was forbidden to 
 speak of her parents, but, naturally enough, her thoughts 
 often invaded the terra incognita, and there built up 
 shadow-structures of the wildest character. It came to 
 be a region of enchanting dreams, where her ardent 
 imagination disported with the joyous freedom of 
 youth, her clouded parentage being at once the motive 
 and the shrine of her roaming fancies. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford belonged to a noble old family whose 
 reputation was without a blemish, and Echo's father 
 was the only Clifford whose crimes, or misfortunes, as 
 the world may be pleased to regard them, had cast a 
 stain upon the bright escutcheon of the race. Carefully 
 educated, with a pleasing face and elegant manners, she 
 loved and wedded a gallant young officer of the British 
 army, whom she accompanied to India. The courageous 
 and faithful services of her husband caused him to be 
 rapidly promoted, but having received a severe wound 
 he was transferred to England, whence, having ap 
 parently recovered, he was assigned a command at Que 
 bec, Canada. Here the old wound broke out afresh, 
 however, and he soon after died from its effects, leaving 
 one child, a bright boy, to be the care and consolation 
 of his bereaved widow. 
 
 After the death of her husband, the general, M 
 
12 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Clifford took a lease of the cottage we have described, 
 where she lived in the strictest retirement with the 
 members of her own household, which, besides herself, 
 consisted of her son, a single servant, and her son's in 
 structress, a thoroughly educated but impoverished gen 
 tlewoman, a distant relative of the family. 
 
 Cleave was a handsome, passionate, wayward boy, 
 who at times seemed to possess the attributes of an 
 angel, and at others those of a devil. In the course of 
 events he graduated at Yale with honor, and then went 
 to the celebrated University of Heidelberg, Germany, to 
 complete his studies. He resided three years in the 
 University, during which time Mrs. Clifford received 
 many loving letters from him in answer to her own, 
 which invariably inclosed generous remittances and 
 much good advice both of which were prodigally 
 wasted. Then came a strange rumor of his marriage, 
 after which his correspondence was fitful and unsatis 
 factory, and at last ceased altogether. 
 
 One Christmas night, shortly after retiring, Mrs. Clif 
 ford was awakened by a startling sound. It resembled 
 the wail of an infant, and seemed to proceed from the 
 vicinity of the door, outside. Having called her servant, 
 she opened the door with no little agitation, and, to her 
 dismay, discovered a large basket upon the doorstep, 
 which was soon ascertained to contain a girl baby, 
 warmly wrapped in several shawls, to one of which was 
 pinned a note in the hand-writing of her son. With 
 dimmed eyes she read : 
 
 "DEAR MOTHER : 
 
 This child is mine. Take her to your heart in the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 13 
 
 place of your wayward but loving son. My wife was 
 false, and my hands are stained with the blood of her 
 destroyer. Let the memory of the deed, of me, and of 
 her that was once mine, fall into the abyss of oblivion ; 
 but for my sake, I implore yon, receive the child and 
 rear her as your own. We shall probably never meet 
 on earth, but will, I hope, in the shadowless hereafter. 
 Till then, farewell ! CLEAVE." 
 
 It was after reading this letter that Mrs. Clifford sank 
 under the first paralytic stroke. Time had mitigated 
 the poignancy of her grief somewhat by thrusting the 
 bright face of the child between her and the shadow of 
 her son's misfortune. She hoped, in her sequestered 
 cottage life, to shield her darling Echo from all knowl 
 edge of the sins and follies of the world, and the dis 
 honor of her parents. She now, however, saw the fool 
 ishness of withdrawing herself from all social relations 
 and public interests. She had outlived the companions 
 of former years, and her life, but for the summer radi 
 ance that breathed about her beautiful protege, was as 
 desolate as an arctic winter. At her death the pension 
 which sufficed for their moderate way of living would 
 cease entirely, and her beautiful charge would be left 
 alone in the world without protection and support. In 
 that event the tender nursing which had developed the 
 innocence and purity of her darling's character, and the 
 diligence with which she had been guarded from the 
 knowledge and contamination of worldly evil, would 
 illy fit .her for the trials and temptations which she must 
 inevitably meet in the untried ways of life. 
 
 About a fortnight from our first glimpse of the quiet 
 life in the cottage, the Rev. John Hoberg, rector of the 
 
14 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 parish, called upon Mrs. Clifford, and, to his surprise, 
 was cordially received by the old lady, who was greatly 
 improved in mind. It transpiring during the interview 
 that the rector, accompanied by his son and daughter, 
 the latter a young lady of Echo's age, was contempla 
 ting a visit to Quebec on the following day, Mrs. Clif 
 ford proposed that Echo should accompany the party, 
 which was readily acceded to, the clear-headed and some 
 what belligerent clergyman thoroughly approving of 
 Mrs. Clifford's newly formed design with regard to the 
 practical education of her grandchild. 
 
 "Right? Of course you are right, my dear lady. 
 The fruit of that forbidden tree conies to us all, but we 
 can make it a tree of .life. Ignorance is not bliss; it is 
 death. There is no room on earth for the idler and the 
 coward, and, I fear, no hope in Heaven!" 
 
 Mrs. Clifford winced a little at this sturdy way of 
 putting the question, but she knew that he was right, 
 and was only anxious to relieve her past error by allow 
 ing Echo to take her place among the struggling mil 
 lions of mankind, and work out a destiny of her own. 
 These conclusions cost her a heart-rending effort, but 
 she was strong of purpose when the path of duty be 
 came plain, and no selfish yearning for love and com 
 panionship in her old age could now deter her from the 
 course she had determined to pursue. 
 
 It was nine o'clock the next morning when Echo 
 kissed her grandmother good-bye for the tenth time, 
 and said: "Mrs. Hoberg is coming to stay with you 
 while I am away, so you will not miss me so very much, 
 will you, dear?" 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. t5 
 
 " Docs the eavth miss the sun, or the plant its leaves 
 and flowers, Echo?" 
 
 "Then whv do you wish me to go, grandmother?" 
 
 "Because, child, I have kept you too much secluded, 
 and it is time that you knew something of the world. 
 But Mr. Hoberg'is waiting; a happy Journey and safe 
 return, my darling!" 
 
 It was a transcendcntly lovely morning. The earth 
 was flooded with the liquid gold of the sunlight, and 
 the stainless dome of heaven was a dream of the purest 
 violet. Song, fragrance, youth, hope, beauty, crowned 
 the perfect day, and these, with the exhilaration of the 
 ride, and cheerful company, and the nameless stir and 
 enthusiasm of her undisciplined heart, made the occasion 
 linger, long after, like a glittering arch, in Echo's 
 memory. 
 
 Having arrived at Montreal and secured their state 
 rooms on the steamer for Quebec, there was yet time 
 enough at their disposal for a ramble about the city. 
 From one of the towers of the Catholic Cathedral, three 
 of which rise to the height of two hundred and twenty 
 feet, they had a magnificent view of the city and sur 
 rounding country. The superb island upon which the 
 city stands was flooded with sunshine, and lovely beyond 
 expression. The massive quay, the splendid streets, the 
 shifting gleams of the white sails on the sparkling river, 
 and the sombre splendor of the northern forests com 
 bined to fill up a picture of surpassing beauty. 
 
 Having visited' the principal buildings, including 
 Government House, the Church of England, and the 
 Bank, the party repaired to the steamer, and, in due 
 
1 6 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 course of time, arrived at their destination. On the 
 Friday following they visited the fortress, or Gibraltar 
 of America, as it is called, which is built upon an 
 enormous rock standing out boldly to the height of 
 three hundred and fifty feet above the river. They 
 spent a delightful week in Quebec. Before embarking 
 for home, they ascended one of the steeples of the city 
 for a farewell view. To the imaginative soul of Echo 
 the curtain of the past lifted as she gazed, and the Plains 
 of Abraham were re-peopled with the shades of herees. 
 Upon the sky great clouds, luminous with a soft splen 
 dor, roll back in fantastic shapes and disclose the star- 
 sown blue of illimitable space. But hark! what breaks 
 the stillness of the lovely June night? What means 
 the moving mass of shadows on yonder green-gemmed, 
 silver-girded Island of Orleans? The shadows are upon 
 the water, now, and pass like slow, sailing clouds, to the 
 deeper shade of the moon-lit cliffs of Abraham. Now 
 shade after shade moves laboriously up the rocky steep. 
 The shadows are troops; it is a storming column ! 
 Up, up, steadily up, they go with bated breath and 
 fiercely beating hearts! What are their thoughts? Do 
 they think of to-morrow, and yesterday, and the years 
 long gone? Surely their minds are not wholly occupied 
 by the arduous labor and the petty details of their ter 
 rible enterprise! No; thoughts of home and dear ones 
 and the sweets of life come to them in a thousand se 
 ductive shapes; but they are climbing to glory, and they 
 persevere! And then an electric flash of the rapt 
 maiden's soul reveals the tragedy of the morrow. It 
 is yet gray dawn when the vision opens, and an army 
 
\VJIAf CAME OF It. ^1^ 
 
 is drawn up in battle array on the plains above! Now 
 the risen sun flashes on scarlet uniforms, golden epaulets, 
 and polished steel! The command to advance is given, 
 and the serene summer morning is suddenly clouded 
 and roaring with battle! The stormy pageant passes; 
 Montcalm is wounded unto death, and the heroic Wolfe 
 has fallen with the memorable words of triumph on his 
 lips! 
 
 Echo started and blushed as a hand touched her arm, 
 and a kind voice said : "What, dreaming again ? I 
 really fear that you will yet vanish into a myth as beau 
 tiful and unattainable as your classic namesake." It 
 was the younger Mr. Hoberg who spoke. 
 
 "Lo, Narcissus speaks!" said his playful sister; "I 
 should like to see the nymph that would pine away for 
 any modern youth! But, brother mine, do you not 
 think the scene enchanting?*' 
 
 o 
 
 "Exceedingly so." His gaze was lingering upon the 
 fair face of Echo, and not the glowing landscape. 
 
 "Do you not believe," said Echo, turning to the pas 
 tor, "that the loveliness of earth is but a shadow of the 
 infinite glory of Heaven?*' 
 
 "Are you not happier for believing so, my child?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 " Papa," interrupted the daughter, " we Will surely be 
 too late for the boat if we linger here." 
 
 "Even so, my daughter; it is time to go." 
 
 The return to Montreal was accomplished without 
 incident worthy of note. Their carriage awaited them 
 at the wharf; and after a pleasant ride of short duration^ 
 
*8 WHAT CAME OF if. 
 
 Echo was bending over her grandmother with tender 
 caresses a radiant wreath of summer over the hoary 
 serenity of winter. 
 
 In the morning Echo gathered a fresh bouquet of 
 flowers for her grandmother, who seemed to be wrapped 
 in tranquil slumber, and placed them where her gaze 
 would rest upon them the first thing when she awoke. 
 
 But, alas! in the dead hours of the night the in 
 evitable visitor had silently entered the cottage door and 
 quenched the flickering lamp of that aged life. The 
 wrinkled hands were folded upon her pulseless bosom, 
 and there was nothing left but the way-worn frame 
 the devastation and mystery of death ! 
 

 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'HEN the funeral rites were over, Echo was 
 taken to the house of the warm-hearted 
 pastor. Tenderly helping her out of the 
 carriage, he whispered, " Fear not, my child, 
 the Father of the orphan is yours now; it will be 
 His good pleasure to attend you in every trial. Learn 
 to lean upon His arm with child-like trust; He is 
 mighty and full of mercy and loving-kindness. We 
 accept you as a gracious charge from Him, and this 
 house shall be your home." Then gently leading the 
 stricken girl to an easy chair, he called cheerfully, 
 " Come, mother, welcome our daughter home!" 
 
 Although Mr. Hoberg had a large and growing 
 family of his own, his heart and his home, to use a 
 homely comparison, were in one respect like a city om 
 nibus there was always room for one more. His w r ife, 
 though a kind-hearted woman, inwardly sighed as she 
 endeavored to greet the poor girl in a motherly way, 
 .and thought of the lean family larder. Upon intima 
 ting her prudent course to her husband, however, he 
 replied with his favorite quotation " Seek not ye what 
 ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of 
 doubtful mind. But rather seek ye the kingdom of God, 
 and all these things shall be added unto you." 
 
 About a fortnight before Christmas, as the family at 
 
20 \VllAT cAMfe OF IT. 
 
 the parsonage were grouped one evening about a cheer 
 ful fire in the sitting-room, one of Mr. Hoberg's 
 younger sons, who had just returned from the city with 
 the mail, handed the father a package of periodicals and 
 letters. One of the letters was from his son, Arthur, 
 at Quebec, and announced the intention of that young 
 gentleman of spending the holidays at home. lie was 
 recently graduated in medicine, and was anxious to locate 
 for practice in some town or village with miasmatic 
 accessories and a general disposition to derange its 
 digestion and break its bones. 
 
 The other letter was from Mrs. Ainsley, a wealthy 
 invalid lady, and an old friend of the pastor's, to whom 
 she wrote for assistance in procuring a suitable young 
 lady to live with her as a companion. The young lady 
 in question was to be of good character, educated and 
 amiable. 
 
 Echo was all attention as these things were being an 
 nounced, and then, looking towards Mr. Hobcrg with 
 kindling expectation in her eyes, inquired : 
 
 "Do you think that I have the qualifications required 
 by the lady?" 
 
 " Most assuredly you have," he replied, smiling. 
 
 "You will then be so kind as to recommend me at 
 once, will you not? " 
 
 " Is our daughter weary of her home so soon?" 
 
 "No, indeed; but I must be doing something for 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, dear, your happiness and prosperity are a pre 
 cious charge to me. The roses have been fading from 
 your cheeks of late, and perhaps a change and an ad- 
 
WHAT CAME OF 1T 21 
 
 ditional interest in the actualities of life will be best for 
 you. You cannot know how sincerely we shall regret 
 to lose your companionship, but, we shall not lose 
 you entirely, I am sure, and our prayers \vill attend you 
 always." 
 
 " Thank you, a thousand times, my dear friend; wher 
 ever I go my heart shall not stray from those who have 
 been so kind to me. When do you think of writing?'' 
 
 " Immediately, and if the answer prove favorable, 
 Arthur can accompany you to Mrs. Ainslie's." 
 
 The pastor's recommendation having been favorably 
 received, the necessary details as to salary, duties, and 
 the like, were readily agreed upon, and preparations 
 were made for Echo's departure. 
 
 It was three days before Christmas. The fire blaz 
 ing upon the cleanly-sw r ept hearth illuminated the 
 pleasant sitting room of the parsonage with a cheerful 
 glow. The family had accepted an invitation to dinner 
 and Echo, at her own request, was left alone. The 
 snow had been falling in large, feathery flakes for some 
 time, weaving its beautiful ermine upon the bare limbs 
 of the trees, and covering the earth with a star-white 
 robe, embellished with crystal daisies. After her lonely 
 dinner, Echo seated herself at the piano and, running 
 her fingers softly over the keys, began humming an old 
 hymn tune, a great favorite of her grandmother. While 
 absorbed in music, she had not heard the arrival of a 
 horseman at the gate, or the manly step which had 
 halted upon the threshold of the apartment. She was 
 unconscious of the admiring gaze of a pair of dark 
 grey eyes, so steadily regarding her, and of the waves 
 
5*2 WHAT CAMfe 01? IT. 
 
 of emotion passing over the intellectual face of the 
 noble, dignified gentleman, who stood as if rooted to 
 the spot, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of betraying 
 his presence. As the sounds ceased, the gentleman sud 
 denly became aware of the awkardness of his position, 
 and, stepping slightly back, knocked upon the open 
 door. Crossing the room, Echo stood face to face with 
 Arthur. It was the first time they had met since her 
 bereavement. Her face flushed hotly beneath his ardent 
 gaze as he bowed over her hand, saying, in a thrilling 
 voice, " Have you no words with which to welcome a 
 homesick prodigal? " 
 
 " Your mother will be delighted to see you, Mr. Ho- 
 berg," she said with some confusion. 
 
 " Will you not be kind enough to call me Arthur? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it," 
 
 "Is mother the only one who will be happier because 
 of my return ? " 
 
 " No. I presume that every individual member of 
 the family will rejoice at your presence. Please be 
 seated;" with a wave of the white hand and a gracious 
 smile. " Your family will be agreeably surprised at 
 your return, as they were not expecting you until to 
 morrow." 
 
 "No doubt; but all this reminds me of the French 
 aphorism about language being invented for the pur 
 pose of concealing our thoughts; you have not an 
 swered my former question." 
 
 " I have forgotten what it was." 
 
 Rising from his chair, and seating himself at her side: 
 u You were not wont to be so absent-minded. Are 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 23 
 
 you not glad to see me?" He took her hand as he ques 
 tioned her, and held it with a gentle pressure. 
 
 Her face flushed crimson as she endeavored to answer 
 with indifference, " Of course." 
 
 There was a sound of bells, and a stamping of feet at 
 the entrance. The door opened and then came expres 
 sions of surprise and pleasure at the presence of Arthur, 
 and the evening was spent in agreeable conversation. 
 The mother's eyes sparkled with pride and the father 
 smiled approval as Arthur told of a difficult surgical 
 operation which he had successfully performed one 
 which had spread his fame widely and marked him as a 
 rising man. Every face expressed sympathy as he 
 spoke of the loneliness and despair of the three weary 
 months of waiting for the patients that never came. 
 But now all this had changed. His signal success in a 
 notable case had suddenly opened the door of fortune 
 to him, and henceforth his way was broad and clear. 
 Thus, after the manner of young men, Arthur grew 
 eloquent about himself to the delight of his partial au 
 ditory, and the hours sped on fragrant wings. After 
 reading of the Scriptures, and prayer by the good-souled 
 pastor, they all joined in a vocal and instrumental praise 
 concert, and the delightful evening was concluded. 
 
 Arthur dreamed of many delicious things that night, as 
 became him, and then drifted off into a series of vague 
 though startling adventures with a black cat, from 
 whose machinations he was only relieved by the inter 
 position of a maiden with nut-brown hair and magnetic 
 eyes* 
 
 Not to steep an obvious fact in ethereal moonshine j it 
 
24 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 may as well be said that the young people were in love 
 with each other. In due course of time, and in the 
 usual way, their mutual emotions w r ere interpreted and 
 given a local habitation and a name. 
 
 They were engaged to be married. 
 
 And right here the reader is on slippery ground; for 
 if the course of true love runs smooth, the palatial plan 
 of this fiction will tumble into ruin and disclose a spec 
 tacle too ordinary to be attractive. We shall see. 
 
 The salary offered Echo was liberal, and she insisted 
 on fulfilling the engagement for a year. By that time, 
 Arthur would be fully established in his noble profes 
 sion, and then the twin souls could flow together under 
 the arch of Hymen. 
 
 The thought of dwelling in the same city with her 
 beloved, mitigated the sorrow of the young lady at part 
 ing from the kind family at the parsonage. 
 
 Amid kisses, smiles and tears, Arthur helped his 
 fiancee into the sleigh and they were off. She kept her 
 handkerchief fluttering farewells in the air, and her eyes 
 filled with tears as she looked back and saw the family 
 group still lingering in the cold air for a last look the 
 stately, reverend form of Mr. Hoberg the center of all. 
 
 "Do you remember our last summer's visit?" said 
 Arthur, as the mettled horses dashed along the snowy 
 track. 
 
 "How could I ever forget it?" she replied. 
 
 " I think that I never fully appreciated the beauties 
 of nature until then; it was on that day that I realized 
 for the first time how dear you were to me." 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 25 
 
 Their eyes met, and she dreamily murmured : " How 
 sweet it is to be beloved!" 
 
 " My darling, earth contains no greater boon. With 
 out the presence of love the human heart were an empty 
 chamber of funeral echoes. It is the fragrance of life, 
 the flower of virtue, and the fruit of hope!" 
 
 " Do you not think that excessive love is sinful? I 
 have tried to exorcise the deep feeling which at times 
 seems to absorb every other faculty of my being for fear 
 of denying the dues of God alone." She said this softly, 
 with tender pathos, as she nestled closely to his side. 
 
 " I hope that you will not succeed, dearest, for love is 
 not to be restrained. It is the divine elixir which nour 
 ishes the soul to the fullest, freest, sweetest life a 
 glowing cup of joy in which doubt should cast no shadow 
 and sin no stain." 
 
 " But you must admit," said Echo, thoughtfully, " that 
 it causes much sorrow and suffering." 
 
 "Yes, dear, just as everything good and beautiful in 
 nature may be wronged by our conception of it, per 
 verted to ignoble uses and vitiated by impurity; and 
 much more so all human faculties and sensations." 
 
 " Yes, it must be so, and I am thankful that it is. 
 Since you assured me of your affection, vistas of happi 
 ness, golden, immeasurable, have opened up before me, 
 and the very air is odorous with heavenly wings. Will 
 it endure, do you think?" 
 
 "God grant it, my Echo; rest assured that I shall 
 toil and pray for the perpetuation of our beautiful 
 estate." 
 
 But the delightful journey was concluded all too soon, 
 
26 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 and Echo, with the warm pressure of his hand at part 
 ing yet lingering in her veins, was ushered into the 
 magnificent mansion of Mrs. Ainsley, where, in a sump 
 tuously furnished drawing-room, the lady was waiting 
 to receive her. She was a small, faded woman, and in 
 the bloom of her youth had been a handsome blonde; 
 but in her manner there was an appearance of weak 
 ness and indecision. 
 
 A bright, amiable and attractive girl like Echo could 
 infuse new life into her stale existence, and they were 
 soon on the friendliest terms with each other. There 
 was one pale cloud of trouble, however. Mrs. Ainsley 
 had a son then traveling in Europe, upon whose sus 
 ceptible heart she began to fear that her lovely com 
 panion would produce a dangerous impression. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 'ARIS! the gay, volatile, magnificent, when 
 calm, but dark and terrible when convulsed 
 with rage, laboring with in-bred wrongs and 
 thundering forth complaint! The beautiful 
 city, as we look upon it, is marked by mighty changes. 
 A new god, Equity, is enthroned upon the ruins of 
 splendid monarchies, and a new phrase, u The inalien 
 able rights of man," is in the mouths of Frenchmen. 
 The people have refused to give that brow-sweat which, 
 under the providence of God, is the price of bread and 
 all earthly goods, for the barren splendor of hereditary 
 royalty, and the glittering pageant has dissolved. 
 
 Standing in the Elysian Fields, in the midst of classic 
 splendor, you are led to ask yourself, Where now are 
 the graceful fancies, the fertile imaginations which 
 shaped these lovely fountains and pillars of gilded 
 bronze, these superb marble statues, and invested them 
 with the glowing life of genius? There, too, stands 
 the grand triumphal arch erected by Napoleon in com 
 memoration of his Italian victories a stately suggestion 
 of the mockery of ambition, and of the foible side of 
 the iron Emperor. What dizzy triumphs were those 
 of Napoleon, and yet France, the monument of his 
 glory, is the sounding sepulchre of his perished vanity! 
 As the years sweep along, the multitudes thronging in 
 
28 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 the city he enriched with a thousand victories will forget 
 him, and only along the sepulchral corridors of history 
 will the great name resound. The breath of posthu 
 mous fame has a taint of the charnel, and its living voice 
 is plebian with garlic and cabbage. 
 
 O Time! shapeless and absorbent shade! how the 
 good, the brave, the beautiful, feed thy monster famine! 
 Gone are the thinkers whose minds and hands enriched 
 the Elysian Fields with works of art; but the solid 
 structure of their massy thoughts remains to instruct 
 and gladden us still. 
 
 As our feet tread the soil of the Place de la Concorde 
 the red spectre of the guillotine, the shame and horror 
 of France, darkens upon the mind, and there moves 
 again the ghastly procession of doomed beauty, valor, 
 wisdom and royalty. It was here that the mills of ret 
 ribution ground out punishment to Robespierre, and 
 the despoiler was in turn despoiled. Again, as the 
 vision passes, the beautiful head of Charlotte Cord ay, 
 bends beneath that historic blade, and again the indig 
 nant clouds flush crimson at the scene! 
 
 But the crime of Paris is not unique. The Reign of 
 Terror goes back into the dim history of the past, and 
 blackens the stream of tradition. The human race has 
 fought its way to the dawn, and stands forth now but 
 half redeemed, grim with battle-blood and scars. Alas! 
 when shall the happy day arrive when intellect shall be 
 crowned above the passions, and the jewel-clasp of 
 mercy shall bind all hearts in universal love? 
 
 On the banks of the Seine and in sight of the Champs 
 Elysees, or Elysian Fields, as it is more frequently 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 29 
 
 called, which is only a continuation of the grand garden 
 of the Tuilleries, there stood a magnificent old mansion 
 which nature had done much and art still more to beau 
 tify and adorn. The taste and refinement displayed in 
 furnishing and embellishing this spacious mansion 
 within was altogether in keeping with the acute dis 
 cernment and application of an elegant taste in the o'r- 
 namentation of the exterior. A portly, pleasant-faced 
 old lady standing at the casement said, in a mixture of 
 French and bad English, " Wont ma chere madame see ze 
 beauty of ze sunseW The interrogatory was addressed 
 to some one within, who nonchalantly approached the 
 window and looked forth with a restless air which be 
 tokened a heavy heart or preoccupied mind. The indi 
 vidual was a lady of attractive presence, whose form, 
 features and general expression suggested cultivation 
 of mind and purity of character. The dark face, in its 
 frame of silver hair, at once arrested marked attention. 
 Her voice, when she addressed some careless remark to 
 the lady mentioned, was observed to be low and musi 
 cal, with a strange quality in its tone capable of thrilling 
 effect. She was arrayed in deep mourning, only re 
 lieved by a ruff of rare old lace at the wrists and neck. 
 There was a pathetic, hungry look in her deep dark 
 eyes, haunting the beholder with their mournful splen 
 dor, like a melody of Beethoven. 
 
 Does the reader detect any resemblance between this 
 lady and our young heroine? There should be; it is 
 Lady Clifford, the mother of Echo. Gazing a moment 
 on the fading pageant of day she returned to her seat 
 
30 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 with a heavy sigh. Her old nurse, Ninee, closed the 
 window and drew the curtains, saying, 
 
 " Mais ayons, 'patience, Madame" 
 
 Patience, Ninee, is the frozen rock to which we cling 
 in the shipwreck of hope the dernier resort of broken 
 souls. And then there must be hope, or patience has a 
 darker name despair," she said wearily, as if in revery. 
 
 " Je n'en doute pas, my Lady." 
 
 "Ah, Ninee, you will never learn English, I fear." 
 
 " Cest vrai. n 
 
 " Only think, Ninee," said the lady, after a pause, " my 
 little one is almost seventeen, that is, if she be living. 
 If I could see her only once and know that she is pros 
 perous, a heavenly content would be mine. 
 
 "A thousand questions concerning her recur in my 
 mind. Has he taught her to hate me, or does she think 
 me dead? What have I done that the duties and priv 
 ileges of a mother should be taken from me and intrusted 
 to a stranger," she continued. Though the criminal 
 injustice of believing a wife unchaste without positive 
 proof was detestable, the prodigious misdeed which sev 
 ered the tender relationship between mother and child is 
 more inhuman and revolting. 
 
 She mused awhile and resumed, as was her custom, 
 talking at instead of to her nurse : 
 
 " Maternity is the crowning dignity of womanhood; 
 it has a secret, ennobling influence upon the character, 
 and elevates the purposes of life. It broadens and 
 deepens the subtle currents of the mind and fructifies 
 the soul. The unselfish forbearance of a mother ap 
 proaches, at a tender distance, the immeasurable goodness 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 3! 
 
 of Christ, the divine kindness that burst in crimson 
 flower on the cross! Oh, the blind jealousy of my 
 misjudging husband! The way to make me the false, 
 vile thing he thought me, was to deprive me of the in 
 nocent trusting eyes and clinging arms of my little one. 
 But, all these years, the thought of her has saved me. 
 The hope that we will ultimately be united has sus 
 tained me in every trial." 
 
 " Ze 'ell is hot with zoul like Monsieur." 
 
 " You mistake, Ninee, the fire is quite out, or never 
 was." 
 
 " // faut qu^il soit ralhune, for Monsieur" 
 
 " It is no satisfaction to me to think that his injustice 
 will be punished." 
 
 " J^on ai bien de la joie" 
 
 " For shame, Ninee ! your revengeful feelings are 
 altogether tin-Christian, but it is growing late, we must 
 retire." 
 
 " Je DOUS souhaite tine bonne unit, ]\Iadamc" 
 
 "Thank you, Ninee." 
 
 Strange dreams, that night, hovered about her un 
 easy pillow. 
 
 "Faint, sweet sounds came floating down 
 From wings of gold." 
 
 An indescribable calm enveloped her being. She 
 seemed to float in central space, surrounded by im 
 penetrable vapor. Presently the woofy clouds rolled 
 away, and she saw an enormous tree, whose vast roots, 
 like precious veins of metal, spread over all the earth, 
 and whose branches towered and spread into the bound- 
 
32 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 less regions of the infinite. Over all was a magnificent 
 drapery of foliage, white, black and red. While she 
 was }^et gazing in surprise and wonder at the phe 
 nomenon, a vibration of the fragrant air gently shook 
 the tender leaves from the branches. Some curled and 
 withered as they fell, while others were swept down 
 a broad avenue, where, drifted by chilling winds, they 
 fell into silver-fretted boxes. Then there sounded a 
 mournful symphony, like the wail of nature over her 
 dead children. Again other leaves were blown along 
 the avenue where sunshine and shadow wavered to 
 gether, but the greater mass of leaves was piled in the 
 shade, where the ground was rough and sterile, and the 
 soft, smooth spots of green appeared more charming for 
 the contrast. Upon one leaf she saw that her own name 
 was written, and her whole interest was immediately 
 concentrated in watching its movements. A propitious 
 breeze wafted it gently along the sunny side of the 
 avenue. Anon the wind suddenly changed, and, catch 
 ing the leaf up fiercely, hurled it along in the darkness. 
 While the invisible heart-strings of Nature wailed and 
 shrieked in sympathy, the heavy rain-drops smote it 
 sharply, and it was bruised and frayed on the cruel 
 rocks. At last the sorely wounded leaf sank upon a 
 rain-smitten bed at the end of the avenue, ad was blown 
 no more. A beautiful and fragrant little leaf then fell 
 upon its bosom, soothing its pain, and then there came 
 a sweet memory of the parent tree, borne upon the 
 angelic murmur of its waving foliage, and the full 
 splendor of the sun flowed over its beauty. 
 
 Lady Clifford awoke with a start, and the golden 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 33 
 
 morning was aflame in the lace curtains of her boudoir. 
 From a neighboring mansion came the sound of music, 
 and she arose with a strange presentiment of happiness 
 in her heart. In relating the strange dream to her old 
 nurse, she said: " I shall always belijve, Ninee, that the 
 dream was prophetic, sufficiently interpreted to my own 
 spirit. I am sure that my little daughter, grown 
 womanly and beautiful, will yet be restored to me. But 
 what shall I do in the meantime?" 
 
 " If Madame would seek happiness," said Ninee. 
 
 "Happiness! What is happiness, Ninee, but a false 
 light along the path of duty an ideal entity that 
 mortals never grasp." With this philosophic expres 
 sion, so entirely at variance with the prophetic move 
 ments of her own bosom, Lady Clifford relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 Just here it is well enough to develop something 
 further concerning the hidden springs of this romance. 
 The man whom Mr. Clifford had so brutally attacked 
 was simply the victim of an unhappy circumstance. He 
 was privately, or, more correctly speaking, clandestinely 
 engaged to be married to a young lady friend of the 
 Cliffords, and, imprudently, the Clifford residence, with 
 out the knowledge of the husband, had afforded a tryst- 
 ing place to the lovers. Love matters of this kind usu 
 ally go wrong, somehow, and, in this instance, carried 
 destruction to the bosom of a family. To forward this 
 sinister result there was an lago, appearing among men 
 under the ordinary surname of Legrand. Pierre Le- 
 grand was a distant relative of Lady Clifford, and a 
 discarded suitor for her hand, He was next in the line 
 
34 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 of heirship to the immense fortune held by his cousin, 
 and was therefore animated by the powerful motives of 
 greed and revenge in attempting her destruction. After 
 the flight of Mr. Clifford he had assumed the place of 
 best friend and counsellor to the stricken lady, and 
 swore that he would follow the husband over the whole 
 earth, if need be, to recover the child. 
 
 He was gone a year on this business and returned to 
 report that both father and child were dead. Then, 
 insidiously, he set himself to work in the hope of ulti 
 mately winning the heart of the mother; but she, poor 
 woman, mourned continually, and gave him no notice. 
 As the years rolled on, her purse was perpetually the 
 prey of his rapacity, but his passionate appeals for her 
 sympathy and affection, made no impression on her 
 stony heart. When she told him her dream and said : 
 " My daughter is not dead," he affected to give her 
 some encouragement, suggesting with a sigh, that he 
 might have been deceived. 
 
 In pursuance of the ideas suggested by this conver 
 sation, Monsieur Pierre Legrand, amply supplied with 
 money, was soon sailing over the ocean for America. 
 
 Six months of waiting passed, and then one day 
 there came the following telegram from the New 
 
 World : 
 
 " NEW YORK, April 6, 18 
 
 LADY CLIFFORD: 
 
 Your hopes are verified. Will return immediately 
 with mademoiselle. . PIERRE LEGRAND." 
 
 On reading this brief line ah, upon such a slender 
 thread hangs human happiness! Lady Clifford was for 
 a moment overcome with emotion. Thenceforth the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 35 
 
 rose of happiness blossomed in her delicate cheek, so 
 that Ninee said one day 
 
 "Ma foil you look like one that has come from 
 Heaven, Madame ! " 
 
 " You are wrong, then, Ninee I only see the gates of 
 Heaven." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CROSSING the Atlantic in the same vessel 
 with our wily friend Legrand, was a troop of 
 ballet girls. Among these gay and worldly 
 terpsichoreans, who were going out to conquer 
 anew, in the interest of art, the mighty land of Colum 
 bus, was a handsome girl with blue eyes, delicately 
 arched eyebrows, " and long light hair. Her form, 
 naturally fine, had been developed by the training of 
 her profession, and there was upon her that glowing 
 vesture of physical beauty which has again and again 
 desolated the empires of this world by the quarrels it 
 has provoked. Her heart was as dry as a pin-cushion, 
 and no more the fountain of noble impulses than is that 
 article of household economy. The world is bleak with 
 the loveliness of such creatures, and little space need be 
 accorded to a resume of her coarse attractions. 
 
 It eminently became M. Legrand, both as a man and 
 a Frenchman, to make overtures for an acquaintance 
 with this young lady, a consummation which tolerable 
 features, loud attire and a waxed mustache happily for 
 warded. Your elegant villain inevitably drifts towards 
 feminine allurements of the kind displayed by the dash 
 ing Zarina, and the pair were soon on terms of the 
 closest intimacy. They were well met. Perhaps they 
 were to become necessary to each other in the mazes of 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 37 
 
 the plot which the cunning brain of Legrand was busily 
 weaving. 
 
 Sunset on the open sea is always a solemn and beau 
 tiful pageant. Looking on such a scene we realize the 
 inspired splendor of Byron's ovation, and the sound of 
 the great islander's harp fitly accompanies the marching 
 world of waters. 
 
 " Roll on, thou deep blue ocean, roll 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain !" 
 
 The glory of the parting sun was marshalled on the 
 sea, as Legrand and Zarina paced the deck of the good 
 ship " Achilles." 
 
 " Very true, monsieur," said Zarina, gracefully cling 
 ing to Legrand's arm, " the emerald sea is all the more 
 beautiful for a golden setting." 
 
 " Everything on earth is the more beautiful for a 
 golden setting, mademoiselle," said the gentleman, with 
 a meaning glance towards his companion. The glance 
 was returned sympathetically, and then he resumed : 
 
 " There is a difference, mademoiselle; the sea has no 
 care, but, we, Ma foi! must scheme and labor for the 
 golden setting of our lives." 
 
 "Alas, it is true, monsieur!" And thus these worthy 
 people enjoyed the scene. 
 
 But a fatality lurked in the beauty of the sunset. 
 Strange, copper- hued clouds suddenly arose as the 
 mighty orb dropped beneath the horizon. The bronzed 
 mariners recognized the signs of danger, and the sails 
 were close-reefed against the expected tempest. The 
 vessel, with bared arms, head to wind, was soon rocking 
 
38 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 gently on the swell of the ocean, bravely awaiting the 
 struggle. Then there were vivid flashes, and the sud 
 den crash of angry thunder. A few flying rain-drops 
 struck the deck like bullets of steel; there was a sudden 
 flash of foam to windward and the storm was on ! A 
 staunch ship struggling with a storm is a sublime sight, 
 and the " Achilles " went into the battle with the pres 
 tige of a hundred victories. 
 
 When the storm was at its height, amid the roar of 
 the waters, the shrieks of the timid and the prayers of 
 the faithful, Zarina, clinging to a pillar of the great 
 cabin, was pale but calm. 
 
 Legrand, white and terror-stricken, approached her, 
 and she turned upon him with a sneer. 
 
 " Monsieur Legrand, them flower of chivalry and soul 
 of daring! how fares it with thee? Mon Dieu! the 
 man is no longer a man he is a rag! A woman does 
 not love a rag, monsieur, and yet you ask my love! 
 Come, it is too bad of you to abandon your beloved to 
 the tender mercies of a post !" 
 
 "Have done, mademoiselle; it is not the storm I fear, 
 but the prayers of yon gray-haired woman. Pardieu! 
 a man has lived too long who has lived to be afraid of 
 his grandmother !" 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur, but it seems that you are not a 
 saint since you tremble at the spectacle of an old woman 
 in prayer !" 
 
 " Ah, wicked mademoiselle, the saints are a long 
 while dead !" 
 
 u Ha, ha, ha ! the sword of my preux chevalier is 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 39 
 
 broken, yet he will not fly to the consolations of the 
 Church !" 
 
 The storm came on with redoubled fury, and the ves* 
 sel seemed to be breaking up beneath their feet. The 
 last remaining fibre of courage in the bosom of Legrand 
 gave way under the additional shock, and he fell upon 
 his knees with a shriek of prayer in which it could be 
 made out that he renounced all his impious schemes and 
 vowed the remainder of his life to religion. 
 
 Amid all this scene of terror, there rang out an ap 
 palling sound. The reckless dancer, with a flush of 
 fury on her cheek, was clinging like a serpent to the 
 painted post, and fairly screaming with demoniac laugh 
 ter at the pitiable sight the man presented. It was 
 horrible ! 
 
 " Hush, Zarina, we are lost !" moaned the man. 
 
 " Lost ! you fool ! Nay, not so. You will live to 
 retire to your nunnery, and I to quaff the cup of pleas 
 ure. Look ! the ship is righting now, and the fury of 
 the storm is spent !" 
 
 It was so. The vessel shook herself free, and soon 
 there was an appreciable falling of the tempest. 
 
 " Zarina, my peerless beauty," said Legrand, rising 
 awkwardly from his knees, "do you, then, have no fear 
 of death ?" 
 
 " Do I fear to fall asleep ? Really, monsieur, you 
 must know that I believe in the irrevocable fates, and 
 that the leading tenet of my creed is contained in the 
 command to our happy ancestors in the Garden : " Pluck, 
 and eat !" 
 
 " It was the praying of the old lady that unmanned 
 
4-O WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 me. I remembered that my mother knelt thus and 
 prayed for me at the time she died; and then when one, 
 you know ah, none of us are pure !" 
 
 "And my mother died, gnawing her arm for very 
 hunger, and begging the deaf Heaven piteously for 
 food. Bah, there is no God !" said Zarina, with sombre 
 energy. 
 
 "You are right," said Legrand, becoming more as 
 sured, "there is no God, and the devil is a dream !" 
 
 " And fright a delusion," continued the reckless girl, 
 with an intolerable sneer. " Beware, bold philosopher, 
 we are yet on the open sea !" 
 
 But Legrand replied, with a visible effort to change 
 the subject, " The sea is very rough yet, but the. wind is 
 in our favor, and we are driving along at a fearful rate. 
 The captain thinks we shall reach New York the day 
 after to-morrow. It is time that we sought repose from 
 our fright in sleep." 
 
 " Our fright ! ha, ha ! Good-night, monsieur; soften 
 your pillow with prayer !" 
 
 Thus, danger has its ludicrous side; and it is remark 
 able how soon the average man or woman will forget 
 a deadly terror, and begin to flaunt their silly imper 
 tinences in the face of Deity. It requires all the mighty 
 battle-fields of history to convince us that man is ever 
 heroic. 
 
 Thenceforward the ship flew rapidly along, and in 
 due time touched the busy piers of the great metropolis 
 of the New World. 
 
 M. Legrand, fiercer than ever, when he found his 
 feet on solid ground, procured a cab and conducted the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. ^.t 
 
 fair Zarina to an elegant hotel, whither the remaining 
 members of the ballet troupe soon followed, with the 
 desire of being near their friend, whom they had begun 
 to suspect of treason to the management. 
 
 These fears were well grounded, for Legrand had 
 completely won Zarina over to his schemes, and the 
 twain were made one, according to the rites of the Holy 
 Church, in the course of the week. The bridal tour 
 comprehended Quebec, Canada, as the terminal point; 
 and upon reaching that city, Legrand left his wife in 
 handsome quarters, and proceeded alone to Montreal. 
 He had visited Clifford's mother on the occasion of his 
 former visit to America, and had been shown the letter 
 which the maddened son had written his mother when 
 the child was left to her care. That was the last trace 
 of the wanderer discovered up to this time. The where 
 abouts of the daughter, however, had never been made 
 known to him, that portion of the letter having been 
 studiously withheld. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 the rugged northland, on a winter's evening, 
 the ruddy glow of a generous fire falling 
 through an unveiled window upon the snowy 
 scene without, is always a thing of beauty and 
 a joy forever to the belated traveler, and so thought 
 Monsieur Legrand, as, muffled in coat and furs, he 
 alighted from his sleigh at the door of the parsonage 
 occupied by our old friend, the Rev. Mr. Hoberg. The 
 wanderer was always welcome in that genial home, and 
 in the course of half an hour, the Frenchman, who 
 could be amiable enough when he liked, was basking in 
 the rose-light of the crackling hearth and ingratiating 
 himself with the good pastor by his easy, yet deferent, 
 manner and rippling flow of talk. From the domestic 
 adytum of the establishment there was, occasionally, 
 borne a faint odor of relishablfi viands, and the instincts 
 of the gentlemanly traveler, sharpened by his bracing 
 ride, informed him that there was about to be business 
 in hand, which, however insignificant it may appear, 
 when we survey life with particular reference to the 
 Marathons and Pharsalias that dot its varied expanse, is 
 not to be frustrated without endangering the mighty 
 fabric of society. 
 
 The important matter of refreshment being concluded, 
 M. Legrand, by a dexterous maneuver, brought the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 43 
 
 conversation round to the subject of the Cliffords, and 
 was delighted to observe that the pastor became imme 
 diately interested, and entered upon the story with a 
 zest and candor unclouded by suspicion. 
 
 " Did you have the good fortune to know the dear old 
 lady, M. Legrand ? " 
 
 " No," replied that gentleman, " I was not fortunate 
 enough to know the excellent mother, but the son I 
 have met in Europe." 
 
 " Indeed! Do you know whether he is living yet? " 
 
 "Assuredly, my dear sir, he is living; and I may as 
 well be frank with you, who are the esteemed friend of 
 the family, and say that my present visit to your mag 
 nificent country is concerned with his business." 
 
 "Well! well!" ejaculated the pastor, elevating his 
 gold-mounted eye-glasses and gazing at Legrand in as 
 tonishment, "that is marvelous!" 
 
 " Marvelous, but true, your reverence, and I only 
 hope you will assist me generously in clearing up the 
 mystery of this affair and righting any wrongs that now 
 exist and are not irreparable." 
 
 "Most willingly, my dear sir; the friendship I bore 
 Mrs. Clifford extends to her descendants, and you may 
 consider me at your service to the full extent of my 
 ability to serve them in this important matter." 
 
 "Yours is the language of a Christian, sir, and allow 
 me humbly to thank you. You speak of a casket that 
 was left in your charge to be given to the daughter at 
 her marriage; have you any objection to my seeing it?" 
 " None in the world. The casket is locked and sealed, 
 and its contents, I believe, unknown to any living per* 
 
44 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 son, and must so remain until it is given into the hands 
 of our darling Echo on her marriage day, according to 
 the will of the deceased. Excuse me, and I will bring 
 it from my study." 
 
 The minister soon returned, bearing in his hand an 
 ebony box, elegantly inlaid with pearl, which was, per 
 haps, four inches in width and depth, respectively, and 
 twice as many long, the aperture for the key being 
 covered by a blue seal artistically stamped. 
 
 There was a sinister light in the Frenchman's eyes as 
 he took the box and surveyed its workmanship with 
 curious attention. 
 
 "Mafoi!" he said at length, "it must contain the 
 fairy lamp of Aladdin!" 
 
 " Whatever it may be, it is secure in my hands, I 
 hope," said the pastor with a smile of pardonable pride. 
 
 " It is well said, your reverence; the casket is a sacred 
 trust, and as such, being faithfully observed, cannot but 
 bring peace and prosperity to your noble house." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the mother, Cleaveland's 
 wife?" said the pastor. 
 
 " Dead, long ago dead," alas ,for the uncertainty of 
 all our lives!" replied Legrand with a pious grimace. 
 
 " It is a sad, sad, story," and the pastor gazed ruefully 
 at the falling ashes on the hearth and bethought him of 
 the infinite sorrows of life* 
 
 In the further conversation that ensued before the 
 hour of retiring, a shrewd observer would have noted 
 the fact that M. Legrand Was exceedingly vague with 
 reference to his particular mission in the Clifford inten 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 45 
 
 est, but the pastor was, in the boundless charity of his 
 nature, unconscious of the discrepancy. 
 
 Elaborately polite and gaily voluble was M. Legrand 
 the next morning as he entered his sleigh with reitera 
 ted farewells and showering compliments for the pastor 
 and his family. So high and airy was the conduct of 
 that gentleman, in fact, that one would naturally expect 
 to see his horse bound away for the moon when given 
 the rein, but instead of that he took the city road like 
 an animal of ordinary spirit, and was soon out of sight. 
 
 When, at the conclusion of his journey, M. Legrand 
 burst into the apartments where Zarina was patiently 
 awaiting his return, it was sufficiently apparent that no 
 funeral gloom came with him, and there was a joyous 
 ring in the interrogatory of his bride as she extended 
 her arms for an embrace. 
 
 " It is victorv, my gem of women, and you do well to 
 reward me with a kiss." 
 
 " Victory? and, pray, what does victory mean?" 
 
 " It means that Monsieur Pierre Legrand, being as 
 handsome as he is fortunate, had the good taste to marry 
 an heiress. Ha! ha! I must really set up for a wit." 
 
 " Please use your wits in making yourself intelligible, 
 my dear; why do you call me an heiress?" 
 
 "For the reason, my love, that having been educated 
 for the accomplishment of difficult steps, a la danseuse, 
 you are now enabled to step into a great fortune. Ha! 
 ha! ha! better and better, as I live!" and the room re 
 sounded again with the artless laughter of M. Legrand. 
 
 His wife looked at him in astonishment, but quietly 
 waited for him to proceed* 
 
46 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," he said at length, "a fortune of mil 
 lions awaits you in France, and by these signs are we 
 to conquer." He opened the mysterious casket, the seal 
 of which had already been broken, and from its bed of 
 velvet held up to her gaze a gold chain and locket of 
 beautiful workmanship and of great value. Touching 
 the spring of the locket it opened and disclosed the pho 
 tograph of a lady unknown to Zarina. It was the pho 
 tograph of Echo's mother, taken in her youth. 
 
 "It was careless of you, Zarina mine, extremely rep 
 rehensible in you to leave a precious heirloom like this 
 drifting round the world." 
 
 "What interest is the handsome necklace to me?" 
 
 "Listen to me, Zarina; this necklace will identify 
 you as the daughter of the rich lady whose photograph 
 the locket contains. The daughter was lost; the heart 
 broken mother engages the services of a wise and hand 
 some man by the name of Legrand and sends him to 
 America in search of the missing one; Legrand returns 
 with the daughter, identified by the charming ornament 
 worn when she was taken away, and there is your ro 
 mance, wife of my heart! and your golden millions." 
 
 "Ah, I see!" said Zarina, and she looked at her hus 
 band with something like respect for the deepness of 
 his trickery and the artistic finish of the villainous plot 
 he had disclosed. 
 
 " But you must pirouette through the boarding 
 schools, Zarina; the daughter of the Cliffords must 
 have culture and refinement." 
 
 " I am not unequal to what will be required of me, 
 I think, Pierre. I have some skill in acting, and as for 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 4^ 
 
 the rest, an intelligence naturally keen and polished in 
 the obdurate mills of necessity, will doubtless serve me 
 well." 
 
 " Ah, Pierre," continued Zarina, after a short pause, 
 " you are as wicked as you are delightful." 
 
 "You are right, Zarina] Pierre Legrand and his na 
 tive innocence parted company so long ag@ that their 
 association can scarcely be remembered. A man must 
 live in the world, even though he disgrace the memory 
 of his mother. Alas! had she lived, and the world gone 
 more smoothly with me, while I might have wandered 
 with the waywardness of youth, yet, like the prodigal 
 son, I should have returned long before this and become 
 a pillar of reform." 
 
 " And then, were I the mother, in that event the 
 fatted calf should live and the prodigal be led to the 
 shambles. The prodigal son came home only because 
 he had no other place to go, and I do not wonder that 
 his good brothers grumbled at the distinction shown the 
 vagabond." 
 
 " Yet, my beautiful logician, you seem willing to 
 enjoy the fruits of my wickedness, if such a name can 
 be applied to the triumphs of diplomacy, and should, 
 therefore, pitch your moral song a little lower." 
 
 " Indeed I willingly share these prospects with you. 
 The test of a life is success, and I am not one of those 
 who will waste breath in laying up the treasures in 
 Heaven." 
 
 "You will not fail me, then?" 
 
 " If I do, may the fiery demon of the Book receive 
 me!" said the young woman with energy. 
 
48 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 "Ha! ha! The evil one has the patience of immor- 
 talitj', my dear; he will wait for you." 
 
 " In the meantime we had better order some refresh 
 ments. The discovery of your wickedness has not de 
 stroyed my relish for the good things of the world." 
 
 Food and wine were soon before them, and Legrand, 
 lifting his glass, brimming with Bordeaux, gaily cried 
 " I drink to my successor." 
 
 "Your successor?" 
 
 "Aye, the Lucifer of the great Englishman's poem." 
 
 " Ah, it is well that you drink to him now, for a time 
 will come when he will play the host for you, and they 
 say he is frugal of his wine." 
 
 " Zarina, you nobly sustain your sex the last word is 
 yours." 
 
 "Nay, not so; for it has been intimated that the devil 
 shall take the hindmost." 
 
 " Ha! ha! good, upon the faith of a gentleman!" 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 o^J^^DMOND Ainsley was at home again, and his 
 ^ gentle mother was in a flutter of enjoyment. 
 The weak-fibred lady was in this one thing 
 "V thoroughly in earnest: she was devoted to her 
 son. The young man had grown in a het-bed of lux 
 urious affection, and his character was the natural pro 
 duct of the gushing order of agriculture too fragile 
 in its cellular development for the winds that sometimes 
 blow roughly on human harvests. To be candid with 
 the subject, it may as well be admitted that Mr. Edmond 
 Ainsley, of Ainsley Hill, was an ethereal snob. The 
 fantastic legend, "Vive la bagatelle!" was indelibly 
 graven on the fret-work, so to speak, of his facial angle. 
 He was an authority in the mysteries of the toilet, and 
 a glass of fashion to the circle in which he moved. He 
 knew a little about horses and dogs, was a mild sports 
 man, and found books " a deuced bore." He not only 
 got himself up well, with the aid of his tailor and a 
 purse infinitely deeper than his intellect, but, to give 
 some one we know his due, he was actually handsome. 
 He was of medium stature, nicely proportioned, with a 
 small, shapely head, crisp brown hair, low, white fore 
 head, regular features, perfect teeth, and wore a droop 
 ing brown mustache. With these attractions Edmond 
 had been fatal even among the Amazons, and it is not } 
 
50 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 therefore, a matter of wonder that among* the plastic 
 beauties of the period he was a perfect simoom of de 
 struction. 
 
 At fashionable parties this king of hearts was a high 
 card indeed it was the opinion of many that the fussy 
 little game, merely for amusement, you know, which 
 we call "society," could not go on without him. Fur 
 thermore, it may be safely hinted that a large number 
 of estimable young men in his set, outwardly decorous, 
 and supposed to be of a religious turn of mind, would 
 nevertheless have given freely of their substance in 
 order to discover, by experiment, what kind of orna 
 mental leather the hide of the said Edmond would 
 make when properly prepared according to the pro 
 cesses of the tanner's art. But that is neither here nor 
 there. 
 
 The instincts of a pure woman, when unimpaired by 
 false associations, are nearly always correct. Therefore, 
 even to the inexperienced heart of Echo, the elaborate 
 effort of the redoubtable Edmond to subjugate her af 
 fections to his control were promptly discernible, and 
 the studied graces of the beau-ideal were wasted on 
 desert air. Sometimes these high-flyers are captivated 
 by the irrepressible beauty of their mother's governess, 
 but the motives of their assiduous attentions oftener lie 
 in a coarser substratum than sincere regard. 
 
 Many women are so hopelessly weak! They are 
 swept away in the lawless current of man's desire with 
 out a struggle, or, self-impelled, drift upon the rock- 
 bound coasts of dishonor. Perhaps the fault is in the 
 grain, perhaps is attributable to some fatal effect in our 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 51 
 
 social varnish ; at all events it zV, and all the ways of life 
 are strewn with wrecks that breathe miasma on the air. 
 The soul of a strong woman is wrung with unutterable 
 anguish at the recognition of these things, and she be 
 comes austere, hateful, perhaps, in her contempt and 
 loathing of feminine frailties. 
 
 A young woman's protecting aagis is the love of a 
 true, strong man. The sentiment yclept the tender, is, 
 in its virtuous growth and maturity, the crowning glory 
 of our sex; perverted, the whole woman falls with the 
 crash of its ruin. The social wrongs that sin against 
 the strength of youth are indeed cursed, as Tennyson 
 sings. Love may be stifled in the heart, but the soil in 
 which it grew is blasted forever. 
 
 Well, what of it ? Only this, that the spectacle of a 
 happy love-match is lovelier than the landscapes of 
 Claude and the marbles of Greece. Thank God it is 
 not altogether rare, but it is not common enough to be 
 contemptible; and then climatic influences are so fruitful 
 of blight ! 
 
 Echo and Arthur loved each other wisely and well. 
 Each, as to the other, was enveloped in the rose-hues of 
 a romantic apotheosis, but it is not absolutely clear that 
 this sublimating tendency of young hearts is much of an 
 evil, after all. To a mere spectator a lover is simply a 
 clumsy clod, subdued by a soft, tail-wagging puppyism, 
 but the fault is in the prosaic, unleavened wretch who 
 surveys the sufferer from telescopic distances. What 
 food lovers flourish upon, what language they speak, 
 and what golden arches bend above them always, it is 
 no business of the uninitiated, unvolatilized pagan to in- 
 
52 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 quire and know. The lover's world is not our world, 
 and it is well that a purple mysticism glorifies them 
 forever. 
 
 Arthur and Echo were everything to each other, and 
 it follows that the young lady had neither eyes nor ears 
 for gilt-edged Edmond Ainsley. 
 
 About three months after the return of Edmond 
 Ainsley to the home of his mother, at the close of a 
 lovely spring day, Echo was seated in an easy chair be 
 fore the window; one soft white hand lay upon the 
 book from which she had been reading, and the other, 
 upon which the engagement-ring sparkled, toyed with 
 the tassel of her chair. Her dainty feet tapped the rich 
 carpet thoughtfully, as she sat, and the ruddy glow from 
 the grate glorified her golden hair and pure com 
 plexion, the effect of the picture being grandly height 
 ened by the crimson velvet linings of the deep-backed 
 chair. The marvelous eyes were gazing through the 
 window upon the western sky, suffused with the last 
 glow of day. A few clouds, like golden brackets, 
 framed the sapphire spaces of heaven, and the light that 
 lingered upon the world was as soft and tender as the 
 last kiss of a parting lover. Her thoughts had that 
 touch of ineffable melancholy which belongs to such a 
 scene 
 
 "Which resembles sorrow only 
 As the mist resembles the rain." 
 
 * 
 
 The clear eyes mirrowed the matchless shadows that 
 moved upon the fading horizon, and her soul was float 
 ing far in a glowing argosy of dreams, when suddenly 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 53 
 
 a shade fell upon her face and a warm kiss electrified 
 her lips. 
 
 " Arthur ! How you frightened me !" 
 
 " The opportunity for a surprise was too tempting, 
 love; I hope you are glad to see me ?" 
 
 " Assuredly ; but large bodies should not move 
 through space without some attendant satellite as an 
 avant courier." 
 
 " A dog, for instance ?" 
 
 "Yes, or even a wide nimbus of musk, like one I 
 could mention !" 
 
 " By the way, Echo, is Edmond Ainsley at home?" 
 
 "He arrived a fortnight ago, and," with a merry 
 twinkle of the eye, " has doubtless inscribed upon his 
 banner all young gentlemen carry banners since Mr. 
 Longfellow's ' Excelsior' came to fame the Caesarean 
 boast, vcni) vidi\ vici" 
 
 "Alas! am I then to grace his triumph?" 
 
 " Well, the court takes that question under advise 
 ment; and, in the meanwhile, you may consider your 
 self on your good behavior." 
 
 " Is this Ainsley, (this Ainsley !) entirely irresistible ?" 
 
 " The Apollo Belvidere, appareled under the direc 
 tion of the immortal Worth, could not be more so." 
 
 " Then I must really get a dog." 
 
 "Ah! and why?" 
 
 " To keep the young ladies from devouring this de 
 lightful creature; I shall interfere in the interest of hu 
 manity." 
 
 " Hedge him about with the odor of some of your 
 
54 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 detestable drugs, Arthur that were a safer and surer 
 plan." 
 
 Now the reader will hardly believe such a thing pos 
 sible, but it is nevertheless true, that the young lady 
 had not once looked up during this dialogue until the 
 gentleman burst into a roar of laughter at the conclu 
 sion of the last remark, and then she sprang up with a 
 smothered shriek and a face of flame. 
 
 "Mr. Ainsley! villain ! how dare you insult me!" 
 
 The young man shrank for a moment before the tow 
 ering indignation of the young governess, but partially 
 recovered, and stammering out: " Forgive me, Echo 
 the sight of your wonderful beauty lured me irresistibly 
 into difficulty. I love you, darling," and he moved for 
 ward as if to take her hand. 
 
 "Back! at your peril! There are those who will 
 avenge this insolence!" and hot tears of rage and shame 
 were coursing down the fair girl's cheek. 
 
 There was a pause of a moment, which was broken 
 by Mrs. Ainsley who, wakening from her afternoon 
 siesta, called 
 
 " Echo, will you please ring for lights? Why, Ed- 
 mond, you here?" for the young man, glad enough to 
 escape the tempest he had aroused, had hastened to her 
 side at the first movement and greeted her with a filial 
 kiss. 
 
 " Where should I be, mother, but watching over the 
 slumbers of those I love?" 
 
 The grateful, loving look which she gave him for 
 this little speech expressed affection enough to fit out a 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 55 
 
 paradise, with all the modern improvements. Mother- 
 love is the saddest, sweetest thing in nature. 
 
 In all ages the existence of a Deity has been doubted ; 
 while Love, the attribute and essence of God, sits on an 
 unshaken throne. 
 
 Love rules the court, the camp, the grove 
 For love is Heaven, and Heaven is love! 
 
 Echo ordered the lights as requested, and retired to 
 her own chamber. There, agonizing under the insult 
 to which she had just been subjected, the desolation of 
 orphanage came upon her as never before, and she 
 threw herself upon the bed and wept bitterly. 
 
 " Why," the poor girl murmured, " am I to suffer 
 this cruel wrong? It is thus that the poor and weak 
 are ever trampled upon in this world. That young 
 man cannot understand that he has clone me an injury; 
 his education tends to such outrages, and the light 
 headed wretch is scarcely to blame. In his eyes I am ., 
 simply a chattel a part of the paraphernalia of his lux 
 urious home and a legitimate victim for his pampered 
 wickedness. The young lady who formerly acted as 
 companion to his mother was ruined by him; she hid 
 her shame -in the dark-flowing river, and he curled 
 darling of his mother! traveled in Europe for his 
 health! How can I endure to remain here any longer ? 
 If I disclose what has happened to Mrs. Ainsley she 
 will dismiss me in disgrace, and what am I to do ? 
 May the Lord help me in this heavy trial!" 
 
 When the paroxysm of her grief had subsided, Echo 
 rose and bathed her swollen eyes and hot temples, for 
 
56 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 she was expecting a visit from her affianced that even 
 ing and wished to appear before him naturally. 
 
 That gentleman, bona fide, this time, was soon an 
 nounced, and Echo, hastening down to the drawing- 
 room, greeted her lover graciously. 
 
 " I believe that I have a surprise for you, Arthur," 
 she said; "your sister Mary is to be married on Christ 
 mas day." 
 
 " That is news to me, surely, but young people are 
 committing that kind of foolishness every day now," 
 and he pressed her hand as though there were some 
 sort of comfort in that condition of things. Then there 
 was a delicious pause of a few seconds, the young lady 
 not knowing how to controvert this dangerous position 
 with reference to the prevailing idiosyncracics of young 
 people. 
 
 " Come, dear," he said, " let us talk business. Do you 
 know that I have been negotiating for the little cottage 
 you fell in love with during our ramble the other day? 
 I shall close the bargain, with your approval, to-morrow 
 by paying one-third of the purchase money in hand, the 
 remainder when we take possession." 
 
 " That dear little cottage! Oh, I am delighted! But 
 you must let me furnish it. You know tr;at I have a 
 few hundred dollars from the sale of grandmother's ef 
 fects, which, with the addition of what I have saved 
 from my salary, will be sufficient to fit our home nicely. 
 I shall make Mary a present on the great occasion, and 
 will need something for my own modest trousseau, but 
 there will be enough left for the furniture of the 
 Cottage," 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 57 
 
 " Verily, Echo, you would make a talented minister 
 of finance," he rejoined, playfully, " but this sacrifice 
 must not be made; it must be my pleasant privilege to 
 furnish a home for you." 
 
 " Shall I contribute nothing, then?" she said sorrow 
 fully. 
 
 "Nothing, indeed! Why, Echo, you contribute ev 
 erything in contributing your delightful self. You are 
 the priceless gem for which I, in my poverty, can only 
 provide a paltry setting." 
 
 But the conversation is getting wild, and we will ring 
 down the curtain and dismiss our characters to the happy 
 realms of sleep. 
 
 It was midnight; dark, drear, silent as the tomb of 
 elder chaos. The sky was heavily obscured in clouds, 
 and a cold wind was blowing in fitful gusts. Suddenly 
 the black, breathless pause of the night was broken by 
 a hideous clamor. Fire! fire! fire! boom! boom! 
 boom! Bells and voices were proclaiming the reel ap 
 parition of an enraged element. 
 
 " Good God!" cried a man in the street " it is the 
 Ainsley mansion!" 
 
 A hundred men rushed up the broad flight of front 
 steps and thundered at the knocker. There was a sud 
 den, inarticulate cry of alarm from the people in the 
 street whose gaze was riveted on the stately dwelling. 
 It was caused by the bursting of a black volume of 
 smoke, mixed with bloody tongues of flame, from the 
 roof. 
 
 The crowd was still hammering at the heavy walnut 
 
 doors, and the confusion md alarm were becoming tor 
 3 
 
58 WHAT CAME OF IT. I 
 
 rible, when the mighty portals were flung back, and 
 Edmond Ainsley, half stifled with the smoke which 
 already filled the lower rooms, rushed out. 
 
 " A thousand dollars for the rescue of my mother and 
 the governess!" he shouted wildly. 
 
 A hundred resolute men sprang forward, but they 
 were beaten back by the hot smoke that rushed down 
 the great stairway. 
 
 Some of the upper windows shivered, with a terrific 
 crash, and the pent-up demon leaped forth in smoke 
 and flame. 
 
 In apartments remote from the uproar of the street, 
 Echo was suddenly roused by the bursting of the glass 
 in one of the windows, caused by a stone some one had 
 hurled from below, and leaped forth to see the clouds 
 ruddy with reflected flame. For an instant she was stu 
 pefied with fear, for the roar of the people below was 
 awful to hear. She came of a mettled race, however, 
 and s6on recovered, when she hastily clonnefl a wrapper 
 and opened the door leading into the hall. A stifling 
 smoke rushed in, and the door was closed. Then, seiz 
 ing a blanket from the bed, and stooping low to take 
 advantage of the purer air near the floor, she rushed into 
 the hall. Thus shielded by the blanket, she was male- 
 ing for the stairway, when Edmond flew past her. At 
 the same instant she heard the voice of Mrs. Ainsley, 
 elevated to a shriek that chilled one's blood 
 
 "Help! help! Arnold! Arnold! my son! Good God 1 
 do not leave your mother in the flames !" 
 
 Echo tunned, and with difficulty made her way back 
 to the apartment whence the fearful cry proceeded. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 59 
 
 She found the poor woman on her knees in the middle 
 of the room, paralyzed with terror. She sank forward 
 insensible as the brave girl approached; and just then 
 a man, blackened and singed by the flames through 
 which he had passed, rushed into the room with a rope 
 in his hand. He paused an instant as if to recognize the 
 woman he had come to save, and then without a word, 
 passed a noose under the arms of the young lady and 
 lifted her tenderly and swiftly through the window 
 and she was lowered to the ground amid cheers that 
 rent the air. Then followed the other lady, and lastly, 
 the man himself, his hair on fire, fell, rather than slid 
 down the rope, just as the flames leaped through in wild 
 pursuit. 
 
 When Arthur Hoberg recovered from the swoon into 
 which he had been precipitated by the concussion of his 
 fall, the Ainsley mansion \\ as a heap of blackened ruins, 
 and every tongue was sounding the praise of the daring 
 young physician. 
 
 He was badly burned and bruised, but a sweet face 
 bent over him when he looked up to find himself in a 
 strange room. It was a face that he knew and loved. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ROM the frightful experiences of the fire, Mrs. 
 Ainsley received a nervous shock that com 
 pletely prostrated her for a time, and when she 
 had partially recovered, her physicians recom 
 mended easy travel and change of scene. The weak 
 lady now leaned more than ever upon the companion 
 ship of Echo, as a shaded plant will lean towards the 
 warm embrace of the sun. Mrs. Ainsley felt that the 
 society of the governess was indispensable to her; in 
 fact, she announced her intention of remaining in Que 
 bec unless Echo should agree to accompany her in the 
 contemplated round of travel. To one of the young 
 lady's generous, sympathetic temperament, there was 
 but one course. She would go. 
 
 There was the prospect of an early marriage and the 
 inestimable pleasure of Arthur's society to be given up, 
 but duty demanded the sacrifice, and she determined to 
 make it. 
 
 California, the far-off golden land, whose very name 
 is redolent of romance, was fixed upon as the terminal 
 point of their loitering journey, and, accompanied by 
 two faithful servants, they were soon on the way. 
 
 Edmond was to remain and supervise the re-building 
 of the family mansion. This last was an important con 
 sideration to Echo, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 6 1 
 
 The parting of the lovers was affecting in a high de 
 gree, and yet not utterly devoid of its humorous points. 
 When a young man is seriously possessed of the tender 
 passion, he is prepared to be miserable on all occasions. 
 But if you really wish to give him up to the devouring 
 torments of jealousy, let the object of his love go travel 
 ing without his protection ! A situation of that kind 
 fairly bristles with possibilities for the torture of the in 
 volved and irredeemable soul. 
 
 " Ah, Echo, you are going to leave me ?" 
 
 " For a little time, Arthur, and I assure you that I 
 shall count the moments until the painful days of ab 
 sence are accomplished." 
 
 " Yet human nature is so fickle, dear, and I fear there 
 is some truth in that homely old maxim, ' Out of sight, 
 out of mind.' " 
 
 "Arthur! how can you say such cruel things ?" and 
 the sweet eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "I do not mean to pain you, darling, but you have 
 had so little experience, and there are so many more 
 charming men in the world than your poor knight, 
 that I" 
 
 "That you are a dear fidgety goosey!" said Echo, 
 laughing through her tears delightfully, and dropping 
 the warm shadow of a kiss on his bearded lips. 
 
 " You will write to me constantly, wont you, Echo?" 
 
 " It is the thought of writing to you and receiving 
 long, loving letters in return, that sustains me in going, 
 Arthur." 
 
 " You must not be too affable with strangers, my love ; 
 
62 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 there are so many smooth villains traveling that ladies 
 are always in danger of insult." 
 
 " Oh, dear, Arthur ! Mrs. Ainsley and I will be en 
 veloped in such an odor of sal volatile and other medic 
 aments that we will be effectually protected from the 
 social overtures of strangers, I think. At any rate, 
 " confidence " people will make nothing of us, I can tell 
 you. Mrs. Ainsley's serving men are equal to any 
 emergency of that kind." 
 
 " Of all men in the world, those Californians are the 
 most impudent with women." O, miserable young 
 man ! 
 
 " A woman is panopolied in her. purity, Arthur; and 
 feel that I shall be safe everywhere. With God's help, 
 I know that I need not fear." 
 
 " I shall be very unhappy until you return." 
 
 "Oh, but you must not be unhappy, dearest; I shall 
 continually pray for you, and the consciousness of my 
 undying love should be with you always. Then you 
 will have the cottage to look after, you know." 
 
 " That is true if I may venture to anticipate the 
 future to that .extent." 
 
 Echo burst into tears at the continued gloom of his 
 speech, and, so contradictory is the nature of a man in 
 love, his manliness immediately returned, and from that 
 time forth he bore his fate with heroic fortitude and 
 charming grace. 
 
 Softly folding her in his arms, he said: "Forgive me, 
 loved one ! I have not doubted your sincerity for a mo 
 ment; but we do not always understand our own hearts. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 63 
 
 Let us be happy, then, sweetheart, and confident in our 
 future." 
 
 She lifted her tear-softened glance to his face, and 
 creeping closer to his side, replied : " You think me 
 very foolish, no doubt, but as the dreaded time of sep 
 aration draws near, strange misgivings begin to shadow 
 my spirit. My reason tells me that we shall soon be 
 re-united, and that all will be well; but, somehow, there 
 is a sense of gloom and impending evil that I cannot 
 shake off." 
 
 "How foolish I have been, Echo how criminally 
 mean to be harping away on a wretched minor key 
 about your journey. I might have foreseen that your 
 gentle bosom would soon be disturbed by such idle fore 
 bodings." 
 
 A servant here announced that the carriage was in 
 waiting, and the lovers, with one long, clinging, soul 
 ful kiss, terminated their interview with the whispered, 
 inevitable " Good-by " that becomes so familiar to us in 
 the sorrowful experiences of life. 
 
 Professional engagements detained Arthur in Que 
 bec, and this was therefore their parting. The overland 
 journey has been so often described that we will not 
 take more than a flying glimpse of the many wonders 
 that bewilder and enchant the traveler in the mighty 
 panorama of its mountains and plains. 
 
 There lay the brown, wide, interminable pampas of 
 the buffalo and the Sioux, suggesting ten thousand wild 
 tales of border life. Yonder, a dim wavy line of blue 
 along the horizon, lay the gigantic mountain chains - 
 the historic Rockies of the bold adventurous West. 
 
64 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Pulpit Rock, standing alone at the debouchure of 
 Echo Canyon, is memorable from the fact that Bri gharri 
 Young, the great leader of the Mormons, is said to have 
 harangued the faithful from its summit for the first time 
 in Utah. 
 
 " Almost anything is believed of Brigharn," said Mrs. 
 Ainsley ; " he must be a great man." 
 
 " He has accomplished wonders, certainly," said Echo; 
 " God allows error to ripen and fall, and I predict that 
 the time is not far distant when the great religious so 
 ciety he has erected here in the desert will crumble into 
 ruin." 
 
 " Let us not talk about ruins, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Ainsley, fretfully; "I cannot forget that my own dear 
 home is in ruins." 
 
 While the train was slowly creeping through Weber 
 Canyon, an amusing incident occurred. An old lady, 
 who was puffing painfully at the stem of a " cob " pipe, 
 taking the unsightly object from her mouth for a mo 
 ment, exclaimed : 
 
 " An' what might that are be?" pointing to the object 
 of her curiosity. 
 
 "I believe that is called the 'Devil's Slide,'" an 
 swered a gentleman, kindly. 
 
 " The law sakes ! It must have ben wearin' on his 
 trousers !" 
 
 There was a musical smile among the passengers, at 
 this sally, at which the old lady took offense. Turning 
 her brown, wrinkled visage slowly around the car, she 
 disdainfully observed : " People are a gittin' mighty 
 peart these days !" and resumed her wheezing cob. Per- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 65 
 
 haps she was a mother of heroes, but it would never 
 theless have been interesting to have had her opinion of 
 the Medician Venus. 
 
 When the grand Sierras had been conquered, and the 
 westward flying train swept down from the eternal win 
 ter of those granite solitudes to the summer of the Sac 
 ramento valle}^, our travelers were amazed at the won 
 drous change. On, on they sped, by waving fields and 
 flowering orchards, under skies as soft and pure as those 
 of Italy, and were soon at their journey's end. 
 
 
CHAPTER Vlll. 
 
 has been remarked, in tuneful verse, that 
 hope vegetates eternally in the human breast. 
 It was at least the impalpable but sufficient 
 nourishment of our young heroine during the 
 period of her separation from that daring Esculapian 
 whose name, destined to be graven with a scalpel, on 
 the heights of professional fame, she was fond of mur 
 muring to the breezes and birds. 
 
 They were comfortably settled in the patrician city 
 of Oakland, opposite the mistress of the Golden Gate. 
 Before them lay the beautiful bay of San Francisco, 
 studded with brown islands and stirring with commerce. 
 Around them were the fruits and flowers of the semi- 
 tropics, and upon all, glorifying all, the rich atmosphere 
 of sunland. 
 
 How bleak and unlovely was their own northland 
 when compared with this favored region ! Yet Echo, 
 notwithstanding her impressible, poetic nature, was 
 more observant of the operations of the mails than of 
 the vaunted excellencies of Californian life. It was nat 
 ural enough; had she arrived at Elysium, her first in 
 quiry would have been for a post-office. 
 
 "Do you know," said Mrs. Ainsley, reclining one 
 evening in her easy chair, holding a letter she had just 
 
WHAT CAME OF i. j 
 
 received, in her jeweled hand," that my dear boy thinks 
 of coming out to us immediately?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Echo, growing faint with apprehen 
 sion at this unexpected piece of news and bending lower 
 over the "Overland" she was reading, to hide her pal 
 lor; " I understood that business would detain him in 
 Quebec for some time." 
 
 " Oh, he has arranged all that. The poor boy is 
 homesick for ' Mamma,' no doubt, and I shall welcome 
 him with a grateful heart." 
 
 u I presume so." It was all that she could say, her 
 bosom was so shaken with vague alarms. 
 
 "My Edmond," Mrs. Ainsley closed her eyes with a 
 soft ecstacy at the idea of proprietorship expressed in 
 these words, " has a well-balanced mind and is jealous 
 of the family dignity, but he is so strikingly handsome 
 that -parvenu belles are always fluttering about him, 
 and I feel safest when he is with me. Don't you think 
 he is 'like Paris fair,' as the poets say; though I can 
 not see why a city can be compared with a man, my 
 dear?" 
 
 " Aye, ' and like Hector brave,' " rejoined the gov 
 erness, her beautiful eyes sparkling with a merry rem 
 iniscence of the fire. 
 
 " You see it is this way," continued Mrs. Ainsley, 
 who was evidently talking with an object, " Edmond 
 must not make a misalliance; there is not only a possi 
 bility but a great probability of his coming to a title, by 
 and by; and besides, our family has an aristocratic name 
 to be regarded in the event of his marriage, which, I do 
 
68 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 hope, may be happily consummated one of these days. 
 It is the source of constant anxiety to me." 
 
 < c I can well believe that it is." 
 
 " Edmond has been so occupied with the improve 
 ment of his mind and tastes that I think he has been 
 unconscious of matrimony so far; at least, I have never 
 heard him express the slightest interest in the matter." 
 
 "How would a Californian heiress suit you?" said 
 Echo. 
 
 " Oh dear; these Americans are dreadful people 
 but as there is no such thing as caste here, I cannot say 
 that a rich, beautiful and accomplished American would 
 be entirely inadmissible." 
 
 " I suppose you will go into society here?" 
 
 " Oh, yes; if they support such a luxury in this bar 
 barous country." 
 
 " It is said that Californian heiresses have a penchant 
 for pistols, and that they are accustomed to surround eli 
 gible young Englishmen with revolvers and demand 
 their affections, a la Duval." 
 
 "^Monstrous, Echo; how can you report such thin gs?" 
 
 "Edmond is heroic, however," pursued the young- 
 lady, michievously, " and will stand fire." 
 
 There was a point in this little innuendo which Mrs. 
 Ainsley did not see. 
 
 "Your friend, Hoberg, makes such a sorry figure be 
 side my Crichton. Do you not think so?" 
 
 " They should not be mentioned in the same breath, 
 Mrs. Ainsley." Echo bit her lips as she pronounced 
 this two-sided opinion; but the other, absorbed in the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 69 
 
 object of her vanity, did not realize the bitterness of 
 the retort. 
 
 "I am glad you think so; rather, that you are frank 
 enough to acknowledge the truth, my dear." 
 
 " It were useless for any one to endeavor to conceal 
 so evident a disparity." 
 
 "Well, we must not be hard on young Hoberg; he 
 is only a poor clergyman's son, and having to work for 
 his living, it is necessary that he should be of coarser 
 clay than Edmond." 
 
 There is a good deal of suppressed cat in the sweetest 
 of female characters, and it is quite possible that Mrs. 
 Ainsley's eyes were in imminent danger at this juncture. 
 
 " I verily believe that it was through the boorish 
 awkwardness of this Hoberg in lowering me from that 
 dreadful window that so much injury was done to my 
 nervous system." 
 
 Echo nearly shrieked with indignation, but managed 
 to say, with cold emphasis " Perhaps. He should have 
 left that delicate task to your son." Still the miserable 
 mother could not see, and rejoined with indolent admir 
 ation. 
 
 "So he should. Edmond could have saved me so 
 nicely." 
 
 "Ahem!" 
 
 The governess could not articulate a word. There 
 was a murderous shadow on her lovely face. 
 
 " Still, it is a very good match for you," said Mrs. 
 Ainsley, persistently extending the disagreeable theme; 
 " and I shall take pleasure in making you a handsome 
 wedding present* Hoberg is called a rising physician ; 
 
7O \VHAT CAME OF It. 
 
 and if he shall make money enough, I suppose people 
 will not care to remember that his grandfather was 
 probably a hod-carrier." 
 
 " It is immaterial to me what they remember, so they 
 do not forget that he was an honest man. Let us 
 change the subject, please." 
 
 There was something in the girl's tone which im 
 pressed the dull wits, of even Mrs. Ainsley with a 
 sense of warning, and the subject was dropped. 
 
 In due course of time Mr. Edmond Ainsley made his 
 appearance upon the scene, and then Echo's lot was al 
 most intolerable. One of her most tiresome duties was 
 to furnish soothing music as an opiate for Mrs. Ainsley 
 whenever that elaborate invalid desired to sleep. Of 
 music itself the young lady was passionately fond, but 
 it became utterly nauseous when thus administered as 
 a medicine. And there was another more potent reason 
 for disgust with it Edmond Ainsley chose these occa 
 sions for paying her his intolerable attentions. 
 
 One evening, while thus engaged, she was suddenly 
 conscious of his presence, although he had come up 
 stealthily. Bending over her so that his hot breath ac 
 tually scorched her cheek, he whispered 
 
 " Dear Echo, have you determined to kill me with 
 your cruel indifference?" 
 
 The white fingers swept the ivory keys evenly not 
 a muscle of the mobile face moved. There was no 
 indication that the player was even conscious of his 
 presence. 
 
 " Will you not hear me? I have been devoted to you 
 from the first; in the blaze of your transcendent beauty 
 
WHAT CAMfc OF IT* 71 
 
 I wander like an enslaved satellite. Everything that I 
 have and am I willingly lay at your feet. Is not such 
 love worthy your acceptance?" 
 
 Still not a note was dropped, and not the quiver of 
 an eyelash betrayed her excitement. Her unspeakable 
 repugnance to the man rendered her impervious to his 
 influence. 
 
 And yet the perfumed rake was unabashed in truth, 
 he seemed to take courage from her silence, and con 
 tinued, while the touch of his hand on her shoulder 
 chilled her blood : 
 
 "Do you consent will you be mine? The preju 
 dices of my mother can be circumvented by a secret 
 marriage; and, the happy knot once tied, she will read 
 ily receive you as her daughter. Oh, dearest Echo, tell 
 me that you accede that you will bless me with your 
 love!" 
 
 Still the tender melody flowed on through dreamy 
 mazes, and the dozing invalid in the adjacent chamber 
 harbored no suspicion of the little drama that was en 
 acting so near her, else the rippling notes of the piano 
 had roused her like a thunder-crash. 
 
 " Speak, my darling; will you marry me?" 
 
 The young lady's touch became softer, and the music 
 fell into a whispering echo as she spoke for the first 
 time, her voice cold and cutting as the north wind 
 
 "Have you done> sir?" 
 
 " I am waiting your answer, beloved." 
 
 " Then have it; had I not known you to be a miser 
 able reptile before, the vile scheme you have hissed in 
 my ear would have betrayed your slimy, sneaking na 
 
72 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 ture. I could sooner love the mangiest cur in the streets 
 than such as you! We understand each other now; let 
 this be the end. 
 
 The young man trembled with passion, and his face 
 became purple as he hissed through his clenched teeth, 
 "No, by the eternal, you flaunting beggar! yo'u shall 
 rue this!" and he hurriedly strode from the room. 
 
 As often as the opportunities of the mail served, Echo 
 was made happy by the receipt of letters from Arthur, 
 supplemented, occasionally, by less enthusiastic commu 
 nications from his sister, Mary. 
 
 Then an alarming circumstance in connection with 
 this correspondence appeared. Contrary to all prece 
 dent, in such cases, the letters of the young physician 
 began to grow colder and more concise. A clue to the 
 mystery was not wanting long. A troubled letter from 
 Mary explained that Arthur had become insanely infat 
 uated with a young lady, a niece of one Dr. Combes, 
 who had just arrived from England. The sympathizing 
 girl wrote that her father was stricken with grief at this 
 turn of affairs, and it was their hope and prayer that the 
 erring son and brother would yet regain his reason and 
 fulfill his engagement with their darling Echo, than 
 whom none better or more beautiful ever lived. 
 
 We will not attempt to analyze the suffering of the 
 governess on the receipt of this intelligence. The blow 
 had nearly unseated her mind; yet there was a straw of 
 hope that there was some mistake, or, at least, exagger 
 ation. Then came the climax, in a whining, pusillani 
 mous letter from Arthur begging a release from his en 
 gagement. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 73 
 
 Without a word of censure or complaint, she gave 
 him what he asked, and then sat down to confront and 
 contemplate the appalling misery of her situation. As a 
 natural consequence, she fell dangerously ill, for it is 
 thus that the body relieves the tortured mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ainsley acted as became her. She protested 
 that there was a conspiracy to desert her in a strange 
 land, and that Echo was not doing her duty by so mu 
 nificent a patron in succumbing to a trifling ailment. 
 " Bring me the smelling bottle, Edmond, you at least 
 are here;" and the poor creature ended with a sob and 
 a gush of hypochondriac tears. 
 
 There are, in San Francisco, a number of assignation 
 houses, supported mainly by the extravagant licentious 
 ness of stock-gamblers. Under pretence of having 
 Echo removed to a Sister's hospital for treatment and 
 experienced nursing, Edmond readily procured her 
 admittance, by the liberal use of his money, into one of 
 those gilded palaces of ruin referred to. It was no part 
 of his programme that the young lady should die, so he 
 procured her the services of a skillful but unscrupulous 
 physician. 
 
 Then the fever fiercely ran its course, and life and 
 death fought implacably for the possession of the smitten 
 girl, babbling incontinently in her delirium of love and 
 faith, inconstancy and despair. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IGHT came on in the beautiful and vivacious 
 world of Paris. Lady Clifford, in the solitude 
 of her spacious living room, was pacing to and 
 fro in feverish unrest. The machinations of 
 Legrand had thus far succeeded. Zarina, in the charac 
 ter of the long lost daughter, had been received as be 
 came the occasion, and the heinous fraud bade fair to 
 prosper. The restoration of the necklace was a master 
 stroke of policy. Its identity with the necklace worn 
 by the babe at the time of its abduction, could not for a 
 moment be doubted, and the sight of the familiar orna 
 ment unlocked a flood of blessed memories in the moth 
 er's bosom. Painfully, again and again, would she pore 
 over the features of the clever young actress, striving to 
 recall traces of her child, but could not, and she would 
 murmur wearily to herself : " My heart does not respond 
 to the daughter that Heaven has restored to me, but I 
 must be content; it was long, long ago, and the infant 
 has become a woman. 1 " Ah! this grievous wasting of 
 the wounded heart that longing cry of her soul : "Will 
 they come ! will they come !" in the thorny days of 
 expectancy, only for this at last ! These hearts of ours, 
 which are but living dust, and must crumble to dust 
 again, are continually athirst for dews that never fall on 
 earth. The woman was most unhappy, though Prov- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 5 
 
 idence had seemingly answered her prayer. And how 
 had wealth attended her cultured taste in the adornment 
 of her home ! The carpet that covered the floor where 
 we beheld her charing against an indefinable sorrow, 
 was of a gorgeous pattern, mingling the richest hues 
 of the rainbow in a very garden of silence ! Pictures 
 from the hands of the masters, garnished the walls with 
 vivid portraits and mellow landscapes. The mantel 
 was a chef cTceuvre of mediaeval art, and costly statuary 
 was disposed in appropriate places. An ebony case, 
 heavily embossed with silver, contained the best books 
 in magnificent binding, for there was no room devoted 
 specially to a library, and the windows of heavy plate 
 glass were draped in damask and lace. And yet the 
 mistress of these luxurious appointments was complain 
 ing to God of sorrow! 
 
 While thus engaged, a visitor was announced M. 
 Legrand. 
 
 " Show him in, Fantil," said Lady Clifford, I shall 
 receive him here." 
 
 " Ah, madame," said Legrand, entering, with a low 
 bow, " I hope that I find you happy!" 
 
 "I am beginning to believe, monsieur, that happiness 
 is not of earth." 
 
 "No! then my success in the restoration of your lovely 
 daughter has turned to ashes," and the graceful hypo 
 crite tried to look as though his heart had fallen into 
 one of his polished boots. 
 
 " Nay, nay I know that I api ungrateful ; again re 
 ceive my thanks for that inestimable service ; but my 
 
76 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 cup of joy is dashed with the bitterness of unreasonable 
 doubts and fears." 
 
 " Human nature is a mystery, madame, and the motto 
 of the Greeks, 4 Know thyself!' implies a harder task 
 than any of us can perform. With your permission, 
 however, I have still another matter to submit concern 
 ing the highly romantic history ot your daughter. I 
 feared yesterday to try your nerves beyond endurance, 
 and so kept back an important part of the evidence in 
 the case. Will you see it now?" 
 
 " Ah, then, there is something more! You may pro 
 duce it, if you please." 
 
 Legrand was examining a bundle of papers he had 
 taken from an inner pocket of his coat: "Will you 
 recognize the handwriting of monsieur, your husband ?" 
 
 " Yes, I should know it anywhere," said the lady, 
 with a slight gasp, feeling faint from the emotion his 
 question had aroused. 
 
 He silently handed her a time-stained paper. Lady 
 Clifford grasped it with a trembling hand, and, for a 
 moment the written words danced before her eyes in a 
 hopeless maze. Recovering, however, she made out to 
 read it to the end, and then fell fainting to the floor. 
 
 It was the letter of Cleaveland Clifford to his mother; 
 that brief and gloomy epistle in which the despairing 
 man had announced the ruin of his home and had im 
 plored the maternal affection for his child. 
 
 "Diablel" chuckled Legrand, as he eyed the pros 
 trate form, " an enemy becomes a philosopher when he 
 can take his revenge like a gentleman." 
 
 " He rang furiously for the servants and told them to 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 77 
 
 hasten to their mistress with restoratives, as she had 
 fallen in a swoon. 
 
 Under the treatment of her experienced nurse, Ni- 
 nee, Lady Clifford was soon able to sit up, but she only 
 called for M. Legrand, who had awaited her recovery 
 in the next room, to thank and dismiss him: 
 
 " I have no longer the slightest reason, monsieur, to 
 doubt the truth of your assertions. The letter is my 
 husband's, and is of priceless value to me." She hesi 
 tated a moment and then said: "You may go, now, 
 but come again to-morrow, and we will discuss the af 
 fair again." 
 
 "When I hope to see you much improved, maclame, 
 and till then allow me to give you good night!" and he 
 was gone, with a satanic smirk on his keen features. 
 
 "Alas! my poor husband!" murmured Lady Clifford 
 when left alone in her chamber, and all through the 
 night she baptized her pillow with tears. 
 
 " Mon Dieti ! Mon Dieu /" cried Ninee, rushing 
 into the presence of her mistress one day soon after these 
 events, bearing in her hand a broken bird's nest, " mad 
 emoiselle has destroyed the home of the heavenly 
 bird !" and the dear creature sobbed wildly. 
 
 The lady's face flushed as she turned towards the 
 despoiler and said, with sorrowful reproach, " Oh, my 
 child; is it possible that you can take pleasure in the 
 sorrow of another! Surely you must tell me that you 
 did this accidentally!" 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the young lady in a voice 
 silvery, yet cruel, " Is it possible that the antique nurse's 
 heart is an egg that lies at the bottom of a bird's nest? 
 
^8 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 I could not resist the temptation to tease her, and then 
 the birds should have been better behaved than to build 
 their unsightly nests in the lilacs. On my life, mamma, 
 I think Ninee is out of her mind; it was only yesterday 
 that she saw a magpie fly across my path, when she 
 must fall down and pray !" 
 
 A slight frown of displeasure darkened the pure brow 
 of the mother. 
 
 " But, my dear, you certainly know, or have heard, 
 that it is an evil omen for the magpie to cross one's path 
 in flight. As for the swallow, whose humble nest was 
 on the wall, shaded by the lilacs, it is venerated by the 
 peasantry of France, and is called ' La poule de Dieu? 
 These may be prejudices which will clear away before 
 the light of education, but while they remain, people of 
 good feeling must respect them." 
 
 "As you will, mamma," said Echo, for by this name 
 she was called now, I regret having been the occasion 
 of so much disturbance and will ask Ninee's pardon, 
 and hope to receive your kiss of pardon." The kiss 
 was given with all a mother's tenderness, and the ruf 
 fled waters were quiet agam. 
 
 As time went on, it occurred to the mother that her 
 daughter should be brought out in society, and to this 
 project M. Legrand joyfully acceded. 
 
 Mademoiselle Clifford therefore made her debut soon 
 at the house of one of the nobility, on the occasion of a 
 brilliant party. We have before referred to the per 
 sonal attractions of the young lady, which, it may be 
 readily conceived, lost nothing by the accessories of 
 splendid apparel and artistic toilet. She was bold, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 79 
 
 graceful, dashing, witty, wealthy, and, in fact, all that 
 the dissipated, courtly society of Paris could require. 
 
 Among the host of admirers who immediately fell 
 into the train of the young debutante, was La Croix, a 
 rich and dissolute count of the Empire, who was soon 
 more conspicuous than his competitors in the race for 
 mademoiselle's favor, and boasted of his success at the 
 fashionable clubs. 
 
 "J/tfjfo//" he would exclaim in the elegant lan 
 guage of the turf "the girl is of good form and a proud 
 stepper." 
 
 A dangerous intrigue between the two was soon in 
 full flower, notwithstanding the surveillance of the 
 thoughtful mother, vitalized in the almost constant com 
 panionship of Ninee. 
 
 So, one happy day, while the moments were dissolv 
 ing languidly in the gold-tinted air of June, Echo, en 
 veloped in a gossamer cloud of summer dress, was seen 
 to enter a green-wreathed arbor in the garden and seat 
 herself as if to read; but the newly cut volume of 
 "Monte Cristo" was suffered to lie idly in her lap and 
 the lady fell to musing. Very soon a sound was heard 
 as if some one had vaulted lightly over the stone wall 
 in the rear, and the flowering vines that secured the en 
 trance were gaily pushed aside by a handsome young 
 man, dressed in the height of fashion, and perfumed be 
 yond the rivalry of the roses 
 
 "Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls!" 
 
 quoted La Croix, in greeting, being proud of his famil 
 iarity with English literature and language. 
 
SO WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " Good morning-, count," replied the young lady, 
 with a slight flush on her cheek, " You are a scholar, 
 then, as well as a handsome knight." 
 
 " Nay, mademoiselle," said the young man gallantly, 
 kissing the hand that she extended, "I am nothing but 
 your slave." 
 
 " Be seated, then, and regale me with some of the gos 
 sip of your delightful, frivolous world." 
 
 " Rather let us talk of love in this atmosphere of 
 roses," he exclaimed, seating himself at her side and 
 printing an. ardent kiss on her lips: " Do you know that 
 I begin to suspect that you will get me into trouble, 
 my dear?" 
 
 " Say, rather, that I shall destroy you with kindness." 
 
 "A death that an angel might desire," he said raptur 
 ously," claiming another kiss "but the danger that I 
 apprehend is from a harsher hand that of M. Legrand." 
 
 " Ha! ha! M. Legrand is a kind of godfather of mine." 
 
 " I think he must be a lover of yours; he glares at me 
 ferociously whenever I approach you in society, and 
 one of these days I am sure that he will honor me with 
 a cartel." 
 
 " There is little danger of that, dear count, and," 
 with a blush, " you are secure in my favor is not that 
 enough?" 
 
 "Enough! it is the joy of Paradise in a single 
 draught." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 'HAT, monsieur; you here!" exclaimed Echo, 
 otherwise Madame Legrand, as, on leaving 
 the arbor, she almost ran into the arms of her 
 husband. 
 
 " Nothing more probable, madame," said M. Le 
 grand, with a dangerous sneer, his face white with st p- 
 pressed rage ; " let us return to your trysting bower I 
 have words for you which are quite as important as the 
 idle flatteries of a libertine." 
 
 " Parcl'ieu!" thought the false Echo, following her 
 - husband into the arbor, " there is trouble already, and 
 it shall be a match of wits and hardihood." But the 
 mocking smile faded from her lips, nevertheless, when, 
 motioning for her to be seated, he stood calmly before 
 her and began : 
 
 " I gave you credit for discretion, Zarina, if not for 
 virtue. We are necessary to each other in the business 
 we have undertaken, to say nothing of our legal union, 
 and there must be no double masks no treachery among 
 traitors. I love you in my way, but when we have con 
 summated our designs, you may go upon the town if 
 you like; all that I require of you now is that your des 
 picable gallantries shall not ruin the work we have 
 begun. You cannot deceive me; I am the originator 
 
 and director of this great scheme upon the fortune of 
 4 
 
62 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Lady Clifford, and I demand your implicit obedience 
 till success shall be achieved. Have you an answer ?" 
 
 " Only this, monsieur," replied the subtle young wo 
 man, " that I am yours in everything, and that you have 
 misconstrued the attentions which I have received from 
 that insipid count. You know the freedom which we 
 acquire upon the stage, and what I have done is simply 
 the fault of my education. I swear that I love you and 
 you alone, and that LaCroix is no more in my thoughts, 
 and can be no more than a handsome poodle. Here 
 after I shall be more guarded in my intercourse with 
 men, so that I shall not receive such cruel reproaches;" 
 and the guileless beauty actually had the cleverness to 
 produce a tear or two. 
 
 What happened then has always happened since the 
 world began. There was forgiveness and reconciliation, 
 and the wife, sub rosa, was, a few minutes later, lying 
 voluptuously in the arms of her husband, amid mutual 
 murmurs of love ! 
 
 " You will doubt me no more, then ?" she said, softly, 
 disengaging her lips from a lingering kiss. 
 
 " No, my love, but I am impatient for the time when, 
 with wealth at our command, we may feast upon the 
 joys of wedlock without restraint." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, we have before talked of hastening 
 that time; if there be obstacles, let us, as you have often 
 said, remove them." 
 
 " You are right, my dear, we must move cautiously, 
 but we must move. There are two great natural laws 
 which will sanction our work the universal law of self 
 
WHAT CAME OFIT. 83 
 
 defense, and the command, not less obligatory and uni 
 versal, to pursue our happiness." 
 
 The lady smiled her approval of his philosophy, and 
 he continued: 
 
 " I have been studying the nature of occult poisons 
 very much of late ; it is a sublime science, and I flatter 
 myself that I have penetrated its arcana. Look here !" 
 and he took -from his pocket and held before her a small 
 phial filled with a brilliant liquid. " This is one of the 
 most mysterious poisons that has ever been discovered, 
 and its preparation was, I believe, a secret of the Bor- 
 gias. Observe that it is colorless, odorless, and that its 
 taste can easily be disguised ; that it is slow, insidious, 
 fatal, and that it leaves not, like a bungling assassin, the 
 footprints of its crime and you, involved in the meshes 
 of a gigantic plot, must acknowledge and adore its 
 power." 
 
 " Morbleu!" said she, with a faint shiver; "it is like 
 the bottled genii of the Arabian story, and it strikes like 
 the unseen hand of God !" 
 
 " Yes, it is all that, love ; two drops a clay in food or 
 drink, will effect changes in the world and bring happi 
 ness to those who deserve it." 
 
 " Give it me," she murmured, and as a glance of deadly 
 meaning was exchanged, she took possession of the 
 phial. 
 
 " Pcstc ! it is late!" he said, looking at his watch, 
 "and we must kiss and part;" and the delectable pair 
 parted with a caress that was worthy of better natures. 
 
 That night, in the secrecy of her chamber, the retiree) 
 
84 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 danseuse held the potent phial to the light as she stood 
 partially undressed, and admired its gem-like brilliancy. 
 
 " Mon Dieu /" she exclaimed, in soliloquy, " it glitters 
 like the lightning ! Ah, sweetheart husband mine ! 
 you have put a powerful weapon into my hands, and you 
 must look to yourself. Fool ! does he think me blind, 
 that I cannot see that he puts the burden of the guilt 
 upon me, and, the deed accomplished, hopes to have me 
 irrevocably in his power ? The end is not yet, monsieur 
 a plot is as full of plots as an egg is full of meat !" 
 With these virtuous thoughts to guard her pillow, the 
 sleep of the young woman, when she retired a few mo 
 ments later, was sweet and profound. 
 
 A few evenings subsequent to the events just narrated, 
 Lady Clifford and the person known as her daughter, 
 were returning from a successful dinner party, where the 
 young woman, thanks to the maternal taste in dressing 
 her, had attained the enviable distinction of being the 
 cynosure of all eyes. 
 
 M. Legrand had a seat in the carriage, but he was ap 
 parently unhappy. There was a settled look of gloom 
 and bitterness on his face, which, exert himself as he 
 might, he was wholly unable to exorcise. 
 
 Echo was flushed with excitement and the glory of 
 conquest. She had lost her head entirely in the giddy 
 swirl of admiration she had created, and had flirted 
 audaciously with a dozen men La Croix among the 
 number. For a long time she had been pouring forth a 
 flood of comment upon the persons and characters of the 
 guests, while her mother sat silently listening, or ab 
 sorbed in her own thoughts, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 85 
 
 " 111 the name of the inventor of speech, my dear 
 mother, I implore you to answer some of my questions 
 express an opinion or at least make a sign that you live, 
 and can both think and hear !" she finally cried, exasper 
 ated by the indifference of her audience. 
 
 Legrand frowned heavily, and made as if he would 
 have spoken, but thought better of it, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 " I have been pained, my daughter," said Lady Clif 
 ford, " at your words, your thoughts, and your manner. 
 I have hesitated to speak because my feelings were so 
 deeply concerned for you." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Mother, you are not a philosopher, like 
 myself and the gay and versatile Monsieur Legrand ! 
 Why, it is the acme of philosophy to think without feel 
 ing, and to speak without thinking. All serious thoughts 
 are a useless abrasion of the tissue of the brain, and it is 
 my opinion that the angels are immortal simply because 
 they are happy, and," with a malicious glance at Le 
 grand " I may confess to you that the knightly La Croix 
 did me the honor to call me an angel many times this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, my daughter, restrain your 
 idle tongue. Your conversation does no credit to your 
 nature or your breeding, and you pain me beyond utter 
 ance. The love of admiration, when unreasonably in 
 dulged, is poison to a pure soul, and destroys every germ 
 of good." 
 
 " Ah, mother, you do well to remind me of my breed 
 ing," Legrand eyed the speaker with a perceptible 
 sneer " therein lies the source of my foolish ways," 
 
86 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 There was a mournful pathos in her voice that com 
 pletely overcome Lady Clifford, who embraced her with 
 misty eyes, and begged "the poor child" to forgive 
 her. 
 
 Little more was said until the carriage arrived at its 
 destination, and M. Legrand assisted the ladies to alight. 
 
 He clutched Zarina's hand with a painful grasp in as 
 sisting her to the ground, and whispered in her ear the 
 one word " Beware !" 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 PON the seventh day, stupor succeeded de 
 lirium. Arousing the patient with difficulty, 
 the physician administered the medicine him- 
 self remarking, philosophically, to the nurse : 
 "It were better for her to die thus, while she lingers 
 upon the threshold of sin, but the duty of a well-paid 
 physician does not comprehend questions of such moral 
 magnitude; and our frail, beautiful friend, here, will 
 therefore recover, and go her way alluring others, per 
 haps, by the false light of a fair face, to the ruin she has 
 embraced. Hand me the blue bottle, and support her 
 head a moment, please. There, that will do. It is a 
 bitter draught, but not so deadly as the kisses that have 
 betrayed her ! Sick prisoners are often restored to health 
 in order that they may be hung, but the rescue of this 
 girl for a life of shame is still a ghastlier paradox. You 
 know your duty, now, nurse. Good-day !" And the 
 erudite medico passed down the handsome stairway, 
 lightly humming a bar of the last opera. 
 
 On the evening of the second day from this, Echo 
 gradually awoke from a slumber as profound and dream 
 less as that of the grave. Opening her eyes, she glanced 
 around the dimly lighted room. All was strange. She 
 tried to raise her hand, but it fell helplessly at her 
 side. 
 
00 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 With a dazzling sensation of recovering thought, she 
 again closed her eyes, and her mind wandered back to 
 the twilight border of fantasy. Presently, hearing the 
 rustle of a woman's dress, she looked up, and saw a 
 middle-aged lady, with a homely, yet kind face, bending 
 over her. 
 
 " You have been very sick, dear," said the nurse, for 
 such it was, in a soothing voice, as she tenderly smoothed 
 the pillow. " You are better now, but must not exert 
 yourself to .talk. Drink this, and compose yourself to 
 sleep." 
 
 The poor girl obeyed without a word, and soon glided 
 from the phantom land of fever into the soft embrace of 
 a healing slumber. 
 
 The convalescence of the young lady was progressing 
 favorably, when, one day, a note from Mrs. Ainsley was 
 handed her. It contained words of sympathy and con 
 dolence, simply, which shaped themselves at the close 
 into a whine of self-pity, and was accompanied by a taste 
 ful bouquet of flowers, composed of a girdle of rose- 
 geranium leaves afound a pyramidal cluster of pansies, 
 surmounted by a creamy tuberose. 
 
 The nurse observed, with surprise, that though at first 
 the invalid pressed the flowers to her lips with a low cry 
 of delight, she a moment later threw the fragrant offer 
 ing from her with a moan of pain, as a purple flush 
 swept into her white face, and her sensitive, pale lips 
 curved with aversion. 
 
 " Take the flowers away," she said, " and please de 
 fend me from all other gifts from that source !" The 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 89 
 
 card attached to the bouquet bore the name of Edmond 
 Ainsley. 
 
 In narrating this incident to the medical attendant, the 
 nurse expressed the belief that her charge was the victim 
 of some cruel wrong. 
 
 " I never was more puzzled in my life with regard to 
 the character of a patient," said the man of nostrums ; " I 
 am an excellent judge of human nature it is incident to 
 our profession, and, were it not for the circumstances of 
 the case, I should say that this young woman is pure 
 as a lily." 
 
 And so he thought again as he stood at the bedside of 
 the woman he had saved from death. Very white, wan, 
 and plaintive was the face resting on the pillow. The 
 blue-veined lids drooped listlessly over the tender eyes, 
 and the long lashes swept the wasted cheeks. The 
 doctor looked kindly upon this picture of withered love 
 liness, and his heart was stirred with a noble sympathy. 
 He had a daughter of his own at home, a motherless dar 
 ling like Echo, w r hom he loved devotedly, and thoughts 
 of her softened his voice magically when he bent over 
 the invalid and said : 
 
 "God and science have given us the victory, my dear; 
 the crisis is past, and you will get well. It must have 
 been a great mental and moral strain that brought you 
 so near the grave. I hope that you will give me your 
 confidence, and call upon me freely for any assistance 
 that I can render in removing the causes of your 
 malady." 
 
 " The time for the only service which you could have 
 done me has passed," responded Echo, sadly. " Oh, 
 
90 WHAT CAME OF It. 
 
 doctor, you have done a cruel thing in prolonging my 
 life !" 
 
 " No, no, my child ; those are idle words' ! I am not 
 a Christian in the true sense, and I am proud of the re 
 sources of my profession; yet, believe me, dear, God 
 takes the lives that have accomplished their mission on 
 earth. God wills it, therefore, and life is still a prize for 
 you, whatever misfortunes have gathered on your path. 
 You are young and very beautiful ; take courage, then, 
 and we will assist you to tie the broken threads of love 
 and trust together again. I find you in a strange place 
 a place, the very shadow of which is deadlier than that 
 of the upas but I take a vital interest in the life that I 
 have assisted back from the borders of shadow-land. 
 Come to my home, when you have recovered ; I am a 
 widower, with an only daughter about your age, and 
 henceforth you shall have true and steadfast friends." 
 
 The doctor hesitated a moment, and a slight flush 
 mantled his brow, as he continued : 
 
 " I am wealthy and powerful in this community, and " 
 the flush deepened on the broad brow " I am lonely and 
 world-worn, will you share my name and home ? I 
 know it is a sudden and startling proposition to you, but 
 judgment and feeling unitedly constrain me to be candid 
 with you. Take time to think of this, if you wish it; 
 and, at all events, be assured that a home and a father's 
 protection beneath my roof are yours always." 
 
 The dreamy, dark eyes dilated with surprise, but not 
 a vestige of color dyed the marble whiteness of her brow, 
 as she calmly replied : 
 
 " Ah, doctor, your proposition, so far as it relates to a 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. C)t 
 
 holier bond than friendship, does more credit to your 
 heart than your judgment. Even were things other than 
 they are, I could not see you thus become the martyr of 
 your pity. The title of wife should be crowned with the 
 richest love of the heart, and my heart is dust and ashes 
 now. When you are made to know all the calamities 
 that have befallen me, you will understand me, and pity 
 me more than ever. But do not, I beg you, withhold 
 from me the fatherly affection you have said might still 
 be mine I need it sorely, sorely !" and she sighed most 
 mournfully. 
 
 " I shall not annoy you with persistency, Miss Clif 
 ford, but you must yield me the high privilege of that 
 paternal friendship which I feel for you. When you are 
 well enough we will talk of the past and future, and in 
 the meantime I caution you against all who are not 
 proven and disinterested friends, and " the doctor 
 thought of declaring plainly the character of the gilded 
 mansion in which she had unaccountably taken refuge, 
 but concluded that she was safe for a time, and so con 
 cluded his sentence, " now, good-by, for to-day." He 
 touched her hand affectionately, and withdrew. 
 
 Regularly, on alternate days, during this time, Ed- 
 mond Ainsley brought to the house where Echo was 
 lying short notes of inquiry and commiseration. Trust 
 ing much to the habitual reserve of the young lady, he 
 hoped by these attentions to quiet her mind as to the 
 safety of her situation. 
 
 The days dragged heavily. The doctor began to 
 exhibit some anxiety about the slow progress of his si 
 lent, uncomplaining patient. A dull apathy rested upon 
 
92 , WHAT CAME OF IT\ 
 
 her, and she lay mysteriously becalmed half way upon 
 the voyage of recovery. The bright world had opened 
 to her restored sight, only to wither and darken again in 
 the memory of her awakened sorrow. The vision of life 
 had returned again, but it was the garden of betrayal and 
 despair, sunless and songless to her broken heart. The 
 vestal flames of hope had been extinguished there, and 
 the sighing, slow winds that waved the drooping flow 
 ers, were heavy with the burden of her soul's Geth- 
 semane. 
 
 Physic, therefore, was no longer needed. The physician 
 had paid his last visit, and gone to more stirring scenes 
 on the wide battle-field of death. In the meantime 
 Ainsley was in the full feather of anticipated victory, and 
 standing before the glass forty times a day, complimented 
 himself as one of the greatest generals of the age a man 
 that knew how to crush his enemies ! 
 
 The nurse could not help admiring the appearance of 
 her charge, one evening, as, reclining on a sofa drawn 
 up by the window, she gazed out mournfully on the 
 waters of the bay, the tender, solemn eyes harmonizing 
 sweetly with the spiritual delicacy of the thin, trans 
 parent features. She was simply attired in a white 
 cambric wrapper, relieved only at the throat and wrists 
 with soft ruchings of tulle. A delicate white rose-bud 
 nestled in the gold-tinted hair above one shell-like ear, 
 the single ornament of her toilet. 
 
 Suddenly turning her mesmeric glance full upon the 
 nurse, she said, in the low, thrilling tones the latter de 
 lighted to hear t 
 
 "I hope vou will not think me ungrateful, kind friend, 
 
WHAT CAME: OF IT. 93 
 
 for the unwearied attentions you have bestowed on a 
 ship-wrecked stranger. I shall pray the good Lord to 
 reward you bountifully." 
 
 " Do not mention it, child," said the other, with brisk 
 kindliness; "I did no more than my duty, and that, I 
 fear, but poorly. There is something on my heart, how 
 ever, concerning you, and since you have spoken, I will 
 speak. I do not wish to intrude upon the privacy of 
 your inner thoughts, but my interest in you compels me 
 to ask if you have counted the cost of the step you have 
 taken if your feet have taken deadly hold upon the life 
 you contemplate ?" 
 
 Wholly innocent of any suspicion concerning the real 
 peril of her situation, and thinking the interrogatories of 
 the nurse referred to the rejection of the doctor's offer, 
 and the consequent acceptance of a lonely life of drudg 
 ery, Echo replied "Oh yes; had I not disobeyed the 
 command of God and turned idol worshipper, these ca 
 lamities could not have befallen me. Alas ! each of us, 
 like ./Eschylus, sings to some enthroned image of the 
 heart. 'Jupiter is the air; Jupiter is the earth; Jupiter 
 is the heaven ; all is Jupiter.' But, alas, for the heart ! 
 when its idols are fallen and its songs are dead !" 
 
 " I was young and pretty once, myself," said the nurse, 
 with a half smile at the singularity of the reminiscence, 
 " though not beautiful like you. I, too, have a heart- 
 history, as who, indeed, has not? Bereft of my parents 
 at an early age, I was left alone in the world, without 
 relatives or friends, and found the struggle for existence 
 severe. I was betrothed to a young missionary who 
 went out to India, whither I was to follow him at the 
 
94 WHAT CAME OF if. 
 
 end of a year, but he fell a prey to the fever, and the star 
 of my youth went down never to rise again. I am old 
 and gray, now, but the grave of my perished love is still 
 green in my heart. It is a sorrow that has kept my soul 
 pure in the midst of temptations and bitter trials, and at 
 last my life has been crowned with a heavenly calm, that 
 is not despair, because it is fragrant with hope, and not 
 joy, because it is mellowed with regret. The stricken 
 heart should not become a waste a hortus siccus, for 
 fountains and flowers shall not be wanting to minds that 
 lie open to the sunshine and showers of heaven. The 
 memory of a pure sorrow will become a thing of beauty, 
 a golden anchor to the storm-tossed soul." 
 
 " You are right, my kind friend ; happiness is a young 
 dream that will visit me no more. My prayer is for 
 courage, patience, strength, purity, and that serenity of 
 which you have so clearly spoken." 
 
 " To be good, we must do good, my dear. Pleasure 
 vanishes in the grasp, because it is only the bloom- 
 dust on the wings of a living, eternal good the calm 
 of a tried soul, which we may pursue, over thorny ways 
 it may be, and surely gain. To be plain and practical, 
 I see no consistency in your noble purposes and the life 
 you have espoused." 
 
 " True," musingly, " my words and actions seem to 
 conflict, but my aspirations are holy, and I shall prayer 
 fully seek the right way. My position in life is humble, 
 but no shadow of dishonor shall fall upon it." 
 
 " Miss Clifford, I am astonished at you !" There was a 
 flash of scorn in the fine old face. 
 
 "I do not understand you, nurse!" said Echo, quickly, 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 95 
 
 with a movement of alarm. "What can you mean?" 
 and the invalid clasped her hands nervously, as she re 
 garded the other with an appealing look. 
 
 The nurse bent over her work and seemed at a loss 
 for a reply, when Echo continued, imploringly : "Oh, 
 you must listen to my story and then you will not be 
 cruel ! You have told me of your love ; it was a sweet 
 reality, but mine was a phantom and a curse. You can 
 remember a mother's kiss and a father's care blessings 
 I never knew. The love that I leaned upon, and oh, it 
 was a golden chain from Heaven to me ! broke, and I 
 was cast down into the starless abysses of despair. Ar 
 thur Hoberg was the loveliest, noblest man on earth to 
 me, and in my secret soul I worshipped him as though 
 he were a god. Once he had rescued me from the 
 flames of a consuming building, at the peril of his own 
 life, and thus had another title to the life he had saved. 
 I came to California as the companion of a rich lady of 
 the city of Quebec, whose burning dwelling it was from 
 which I had been gallantly rescued by Arthur. She has 
 an only son, Edmond Ainsley, w r ho has persecuted me 
 with his base attentions. He is a soulless dandy, a vi 
 cious libertine, whose very presence is contamination, and 
 I repulsed him with unutterable disdain. 
 
 " Ah, nurse ! I can almost hear the soft sighing of the 
 wind around my little white cottage home in Canada; 
 the lullaby of the birds at evening, the humming of the 
 bees at noon-day, and the soft lowing of beautiful old 
 Floss as she came through the meadows at sunset. Still 
 can I see the smooth, green lawn, with its flower-beds 
 and gravel walks, the cleanly porch, shaded with clam- 
 
96 WHAT CAMfi OF If. 
 
 bering vines, where dear old grandmother used to sit 
 with her Bible in the fragrant days of summer. Oh, 
 that I could feel those kind hands on my weary brow 
 to-night, and know that in all the world there was at 
 least one warm, pulsing heart that was wholly mine !" 
 
 There was a pause, and the nurse broke in agitatedly 
 "Child! child! you perplex me beyond measure. Your 
 story bears every evidence of truth ; and, yet, how came 
 you in a house of ill-fame, represented as a fashionable 
 young man's mistress?" 
 
 Echo was almost stupefied with wonder " House of 
 ill-fame! a mistress! Good God!" starting forward 
 with an agonized expression of face " is this the hor 
 rible phantom of a feverish dream ? Has God really for 
 gotten me, and allowed the fiends of hell possession of 
 my soul ! It cannot be ! it cannot be ! " 
 
 The nurse started up and laid her tender hand upon 
 the arm of the excited girl " Compose yourself, dear, 
 you are safe now, and the wretched designs of your en 
 emies shall come to naught. But tell me how came 
 you here ? " 
 
 " Why, it was effected while I was unconscious. When 
 the news of Arthur's unfaithfulness reached me, the 
 blow -was more than I could bear, and I sank into the 
 desperate fever through which you have attended me. 
 The notes that you have brought me were from Mrs. 
 Ainsley, saying that she had caused my removal to a 
 Sisters' hospital, and this I supposed to be the character 
 of the place, though I have sometimes wondered that 
 none of the good nuns have appeared in my sick room. 
 But why are you here ? " 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 97 
 
 u I am a nurse by profession, dear, and go wherever 
 duty calls me. I trust that I have done much good in 
 such places by sowing the seeds of reform." 
 
 Echo turned resolutely towards her bureau " Come, 
 then, let us get ready, and leave this poisoned air ! " 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 'T eight o'clock the following morning, while 
 the inmates of the house were still wrapped 
 in slumber, Echo, closely veiled, and leaning 
 upon the arm of the faithful nurse, entered the 
 coach which had been ordered the night before, and was 
 driven rapidly away. Before night the two for the 
 nurse had now established a gentle protectorate over the 
 young lady were comfortably settled, in quarters of 
 their own in a distant part of the city, far from the bustle 
 and roar of Kearney and Montgomery streets. 
 
 During the following month, mainly through the un 
 tiring effort of Christian Newbury, the nurse, Echo se 
 cured a large class for instruction in music, and the grim 
 battle for bread was fairly launched. 
 
 One day, when returning from the home of a pupil in 
 the neighborhood of Telegraph Hill, the attention of the 
 music teacher was drawn to the piteous cries of a little 
 girl, not more than four years of age, whom a group of 
 street gamins, " hoodlums," as they are now known to 
 odious fame in the Bay City, were industriously torment 
 ing. As the teacher reached this scene of cruelty, one 
 of the grimy young devils kicked the feet of the child 
 from under her, and she fell heavily to the pavement, 
 fracturing her arm. The gallows buds then fled, with a 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 99 
 
 scattering yell of triumph that had an Apache ring 
 in it. 
 
 " My arm, my arm, my arm !" screamed the child, as 
 she scrambled to her feet, and clung to Echo's dress. 
 
 " Poor little thing," said the latter, pityingly stroking 
 the child's disheveled hair ; " Where do you live ? Tell 
 me, and I will take you home." 
 
 " Don't you know ?" said the child, looking at Echo 
 through her tears, which she was trying to dry with her 
 sleeve. " We's ben livin' in the alley, but we's goin' to 
 live in the sky now, where there's a garden, and flowers 
 and birds and sunshine allus, and where the good Lord 
 has made us a house full of jewels, and close and goodies 
 and everything. Mamma's gone there now, and I'm to 
 go, too, as soon as the pretty angels come for me, and 
 you are so pretty and kind I know you're one, and you're 
 goin' to take me now, aint you ? And you won't let the 
 hoodums hurt me any more, will you ?" 
 
 "Yes, poor child," said Echo, deeply affected, "dry 
 your tears, and we shall see what can be done." Then 
 the young lady looked around in much bewilderment, 
 as if she would question the very street for some infor 
 mation concerning the child. As if in answer to this 
 inquiring glance, a girl of about twelve years of age here 
 stepped forward and observed : 
 
 " The young one's name is Wistlt, Miss, and her 
 mother died yesterday. I guess she hasn't got no home 
 nor folks now." 
 
 Echo's heart filled at this sententious tale of woe, and, 
 gazing at the little wanderer with misty eyes, she mur 
 mured : 
 
lOO WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 " Poor little waif, uncouth, unloved, desolate ! We 
 walk in the fields and crush the tender flowers at every 
 step; lo ! the relentless destinies tread us down with 
 their iron feet in the same way ! What will become of 
 this tiny nursling of the street, if I do not give it a home 
 and protection ? Surely I have been divinely appointed 
 to this humane office ; and perhaps in saving and nourish 
 ing this periled life, I may restore much that has been 
 lost from my own. Come, my child, you must go with 
 me, and perhaps we shall find mamma and the beautiful 
 garden of the sky." 
 
 The grimy little hand was laid confidingly in her own, 
 and they went on together. 
 
 " Can't you tell me your name, dear ?" said Echo, 
 coaxingly, after they had walked a little way. 
 
 " I'm only Wistit, ma'am !" 
 
 " But what did your mother call you ?" 
 
 " Mamma called me darling, but everybody else called 
 me Wistit," replied the child, moaning with the pain of 
 her arm. 
 
 At this moment a well-dressed gentleman overtook 
 them, and greeting Echo respectfully, said : 
 
 "Pardon me, madam, but I noticed the accident from 
 a window, and observing that the little girl was hurt, 
 and that you were seemingly a stranger to her, I have 
 ventured to offer my assistance." 
 
 Echo responded to his salutation, and was thinking of 
 what she should say, when the gentleman stooped beside 
 the child, and said, gently : 
 
 "Let me examine your arm, little one; may be I can 
 help you." 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. IOI 
 
 He rose in a moment, and said : 
 
 " The poor thing's arm is fractured, and she must have 
 immediate assistance. I should advise you to give her 
 in charge of a policeman, whose duty it will be to convey 
 her to the city hospital for treatment." 
 
 He was a man of about thirty-five, of commanding 
 stature and shapely proportion, with a dark face, cleanly 
 shaven with the exception of a flowing black mustache, 
 and full, brilliant eyes. As he concluded his remarks he 
 touched his hat, with a white, shapely hand, and handed 
 Echo a card, on which, in clear script, was the name 
 Cleaveland Fairish. 
 
 Before Echo could answer, the child broke in : 
 " No, no, no ! I'm afraid of the p'liceman, and I won't 
 go t'o the hospil ! You will take me to mamma, and she 
 will make me well !" 
 
 Mr. Fairish pondered a moment, and made another 
 suggestion : 
 
 " Perhaps, then, it will be better for me to call a coach 
 and accompany you to the office of some physician. 
 When the arm shall have been dressed, I will cheerfully 
 assist you in arranging for the future of the homeless 
 child, if you will kindly allow me that privilege. It is 
 too great a burden to fall on you alone." 
 Echo hesitated a moment, and replied : 
 " Very well ; I wish only to do what is best." 
 There is a Latin phrase which counsels us, very in 
 definitely, to resist beginnings. The purport of the 
 warning evidently affects evil beginnings only, and yet, 
 in that circumscribed sense, it leaves an individual in 
 hopeless entanglement. Causes, both good and evil, as 
 
IO2 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 regards results, are woven together in an undistinguish- 
 able maze, and all that is left for the wayfarer is to be 
 candid, courageous, yet cautious, too, and as wise as he 
 may, in taking up the threads of destiny, and leave the 
 rest to the merciful care of Heaven. 
 
 To Echo, inexperienced as she was, there seemed to 
 be no impropriety in thus associating herself with an un 
 known gentleman in a passing work of charity, with 
 which matter, indeed, her mind was wholly engrossed. 
 The course of our lives, or rather of the possibilities of 
 our lives, is marked by an infinite number of lines, which, 
 lying in contact at the beginning, seem to be parallel, 
 but really diverge widely as they extend, and lead to 
 contrasted results. 
 
 Then, as if to explain her intentions, Echo said : 
 
 " I had concluded to take the forlorn little estray to my 
 home." 
 
 Mr. Farrish cast at her a quick, inquiring glance, and 
 suggested a doubt, with just the shadow of a fleeting 
 smile on his dark face : 
 
 "Are you sure it will be best ? Perhaps your people 
 will object to the spontaneous philanthrophy of your 
 act ?" 
 
 Echo thought that Mr. Farrish was rather spon 
 taneously thrusting himself into other people's business; 
 but she replied, with mild gravity : 
 
 "My parents are dead. I have only to serve my own 
 taste, convenience and sense of duty." 
 
 " Ah, then, that relieves you of all embarrassment." 
 
 And the gentlemanly Mr. Farrish seemed to approve 
 her independent state. Then, in pursuance of the stmn- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 103 
 
 ger's counsel, the office of a physician was visited, and 
 the fractured arm skillfully set and bandaged. 
 
 Mr. Fairish accompanied Echo to the door of her res 
 idence in the carriage he had called, and there gracefully, 
 and wisely, took his leave. 
 
 " In the name of the seven wonders, what have you 
 here ?" exclaimed nurse Newbury, as she opened the 
 door and gazed upon the ill-assorted pair with con 
 sternation. 
 
 "A young lady in distress, sister," answered Echo, 
 cheerfully, "whom the laws of humanity and chivalry 
 constrain us to protect." 
 
 " Well, well ! A dog, two cats, and a street waif, all 
 in a month ! Bless me, Echo, I hope you have reached 
 the climax now ?" 
 
 Meanwhile the child, glancing from one to the other, 
 clung pathetically to the dress of her deliverer, and 
 trembled with apprehension. Seating herself, and taking 
 the child tenderly upon her lap, Echo then recounted the 
 history of the case. 
 
 " The gentleman was right," said the other, when she 
 had heard all ; " the child should have been sent to the 
 hospital ir&mediately. You do not seriously intend keep 
 ing her, my dear ?" 
 
 "I do, if you consent, sister," said Echo, gravely. 
 
 "Why, child, you have enough to do in caring for 
 yourself, and so have I. There are organized charities 
 which look after such cases more effectively than we 
 can." 
 
 " Organized charities ! Oh, sister, do you not know 
 those institutions nre the last resort of the wretched ? 
 
104 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Charity, the ' twice blessed,' is there measured out by 
 the inch, and loses its flavor in the grudging dole ! 
 Something has interested me strangely in my little 
 "Wistit," as she quaintly calls herself, and I must care 
 for her personally, even at a great sacrifice of time, com 
 fort and convenience." 
 
 " Let us take her, then," said the nurse, softened by 
 the earnestness of her friend ; " God will provide, and we 
 shall make out somehow." 
 
 Echo hastened to sanction this understanding with a 
 kiss, and the little girl was brought between them and 
 received the kiss of formal adoption. 
 
 It transpired during the following days that Mr. Far- 
 rish had taken more than ordinary interest in the street 
 Arab, now cleansed of alley stains, prettily clothed, and 
 nourished in the bosom of a warm affection, from the 
 fact that he called several times with propitiatory gifts of 
 bon-bons for the child and genial courtesy for nurse 
 Newbury, Echo, on these occasions, not being visible. 
 
 One Thursday evening, at prayer-meeting, great was 
 the astonishment of the nurse and Echo, when their 
 pastor, at the conclusion of the services, advanced with 
 this same Mr. Farrish and introduced him to our friends 
 as an old and valued friend ! All suspicion of fraud thus 
 set at rest, Mr. Farrish, being an intelligent and attrac 
 tive man, was thenceforth an acceptable visitor at the 
 residence of Echo and Aunt Newbury, as the latter now 
 came to be called, and the mills of destiny ground 
 slowly on. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HE brow of M. Legrand began to wear a 
 sinister gloom. He daily became more and 
 more bitter and morose, and was an enigma 
 to his friends. Chagrin poisoned his medit 
 ations, and jealousy was gnawing at his heart. He saw 
 Zarina pursuing -a systematic course of flirtation with 
 the debonair count, and he knew she was already false 
 in sentiment, and in a fair way of becoming criminal in 
 deed. Vain, giddy women of Zarina's order, are sus 
 ceptible of the deepest corruption. The empty pride of 
 fair features and splendid dress, and of the venomous bab 
 ble of flattering tongues, is an eternal Sphinx that haunts 
 the highways of society with those remorseless riddles 
 of chastity and honor which tinted lips cannot answer. 
 The wrecks of female loveliness and truth are gay with 
 ribbons, diamonds and rouge! 
 
 The physicians of M. Legrand advised country air 
 and remission of labor; but the jaundiced plotter sniffed 
 danger in the atmosphere and would not desert the field. 
 He resolved to restrain Zarina with a strong hand, and 
 force her inexorably into the accomplishment of his de 
 signs. He had come to admire the woman extremely, 
 as well as fear her, so well had his villainous teaching 
 prospered in the fruitful soil of a vicious nature, and he 
 
 felt the necessity of bracing himself for the impending 
 
 5] 
 
IO6 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 struggle with unusual effort. He was a good swords 
 man and a^dead shot with the pistol, not lacking in nat 
 ural courage, but, an aftair with the count, might lead to 
 disastrous discoveries and ruin all. 
 
 On the other hand, Zarina was really infatuated with 
 La Croix, and her brain was whirling with the intoxica 
 tion of pleasure. She was desperate, demoniac with the 
 awakened fury of her passions and capable of the wild 
 est excesses. A man is ordinarily governed by reason, 
 but a woman is moved by intuitions. Corrupt the causes 
 of action, therefore, in women by vitiating the source of 
 her intuitions, and she will head for the lakes of sulphur 
 with blinding velocity. 
 
 While things were in this condition, Lady Clifford 
 gave a magnificent dinner party. The guests were nu 
 merous and fashionable, and the enjoyment supreme. 
 Zarina, whose real name will be used when she is spoken 
 of, and the assumed when she is addressed, was queenly, 
 in a delicate, shimmering green silk and over-dress of 
 costly lace, embellished with grand golden lilies, whose 
 diamond petals gleamed and glowed with starry splen 
 dor as she moved in the dance. She had advanced rap 
 idly in the graces of high life, and was considered au 
 fait in amorous intrigue by a host of perfumed gallants. 
 
 During the evening she managed to have a moment's 
 tete a tete with La Croix on the balcony. These two, 
 being " birds of a feather," inspired each other magneti 
 cally, and the brief interview in the odorous moonlight 
 was rich with sensuous kisses and endearing words. 
 
 "Ah, my prince," said Zarina, returning his embraces 
 with unabashed warmth, " stolen [waters are sweet, but 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. IOy 
 
 the moral philosophers have called them deadly. Do 
 you know, my dear, that your passionate glances and 
 amorous behavior have aroused mamma's suspicions this 
 evening, and that M. Legrand devours you with the 
 eyes of a tiger ? " 
 
 " The full cup foams over, love ; but what of that ? I 
 swear by the crimson blood of my heart and the nectar 
 of your glowing lips that you shall be my wife. I shall 
 seek an immediate opportunity of proposing the matter 
 to your mother." 
 
 " No ! no ! count, that will never do ! " exclaimed Zar- 
 ina with vehemence. " I implore you to believe that the 
 course you have indicated would snuff out our young 
 and happy love like a wax taper. Be patient yet a little 
 longer, and the time will come, and that ere many 
 months have passed, when the desire of your heart, and 
 mine, shall be fulfilled. It is my opinion that great 
 changes are about to occur, and that M. Legrand, the 
 arch-enemy of our happiness, contemplates a long 
 voyage." 
 
 " Your speech is dark with enigmas, sweet-heart, but 
 your lips blossom with a confession dear to my soul, and 
 I shall be content to wait. But, parbleu ! we must not 
 grow too serious and tragic, or, tamely common-place. 
 It is better to be the butterfly of a brief, bright summer 
 than the toiling, unhappy bee of a dozen seasons." 
 
 To which Zarina, shaking her jeweled hand at him 
 warninigly, replied : " Butterflies we will be, then, count ; 
 anp we must have a care that we do not singe our wings. 
 But we must not tarry here too long. Au revoir!" 
 
 In retracing her steps to the drawing-room, Zarina 
 
10S WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 paused a moment by the fountain in the conservatory to 
 arrange her hair. While engaged in this graceful task, 
 M. Legrand stepped out suddenly from the shadow of a 
 mighty cactus in crimson flower, and grasped her arm 
 with cruel force. The man was utterly hideous with 
 jealous rage, and his eyes flashed daggers 
 
 " At it again, hussey ! By the grave of my mother! 
 you shall repent this one day ! I have raised you to a 
 giddy height, vile danseuse, but the descent is greater 
 and the rocks below have fangs like lions! Tell me, 
 viper that I have nursed ! do you think to baffle and ruin 
 your benefactor, and yet walk this horrible precipice in 
 safety?" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" she laughed, with a scornful curve of her 
 fine lip and a murderous flash of her eye, "you appear 
 to great advantage, to-night, monsieur never better 
 that I remember, except, may be, the figure you made 
 during the storm at sea. There is a royal magnificence 
 in your carriage that overpowers me. You must be in 
 spired by wine as dry and old as the mummies of Egvpt. 
 Come, name the brand of your god-like tipple that I 
 may instantly shout its fame!" 
 
 " Hear me, harlot ! " he hissed with awful fury, " you 
 have made me desperate and this masquerade shall end. 
 This very night I shall expose you to madame, and then 
 you may pirouette down stairs, the laughing stock of all 
 you have deceived, and exchange these diamonds for the 
 tawdry spangles that better become your flimsy and false 
 character." 
 
 She felt that she had gone too far, ^nd hastened to re 
 pair her error, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 109 
 
 " It is you," she said, " who are threatening us both with 
 destruction. You spring upon me like a wild beast, and 
 shriek curses at me like a madman. I declare that I am 
 true to you, and that you alone hold possession of my 
 heart. Your jealousy would be simply absurd were it 
 not so criminally savage. I walked a moment on the 
 balcony with that monkey of a count, exchanging the 
 airiest nothings of small talk, and, lo ! what a scene my 
 lord and master makes of it ! Ah, husband dear, let us 
 have faith in each other, and cease these wretched 
 wranglings !" 
 
 Her voice was mellow with increasing tenderness, and 
 the title of " husband " she had so softly spoken, crushed 
 the uxorious villain into helpless pulp at once. 
 
 " Then, my dear," he said, twining his arm about her 
 waist, " why do you annoy me and hazard our happiness 
 by your idle flirtations ? You must know how the world 
 regards the appearance of evil you seem to court, and 
 that it is never too charitable in its constructions. You 
 must not expect me to stand by submissively and see my 
 wife metaphorically, if not physically, in the arms of a 
 libertine. But I shall trust you again, and sincerely hope 
 that you will be more considerate of my feelings than 
 heretofore." 
 
 She promised to be his slave in everything, and they 
 were reconciled, as before, with a sickly plentitude of 
 lip-service. 
 
 The dancing soon ceased, and the weary guests de 
 parted. The Clifford mansion was soon in darkness, 
 with the exception of a single curtained light in an up 
 per window. For a moment an outside observer might 
 
110 
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 have seen a shadow on that curtained window that of 
 a contemplative female in partial undress, with her arm 
 extended towards the light. Zarina was counting the 
 blood-red drops remaining in the quaint little phial. 
 
 " There is enough for two," she said, " and my tigerish 
 monsieur shall be generously served !" 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 'HILE all these things were happening to 
 Echo, Arthur, toiling away assiduously at 
 his profession in the northern city, was wholly 
 in the dark as to the conspiracy by which he 
 had been despoiled of his treasure. 
 
 Our griefs and joys, and not our years, mark the flow 
 of life on the sensitive dial of the soul. A great change 
 had come over Arthur Hoberg, but it was more felt and 
 seen by his friends, than understood. 
 
 A cankering grief in a man is ordinarily attributed to 
 business cares; the same in a woman, to some physical 
 derangement. A face may, or may not, reflect the dis 
 turbance of the heart. Then, we pay so little attention to 
 these things. We never seem to know, or cease to re 
 member, that every life has its own crosses every soul 
 its special burdens. As we weep by the graves of loved 
 ones, friends group about us and sustain lis with their 
 sympathy; but to the secret sepulchres of the heart, we 
 steal in silence and alone. Optimism is an amiable mood 
 of mind when entertained in a hazy, impersonal way, but 
 is nauseous enough, sometimes, when individually ap 
 plied. The broad humor of Artemas Ward's readiness 
 to sacrifice all his wife's relatives in the war, has the 
 flavor of a pungent truth. That Job's friends bore his 
 eruptive afflictions with neighborly equanimity, there can 
 
112 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 be no doubt. There is really little vicarious suffering in 
 the world, notwithstanding the divine example. We 
 cannot become thoroughly en rapport with the suffer 
 ings of others. It is a blessing that it is so, else our 
 hearts would break with one mighty throb of sym 
 pathetic pain, and there would be an end. 
 
 " What in the world can possess you, Arthur ?" im 
 patiently queried Mary Hoberg of her brother, during 
 one of his home visits. " In place of our former cheerful 
 and chatty brother, there appears a grave and dignified 
 stranger, wrapped in the solitude of his own thoughts. 
 Are you passing through the slow and solemn stages of 
 some horrible petrefaction ?" 
 
 " If the boy of yesterday was more attractive than 
 the man of to-day, sister, I am not to blame. Eternal 
 youth does not tangle itself in our Heart-strings or our 
 hair. Then you should know that my mind is engrossed 
 with professional cares," he said, with a grave smile. 
 
 " That plea of business absorption hardly deceives me, 
 Arthur; but I think I have the clew to your secret 
 pining." And pursing her lips with ludicrous affecta 
 tion, she sang: 
 
 " It is, oh for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 And the sound of a voice that's away !" 
 
 " Asking Mr. Tennyson's pardon for improving upon 
 his verse, I think that warble includes a complete diag 
 nosis of your case, brother. But come," she continued, 
 more seriously, " look up and be a man, Arthur. You 
 simply made a mistake in supposing that swine had a 
 relish for pearls, and all you have to do is to gather up 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 113 
 
 your gems and find better patrons. Pshaw, man alive, 
 the old adage about the inexhaustible number of fish in 
 the sea, should be a wholesome panacea for the ills your 
 mind is heir to !" 
 
 A woman can never understand why a man. should 
 break his heart for one of her sex, and Mary, having de 
 livered her opinion, went on dusting the furniture as 
 though she had crushed her brother with mighty bowl 
 ders of philosophy. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Mary," said Arthur, with some 
 indignation, " have a care ! The person to whom you 
 have alluded so slightingly, is the purest and loveliest of 
 her sex. I worship her still, though hopelessly, and can 
 not bear to hear her traduced with such an idle tongue." 
 
 Mary raised her eyebrows with deprecatory surprise 
 at this outburst, but said nothing. After a pause, he re 
 sumed, in a cold tone : 
 
 " But, please to remember that this subject is very dis 
 agreeable to me, and not refer to it again." 
 
 Then, noting the pained look in his sister's face, he 
 was recalled to his better self, and took her hand ten 
 derly, as he said : 
 
 " Have not the least anxiety about me, sister, I pray 
 you. Some would require probing, others simply to be 
 let alone." % 
 
 Placing her disengaged hand upon his shoulder, and 
 looking him kindly in the eyes, she said, placidly : 
 
 " Hereafter I shall endeavor to comply with your re 
 quest." 
 
 The family, with the exception of Arthur and Mary, 
 had gone to church. In place of the usual stir and hum 
 
114 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 of voices, a solemn stillness reigned in the vacant rooms. 
 Brother and sister, sitting side by side in the gloom of 
 the evening, wandered apart in their silent reveries. It 
 was that witching hour which gilds the royal castles of 
 the imagination with supernal beauty. The summer 
 moon, rising in full-orbed radiance, poured its silver 
 splendor through the room, and the atmosphere was 
 voluptuous with the scent of roses. 
 
 Mary's hands were clasped upon her lap, and she had a 
 rapt and far-away look, while the expression of her face 
 and the repose of her rounded figure, invited the thought 
 that she was spiritually conversing with some invisible 
 presence from the Fifth Heaven of the Midrash, the 
 felicitous queendom of " Gan Eden," where the daughter 
 of Pharaoh wields the scepter over the fairest and purest 
 of her angelic sex. 
 
 Of what was Mary thinking ? She was thinking- 
 whisper it softly, reader, mine ! which one of her sev 
 eral dresses she should wear to the pic-nic that was to 
 be held in the parsonage grove on the morrow, and the 
 style of toilet that would best become her on that im 
 portant occasion. 
 
 Arthur, absorbed in his own thoughts, was soon obli 
 vious to the presence of another, and murmured his so 
 liloquies aloud : * 
 
 "Ah," he sighed, "what a delicious agony is love ! I 
 offer homage at another shrine ? Never 1 As the orders 
 of flowers are printed on their leaves, so the glorious 
 lineaments of her beauty are limned upon the sacred tab 
 lets of my heart. O, the violet perfume of her breath ! 
 the heavenly bloom of her cheeks and lips ! her hair sun- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. IlJ 
 
 dyed, to ensnare the love of men ! and her eyes, lumi 
 nous as the purple stars of the highest heaven ! And 
 what a dream of bliss was ours ! We were alone upon 
 the broad, blushing sea of illimitable tenderness the 
 liquid eternity of souls divinely dissolved and flowing 
 together. But, and by Heaven, there is madness in the 
 thought ! she may at this moment be reclining in the 
 embraces of another !" . 
 
 "No, 1 " he resumed, after a moment of silent torture, 
 " I shall yet believe her to be true and pure. Why, we 
 should have been married before this, and had raised such 
 an altar of blessed domesticity as had propitiated the 
 favor of Heaven !" 
 
 And while Arthur wanders abroad in delightful fan 
 cies of the home that might have been, let us stand apart 
 and consider the tender subject he has suggested. 
 
 The tendencies of this age are against the sanctity of 
 the marriage relation. The theory of the law which 
 treats the hymeneal bond as a civil contract merely, has 
 been literally adopted by the masses, with disastrous con 
 sequences. It is in reality a spiritual, as well as physical 
 union, and should be a sacrament of the church, more 
 than a contract, between tiresome parties of the first and 
 second part, of which the courts have exclusive cog 
 nizance. Marriage is the fulcrum of moral progress, the 
 fountain of social happiness and domestic joy. 
 
 The young man or woman, who, in mentally ro 
 mancing along the misted future, sees no domestic shrine 
 shining its welcome for the aspiring soul, is hopeless of 
 earth and heaven. Courtship is the golden way that 
 leads to this shrine, and the delirious rhapsodies of love 
 
n6 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 the roses that arch oy^er its lustrous portal, so that we 
 must be patient with the ravings of Arthur. 
 
 "Good gracious, brother, we must both be moon 
 struck !" said Mary, starting up suddenly, when Arthur 
 had made a pause in what she mentally termed his de 
 lectable rant. " Come to the piano, and lend your as 
 sistance as accessory before the fact, while I render the 
 4 Moonlight Sonata.' " 
 
 He followed her languidly into the drawing-room, and 
 soon the immortal melody of Beethoven was flowing into 
 the silvery dream of the pale planet like a living soul. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CHO seems to be still infatuated with her strange 
 little protege," remarked Aunt Newbury to 
 Mr. Farrish, one day, "and," she continued 
 y with a smile, " I never see her with the child 
 upon her lap that I am not reminded of a little girl with 
 her first rag baby." , 
 
 " Ah," responded he, " I shall never forget how, once 
 upon a time, while wandering about in a volcanic region, 
 I was greatly refreshed by the beauty of a little flower 
 which grew upon the side of an extinct crater. The 
 simplicity and loveliness of the lone little virgin in the 
 midst of that awful desolation where the giant forces of 
 nature had torn and hurled the earth in a carnival of 
 madness, impressed me delightfully. If a tiny floweret, 
 one touch of grace and tenderness, in that sepulchre of 
 dead horrors, could thus instruct and please a languid 
 traveler, it is not strange that the young lady should find 
 nourishment and pleasure in the contemplation of the 
 human gem she has rescued from the volcanic ruin of a 
 wicked and wasted home." 
 
 Somehow, by these remarks, the contrast of human 
 lots was suggested to Aunt Newbury, and she was 
 moved to ask " Do you really believe, Mr. Farrish, 
 that all men are born free and equal, as the Declaration 
 has it?" 
 
llS WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 "No, indeed!" was the somewhat emphatic reply. 
 u The idea is absurd in any other than the mere political 
 sense in which Jefferson used it ; and, even then, there 
 are limitations and exceptions. Can one, for instance, 
 conceived by ignorant and vicious parents, brought forth 
 in squalor, and misled in shame and crime, have any sort 
 of equality with one whose veins flow with pure blood, 
 over whose cradle arches the rainbow of love, whose 
 youth blossoms in the sunshine of plenty, and is strength 
 ened and adorned by lavish culture one, in fact, who 
 enters life through golden gates and is forever girdled 
 by the saving memories and influences of a fortunate 
 Christian home ? The parable of the sower is timely in 
 this connection. There is, in human growth, stony and 
 blighted soil which can produce nothing good. Blood 
 that is clotted with hereditary impurities bears in it the 
 seeds of death. It is the natural result of original sin; 
 the angry ripples of Adam's fall widen and widen across 
 the restless sea of human life." 
 
 "Yes, but I cannot agree with you unreservedly. 
 Circumstances are powerful, but not despotic, in mould 
 ing our destinies. Many of the kings of intellectual 
 achievement sprang from the low and sunless vales of 
 life. The roll of the world's great men glitters with 
 such instances. It was to all men, and no special caste, 
 that Longfellow sang 
 
 'Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime.' 
 
 I am afraid that your doctrine, fully accepted, is edged 
 with a cruel fatalism." 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 1 19 
 
 * 4 You seem to forget, madam," he rejoined in a banter 
 ing tone, "that the biographers of men who have risen 
 from poverty and obscurity invariably remark that 'he 
 was born of poor but respectable parents.' There's 
 the rub. Honest poverty impedes, and vicious poverty 
 destroys. Plant a germ and" cover it with a paving stone, 
 and you will find its growth distorted or destroyed. 
 The street gamin ripens, but it is oftener for the gallows 
 than the senate." 
 
 " It is a deep question, and difficulties involve it on all 
 sides, I grant," said Aunt Newbury ; " but the school of 
 experience has taught me to believe in the equality of 
 childhood. The character of a child is clay in the 
 potter's hand and takes shape according to the will and 
 skill of the moulder." 
 
 " But there is a difference of material, madam. You 
 cannot make a porcelain vase from a lump of ordinary 
 mud. I would not go to a tailor with a number of yards 
 of shoddy cassimere and expect therefrom a broadcloth 
 suit. "Like produces like everywhere and always." 
 
 " Do you sink back then, my dear sir, on the velvet 
 cushion of your natural caste theory and have no word 
 of sympathy and encouragement for those struggling in 
 darkness under the pressure of evil fates?" 
 
 " I simply recognize facts as they exist. Encourage 
 ment and sympathy to those born with a blight I would 
 give freely; but I should expect my sympathy, in most 
 cases, to be despised and my encouragement thrown 
 away. You can build a pretty good ship with faulty 
 timber, but it were infinitely preferable for the material 
 to be without a flaw." 
 
120 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Aunt Newbury did not respond immediately, and he 
 resumed 
 
 " I acknowledge, too, that there are men who conquer 
 circumstances. There are two great classes of men 
 the positive and negative force and inertia. Positive 
 men achieve the world's great victories and commit its 
 wildest crimes. Negative men simply stagnate and 
 breed malaria. The former may conquer circumstances, 
 the latter are enslaved and destroyed." 
 
 At this juncture, little Wistit, who had been sitting 
 quietly in a chair by the window, sprang to her feet with 
 a scream and ran into the hall-way. 
 
 "What has excited the child?" asked Mr. Farrish, as 
 he turned a surprised look towards Aunt Newbury. 
 
 " She has probably caught a glimpe of Echo. The 
 little thing is extravagantly fond of her protector, and 
 it does her credit." 
 
 Holding Echo's hand, and frisking at her side with 
 extravagant delight, Wistit exclaimed, pointing towards 
 the house " You doesn't know who's in there ? " 
 
 "No, darling; but you must tell me "Who is it?" 
 
 "Guess!" 
 
 Echo named over several of the neighbors, but Wistit 
 shook her head negatively. 
 
 " Guess more." 
 
 "Who can it be?" said Echo, musing, with mock 
 gravity. " Come, Wistit, you must tell me." 
 
 " It is Mr. Bon-bons," exclaimed Wistit in triumph. 
 
 " Hush, dear," interposed Echo, unable to restrain her 
 mirth at the suggestive appellation; " Mr. Farrish might 
 object to that name, sweet as it is." 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 121 
 
 Flushed with her walk, her eyes luminous with a deep 
 splendor, Echo was dangerously beautiful as she entered 
 the room and greeted the visitor pleasantly. 
 
 The gentleman felt his heart dilate painfully in the 
 glow of her surpassing loveliness, and returned her easy 
 vsalutation with a perceptible trace of confusion. 
 
 ' Your sister," he remarked to Aunt Newbury, when 
 the other had passed from the room, seems to have rap 
 idly recovered her health." 
 
 The sisterly relation, be it understood, was a mild 
 fraud in which Mr. Farrish had been allowed to entangle 
 himself. 
 
 " Yes," replied Aunt Newbury, " I do not remember 
 to have seen her looking better. Tedious work seems 
 to have done her good instead of harm. In fact, few of 
 us realize the benefit we derive from the steady, but not 
 strained use of brain and muscle. Echo, however, I 
 fear is too ardent a devotee at the shrine of duty." 
 
 " I obtained two more pupils to-day, sister," said the 
 young lady in question, returning from the removal of 
 her outer wraps. "These make ten additions since 
 Wistit came to us thirty-five in all. If business keeps 
 increasing at this rate we shall be able to support our 
 third estate handsomely " and she smiled indulgently 
 upon Wistit. 
 
 "Ah, hopefulness is a glorious attribute of youth!" 
 exclaimed Aunt Newbury. 
 
 "And most glorious when altogether unselfish," in 
 terposed the gentleman, with an admiring look at a por 
 trait of President Lincoln which was suspended from 
 the wall above the mantel. 
 
122 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " Life is too short and our capacities too limited for 
 the accomplishment of much good," said Echo with a 
 sigh. " I wish that I were able to found and endow a 
 school where children of both sexes, gamins in the so 
 cial scale, could be cleaned, clothed, fed and educated 
 practically for future usefulness." 
 
 " The splendid philanthropy of such a scheme would 
 be its only reward, I think," said Mr. Farrish. " The 
 traditional needle that was lost in a haystack may have 
 been, or will yet be, recovered, but in the soiled chaff of 
 the streets you will not find many grains of valuable hu 
 manity for all your winnowing. If I desired to leave 
 the imprint of my benevolence on human coin, I should 
 not select the baser metals for an experiment." 
 
 " I differ with you entirely," said Echo. " Humanity 
 is sui generis, and not to be compared with material 
 things. Following the divine example we should all, 
 each in his degree, strive to elevate and redeem the race. 
 That we occupy higher ground and have a stronger foot 
 hold constitutes a sufficient reason for our extending all 
 the assistance in our power to those who struggle in the 
 darkness and debris of the ascent of life. The advent 
 of Christ not only proved the necessity of redemption 
 it was the golden text of brotherly love, mutual aid, and 
 eternal charity. The Christian who, intent upon his in 
 dividual salvation, appears with confidence at the throne 
 of judgment, will, like Cain, of old, be met with the 
 startling interrogatory ' Where is thy brother ? ' ' 
 
 " Grandly true, and as eloquent as true," replied he ; 
 " and yet the human heart longs for human appreciation. 
 If the government were, however, to found, liberally 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 123 
 
 endow, and sustain such a school, compelling the attend 
 ance of uncared-for children, the lower classes would 
 regard it as an odious tyranny." 
 
 " May be ; but it would seem that a government which 
 is founded on the theory that all men are created free 
 and equal, might esteem it a duty to keep them so. It 
 will have to do so, finally, for self-protection." 
 
 " Well, Miss Newbury, I confess that you have taken 
 the very Redan of my position, and, if you will allow 
 me, will retreat with the honors of war." 
 
 Echo laughingly bade him retain his reversed sword; 
 and the overthrown Russ sauntered away towards North 
 Beach, ostensibly to look at the parrots and monkeys, 
 but really to dream dreams. 
 
 Echo taught Wistit to make original prayers, instead 
 of repeating a stereotyped formula, and, as they kneeled 
 together by the bedside that night, said " Now, Wistit, 
 ask the good Lord for what you want." 
 
 The little hands were clasped, and this unique petition 
 ascended to the Throne: 
 
 " I pray the Lord my soul to take and bring Mr. 
 Bon-bons, too and I pray the Lord to make mamma 
 Newbury a new back, and good, pretty Echo, every 
 thing she wants. Amen!" 
 
 For the information of the reader it may be remarked 
 that Aunt Newbury, poor woman ! often complained of 
 a demoralized and painful spine. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 O sooner do the skies which stoop over our in 
 dividual worlds begin to frown, than time lags 
 heavily and the spirit droops. With hues bor 
 rowed from the gloom of the present, our 
 thoughts duskily tincture the future, and all things, ma 
 terial and mental, loom in sombre perspective. All the 
 world outside may be bright, but if a shadow rest on the 
 horizon of our own little cosmos, the sun no where shines, 
 and darkness covers all. Human atoms cannot recogViize 
 the true insignificance of their microscopic areas in the 
 immensity of creation, else a sublime stoicism would reign 
 in the hearts of men, and the pigmy millions of earth 
 would move placidly in the mighty progress of destiny. 
 There must be lights and shadows in the eternal pano 
 rama of life, and the soul should not repine because its 
 horoscope is gloomed by the umbrae of the planets that 
 wait upon its terrestrial advent. 
 
 To Pierre Legrand, who sat watching the mournful 
 drip and drizzle of the rain, the present and the future 
 were obscured in funeral clouds. " How greedily does 
 the insatiate earth drink the rain !" he murmured, as he 
 tossed his half-consumed cigar through the window. 
 " Parbleu ! it might be satisfied with its pluvial Heid- 
 sick, and not be forever extending its mouldy arms to 
 embrace its prodigal sons !" 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 125 
 
 When death, however lightly, touches the chords of 
 life, the sorrowful minor tone is at once recognizable, 
 with a thrill of secret dread, and the pallid hues of the 
 pale horseman are imparted to all our thoughts. These 
 are the times when, like the ever tender and musical Hood, 
 we smell the mould above the rose. 
 
 Lady Clifford having gone out upon an errand of 
 mercy to a poor pensioner, Legrand was temporarily the 
 autocrat of the family mansion. Wandering discon 
 solately into the drawing-room, he sat down by the piano 
 and began listlessly turning over some pieces of new 
 music. There was a strange shadow of fear, suspicion 
 and anxiety in his sunken eyes, and a ghastly pallor over 
 spread his face. " Mon dieu /" he murmured, " how 
 gay these authors of music are ! Peste ! laughter and 
 music seem to have died out of this life of mine !" 
 
 While these unhappy meditations were occupying the 
 mind of the schemer, Zarina, bright with the glow of 
 her animal beauty and the adventitious aid of fine attire, 
 came rustling into the room, and, folding her arms softly 
 about his neck, gave him a gracious salute. 
 
 A faint tingle of pleasure was communicated to his 
 veins by this airy trifle, but his solemnity was not dis 
 pelled, and he said, reproachfully : 
 
 "We cannot live on kisses, Zarina; the little phial 
 lasts too long, and madame seems actually to be im 
 proving in health !" 
 
 " I am not in fault, monsieur," replied Zarina, in a low 
 tone ; " Ninee haunts me like a specti;e, and I find little 
 opportunity to administer the drops as you directed witru 
 put the peril of discovery. The old woman is Argus 
 
126 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 eyed, and never seems to relax her watchfulness. Some 
 times I fear that she suspects me, but surely that cannot 
 be after all the precautions I have taken. Then 
 madame, as you know, is under the care of a physician, 
 and it is just possible that she may have blundered upon 
 a panacea for the ill that threatens her." 
 
 " Time drags horribly," replied he, in a complaining 
 tone, " and I am wearing out in the struggle. Peste ! 
 the poison seems to be settling in my heart, instead 
 of hers!" 
 
 " Believe me, monsieur, we cannot be baffled long. 
 Like desperate commanders, we have destroyed the 
 bridges behind us, and must win or die. I pledge you 
 that the apparent health which seems just now to mantle 
 in the cheeks of madame, shall prove to be the hectic 
 flush of approaching death !" 
 
 " And yet, my dear Zarina, the slow and heavy wheels 
 of time are grinding me to death upon the rocks of this 
 torturing suspense. The quick stroke of a Corsican 
 stiletto is the way to remove obstacles, after all. I am 
 courageous enough for sudden deeds, but this slow, 
 snake-like coiling about one's victim is maddening. The 
 deadly aroma of crape is continually in my nostrils, and 
 my very soul is shaken with strange alarms." Legrand 
 passed his hand across his clammy brow, and was awfully 
 in earnest. 
 
 " Fie, fie, monsieur, your digestion is out of order ! 
 You remind me of a spider, which gathers poison from 
 the same flowers which have loaded the bee with honey. 
 Where is the Latin maxim you used to quote to me ?- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 1 27 
 
 Dum vivimus, vivamus ! Have you lost the inspiration 
 of that joyful motto ? " 
 
 "The only thing Roman that can do me any good 
 now, is a priest. Sometimes I have been almost driven 
 to try the exorcism of a confession." 
 
 " Heavens, monsieur !" exclaimed Zarina, really fright 
 ened at the dire possibility of such madness. "Your 
 womanish hypochondria may ruin us yet ! Come, there 
 is another life than ours at stake now. Shall I tell you 
 a secret ?" 
 
 He looked at her passively, and she stooped and whis 
 pered something in his ear. 
 
 " In the name of the holy saints !" he cried, starting 
 up in agitated surprise. "I had not thought of that, 
 Zarina," he continued, in a lower tone, while a strange, 
 softening light broke over his sinister face ; " we must be 
 true to each other now. By heaven ! it is something to 
 live for and to suffer for, and it will propitiate the terri 
 ble fates !" 
 
 It is thus that the instinct of paternity ennobles the 
 wickedest of men. 
 
 " Then let us swear," she said, impressively, lifting a 
 small gold crucifix which was suspended upon a beauti 
 ful chain that encircled her neck ; " let us swear by the 
 sacred cross of Christ and the living pledge of our union, 
 that we will have no confessions, no relentings, no cow 
 ardly shambling and shuffling in the path that leads us 
 inevitably to prosperity, and that we will steadfastly 
 abide by the decision we have made, come what may !" 
 
 " I swear," he said, solemnly, and kissed the potent 
 
128 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 "And I swear," she said, kissing the cross in her 
 turn. 
 
 Then disengaging the chain from her own neck, she 
 clasped it around his, saying : 
 
 " Wear it as a memento a talisman powerful against 
 all devils, blue or black !" 
 
 " And you will discard the Count ?" he said, with a 
 slight lowering of the brow. 
 
 "He is not mine, in any sense, to discard," she an 
 swered, simply; "but I promise that even his silly atten 
 tions, since they give you pain, shall be put to flight." 
 
 "Now swear again, Zarina," he said, playfully, ex 
 tending his arms ; " swear that you love me." 
 
 "Joyfully, pierre," she answered, meeting his embrace; 
 " and seal my oath with kisses." 
 
 To have maintained the unities of truth and dramatic 
 propriety, Judas should have been a woman. The cold, 
 calm, lustrous, serpentine coils of female treachery, pale 
 the puny efforts of man, in that direction, to immeasur 
 able insignificance. 
 
 While patiently submitting to the prolonged manipu 
 lations of the maid, who was dressing her hair, Zarina 
 revolved the incidents of the recent interview in her 
 mind, smiling placidly at the recollection of her absolute 
 victory in a crisis of great danger. 
 
 There was Pierre, a strong man a wicked, scheming 
 man and an acute lawyer, besides, completely pros 
 trated and pressed to earth, figuratively, by a single 
 flourish of her rosy little thumb ! She was completely 
 fascinated with the thought of her power over him, and 
 resolved to play with the poor man's life mockingly, as 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. I2(> 
 
 a cat plays with the mouse she will presently consume. 
 Nature and education had combined to make the ex- 
 danseuse a fascinating fiend. Vain, selfish, completely 
 imbued with the ideas of a coarse materialism, and in 
 flamed with lawless passions, she was as cunning and 
 false as hell itself. 
 
 As for Legrand, he soon sought the privacy of his own 
 apartment, and, leaning abstractedly against the antique 
 mantel, gazed down at the glowing grate. He was- 
 not in good spirits, even yet. Perhaps the red coals re 
 minded him of the lurid Gehenna which must some 
 times vex the reveries of wicked men. Perhaps the dis 
 solving embers suggested a solemn phrase: "Dust to 
 dust, and ashes to ashes !" 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 'ONSIEUR. Legrand could scarcely conceal his 
 satisfaction, the following morning, on entering 
 the breakfast room, when he observed upon 
 the face of Lady Clifford the unmistakable 
 signs of some serious bodily ailment; but he, neverthe 
 less, in a voice of silken placidity, inquired after her 
 health. 
 
 "With many thanks for your solicitude, monsieur," 
 the lady answered, " I am sorry to say that my exer 
 tions of yesterday are followed by considerable indispo 
 sition. The most relishable viands will hardly tempt me 
 this morning, but it is only a temporary lassitude, I trust, 
 and will doubtless disappear in the course of the day. 
 I am glad to see that you are looking brighter than usual 
 of late." 
 
 " My mercurial temperment, madame, borrows its 
 tone from the loveliness of the morning, but will now 
 be overclouded again from sympathy with your unhappy 
 depression." 
 
 "Dear me, mamma," said Zarina, seating herself at 
 the table with an indolent yawn ; " What can be the 
 matter with the noble house of Clifford this morning? 
 Here am I regretting that I deserted my pillow, and, a 
 more serious affair, I notice that you are very pale and 
 apparently out of spirits. As for monsieur here good 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 131 
 
 morning, M. Legrand! he is never out of spirits, until 
 the bottle is empty. And then you have the advantage 
 of most men, and nearly all women, monsieur," regard 
 ing that individual peculiarly, " in possessing that quiet 
 conscience which is said to be friendly to refreshing 
 slumber and the artless rouge of eternal youth." 
 
 "You are delightfully facetious, mademoiselle," he 
 answered. " Such excellent humor, however forced, 
 must inevitably restore the gay elasticity of your spirits 
 and sympathetically animate the entire household with 
 its more than Cliquot sparkle." 
 
 " And yet you would doubtless prefer the c widow ' 
 herself, eh, monsieur ? " said the young lady, carving a 
 broiled breast of pheasant with surgical skill. 
 
 "Not at all, mademoiselle Echo; this is one of those 
 unusual cases in which the shadow is sweeter than the 
 substance." 
 
 " Spoken like 'a courtier, monsieur, who is always 
 ready to do homage to the reigning sovereign. Were I 
 absent, and the veritable Cliquot before you ah, well, 
 it may be true that familiarity breeds contempt, but it 
 must still be said that absence is the mother of treason 
 and forgetfulness." 
 
 " It is the beginning of a superior day," said Lady 
 Clifford, who had taken no interest in this crisp dialogue, 
 " and I must invite you to accompany me upon a matter 
 of business, to-day, Echo. My attention was yesterday 
 called to a destitute family, consisting of a mother and 
 three small children, all sick, which must have immedi 
 ate assistance. You will take my place in these matters 
 after a while, dear, and it is well for you to begin to un 
 
132 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 derstand them. Personal contact is an admirable stimu 
 lant to charitable feelings." f 
 
 " I am ready to be sacrificed, mamma, on the grimy 
 altar of poor people's miseries," said Zarina, with a shrug 
 of her exquisite shoulders. " Call the garbage cart and 
 let us hasten to the scene of slaughter." 
 
 "Echo! daughter!" exclaimed the mother, reproach 
 fully. " Your light way of treating such subjects may 
 be attributed to absolute cruelty of disposition. You 
 cannot feel so, I'm sure." 
 
 " Your pardon, mamma. I hardly knew what I was 
 saying. The fact is, I was engrossed with the peculiar 
 ity of M. Legrand's cravat, which has slipped around 
 under his left ear, like an English hanging noose." 
 
 Legrand turned pale and cast at her a dangerous look 
 as he rejoined "It is really suggestive, mademoiselle. 
 Perhaps I had better anticipate the dire event by attend 
 ing the confessional." 
 
 This shot went home. A strange quiver passed over 
 Zarina's face and she confessed his victory by dropping 
 the subject. "Shall we walk or ride?" she queried, 
 turning to her mother. " I should prefer the former, for 
 the reason that it is a fine morning in which to air my 
 new walking suit. I got it home only yesterday, and it 
 is a marvel of millinery." 
 
 "We will walk, then," said the mother; "but I should 
 advise you to dress more in accordance with your mis 
 sion, my daughter. The contrast between our mission 
 and your attire might suggest odious comparisons." 
 
 " If agreeable, I will do myself the honor to accom 
 pany you for a few blocks," said M. Legrand when their 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 133 
 
 proposed route had been suggested, " as I have a little 
 business with Cruzan, the jeweler." 
 
 " We shall be pleased with your company," said the 
 elder lady. 
 
 In passing down the stairs there was an opportunity 
 for a little by-play on the part of M. Legrand and his 
 clandestine spouse. " I hope that you rested well last 
 night?" he said, in a soft whisper, as he looked down 
 admiringly into the fair face fairer still for the slight 
 paleness that overspread it. 
 
 "Well enough, my dear," she answered adding sig 
 nificantly "Remember me to the jeweler, Cruzan." 
 
 " Royally, my queen." 
 
 "Have I kept you waiting, mamma mine," said Zar- 
 ina, as they assembled in the hall. 
 
 " Not long," was Lady Clifford's reply as she observed, 
 without comment, the deprecated walking suit flaunting 
 to the public gaze. 
 
 At a corner of the street, not far from home, the ladies 
 and their escort met La Croix face to face. Legrand 
 scowlingly acknowledged the nobleman's elaborate bow 
 and pleasant " good morning." Lady Clifford returned 
 his salute with easy courtesy, but mademoiselle was ap 
 parently studying the pearl handle of her parasol, as she 
 gave the graceful knight no notice a circumstance 
 which that gentleman recognized with an angry flush. 
 
 " Why, Echo, is it possible that you did not see the 
 count?" inquired Lady Clifford, surprised at her daugh 
 ter's rudeness. 
 
 " The count! where? Upon my soul! " with a glance 
 backward at the count's retreating form. " The magnift- 
 
134 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 cent La Croix must be practicing as a si ige-ghost or as 
 sassin that he is able to glide by so stealthily." 
 
 Lady Clifford regarded her with a look of mingled 
 surprise and reproach, but said nothing. As for Legrand, 
 he could have knelt and kissed the dainty kids that en 
 veloped her feet. Mademoiselle had achieved, inten 
 tionally, an adroit coup. 
 
 Proceeding two or three blocks further, after M. Le 
 grand had gone his separate way, the ladies mounted a 
 flight of stairs leading to the upper stories of a mourn 
 ful tenement-house. At the second landing, they turned 
 aside into a narrow hall, along which they proceeded to 
 wards the back portion of the building until they reached 
 the threshold of a dark room, where Lady Clifford hesi 
 tated a moment as if uncertain of its identity with the 
 one she sought. Entering, however, and gradually be 
 coming accustomed to the dim light, they discovered in 
 one corner a pallet on which lay a woman, gray, dirty, 
 disheveled a ghastly hag, whose form was shaken at 
 brief intervals with a sepulchral cough. A flannel che 
 mise, and a tattered and grimy coverlet, were all that ob 
 scured her bony -wretchedness. Her skin was sallow, 
 wrinkled, and as dry as parchment. Her sunken eyes, 
 overhung by shaggy brows, shot savage gleams in the 
 lair-like obscurity of the apartment. Her teeth, the 
 few that were left, were yellow and carnivorouslj 
 pointed. Upon her distorted lips sat a horrible snari. 
 It was sin grown old, miserable and forsaken that 
 hideous mistress whom, it is said, we at first dread, 
 
 "But, seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace !" 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 135 
 
 Yet, this can only be averred of vice in youth; vice 
 grown old is monstrous with antidotal ugliness. 
 
 Lady Clifford could not repress a shudder at this lep- '' 
 rous spectacle, and was about to turn away with silent 
 disgust, but hesitated an instant, then turned and ad 
 dressed the woman on the pallet thus: "Pardon me, 
 we were looking for the apartment of a destitute woman 
 who bears the name of Laselle ; but," as a new idea sug 
 gested itself, "we are simply striving to assist our suffer 
 ing fellow-creatures. Can we be of any service to you ? " 
 
 " Hah," exclaimed the old woman in a hoarse, rattling 
 voice, "it is the voice of an angel! Look at me, mad- 
 ame, look ! a thousand curses upon the fiends of age, 
 and want, and disease! Do I seem like one that has 
 need of help? But perhaps you are only come with 
 your soft voice and fine attire to show me how wretch 
 edly unjust is the God to whom the lying spires of La 
 belle Paris are pointing us the way! No matter. Do 
 you not see that I am dying here like a whimpering old 
 rat in the stinking vaults of a sewer? See! I have no 
 dress. It has gone for food. There is not in this noi 
 some dungeon of a room the sustenance that the vilest 
 fly could live upon for a day. Come, I am old, neg 
 lected, dying but I can curse like a Christian. Will 
 you have pity and give me fire, and food, and drink ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Cliftord, endeavoring by a strong 
 effort to conceal her unutterable loathing of this human 
 hyena; "I shall send you all these, and, in the mean 
 while, shall leave you money for immediate wants. 
 Echo, you are treasurer to-day," added she, turning to 
 
*3 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 the latter, who stood in the doorway with a look of scorn 
 and repulsion on her fair face. 
 
 As the young lady advanced, disengaging the clasp of 
 her porte-monnaie, the woman rose to a half-sitting pos 
 ture, and, brushing back her bristling, gray hair with 
 skinny hand, regarded her with a glance of keen, hor 
 rible scrutiny. There are those, particularly among the 
 lower orders, to whom the power of vision remains un 
 impaired to the extremest old age. One of these was 
 the crouching horror of the pallet. Suddenly, as if some 
 strange interest had arisen in her thoughts, she crooked 
 her neck forward and, shading her eyes with her corpse- 
 like hand, pored upon the features of Zarina with baleful 
 earnestness. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ough! ough! ough!" laughed and coughed 
 the nauseous wretch, sinking back upon her pallet. "A 
 thousand curses upon that funeral cough! and a million 
 curses upon age, and want, and disease! but this is a 
 masquerade that it is worth living to see ! I am not to 
 be deceived, though I am dying in a dungeon like a rat. 
 It is Zarina, the danseuse, dispensing charity in the guise 
 of a lady! Ough! ough! ough! What? do you not 
 recognize me, Mother Mommet?" she howled, striking 
 her forehead savagely with her hand. 
 
 Zarina almost sank to the floor at this alarming out 
 burst; but the instinct of self-preservation bore her up, 
 and, though pale and trembling, she turned to Lady 
 Clifford: " What, in the name of Heaven! does the old 
 woman mean? Have we invaded the lair of a wild 
 beast? or a lunatic? Come, mamma, we must hasten 
 from here, or I shall faint with horror! Come!" and 
 
CAME OP IT. 137 
 
 flinging several pieces of silver towards the pallet, she 
 hurried through the door with a white, scared face. 
 
 " Do not be so frightened, my child. I do not think 
 the good woman is dangerous. Weakened by suffering 
 and in the semi-darkness of the garret, she has, no doubt, 
 mistaken you for some one else," replied her ladyship 
 soothingly, as Zarina tremblingly drew her along the 
 hall. As she seemed so much alarmed, however, Lady 
 Clifford thought it best to comply with her request to 
 return home. 
 
 In the street, near their residence, they were inter 
 cepted by La Croix, who seemed to be desirous of con 
 sulting her ladyship about the best disposition of some 
 surplus funds which he wished to appropriate to the 
 cause of suffering humanity. 
 
 Of course, innocent Lady Clifford saw no impropriety 
 in the polite count picking up, between thumb and fore 
 finger, the dainty bit of costly lace, designated as a hand 
 kerchief, which careless Zarina, after winding nine times 
 around her little finger, let fall. 
 
 The artful count, au fait in all the languages of love 
 and intrigue, interpreted the handkerchief performance 
 to mean "Meet me at nine o'clock this evening in the 
 arbor." The count, with a profound bow, left them at 
 the door. 
 
 Lady Clifford went immediately to her own private 
 room. 
 
 Zarina, without removing her wraps, entered the draw 
 ing-room, whither she had been preceded by Legrand. 
 Upon her entrance he arose and met her. Noticing the 
 coldness of her hand, he keenly scanned her face, at the 
 
138 WHAT CAME OF it. 
 
 same time asking eagerly : " What is it ? you seem to be 
 excited ? " 
 
 "O, monsieur!" was the startling reply, "we are rui 
 ned. I was met and recognized by the only one whom I 
 ever feared." 
 
 Leading her to a chair, and seating her, Monsieur Le- 
 grand said, reassuringly : " It may not be as bad as you 
 think. Compose yourself, love, and tell me all of the 
 particulars." 
 
 " After leaving you at Cruzan's, we proceeded quite a 
 distance beyond the Boulevard des Italiens to a part of 
 the city I have never before visited. Lady Clifford has 
 the street and number, however, in her memorandum. 
 Arriving at an old tenement house, we ascended a rick 
 ety flight of stairs to the second landing, where we 
 turned into a hall-way as dark and damp as a cellar. 
 From the hall, we entered a gloomy and desolate room, 
 reeking with filth and disease, where, in a corner, upon 
 a loathsome pallet, was a frightful old woman. As this 
 creature received us somewhat after the fashion of a 
 hungry wild beast, Lady Clifford was, for a moment, 
 horrified and speechless. Recovering herself, however, 
 she explained our mistake, and ended by offering to send 
 her all the usual necessaries. As I stepped forward to 
 hand the woman some money, at the request of her lady 
 ship, I was terrified to meet the mother of one who was 
 supposed to have committed suicide on my account. 
 Her son, an only child, on whom she doted, formerly 
 belonged to the same company as myself; in truth I 
 flirted with him. He, foolish boy, took everything in 
 earnest and became so jealous that I had to cast him 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT, 1 
 
 adrift, and he, as I said before, destroyed himself. 
 Would that his mother could do as well it would 
 certainly be a blessed deliverance for me." 
 
 For full five minutes Legrand waited, and then, rather 
 impatiently, with a decided frown of displeasure on his 
 pale face, and a keen glance of the deep-set eyes, said: 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 The thought of a former lover was excessively annoy 
 ing to him. 
 
 " Well," resumed Zarina, shivering, " as I handed her 
 the money, she cried out in a voice so bitter that if all 
 the bitter inflections which I have ever heard in my life 
 were concentrated in one word it would have been 
 sweet in comparison. Ah ! I have it 'It is she ! Zar 
 ina, .the ballet dancer, dispensing charity in the guise of 
 a lady. What, you don't recognize me ? ' calling herself 
 by name. ' Shall I refresh your memory ? Mademoi 
 selle, the ballet girl, has become a clever actress.' After 
 saying which she fell backward with a horrid contraction 
 of the face, and a sinking of the long, flat finger nails 
 into the bloodless flesh, accompanied with a frigthful 
 laugh which all the dark corners of the room seemed to 
 re-echo. Of course Lady Clifford thinks her to be in 
 sane from suffering, at present; yet, she is almost sure 
 to return, thereby giving the woman an opportunity 
 which she will be sure to improve. My only hope is 
 based on her propensity to acquire a ' bit of land ' as she 
 formerly called it. Should her greed prove stronger 
 than her desire of revenge, she can be bought off." 
 
 Monsieur Legrand, thoughtfully stroking his beard, 
 observed : " Nothing was said to give the woman a cue 
 
140 WHAT CAME OF it. 
 
 as to your present name or place of residence, as you re 
 member ? " 
 
 Zarina, after a pause, replied, "No, I think not; I 
 am quite sure, in fact, that Lady Clifford 'addressed me 
 ;as 'my child' only." 
 
 Legrand, who had been slowly pacing backward and 
 forward before her chair, stopped short, and said rather 
 quietly, as one engaged in serious reflection, " That was 
 all the better for you. Though the woman might re 
 ceive hush money, yet you would never feel safe, and 
 her present conviction would be verified by the ofier; 
 while, on the contrary, if something startling should oc 
 cur to the woman herself, that .would drive her thoughts 
 in another direction, no doubt but that she would, in the 
 Course of time, regard the whole affair as a sick fancy. 
 I hope, however, that this will teach you the folly of co 
 quetting," added Legrand rather irrelevantly. 
 
 Zarina, who had been steadily gazing out of the win 
 dow with troubled eyes and rigid face, flushed, but 
 said nothing. Presently she arose and turned to Le 
 grand with an imploring look and out-stretched hands, 
 like a naughty child seeking sympathy from an emended 
 mother. 
 
 Monsieur Legrand responded by taking her little cold 
 hands between his large feverish ones and rubbing them 
 briskly for a moment, then, folding them caressingly 
 across her breast, while, looking fondly upon her, he said 
 in a softer tone : " My love, you will obtain possession 
 of her ladyship's diary containing the street and number 
 of the house which you visited this morning, placing the 
 Same in the pocket of my light overcoat hanging in the 
 
WHAT CAME OF rt, 14! 
 
 hall ; after which you will drink a cup of strong tea to 
 compose your nerves and retire to rest. You did well 
 in coming to me immediately, as I shall not allow Mother- 
 what's-her-name to give you further annoyance." 
 
 Echo's eyes lighted "You have a plan, then, mon 
 sieur," she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Most assuredly," he made answer, smilingly, patting 
 her soft cheek. " It is only another obstacle to be re 
 moved." 
 
 Twining her arms about his neck, she bent his head, 
 and while leaning her cheek against his, whispered in 
 her soft, cooing voice " You will succeed, then, you arc 
 so subtile. Do you know that I am loving you a little 
 more every day, you rogue ? " 
 
 Then, with a sudden start, and mock earnestness, 
 "But, I had almost forgotten. Where is the testimonial 
 from M. Cruzan?" 
 
 "You will find it in your dressing-case; but, remember 
 that it is sub rosa, and not to be worn until a public mar 
 riage crowns our victory." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 paused at the door of Lady Clifford's 
 dressing-room, and, with lifted finger and 
 bent head, appeared to listen. Hearing no 
 sound from the interior, she gathered her 
 skirts in one hand, so as to keep them from rustling, 
 turned the knob, and noiselessly entered. The apart 
 ment was empty. Swiftly crossing the floor, she found 
 what she sought on the top of the bureau, and stealthily 
 retired. 
 
 Proceeding to her own apartment, she flew to the 
 toilet, where lay the gift of M. Legrand. Upon opening 
 the case, the effulgence of a full set of diamonds flashed 
 upon her, and she could hardly repress a scream of de 
 light. 
 
 " O, glittering beauties !" she cried, triumphantly, hold 
 ing the diamonds towards the light, to note their stream 
 ing splendor. " It is, indeed, a royal gift." 
 
 Then, arraying herself in the jewels, she stood before 
 the glass with half-closed, admiring eyes, and solilo 
 quized, after the manner of women : 
 
 " If the giver were not so plebian and jealous, he 
 would make a goodish husband, after all. With a lit 
 tle pampering, he would become one of the most uxori 
 ous of mankind a condition, however, which would be 
 come a formidable bore to a wife not en rapport with his 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT* 143 
 
 weakness. These diamonds must have cost a small 
 fortune. A few such gifts would utterly wreck Le- 
 grand's exchequer, since he is living now mainly on 
 great expectations. Heigh ho ! if he were only younger, 
 handsomer, and had a title, a woman might go farther 
 and fare worse, as they say, in search of a husband; but 
 he is plain Monsieur Legrand, and can never be younger 
 or handsomer than he is. What do you say, queen of 
 the ballet and marvel of intrigue ?" simpering at her re 
 flection in the glass ; " shall it be ' countess ' or ' madame ?' 
 The title, of course I read it in every feature of your 
 piquant and lovely face ! The fates have decreed ! La 
 Croix will win, but not so much as he thinks; yet he 
 cannot complain. This is a world of second-hand goods; 
 every man's wife has been some other man's sweet 
 heart !" 
 
 Having aired these chaste sentiments in the solitude of 
 her chamber, Zarina unclasped the jewels, put them 
 away under lock, and hastened down stairs with the 
 purloined diary, which was placed in the pocket of the 
 drab overcoat, according to directions. 
 
 In the course of half an hour, M. Legrancl emerged 
 from the gilded gates of the mansion, and walked 
 leisurely down the street. Penetrating the business quar 
 ter of the city, he came to No. 42 Rue de , which 
 
 was a bazaar for the sale of ladies' furnishing goods, and 
 sported, in gilt letters, over its arched entrance, the name 
 of Madame Fleurot, that lady being herself in at 
 tendance upon some fashionable customers when M. Le 
 grand entered. 
 
 Mrne. Fleurot was a bright, active woman, of middle 
 
144 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 age, proficient and popular in her calling. She greeted 
 Legrand in a manner which betokened mutual ac 
 quaintance, and, when her customers had gone, showed 
 him into a cosy little side room. 
 
 " Be seated, monsieur," she said, cheerfully, motioning 
 the lawyer to an easy chair. " I declare, it is an age 
 since you honored me with a visit !" 
 
 " Not so very long, madame. Your health and busi 
 ness are both good, I presume ?" 
 
 "About as usual," answered the lady, with grave 
 courtesy. "Do you know, monsieur," she immediately 
 added, "that I despair of ever being able to pay that 
 mortgage ?" 
 
 " Indeed !" said Legrand, with polite surprise. " Then 
 I am here opportunely, since my present business with 
 madame is for the purpose of making her a proposition 
 which will enable her to accomplish that very thing. 
 Madame surely remembers how her own son, innocent 
 though he was, came so nearly being convicted through 
 circumstantial evidence ? \Vell, to be explicit, I have a 
 somewhat similar case on hand, though in this instance I 
 should be blind, as well as dull, -were I not convinced 
 that false evidence will be given through pure malig 
 nity. This, you, madame, have it in your power to pre 
 vent, while benefiting yourself," he craftily pursued, 
 impressively pausing to note the effect of this somewhat 
 dubious communication on Madame Fleurot. 
 
 Madame, all attention, answered, with a demure drop 
 ping of her eyelids : 
 
 "Had I no other motive, the debt of gratitude which 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 1 45 
 
 I owe to you would be amply sufficient to interest me in 
 this affair." 
 
 "Thanks," said Legrand, gratified at the favorable 
 opening of his subject ; " not only for myself, but also 
 for the poor sick mother whose only child is in dan- 
 ger." 
 
 "The part which I wish you to act in the affair is 
 this," resumed he, after a pause, assuming an air of 
 special confidence : " Take this money. After filling a 
 basket with provisions, you will place the remainder in 
 your purse. Taking some one along to carry your bas 
 ket, you are to proceed immediately to the place whose 
 direction I shall give you. It would be better, perhaps, 
 for you to enter several rooms, leaving something in 
 each, before entering the fifth room to the right of the 
 second landing. Within this room you will find an old 
 woman, in a complete state of destitution. There you 
 are to leave the entire contents of the basket, and also 
 contrive to drop your purse, unseen by the one by 
 whom you are accompanied, though plainly perceptible 
 to the woman herself. At the foot of the stairs you must 
 first become aware of your loss. Upon your inquiring, 
 she will be apt to deny all knowledge of it. Then you 
 must have her arrested. The purse will be found in her 
 possession, which will be proof positive, and she will be 
 sent to prison for a short time, and thereby prevented, 
 through your instrumentality, from grievously wronging 
 an innocent person, while at the same time you will 
 cancel a mortgage which would otherwise deprive you 
 of a home." 
 
146 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 
 "In case the woman should deliver up the purse," 
 hazarded Madame Fleurot; "what then, monsieur ?" 
 
 "Why, an altered case would most assuredly require 
 a change of tactics.^ I do not anticipate such an event, 
 however that is, if you are not very fierce in your de 
 mand for its restoration. Of course, it would not be the 
 best policy to speak of sending for an officer in the 
 presence of the accused," he added, leaning his head on 
 his hand, and slowly dropping his heavy eyelids over 
 his keen, searching eyes. " Please remember that what 
 is done must be done quickly," continued he, arising 
 from his seat, hat in hand. " I shall expect to hear of 
 the success of our plan by three o'clock this after 
 noon." 
 
 " Of our success, or failure, monsieur, whichever it 
 chance to be." 
 
 " You will not fail if you bear in mind that to succeed 
 is to cancel the mortgage," said Legrand, bowing. 
 
 " I will try to fulfill your wishes in a creditable man 
 ner, monsieur," promised the woman, with a blush of 
 shame, though with a tone of resolution. 
 
 With this assurance the man and the woman sep 
 arated, Madame Fleurot hastening to entangle one of 
 her own sex in the meshes of the law, while Legrand 
 lighted a fresh cigar, and sauntered up the street, with a 
 satisfied air. 
 
 Punctually to agreement, Lady Clifford sent the pro 
 mised help to the sick woman. The room was vacant 
 the woman gone ! 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 147 
 
 Upon relating the incident to Legrand, her ladyship 
 asked : 
 
 " Do you not think the whole occurrence rather un 
 usual, monsieur ?" 
 
 " Not at all," was the ready reply. " The woman was, 
 no doubt, delirious from fever, and has, in all probability, 
 been taken to some hospital. I am sure that such oc 
 currences are happening every day." 
 
 "Yes, I presume so," answered Lady Clifford, with a 
 gentle sigh. "Do you know, monsieur, that the only 
 bearable thought which I could ever derive from this 
 great abysm of suffering, is, that were there no misery, 
 there would also be no happiness ? Strange," added 
 she, after a slight pause, " that life should be so consti 
 tuted that pleasure and pain are made to travel on the 
 same roadways, and that the same poor heart should own 
 the dominion of each !" 
 
 "Exactly, madame. I myself have long been fully 
 persuaded that pain and joy are not only useful, but also 
 absolutely necessary to sympathy and knowledge, else 
 actions proceeding from the true conditions of life could 
 not be understood. Surely one state of sensation im 
 plies, augments, and necessitates the other. Who, for 
 instance, would commit the absurdity of expatiating upon 
 the tenderness of affection or the agony of a separation 
 to one whom they knew to be totally devoid of feeling ; 
 for though the words to convey the ideas would not be 
 wanting, the experimental knowledge, which always, 
 with reference to these things, implies feeling, would be 
 wholly wanting. Plato was a fool to philosophize about 
 abstract good ; it is an idea which can exist only in the 
 
148 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 mind of the Creator. And," continued Legrand, com 
 placently surveying himself in a mirror opposite, " it is 
 this relative practical nature of good and evil that makes 
 it impossible for persons who have health, youth, af 
 fluence, etc., to be humane and sympathetic. Their good 
 fortune gives them supreme independence." 
 
 " Supreme independence is an attribute of God alone," 
 answered Lady Clifford, with grave sweetness, as she 
 stood at the window securely fastening a small cluster of 
 purple pansies beneath the pin on her bosom, while her 
 tender eyes wandered meditatively around the smooth, 
 green lawn without, where a dream of sunlight lingered 
 lovingly. "Perfect happiness ! supreme independence !" 
 she softly repeated. " Why, monsieur, there are blighted 
 grains in every field, however fair the seeming. Even 
 the calm, bright beauty of yon sky is borrowed from the 
 atmosphere, while the awful sublimity of the lofty moun 
 tains is heightened by the accretion of the tiny snow- 
 flakes. The mighty rivers owe their majesty to the lit 
 tle streamlets. The forests, celebrated in song and story ; 
 the luxuriant vegetation, both useful and ornamental; 
 the flowers, bright souvenirs of Eden all these are in 
 debted to the richness of the soil, the warmth of the 
 climate, and the proper condensation of vapor. Thus 
 we find that nothing stands alone. Nothing is wholly 
 independent, for everything is useful, everything is neces 
 sary. Those who despise first causes are like a giant 
 oak who would close his million pores against the sap 
 that gives him life, and shake the dew from his dancing 
 leaves. While suffering brings its revelation of happi 
 ness, it is only through the antagonism of the two that 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 149 
 
 \ve obtain a clear conception of either. In con 
 templating the litter helplessness of mankind, from their 
 advent to their exit, one is led to ask : 'Who is free ? 
 Who is independent ?' It is the darkness which covers 
 one class of society, which forms such a cogent contrast 
 to the light embathing the other. A demand always 
 evolves a supply. No human being was ever inde 
 pendent in knowledge, or infallible in judgment. True, 
 while chasing phantoms, stumbling over errors, and 
 groping in darkness, intellectual meteors have gleamed 
 here and there through our mental atmosphere, all the 
 more prized because transitory ; but it would be well for 
 the egotist to remember, perhaps, that a real flame of 
 knowledge is never allowed to be wholly extinguished, 
 and that a broken lamp is always replaced when most 
 needed. Though mankind, taken in masses, are mighty, 
 and may even be called irresistible, yet their impotency, 
 when separated, is pitiable, and would be truly lu 
 dicrous were it not so sad. In fact all thought, all 
 knowledge, all reason, all language, all life, must have 
 had a beginning ; therefore, the whole is but the effect 
 of a great first cause orderly, intelligent, omnipotent, 
 eternal." 
 
 " Ah me, mamma mine, as my poor brain refuses to 
 digest philosophic fare, please do change the subject," 
 exclaimed Zarina, who had entered the room unper- 
 ceived by either Lady Clifford or Legrand. 
 
 " I, myself," said Legrand, unheeding the interruption, 
 " could properly accept the doctrine of optimity were it 
 not for those, to me, terrible interceptions of vital forces. 
 No argument drawn from great expectations of future 
 
150 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 happiness can convince me that this constant and ruth 
 less destruction of human life is, was, or ever will be, 
 for the best." 
 
 " In the name of sanity, monsieur," said Zarina, with 
 affected wonder, "is it possible that you understand 
 yourself? Ma foil you must have bad company when 
 alone, if this jargon be a sample of your thoughts ! But, 
 look here, my good people, it is past nine o'clock, and 
 quite time that this little ' Diet of Worms,' gloomy re 
 past! should have an end." 
 
 This sally closed the conversation, the " good-nights " 
 were given, and soon slumber reigned over that strange 
 household. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UMAN nature presents strange contrasts. In 
 some persons affliction produces a great com 
 motion. In these, the very fierceness of grief 
 exhausts its power, and the disturbing elements 
 are cast forth as the thunder-cloud discharges its heavi 
 ness in lightning and rain. At the time of bereave 
 ment, they descend to the lowest vales of suffering and 
 the midnight of despair, rending the air with their cries, 
 and clinging to the dead ashes of their loved; but they 
 emerge again with elastic vitality, and drink the sun 
 shine with joyous ardor. 
 
 There are others, again, whose true hearts shiver like 
 a mirror and are never restored, " but brokenly live on." 
 With these, sexual love is devotional in its strength and 
 absorbing in its power. Disappointment cannot be out 
 lived. No dreamy lotion, no fiery elixir can soothe their 
 grief to sleep or stir their hearts with hope. A persist 
 ent minor note mars the music of life, and the unbidden 
 spectre sits with them at every feast. 
 
 Of this latter class *was Echo; and her daily prayer 
 was, not to be delivered from the gloom of her sorrow, 
 but for strength to bear it. The sweet, mournful words 
 of Longfellow were often on her mind : 
 
 "The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
 A.nd mournings for the dead j 
 
1^2 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 
 Will not be comforted ! 
 
 "Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 
 Not from the ground arise. 
 But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
 Assume this dark disguise." 
 
 But, to pursue our diagnosis of the tender passion a 
 little further, it may be observed that there is an ideal 
 love, which invests its object with impossible attractions. 
 It is as regularly an incident of youth as teething is of 
 childhood, and quite as painful. It is the fragrance of 
 life's blossom - time, soon gone, but deliciously remem 
 bered. 
 
 Then there is a love which is justly included under 
 Blackstone's definition of "things corporal." It is simply 
 animal phosphorus, and not to be analytically discussed. 
 
 The highest and best love is intellectual and spiritual. 
 It is the substance of the peach when the rude hand of 
 experience has brushed away its treacherous bloom. It 
 survives the wreck of youth and beauty, and strengthens 
 with the lapse of time. It is the leaven of divinity in 
 human souls our connecting link with the eternal har 
 monies of heaven. This love is the cro\vn and glory of 
 every mortal life the deathless germ that remains from 
 the lapse of Eden. Shall we not seek it with bleeding 
 feet through all the world? Who knows but, like 
 prayer, it may be our watchword at the gates of death? 
 Such a love was that of Echo for Arthur, and it still 
 survived j)ll clunr^o and disasters. 
 
 There is no heroism in this world as beautiful and 
 rare as self-denial, rising to the sublimity of self-sac- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 153 
 
 rilice, through disinterested kindness to others. The de 
 livery of Abraham from the sacrificial agony, has few 
 parallels in history. Ordinarily, the cruel play grinds on 
 to its tragic close, and the recompense of truth and faith 
 is among the treasures of heaven. 
 
 Eclio, not destroyed by the blight of her love, or the 
 bleak loneliness and threatened struggles of her life, had 
 quietly taken little \Vistit into her affections, assuming 
 the care of the draggled castaway as the heavy, yet 
 precious, burden of her days. 
 
 It is the crowning sin and shame of this Christian age 
 that the greatest enemy with which an unprotected hard 
 working, independent girl has to contend, is calumny. 
 The leprous tongue of the slanderer is prone to seek 
 these unshielded heroines of toil, and the venomous drip 
 of its saliva has blackened many a fair name blasted 
 the hope of many an aspiring soul. Thus far obscurity 
 had protected Echo from the "slings and arrows" of de 
 traction, but there was danger at hand. 
 
 An amateur concert, for some charitable purpose, was 
 to be held in the church which Echo attended, the mu 
 sical portion of the entertainment to be followed by a 
 basket supper. At the urgent solicitation of the mana 
 gers the young music teacher consented to preside at the 
 piano, and to further assist the occasion by reciting that 
 beautiful poem " The Miracle of the Roses." 
 
 Is there a fatality in occasions? Assuredly. The 
 fates often hand us the gossamer threads of our own des 
 tinies, in very derision of our vanity and blindness. 
 
 Echo, in order to escape the pursuit of her enemies, 
 had adopted the name of Newbury, and it was, of course, 
 
154 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 understood that she and the nurse, Aunt Newbury, were 
 sisters. Mr. Farrish's mistake had first suggested the 
 idea and the harmless fiction had been permanently 
 adopted. 
 
 The entertainment, which was largely advertised in 
 the city papers, chanced to fix the attention of Edmond 
 Ainsley, whose eye, while carelessly running over the 
 programme, was arrested by the name of Newbury. 
 "Newbury! Newbury!" he repeated, thoughtfully, 
 while drumming with his fingers on the table by which 
 he was seated. Suddenly bringing his hand down upon 
 his knee with force, he mentally ejaculated, "Eureka, 
 by Jove ! the name of that infernal old nurse at the se 
 raglio on Stockton street ! And she did succeed in New- 
 burying my little bird, that is, as far as I was concerned, 
 pretty effectually; but its gift of song has at last be 
 trayed its place of retirement." 
 
 "To-morrow night at half -past seven o'clock," he 
 added, referring again to the advertisement. " Rest as 
 sured I shall be there, ?na chere ! " 
 
 The evening was a propitious one; the church was 
 full to repletion. Each and every participator performed 
 his or her part creditably. Echo presided at the piano 
 with the graceful dignity of a professional. When it 
 came her turn to recite, however, Edmond Ainsley, who 
 was seated in the second pew to the right of the middle 
 aisle, half rose as she bowed to the audience and threw 
 a bouquet of her favorite pansies, which fell at her feet, 
 thereby attracting her attention. At the sight of him 
 she started, faltered, and seemed about to ran oft the 
 sta'e, but Mr. Fairish and soTne friends just at this crit- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 155 
 
 ical moment came to the rescue by starting a storm of 
 applause, during which she had time to collect her scat 
 tered senses, and then proceeded with a power and pa 
 thos which softened and electrified the whole assembly 
 in an unusual degree. 
 
 " An elocutionist of rare ability and culture," remarked 
 an old man, with gold-rimmed spectacles, as Echo, lean 
 ing on the arm of Farrish, passed him on her way to the 
 supper table. " Too lovely for anything," lisped a sweet 
 sixteen, to an envious elderly girl who was superior in 
 nothing but years. " A splendid > make-up ' which came 
 near being a 4 break-up,' " said a gay belle to her attendant 
 who seemed to her to be more favorably impressed with 
 the young reader than was pleasing. " A perfect stun 
 ner, 'pon my soul ! " This last was a petit-maitre^ who 
 was seemingly trying to make up for the deficiency of 
 his figure by the length of his finely curved and twisted 
 mustache. " Yes, she understands acting to perfection, 
 acting which has lost the merit of novelty to me, how 
 ever," answered Ainsley, purposely loud enough to be 
 heard by the Misses Richard. " How they came to re 
 ceive her in respectable society is an Americanism of 
 which I am unable to account," he added, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, for the matter of that," said the petit maitrc^ 
 nonchalantly, "these sirens seemingly understand that 
 the- charm of novelty is very cogent with us gentlemen, 
 therefore they flourish for a brief hour. By-the-way, 
 you must have met that little package of sweetness be 
 fore., else you possets extraordinary intuition or excep- 
 ti'ctaal cottfTdencis in your own a'cuteness of discernment." 
 
156 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " Perhaps we had better postpone our present discus 
 sion, and not force the blush of modesty to mount the 
 fair cheeks of those who may chance to overhear our 
 remarks," said Ainsley, filled with malicious amusement, 
 as he glanced in the direction of the two listeners, rightly 
 judging that he had said all that was necessary to blast 
 the reputation of a young and handsome girl in Echo's 
 situation. "All the knowledge which I have of the 
 person under discussion, I am sorry to say," added he, 
 hypocritically, "was a short but sweet amour, begin- 
 ing and ending, much the same as all youthful in 
 trigues." 
 
 "Really! Come Ainsley, acknowledge that you are 
 filled with remorse, not for the amour, but for the loss 
 of so fair an inamorata. I swear, by the nine gods of 
 Greece! that I will not rest content until you give me 
 an introduction to her." 
 
 When the concert and its appendant feast were over, 
 Aunt Newbury and Echo, accompanied by their friend, 
 Mr. Farrish, no sooner entered their carriage than Ains 
 ley, and his twirled and twisted companion, called a pass 
 ing cab and followed them. 
 
 " c When found, make a note of it," ' said Ainsley, 
 carefully observing the street and number of the house 
 entered by the ladies, and making a memorandum of it 
 in his pocket book, " and thus do honor to the manes 
 of the illustrious Captain Cuttle," returning the book to 
 his pocket, and begging of his vis a vis the inestimable 
 favor of a " light," 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 'HE week following the entertainment, Echo 
 lost five of her best paying pupils. The 
 grains of scandal dropped by Ainsley, had 
 fallen in fertile soil. That ancient mustard- 
 seed, spoken of in Holy Writ, which grew and flour 
 ished and branched out enormously., was never more 
 productive. 
 
 The warmth of society's affection varies like the 
 seasons; consequently, the ' summerlings ' of to-day may 
 be the icicles of to-morrow. Intuition is a pretty good 
 barometer, and the Misses Newbury felt a sudden change 
 in the weather of friendship. Without any apparent 
 cause, its mercurial nineties dropped down to zero. 
 
 One dull, rainy evening, about nine o'clock, Echo, 
 who was returning from the apothecary's, where she had 
 gone to have a prescription filled for Aunt Newbury, 
 left the street-car at the depot nearest her residence, 
 Wistit being her only attendant. After walking two of 
 the four blocks which still separated her from her home, 
 she recoiled with a scream as a hand grasped the um 
 brella which she was carrying, and another, its mate, fell 
 upon her shoulder, while a sharp, falsette voice smote 
 her ear : 
 
 " An umbrella is entirely too cumbersome for such a 
 pretty hand as this to carry !" 
 
158 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 Echo's first impulse was to run, but as that was an im 
 possible thing to do, incumbered as she was with a sleepy 
 child, she recovered her presence of mind somewhat, and 
 said, with dignity : 
 
 " You are evidently mistaken, sir ! I hope you will 
 have the kindness to release me at once." 
 
 " Very true, my girl spoken like a queen !" said the 
 fellow, with a tipsy leer. 
 
 " Please, sir," appealed Echo, to a passing gentleman, 
 "will you not have the kindness to protect me from 
 insult ?" 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed the ruffian. " Innocence abroad ! 
 Come, Pollv, no foolishness with a man you know!" 
 And he attempted to put his arm about her waist. 
 
 At this instant the gentleman appealed to turned and 
 took in the situation at a glance. He said not a word, 
 but the shapely arm in broadcloth mail suddenly shot 
 out, and the wretch lay writhing in the dust. 
 
 Echo gave a little cry of delight, as she recognized in 
 her muscular deliverer, Mr. Farrish, who bowed to her 
 with grave courtesy, offering his arm. 
 
 "Allow me the pleasure of seeing you home, Miss 
 Newbury," he said. " The back streets of San Francisco 
 are never safe for unprotected ladies after dark." 
 
 " I thank you most gratefully for your opportune in 
 terference," she said, accepting his escort. "I did not 
 recognize you at first, and supposed that I was appealing 
 to the natural chivalry of some gentlemanly stranger. 
 We were detained longer at the drug store than we 
 expected. Dear me, do you think he is dead ?" she 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 159 
 
 added, looking back, tremulously, at the prostrate black 
 guard. 
 
 " Not dead, but sleeping !" he answered, with a laugh, 
 as he followed her fearful glance. " In fact, we might 
 erect some such epitaph as this to his memory : 
 
 ' Struck by lightning,' is the inscription on the pavement where 
 
 he lies, 
 Dead he is not, but prostrated, for the bummer never dies !" 
 
 'Really," said Echo, mirthfully, "you are like one of 
 those horrible modern inventions which do so many 
 things at once. You knock a man down and then plas 
 ter him with funeral poetry with a double-back-action 
 ease that is astonishing. It's a shame to use Long 
 fellow's pretty lines about Albrecht Durer, in that con 
 nection, however." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, he will recover from the blow soon 
 enough, but the poetry will almost assassinate him, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " But how can I ever thank you, and the Providence 
 which directed your steps that way ?" said Echo. 
 
 u By never mentioning my part of it, Miss Echo, and 
 promising me to be more careful hereafter in your trav 
 els," he answered, kindly. " Ah, here we are !" 
 
 Farrish, by invitation, ascended the steps with Echo 
 and Wistit, for he was always welcome at the Newbury 
 home. 
 
 Echo, having seen the gentleman seated, excused her 
 self for a moment, and retired to administer the medi 
 cines brought for "sister" Newbury. She soon re 
 turned, saying : 
 
l6o WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " Sister is sleeping well, and I trust she will be much 
 improved by to-morrow." 
 
 "That is hopeful," said Mr. Farrish, gently. "But 
 I notice that you are looking very pale." Then, with a 
 sudden impulse, "Ah, my clear, I wish you were my 
 very own, to love, protect, and cherish always I" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, unconscious of intentional cru 
 elty; "if fate had been more kind, I might have been 
 your daughter." 
 
 " My daughter !" he repeated, dropping his hand in 
 consternation. 
 
 " Why, my dear friend," said she, smiling involuntarily 
 at his manner, "is the thought so very startling, then ?" 
 
 " Startling ? No ; it were better so, perhaps, but I 
 was thinking of a tenderer bond. Do you think that it 
 can never, never be ?" And he advanced and laid his 
 hand gently upon hers. 
 
 The face of Echo flushed crimson at this appeal, and, 
 softly disengaging her hand from his clasp, she answered, 
 with down-cast eyes :- 
 
 " No,' no ! It cannot be ! I have loved, and I know 
 the agony of blighted affection. I like you very much, 
 sir, but God help you, if you love me truly !" 
 
 " But you might learn to love me, dear. The heart 
 loves because it is its nature to love, and it is not fatally 
 blighted by any of the disappointments of life." 
 
 " It is not so with me, sir. There are plants that blos 
 som but once in a century, and hearts that love but once^ 
 Love is involuntary. Were it otherwise, a mere matter 
 of option, I should take pleasure in returning your af 
 fection, because " 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. l6l 
 
 u Because what ?" he asked, as she hesitated, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Because I respect you, and believe you to be sin 
 cere." 
 
 " Thank you, for that concession, at least," he said. " I 
 will not prose about my attachment, and enter into a 
 philosophical analysis of the capacities of human hearts, 
 but I hope that you are mistaken as to the dead blight of 
 your affections. So warm and true a heart must neces 
 sarily love. I confess, ho\vever, that I would have all 
 the advantage in an exchange of hearts." 
 
 " Your last expression is flattering, but none the less 
 sophistical." 
 
 Why, may I ask ?" 
 
 " It is easily established, sir. You have money, friends, 
 position, and manly independence, while I have nothing 
 but the hard earnings of brain and hands. Even my 
 friends and every one has friends may be numbered 
 one, two, three," checking them off on her rosy finger 
 tips. "Then, recently, a chilling cloud has come over 
 my prospects. The social atmosphere, so lately warm 
 and fragrant, has fallen to a wintry temperature; my 
 acquaintances have suddenly grown cold and for what 
 reason, I cannot divine. There must be an enemy at 
 work, somewhere. I am confident that my character 
 has been secretly assailed, and I feel prostrated and help 
 less. The consciousness of innocence may sustain me in 
 the struggle, but it cannot compensate me for the loss of 
 that good name beside which the great Shakspeare has 
 said that shining lucre is but ' trash/ " 
 
 "Pardon me, Miss Echo; but in reference to the first 
 
162 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 part of your answer, I will say that money, position, 
 friends, and all that, are the merest trash in comparison 
 with the love and wifely companionship of yourself. As 
 to the trouble in your social experiences, I have simply 
 to say that the fact indicates your need of the best friend 
 and protector you can have on earth a strong, true- 
 hearted, loving husband." Mr. Farrish' face was crim 
 son when he concluded these remarks, and his breath 
 rather short. 
 
 "Upon such a protector," she answered, with tender 
 pathos, " I could only call in the high and holy name of 
 love. As to the inestimable value of my companionship, 
 you should be more reasonable." 
 
 " In affairs of the heart, one needs a more subtle and 
 unselfish guide than reason." 
 
 " There I agree with you that is, if reason, which is 
 said to be the chief attribute of man, causes him to be so 
 inconstant." 
 
 " As for that, Miss Echo, women usually worship cer 
 tain ideal characteristics, mostly mere abstractions and 
 impossibilities, which they attribute to the men of their 
 choice, while men, more reasonable, certainly in this, 
 bow before the force of beauty, which, while it lasts, is a 
 reality, and, departing, ordinarily leaves its devotee too 
 far gone for a relapse to say nothing of moral and in 
 tellectual excellencies that remain with a power of en 
 chantment borrowed from the faded bloom." 
 
 "I am not so certain about that. The common expe 
 rience of men, is, that beauty is a false light on a treach 
 erous shore. But all this is neither here nor there. I 
 Want to be candid and considerate with you concerning 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT\ 16$ 
 
 the delicate subject you have introduced. I want you to 
 see my heart as it is. As your wife, I should undoubtedly 
 occupy an honorable and easeful position, but the con 
 tract would be wholly wanting in the necessary consid 
 eration from me. Such contracts melt into contentions, 
 and nre concluded by divorces. Should I so bestrew the 
 quiet of your future with sour fruits of discord, you 
 would soon learn to hate me. The most barren poverty 
 or direful misfortune in the power of circumstance to in 
 flict, shall never force me into a contract in which I 
 should lose my own self-respect. Had it pleased God to 
 have granted me such a father or brother as yourself, I 
 should have indeed been blessed. As a friend, you shall 
 ever have the first place in my affections. Though I 
 respect and honor you greatly, yet the thought of mar 
 riage is too extremely repulsive to be entertained for a 
 moment; and though the truth sometimes seems un 
 palatable and harsh, yet, believe me, dear sir, it had best 
 be spoken. You must try and understand me, and not 
 wholly withdraw your sympathy in withdrawing your 
 suit for a worthless hand. From my earliest remem 
 brance there has been a blank in my life which parents 
 alone could fill a sort of innate longing for a mother's 
 peculiar love and a father's tender care. Strive as we 
 may, there are times when nature cries out mightily 
 against such deprivement. The cold philosophy of not 
 grieving for the inevitable, may be abstractly correct, 
 but it is surely not practically useful to the human 
 heart." 
 
 As the truth-freighted voice ceased, the long, fringed, 
 drooping lids were slowly lifted from Leathean eyeS| 
 
164 WHAT CAME OF if. 
 
 within whose magnetic depths the gazer found oblivion. 
 
 To Farrish, Echo never looked more bewitchingly beau- 
 ' tiful than as she sat there with her elbow resting on the 
 
 arm of her chair, and her head bowed on her shapely 
 
 hand. Between this fair young girl of eighteen and 
 this man of forty-five, there existed a strong attachment. 
 On her part there was a reverential regard, more felt 
 than understood, while on his part there was a worship 
 ful compassion for her tender years and hard lot. 
 
 A few minutes passed in which Farrish arose, then 
 suddenly 'sank back in his chair, as if overcome with 
 emotion. While involuntarily running his white fingers 
 through a mass of dark hair, he broke the silence by 
 saying, respectfully : 
 
 "You have been frank, Miss Echo; I will be no less 
 so. Conscience forbids my taking advantage of your in 
 experience. Such friendship, as you seem to desire, exist 
 ing between a man of the world, such as I am, and a beau 
 tiful young girl in your situation, would be more detri 
 mental than beneficial. This world is full of evil-thinkers, 
 as well as evil-doers; such are utterly incapable of com 
 prehending true friendship. In my estimation the man, 
 who, for the pleasure of a woman's company, would 
 compromise her good name, is a selfish villain, unworthy 
 of her notice. I sought you at first, as a man of the 
 world, bent upon his own pleasure, would naturally seek 
 a lovely young girl. Your innocent frankness at first 
 bewildered, then disarmed me, while your unprotected 
 condition appealed to my better nature. You see before 
 you a man whose faith in the purity of woman had been 
 violently shattered, one who, in fact, regarded her as a 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 165 
 
 boy usually regards a painted toy. In you I found a 
 living demonstration of feminine goodness, as inward 
 purity steals out like some subtle ether and envelops the 
 actions of every-day life. The necessity of our separation 
 seems almost unbearable, and though the breaking up of 
 our present friendly intercourse would be a loss to me 
 irretrievable, yet, should it continue, your reputation 
 would suffer and it must be." 
 
 While encountering the earnest, sympathetic gaze of 
 her companion, two great tears rolled slowly down the 
 soft, flushed cheeks of Echo, and fell upon her lap un 
 heeded, as she somewhat pathetically expostulated : 
 
 " Must it, then, indeed be broken up ? Why, sir, your 
 cheery company has been to me what that delicate 
 flower growing in its rocky crevice is said to have 
 
 o o J 
 
 been to Mungo Park as he wearily lay down in the 
 desert to die. Is there to be no more of those friendly 
 walks and drives, those familiar talks in which thought 
 called forth thought, and the storehouse of your mind 
 gave ' forth its goodly treasures ? Is it right that I 
 should be deprived of a friendship so tenderly com 
 passionate, so divinely good, so helpful to my ig 
 norance ? Are those quiet evening hours which were 
 BO refreshing, after days of toil, to have no existence 
 but in memory ? Are not the needs of the heart as great 
 as those of the body and the mind, and human sympathy 
 as precious to the weary, struggling soul, as water to the 
 traveler in the desert ? I, then, bow to the dire necessity 
 of a separation, brought about by a society of evil-think 
 ers, who frown down upon me sorely on account of cir 
 cumstances over which I have no control, and who not 
 
t66 WHAT CAME or IT. 
 
 only ostracise me from their one circle, but also invade 
 the associations of my home. Charity ! charity ! where 
 is thy dwelling place ? The only treasure poverty 
 affords is friendship. Robhed of that, nothing remains 
 but the hard fact of a barren existence, and a little self- 
 respect, perhaps, which goads one on to observe life's 
 most common proprieties, however hateful." 
 
 " My dear, impulsive child," said Fairish, arising and 
 taking her hand tenderly, "the conventionalities of so 
 ciety are inexorable, and must be observed. Ah, my 
 dear, you had better reconsider your first decision, and 
 give me the right to shield and cherish you." 
 
 Oh, why did Echo's heart beat so wildly ? Her feel 
 ing for this man was not to be compared to that being, 
 instinctive passion, which she had experienced for Ho- 
 berg ; and yet this parting fell as heavily upon her throb 
 bing heart as did the sound of the first clods which fell 
 on her grandmother's coffin. 
 
 " No, no, no !" said Echo, in tones vibrating with emo 
 tion, as she also rose. " Do not tempt me, for I have an 
 inward monitor which constrains me from entering into 
 a marriage contract with one while loving another, and 
 that other still living. I do not wish to dictate to others; 
 but as for myself, I must be ' firm in the. right as God 
 gives me to see the right ' in the present, regardless of 
 future consequences." 
 
 " Oh, fairest, and best, and sweetest of woman kind !" 
 cried Farrish, in a voice of impassioned tenderness, " I 
 honor your motive, while deprecating your sacrifices, 
 and should future events cause you to change your pres 
 ent decision, you can always hear from me by dropping 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. l 
 
 ine a line through my solicitor. The lateness of the 
 hour forces me into saying good-night and good-bye in 
 two successive breaths." 
 
 As Farrish clasped Echo's extended hand, their eyes 
 met ; his were full of earnest entreaty. But her's, though 
 tear-suffused, shone with a steadfast purpose. Farrish 
 suddenly bent his head and gravely touched Echo's fore 
 head with his lips, then rather reluctantly resigned her 
 hand and was gone in another moment, after pausing at 
 the door and regarding her with a look which is not 
 often given except to the dead, and then only when the 
 coffin lid is about to close upon them forever. 
 
 " Dear God !" was the impassioned cry which involun 
 tarily burst from Echo's lips, " give me wisdom to know, 
 and strength to do, the risjht." 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 ^CHO, wrapped in thought, stood perfectly still 
 fully ten minutes after Farrish's footsteps had 
 died away in the distance. She thought, with 
 "V' T dismay, of the displeasure of Miss Newbury, 
 who seemed to favor Farrish's suit, and the loss of his 
 cheerful company weighed no less heavily upon her over 
 charged spirit. Thoughts of the insult which she had 
 received that evening brought a flush of indignation to 
 her face, while the loss of her pupils and the increasing 
 coldness of the members of the Church to which the 
 nurse, her fictitious sister, belonged, and that of the choir 
 also, where she, herself, was in the habit of singing, 
 chilled her with no small apprehension. 
 
 As the little time-piece on the mantle chimed out the 
 hour of eleven, Echo entered the room from which pro 
 ceeded a slight noise, and found the nurse awake and 
 feeling better. 
 
 " You are surely sick, yourself, child," was her first 
 salutation to Echo, " that is, if looks are to be trusted," 
 she gravely added. 
 
 " Pray, do not give yourself unnecessary alarm, dear 
 sister," replied Echo, while straightening the covering 
 of the bed, smiling pleasantly. 
 
 " Some one rang the door-bell about half an hour after 
 the departure of yourself and Wistit. I am not sure 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 169 
 
 who it was, of course, as I was unable to attend, but pre 
 sumed it to be Mr. Farrish." 
 
 " That lady whom you wished me to see, personally, 
 kept us waiting more than hour. We were then forced 
 to return without the money. We were also detained 
 at the apothecary's a short time. In consequence of the 
 lateness of the hour I experienced no small difficulty in 
 keeping Wistit sufficiently awake to move. In all prob 
 ability you were wrong in your presumption in regard 
 to Farrish, as he met and escorted us home without 
 mentioning the fact of having called before this evening," 
 said Echo, in explanation. 
 
 " I think that he is almost on the point of making you 
 a proposal of marriage, Echo, dear, and I \vould advise 
 you to accept," hazarded the nurse. " To be frank, he 
 intimated as much to me some weeks ago, but I advised 
 him to wait." 
 
 " It is time that you were taking your medicine, sister," 
 said Echo, with irrelevant tenderness. 
 
 " Pray have no hesitancy in ringing the bell in case 
 you need anything," she added, as she kissed the nurse 
 good-night. After reading a chapter from the Bible a 
 nightly free-will offering to the Father Echo entered 
 the adjoining room, leaving the door of communication 
 open. Then lying down, she gathered the sleeping 
 child, Wistit, to her aching heart, and strange as it may 
 seem, appeared to be comforted thereby. 
 
 In the silence and darkness of the night one is often 
 startled with spontaneous thoughts which come and 
 go like dreams. That night the returning stream of 
 memory sent forth before Echo's mental vision a reflec- 
 
170 XVHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 tion, as it were, from that picture of her unknown father 
 which had been taken in his boyhood. As this reflection 
 .vanished, that of Farrish's face took its place, and she was 
 startled at the resemblance existing between the smooth 
 faced, beautiful boy and that of the man, bearded and 
 handsome. Ah! were one but wise enough to heed 
 these inspired thoughts which, like the wind, are felt but 
 not seen, whose action all behold, but whose source is 
 unknown ! 
 
 As thought goes keenly searching through that mys 
 terious repository where past events lie covered, how 
 often does it shudderingly turn away from that cemetery 
 by whose monuments acts are perpetuated which their 
 doer would fain obliterate. Are not those silent chron 
 icles to be the book of God's remembrance ? and every 
 immortal stone reared in that awful graveyard ol mem 
 ory a witness which shall condemn or exculpate its 
 builder at the Judgment? If, as has been asserted, the 
 mind does not relax from its functions when the body is 
 in a state of rest, why may not this indwelling god 
 this discerner of good and evil live on independent of 
 its corporeal body ? Surely, the all-wise God and subtile 
 serpent are both reported in the third chapter of Genesis 
 to have declared that a knowledge of good and evil 
 made man god-like. Moreover, does not the case also 
 specified in Holy Writ, where man is called to render 
 an account of imparted talents at the day of reckoning 
 hint of the mind's progression in a life beyond ? 
 
 At seven o'clock, the following morning, Echo awoke. 
 She arose and dressed with care, for she was regularly 
 neat in matters pertaining to her toilet. 
 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. I <]l 
 
 As plants are easily distinguished by their leaves, so 
 are women by their outward adornings. The richest 
 apparel, if carelessly donned, would not be as adequate 
 to the purpose of attracting and impressing the thought 
 ful as less presumptuous garments, properly adjusted. 
 The beauty of one's dress consists more in its suitable 
 ness to the style of the wearer than its fineness of tex 
 ture or brilliancy of color, and a woman who carefully 
 studies herself and surroundings is never ill-dressed, how 
 ever small her income. 
 
 " Well, how are you feeling this morning ?" pleasantly 
 asked Echo, who, upon entering the adjoining room, 
 found the nurse awake and sitting up in bed. 
 
 " Almost well. The pain has vanished in the night 
 time like the famed palace of Aladdin," replied the nurse, 
 who had been suffering from a severe spell of inflamma 
 tory rheumatism, " so I shall arise and go to the break 
 fast table with alacrity." 
 
 Not till the breakfast had been prepared and eaten, 
 Wistit washed and dressed, and the house tidied, and ev 
 erything in order, did Echo see fit to reveal last eve 
 ning's occurrences to the nurse. 
 
 After they were cosily seated, Echo busily engaged 
 on a hood which she was knitting in biroche stitch for 
 Wistit, while the nurse, seated in an easy-chair, was no 
 less busy on a pair of slippers that she was embroidering 
 for one of her lady patrons, did Echo broach the subject 
 which lay uppermost in her mind just then, by saying, 
 " I was grossly insulted on my return last night." 
 
 " By whom ?" queried the nurse, indignantly. 
 
172 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Echo's cheeks reddened slightly, "By a man, of 
 course." 
 
 "Say a brute, rather! But relate the affair just as it 
 occurred." 
 
 Echo began: " After leaving the car and proceeding 
 a short distance, I was startled by a hand grasping my 
 umbrella and another being laid upon my shoulder, while 
 a voice half whispered something about the weight of 
 the umbrella being too heavy for my hand. I was too 
 badly frightened to catch the exact words. It was rain 
 ing heavily. The street was dark and almost deserted, 
 the wind soughed dismally, and, if I was afraid before, 
 how much more so then? As soon as possible I replied, 
 telling him that he should never address a lady without 
 being sure of her identity. Receiving an insulting re 
 ply, I appealed to a passing gentleman for protection. 
 Judge of my relief on recognizing the voice of our friend 
 Farrish as he replied to some more of the man's remarks 
 by knocking him down, and I do not know as he was 
 able to get up again," she added, raising her soft eyes to 
 the nurse's, in troubled doubt. 
 
 " It is to be hoped not," answered the latter, spitefully. 
 " A brute acknowledges no law but that of force." 
 
 " And yet one should pity them after they are con 
 quered. Suffering, by no matter whom or what, ever 
 calls for commiseration," continued Echo, carefully 
 picking up the stitches all along the back of the hood 
 upon which she was engaged. 
 
 u Humbug ! " exclaimed the nurse rather fiercely, stab 
 bing the needle in and out the cloth she was working. 
 " For all suffering there is a cause. Two-thirds of all 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 173 
 
 the miseries of this world could be avoided by the exer 
 cise of reason, coupled with a little self-command. In 
 my humble opinion, involuntary sufferers should have 
 the fullest commiseration, as it is only by pain and toil 
 that the majority of mankind can be taught wisdom. 
 Think, for instance," she jocularly resumed, " of a lazy, 
 sluggish set of Adams and Eves fooling around the 
 garden of Eden with nothing to do but kill time 
 no motive whatever to exercise that God-given faculty, 
 the mind ! Why, even the mute creation would have 
 been their superiors, and alas, for the day of elevated 
 manhood, they had been without the trick of mixing 
 mint-juleps as they lounged around vacantly, and with no 
 money to bet on the merits of the various animals strag 
 gling by ! Moreover, awful to contemplate, there had 
 been no corner saloons before which men could congre 
 gate and chew their cigar-stubs while they canvassed the 
 beauties and frailties of passing ladies. 
 
 The idea of women having no children to care for, 
 no trowsers to mend, or carpets to protect from sun and 
 stains ! Finally, most weighty consideration of all, there 
 had been no sailing down the church aisle of a Sunday, 
 full-rigged, colors flying, unmindful, perhaps, of the 
 buzzing and neck-stretching on either side the restless 
 stream. 
 
 Jmagine, if you can, the angels rushing around wait 
 ing on those great, indolent, overgrown hulks of babies, 
 who, if not furnished a substitute for breathing, would 
 have ceased to live through pure inertness. I re 
 member an anecdote illustrative of the subject: An 
 Indiana farmer, going one day into the harvest-field, 
 
174 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 saw five of his hands lying supinely under a shade- 
 tree, though noon had long since passed. With a 
 merry twinkle in his eye he approached the group 
 saying, as he took a greenback from his pocket, 
 4 Here are ten dollars for the laziest man in this 
 crowd.' While four of the men sprang to their feet, 
 each claiming his right to the money, the fifth lay per 
 fectly still, without so much as moving a muscle. 4 1 think 
 that this fellow has given us the most convincing de 
 monstration,' said the farmer, extending the bill towards 
 the man. 4 Won't you put it in my pocket?' drawled out 
 that worthy, rolling on his side.' " 
 
 Echo, much amused, laughed heartily, for the droll 
 ery of the nurse's manner and argument were not to be 
 withstood. 
 
 " If one-half of the wasted pity and charity were 
 discriminately dispensed among those who are really 
 worthy creatures of circumstances, the world would be 
 gainer thereby," the nurse more gravely continued 
 " The man or woman who has most thoroughly learned 
 the lesson that under all ordinary events, self-help is the 
 most reliable efficacious and sustaining of all helps, is al 
 most sure to make his or her mark in the world." 
 
 Silence fell between them, which was broken by the 
 kind inquiry of the nurse : 
 
 " Are you well, Echo? " 
 
 The heavily-fringed lids opened wide, then drooped 
 suddenly over the luminous dark eyes as she answered 
 samewhat abruptly 
 
 " Certainly, but why do you ask ? " 
 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 1^5 
 
 " On account of your increased paleness and seeming 
 abstraction." 
 
 " Oh, is that all ?" 
 
 " All, unless you wish to disclose more," said the other 
 reproachfully. 
 
 Echo smiled but answered not. 
 
 "You must remember, continued the nurse, "that mu 
 tual confidence is conducive to friendship. Just as you 
 please, however." 
 
 " Echo blushed painfully, while the delicate scarlet lips 
 tremulously articulated "Mr. Farrish made a propo 
 sal of marriage last night." 
 
 "You accepted, of course?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The nurse, looking at Echo in utter bewilderment, 
 slowly ejaculated, "Is it possible?" 
 
 " It is my friend." 
 
 " The ground of your objection, please ? " 
 
 Echo, drooping her eyelids demurely, answered softly, 
 " The strongest in the world want of proper affection." 
 
 " You amaze me ! " 
 
 "Why so, pray? " 
 
 " You surely loved that man ? " 
 
 " As a very dear friend, only, in the same way that I 
 love you, dear nurse." 
 
 " He is rich, handsome, wise and loving ; what more 
 can you desire ?" said the nurse, much disturbed. 
 
 Echo's face expressed varying emotions, while the fit 
 ful color, in its ebb and flow, was charming as she 
 raised her resplendently lovely eyes to those of her com 
 panion, and rerplied with solemn pathos : 
 
176 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " What equivalent have I to give for the possessions 
 which you have named ? A body devoid of a heart ; a 
 will forced into wedlock; a mind teeming with inbred 
 thoughts of another! Is this marriage? Bah! me- 
 thinks that the very ink would pale and fade from the 
 ' license ' when touched by the acid of truth. Is wedlock 
 but a summer cloud that it needs no sustaining truth? 
 Know you not that a bond, light as a gossamer web in 
 seeming, can be made as heavy and rough for the sensi 
 tive soul as a criminal's clanking chain to be broken by 
 violence only ? Oh, these broken contracts ! these heart 
 aches! whence come they? From want of understand 
 ing, surely. Love bridles the passions and gently guides 
 the feelings of the truly married into verdure-clad fields 
 of pleasantness." 
 
 A sweet light stole into the softened face of the nurse, 
 as she answered : 
 
 " I was in fault, darling, and you must forgive me. A 
 marriage of convenience is simply legalized prostitution." 
 
 Echo left her seat, and, approaching the nurse, kissed 
 her with reassured affection, saying, " You, Wistit, and 
 I will be sufficient unto each other. "We will practice 
 the strictest economy, and, in a sliort time we will have 
 money enough to purchase a few acres of land some 
 where on the bay, and we will have a little Arcadia of 
 our own, raking fruits, vegetables and the like for the 
 city market. It would be a dear, reposeful, happy life, 
 and I am very weary of San Francisco. Really, nurse, 
 the thought is an inspired one. ' We will be rich and 
 contented, if hot c happily married,' as the novelists say. 
 Come, dear, is it not a scheme among ten thousand ? " 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. iyy 
 
 " It is a pleasing picture, Echo, and I am inclined to 
 think that your Arcadia is attainable." 
 
 " And will there be flowers, and butterflies, and cher 
 ries, and swings, and things ? " said Wistit, in tumult 
 uous excitement, her eyes dilated, as she approached the 
 knees of Echo. 
 
 " Yes, pet, all these a garden of beauty and of love," 
 and the young girl's hand stroked the hair of the " mith ' 
 erless bairn " with angelic softness. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 OME twenty minutes after entering her own 
 apartments, and dismissing her maid for the 
 night, Zarina securely fastened her door, and 
 softly stealing clown the stairs, let herself out 
 into the garden. Raising her skirts in her hand, and 
 peering cautiously over and around the shrubbery in 
 whose shadow r she was keeping, she made her way 
 with the greatest possible speed to the most secluded and 
 uncultivated spot in the enclosure. 
 
 The light of the moon was obstructed at intervals by 
 floating clouds. The arbor was made dim and cool by 
 the density of its green surroundings even when the sun 
 shone its brighest. To-night it was particularly dark, 
 gloomy and chilly. 
 
 " Five minutes past nine," murmured La Croix, while 
 consulting his watch by the light of a match. " Glad 
 that my divinity is usually punctual. Deucedly dumpish 
 trysting place this ! " with a yawn. 
 
 After an interval of about ten minutes, the count re 
 moved the cigar from his mouth, and bent his head to 
 listen. 
 
 " It is the rustic of her garments !" exclaimed he. 
 "No, 'twas but the wind among the trees," he reluc 
 tantly corrected, after a moment of earnest expectancy. 
 
 What m the name of Vemis keeps her ?" he rather 
 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 179 
 
 impatiently ejaculated. " She was not wont to have me 
 waiting. I presume, however," he added, arising and 
 walking backward and forward through the rather nar 
 row frescade which led to the arbor, " that the pulse of 
 time, seemingly, beats more sluggishly here than else 
 where." 
 
 The branches of the trees on either side of the walk 
 interlaced, forming a leafy barrier through which the 
 chill air crept regardless of its murmurings. 
 
 Just as his patience became thoroughly exhausted, the 
 keen eyes of the count discerned what seemed to be a 
 shade within a shade, or as it were a little black cloud 
 scudding across the face of its lighter neighbor. 
 
 As the cry of a bird smote the air, the count hesitated 
 no longer, but sprang forward and in another moment 
 clasped the swiftly moving shadow in his arms. 
 
 " Have I kept you waiting ?" 
 
 " An age !" kissing her. 
 
 " How long ?" 
 
 " An hour in reality, an eternity in seeming," whisper 
 ed the count, leading Zarina into the arbor, and seating 
 her in a large rustic chair and placing himself beside her. 
 
 " This place is dark and chill as a dungeon," said she, 
 shivering. 
 
 " It was," said the count, gathering her more closely to 
 himself, " until warmed and lighted by your presence." 
 
 " Is that really so, prince of my heart ?" inquired she, 
 laying her cheek caressingly against his. 
 
 " Can you doubt it, life of my soul r" said the count, 
 replying to one question by asking another. 
 
 44 Demonstrations are conclusive," said she, smilingly, 
 
iSo WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 and patting him on the cheek with her soft, white hand. 
 " Do you know, count," she resumed after a slight pause, 
 " that I have a peculiar request to make of you ?" 
 
 " Your lips are more potent than Mordecai's golden 
 scepter ; so draw near and touch, and thy request, no 
 matter what it be, is granted already," said he gaily. 
 
 " A bai'gain," kissing him. " I shall demand the ful 
 fillment of your promise, remember ! You are probably 
 aware that Monsieur Legrand holds a small fortune in 
 his own right." 
 
 " So it is reported, but what has that to do with queen 
 Echo's request ?" 
 
 " Much, as you shall see. You have also noticed his 
 failing health ?" 
 
 " Yes," with the utmost indifference. 
 
 " Well, his physician privately informed mamma yes 
 terday that he was liable to drop off at any moment." 
 
 " A sorry drop for him, but no concern of ours, how 
 ever." 
 
 " You will change your mind, no doubt, when I in 
 form you that he has made a will in my favor." 
 
 "Ah!" interrupted the count, immediately showing 
 signs of interest. 
 
 " Though an estate, when held at the will of another, 
 is the flimsiest of legal estates, yet, I do not think this 
 one at all liable to slip from my hands if a certain frailty 
 of his character is not provoked." 
 
 " Which is jealousy," hazarded the count. 
 
 "Right," asserted she, "and should you cease your at 
 tentions to myself suddenly, it would, I fear, cause com 
 ments; therefore, I request that you leave the city for 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. iSl 
 
 about three months. By that time Monsieur Legrand 
 will have entered ' The Valley of Blessing,' thrice blessed 
 to us, surely, and the road will be clear." 
 
 The count's answer was a prolonged whistle. 
 
 "Not for a fortune, count?" reminded Echo, coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Three months banished from Paris from you 
 an eternity rather. Paris you mon Dieu! .what 
 more of life ? what more of heaven ? " 
 
 " Oh, be reasonable ! " exclaimed Zarina. " In staying, 
 you not only foolishly venture the loss of monsieur's small 
 fortune, but, in all probability, my own heritage ; as Le 
 grand will use his influence with mamma to have the 
 greater part of his large estate willed to charitable insti 
 tutions if I persist in my present absurd infatuation, as 
 he calls it. Your friends seem to have but one opinion, 
 and that is, that you will marry for money only. 
 Mamma has repeatedly asserted that she will never con 
 sent for me to wed a fortune-hunter so, for my part, I 
 think the chances of monsieur's success to be good, es 
 pecially if her ladyship should put into practice her pet 
 idea of humanizing the masses and make an example of 
 herself by unlocking her vaults, maintaining that money 
 should be in circulation among the many, not hoarded 
 by the few." 
 
 "The devil take him!" involuntarily muttered the 
 count between his teeth. 
 
 "As for the matter of that, dear count, his satanic 
 majesty, perhaps, needs a breathing spell, as it certainly 
 requires a prodigious amount of activity, to say nothing 
 of strategy, to keep from being out-maneuvered, and 
 
l82 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 therefore, superseded, by some aspiring mundane 
 wrestler." 
 
 " Really, I must not stay a moment longer," she ad 
 ded, rising. "As I retired under the plea of headache, 
 her ladyship may chance to enter my room before bed 
 time. So what say you to my proposition?" 
 
 " On one condition, only, will I accede." 
 
 " Well ! time flies. What is it ? " 
 
 " It is," said the count, offering her his arm and es 
 corting her outside the arbor, " that we be married in 
 this arbor, clandestinely, to-morrow night." 
 
 u Afon Dieu!" exclaimed she, stopping short in her 
 walk with surprise, then murmured : 
 
 " The long coveted title is offered me at last. Would 
 that I could accept it! Why not? Bah! that would 
 be bigamy, and bigamy is a crime punished by impris 
 onment. 'Nothing venture, nothing gain,' however; 
 besides, after giving Legrand the coup de grace, the first 
 marriage will be a thing of the past. What matters it 
 whether it be a few days before or afterwards. In fact, 
 the sin lies not in the doing, but in the discovery. The 
 count but forestalls some one of those dignified, seem 
 ingly-pious gentlemen whose eel-like propensity enables 
 them to slip right around the point of discovery, but 
 who, nevertheless, manage at the husband's grave, be 
 tween showers of grief and sundry handkerchief turn 
 ings, to give the sudden stroke which secures the 
 coming wife, perhaps; and moreover, though widow 
 hood is certainly the most subtilely sweet of all ' hoods,' 
 yet, its enticements could have no charms for me, as my 
 marriage is a secret and must forever so remain. Con- 
 
WHAT" CAME OF IT. 183 
 
 clensed in those two men are the materials which shall 
 suffuse my future with the gold and purple tincture 
 wherein human eyes behold fair, envious visions of great 
 glory. Faugh ! first a secret marriage ; second, the de 
 frauding of an innocent girl out of her birth-right, anil 
 a mother, thereby, of a child! Shall I, after all this, 
 weaken at bigamy? and ah me!" with a shudder, 
 " my lips shall not coin the horrid act into words, for it 
 is surely better that the mind should not take into ac 
 count the work of the hands on this occasion. Mon 
 strous crimes! indeed, but as necessary, alas! to my suc 
 cess as the ugly feet of the pea-fowl are to the brilliant 
 plumage which flaunts above them." 
 
 "Have you plunged beneath waters of oblivion, or 
 glanced at the petrifying Medusa? that you stand ga 
 zing into vacancy, apparently unconscious that a fellow- 
 mortal awaits eagerly for an answer," asked the puzzled, 
 but petulant count, with capricious irritation, breaking 
 in on the mental conflict between conscience and desire 
 somewhat raging in Zarina's prolific brain. 
 
 "I I was thinking, only thinking," rather irrele 
 vantly answered Zarina, slowly resuming her walk. 
 
 The count, scowling blackly, interrupted her with 
 slight acerbity, " No doubt but that my proposal struck 
 Mademoiselle Clifford dumb with surprise. Surely, past 
 events did not lead her to expect such presumption from 
 one whom she has always treated with the utmost re 
 serve (?). The idea of a man of mv rank and title being; 
 
 \ / *>' o 
 
 duped refused pshaw !" 
 
 " I was thinking of the impossibility of meeting you at 
 the time appointed," said Zarina, turning around ab 
 
184 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 ruptly and facing him with one of her peculiar glances 
 and a return of her old manner, adding, in tones of icy 
 crispness, "Rank and title, forsooth! an elephant minus 
 a t trunk, a dry river-bed whose supply of water has been 
 cut off! Truly, past events should have taught us the 
 absurdity of exhibiting surprise at such a wise proposal 
 from such a source ! " 
 
 " Why covet for yourself that which you affect to de 
 spise when possessed by others? " he said. 
 
 " Pray, what stronger reason can be given than that 
 hateful fact, c by others ? ' " she replied. 
 
 "Forgive my roughness, mignon" murmured the 
 count, changing his tactics. "You both enchant and 
 madden me, and," suddenly clasping her to his bosom 
 and covering her face with kisses, " you shall not return 
 to the house till you grant my request." 
 
 "Hush!" cautioned Zarina, laying her hand peremp 
 torily over his mouth, "you may be overheard. We are 
 now in close proximity to that part of the house occu 
 pied by the servants." 
 
 The count, transferring the plump, white hand from 
 his mouth to his palm, where it rested with a soft, caress 
 ing touch, asked again, "You consent, then?" 
 
 "Foolish nian! what would be the necessity? If 
 Monsieur Legrand should hear you, all would be lost. 
 But mamma is expecting company to dinner to-morrow, 
 so, of course, you see it would be impracticable." 
 
 " The day after, then," rejoined the count. " To-mor 
 row is Tuesday, the next is Wednesday, so, on the eve 
 ning of that day, I insist that you shall meet your adorer 
 
WHAT" CAME OF If. 185 
 
 and a priest in the arbor, at ten o'clock, precisely. If 
 you dare to fail me but you will not!" 
 
 "Suppose that I should, what then?" asked Zarina, 
 with a shrug of her finely moulded shoulders. 
 
 " Why, then, I shall have my revenge by disclosing 
 everything to Legrand," whispered the count, threat 
 eningly. 
 
 " I will not relieve his anxiety till the appointed time," 
 thought Zarina, inwardrj chuckling, " or mayhap he 
 may think me too easily won." Then suddenly throw 
 ing her arms around his neck and passionately kissing 
 him, she broke from his grasp and swiftly disappeared 
 around a projection of the mansion. 
 
 Upon re-entering the house and regaining her apart 
 ments in safety, Zarina hastily doffed her clothes and 
 sprang into bed. She had scarcely done so when Lady 
 Clifford entered the room and found her, apparently, 
 in profound slumber. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 !;> 
 
 N the Talmud there is a phrase to which all men, 
 
 in all countries, of whatsoever sects and beliefs, 
 seem to have given their unanimous assent and 
 approbation, and to have studied for self-pro 
 tection, as it seems to be on the outer edge of their 
 memories, and always accessible in time of need. The 
 phrase in question is this : " Descend a step in choosing a 
 wife; mount a step in choosing a friend." 
 
 If, as has often been alleged, a man -should be judged 
 by the character of his associates, it seems that the 
 before-mentioned phrase should read thus : " Mount a 
 step in choosing K friend, and as many as possible in 
 choosing a wife," especially as man and wife are merged 
 into one, and every man insists on being that one. The 
 average man needs many elevating accessories in order 
 to be recognized as a success. 
 
 Matrimony admits of no "backward steps," to 
 translate a Latin quotation, though, in truth, we have 
 frequently known those who, in the vulgar parlance of a 
 live language, have u stepped down and out" Perhaps 
 'twould be better for all enraptured candidates to pause 
 before mounting that acclivity of final bliss, and forever 
 decide whose individuality shall be swallowed up in the 
 matrimonial crater. According to the theory of modern 
 
SfrHAT CAME OF IT. 187 
 
 philosophers, the strongest should prevail; but that is a 
 question not always decided by the accident of sex. 
 
 These observations are induced by the contemplation 
 of the matrimonial alliance of M. Legrand and Zarina. 
 Their accuracy may be tested hereafter by results. 
 
 On the afternoon of the next day, directly after lun 
 cheon, Madame Fleurot was honored by another call 
 from Legrand. When he had purchased some rare old 
 laces, he was again shown into madame's little back par 
 lor, where, when seated, he resumed the theme of the 
 former occasion, by saying : 
 
 " I congratulate you heartily, madame ; you succeeded 
 beyond my expectation." 
 
 " You attended the trial this morning ?" 
 
 " No ; but I received your note of yesterday evening." 
 
 " The money was not only found upon the person of the 
 accused, but she also fought and scratched the officer who 
 arrested her. Such talk ! such names ! why, it fairly 
 makes one's hair stand on end to think of it, monsieur," 
 said madame, indulging in a grimace, while smoothing 
 down her hair with both hands. "The penalty was 
 heavier than I thought, however." 
 
 " Very likely," said Legrand. " I presume his honor, 
 the judge, thought that the ferocity of the beast needed 
 severe discipline." . 
 
 " Be that as it may, she surely received the sentence 
 with stolid indifference. I, for one, was wliolly unpre 
 pared for such a stupid calm after the storm of yester 
 day." 
 
 "A propensity of savage natures, when under the 
 retributive lash," answered Legrand, producing a paper 
 
iSS WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 from the pocket of his coat and handing it to her. 
 " This will cancel my obligation, I presume." 
 
 " Obligation, indeed ! I owed you a debt of gratitude, 
 which it was my sacred duty to have remembered," ex 
 claimed the woman, taking the mortgage, however, and 
 carefully locking it in an escritoire at hand. 
 
 Legrand smiled at madame's subtleness in metamor 
 phosing corrupt motives into gratitude. When the hoop 
 breaks the cask falls, to use a familiar phrase, and it too 
 frequently happens that bribes are the golden hoops, and 
 convictions the cask. It was so, at least, in this in 
 stance. 
 
 While many seek, few profit by Scriptural advice. 
 Madame Fleurot was an exception. " Be ye therefore 
 wise as serpents, and harmless as cloves," was a motto 
 which she endeavored to practice ; and though a great 
 student, she had been able to master the first part of 
 this phrase only, and in so doing was always too busy 
 to grapple the remainder. 
 
 With a few common-place remarks, Legrand took his 
 leave, as well pleased with the termination of the affair 
 as herself. 
 
 Returning home thoroughly exhausted, he retired to 
 the elegant suite of apartments set apart for his occu 
 pancy. 
 
 After an hour's rest, feeling somewhat refreshed, he 
 arose and glanced out of the window. Seeing Zarina 
 alone in the garden, he hastened to join her. 
 
 " Monsieur," she ejaculated, coming to meet him, 
 "has the ghost been slain ? Do relieve my anxiety." 
 
 " Give yourself no further uneasiness. The serpent's 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 189 
 
 fangs have been extracted," replied Legrand, looking 
 down upon her fondly, while keeping step by her 
 side. 
 
 " But how ?" persisted she, returning his glance with 
 equal fervor. 
 
 "I will explain at a more convenient season, sweet 
 love. Tell me something about yourself. Our meet 
 ings are so few and restricted, that I long for the time 
 when I can have you all to myself." 
 
 " That reminds me that it is time to dress for dinner," 
 said Zarina, hastily dropping the rose, whose prickles 
 caused blood to appear on the smooth surface of her 
 white hand, which Legrand could scarcely refrain from 
 pressing to his lips (although in plain view of the house) 
 as it lay caressingly in his. 
 
 In drawing a handkerchief from her pocket, a tiny 
 pink envelope fluttered down -.at the very feet of her 
 companion. She could not suppress a start, or conceal a 
 change of countenance. 
 
 Stooping down and picking it up, Legrand glanced at 
 the address, started? re-adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, 
 and turned around and faced Zarina, with a thunderous 
 countenance and a lightning-like glance of the eye. 
 
 Inwardly quaking, she leeringly glanced at the paper 
 extended for her inspection ; then feeling that her eyes 
 were sufficiently under control, she slowly raised them 
 to his, with a look of injured innocence. 
 
 " Why look you so, my liege ? Am I the criminal, 
 you the judge ? In what have I ignorantly transgressed, 
 that the thundering of Mount Sinai should be brought to 
 bear against me ? Ah me ! would that the children of 
 
190 WHAT CA^IE OF it. 
 
 men were not still set on miching, thereby causing jus 
 tice to call loudly, as One of old in the garden, for some 
 hidden accusation !" 
 
 " What !" he exclaimed, ironically, " you transgress, 
 sweet Scythian lamb ! Who proclaims it ? The sun 
 has its spots, the moon lends a borrowed light, the stars 
 cozen by their very coyness, but you are all innocence, 
 and innocence is perfection !" 
 
 " Perfection or not, it needs no agnus castus to repose 
 upon; likewise, no keen surveillance of a would-be pre 
 server. Those that will not.bear trusting, will not bear 
 watching, mark that !" raising her finger and shaking it, 
 while eyeing him askance. " Did all men resemble suns 
 in anything but blemishes, all women's faces would be 
 luminous, at least, with happiness. If, as some contend, 
 and most desire, women are mere reflectors, I, for one, 
 am greatly amazed at the chasteness of the reflections, 
 when contemplating the lights from which they were 
 borrowed. Be this as it may, however, you hold in your 
 hand, within about three inches of my eyes, (though I 
 have no knowledge of being troubled with either oph- 
 thalmy or short-sightedness) an envelope, directed in my 
 hand-writing, to Count LaCroix. The fact will not be 
 so striking as it seems, on second thought, perhaps, and 
 taking into consideration the circumstance that it was at 
 your request that I promised to dismiss the count. Now, 
 to one as unsophisticated as myself, a written dismissal 
 seemed less embarrassing than an oral one. It appears 
 that you are not of the same opinion, however." Af 
 fecting to be more and more enraged as she proceeded, 
 she snatched the letter from his extended hand and 
 
WttAt CAME OF It. *9l 
 
 tore It into tiny fragments, throwing them into the base 
 of the fountain at hand, while angrily pursuing : " There, 
 monsieur, are you satisfied ? Talk about love, forsooth ! 
 love and distrust at the same time ! You are too much 
 of a cat, yourself, to trust any one, monsieur. Many 
 thanks one gets for trying to please you, indeed '!" 
 
 " Proof conclusive ! proof conclusive !" exclaimed Le- 
 grand, enigmatically, wagging his head. 
 
 " Proof of what, Pierre the wise ?" said she, with a sar 
 castic accent. 
 
 " First, that woman has a matchless facility in the use 
 of her tongue; second, that there are no women in 
 Heaven." 
 
 " I suppose you are referring to my talk ?" said she. 
 " But how does that prove that there are no women in 
 Heaven ?" 
 
 " c There was silence in Heaven about the space of half 
 an hour !' " triumphantly quoted he, " and who ever knew 
 a woman to keep silent one-third of that time ?" 
 
 Sharp and quick came the report : " Ahem ! The 
 cause is quite apparent, as 'they neither marry, or are 
 given in marriage,' there. If it were otherwise, and 
 some angel's Mary should happen to nestle at Jesus' 
 feet, there would be well, the silence would be broken, 
 that is all." 
 
 " In which case, I should desire to be cast out, like 
 Lucifer," said he, with a provoking smile. 
 
 " Fah 1 much good that would do you, monsieur, as 
 the hell of mankind is situated somewhere between the 
 4 Gan Eden ' you told me of and earth, where, Tantalus- 
 like, they hover between the choicest, fairest women 
 
*92 WHAT CAME OF It. 
 
 above, and the most useful, loving ones below, without 
 the power of reaching either !" 
 
 M. Legrand laughed, dryly, at this retort, and Zarina 
 soon afterwards withdrew. 
 
 Pacing up and down the cool, fragrant walks, the 
 suspicious schemer turned the incident of the letter over 
 and over in his mind. For the twentieth time he stopped 
 in front of the fountain, and contemplated the floating 
 fragments of paper "with a gloomy frown. 
 
 " Fool ! fool !" he murmured ; " an angry man has 
 no more reason, perception or policy, than a drunken 
 one. She should not have been allowed to destroy the 
 letter. Perhaps I accused her wrongfully, and her anger 
 was genuine, not simulated, but it had been just as easy 
 to put the matter to proof. Alas ! women out-general 
 us in deceit and intrigue ! It is a sad confession, but the 
 fact is indisputable. A lovely and fascinating woman is 
 always master of the situation. A man is so easily 
 blinded and destroyed by his lo^e, while woman's af 
 fection is more or less fanciful and superficial. A disap 
 pointed lover often blows out his brains; but a woman, 
 whose love affairs have gone contrarily, seeks 'fresh 
 fields and pastures new,' or consoles herself with veal 
 cutlets and onions. Parbleu ! it is a gay world ! Then," 
 walking slowly towards the house, " I must appear be 
 fore this company at dinner, when, in fact, it will be 
 more irksome than a state funeral. Bah ! what inanities 
 these social civilities are 1 A man that has a thought in 
 his head and a pain at his heart, is murdered by them !" 
 
 And he slowly sought his own apartments. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 'HE company was small, but select; and the 
 dinner was pronounced a success. The last 
 guest had departed so one o'clock found 
 Monsieur Legrand, Lady Clifford and mad 
 emoiselle, the only occupants of the spacious drawing- 
 room. 
 
 "Yes; the lady's mind is unquestionably brilliant," as 
 sented Monsieur Legrand to some previous remark of 
 Lady Clifford. 
 
 " Her mind may be bright, but her face is certainly 
 disgusting," chimed in Zarina, glancing admiringly at the 
 beautiful reflection of herself in the large cheval glass 
 opposite. 
 
 " This attractive beauty of the body which is thought 
 to be so powerful," reprovingly answered her lady 
 ship, "is not only the snare which often leads to its 
 own undoing, but is, also, a sore temptation to others, 
 and mark you this, my child ! that though its power may 
 be as grateful as the cooling breath of Zephyrus to the 
 feverish brow, its disappointments are always real and 
 as hard to be borne as the fever burning within the veins. 
 Beauty possesses the intoxicating power of wine. No 
 man is wise enough, or good enough, no matter how 
 great his intellectual qualifications may be, to allow him 
 self the privilege of too often testing reason under the 
 
194 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 influence of either." Lady Clifford had not even glanced 
 at Legrand, though the last sentence was evidently di 
 rected at him. 
 
 " I insist that your ladyship strengthen your own com 
 parison by adding thereto that famous saying of the an 
 cient sage, 'At the last it biteth like a serpent and sting- 
 eth like an adder,' " broke in that gentleman, liberally 
 adapting the quotation, and darting a withering glance 
 at Zarina, who still sat disporting with her mirrored 
 charms. 
 
 " Though both fine and apt, monsieur, I see plainly 
 that the comparison will not be complete without my 
 contribution, also : ' They have stricken me, shalt thou 
 say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt 
 it not; when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again,'" 
 said Zarina, bestowing on Legrand a keen oblique look 
 from her half closed eyelids, as the red lips parted in an 
 arch smile, disclosing pearly rows of teeth which met 
 evenly. 
 
 " There is one antique saying which Mademoiselle 
 Echo, it would seem, has resolved to put into practice; 
 ' Know thyself!'' that is, if studying the glass thor 
 oughly, will impart that information," said Legrand. 
 
 " Do you mean to insinuate, monsieur, that an article 
 should not be studied whose shadow, even, is worth con 
 templating ? " 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle, I only state the fact. The article 
 is, perhaps, worthy of the attention it receives." 
 
 " Do you know, monsieur, that a woman must either 
 be a frivolous coquette or an odious bas bleu. It is the 
 result of the accepted relation of the sexes, the social sit- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 195 
 
 nation. The field of honest competition heretofore 
 closed, or at least partially so to women, makes duplicity 
 and intriguing more habitual to them than open frank 
 ness or inward sincerity. All have desires which it 
 would be better to gratify than stifle. Is not that so, 
 mamma?" said Zarina, turning to Lady Clifford for 
 approval. 
 
 " As to that, my child, doubtless all have some pet de 
 sires which, if fulfilled, would destroy their author and, 
 in truth, desire is hydra-headed. Lop off one branch 
 and, presto ! another takes its place. Its hunger cannot 
 be satiated. One who was a close student of nature, 
 the talented lady, Mary Wortley Montague, is said to 
 have declared ' that in all her travels she had met with 
 but two sorts of people, men and women? Now if" 
 
 " ' Omme simile non est idem / ' is a simple but truth 
 ful axiom, which it would be well for us always to bear 
 in mind, more so, perhaps, than ever, when admitting 
 the above assertion,' ' interrupted Legrand. " ' A lover's 
 angel,' for instance, 'is a rival's fiend.'" There was a 
 pause. 
 
 "Even 'in the hereafter,'" said her ladyship, ending 
 the broken sentence. 
 
 " It grows late, ladies," said Legrand, suddenly, as he 
 arose, bowed and withdrew. 
 
 Then Lady Clifford and Zarina also retired, each to 
 her separate appartments. 
 
 The next morning the sky was overcast with dull, 
 gray clouds, from which a thick mist fell drearily. Not 
 a ray of sunlight pierced the water laden air which crept 
 with a sad, monotonous soughing through the burdened 
 
196 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 foliage of surrounding trees and plants, which stood 
 swaying and drooping under their virgin cloud-bath, 
 while each herb and shrub was a wafting censer of pleas 
 ing fragrance. The dark atmosphere prevailing with 
 out had the effect of clouding the old family mansion 
 with duskiness within. 
 
 The soft drugget which protected the hall and stair 
 case carpets gave forth no sound to Zarina's footsteps, as 
 on the afternoon of the following clay, she secretly en 
 tered Legrand's suite of apartments. Taking a small 
 phial from her pocket she poured a few drops of fluid 
 into a bottle of medicine that was on a stand by the bed 
 side. In so doing, her cheeks did not flush, nor did a 
 tremor shake her frame ; in reality, there was a covert 
 exultation in her heart which brightened her eyes and 
 reddened her smiling lips. 
 
 " To-night," murmured she, " the beggar's brat the 
 amusing ballet dancer the cunning lawyer's wife and 
 ready pupil the fair lady's charming daughter, will 
 have reached the zenith of her highest aim millions 
 of money and a countess' title! Legrand gone, Lady 
 Clifford will soon follow, incl I shall reign a queen in 
 that society which ignored or abhorred the half-starved, 
 half-naked, though beautiful castaway, in the cloud of 
 her poverty. A little kind attention then might have 
 well, no matter. A twig, is easily inclined, they say, but 
 when matured, methinks 'twould be far better to eradi 
 cate the whole than either to trim or prop its distorted 
 growth. To prevent, is one thing; to cure, is quite 
 another. But why dictate to that society whose highest 
 aim is c To seem rather than to be.' It moved and flour- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 197 
 
 ished before my entrance, and will doubtless do quite as 
 well after my exit" saying which, she left the room 
 as cautiously as she had entered, and regained her own 
 room undiscovered. Then she rang for her maid, and 
 after making an elegant toilet, joined Lady Clifford and 
 Legrand in the dining-room. 
 
 During the dinner hour, and all the evening, in fact, 
 Zarina seemed to be the one bit of social brightness. 
 The general gloom, so depressing to her companions, 
 seemed but to raise her spirits. She succeeded in mak 
 ing the dull evening bearable to Legrancl, who was feel 
 ing rather ill, as he remarked to Lady Clifford. 
 
 Legrand retired to his room a few minutes after nine 
 o'clock, and Lady Clifford soon followed his example. 
 
 Having given her maid permission to attend a card- 
 party in the servants' department below stairs, Zarina 
 was free to keep her appointment with the count at ten. 
 
 Hastily donning a walking suit, she descended the 
 stairs. A semi-darkness reigned, that part of the build 
 ing being closed for the night. Unfastening one of the 
 drawing-room windows, she stepped lightly down on 
 the wet grass beneath. It had ceased to rain. Through 
 the swift-moving clouds the moon appeared dimly at 
 times. Sounds innumerable mingled confusedly. Ever 
 and anon the glossy, green, impearled leaves sent 
 forth myriads of coruscations, as Luna eternal spirit 
 of the night transformed the wet drops upon the sway 
 ing branches into orient pearls. Such are human hopes ; 
 pleasing to fancy, but dispersed, alas! by a touch of re 
 ality ; gifted with the sparkle of the diamond without its 
 solidity. 
 
198 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Zarina found Count LaCroix and a priest awaiting her 
 in the arbor. 
 
 After a whispered consultation, the marriage ceremony 
 was duly performed Zarina being ignorant of the legal 
 requirements in such cases. The good father then 
 blessed the newly wedded pair, and took his leave. 
 
 Standing in the cold, wet arbor, the count and countess 
 planned for the future. They schemed well ah, yes, 
 so have others. To scheme is one thing, to succeed 
 another. 
 
 Zarina's parting injunction was : " I have fulfilled my 
 part of the compact, see that you now fulfill yours." . 
 
 "I start for Switzerland at five o'clock in the morning. 
 Remember that three months will be the utmost limit of 
 my patience. At the expiration of that time, I shall re 
 turn and claim my countess, cost what it may." 
 
 " Three months is all the time I ask, prince of my 
 soul," said she, and with a fervid embrace they finally 
 separated. 
 
 Silently as a floating mist, Zarina made her way to 
 the suite of apartments occupied by Legrand, after first 
 entering her own, however, and exchanging her dress 
 and walking-boots for gown and slippers. 
 
 Upon reaching his bedside, she was somewhat startled 
 at beholding the pallor of his face, which was certainly 
 wetted by the dews of death. 
 
 Without expressing surprise at her presence at such an 
 hour, he gaspingly ejaculated : 
 
 " Oh, how glad I am to see you ! I tried to ring the ! 
 bell, but was too weak to rise. I am feeling very S 
 strange. Oh, Zarina ! Zarina I I fear 'tis death ! Awaken \ 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 199 
 
 Lady Clifford, and send for a priest ! I must confess ! 
 I cannot go hence with such a burden ! Believe me, 
 you will be far happier so. My snug little fortune will 
 be amply sufficient for you and your child our child. 
 I will not forget that, Zarina, but will lay all the blame 
 where it rightly belongs upon myself. Depend upon 
 it, Lady Clifford will be kind to you, and forgiving to 
 me, or at least to my memory, for naught prevails against 
 dead, insensate clay." 
 
 "You are frightened, monsieur," said Zarina, re 
 assuringly, feeling his pulse, while kneeling at the bed 
 side, and pressing her red lips to his cold and ashy ones. 
 " You foolish man, you," she continued, " to mistake the 
 effects of a chill for death ! It is only a chill, monsieur, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " No, no, child ; I have no time to waste ! The elev 
 enth hour is almost past !" cried the man, with an im 
 patient gesture. 
 
 " Is that the limit of God's mercy, Pierre ?" 
 
 " I cannot say it is fearful to think of," he gasped. 
 
 "You are frightened, monsieur, only frightened." 
 
 She gently raised his head upon her arm. 
 
 " A priest ! a priest ! 'Tis verging on the hour of 
 twelve. I tell you, no; 'tis death ! 'tis death !" shrieked 
 Legrand, looking wildly around the room, as she raised 
 him to a sitting posture. "Don't let them take me, 
 Zarina!" he continued, piteously; "I must confess, and 
 be absolved. O, that they were here ! Send for them ! 
 send now !" motioning her away. 
 
 " Do you really want to see her ladyship at this un 
 seemly hour ? Believe me, monsieur, you will deeply 
 
2OO WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 regret this night's occurrence, when the effects of the 
 chill have worn off," hazarded Zarina, who was bent 
 on gaining time. "'Tis a burning shame," continued 
 she, " that your glorious prospects, and my promising 
 hopes, also, should be nipped in the bud, and for ever 
 blasted before their fruition, and all for a mere whim. 
 Only think of it, and awaken to reason and judg 
 ment, monsieur !" 
 
 Not waiting for Legrand to reply, she resumed, while 
 seating herself in an easy chair, " It now lacks but five 
 minutes to twelve o'clock; if you are not better by two, 
 I shall awaken Lady Clifford and send for the priest." 
 
 "Oh God! GOD! GOD!" cried Legrand, beating 
 the air with his clenched hands, "Must I die like a 
 dog?" 
 
 ' You are howling like a dog, monsieur," she replied, 
 having a supreme contempt for the man's cowardice. 
 
 He cast upon her an awful look, then fell back, turned 
 his face to the wall, and was silent. 
 
 When he had thus remained for some ten minutes, 
 Zarina was surprised, upon approaching the bed, to hear 
 him say 
 
 " The clock struck two. Go tell her ladyship, there's 
 not a moment to lose. Begone, I say! Do you hear 
 me ? " pointing towards the door. 
 
 " Seeing that his quietus was corning shortly she bent 
 over him and coldly replied : " Certainly, I hear, but 
 can you expect me to obey? You remember telling me, 
 perhaps, that life was nothing more than a game of 
 chess. Because you are check-mated, must I, forsooth,: 
 give up the game? Not so, my liege; for, by my soul! 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 2OI 
 
 the board never gave greater promise. My aim is to 
 win; and in the presence or absence of him who first 
 directed, I shall not only win the game, but also, my op 
 ponent. In looking over the Book which you say that 
 your mother prized so highly, I found this sentence: 
 ' With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to 
 you again.' Now, I presume, that that is what you 
 would call a demonstrated fact. 4 Train up a child in the 
 way he should go: and when he is old he will not de 
 part from it,' another motto to which you have given the 
 lie, the truth of which I intend to demonstrate also to 
 you, who are so fond of Scriptural quotations." So say 
 ing, without another glance, she turned and quietly left 
 the room, closing the door on her way out and once 
 again entered her own apartments. Did she then seek 
 her pillow and pleasant dreams? Perhaps. Nero's 
 fiddling was, after all, but a slight exponent of the in 
 finite cruelty of human nature. 
 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 'HERE are lives which know nothing but 
 sunshine and calm, and others which are tem 
 pest-tossed from the cradle to the grave. Dif- 
 1 * 'ferences of character partly account for it, but 
 the variable, moody winds of chance, which blow where 
 they list, are chiefly responsible far the strange contrasts 
 in human destinies. The gambler does well in worship 
 ping the shadowy power he calls Luck, but he does bet- 
 .ter when he recognizes system in the operations of his 
 deity, and best when he circumvents it altogether with 
 loaded dice and marked cards. 
 
 Is there really a law of chance a design in the pro 
 miscuous, hap-hazard tumbling of human dice on the 
 board of time ? Is there a sublime, though unseen sym 
 pathy, between the honey-moon tourist who has his legs 
 cut off in a railway accident and the beggar who falls 
 heir to a fortune? Men can never attain a god-like pa 
 tience under adversity until they recognize special prov 
 idences in the ordering of individual fates, or come to 
 regard themselves impersonally as the dancing-motes 
 in the broad sunbeams of law and love. It is doubtless 
 true, however, that the mind of God not only regard* 
 general results, but individual cases, for the Book has 
 said that the very hairs of our head are numbered ; that 
 not a sparrow falls unnoticed to the earth, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 2O$ 
 
 Through the whole doctrine of the Galilean runs the 
 golden scheme of compensation. It is the glowing text 
 of the Sermon on the Mount the inspiration of those 
 Beatitudes which hover like angels in our darkened air! 
 
 To Echo, struggling with adverse fortunes, there 
 came, not only the consolations of a religious spirit, but 
 she found in the very necessity of mental and physical 
 labor a relief from the cares and sorrows that oppressed 
 her young heart. Whatever relation labor may have 
 borne to the ideal man in the Garden, the world, as at 
 present constituted, owes a debt of eternal gratitude to 
 the tree of knowledge and the daring curiosity of Eve. 
 
 "Look, Eto!" cried the voice of Wistit to our hero 
 ine, who was preparing luncheon, " the sun is runnin' 
 'way from the cryin' clouds. Oughten they to be 
 ashamed of themselves ? " 
 
 "Which," asked Echo, merrily, "the sun or the 
 clouds?" 
 
 " Why, the naughty black clouds o' course," answered 
 the child, with an emphatic nodding of her little head. 
 
 " Ah, I see. But you must understand, Wistit,. that 
 there is a vast difference between c crying clouds ' and 
 crying little girls. Little girls spoil their faces and their 
 frocks, and annoy their parents and friends by crying ; 
 but when the clouds cry, the earth is glad, and the grass 
 lifts up its tiny green fingers and catches the shining 
 tears. See," continued Echo, walking to the window 
 and pointing to some potted plants, "how clean and 
 sweet the flowers look after their nice bath ! " 
 
 " The Chinaraans might wash 'em," said Wi&tit, still 
 Discrediting the labors of the clouds, Then lifting- up 
 
204 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 her face, illumined by an idea, she asked : " Them is 
 clean enough for Sunday School, but 'em can't sing!" 
 
 " Indeed they can, my love. Their beauty is an inef 
 fably sweet song in praise of the living God," said Echo, 
 rather grandiloquently, considering her auditory. 
 
 Wistit was one of those pert children who are always 
 bristling with unexpected questions and answers. As 
 an instance, some itinerant divine who had been invi 
 ted to address the Sunday School she attended, closed a 
 long disquisition on the subject of Balaam and the speak 
 ing ass, by asking, " To whom, then did the beast 
 speak?" 
 
 There was a dramatic pause of a few minutes, then 
 the lisping voice of Wistit arose in answer 
 
 "To the Sunday School!" 
 
 Upon calling at the home of two of her first and most 
 influential pupils on the afternoon of the same day, Echo 
 was met by their mother, who rather reluctantly im 
 parted the somewhat startling, because totally unex 
 pected, information that she thought best to dispense 
 with her services. 
 
 u It seemed to me that your daughters were progress 
 ing finely" remarked Echo. "May I ask in what par 
 ticular I have failed to meet your requirements ? " 
 
 " As a teacher," replied the lady, " I must say that 
 you have given entire satisfaction; in fact, both husband 
 and myself were highly gratified at the progress they 
 were making." 
 
 " If so, justice to myself forces me to demand of you, 
 clear madam, the true cause of my dismissal," said Echo, 
 with quiet dignity.. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 205 
 
 The lady's eyes fell beneath Echo's inquiring glance, 
 while her face flushed slightly, as she arose and, in evi 
 dent embarrassment, replied 
 
 " You are very attractive, and my daughters young 
 and impressible ; I in short, I have been told that your 
 reputation is not of the best." 
 
 "The name of your informant?" rather calmly de 
 manded Echo, though trembling slightly, and trying 
 hard to keep the gathering tears from falling. 
 
 "I I in fact, it is generally so reported." 
 
 " By whom, when, and where ? " 
 
 " By the members of our Church, upon whose pas 
 tor's recommendation I employed you as the instructress 
 of my daughters. You must excuse me as I have some 
 pressing duties which require immediate attention." 
 
 "J shall detain you but a moment," returned Echo, at 
 the same time making an involuntary but peremptory 
 motion with her hand, "and in the name of Him whose 
 teaching you profess to follow, I insist that you shall be 
 more specific and particularize some person or persons 
 who have dared to blacken my reputation. Though 
 only a music teacher, the good God has seen fit to temper 
 my feelings as finely as yours, perhaps, and my good 
 name is equally as dear, if not more so, knowing that 
 my own food and that of others dearer than myself de 
 pends upon its vindication." 
 
 " I have said all that I intend to say upon the subject, 
 as I do not wish my name mixed up with such affairs. 
 I know not the truth or falsity of such reports and have 
 had no hand in their circulation." Then, touched by 
 sudden sympathy, she feelingly added : " Forgive me 
 
2O6 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 if I have wronged you, poor child, and let the love I 
 bear my daughters be my excuse." 
 
 Echo flushed angrily as she replied, " The vilest 
 criminal in the land is not declared guilty till the charges 
 are proven against him, and yet you, one of my own sex, 
 have not only refused to give the name of my traducers, 
 but have also asserted your belief in my guilt by con 
 demning me unheard, and you are, moreover, doing all 
 which lies in your power to deprive me of earning an 
 honest living by a sudden and unexpected dismissal. My 
 plea is not for mercy, but for stern, keen-eyed justice only, 
 in whose name I command, and, as a woman, implore 
 you to give the names of those who have wantonly vil 
 ified a poor orphan. I would also crave a suspension of 
 judgment till you have had time to ascertain the truth 
 or falsity of these cruel reports." 
 
 Echo had risen, and was now standing directly oppo 
 site the woman. Her face flushed and paled by turns. 
 Tears dimmed the luster of her soulful eyes, and 
 brimming over, rolled unheeded clown her softly 
 rounded cheeks. Her finely curved lips, scarlet and 
 tremulous, w r ere expressive of deep emotion. A stray 
 sunbeam gleaming through a crevice in the window- 
 blind softly touched the gold-tinted crispy mass of hair 
 which was gathered into a single plait, doubled and se 
 cured by a blue ribbon. Unconsciously her arms were 
 slightly extended and. her raised hands clasped together. 
 
 Noting her beauty, which was extremely striking to 
 day, Mrs. James' heart hardened as she called to mind 
 the conversation that the Misses Richard chanced to 
 overhear, and, moreover, there flashed into her mind the 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 2C>7 
 
 remembrance that upon a certain occasion, she had heard 
 her eldest son express warm admiration for this same 
 girl, and she sullenly replied 
 
 " Your importunity forces me again to reiterate that I 
 have nothing more to say," ending with a freezing incli 
 nation of the head. 
 
 Though secure in wealth and position and standing in 
 the midst of her opulent surroundings, this woman fairly 
 shrunk from the indignant blaze in Echo's eyes as she 
 would have shrunk from the flame of a furnace, as. after 
 a slight pause, she returned, "Pray excuse me; I mis 
 took you at least for a benevolent lady, if not a Chris 
 tian;" and, with a bow as cold as the lady's own, she 
 made her exit with such grace and stateliness that this 
 woman, though possessing all things which money could 
 buy, envied the fair queen of poverty whose own shapely 
 hands earned her daily subsistence. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 N almost every community there are persons 
 whose power of discernment is a very spear of 
 Ithuriel in turning one's weak sides uppermost 
 and tracing out the latent faults of character. 
 While it may be well for each individual to recognize 
 his peculiar frailties and study to overcome them, it will 
 not do for them to become common property ; and the 
 sharp-beaked vultures, therefore, are known principally 
 as nuisances in society, and some day there will be a de 
 termined movement to abate them. 
 
 Scarcely had Echo left the house on her regular round 
 of duty, when Aunt Newbury received -a call of course 
 it was a business call from a coarse, ignorant, officious 
 and pungent-flavored woman who had the scent of a 
 blood-hound for the slightest taint in the social atmos 
 phere. Skilled in the domestic art of making "pre 
 serves," her taste naturally ran to acids instead of sweets, 
 and she generally managed to leave people's affairs in a 
 pretty pickle. 
 
 As Wistit ushered in this sharp-nosed assayer of moral 
 ore, the nurse winced inwardly and braced her nerves 
 for an affliction. 
 
 The pleasant visitor, eyes and mouth extended and 
 hands upraised, sank into a chair with the exclamation: 
 "Bless my stars! if ye ai'nt a sittin' up! Heerin' you'd 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 209 
 
 \ 
 
 hed a mighty bad spell of rheumatiz, sister Newbury, 
 and seein' its our bounden duty to visit the sick, I thought 
 I'd just drop in a speck." During this elaborate pro- 
 Jogue, the round, black eyes of the speaker had wan 
 dered keenly over the room and its furniture, searching 
 for a speck or a flaw. 
 
 " Very kind of you, indeed, sister Ferret," said the 
 nurse, dryly. 
 
 " Well, ye air a lookin' perter than I expected, for I tell 
 ye that rheumatics has a powerful effect in tuckerin' out 
 people. Howsumever yer spell couldn't hev been a car- 
 cumstance to a spell that tackled my Sally Ann nigh 
 onto five years back. How that poor critter djjl suffer 
 was a caution. I tell ye what, sister Newbury, it takes 
 a 'mazen lot of grace to set up and chirp under some 
 tribulous dispensations. Howsumever, there 's no other 
 way to carcumvent contrary carcumstances. But how 
 might ye be feelin' bout" 
 
 " Better, much better, thank you," hastily said the 
 nurse. 
 
 "Wai, I reckon ye know who to thank it aint me 
 to besure. We had a monstrous edifying meetin' last 
 night, sister Newbury ; the parson he peppered them as 
 needed et, an' sugared them as wouldn't be peppered, 
 an' atween the two he did every soul uv 'em a 'mazen 
 power o' good. 'P eared like every one had a blessed 
 chance of enterin' the Kingdom to oust, but, awful to 
 think uv! some uns missed et some uns missed et! 
 Pears as if some souls were powerful stubborn like, an' 
 can't be driv or coaxed nigh onto the Marcy Seat. Seems 
 like the green pastures, likewise still waters, hasn't no 
 
\VttAf CAME~OF Il\ 
 
 charms for 'em. They'd rather go grovellin' roun' oft 
 the outside whar they can allers git somethin' more ster- 
 rin' like then still waters, and some does say as how Ne 
 buchadnezzar warnt a very enticin' example to pasturin' 
 folks." 
 
 Aunt Newbury sighed gently, but said not a word. 
 
 " Wai, I spose I'd better be mozyin' along, only I was 
 a goin' to ax you 'bout them cumbrous tales as has been 
 goin' roun' bout yer little gimp of a sister." 
 
 "Tales! my sister! what in the name of Heaven can 
 you mean ? " said the nurse excitedly. 
 
 The visitor brightened visibly at the consternation she 
 had caused, as she replied : " Wai, they do say as how 
 she's one o' them whose feet take hold onto hell." 
 
 "What! How dare you, wretched old scandal-mon 
 ger that you are, to pollute the air of this room with 
 your second-hand lies ? " The nurse -was in a blaze of 
 anger and quivered like an aspen leaf, while her fingers 
 twitched dangerously. 
 
 " My stars ! sister Newbury, don't go and git so ob- 
 stropulous! Yer hadn't ought to blame me; 'twasn't 
 me as done et. I've heern it ever since that doin's at the 
 church, arid thars them that makes no bones of tellin' et. 
 My Sally Ann sez that brother Cason has got Helena 
 Hoffman to go and take Echo's place in the choir. They 
 hed a mighty-tighty time about it I can tell ye. Sister 
 Johnson shed tears over the depravity of one that wuz 
 so 'mazen clever. Sister Morgan got up and said she'd 
 been a tellin' them that all along. And then sister Bur- 
 ress told them thet the old sarpent hisself sometimes ap 
 peared as an angel of light." 
 
WHAT CAME OP it. 2ll 
 
 The nurse started up in a fury. " Not another word ! 
 What care I for the carrion vomit of those vultures? 
 Off! I say ? Get out of that door in an instant or I will 
 hurl you out?" 
 
 The old wretch did get out of the door, in a hurry, 
 too, but she halted on the step to leave this Parthian 
 shot: "'Pears to me where there's so much smoke 
 there must be some fire." 
 
 At the closing of the street door, the angry flush faded 
 from the nurse's face, and the blaze in her eyes was 
 drowned in tears, as she sank back on the chair in which 
 she was seated, bowed her face in her hands, and wept 
 long and passionately. 
 
 Echo returned about six o'clock, fatigued by her long 
 walk, and very much depressed in spirit. Inward gloom 
 overshadowed her expressive face, a circumstance which 
 the experienced eyes of the nurse noted instantly; so, 
 after the first kindly greeting, she said, feelingly, at the 
 same time opening her arms 
 
 " Come, Echo, share with me, you and I are partners 
 you know. Then why cheat your poor old nurse by 
 striving to withhold her share ? " 
 
 As those arms closed around her, Echo's head sank 
 on their owner's motherly bosom and wept unreserv 
 edly. 
 
 "Poor, tired darling! Do not weep so bitterly, child, 
 but calm yourself and tell sister what has happened," 
 said the nurse, tenderly, stroking her hair. 
 
 " I cannot tell about it just yet,'.' sobbed Echo. Then, 
 for the first time since her entrance, she remarked the 
 pallor upon the nurse's face. Starting up, she exclaimed, 
 
212 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 "You are worse. Forgive my selfishness; you shall lie 
 down and rest while I make you a cup of strong tea." 
 
 Before retiring for the night, Echo, sitting on a chair 
 by the nurse's bedside, composedly related the loss of 
 her two pupils, also, the conversation held with their 
 mother, all of which it would be useless to repeat. 
 " Then," added she, the three other scholars which I in 
 structed were cross and dull. Moreover, as I was as 
 cending our front steps, two young men were passing, 
 and I accidentally overheard one of them say to his 
 companion, ' There goes the girl with whom Ainsley 
 had an amour; he showed me the house to'- Just 
 then Wistit sprang out of the door, and I lost the rest." 
 
 " I, too, had a visitation ; it came in the person of old 
 Mrs. Ferret," remarked the nurse as Echo paused. 
 
 "Was that all?" smilingly asked Echo. 
 
 "Was not that sufficient ? " said the nurse, with a gri 
 mace of pain. 
 
 " Ah, truly." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 URING the afternoon of the next day, Echo 
 remarked to the nurse : " I forgot to tell you 
 that I met our chorister, Mr. Cason, yesterday, 
 and that his bow appeared stiff and his manner 
 very cold and distant. Do you think him displeased be 
 cause I have not attended lately ?" 
 
 " I'm sure he must have heard of my illness, and if 
 that was not a sufficient excuse for your absence, I do 
 not know what would be so considered," returned the 
 nurse, rather tartly. " Do you really enjoy singing in 
 the choir, Echo ?" asked she, moved by an after 
 thought. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; there is no doubt of that. Why, sister,^ 
 she added, with slight enthusiasm, " I verily believe that 
 there are those in our choir possessed of musical talent 
 which will eventually develop into excellence of the 
 highest order." 
 
 Aunt Newbury sighed heavily. 
 
 Echo looked up quickly: "But why. that sigh and 
 elongation of countenance, sister ? There is, seemingly, 
 more in your question than would appear on the sur 
 face." 
 
 " Has it never occurred to you, Echo, that that the 
 loss of your scholars dated from that public entertain 
 ment given by the Church, in which you participated ? 
 
WHAT CAME OF it. 
 
 Even before my sickness, I noticed a certain suspicious 
 stiffening of manners and a lessening of sociality. In 
 truth, I strongly suspect that villain, Ainsley, of ma 
 liciously putting into circulation, that very night, false 
 reports concerning your past history." 
 
 " Oh, sister, they will not believe any great evil of me, 
 surely," cried Echo, with emotion. " The members of 
 the choir, especially, have known me for a year and 
 more; will not my conduct, during that time, weigh 
 something against the word of a man like Edmond 
 Ainsley, even though he had made his charges 
 openly ?" 
 
 " It seems not," answered Aunt Newbury, sorrow 
 fully, hesitating like one who dreads to give pain. 
 
 "You have heard you know something that you 
 have not told me yet ?" said Echo, impetuously, with 
 an imploring look towards the other. "Do not keep 
 me in suspense, I pray you, sister ! Never fear, I shall 
 find strength to bear it as I have already borne many 
 sorrows -with an added pain here, perhaps," putting 
 her hand on her heart, "and a blackening and lengthen 
 ing of life's shadows." 
 
 " Take courage, my poor child ; these evil days will 
 pass, and the sun will come out from behind the cloud 
 that now obscure* it ?" 
 
 "I don't know, sister; I am afraid Mr. Darwin is cor 
 rect about the evolution of species, and that I, having 
 been delayed somehow, am still of the reptilian order," 
 said Echo, with a plaintive smile, continuing" at any 
 rate, it would seem so from the manner in which I am 
 continually trodden upon and bruised," 
 
CAME OF it. 1$ 
 
 u Tush, tush, child ! the ideals far-fetched !" responded 
 the nurse. " You have a musical soul, which, according 
 to Plato, once existed in the breast pf a pure little night 
 ingale. That will account for the swooping of the 
 hawks, perhaps, which, though changing their forms 
 somewhat, yet retain their former rapacity; also the 
 tongue, which is said to be cloven, a mark satanic, and, 
 by the way, accounts for their double-dealings." 
 
 " Though," said Echo, brightening a little, " I mean 
 to live a pure life, and am also constrained to plead 
 guilty of loving music to excess, yet my ambition soars 
 higher than that of Plotinous, for I desire that my pool- 
 soul shall transmigrate into a life more satisfying than 
 bird-life, however harmonious. But," here the faultless 
 mouth drooped, the pained expression returned to the 
 mistily luminous eyes, while a &id weariness stole into 
 and thrilled along the chords of her magnetic voice, 
 "why dream away the present theorizing on the past 
 or future, when that great problem 'Now' is unsolved ? 
 Deliver up my burden, I conjure you, sister; it is, after 
 all, doubtless made heavier by anticipation." 
 
 " Perhaps," assented the nurse, her manner becoming 
 constrained through sympathy. "Yesterday plague 
 number one had scarcely disappeared, till plague num 
 ber two appeared in the form of a little white envelope. 
 It was simply addressed to Miss Newbury, and I, for the 
 moment, forgetting that there were two bearing that 
 title, opened it, of course." Reluctantly producing the 
 little white missive from the depth of her pocket, and 
 handing it to Echo, she turned her eyes, in which tears 
 were gathering, away. 
 
2l6 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Echo accepted the missive without a word, took the 
 paper from the envelope, and read : 
 
 CITY, Thursday evening, September 14, 187--. 
 Miss NEWBURY : 
 
 We, the choir of the church, take this method of informing 
 
 you that your services are no longer acceptable. 
 
 WM. SMITHE, 
 
 By order of the Choir. 
 
 The warm blood suffused the fair face of the reader 
 for . an instant, and as quickly receded. The paper 
 dropped from her hand, and while giving one quick 
 gasp as for breath, she fainted away. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Y the sudden and secret departure of Echo and 
 the nurse from the gilded den of Madame 
 Joilet, Edmond Ainsley was given the cue 
 for the practice of a little deception towards 
 his mother. 
 
 The good lady was easily made to believe that the 
 governess had died of her malady. 
 
 A few months afterwards, Mrs. Ainsley returned to 
 her old home in^Quebec. 
 
 Upon the moaning following her arrival, young Dr. 
 Hoberg was sent for, and promptly came. 
 
 Lady Ainsley ended a long list of pains, aches and 
 grievances, with the following startling question : 
 
 " Was n't it dreadful for Echo to die and leave me 
 alone among strangers ?" 
 
 After the first violent start, her listener, who was in 
 the act of writing a prescription, sat, pencil poised in 
 hand, completely shocked into silence by the terrible 
 news. Thus he sat, as if confounded, for a moment, 
 then spoke his words slow, short, and tottering as the 
 steps of a child in its first effort to walk. 
 
 " Dead ! Echo dead ! Surely not ! Unsay that 
 cruel word." 
 
 " No, indeed, doctor, I shall do no such a thing. She 
 took suddenly ill, afterwards went to her room well, as 
 
21$ WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 it were, and in the morning was found in a raging 
 fever." 
 
 " O, that I had known ! Found, did you sav ? sick, 
 and alone ! Poor love ! sweet love !" Then, starting 
 up " Made she no request ? Was I entirely for 
 gotten ?" 
 
 " Request ? Perhaps she did. I do not know, I'm 
 sure; you see that the fever was infectious, and Edmond 
 had her taken right away to 
 
 u Hear, O ye devils, and wonder at human heartless- 
 ness ! Sacrificed, hy heavens ! Poor lamb ! poor lit 
 tle lamb ! Thrust out to die alone and unattended ! 
 Oh, Echo ! Echo ! would to God we had never parted !" 
 
 Lady Ainsley answered, peevishly : 
 
 "Dr. Hoberg, I mistook you for a man of feeling. 
 Your manner, no less than your words, "shocks one like 
 a galvanic battery. You, of all others, ought to be more 
 considerate of my feebleness. I did not say that she 
 was unattended; on the contrary, Edmond, my son, had 
 her taken to a nice hospital, which took good care -of 
 her, I presume." 
 
 Lady Ainsley's " Edmond, my son" was a compound 
 of pride, ownership and reverence. 
 
 " Presume ! Oh, God ! presumption, in a case like 
 that !" exclaimed Hoberg, bitterly. " You should have 
 been positive, madam, positive. But why waste words ? 
 The care of her remains shall, at least, not be denied me. 
 You can surely tell me the name of the hospital, which, 
 you say, cared for her ?" pursued he, producing a note 
 book. 
 
 "You must go to Edmond, my son, for anything 
 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 further. I have already told you all I know about it. 
 You weary me to death. Your words fall upon my 
 poor, sensitive nerves, like hail-stones, crushing my 
 remnant of strength entirely ;" and the lady was nearly 
 in tears. 
 
 " Would that they could crush out your selfishness, in 
 stead," inwardly commented Hoberg, as he strode to the 
 door, opened it, and departed without a word of leave- 
 taking. 
 
 Hoberg's pain was now acute. He had entered the house 
 but a short time before, with a mind full of confusion, or 
 what the poets call " a sweet distress," a state of feeling 
 produced by a sort of compound emotion ; that is to say, 
 the thought of meeting the object of his affection was 
 a very pleasing thought, allied to the supposition that 
 she was lost to him, which was in itself extremely dis 
 tressing. Underlying all, perhaps, there had been a 
 faint hope that Echo's heart would return to its old 
 allegiance. Hoberg had prospered professionally, that 
 is to say, financially. A wealthy patient, dying, 
 had left him a small legacy of ten thousand dol 
 lars. Consequently, he was now sole possessor of the 
 cottage which Echo had once so desired. Everything, 
 even the furnishing, haVl been completed according to 
 her wishes. 
 
 On leaving Mrs. Ainsley, Hoberg had walked but a 
 short distance, when, upon turning a corner, he ran 
 against a man who was coming up the street. His 
 polite " Excuse me, sir," was interrupted by " Hello ! 
 Hoberg, as I live ! How do, old boy ? Which way, so 
 fast ?" It was Edmond Ainsley. 
 
22O WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " The one, above all others, that I most desired to see," 
 exclaimed Hoberg, not noticing Ainsley's extended hand, 
 however. M Where have you laid her ?" 
 
 With uplifted brows, and a shrug of the shoulders, 
 Ainsley exclaimed : 
 
 " Aha ! laid her ! laid who ? Hey, I see been to a 
 wine party last night, not entirely recovered. Take my 
 arm, old boy ; let me assist you home. 'Twon't do to 
 be seen by your pious friends in such a yjlight as this." 
 
 In truth, Ainsley was not to blame for coming to just 
 such a conclusion as he affected. There was a sort of 
 stupidity in Hoberg's manner, and his gait was unsteady, 
 his voice thick and guttural, his head bent forward, and 
 his hat pulled down over his contracted brows. 
 
 Without giving a thought to Ainsley's somewhat nat 
 ural mistake, but with rather more dignity, he said, in 
 explanation, " 'Twas but a few moments ago that I first 
 heard of Miss Clifford's death. Mrs. Ainsley referred 
 me to you for all information on the subject." Once 
 again taking out note-book and pencil, he added, "I wish 
 the address of the hospital in which you placed her, also 
 the name of the attending physician, and the place of 
 her burial. I shall have her remains disinterred and 
 brought home." 
 
 Here was a dilemma for which Ainsley was totally 
 unprepared, a Gordian Knot which plainly required a 
 coup d'etat. He saw at a glance that to pursuade him 
 from his intentions would be useless. On the other hand, 
 should Hoberg go to San Francisco, there was a slight 
 chance of his meeting Echo and thereby becoming cog 
 nizant of his, (Ainsley's), villainy. To withhold the 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 221 
 
 name of the hospital would look suspicious, and be apt 
 to lead to an unpleasant investigation which it was 
 plainly his interest to avoid. It was his intention to re 
 turn to the Pacific Coast and "bring down the game," 
 as he styled his malicious persecution of Echo. He had 
 known Hoberg from boyhood, and was perfectly well 
 aware that he was unable to cope with him in anything 
 but cunning; therefore, his modus operandi must needs 
 be bold and crafty. But, aggravation! of aggravations! 
 a body must be produced ! that was the pivot which was 
 most likely to turn the balance wheel of future events. 
 Vice has but one halting place. Its roots reach down to 
 hell; and those that start thereon, like boys coasting on 
 a steep hill-side, though intending to go but part way, 
 perhaps, eventually find themselves at the bottom. 
 
 " The name of the hospital," demanded Hoberg, with 
 testiness, " or," here a horrible suspicion flashed across 
 his mind, "perhaps you sent her to the city hospital?" 
 
 " Nonsense !" broke in Ainsley. " My memory is not 
 as good as yours. The name has escaped me for the 
 moment, and as it is my intention to return to 4 Frisco ' 
 in a few clays, I will have the corpse disinterred and sent 
 to you, thereby saving you both time and money." 
 
 "Pray, what is time or money to me now?" fiercely 
 demanded Hoberg. " I shall leave my patients in 
 charge of a brother practitioner, and .to-morrow morn 
 ing will find me on the way to San Francisco." 
 
 Ainsley was disconcerted, but he said, with apparent 
 unconcern, " If you are determined to start on your 
 quixotic journey to-morrow morning, I shall accompany 
 you and render you all the assistance in my power 
 
222 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 though my advice would be to let the dead rest in 
 peace." 
 
 " I am much obliged, Ainsley, for your offer," re 
 sponded Hoberg, " but all I ask of you is to furnish the 
 address of the hospital and the place of her burial. I 
 am perfectly competent to attend to everything. Be 
 sides, Mrs. Ainsley requires your attention at home." 
 
 I've already told you that I intended returning to 
 'Frisco;' a day or two sooner or later makes no differ 
 ence to me. You will find me ready and waiting for you 
 at the depot in the morning. The matter is settled, so 
 there is no possible use of further dilly-dallying. As 
 your time for preparation is limited, allow me to say 
 good-bye for the present," saying which, he turned and 
 walked rapidly away. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Ainsley entered a telegraph office 
 and sent the following dispatch: 
 
 QUEBEC, CANADA, October lyth, 18 . 
 DAN VINTON, 310 St., 
 
 San Francisco, California : 
 
 I start for 'Frisco' to-morrow. Rent a nicely furnished house in a 
 respectable neighborhood and hold till I come. Answer. 
 
 AINSLEY. 
 
 In the course of a few hours he received a telegram 
 announcing that a suitable house had been secured. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 If OBERG and Ainsley arrived safely at their 
 J.l^lll place of destination. Their long and hurried 
 journey was fatiguing and monotonous, un 
 relieved by the slightest episode of interest. 
 During all the time, Hoberg had spoken only when it 
 was absolutely necessary. Ainsley's levity must have 
 grated harshly upon his state of feeling, but after that 
 first outbreak, he had shielded himself in impenetrable 
 reserve. Though inly grieving, he was outwardly 
 serene. 
 
 The dual quality of human existence is too evident to 
 admit of dispute. Mankind lead a twofold life, and are 
 always better or worse than they seem, and therefore the 
 inner capabilities and slumbering probabilities, like the 
 gold in the mine, are sometimes brought to the surface 
 by laborious effort or by sudden upheaval. Daily some 
 struggling one, just on the verge of the under-world, 
 perhaps, awakens to the possibilities within, and discov 
 ers his true self, much to the surprise of old acquaint 
 ances. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw? that can't be our Tom? Impossible? 
 Why, I've known him quite intimately ever since he 
 was born, and never discovered anything remarkable 
 about him ! " 
 
 And, may be, should "Tom," himself, speak the, truth 
 
224 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 upon his first great achievement, his sentiments would 
 differ nowise from those of his friend. Though it may 
 be well, on the one hand, to freely turn the tap of our 
 being and let the inner stream of sweetness and bright 
 ness flow, yet on the other, to those who are inly evil 
 and whose safety lies in suppression, the experiment is 
 dangerous in the extreme. Nurtured in the lap of lux 
 ury, Ainsley had heretofore restrained himself from 
 turning the tap fully, so the slow droppings from his 
 " inner consciousness," when noticed, had been kindly 
 characterized as " youthful indiscretions," whose proper 
 corrector was Time. It is also noticeable that though 
 the " youthful indiscretions " of the rich are left to the 
 gentle ameliorations of Father Time, reformative schools, 
 prisons and penitentiaries are the usual correctors of 
 those who have not the cunning to evade or money to 
 pervert the law. 
 
 " Half past nine o'clock," remarked Ainsley to IIo- 
 berg, when crossing the bay of San Francisco. " It is 
 too late to attend to the matter in hand this evening. 
 We will stop at the ' Grand,' retire -early and be ready 
 for business in the morning." 
 
 Securing rooms at the Grand Hotel, Hoberg immedi 
 ately retired to rest. Ainsley left the house soon after 
 ward, and hailed a passing hack, which, under direction, 
 bore him to No. , Broadway street. Leaving the car 
 riage, Ainsley entered a brilliantly lighted saloon. Upon 
 exchanging certain cabalastic signs and pass-words with 
 one of the attendants, he was ushered into an elegantly 
 furnished back room. Writing his name upon a card 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 225 
 
 he handed it to the polite waiter, saying, " Give this to 
 Vinton and say that I await him here." 
 
 Some twenty minutes elapsed before Mr. Vinton en 
 tered the apartment. 
 
 " How do, Ainsley?" was his salutation, while ad 
 vancing with extended hand which Ainsley shook heart 
 ily. " Glad to see you, boy ! " 
 
 " Same fix myself, Dan, extremely glad. I'm com 
 pletely badgered, by Jove ! Forced to walk obliquely, 
 as it were, pushed aside from my straight and narrow 
 course. In fact, I've a friend who must be hocus-po 
 cused. Hobson's choice you know no possible alter^ 
 native ! You received that telegram ? " 
 
 " Of course ; and did as you requested. Its all right, 
 so far, old boy," said Vinton, jovially, clapping him upon 
 the shoulder." 
 
 " Well, not to elongate, there was a young girl who 
 accompanied Mrs. Ainsley to this coast as a companion, 
 leaving behind a betrothed lover in Canada. Now this 
 girl and I took to each other as ducks take to water," 
 winking at Vinton, who nodded understandingly, and 
 both laughed noisily. " There are hearts which bill and 
 coo without priestly sanction," continued Ainsley. " Of 
 course the affair must needs be kept from Mrs. Ainsley, 
 so, when the girl was smitten with a fever, I had her re 
 moved to a hospital and taken care of; but my mother 
 returned home while laboring under the impression that 
 the girl was dead, and so informed the fiery young lover, 
 who called immediately. Well, what did this Don 
 Quixote of a lover do but demand the name and address 
 
 of her attending physician, saying that he should re- 
 10 
 
226 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 move the body to Canada! By Jove! Dan, its a fix!" 
 
 " The lover, in question, is a doctor by profession, the 
 son of a minister, who is an old acquaintance of my 
 mother. As money is no object," pursued he, after a 
 moment's hesitation, " I thought I would get you to 
 manage the affair. You can easily arrange about the I 
 hospital business. Give Iiim the name of some doctor j 
 who has left the oity, or ; fix ' one for his benefit. The 
 procuring of a proper body is the straw which seems I 
 most likely to break the camel's back." 
 
 Ainsley paused. With keen, half- shut eyes concen 
 trated on the main chance, as it were, Vinton sat before 
 him expectantly, his head thrown well back. At the 
 mention of money, both hands opened involuntarily. 
 
 "Risky business, Ainsley; for which you say that 
 money is no object an indefinite expression. Give us 
 an offer." 
 
 " A thousand ?" said Ainsley, twisting his mustache, 
 nervously. 
 
 Vinton shook his head. 
 
 "Two thousand?" 
 
 Vinton brushed the ashes from 'his cigar with a dex 
 terous movement of his little finger, and shook his head 
 again. 
 
 " Name your price, then," said Ainsley. 
 
 Vinton leisurely blew a wreath of smoke into the air, 
 and began to muse, with a look of pious concern. " It's 
 a tough business, perhaps a dangerous business, seeing 
 that I must take your word for the real status of the in 
 trigue," he said, slowty, " and the man that mixes in it 
 must be well paid, The judgment of the court is, there*, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 22^ 
 
 fore, Ainsley, that five thousand dollars -from a man in 
 your circumstances will about cover the time, trouble 
 and risk of the undertaking." 
 
 Ainsley helped himself to a glass of brandy from the 
 decanter that stood on the table between them, and then 
 replied 
 
 " Five thousand ! by Jove, Dan, you would have done 
 credit to yourself in the Claude Duval business! Isn't 
 five thousand rather cool, rather steep ? " 
 
 "Just a trifle frigid and declivitous, old man, but bus 
 iness is business, the world over, and I am deucedly hard 
 up these days. You wouldn't come to me with a bag 
 atelle of that I am assured. Come, shall it be five 
 thousand and a clean job ? " 
 
 " I have no other recourse, you Richelieu of finance !" 
 
 Then the two friends held a long consultation on the 
 ways and means of their projected villainy, and the 
 streets were almost deserted when Ainsley finally sepa 
 rated from the other and sought his hotel. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 EFORE the events last narrated had occurred, 
 additional misfortunes had befallen our hero 
 ine. Why is it that some of our great mod 
 ern thinkers do not explain the gregarious 
 character of calamities? A full knowledge of the law 
 would undoubtedly be of inestimable service to mankind. 
 How many old sayings turn upon this pivot of the 
 world's faith ! The poets are full of beautiful references 
 to it, as the following from "Hiawatha:" 
 
 "Never stoops the soaring vulture 
 On his quarry on the desert, 
 On the sick or wounded bison, 
 But another vulture, watching 
 From his high aerial look-out, 
 Sees the downward plunge and follows'; 
 And a third pursues the second, 
 Coming from the invisible ether, 
 First a speck, and then a vulture, 
 Till the air is dark with pinions. 
 So disasters come not singly ; 
 But as if they watched and waited, 
 Scanning one another's motions. 
 When the first descends, the others 
 Follow, follow, gathering flockwise 
 Round their victim, sick and wounded, 
 First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
 Till the air is dark with anguish,'* 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 229 
 
 Aunt Newbury had suffered a relapse, and little Wistit 
 had been stricken with a fatal disease. 
 
 ,It was a glorious night for the passage of the pure, 
 young spirit. The rays from the brilliant luminaries 
 swimming in the vault of space kindled the clear, Cali 
 fornia atmosphere almost as resplendently as the beams 
 of the noonday sun and yet it was a strange, sweet 
 light as still, shadowless and mysterious as the patient 
 smile of God upon the populous immensity of His 
 Kingdom. 
 
 Sunshine and shadow chase each other around the 
 arena of life, and the heavy footsteps of sorrow trample 
 upon the golden skirts of fleeting pleasures. The 
 joy-bells hung within the chambers of the heart scarce 
 ring their welcome to some new-found love, till a sob of 
 bereavement rises in their music, and the shadow of the 
 grave falls across the still threshold of the soul. 
 
 The noise and bustle of the busy world without had 
 ceased to mar the solemn stillness. The softened splen 
 dor of the star-light had crept through the apartment 
 and given to the modest interior a dreamy peacefulness, 
 as lovely as the sacred reveries it inspired. 
 
 Wistit was still sleeping. One tiny hand, so soft and 
 white now that a snowflake might have marred its deli 
 cate purity, lay grasping the counterpane. The tender 
 eyes were closed. There was a faint smile seated upon 
 the gentle mouth which told that sleep had brought free 
 dom from pain. 
 
 Echo, gazing fondly upon her perishing waif, parted 
 the damp curls from her waxen brow and kissed it softly, 
 while tears of anguish coursed their way down her pale 
 
230 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 cheeks. Then, going to the window, she stretched out 
 her arms towards heaven as if, groping in the darkness 
 of uncertainty, she longed to grasp " the substance of 
 things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen;" and 
 gazing upward, as if her love could pierce the misty cur 
 tain of ethereal blue and compel an answer, from the 
 depths of her stricken soul arose a silent prayer, more 
 eloquent than words can frame. It was the burning call 
 of the subject spirit to the Sovereign for help when the 
 sea of shadows rises to clasp the poor feet faltering upon 
 the rocks of despair. 
 
 The silvery tones of the little time-piece chimed out 
 the hour of twelve, and still Echo kept her watch be 
 side the couch of her dear one, whilst the nervous clasp 
 ing and unclasping of her hands, and the flames of an 
 guish illumining her dark eyes, betrayed something of 
 her soul's struggle. 
 
 The damp of death slowly gathered upon the brow 
 of the sleeper, as morning dew upon a withering lily, 
 plucked by some careless hand and left to perish. Would 
 the white-winged soul depart silently thus, and make no 
 sign? Would those dear treasures the last word, the 
 last glance, the last kiss of the dying not be vouch 
 safed to the darkened household? 
 
 The child's pulse was growing fainter. The dreadful 
 paroxysms of pain were gone forever. The hectic flush 
 was fading from her cheeks. The fever which had 
 raged in her veins for many days was cooling rapidly 
 under the icy breath of the slayer of humanity. 
 
 There was poignant, though suppressed, grief in that 
 chamber a sorrow more deep and true than that which 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 23! 
 
 gives way to tears, groans and cries. Noisy sorrow is 
 more or less selfish and ephemeral; they suffer most 
 and longest whose hearts bleed in silence. 
 
 While Echo stood there, watching with silent dread 
 the parting of the spirit from its statue of painted clay, 
 the eyes of the sleeper suddenly opened wide with a 
 scared look,' as turning them in the direction where her 
 protector had last been seen, she asked in a frightened 
 voice, 
 
 "Where is you, Eto?" 
 
 " Close beside you, darling," Echo replied as she knelt 
 beside the bed. 
 
 ' I hear, but can't see, Eto. I'm afraid of the dark, 
 and it's very cold." 
 
 The groping hands felt fondly over Echo's face and 
 rested upon her neck as the shivering, pallid lips mur 
 mured faintly, "Hold me close, Eto; I'm so cold and the 
 big black cloud is coming nearer." 
 
 Then she was silent for a while. Suddenly, a beauti 
 ful smile broke over the pale, childish features, as, point 
 ing outward and upward, she exclaimed in a voice of 
 rapture 
 
 "Oh, Eto! look there! look there!" 
 
 "What is it, my sweet darling?" said Echo, stifling a 
 great sob ; " I can see nothing." 
 
 " Look ! Oh, how sweet and pretty ! It is the beau 
 tiful country that mamma said I should come to by-and- 
 by I can see it behind the cloud ! There are no clouds 
 there ! The gates are open, and they shine like the 
 moon when the sky is blue. I can hear the music and 
 see the happy children and look ! you must surely see 
 
232 WHAT CAME OF IT* 
 
 her there is mamma ! Oh, good-bye, Eto ! mamma is 
 holding out her arms to me, and she is so pretty now ! 
 Good-bye ! Wistit will wait for you at the gate !" 
 
 It was all over then ! The prison-gates of life were 
 unlocked by the silent warden, Death, and the happy 
 soul went forth, to feel the pain of death no more. The 
 invisible spirit retired unspotted from the misty vales of 
 time, and passed into the opening cloud of mystery for 
 ever. 
 
 Thank God, for these glimpses of the eternal world 
 that shine before the feet of the dread messenger ! 
 Thank God, for the beautiful " superstition " that 
 wreathes these glowing visions on the brows of our 
 dying children ! 
 
 We will not unveil the sorrows of that sacred chamber 
 any further. Years afterward, in a happier time, Echo 
 twined this poetic garland for the little grave at Lone 
 Mountain : 
 
 Softly the winds are sighing, 
 
 On the mountain by the sea, 
 Where my Waif is lonely lying, 
 
 Far away from love and me. 
 
 No costly marble, shining, 
 
 Marks the sacred little spot, 
 Only a rose-bush twining 
 
 'Mid the blue forget-me-not. 
 
 The dewy morning, weeping, 
 
 Drops for me a trembling tear 
 Upon the rose-bush, keeping 
 
 Its watch throughout the year. 
 
WHAT CAME OP IT. 23$ 
 
 The fairy moonbeams sparkle, 
 
 And the pearly mists roll on; 
 The eddying rainbows darkle, 
 
 And, like gleaming hopes, are gone. 
 
 But my heart still mourns her truly, 
 
 And her angel wing, I know, 
 Fragrant from flowery Beulah, 
 
 Beareth away my woe. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A 
 
 ^L.y 
 
 |P WEEK had passed since the death of her lit 
 tle protege, and Echo was still in the depths 
 of gloom. Aunt Newhury was slowly re 
 covering, but still not a ray of hope lighted the 
 music teacher's future. Oh, how short her praying 
 breath was in those days how stricken and dead her 
 faith ! Providence can crush the strongest of us so 
 easily. The atmosphere that rings with the music and 
 laughter of the happy, is heavy with the groans of 
 broken spirits. The juggernaut of fate grinds some of 
 us utterly in the dust, but the world goes on as merrily 
 as ever without us. If we be Christians, our daily and 
 nightly prayer must be for strength to bear the burdens 
 that are cast upon us; if we be not Christians, we can 
 only clench our teeth and die as the dumb brutes die. 
 Some Minneapolis flouring mills were blown to atoms 
 the other day, occasioning great loss of life, and the sci 
 entific people say that it resulted from the explosive 
 quality of the impalpable powder of flour suspended 
 in the air that is to say, that an atmosphere impregnated 
 with the best elements of life is suddenly^roused to hurl 
 the terrific bolts of death. We are, everywhere and al 
 ways, at the mercy of the mighty forces of nature. And 
 yet we must not falter, even in the routine duties of life, 
 but must find our relief from heart-sorrows in the labor 
 that wins our bread. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 235 
 
 But Echo's world had conspired to deprive her even 
 of labor. The number of her pupils had fallen off to a 
 very few, and the necessities of sickness had exhausted 
 the money she had laid by for a rainy day. Surely the 
 blackness of despair had fallen upon her now that dark 
 est hour, which is said to precede the day. 
 
 She had changed much of late. A strange pallor had 
 succeeded the fresh glow of her complexion, and a deep 
 shadow seemed to hover about her drooping eyes. 
 
 She sat at the window with a book in her lap, but she 
 had no intention of reading. The book was simply that 
 sort of silent company she would have preferred in her 
 best friend. There are dark times when there is no sol 
 ace in book or friend. 
 
 While thus sitting, her cheek resting upon her slender 
 white hand, and gazing dreamily into the street, she was 
 suddenly startled, so far away had been her thoughts, 
 by the appearance of Mr. Farrish at the front steps. 
 He lifted his hat, with a grave smile, at her sudden 
 movement of surprise, and she arose to give him ad 
 mittance. He took her hand in gentle greeting at the 
 door, and held it for an instant as he looked into her face, 
 and remarked its exceedingly sorrowful expression. He 
 was completely overcome by his sympathies, and could 
 not say a word as he took the chair she proffered him. 
 At last, with a quiver of pathos in his rich voice, he 
 said : 
 
 " I am afraid that you have been very unhappy, and 
 very, very much in need of friendly offices. I have been 
 out of the city for many days, and have just returned and 
 learned of your loss." 
 
236 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 The tears coursed silently down her faded cheeks as 
 she answered : 
 
 " Yes, my friend, the Lord has seen fit to afflict me 
 very sorely." 
 
 The strong man could restrain himself no longer at 
 this, and bowed his head in his hands and wept. Both 
 were in tears, and it was several minutes before another 
 word was spoken. 
 
 Raising his head, finally, when he had sufficiently 
 conquered his emotion, he said : 
 
 " Ah, my dear lady, you are so utterly alone, and your 
 fortunes are so untoward ! Do let me have your con 
 fidence, and be your friend." 
 
 She could no longer hesitate, having seen the tender 
 ness and truth of his nature, and thus responded : 
 
 " My sorrows have broken me sadly, but I know that 
 I can trust you, and I will, therefore, confide to you the 
 story of my life." 
 
 And so, while the mystic twilight was gathering in 
 the apartment, she began at the beginning and told him 
 all she knew concerning the events that had affected her 
 life. 
 
 As the narrative progressed, it was apparent that Mr. 
 Farrish was laboring under the strongest excitement, and 
 when she had finished he rushed across the room and 
 seized her hand, exclaiming : 
 
 " Let me salute you, then, by a stronger title than that 
 of friend I am the cousin of your father, and therefore 
 a relative of yours ! Why, I was named after Cleave 
 Clifford, and we attended the same school 1 Bless my 
 soul, what a happy discovery ! 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 237 
 
 Echo was no less joyfully agitated than her new-found 
 kinsman. A mysterious orphan, having never known 
 any relative but her grandmother, there had always been 
 in her heart a hungry yearning for the deep and inde 
 finable sympathy of kindred blood. It is strangely true, 
 as the old adage has it, that blood is thicker than water. 
 The crimson currents of the heart flow intuitively in 
 gulf-streams of eternal affection. 
 
 Therefore a bright flush mantled Echo's wasted 
 cheeks, as she cried, enthusiastically : 
 
 " Oh, my friend, my kinsman, it is indeed a happy dis 
 covery ! It is more to me than the discovery of a con 
 tinent. An oasis has appeared in the desert of my life, 
 at last ! A golden anchor of hope has dropped to me 
 from Heaven, and I shall be tempest-tossed no more !" 
 
 She wept again, for joy this time, and he tenderly 
 kissed her forehead, and thanked God for the new bless 
 ing that had arisen in his prosperous life. 
 
 " Do you know, Echo, dear," he said, " that glowing 
 vistas of joy open up before you now ? We will clear 
 away the mystery that has shrouded your life we will 
 find your parents !" 
 
 She placed her hand on her heart, to still its wild 
 throbbing. 
 
 " Oh, if we do, the crown of Elysium will be mine on 
 earth ! And why may it not be ? We do not know 
 that they are dead; and while some great calamity must 
 have befallen them, it is possible that* grandmother may 
 have been deceived as to its true character, and that no 
 dishonor really clouds their names." 
 
 " Yes, dear, you are right. Your grandmother, ad- 
 
 \ 
 
238 WHAT CAME OP if. 
 
 vanced in years and living alone, was a strong, self- 
 contained woman one, above all others, whose family 
 skeleton would be kept from the sight and hearing of 
 the world. That you, the child of her wayward and 
 unfortunate son, were living with her, was a fact that she 
 never, doubtless, revealed to her nearest living kindred. 
 She kept you secluded, as you say, and in her later years 
 seems to have repented that she had done so. In the 
 pride and reserve of her nature, the family trouble, what 
 ever it may have been, must have assumed unnatural 
 proportions^ and it is just possible that she was thus led 
 to commit a great wrong in withholding from you the 
 secret of your parent's misfortunes." 
 
 "I believe that you are correct in the estimate you 
 have given of her character," said Echo, as her thoughts 
 turned reverently to the memory of her dead relative, 
 " but she was none the less the truest and noblest woman 
 that ever lived. She was guided by a high sense of duty 
 in all things, great and small, and her judgment was so 
 clear that she could not have often erred ; and yet, in any 
 matter affecting her family name, she might have fallen 
 into a mistaken line of conduct." 
 
 "By the way, since you know so little of the family 
 history, may there not be others, former friends and 
 neighbors of your grandmother, who have some in 
 formation in regard to the matter ?" 
 
 "Ah, indeed, that is a happy suggestion ! At the 
 death of my grandmother, I resided for some time in the 
 family of the Rev. Mr. Hoberg, our parish pastor. He 
 was grandmother's dearest and most intimate friend, and 
 has in his possession some sort of mysterious souvenir 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 239 
 
 a legacy from the dear old lady which was to be de 
 livered to me only on my marriage day. Dear me, I 
 had nearly forgotten that !" said Echo, for the first time 
 seeming to realize the strategic importance of that 
 legacy in unraveling the dark tangle of the parental 
 history. 
 
 " Why, that legacy will put the clew of the whole 
 mystery in our hands !" said Farrish, rising in his excite 
 ment and pacing the floor. " But hold ! your marriage 
 day ?" 
 
 Echo colored at this suggestion, as she thought of her 
 disappointed love, but she replied : 
 
 " That is another difficulty, perhaps an insurmountable 
 one, but then the pastor doubtless knows enough about 
 the affair to put some frail thread of discovery in our 
 way." 
 
 "Do you know," said Farrish, gazing quizzically at 
 the ceiling, after the manner of a man in pursuit of an 
 idea, " that it is my candid opinion that your affianced 
 never really turned away from you ?" 
 
 " The evidence seems indisputable," said Echo, with 
 an instantaneous return of her former melancholy; "I 
 have the letters of his sister and himself in regard to his 
 change of feeling." 
 
 " That may be ; but letters can be counterfeited where 
 there is a long purse to sustain the experiment. I sus 
 pect that rich young villain, Ainsley, of having been at 
 the bottom of the trouble." 
 
 "I should like to hope so," said Echo, with a sad 
 smile ; " but a true lover would have followed me and 
 found out the truth, personally." 
 
240 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, cousin, under ordinary circumstances ; 
 but perhaps he is also relying on the testimony of false 
 letters, and was, as I hope it may prove that you were, 
 entangled in a subtly woven plot. But that matter 
 shall be looked after, too," concluded Farrish, with an 
 energetic shake of his head. 
 
 " Oh, dear," said Echo, rising suddenly, " I have com 
 pletely forgotten Aunt Newbury in the startling interest 
 of our conversation. Let us repair to her room at once, 
 and acquaint her with the new aspect of affairs." 
 
 The tender-hearted invalid was inexpressibly delighted 
 at the information they conveyed, and declared that she 
 needed no other elixir to insure her immediate re 
 covery. 
 
 When the whole story had been told, Farrish ob 
 served that they must make up a programme. 
 
 "It is necessarily a simple one, too," he continued, 
 " and may be briefly stated. In the first place, you have 
 no particular reason to desire to return to Canada, just 
 now, so that you and our dear Aunt Newbury may take 
 up your residence at a delightful little summer home of 
 mine at San Rafael where both of you will find release 
 from present anxieties, and the most healthful atmos 
 phere in the world. As for the party of the second part, 
 I shall immediately visit Canada and leave not a stone 
 unturned to discover what we seek. Come, cousin," 
 lifting his finger, playfully, towards Echo, "not a word 
 of opposition ! I claim my prerogatives as a relative, 
 and am not a man to be thwarted, I can tell you." 
 
 This arrangement was agreed to, and Farrish soon 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 24! 
 
 after took his leave, amid mutual expressions of esteem 
 and affection. 
 
 Once again, that night, in the pure maiden's heart, 
 welled up the eternal fountains of faith, love, trust, and 
 hope and she was a living, beautiful soul. 
 

 CHPTER XXXII. 
 
 'HEN Mr. Edmond Ainsley, on the night of 
 his business interview with Vinton, retired 
 to his luxurious apartments at the Grand, he 
 did not immediately court his pillow, although 
 the hour was late. 
 
 He lit another cigar and sat for a long while in partial 
 undress, and the profoundest meditation. No qualms of 
 conscience beset him. He was not subject to internecine 
 struggles of that kind. He was anxious, principally on 
 his mother's account, to maintain his social standing at 
 home ; what, then, if his stupendous scheme, with all the 
 ugly incidents yet to ensue in connection therewith, 
 should finally leak into the public ear at Quebec ? That 
 was not all; there was another danger more material 
 than the probability of social ostracism the avenging 
 wrath of Dr. Hoberg ! 
 
 But how could he avert the vengeance of Hoberg 
 now in case he should choose to let the matter drop ? 
 The thing was impossible that cruel scalpel, " red with 
 insufferable wrath," menaced his path, turn which way- 
 he would with the greater chances of safety in favor of 
 a forward movement. 
 
 While at home, he had satisfied himself that Echo no 
 longer corresponded with any of her former friends. 
 With her present silence assured, he believed that he 
 
$WHAT CAME OF IT. 243 
 
 could trust himself with the management of her future. 
 He was a rake and high-flyer of the wildest pretension, 
 and he conceived that the accomplishment of his black 
 designs with reference to the unfortunate young lady 
 could not possibly be long deferred. Having once 
 achieved the destruction of her honor, he would be safe 
 no pale face would ever reappear among former scenes 
 to vex the slumber of the fraudulent remains. 
 
 Echo was the loveliest girl he had ever pursued, and 
 she had repelled him so disdainfully that he meant to 
 have revenge, the sweetest and best the case afforded. 
 He had hunted down so many women successfully, that 
 the word failure was no longer in the vocabulary of his 
 wicked amours. 
 
 Does it occur to this easy-going world that a frightful 
 number of its millionaires, wine-heated, thick-blooded 
 men, are the slaves of their brutal lusts, and that much of 
 their money goes towards conquering fresh territories 
 of female virtue ? It is a sickening thought one that 
 may well constrain us to despise men and to blush for 
 the fra;lty of women. 
 
 " I must gain time for Vinton's machinations by giving 
 out that I have a frightful headache, when that tragic 
 doctor calls, as I am sure he will at an early hour," mur 
 mured Ainsley, as he finally threw away the stub of his 
 cigar, and got into bed. 
 
 Doctor Hoberg was in a fever of unrest all night, and 
 arose at six o'clock. For two hours he wandered aim 
 lessly about the streets, had a cup of coffee, and then 
 returned to the hotel. Ainsley was not yet visible, and 
 a waiter was sent to inquire after him, and inform him 
 
244 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 * 
 
 that Doctor Hoberg would be glad to see him as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 The servant brought word that Mr. Ainsley was much 
 indisposed, and had not yet arisen. 
 
 The doctor hurried up to his room and found him just 
 putting a fresh application of wet towels to his head, 
 while an ominous glass of claret and ice ornamented the 
 stand at his bedside. 
 
 " Good morning, doctor," he drawled. " By Jove ! 
 I'm horribly bruised ! Never had such a villainous, 
 racking headache in my life. 'Pon my word, it's 
 killing." 
 
 Hoberg felt very much like kicking him into immedi 
 ate convalescence, so great was his vexation, but he said, 
 quietly : 
 
 " Will you not be able to be out soon ?" 
 
 "Not until the afternoon, I fear; but there will then 
 be time enough to attend to the matters contemplated." 
 
 " At what hour shall I call, then ?" 
 
 "Say about two o'clock, doctor; I shall struggle upon 
 my feet by that time, and be able to accompany you." 
 
 " Very well ; I am suffering great anxiety, and shall 
 be here promptly at the hour." 
 
 " I was born for a prime minister, by Jove !" ex 
 claimed Ainsley, as soon as the doctor had gone ; and he 
 threw off the wet bandages, and took a glass of wine. 
 
 Doctor Hoberg had an age before him, seemingly, un 
 til the hour appointed ; but the wheels of time, roll they 
 never so heavily, yet constantly roll, and two o'clock was 
 finally at hand. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 245 
 
 He found Ainsley, elegantly attired and looking clean 
 and cool, waiting for him in the hotel parlor. 
 
 As they passed out again together, Ainsley re 
 marked : 
 
 " The physician we desire to see has an office on 
 Kearney street, and we had better take him along." 
 
 Hoberg nodded his head in acquiescence, and the office 
 of Doctor Turner was soon reached. He was a large, 
 fine-looking man, and his manner had the charm of dig 
 nified affability. There was a trifle too much gloss of 
 broadcloth and glitter of jewelry in his outward adorn 
 ment, perhaps, but dress is no criterion of the quality of 
 the man. 
 
 " I was very much interested in the case of that young 
 lady, Doctor Hoberg," said he, after the usual intro 
 duction had passed, and their business had been made 
 known. " I struggled hard to save her, but the disease 
 took one of those sudden turns which so often baffle the 
 truest skill, and all was over soon." 
 
 " Was she conscious at the last ?" said Hoberg, with a 
 stifled moan. " Did she leave no parting word for her 
 friends ?" 
 
 "She was conscious, my dear doctor, but too weak 
 for utterance. Her breath passed as gently as the sigh 
 of a summer wind, so gently that I was scarcely aware 
 that the catastrophe had occurred. Before that she had 
 raved continually, calling often upon some one named 
 1 Arthur.' " 
 
 A great sigh shook the bosom of that Arthur upon 
 whom the dying girl had called. 
 
 After that they walked along, conversing on indifFer- 
 
246 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 ent topics, until they appeared before the establishment 
 of Madame Joilet, Stockton street, where Echo had so 
 nearly passed to her " long account." 
 
 Houses of this kind, like the great gambling hells, are 
 always shrouded in an atmosphere of quiet. Respecta 
 bility sits throned above their carved portals, the deadly 
 sins are stealthy. The assassin cfeeps and whispers 
 never talks or walks. 
 
 When the gentlemen had been ushered into a spacious 
 and richly appointed waiting-room, Madame Joilet, 
 dressed in subdued taste t6 suit the occasion, appeared. 
 She had become in appearance a complete epitome of all 
 matronly virtues. 
 
 She greeted the city doctor with a meek smile of 
 recognition, and extended the same favor to Ainsley, 
 expressing the hope that they found themselves well. 
 Doctor Hoberg was then introduced, and the business 
 nature of the call stated. 
 
 Madame Joilet, although a native of France, spoke 
 English with a perfect accent, her language being il 
 lustrated with a limited number of Gallic shrugs and 
 gestures. 
 
 " Ah, indeed !" said she, glancing at Hoberg, with a 
 look of mournful interest; "you are, then, the relative. 
 or friend of that beautiful and unfortunate creature ?" 
 
 The doctor bowed. 
 
 " I have thought of her so often so often," resumed 
 the kind matron. " It will give me the greatest pleas 
 ure to aid your affectionate undertaking." 
 
 She then handed him the certificate to the proper mi 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 247 
 
 thorities, which she had just -written at his request, and 
 the gentleman withdrew. 
 
 Madame Joilet had nearly warbled the gay " ta-ta !" 
 of frivolous people, at parting with the sombre trio, but 
 caught herself in the act and gravely bowed her adieus. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ONE Mountain, the grand and solemn ceme 
 tery of San Francisco, was dedicated in the 
 years agone by the matchless eloquence of Ba 
 ker. The sea never rolls its anthem from the 
 cliffs, and the wind never sighs among the funeral trees, 
 but the mournful echoes of that immortal voice return 
 again, still singing a requiem for the dead. There lies 
 Broderick in the gory mantle of his historic quarrel; 
 there lies Baker, himself, " stricken and pale from the 
 field of Sacrifice." 
 
 The cemetery extends over a series of sand-hills and 
 depressions, which affectionate art has made green with 
 shrubbery and bright with flowers. The fashionable 
 Cliff House drive skirts its silent walls, and the gay me 
 tropolitans may be said to whisper their loves and in 
 trigues in the shadow of its sacred gates. 
 
 In an obscure quarter of this cemetery, on the day fol 
 lowing the interview with Madame Joilet, were several 
 people, gathered about a low, sand-swept grave. The 
 little mound might have been heaped but yesterday, or 
 six months, or six years before. The sands measure 
 time they do not bear the impress of its power. They 
 arc always the same dry, blank, hoary ! 
 
 Not a shrub or a flower marked the spot only plain 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 249 
 
 white b'oards at the head and the foot the former of 
 which bore in black letters the name 
 
 ECHO CLIFFORD. 
 
 Under the direction of an unctuous man in black, two 
 laborers began to dig in this grave, "while several gen 
 tlemen apparently much interested in the work that 
 was going forward stood apart. The vigorous labor 
 ers threw the light soil up with startling rapidity, and 
 their spades soon struck an obstruction below. 
 
 One of the men got into the opening and threw up 
 some loose boards. Ropes were then handed him, when 
 the other gentlemen stepped forward, and some of them 
 assisted the laborers in raising a long, rough, wooden 
 box, which, to all appearances, must contain the remains 
 of a human being. The lid of the wooden box was then 
 pried up, and a respectable coffin, draped in black velvet, 
 was disclosed within. 
 
 It was then noticed that a terrible odor crept into the 
 air, and there was a general movement backward. 
 
 "Putrefaction must be far advanced," said Doctor 
 Turner to Arthur Hoberg, who stood beside him with a 
 face appalling in its expression of grief and horror; do 
 you desire" 
 
 " No, no ! " murmured the other, bursting into sobs, 
 " It is too terrible not to be true ! " 
 
 The undertaker who had paused, hammer in hand, 
 hurriedly replaced the lid, and the remains were con 
 veyed to 9, hearse in attendance at the gate. The party 
 of gentJernen entered a cab, and were ju^t turning into 
 the road in the rear of the hearscj when p jsdv and 
 
250 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 tleman drove up in an open carriage, their faces ex 
 pressing the utmost surprise at the spectacle of a funeral 
 cortege going citywards. The gentleman was Cleave- 
 land Farrish, and the lady Echo Clifford! 
 
 Before leaving for San Rafael, Echo had desired to pay 
 a last visit to the resting place of the child she had learned 
 to love so well, and this was the occasion of their visit 
 to Lone Mountain. 
 
 Had Arthur Hoberg only looked out of the window 
 as the others drove up, ah, heavens ! what a scene there 
 had been ! But his head was buried in his hands and his 
 eyes were blinded with tears. 
 
 Ainsley began to breathe more freely, but the cloud 
 of anxiety had not entirely cleared from his brow. It 
 was a desperate business, he felt, and he was almost sorry 
 that he had undertaken it. " By Jove ! " he murmured, 
 " it is playing with death ! " 
 
 But the job was done, and he must face the conse 
 quences. Vinton had acted superbly. "You are an 
 ideal mechanic, Dan," said Ainsley to him when the fu 
 neral party had disbanded at the undertaker's on Market 
 street, and he had had an opportunity of finding him at 
 the old rookery on Broadway. " How did you manage 
 it?" 
 
 Dan poured himself out a glass of liquor, saying, " I'm 
 an ideal orator, too, and I never attempt a speech with 
 out due preparation." Having finished his libation to 
 the shades of Demosthenes and Cicero, the orator began 3 
 
 < Well, in the first place, I c fixed ' the Kearny street 
 doctor and Madame Joilet that was a bagatelle. The, 
 cemetery job was the real sticking point, and I stru<* ; 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 251 
 
 gled with it a long time unavailingly. In the heat of 
 the combat I happened to think of an anecdote told upon 
 John Morrissey. John had a row with a man in a saloon, 
 and his opponent assaulted him just as he was in the act 
 of taking off his coat. Hampered by the half-drawn 
 garment, he was knocked down, when his opponent fell 
 upon him and began raining in his blows with awful en 
 ergy. A thought occurred to John; instead of trying 
 to pull the coat off, he would put it on. He did so, with 
 a single movement of his herculean shoulders, and the 
 other man was carried off to a doctor ten minutes af 
 terward. 
 
 " The recollection of that anecdote saved me. Instead 
 of trying to get possession of an established grave, I 
 made one. Of course, I had to take our undertaker into 
 my confidence, and through his professional assistance, 
 the whole thing was exquisitely managed. 
 
 " The grave was prepared yesterday afternoon, and it 
 was, essentially, tenantless." 
 
 " There was a horrible odor," said Ainsley with a 
 grimace. 
 
 " Drugs," said Vinton, sententiously. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 UNSET on the Mediterranean. The sea lay 
 clasping its lovely isles, like a maiden dreaming 
 of her gems. The sun's rays, fused in a soft, 
 glowing mass of matchless color, flowed ovef 
 the whole western arch, until it lifted and shone like the 
 gateway of that Heaven we cannot see. Peaks, ridges, 
 hills, vales, cities, and villas, put on the glory of the pa 
 geant, and were lovelier than any dream of Enchanted 
 Lands or Happy Isles. Upon the mighty picture rested, 
 too, the lights and shadows of ancient, classic and medi 
 aeval time the solemn and tender nimbus of the his 
 tory of man ; for in those shades and gleams War shook 
 his crimson spear, Love displayed her hyacinthine locks, 
 and Art lifted her immortal face. . 
 
 Near a city on the shore, a solitary traveler was as 
 cending a mountain which, environed with white-walled 
 villas at its base, reared its rocky cone high in the purple 
 bloom and golden mist of the evening. 
 
 Reaching the summit, the traveler sat down on the 
 crumbling fragment of an ancient ruin, and surveyed 
 the scene. He was, apparently, somewhat past middle 
 life, tall, well-proportioned, and muscular. His dark 
 hair and whiskers were tinged with gray. His bronzed 
 face was regular, yet massive in outline, his eyebrows 
 boldly rnarked, and his eyes d^rk, luminous, splendid, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 253 
 
 He did not belong to the race inhabiting the city be 
 low him. He was of the stock of those conquering is 
 landers in whose veins flows the mingled strength of 
 Saxon, Norman and Danish blood. For long years he 
 had been exiled from home and friends, and had been 
 a wanderer in many lands. 
 
 He had gone forth in the hot blood of youth and was 
 yet in the meridian of his vigor, but his wild passions 
 were subdued, and his thoughts and purposes flowed in 
 a deep and tranquil current. 
 
 The truest, sweetest, most enchanting period of hu 
 man life is not found in childhood or in youth, but in its 
 tender autumn time, when the first frosts have fallen, 
 and dim, ineffable regrets weave a misty veil over the 
 glowing landscapes of the heart. It is the turn of the 
 leaf the dirge-haunted Indian summer of our years. 
 It is then that the soul takes on its richest, fullest color 
 ing. The sunshine is sadder, but dearer to vis, then, be 
 cause it slants across the fallen castles of our hopes and 
 the grass-grown mounds that cover our dead. Perhaps 
 it is then that the exiled spirit thinks, for the first time, 
 of some far, forgotten home, and thus lies lapped in rev 
 eries stranger and more delightful than were ever wafted 
 from the flowering lotus. 
 
 The gad-fly of remorse had driven this solitary man 
 into the unknown regions of the earth, and as he sat 
 there musing in the mellow radiance of the evening, his 
 old life at home seemed to be connected with an exist 
 ence in some other world. A great yearning to return 
 began to grow upon him. The scenes and incidents of 
 the old time began to revolve before him in living dis- 
 
254 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 tinctness, and he wondered how he could have remained 
 away so long. Faces of loved ones came to him as 
 never before, and his anguish was almost insupportable. 
 Why should he not return ? His life was worse than 
 wasted in this idle journeying from land to land, and he 
 might find among those who were near and dear to him 
 a life-purpose and a hope. All other considerations per 
 ished and passed away before this one flaming idea and 
 desire, and he resolved to act. So must the Prodigal 
 Son have felt, when he said, " I will arise and go to my 
 father's house." 
 
 There was a grand light in the brown face of our trav 
 eler as he arose, and with one parting glance at the fad 
 ing splendors of the sunset, hastened down the moun 
 tain. His preparations were soon made, and the next 
 day he was pacing the deck of a steamer bound for Mar 
 seilles. His journey terminated in Paris. Having se 
 cured respectable lodgings in a quiet neighborhood, he 
 employed an intelligent and active young man as mes 
 senger and sent him immediately with a sealed note to an 
 old Captain of the Guards named Ducrot, whom he had 
 formerly known, and of whose present residence he had 
 taken care to inform himself directly on his arrival. 
 
 During the absence of the messenger, the traveler 
 paced the floor continually, muttering to himself and 
 contracting his brows as if in serious and disturbing 
 thought. 
 
 After the lapse of an hour or so, a carriage drove up 
 in front of his temporary quarters, and there alighted 
 therefrom a stalwart man of about fifty-five habited 
 in the undress of a retired officer. His hair was nearly 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 255 
 
 white, but strong and abundant, and his leonine visage 
 was not subdued in ferocity by the heavy sabre-cut that 
 extended across the right cheek obliquely, from the point 
 of the flowing gray mustache nearly to the temple. 
 
 This man of warlike presence mounted the steps with 
 a firm step, and was admitted by the traveler himself, 
 who closed the door and faced his visitor with folded 
 arms. 
 
 The two men regarded each other for a moment in 
 perfect silence, and then the Frenchman opened his arms 
 with a stentorian shout, 
 
 " lo triumphe! It is Clifford, my friend and brother, 
 come back from the dead ! " 
 
 " It is indeed I, Captain, and it does my soul good to 
 see the lion-hearted Ducrot erect and vigorous with un 
 abated youth." And these two men embraced like 
 brothers. 
 
 " In the name of God, Clifford," said the Captain, 
 when the first transports of surprise were over, and both 
 were seated, " to what ends of the earth have you been 
 gone so many years ? " 
 
 " I have sojourned in many climes, Captain, and toiled 
 in many since last I saw you, but I assure you that I have 
 never ceased to remember you with affection and grati 
 tude," said the traveler, still clasping the hand of his 
 friend. 
 
 " But why did you not return ? Did you never hear 
 the truth?" 
 
 " I supposed that I knew the truth," said the other 
 mournfully. " I have had no new light since going 
 away." 
 
256 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 " Ma foi! then, my friend," said the Captain, ener 
 getically slapping his knee, " I will strike you with a 
 thunder-clap of revelation. 
 
 Clifford shook his head as though he were hopeless of 
 any new phase of facts in the case. 
 
 " In the first place, then, my Sinbad the Sailor, what 
 have you to say if I tell you that the man did not die ? " 
 
 "Not die?" said Clifford, starting angrily, "that is 
 bad news, indeed." 
 
 " But I tell you that is good news." 
 
 " You seem to have changed your opinion, Captain," 
 with a lowering of the heavy brows. 
 
 " Shall I tell you why it is good news, Monsieur Sin- 
 bad ? " persisted the man of war. 
 
 " I am most anxious to know why my friend, Captain 
 Ducrot, the soul of honor, calls the intelligence of so 
 great a misfortune, good news ? " 
 
 " Simply because the man did not deserve to die ; he 
 was innocent." 
 
 " Are you trifling with me, my noble friend ? v said 
 Clifford, huskily. 
 
 " I swear by the grave of my father, that the man 
 was innocent!" said the Captain, solemnly. 
 
 " Innocent! my God! that would imply that my - 
 that" 
 
 " That your wife was innocent too, my poor brother," 
 said the Captain yet more solemnly and tenderly. 
 
 "After all these years!" groaned Clifford, as he laid 
 his head upon the table, convulsed by the power of his 
 emotions. 
 
 A plaintive silence of several minutes ensued, and 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 257 
 
 then the Captain laid his strong hand softly on the oth 
 er's shoulder, and, in a low voice, began: 
 
 " The whole truth came out immediately, my friend, 
 and your wife was utterly exonerated from all blame." 
 
 Clifford neither looked up nor spoke, and the Captain 
 continued, 
 
 "The man you struck had been clandestinely meeting 
 a young lady, a friend of your wife, to whom he was 
 engaged to be married, in your house and thus the 
 whole mistake and catastrophe occurred." 
 
 " Oh God! how I have wronged her!" cried Clifford, 
 agonizingly. 
 
 " And how you must have suffered ! " interposed the 
 Captain. " Come, my friend," he resumed, encourag 
 ingly. " Your action was justified by the facts as they 
 seemed to you. If you made a mistake; if you did 
 wrong, in fact, in not having been more deliberate, let 
 all these years of miserable exile atone for that, and look 
 you only to the present and the future." 
 
 Clifford regained his composure and again sat erect. 
 
 "Lady Clifford is in Paris?" he finally asked. 
 
 " Yes, having recovered her daughter, she has*re-en- 
 tered society." 
 
 "Recovered her daughter?" said Clifford, starting up 
 excitedly. 
 
 " That and nothing less, monsieur," said the Captain, 
 rather enjoying the dramatic esprit of the situation. 
 
 " When, and how was she recovered ? " 
 
 " An agent sent out by Lady Clifford discovered mad 
 emoiselle in America, whither it is claimed you had 
 
258 WHAT' CAME OF it. 
 
 taken her at the time of your flight, and brought her to 
 Paris but a few months ago, I believe." 
 
 "You will see them, of course?" continued the 
 Captain. 
 
 " Yes ; I can do no less. The yearning of a husband 
 and father finally overcame my pride, my fears, and ev 
 ery conventional scruple, and I have returned. God 
 only knows what reception is in store for me, but my 
 purpose is clear and true, and I shall not abandon it. 
 The revelation you have made gives me much cause to 
 hope that the golden bow of promise may yet span my 
 darkened sky. Whatever the mother may do, the child 
 will surely not desert me." 
 
 " Bravo, Sinbad, your life shall yet blossom with re 
 turning joys. Your wife may have been incensed at you 
 for having so readily believed evil of her, but she has 
 borne herself discreetly in her worse than widowhood, 
 and must be one of the noblest of women. I am confi 
 dent that she will forgive all in memory of your terrible 
 sufferings, and that your hearts will flow together again 
 in peace, trust, and love." 
 
 "God grant it!" exclaimed Clifford, devoutly. 
 
 The two friends then adjourned to a neighboring cafe, 
 where they lingered long over their wine, brightening 1 
 the links of their ancient friendship* 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HE footsteps of Zarina, passing to the privacy 
 of her own chamber, and the innocent com 
 panionship of her individual thoughts, had 
 scarcely died away along the carpeted hall, 
 when an unaccountable spasm, deadly in its violence, 
 seized the person of M. Legrand. He threw himself 
 over on his spine, and, doubling his knees back almost 
 to his chin, suddenly shot his legs forward with the ve 
 locity of a thunderbolt, hurling the entire drapery of the 
 bed to the other side of the room. Then he kicked and 
 clawed the air, and spat into it, with a fury that was 
 fearful to behold. 
 
 Finally, when he had exhausted himself by a series of 
 the wildest and most grotesque movements imaginable, 
 he quietly arose and secured his door against all possible 
 intrusion. His sallow face was illumined by a strange 
 white light, and his eyes glowed with the smothered 
 flame of some mighty purpose. Going to his dressing- 
 case, he opened a drawer and took therefrom a glittering, 
 pearl-handled knife, of the kind gentlemen usually carry 
 in their pockets. What was he going to do ? His fell 
 purpose was soon apparent. 
 
 He sat down on the side of the bed, and coolly began 
 to pare his finger-nails, some of which had been torn in; 
 
260 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 the muscular carnival through which he had just 
 passed. 
 
 " Pardieu, madame !" he said, in a malevolent whis 
 per; "it is a long road that has no turning. You were 
 like this," and he held up the bright blade, " keen, cold, 
 cruel, beautiful, but I was warned in time, and I come 
 back from the borders of the grave to overthrow and 
 destroy you." 
 
 Yes, he had been warned in time, and you could see in 
 every ghastly feature of the man as he sat there attend 
 ing to a trivial necessity, that he had been into the 
 shadows of the sombre land. 
 
 Jealousy, the green-eyed, the Argus-eyed, had saved 
 him. He had tracked Zarina and the count to their 
 trysting bower, and had been a hidden witness of the 
 anomalous marriage. 
 
 Restraining the tigerish impulse to spring upon and 
 destroy them both, he had ceased to use the medicaments 
 left for him by his physician, rightly suspecting that his 
 rapidly failing health had not been without a definite and 
 criminal cause. 
 
 He had affected the mortal agony of that night in 
 order to further entangle and confuse his paramour, and 
 lead her to the hideous unmasking of her satanic de 
 sign. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" he chuckled, softly, as he smoothed his 
 hungry-looking talons ; "the man that loves is a fool, 
 and doubly a fool is he that loves his wife." 
 
 Having shuffled off his infatuation for his covert spouse, 
 Legrand gave back his allegiance to the sordid interests 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 261 
 
 that had ruled his life before he entered the lists of 
 love. 
 
 His course was chosen with the inspired promptitude 
 of a Napoleon. Rehabilitating his disordered couch, and 
 binding a damp towel about his temples, he went to 
 bed, and slept soundly until a seasonable hour in the 
 morning. 
 
 Arising briskly, he began an elaborate toilet, suspend 
 ing his labors occasionally to take a glass of wine. When 
 he had finished he was a marvel of artistic groom 
 ing, and the wine had lent a slight flush to his pale cheek 
 and an animated sparkle to his eye. 
 
 As he sauntered gracefully into the breakfast parlor, 
 it might have been thought that he was the owner of the 
 mansion young, rich, happy, and honored instead of 
 the villainous adventurer that he was, treading close to 
 the gulf of an awful ruin. 
 
 "The compliments of the morning, ladies," he ex 
 claimed, with gay suavity. " May I venture to express 
 the hope that both of you are well ?" 
 
 Lady Clifford acknowledged his salutation quietly, 
 and moved towards her place at the table. 
 
 Zarina, who had been scanning the columns of the 
 morning paper and teasing a white lap-dog at her feet, 
 looked up suddenly, turned livid, gasped, and only saved 
 herself from falling by clutching the arm of her chair 
 with despairing energy. 
 
 Luckily Lady Clifford did not notice her supreme 
 agitation, and Legrand had a motive for not calling at 
 tention to it. 
 
 Zarina was a woman of masculine nerve, however, and 
 
262 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 she soon gained control of her feelings, whatever they 
 may have been, and addressed some commonplace re 
 mark to Legrand, which he answered in kind. 
 
 As the meal progressed, Legrand's conversational 
 qualities shone out as never before. He was more pro 
 found than Johnson, more brilliant and poetical than 
 Coleridge, and more witty and piquant than Madame 
 de Stael. He was absolutely oppressive in the glare, 
 flash, roar, and ripple of his talk, which soon assumed 
 the character of a towering and despotic monologue, the 
 ladies having been altogether silenced in its desolating 
 course. 
 
 The repast concluded, Legrand turned to Lady Clif 
 ford : 
 
 u May I have the honor of a private interview with 
 your ladyship this morning, on a matter of the highest 
 moment ?" 
 
 His tones were clear and distinct, so much so that 
 Zarina recoiled from their peculiar emphasis as if it bore 
 a poignard thrust of intimation to her very heart. 
 
 " Certainly, monsieur," said Lady Clifford, rising and 
 leading the way. " Let us adjourn to the library." 
 
 Fully an hour passed, and still Zarina sat in the dining- 
 room waiting the event of the interview, for she felt sure 
 that a crisis of some kind was at hand. 
 
 At last Legrand came out of the sitting-room and 
 Went up stairs, no movement being observed in the 
 apartment he had left. Half an hour passed, and then he 
 came down again, arrayed in his traveling-dress, and car 
 rying a small portmanteau* 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 263 
 
 Entering the dining-room, he went straight to Zariria 
 and held out his gloved hand. 
 
 " Zarina," he said, in almost tender tones, as she me 
 chanically put her hand in his, " do you remember the 
 cry of the Old Guard, when, for the first time in history, 
 they recoiled at Waterloo ?" 
 
 Her lips were white, and she moved them once or 
 twice vainly before she could articulate : 
 
 " I do not know, monsieur." 
 
 " Sauve qui peut /" he said, in a low tone, bending 
 and kissing the hand he held, then turned, passed through 
 the door without once looking back, and was gone 
 forever ! 
 
 A traitor to every principle of truth, he had sold his 
 own villainy. He had been gone but a moment when 
 the door-bell rang, and a visitor was announced. Going 
 into the hall, Zarina heard Lady Clifford, in strange, 
 broken voice, tell the servant to show the gentle 
 man in. 
 
 She advanced so as to command a view of the room, 
 and saw a tall, bronzed man halt for a moment on the 
 threshold and look towards Lady Clifford, who rose with 
 difficulty from the sofa upon which she had been sitting, 
 and returned his gaze. 
 
 Not a word was spoken, but in an instant the flash of 
 a divine lustre, the reflection of an awakened love, swept 
 their faces, and they rushed into each other's arms with 
 simultaneous cries : 
 
 "Husband!" 
 
 "Wife I" 
 
264 
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 And then Zarina remembered the forlorn cry of the 
 Old Guard at Waterloo 
 " Sarnie qui peut /" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 'ORNING on the Summit of the Sierras! The 
 eastward bound train of the Central Pacific 
 railroad was just rounding one of those appall 
 ing curves which, in that sublime and gorgeous 
 region skirt the brink of immeasureable abysses, when, 
 suddenly, its motion was observed to diminish then, 
 cease altogether. 
 
 The train had stopped. 
 
 After a brief delay the door of the express car was 
 seen to open, and a plank was pushed out until its 
 extremity rested on the outer edge of the grade. 
 
 Then a large body, glittering like an immense silver 
 brick in the sunlight, was placed upon the plank. It ap 
 peared, on closer scrutiny, to be an oblong, irregular 
 hexagon that figure which, from association, has be 
 come so terrible to the human race. The incline was 
 steep, and when all was ready, a brakesman stepped 
 forward, and with a single impulse of his hand, shot this 
 mysterious body like a meteor into the abyss. 
 
 The train moved on. 
 
 To understand this curious proceeding, we will have 
 to retrace our steps a little way into the events that 
 preceded it. 
 
 Reconsidering her first decision, Echo concluded to 
 revisit her old home, in company with her cousin. Aunt 
 
266 WHAT CAME OP IT. 
 
 Newbury was provided with a comfortable home, mean 
 while, where she was to await Echo's return from Canada 
 when both were to proceed to San Rafael, according 
 to the original intention. 
 
 Doctor Arthur Hoberg, having had the supposed re 
 mains of his affianced enclosed in an additional metallic 
 casket, took passage in the same train with our friends, 
 as the Fates would have it, and there was, every moment, 
 therefore, imminent danger of a collision. 
 
 By the greatest good fortune, Echo, in glancing out 
 of the car window at Sacramento, was the first to realize 
 the situation, having seen Arthur plainly, as he stood 
 facing her and conversing with some gentleman for a 
 moment before he got on the train. 
 
 She was astounded, of course, and gave a little scream, 
 which she could only explain to her cousin by attribu 
 ting it to the true cause. This she did, in an agitated 
 whisper, pointing out Arthur to her cousin. Farrish 
 was no less surprised. 
 
 " Why, he must have been searching for you," he said. 
 
 " I hope so," said Echo naively, blushing painfully, 
 however, the moment she realized the masculine audac 
 ity of the remark. 
 
 "Noble looking fellow, too," said Farrish, musingly; 
 then, with a sudden transition to activity 
 
 " Do you know what I propose to de>?" 
 
 " Certainly not, cousin ; nothing rash, I hope." 
 
 " Well, our Adonis there is smoking, as you see, and 
 will probably go into the smoking-car. When the train 
 gets in motion, therefore, I shall call upon him and find 
 out the true history of the whole affair. It 's providen- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 267 
 
 tial that he is a passenger on the same train, for I intend 
 to throw him over the precipices of the Sierras unless 
 he shall show the true color." 
 
 "Oh, but cousin" ?" faltered Echo, whose wo 
 manly sensibilities began to be aroused as she thought 
 of the letters she had received. 
 
 "Never mind, my dear; I shall act considerately, and 
 your situation shall not be compromised in the least. I 
 know that there is villainy at the bottom of your es 
 trangement, and the sooner an understanding is had, the 
 better for all concerned." 
 
 When the heavy train, with many a groan and splut 
 ter, had finally begun to move, Farrish was as good as 
 his word, and bidding Echo, who by this time was dis 
 tressingly agitated, to be of good cheer, departed in 
 quest of Arthur. 
 
 As he had expected, the Doctor was in the smoking 
 car, and he approached him directly 
 
 " Haven't I the pleasure of addressing Doctor Arthur 
 Hoberg, of Quebec?" he politely asked. 
 
 Arthur started at the sound of his own name, and rose 
 as he answered, 
 
 " The same, sir, and I" 
 
 "Mr. Farrish" taking a seat at his side. 
 
 "Learning, accidentally, who you were," continued 
 Farrish, " I made bold to approach you. I am a rela 
 tive of an old neighbor of yours, now deceased, Mrs. 
 Clifford, and now on my way to Canada to look up 
 some matters of family history." 
 
 " I am inexpressibly glad to meet you," said Arthur, 
 brightening electrically at the name of " Cliftord." Then 
 
268 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 he thought of his mournful charge in the express car, 
 and the sunshine fell away from his face like the white 
 mask of Khorrassan, leaving his features dark with un 
 utterable gloom. 
 
 " If your mission to Canada pertains to the affairs of 
 that unfortunate family," said Arthur, chokingly, " I 
 have most sorrowful intelligence for you. I suppose 
 that you are acquainted with the various branches of the 
 family?" 
 
 Finish inclined his head, adding, "lam the name 
 sake of Cleaveland Clifford, the deceased widow's only 
 son." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then you doubtless have heard that he left 
 an only daughter, who was reared by her grandmother?" 
 
 Farrish nodded his assent. 
 
 " Well," said Arthur, drawing a long breath and 
 trembling visibly, " Echo Clifford was the loveliest and 
 purest of her sex. After the death of her grandmother 
 she came to live in my father's family for a time, and we 
 became greatly attached to each other, Echo and I, and 
 were engaged to be married." The young man almost 
 broke down at this juncture, but made a desperate effort 
 at self-command, and continued : 
 
 " Echo at length engaged herself as companion to a 
 wealthy lady named Ainsley, a resident of Quebec. 
 Having passed the medical schools I also established 
 myself in Quebec and auspiciously began the practice of 
 my profession. We were frequently in each other's so 
 ciety in those golden days, and the time of our nup 
 tials was near at hand, when an event occurred which 
 postponed that happy day forever," 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 269 
 
 Arthur passed his hand across his brow and had again 
 to struggle for self-control." 
 
 " The event to which I allude," he began again, " was 
 the burning of the Ainsley mansion, in which Echo and 
 Mrs. Ainsley very nearly lost their lives. Mrs. Ains- 
 ley's health was prostrated by the nervous shock she 
 received, and her physicians advised travel and change 
 of scene. Echo had become indispensable to her com 
 fort and happiness by this time, and she refused to travel 
 without her. This was a cruel whim, so far as its bear 
 ing upon our fortunes was concerned, for Echo could not 
 find it in her heart to desert the pampered invalid, and 
 it was arranged that she should go. California was 
 chosen as the place of their temporary sojourn, and 
 Echo and I, at first, maintained a constant and affection 
 ate correspondence; but a cloud soon came between us, 
 and I saw plainly that her love had grown cold. To 
 be brief, she finally, in a constrained, unnatural way, 
 wrote asking a release from the engagement, and I 
 could do nothing less than consent. Then we heard 
 nothing more of them until Mrs, Ainsley's return, a 
 short time ago, with the terrible intelligence of Echo's 
 death, by fever, in San Francisco." 
 
 Arthur bowed his head for a moment and die] not see 
 the wonderful expression that passed over the face of 
 his auditor. 
 
 " The blow almost deprived me of reason, but I sus= 
 pected them of having neglected the poor girl, and I 
 almost forced Edmond Ainsley to accompany me to San 
 Francisco, where I intended to have her remains ex- 
 Juimed and brought home for burial, That &ad duty I 
 
270 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 have performed, and I am now returning with all that 
 is left of my lost, lost love ! " Arthur's head fell for 
 ward again, and a heart-rending moan issued from his 
 lips. 
 
 Farrish was in a blaze and quiver of excitement. 
 
 "Young man Doctor Hoberg!" he said, laying his 
 hand firmly on Arthur's shoulder, 
 
 " Look at me, look me in the eye ! " 
 
 Arthur lifted his pale face and looked at him in stupid 
 wonderment. 
 
 " Now tell me," said Farrish, in a measured, solemn 
 voice, 
 
 " Are you in your right mind ? " 
 
 " I have no reason to doubt it, Mr. Farrish," said Ar 
 thur, suspecting the other, in his turn of mental aber 
 ration. 
 
 "Well, then," cried Farrish, bringing his clenched 
 hand down on the back of the seat with a force that 
 almost tore it from its fastenings, 
 
 "You are the victim of the most stupendous fraud 
 that has been perpetrated in this century ! " 
 
 Arthur could only gaze at him in stupid astonishment. 
 
 "Brace your nerves," resumed Farrish, "for a marvel 
 ous revulsion of feeling." " Can you not guess what it 
 is?" 
 
 " No, I cannot, unless it be that -*- " 
 
 "Echo is alive!" said Farrish, finishing the sentence^ 
 and catching Arthur's head upon his arm, as he fell 
 forward in a swoon, 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 2>]l 
 
 Autumn had come. The northern forests were aflame 
 with the inverted torch of the passing year. The rail 
 road journey had been joyously concluded, and a long 
 ocean voyage had, soon after, closed with marvelous 
 revelations and the celestial harmonies of happy souls. 
 
 The night was crisp and clear, and the old parsonage 
 was aglow with festival lights. Lady Clifford was there, 
 leaning on the arm of the bronzed traveler. Arthur 
 Hoberg was there, happy as a prince, and Echo, blushing 
 at the consciousness of her own loveliness. Aunt New- 
 bury was there, too, and Farrish, and Mary, and others 
 that we need not name. 
 
 The venerable pastor had at last been allowed to be 
 stow the mysterious casket upon her for whom it was 
 intended, and every cloud that had obscured the earlier 
 fortunes of our heroine had passed away. 
 
 Let the mantle of oblivion rest upon the fates of those 
 who bore a sinister part in the story. Be assured that 
 their shadows never again fell across the pathways of 
 our nobler characters. 
 
 Reader, let us part kindly. We have invited you 
 upon a rugged and, perhaps, an unprofitable way, but 
 the end is here. It is a rude tale, inaptly told, but under 
 its tattered gabardine beats the warm heart of a Chris 
 tian purpose. And so, closing, as all good stories must 
 close, with the music of marriage b^J s ? let us borrow 
 the toat of Tiny Tim, and say: 
 
 'God bless us every one.'^ 
 
fJIIFS AMD T 
 
 & 
 
WRECKED. 
 
 * 
 
 T is a fearful thing to contemplate a shipwreck; 
 
 to see the masts dismantled, the helm useless 
 
 the rudder gone, the noble vessel at the mercy 
 
 of every fierce billow, to be dashed to pieces 
 
 on the rocks and the ruins stranded upon the shore. 
 
 But how much more fearful to contemplate a life 
 wreck ! What are the iron-bound masts and machinery 
 of ten thousand vessels, were they built of gold, ribbed 
 with rubies and freighted with diamonds, compared with 
 the mind which conceived them ! A few dollars will 
 rebuild the useful vessel. But where is the cunning 
 skill that can again restore the strength of body, the 
 peace of mind, the squandered opportunities of the 
 wrecked human life ? Where is there a more pitiful ob 
 ject than a poor, silly creature, clothed in the habiliments 
 of a man or woman, who has never learned to say no 
 with emphasis one who is tossed about on life's tem 
 pestuous sea as the leaves of the forest in the autumn 
 gale ? 
 
 Can we not emulate the beautiful example of those 
 self-denying Sisters of Charity, as they go scattering 
 seeds of benevolence more precious to the heart of the 
 life-wreck than a drink of ice water to the parched 
 fhroat of a dying soldier! It is all very well for those 
 
2^ WKKCKED. 
 
 who are living in opulence, well fed and richly clad, to 
 go to the hungry and cold, talk of reform, and remind 
 them of their sinful state. Words are many, but do they 
 feed the hungry? Prayer is a blessed privilege, but 
 does it clothe the naked ? The gift of a Bible is a pre 
 cious gift, but will it shelter the homeless ? The sound 
 of music is delightful, but what would av.ail the most 
 ravishing strains that ever flowed from the famous harp 
 of Orpheus,, to one when gaunt, meager want was 
 fiercely gnawing at his vitals. Prayer without work 
 is like a farmer who has sown seed but neglected the 
 harvest. 
 
 When a vessel is wrecked there is a great " hue and 
 cry," but when a precious human soul and a beautiful 
 human body is wrecked, physically, mentally and mor 
 ally, perhaps a few will say, " Poor wretch! Such a 
 wreck ! Why I knew him when he was a promising 
 young man!" and then dismiss the subject. 
 
 One cannot go anywhere without meeting these un 
 timely wrecks; in the cars, in the street cars, on board a 
 ship, w r alking upon the streets, you behold these wrecks. 
 Wrecked in health, wealth, strength and manhood 
 purity, veracity and integrity, all gone, only a misspent 
 life remaining. Oh, how we pity the wives, mothers and 
 daughters of those wrecks of manhood who, with smiles 
 upon their faces are outwardly, patiently and silently sub 
 mitting to the inexorable! But a glimpse at the ineffable 
 misery of the inner life would startle and terrify the be 
 holder. We all live two lives: our external life is cold, 
 plain, practical and selfish; our internal life is full of 
 
\\UKCKKD. 27? 
 
 high aspirations and great expectations, which are rarely 
 realized. 
 
 And it is when our anticipations are blasted, our hopes 
 deferred, our motives and actions misunderstood, our 
 body tired and our minds weary with labor, the tempter 
 entices us, alluring us on and on, and we lack the phy 
 sical and ethical capacity to successfully cope with so 
 skillful an adversary. Then it is we need Christian 
 succor, divine judgment, and the divine aid. Then it 
 is when we are decoyed, life-wrecked. Oh ! Christian 
 man and woman, that you should come forward and not 
 stand far off with pretended sanctimoniousness, " thank 
 ing your stars" that you are so much better than the rest 
 of humanity! What do you know of the past life or of 
 the terrible temptations of the one under present public 
 condemnation. 
 
 Ah, my friends, suppose the mask could be lifted from 
 all our hearts and our most secret thoughts exposed to 
 the public gaze, would we not all make swiftly to some 
 dark closet. Suppose the mask would drop from every 
 professed Christian in any assembly, and all their sins of 
 omission and of commission would be written upon 
 their forehead, just imagine the scattering ! There would 
 be none left; no, not one. You should go to the poor 
 despondent and despairing sinful ones of earth, for they, 
 in their debasement, are afraid and ashamed to come to 
 you. 
 
 Yes, go to them. You are not dead yet, neither are 
 your children. The Omnipotent only knows the future, 
 and that life-wrecked man and woman was once as in- 
 
2y WRECKED. 
 
 nocent as that pure little rosebud which you so lovingly 
 rock to sleep upon your bosom. 
 
 Why need it wither! Why must the virulent canker 
 of disease and sin, of mistrust and selfishness, enter into 
 the inner portals of the exquisite bud, destroying its fra 
 grance and beauty, even before it is matured into full 
 
 bloom ! 
 
 A good gardener is exceedingly careful of a choice 
 rose-bush, shields it from the fiery rays of the summer 
 sun, waters, prunes and guards it from the rough hands 
 of the ignorant and the rude attack of the destructive 
 insect. How patiently he waits for the first tiny leaves! 
 How he rejoices alike at the fragrance of the chased 
 bud, and the exquisitely rare beauty of the full blown 
 rose. 
 
 How many of us tend our precious human rose-bushes 
 as carefully as the hired gardener does the natural! 
 
 Do we mothers do our duty, our whole duty, to the 
 frail, tender, impressible little plants which are entrusted 
 to our keeping ? Do we make our bosoms the port for 
 all their little joys or sorrows, and our strong mother- 
 love the trestle work upon which the tender plants can, 
 and do, climb upward ? Do we attend as carefully to 
 the ethical needs of our children as the physical ? Do 
 we kindly and patiently prune the faults from our own 
 daily lives and conversation so as to shield the little blos 
 soms from the taint and mildew of selfishness and 
 scandal ? Do we shelter the frail plants from the storm 
 of untruthful, windy words, and guard it from rude, 
 vicious companionship ? Do we watch the coming 
 
WRECKED. 279 
 
 bloom of our precious plants with jealous care, making 
 home the real "Utopian Isle" of perfect felicity ? 
 
 If we have not done all this, and more, we are not 
 worthy the excellent diadem of motherhood, and we 
 fear the gate-keeper at the "golden gates" of the Eter 
 nal city, will turn away with a sigh as he refuses us 
 admittance. 
 
 We sincerely hope that futurity will clearly see 
 the fallaciousness of the judgment which upholds the 
 human law in guarding and protecting the rose-bush in 
 one's yard, making it a fine or imprisonment to the 
 " maliciously disposed person or persons who would or 
 should impair or destroy the said bush," and permit 
 the same person or persons, if so disposed, to enter the 
 " Sanctum Sanctorum " of home and destroy our most 
 promising human flowers. 
 
 Fie, fie ! upon the latv which permits the desolation and 
 desecration of a home, be it the rich man's palace or the 
 lowly hovel of those sorely tried people, the miserably 
 poor. 
 
 W r e are told by an eminent historian, that " Cicero 
 vindicated the truth and inculcated the value of the pre 
 cept that ' nothing is truly useful which is not strictly 
 honest.' " 
 
 Can a man be strictly honest and wantonly injure 
 another ? Webster gives the definition of the word 
 honesty, to be " upright, just, fair in dealing with others ; 
 having the disposition to act at all times according to 
 justice or correct moral principles." 
 
 Now in God's name, in the name of truth and justice 
 are you and you acting fairly, justly and honestly to 
 
others when you uphold and elect men to office who 
 will not, or do not, pass laws for the good of their con 
 stituents ? 
 
 'Tis a fearful thing to contemplate a shipwreck in 
 imagination; you can feel the shivering of the ship as 
 she dashes and plunges along. Will she outride the 
 storm ? The captain is an old sea-king, w r ise and sober, 
 the man at the helm is strong and brave, not a rotten 
 plank, not a weak place, her ropes and sails are new and 
 good, her masts are iron bound, her sides ribbed with 
 steel, her keel strongly bolted. Surely she will outride 
 the storm, and arrive safely in port. Hark ! what is that ? 
 Look again. Her sails are torn into shreds, her masts 
 shivered into splinters, her helm useless, her rudder 
 gone. Her gallant captain stands firmly at his post of 
 duty, and gives orders in a sonorous voice which trembles 
 a little in spite of himself, for on board that vessel is a 
 much-loved and only daughter upon her bridal tour. 
 The boats are lowered, but what boat could live in such 
 a violent gale ? Hear the booming of the signal gnu. 
 See the cowering forms, and white, pitiable faces. Listen 
 to the prayers uttered by shaking voices and trembling 
 lips, as visions of the safe home-harbor come galloping 
 Swiftly through the frenzied brain. The monarch of the 
 deep and the king of the wind have united their forces, 
 and the roaring of the waves increases in fierceness. 
 The booming of the gun grows fainter and fainter. 
 Hark to the dreadful shrieks, feel the violence of the 
 shock, the fury of the wind as the ship breaks into 
 pieces; see the horror-stricken faces as they are tossed 
 upon the maddening billows; hear the wild exultations 
 
WRECKED, 28l 
 
 of the ferocious monarch of the deep as he shouts his 
 orders to his vassals, the demons of the gale. 
 
 In the morning the waters of the lake are placid, 
 with here and there a white-robed swan gracefully rock 
 ing upon her swelling bosom. There is nothing left to 
 tell of the fierce storm of yesternight but the ruins of a 
 vessel stranded upon the shore and a corpse or two, 
 "Somebody's darling," with the good-bye kiss almost 
 warm upon their lips. 
 
 Who can portray a life wreck ? 
 
 Have you never seen a young girl, pure as a snow- 
 flake, and as fair as pure, whose presence filled the room 
 with sunny gladness, whose voice was sweeter than the 
 song of many birds, and whose laugh was more musical 
 than an yEolian harp ? Have you never known such a 
 one to be wrecked upon the rocks of pride and fashion ? 
 
 God pity her, whosoever she may be, and throw 
 around her His broad mantle of charity, for she has irrev 
 ocably lost what a life-time of the most remorseful agony 
 cannot restore. 
 
 'Tis exceedingly dreadful to contemplate the vast army 
 of life-wrecks, and hear their sturdy tramp down, even 
 to the portals of the loathesomc tomb. There they go, 
 young and old; you have known some of them in their 
 better days. How pleasant were their expectations as 
 they went to battle manfully with the common occur 
 rences of life. Truth was their rudder, honesty their 
 helm, integrity their captain. They were iron-bound 
 by a mother's love, and steel-ribbed by the tender mem 
 ories of home. 
 
 Their vessel will outride the most furious tempest, and 
 
be wafted into port by fragrant winds and ambrosial 
 dews. But they, too, were allured by the deceitful 
 sirens and were tossed on sin's tempestuous sea, till 
 truth, honesty and integrity were all swept away in a 
 storm of inebriety. The iron bands of a mother's love and 
 the steel-ribbed principles were first burst asunder by 
 the furious hurricane, and the hand of the recording 
 angel grew stiff with horror as it penned the words 
 "Life Wreck." 
 
 Oh, the ineffable misery of the life wreck, when the 
 cold fingers of the icy monster, Death, are clutching at 
 their heart-strings, and they are standing on the preci 
 pice of despair, with the eternal chasm of desolation 
 yawning beneath their feet ! 
 
 Let us not quiescently repose at home, vainly sighing 1 
 for the return of the golden age, but earnestly work to 
 raise such a holy rebellion that Ate and her legions, will 
 be overwhelmed, and the reign of Astrea, the goddess 
 of justice, re-established. 
 
 Is the exquisite workmanship of the Infallible ? 
 the amazing mechanism of the extremely wonderful hu 
 man body, even, beyond the giant intellect of man him 
 self, to be life- wrecked, while God lives, and reason sits 
 upon her throne, and the warm human heart beats 
 within the breast of men and women that walk these 
 streets ? Shall we not vigorously inculcate and vindicate 
 the divine attribute, benevolence, and obliterate the su^ 
 perstructure of all human depravity, selfishness ? 
 
JOHN MARVIN. 
 
 had fallen to an unusual depth; the cold 
 was intense, and rendered more intolerable by 
 the fierce wind which pierced the thinly clad 
 pedestrians to their hearts, and chilled the warm 
 blood in their veins, as a blast from the north pole chills 
 a bank of summer violets. 
 
 By ten o'clock the streets were almost deserted. 
 About eleven the door of a fashionable saloon slowly 
 opened and there entered a gaunt and hungry looking 
 man, with bare toes, red and shining, peering through 
 an old pair of boots, and tattered clothes, which gave 
 evidence of a life of dissipation. The man's clothing 
 seemed to be endowed with the traits of humanity, for 
 there was a gulf between the vest and trousers; the 
 vest, being not quite so ragged and of finer cloth than 
 the trousers, objected to a social union, however strongly 
 the piercing winds of winter hinted at the comfort of 
 such an arrangement* 
 
 The man was five feet, ten inches in height, broad- 
 shouldered, full-chested, and a form emaciated and 
 slightly bent; head and beard unshorn, very dark, and 
 thickly sprinkled with gray. His forehead, deeply 
 seamed, was white and almost massive, and his head of 
 faultless mould. His eye was dark gray^ sunken, and of 
 
peculiar and fascinating po\vcr. There was nothing- 
 rough in his manner; on the contrary, there was an easy 
 grace, almost elegance, which betokened a day of edu 
 cation and refinement. lie stood by the door awhile, as 
 if blinded by the brilliantly-lighted interior, then, stag 
 gering up to the polished bar, he spoke in a trembling 
 voice to the bar-keeper: 
 
 " Once I w r as the possessor of thousands ; to-night I 
 am dying of starvation and cold. For three days I have 
 not tested food; for God's sake give me something to 
 drink!" 
 
 The answer came cold and cutting:. 
 
 o 
 
 " That's played out, old chap w r orn thread -bare long 
 ago; only gentlemen are allowed on these premises; 
 git!" 
 
 * * # *:-..'#''-.'*...'- 4! * 
 
 " Has it come to this ? Can this be death ? Ground 
 under the heel of poverty, shivering with cold, hunger 
 gnawing at my heart-strings, what matters it? One by 
 one the leaden grains are disappearing; the hour-glass 
 is almost empty. Where are the butterflies which cir 
 cled round the golden shrine of summer? King John 
 they used to call me. King of what? a few grains of 
 yellow dust. Born in a palace, starving in a garret. 
 Who can unweave the tangled web of destiny? What 
 have I gathered from the past, but ashes of bitterness ? 
 My purposes have been broken reeds, and at last I stand 
 at the gates of death, groping in the shadow. To die 
 and be forgotten! Ob, dreadful thought! To be ex 
 tinguished as a breath of air exterminates yon flickering 
 candle; rot like a dull weed, disappear like a meteor, 
 
JOHN MAiiviis* 285 
 
 the soul incarcerated within the mouldy walls of the 
 grave forever. -Impossible! the inextinguishable fires 
 of hell would be far more preferable. Oh, Jesus, thou 
 son of David, have mercy on me!" 
 
 The reverberation of the voice of Him who said, 
 " All that come unto me I will in no wise cast out," 
 came from the tomb of the past and rekindled the em 
 bers of the ruins of former consciousness, partly con 
 sumed by idleness and dissipation, but still glowing 
 upon the altar of the noble and impassioned soul, estab 
 lishing the Immovable certitude of divine law which 
 
 o 
 
 truly sways the lever, whose fulcrum is justice, whose 
 extent is rectitude, whose weight is the universe, and 
 whose sweep is endless duration. So, on the very verge 
 of eternity, his weary soul drank in the incarnate rapture 
 of divine mercy, and from the billows of remorse arose 
 an ardent heart-prayer which sprang from inner depths 
 of the soul's life, and condensed the repentance of a life 
 time. On the marsh of despond the crystalline dews of 
 hope fell, transfiguring the rank weeds into lilies of holi 
 ness, whose perfume was wafted by the soft winds of 
 perfect peace into the purple chamber of the soul for- 
 e verm ore. 
 
 The night was bitter cold, but he knew it not. The 
 moon shone gloriously through the attic window. Phvs- 
 ical suffering for him was past. The gnawing of 
 hunger, the piercing of cold, was gone. In the solemn 
 pauses of the wind storm he saw a visioned summer, 
 heard the birds sing, and smelt the perfume of the 
 violets which grew in the old garden at home. A de 
 licious drowsiness stole over him. He was a child again, 
 
286 JOHN MARVIN. 
 
 From the dim glades of the past, soft and low as angels' 
 footsteps, down the purple tide of weary day came the 
 sweet voice of his mother singing to him his cradle song. 
 So, repeating to himself the childish prayer which 
 always followed after the song, he fell asleep. 
 
 Three days after, the lifeless body of the once fash 
 ionable John M was found by a little newsboy, his 
 
 only earthly friend, and buried by the city. His funeral 
 procession consisted of two drunken Irishmen, who 
 buried, him, and a little ragged boy, who wept great 
 tears, which fell upon the rude pine coffin in the form of 
 a wreath; tears which were frozen as they fell, and, 
 when tinted by the golden sunbeams, resembled a crown 
 of orient pearls which were in fact a priceless diadem of 
 beauty gathered from the mine of human sympathy. 
 
 Poor John never having been taught the dignity of 
 labor, his unfledged wings were useless; he was like a 
 tropical bird caught in a northern blast. He lacked the 
 necessary experience which the stern teaching of pov 
 erty imparts to her favored children, rendering them 
 almost invincible. Prosperity is but a shadow upon the 
 dial-plate of time; the winds arise, the clouds gather, 
 and it is gone. All pay reverence to the giant oak upon 
 a summer's day ; but few prop up its trembling branches 
 during a winter storm. 
 
 We all understand the brevity of human life, but few^ 
 very few, extract the sweets from the golden flowers of 
 the present. The beauties of the morning sunrise pass 
 unnoticed. Like a vast multitude of moths, we are 
 longing to singe our wings in the fierce blaze of noon 
 day, which we spend in vain regrets, delusive hopes, and 
 
JOHN MARVIX. 27 
 
 foolish fears. Amid the glories of an evening sunset we 
 stand in the marsh of despond, whilst adown ethereal 
 space a gleaming flood of gold gilds the landscape with 
 marvelous beauty. 
 
 John M was but one victim in a thousand of the 
 
 false teaching that honest labor is dishonorable. Slave 
 to society, which demands of its votaries nothing but 
 senseless extravagance, which enwraps the sons and 
 daughters of America with the strength of a boa-con 
 strictor, till their souls are shriveled as the body of an 
 Egyptian mummy; truth, trust and honesty are blown 
 away like fallen leaves in an autumn gale, while the ac 
 cursed inbreathing of dishonesty, flowing from the 
 golden sluices of political aristocracy, invades the air like 
 miasma from an African swamp. 
 
 Every series of human events repeats its own history ; 
 every human act inscribes itself on the globe of memory, 
 and can never be entirely obliterated from the scroll of 
 time when written by the sunbeams of truth. 
 
 When the flame is gone, the smoke and ashes remain. 
 As the clouds gather vapor, so life gathers atoms. As 
 the clouds would be useless without the wind, so would 
 human life without the immortal spirit. At one time 
 the sheeny, purpling clouds glide majestically through a 
 smiling summei\sky, at, another, driven violently along, 
 accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and rolling- 
 thunder, they are at last torn and scattered by their death 
 winds. This, too, is an emblem of life, and though the 
 rain storm was of short duration, it left its sepulcher in 
 the smiling fields and wrote its modest epitaph upon the 
 lofty trees, bladed grass and blooming flowers. 
 
-88 
 
 JOHN MARVIN. 
 
 The sun prints a map of its presence on the face of 
 nature more or less lasting writing with his gold pen 
 his past course upon the plant and the pebble, the rock 
 and' the leaf, the snow upon the mountain, the soil in the 
 valley. His power is in the sky, his mercy in the air. 
 The universe is a memorandum of his signature, which 
 speaks to the intelligent. 
 
COMPARISON BETWEEN VOLTAIRE AND 
 ST. PAUL 
 
 J5?HOM have we here ? Voltaire. Endowed 
 f 
 
 }f/$l with genius, intellectually great, dignified 
 graceful, and fascinating in a remarkable 
 degree; not only courted by those who 
 wielded the scepter of government, but . also by those 
 who wielded the scepter of knowledge; crowned with 
 celebrity, admired of men, and worshipped by women, 
 surely he was greatly blessed. His opportunities for 
 doing good were ever ample. Did he improve them ? 
 Lives there to-day, one person upon the face of the 
 globe, who can truly say that the gifted Voltaire was a 
 real benefit to mankind ? Was ever any one better or 
 happier for having gained his friendship ? Do parents, 
 as a general thing, place his writings in the hands of 
 their children ? Possessing wealth, love, fame, friend 
 ship, wit, genius everything that the world could 
 give, yet was he happy? was he satisfied? Let him 
 speak for himself hear what he says : " The world 
 abounds with wonders, and also with victims. In man 
 is more wretchedness than in all other animals put to 
 gether." By what did he judge mankind? by himself. 
 He furthermore says : " Man loves life, yet he knows 
 he must die; spends his existence in diffusing the mis- 
 
290 COMPARISON VOLTAIRE AND ST. PAUL. 
 
 cries he has suffered, cutting the throat of his fellow 
 creatures for pay cheating and being cheated ; the bulk 
 of mankind are nothing more than a crowd of wretches 
 equally unfortunate. I wish I had never been born." 
 You perceive that Voltaire was weary of life ; but w r ere 
 his anticipations joyful, when he could not avoid going 
 out upon the unknown current of eternity? Forsaken 
 by friends, he stretched forth his hands, but their clutch 
 was weak, few tears fell, no loving arms clasped him 
 Human skill was vain, and he went drifting, drifting, 
 past the arches, and the columns, alone and helpless, 
 down the long arcade into the infinite, lost, lost, lost ! 
 
 Here is St. Paul. He, too, was educated in manners, 
 law and science beloved and extolled by the Jews ; for 
 he w r as an enthusiastic admirer of the traditions of the 
 Pharisaic school and a zealous persecutor of the Chris 
 tians. But when his eyes were opened, how nobly he 
 retrieved the past. What an honor to his country and a 
 blessing to humanity. Though generation after genera 
 tion has faded from sight, like the glory of the sunset 
 from the evening sky, the memory of St. Paul is very 
 pleasant, and his writings are in every home. While 
 the beautiful gems which dropped from his lips in the 
 long ago fall upon the ears of the invalid of to-day like 
 the softest strains from the golden wires of an Eolian 
 harp; when desponding and world-weary, how it 
 lightens our burdens to think of Paul, and as the North 
 Star guides the mariner safe to harbor, so the heroic ex 
 ample of faithful Paul shines before us and guides us on 
 and on, over the thorns and up the rugged way, nearer 
 the throne. From a persecutor, Paul became persecuted. 
 
COMPARISON VOLTAIRE AND ST. PAUL. 1L)l 
 
 He was arrested and arraigned before King Agrippa. 
 Behold him as he stood up manfully while surrounded 
 by enemies and eloquently pleaded the cause of the 
 " Lord of Lords, and King of Kings. " His life was in 
 danger; he was scourged, stoned, driven here and there, 
 imprisoned, and persecuted in every manner. Despised 
 and forgotten by former friends, he wandered along the 
 way-side of life, scattering seeds which were to spring 
 up and yield such a bountiful harvest in the future. Was 
 Paul happy ? Through the past, for the good of pos 
 terity, comes the echo of those immortal words : " I 
 have fought a good fight, I have finished my course ; I 
 have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me 
 a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the right 
 eous judge, will give me at that day." Paul was happy. 
 And though he suffered decapitation in the reign of 
 Nero/ he died a glorious death. " Angels hovered 
 around " the dying scene, and " the spirit of the living 
 God " brought such mental joy that his physical suffer 
 ing- was unfelt. 
 
ERNEST TREMA1N. 
 
 AINTER and fainter became the rolling thun 
 der as the dark clouds parted slowly and sailed 
 majestically away. The rain ceased. The sun 
 ^peered through the racking clouds. A rainbow 
 arched the heavens, then disappeared as the sun shone 
 forth warm and bright. The passing breeze like the 
 kindly hand of a friend tenderly shook the over-burdened 
 trees, lightened them of their load, and softly brushed the 
 tears from the hearts' of the flowers, w'.iile the sun 
 changed those which remained into shining pearls, just 
 as the Holy Spirit turns the drops of penitent agony in 
 the human heart into a casket of sparkling jewels 
 which in God's own good time shall blaze forth in the 
 glorious halls of eternity. 
 
 The grand loveliness of the landscape mingled with 
 the genial air and the perfumed breath of flowers seemed 
 to invite Ernest Tremain to solitude. He left the city 
 and ascended the mountain. The beautiful storehouse 
 of Nature opened her richest treasures at his feet and 
 seemed to reproach him for his past vileness, as he sat 
 musing alone on the trunk of an ancient pine tree, fit 
 symbol of fallen greatness. A host of phantoms with 
 their mighty voices came creeping from the past, kind 
 ling strangely bitter fires, causing them to burn and tor- 
 
ERNEST TREMAIN. 293 
 
 ture his fiercely throbbing heart anew. Hopes, dreams, 
 and memories that he thought had fled upon the receding 
 waves of time forever, came mournfully surging back 
 through the rusty bars of forgetfulness into the bright 
 ened corridors of memory, mastering pride, and driving 
 the currents of anguish against the "windows of his 
 soul " and there breaking and falling into a silent spray 
 of pain. 
 
 The bright summer days of his youth had gone for 
 ever. The fond dreams of his fancy had been dimmed 
 somewhat, whilst wandering through the green-woods 
 of life. Autumn came and the grand loveliness of the 
 waning summer fell around him dark and cold, then the 
 winds arose and the ominous rain of unbelief fell in co 
 pious showers from the lowering clouds of sorrow, and 
 overflowed the deep founts of his heart and turned them 
 all to bitterness. 
 
 For the first time in life Trcmain prayed, wrongly 
 prayed, for death, for oblivion, for annihilation, anything 
 but his present remorse. Darkness gathered around, 
 darkness which could be felt as the wailing wind sobbed 
 through the moaning pines. He saw himself just as he 
 was, in all his baseness, and hated himself accordingly. 
 His faithful dog made several attempts to caress him but 
 he drove him away with curses. A storm arose. The 
 rain descended, the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, 
 but he heeded them not, for the storm without was 
 peaceful to the terrific storm which raged within. 
 
 Morning dawned at last, bright and beautiful. The 
 powerful sire of day arose in majestic splendor and 
 smiled beneficently on the universe, whilst the great Sire 
 
294 ERNEST TREMAIN. 
 
 of sires looked down with infinite mercy upon a poor, 
 fallen soul lying prostrate with anguish, on the lonely 
 mountain. So, by and by, the tempestuous storm abated, 
 and the transient sunbeams of hope shone through the 
 brightened clouds, and down the dim, dry glades of 
 memory came faintly, so very faintly, the soft sweet 
 strain of forgotten music from the lips of Faith, sweep 
 ing away the dark webs of scoffing and selfishness, awak 
 ening the viewless spirit of the mind to nobler action, 
 and soothing the secret longing of the soul by softly 
 whispering " Love, labor and wait." 
 
 Why does it take years of sorrow, months of suffering, 
 weeks of pain, and days and nights of sharpest agony, 
 to teach us the simple little lesson of loving, laboring 
 and waiting aright? Why have we the courage to let 
 the blighting air from the desert of sin sweep the golden 
 fringe of purity from the purple chamber of our souls, 
 and n'ot the fortitude to cease mourning its departure? 
 
 Ernest T remain fell upon his knees and prayed aright, 
 as he had never prayed since childhood, and God blessed 
 him, and the vail of darkness was rent from the eyes of his 
 understanding, the demon of misery fled and the white- 
 robed angel of tranquility smiled peace into his soul, as 
 he arose and threw away the powder which he had been 
 treasuring in the magazine of appetite, plucked hate 
 from his heart and scattered the ashes of the past to the 
 winds of oblivion, as one by one a vast procession of 
 shades passed before him, then faded into the past 
 forever. 
 
 He stooped and patted his patient 4cg on the head 
 spoke kindly to him, the dog whorq |ie had cursed 
 
ERNEST TREMAIN. 295 
 
 the night before. His voice was changed, his step 
 was firm, his eye was earnest, and his head erect, for he 
 had resolved to regain his squandered birthright, to take 
 up the world unto himself, and surmount the mountain 
 of difficulty which lay in his pathway, and no longer 
 cumber the ground a dead and fruitless tree. 
 
 Life resembles a high mountain. In the spring-time 
 of youth the trees bud and blossom, the birds sing 
 sweetly, the primrose and violet bloom along our path 
 way; we are happy and hopeful, and eagerly grasp at 
 the surrounding beauties. We begin at the base with 
 joyous laughter, but spring wears on apace. The moun 
 tain becomes more rough and rugged, and summer finds 
 us but half way up, the blossoms begin to fall from the 
 trees, as innocence from our young hearts, our way be 
 comes more rocky and uneven, the sun beats down 
 fiercely upon us, and we murmur, lose faith, and are 
 easily discouraged ; some wander off here from the true 
 path and enter a green land. The lane is pleasant at 
 first, but ends in a gulf, the gulf in infinite despair. 
 Others have gone from the trees, only the fruit remains, 
 but some of the fruit is sour, worthless, bitter; on one 
 hand trees are shorn of leaves, fruit and blossoms, the 
 words of unbelief have at last gained admittance into 
 their hearts and they stand dead and sapless, whilst on 
 the other they are laden with frin't grateful to the eye, 
 pleasant to the touch, luscious to the taste and strength 
 ening to the inner man, but will it all k?ep pure and 
 spotless through the winter? I'm afraid not, 
 
 'Tis winter, we can go no farther; we must descend^ 
 like a band of pilgrims we fain would stop and rest, buf 
 
296 
 
 ERNEST TREMAIX. 
 
 remorseless Time pushes us clown, down ! Happy are 
 the trees which cling closely to the rock of life, as the 
 storms of winter close around them, and retain their life- 
 giving" sap to blossom again in the resurrection morn, 
 
 in the garden of the Eternal. 
 
RELIGION. 
 
 RUE religion is a leveler it causes the head 
 of the haughty to bow, and raises the eyes 
 of the humble. The exclusive aristocrat and 
 the liberal democrat should meet as equals 
 around the altar. The ponderous doors of the Divine 
 ark are not opened by routine or method, but by active 
 faith and earnest prayer. The steps which lead into the 
 ark are rough, high, and hard to climb. The first is re 
 pentance, followed by amendment; the second is firm 
 reliance on the veracity of God; the third is charity, or 
 liberality in judging the words or actions of others; the 
 fourth is unselfishness, which is only another name for 
 active goodness. The path of rectitude, though some 
 times rugged, always leads to peace and pleasure. The 
 indulgence of one wrong and unselfish act can only be 
 rectified in thought of regret. No self-denial or atone 
 ment can recall the past. By the divine gift of memory 
 we are warned by the past and cautioned to pay more 
 strict attention to duty in the present, and also taught to 
 do right and rely on the wisdom of our Father to pro 
 vide for the future. 
 
 A great many of the wise and learned of every age 
 seem to have been laboring under the impression that 
 
 ** the Christian religion is a religion of sorrow," We 
 13 
 
290 RELIGION. 
 
 presume that this idea arose from the fact that horrible 
 atrocities have been perpetrated in the vain hope of crush 
 ing out this great human leveler, and bitter enmities im 
 planted which the recent massacre of Acapulco teaches 
 us centuries have not availed entirely to eradicate. We 
 are proud to admit that many of the brightest gems of 
 manhood and womanhood have suffered persecution, in 
 carceration, crucifixion, decapitation and martyrdom at 
 the stake for the upholding of the royal standard of 
 King Jesus. Yes ; we glory in a religion which permit 
 ted that grand old man, Bishop Latimer, at whose feet 
 the fire was already lighted, to give utterance to these 
 prophetic words : " Be of good comfort, master Ridley, 
 and play the man ; we shall this day light such a candle, 
 by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put 
 out." And though the fagots were already burning 
 around this God-like Bishop, he did not seem to be very 
 sorrowful. Ah! Bishop, the fire with which thine ene 
 mies sought to destroy thee, served but to perpetuate thy 
 memory, and caused others to vindicate thy principles 
 and emulate thy virtues. Although the miseries of 
 those who have lost life and property for vindicating 
 and inculcating truth and justice, are great, yet the can 
 did are forced to admit they are small in comparison with 
 the enormous amount of wretchedness originating from 
 unbelief and sin. Christianity ennobles and elevates; 
 sin debases and demoralizes. Science tells us that the 
 moon of itself is dark and covered with barren rocks. 
 Blot out the king of day, and you immediately blot out 
 the majesty of the queen of night. Mankind, like the 
 jrioon, is naturally dark and barren of goodness; but th 
 
RELIGION. 299 
 
 majestic light emanating from the King of Righteous 
 ness enlightens, beautifies and dignifies humanity, until, 
 in our amazement, we are apt to forget the source from 
 whence it comes. 
 
 It cannot be agreeable to suffer in any sense of the 
 word. It is emphatically a disagreeable evil, though it 
 may be our duty to bear it, and the knowledge of having 
 saved others from its endurance is of course a grand and 
 noble satisfaction. If it were a pleasant thing in itself, 
 we should wish others to suffer, but the gratification lies 
 not at all in the sorrow or suffering, but in the thought 
 of having averted it from those we love. It is surely a 
 proof of overruling beneficence that humanity can thus 
 obtain a pleasure from the fires of agony. 
 
 But why should we mislead ourselves and others by 
 attempting to conceal the fact that misery in every form, 
 whether physical or mental, is but an evidence of our 
 own imperfections which we should deplore and seek to 
 mend. Why was Christ a man of sorrow? Because 
 he suffered for the sins of others. Every one of the 
 sorrows of Christ originated from the disobedience of 
 humanity. Take away sin in every form, and sorrow 
 and suffering will cease. How can the Christian relig 
 ion be a religion of sorrow, when the Participator and 
 Alleviator of all sorrow hath said, " Your sorrow shall 
 be turned into joy ? " The human heart is the most won 
 derful piece of mechanism which God ever created. It 
 is pained by disappointment, excited by passion, moved 
 by pity, and ruled by love. We are amazed at our own 
 actions ; we mark out for ourselves a path from which 
 W? do not intend to deviate; but passion ensnares us^ 
 
300 RELIGION. 
 
 and we are astray.. We form resolutions which we 
 firmly intend to adhere to, even at the loss of life; pity 
 weeps a tear, and they are shaken; love takes possession, 
 and the high purposes, grand aspirations and pure prin 
 ciples of a life-time yield to inclination as straws yield to 
 a whirlwind. Our present life is an incomprehensible 
 mystery, but the Christian religion is not "a religion 
 of sorrow " by any means. Only those who possess it 
 are capable of enjoying true happiness. We pity the 
 contumacy of the nature that will persist in dwelling in 
 the shrouded Cimmerian darkness when, by a single 
 effort, it could push out into the cheerful sunshine and 
 boundless riches of a Father's love. 
 
UNCHANGEABLE LOVE. 
 
 ENVIABLE is the lot of those that are never 
 forgotten ; equally happy are those who receive 
 from their fellows sincere trust and perennial 
 friendship. What is true friendship, but Pla 
 tonic love ? What do we love with ? With our souls, 
 of course. We are told that the soul is immortal; if 
 that be true, the love of the soul may be as much 
 immortal as God himself, and Heaven would not 
 be, without those we love. Where God is, there is 
 Heaven. Be it deep down into the bowels of the earth, 
 or far up, above the blue pavilion, beyond the glittering 
 constellations to the infinitude of space, it matters not, so 
 God is there. 
 
 The fundamental principle of Heaven is love. The 
 superstructure of the infernal region is built on selfish 
 ness, envy and hate. If it had not been for the most in 
 flexible friendship and the divinest love, where would 
 we be to-day ? Upon what a fearful precipice would we 
 be standing ! How dark would have been the present ! 
 what infernal gloom ; what utter darkness would have 
 enshrouded the future as we went gliding down the 
 precipice of time ! 
 
 When we are smitten with disease, and hemmed in by 
 the darkness of desolation, and weep with bitterness of 
 
302 UNCHANGEABLE LOVE. 
 
 heart, and lament with the waitings of the lost; when 
 human trust and love fail, and we sit in the lowermost 
 pit of dismay and sin; when we stretch forth our hands 
 in supplication, and raise our woeful eyes in pleading for 
 human compassion and succor pleading with those 
 whom we have loved and trusted; those who in former 
 days had loved and trusted us to see such turn away, 
 and with words of ice pass by on the other side, it is 
 then, and then only, that the mind of man can clearly 
 grasp the wonderful truism contained in those precious 
 words, " God is love." Love is Heaven ; hate is hell ; 
 wealth is a deceiver; worldly fame and honor continue 
 not; the head that bows, and the voice that extols in 
 prosperity, shall condemn and not hold you innocent in 
 the trial of adversity. 
 
 That being does not exist in any land, no matter 
 how exalted were he peer of kings, and did he 
 possess the strength of Hercules, the wealth and wisdom 
 of Solomon, the beauty of Narcissus and the unselfish 
 ness of Moses but must lie down and sleep at last; and 
 the sun will shine, the dew fall, the rain descend, and 
 the withered flowers hold up their heads and smile as 
 happily as if the city of decay had not received another 
 occupant. 
 
 As the water impresses the stones, so love impresses 
 the immortal soul; and love shall live again, glorified, 
 sanctified through all eternity. 
 
 Save and hoard, you men of wealth; cramp and grind 
 the honest poor ; have ye forgotten that deeds of charity 
 are as acceptable to the Divine heart as drops of dew to 
 a land of drouth ? 
 
UNCHANGAEBLE LOVE. 303 
 
 To dress and be fashionable seems to be the highest 
 aim of a democratic American lady now-a-days. One 
 ring from that soft, white hand, would make some poor 
 family not only happy, but also comfortable all winter. 
 All the gew-gaws that wealth can buy are but trash to 
 one clasped in the arms of the angel of death. 
 
 Your days are numbered. Your opportunities for do 
 ing good are vanished. Death prevails; hope flies away. 
 The worms feed as greedily upon the rich man's dainty 
 darlings, who are lovingly laid to rest with funeral pomp 
 and pride, as they do upon the weary one who sleeps in 
 a rude coffin in an unknown grave, with none to mourn 
 and but two to break the sod. 
 
 What is life but a shadow ? We look back upon the 
 past and are astonished. We think of the wickedness 
 and snares that obtain in the present, and are well nigh 
 overwhelmed. We meditate on the future and the won 
 drous claims of love with the very essence of happiness, 
 and hope binds us with her golden fetters to earth, and 
 follows our loved ones to the empyrean regions of fe 
 licity. 
 
EMINENT ENERGIES. 
 
 OVE and perseverance are the most valuable 
 traits of character which can be cultivated. 
 Without their possession happiness is im 
 possible. Nothing affords us more gratifi 
 cation than friendly intercourse with those we love. 
 It seems to be natural that all pure social feeling' should 
 be attended with pleasure. Benevolence, sympathy, sen 
 sibility, love and affability, necessarily produce agreeable 
 sensations in the minds of the participants. 
 
 Let all social intercouse founded on true love and con 
 stancy, depart from the world, and the golden grain 
 would rot in the fruitful field; the waters of the com 
 mercial oceans would stagnate, and the loud whirling of 
 machinery and noisy manipulation of labor would cease. 
 Men would prey upon one another, and life and property 
 would be insecure. Witness the state of things in south 
 ern localities, where the beautiful angel of love has fled 
 weeping from the dark demoniac spirit of hate. Behold 
 Mexico, where bloodshed and 'riot obtain in place of 
 tranquility and happiness, where the progeny of that Old 
 Python not only desecrated the holy of holies with their 
 presence, but stung to death the pious devotees of the 
 Living God at the very foot of the altar. 
 
 Without the sweet solace of love, the prolific plain of 
 
EMINENT ENERGIES. 305 
 
 the human heart would soon become a barren desert. 
 
 
 
 It is the mainspring of all human action. It strengthens 
 the arm of the laborer, sharpens the wit of the lawyer, 
 and gives endurance to the widow, perseverance to the 
 missionary, and calms the mind of the sailor as he climbs 
 the mast in the furious hurricane, with visions of a safe 
 home-nest where dwell his household gods in peace and 
 safety. It is the love of civil liberty which animates the 
 soldier as he stands firm and never falters, while one by 
 one his companions fall around him. He sees not their 
 pale, upturned faces, nor heeds their dying moan. It is 
 enough for him to know that the glorious constellation 
 of liberty is in danger of obscuration ; and the mournful 
 cry of the wounded eagle closes his eyes and shuts his 
 ears to other sights and sounds. 
 
 When you were hungering for sympathy, and stretched 
 forth your hand for the soft, warm bread of appreciation, 
 and received instead the hard, cold stone of distrust and 
 dislike, does that prove that all bread is stone ? surely 
 not. Because your friend has misunderstood you, is that 
 any reason that you should begin sowing the thistle seed 
 of hate ? Have you done for your friend what Christ 
 did for you ? Do you wipe the bloody sweat of agony 
 from his brow by accepting the stupendous sacrifice 
 which he made for the healing of sin ? Do you never 
 distrust his mercy and love for yourself ? 
 
 The divine attributes of perseverance and love bring 
 their own reward; they are the frost-work of pure gold 
 to the purple chamber of the soul. We cannot very 
 well help being pleased with ourselves, not only for the 
 purity of our motives, but for the unselfishness of our 
 
306 EMINENT ENERGIES. 
 
 purposes, therefore be not dismayed if you have cast the 
 rarest jewels of your heart before one who looked upon 
 them as paste. Were these not more valuable than ever 
 when they came from the grinding mill of the lapidary 
 of sorrow ? 
 
 That great rock Christianity remains unshaken, while 
 the white-capped waves of infidelity roll back broken by 
 the persevering love of the finite, who faithfully 
 bore the cross that all might gain the crown of im 
 mortality. 
 
THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS POEM. 
 
 All the sweet stars sang and glittered, 
 
 In the radiant olden time, 
 Till the cup of Life, embittered, 
 
 Flashed along their feast sublime; 
 When the chorus fell, and ever 
 
 Though they spiled through falling tears, 
 Like a far, resplendent river, 
 
 Ran the music of the spheres. 
 
 And the moon uprose serenely 
 
 In that plaintive time of old, 
 And her mantle, lustrous, queenly, 
 
 Like a silver mist unrolled ; 
 But her brow was pale, and stilly 
 
 All her beauty clasped the air, 
 And she wore the mystic lily 
 
 In the glory of her hair. 
 
 Then the crimson lips of morning 
 Kissed the world to life and light, 
 
 And the blue seas caught the warning 
 With a revel of delight ; 
 
 And the bold peaks towered grandly 
 To the arches of the sky, 
 
308 THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 
 
 While the perfumed zephyrs blandly 
 Waked the meadows with a sigh. 
 
 Birds in hues of floral splendor 
 
 Flamed and sang in tropic woods, 
 Tinted vapors, dim and tender, 
 
 Wreathed the sky in lovely moods ; 
 And the winding rivers, dreamy 
 
 With the shadows that they bore, 
 Trailed their crystal robes and beamy 
 
 To the ocean's misted shore. 
 
 Gemmy lakelets lay enchanted 
 
 .In the glamour of the Ea^t, 
 And the trees immortals planted, 
 
 Dropped a gold and purple feast; 
 And the yellow lion, sleeping 
 
 In the hyacinthe shades, 
 Saw the fearless lambkins leaping 
 
 Down the clover-scented glades. 
 
 White-limbed mortals, idly roving 
 
 In Elysian ecstac^, 
 Knew no duller task than loving, 
 
 And were God-like, fair and free ; 
 For their lives were but the summing 
 
 Of the sweets the angels sip 
 Drowsy as the brown bee's humming 
 
 At the woodbine's fragrant lip. 
 
 'Twas the happy age, the golden^ 
 Which the elder poets sang 
 
THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 309 
 
 When their measures, rare and olden, 
 
 Up to heaven rose and rang; 
 But a north-wind blew, the flowers 
 
 Curled and withered in its breath, 
 And above the trysting bowers 
 
 Ran the whisper : " Labor death !" 
 
 And the palm-tree lisped no longer 
 
 Tales of love and peace benign, 
 For a music, braver, stronger, 
 
 Shook the plumage of the pine ; 
 And the surges, shoreward bending, 
 
 Rolled the thunder of a prayer 
 That was half a paean, blending 
 
 Battle, vict'ry, and despair. 
 
 Still the fair moon wandered nightly 
 
 In enameled fields of blue, 
 And the springing dawn still brightly 
 
 Showered rubies on the dew ; 
 Phoebus still passed on and over, 
 
 Crowning earth with regal charms, 
 And caressed her, like a lover, 
 
 In the rose-wreath of his arms. 
 
 But the bugle-call of duty 
 
 Echoed down life's rocky stair, 
 And the world's receding beauty 
 
 Told of tempests in the air; 
 For the slow and strange uncoiling 
 
 Of the wondrous fate of man, 
 
310 THE LEGEND OF 
 
 In the dust and din of toiling, 
 And the rush of strife bean. 
 
 On the clear, unspotted pages 
 
 Of the pearly book of mind, 
 Through the weary lapse of ages, 
 
 Shades of truth were dimly lined ; 
 Words were blotted, phrases tangled, 
 
 But a transcript grew apace 
 Of the features, O how mangled ! 
 
 Of Jehovah's hidden face. 
 
 Genius spread her purple pinions 
 
 For a flight beyond the stars, 
 Valor called his fiery minions 
 
 To the wreck of savage wars ; 
 And the sheen of cities, founded 
 
 By the rivers and the seas, 
 Marked the periods grandly rounded 
 
 On the roll of destinies. 
 
 Many gods, with wild grimaces, 
 
 Led the faith of men astray 
 Temples rose in sacred places, 
 
 And the priests bore kingly sway ; 
 But the keen sword, never sleeping, 
 
 In the twilight flashed and rang, 
 Where the stormy hosts, at reaping, 
 
 To a moon of scarlet sang. 
 
 Like a sail that glints in turning 
 On the ocean's cloudy rim, 
 
THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 
 
 Hints of truth, a moment burning, 
 Touched the spirit's border dim 
 
 Touched and passed, and left the tremor 
 Of a flitting sense of light, 
 
 On the soul of sage or dreamer, 
 
 Watching, listening through the night. 
 
 Sweet as vesper bells, recalling 
 
 Weariness to prayer and rest, 
 Were the words of wisdom, falling 
 
 From the lips the gods caressed ; 
 For the minds of some, uplifted 
 
 O'er the tumult of the years, 
 Through the veil of shadows, rifted, 
 
 Caught the sunlight's leveled spears. 
 
 On prophetic temples, visions 
 
 Of redemption blossomed then, 
 And, beyond the sword's decisions, 
 
 Shone the star of peace again ; 
 But the pall of superstition 
 
 Hovered still o'er courts and camps, 
 And the seers, in pale contrition, 
 
 Stumbled on by misty lamps. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis a gala night with immortals above, 
 And sweet, as the sigh of the woman you love, 
 
 Is the loitering breath of the breeze ; 
 And the tresses of moonlight are drifted and blown, 
 
312 THE LEGEND OE LIFE. 
 
 On the lips of the sea-waves, subduing -their moan, 
 And tangled in odorous trees. 
 
 II. 
 
 And the stars, from their beautiful vases of gold, 
 Besprinkle the earth with ambrosia untold, 
 
 And the scintillant laughter of light ; 
 But the vale of Judea is waiting the crown 
 Of a kinglier splendor than stars shower down, 
 
 Or wreathe on the brow of the night. 
 
 III. 
 
 The waters of Jordan salute as they pass 
 The flowers that lean to the whispering grass, 
 
 With a crystalline tinkle of song; 
 And the olives kiss hands to the mystical palm 
 The queen and the priestess of luster and calm, 
 
 As the moments of Jubilee throng. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, fair as the bosoms of maidens, the hills 
 Heave soft in. the ocean of rapture that fills 
 
 The domain of the prophets and kings ; 
 And the shepherds, reclined on the blossomy swells, 
 Talk low as they listen to murmurous bells, 
 
 Or the bird that awakens and sings. 
 
 V. 
 
 Is it dawn that the stars are so suddenly pale ? 
 Is the daylight aflame in the shimmering veil 
 
 Of the pensive and lingering moon ? 
 Ah, morn never rose and the day never shone 
 
THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 313 
 
 | 
 
 With a glory like this, which do.th seem to be thrown 
 From the disk of some marvelous noon ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 For the gates that the poets and psalmists have sung, 
 At the nod of the Father have suddenly swung, 
 
 And the planets their splendor enfurl ; 
 As a flash of the Throne, an ineffable beam 
 Is an instant astray, and has left us a dream 
 
 Of sapphire and diamond and pearl. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There's a step on the stair that the angels have trod, 
 And the Prince of the Manger, our brother and God, 
 
 Is the guest and the grace of us all ; 
 Our captain in battle, the rose and the wreath 
 Of our life and our love, and our triumph when death 
 
 Shall trumpet the welcome recall. 
 
 viii. Bancroft Library 
 
 Oh, Jesus of Nazareth, comfort us still, 
 
 For the pathway is dim and the tempest is chill, 
 
 And our sorrows thou only canst tell ; 
 And the spheres never roam in the clear amethyst, 
 But they beckon and say thou wilt come to the tryst, 
 
 And we know that the rest will be well. 
 
 Lo ! the torch of Heaven, streaming 
 O'er the devious ways of earth, 
 
 Left full many a beacon gleaming 
 On the altar and the hearth ; 
 
314 THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 
 
 In the desert sparkled fountains 
 That were never known before, 
 
 And the cold and craggy mountains 
 A serener aspect wore. 
 
 Then the heavy tome of Science 
 
 Slowly loosed its mighty maze, 
 And no longer bade defiance 
 
 To the paly student's gaze; 
 On the canvass blushed the beauty 
 
 Which the soul of art doth keep, 
 And the sculptor's priestly duty 
 
 Woke the marble's snowy sleep. 
 
 Woe befell, and nations wandered 
 
 In the slimy sloughs and fens, 
 And a wealth of hope was squandered 
 
 In Cimmerian glooms and glens; 
 But the goal of all endeavor, 
 
 Like a soaring shaft of flame, 
 Tossed its plumy crest forever, 
 
 Till the peoples onward came. 
 
 There was heard the moan of bondage 
 
 And the lingering shriek of pain, 
 And Olea's glossy frondage 
 
 Dripped with battle's costly rain ; 
 For the years, with flying shuttle, 
 
 Wove a sombre web of doom- 
 Brightened only by the subtle 
 
 Thread of Hope's refulgent loom. 
 
THE LEGEND OF LIFE. 315 
 
 Yet the ocean swung the censer 
 
 Of its worship evermore, 
 Though the days were darker, denser 
 
 Than the Pagan nights of yore; 
 And the graceful rivers, straying 
 
 In their shining scarfs of mist, 
 Sang of summer, and, delaying, 
 
 Meads and musky gardens kissed. 
 
 O, the woven lights and shadows 
 
 Of the rolling tide of time 
 Purple tents to-day, and meadows 
 
 On the morrow cliffs to climb ! 
 But the broad sun stands forever, 
 
 As the planets wheel and wheel, 
 And our fears depress us never 
 
 When the days at parting kneel. 
 
 Leaf by leaf, the stony record 
 
 Of the strata rises still, 
 And the life of man, so chequered, 
 
 Owns the same eternal will; 
 In the dust and blood and ashes 
 
 Of a thousand wild defeats, 
 Vict'ry springs, the spirit flashes, 
 
 And the pulse of courage beats. 
 
 Lo ! the human min^ advances 
 In the nimbus of her pride, 
 
 And within her starry glances 
 No delusion shall abide ! 
 
316 THE LEGEND OF EIFE. 
 
 In the trackless depths of ether, 
 
 Roving worlds display her sign, 
 And to prisoned Truth, beneath her, 
 
 Patiently her ears incline. 
 
 Yet, beside the tranquil river 
 
 Flowing brightly by our doors, 
 Hearts with old emotions quiver 
 
 As the spirit sinks or soars ; 
 Love is still the sweetest warble 
 
 Lips of ruby ever know 
 Death is still a sphinx-like marble, 
 
 Still a white and speechless woe. 
 
 Isis and Osiris, listening 
 
 To the voices of the Nile, 
 Saw such tears of mortals glistening, 
 
 Knew the sunlight of our smile ! 
 Lo ! while thought has grown and builded 
 
 Temples brighter than the sun, 
 Joy alone our lives has gilded 
 
 Since the reign of Christ begun ! 
 
 Up, and on, O mind of mortal, 
 
 To the'far, imperial heights ! 
 Up, and touch the jasper portal 
 
 That delays thy daring flights ! 
 Touch and turn, the way is weary, 
 
 And the stars no warmth impart, 
 Thou shalt lay thy treasures dreary 
 
 On the threshold of the heart ! 
 
 s. L. s. 
 
THE SOUL AND THE FLOWER. 
 
 Springing, like man, from the dust of the ground, 
 Diffusing the sweetest of fragrance around, \ 
 Opening its bosom to the sun's bright ray, 
 A beautiful little white floweret lay. 
 
 Like the soul of a saint in calm repose, 
 The heart of the flower its leaves enclose ; 
 Receiving with rapture the dew and the sun,. 
 Breathing more sweet as its brief race is run. 
 
 As purple pansies on the spotless snow, 
 The lives of Christians should with virtue glow, 
 Attracting all eyes by their modest worth, 
 The fairest pledges of a fruitful birth. 
 
 Not like the Dahlia, vaunting and vain, 
 Proudly flaunting the poor with cold disdain, 
 But like the Daisy, as becometh its name, 
 Blooming in alley and highway the same. 
 
 The sun, as adversity sternly distills 
 
 Bitter blight in the heart of the flower, 
 
 With healing dew-drops and with pleasure refills, 
 
 Like dews from the Word every hour. 
 
 The heart of the Christian beneath the rod, 
 Blossoms the sweeter in the garden of God ; 
 'T would be well for us all in the last sad hour, 
 \{ our souls did resemble this pure little flower* 
 
MOTHER'S GRIEF. 
 
 Fold the little white hands at rest 
 Upon the little guileless breast; 
 The death-damp will never again 
 Rise on the forehead freed from pain. 
 
 Softly sever a silken tress, 
 Gently smooth the spotless dress, 
 Gather rare lilies waxen white ; 
 How can a mother say good-night ? 
 
 Drive me not hence, I love to stay 
 By the little fair form of clay ; 
 Respect my grief, nor heed my moan, 
 But leave me with 'my dead alone. 
 
 Tender is the trace which lingers, 
 Made by little baby ringers ; 
 Only a mother knows the worth 
 My child was all I had on earth. 
 
WHOSE CHURCH IS THIS? 
 
 It is told of a man poorly dressed, that he went to a church seeking 
 an opportunity to worship. The usher did not notice him, but seated 
 several well-dressed persons who presented themselves, when finally 
 the man addressed the usher, saying : " Can you tell me whose church 
 this is?" "Yes, this is Christ's Church." "Is he in?" was the next 
 question, after which a seat was not so hard to find. Christian Union, 
 November 25/1874. 
 
 " Whose costly church is this ?" the poor man cried ; 
 
 " Was it not to save all that King Jesus died ? 
 
 Or was it for those who wear silks and laces, 
 
 And who attend church w r ith scornful faces ? 
 
 Is it, then, such an awful and grievous sin, 
 
 For the very poor man to seek shelter within ? 
 
 I'm old and feeble with many a care, 
 
 I had found a few roses here and there, 
 
 Like scattered sunbeams or words of prayer, 
 
 But they, too, faded in life's frosty air. 
 
 My loved ones have gone where we all must go." 
 
 Memory whispers of the past, and lo ! 
 
 A pleasant scene upon the stage appears, 
 
 Surrounded by friends, as in former years, 
 
 The sexton smiles and bows, without a fear 
 
 Of soiling the pew with poverty's tear, 
 
 Duly attends and opens wide the door. 
 
 The dream, it. has past; in a moment more 
 
320 WHOSE CHURCH IS THIS? 
 
 Again I stand at the church door and wait, 
 The rich, esteemed for their fair estate, 
 Are seated, and, with haughty pride elate, 
 Would bar the portals of heaven's golden gate. 
 Beneath many a vest, ragged and old, 
 There beats a manly heart of worth untold.