THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 California State Library 
 
 who are required to keep their offices at tlie seat of 
 government, the Justices of the Supreme Court, the At- 
 torney-General and the Trustees of the Library. 
 
 7
 
 m 
 
 m
 
 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 
 
 iCTHOROF " THE LOST HEIRESS," "INDIA," " MISSING BRIDE," "CCRS1 
 OP CLIFTON," "WIFE'S VICTORY," "DESERTED WIFE," ETC. 
 
 Who will oeiieve mat. with a smile wfiose olecMftf 
 
 Would like aa angel's soothe a dying how, 
 With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing 
 As e'er passed maiden's lip in moonlit bower ; 
 
 That underneath that face, like summer ocean's, 
 Its lip as moveless and its cheek as clear, 
 
 Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, 
 Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow all save fear. 
 
 A thing all lightness, life and glee, 
 
 One of the shapes we seem 
 To meet in visions of the night, 
 And should they greet our waking sight 
 
 Imagine that we dream \-Oeorgt SOL 
 
 d: 
 
 T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 
 806 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 Entered a-cording to Aet of Congress, in tlie fear .Sft8, by 
 T . B . P E T E R b U K , 
 
 la lb Clerk's Ottka of the District Court of tlie [',nt-.-.. Sia.Ur. -v ead tor Che 
 fi*Htern District of Penuayivauiv
 
 CON T E N T S, 
 
 fWAPTKH MOB 
 
 i. Two Night-Scenes on New-Year's Eve, . .25 
 
 n. Mary Virginia Washington 52 
 
 in. New- Year's Morning at Prospect Hall, ... 74 
 
 iv. The Skeleton at the Feast, 92 
 
 v. Magdalene, 132 
 
 vi. The First Presentiment, . . . . . 141 
 
 VH. Indian Blood 153 
 
 via. Virginia, 164 
 
 ix. The Sisters Reunited, 174 
 
 x. The Young Governess, . . . . . 183 
 
 xi. Mother, 192 
 
 xii. The Young Housekeepers, 200 
 
 xiii. The Love-spells of Hallow Eve, . . . .211 
 
 xrv. The Vision of Magdalene, , . . 223 
 
 xv. The Evening Fireside, 232 
 
 xvi. Joseph, 239 
 
 XVM. The Governor's Levee, 250 
 
 xvni. Parting, 2<Jl 
 
 xix. The Maiden's First Sorrow and Consolation, . . 271 
 xx. The Adopted Children,- . . . . .275 
 
 xxi. Theodore and Magdalene, ^ . . .279 
 
 xxii. Magdalene, 2S9 
 
 scxm. New Life, 2f>9 
 
 (23 >
 
 21 CONTENTS. 
 
 OHiPTRK PAOB 
 
 xxiv. Despair, 320 
 
 xxv. Black Rock, 328 
 
 xxvi. The Actress, .... . 333 
 
 XXVH. The Deep Heart, ... ... 342 
 
 xxv HI. Virginia arid Helen, ...... 3f>l 
 
 xxix. The Sitting-Room, .... . 359 
 
 xxx. The Maiden's Heart, 366 
 
 xxxi. The Sister's Heart, 377 
 
 xxxii. Cross Purposes 389 
 
 XXXIH. The Sick Soul ; . 4<i5 
 
 xxxiv. The Comforter, 41*> 
 
 xxxv. Remorse, 425 
 
 xxxvi. Joseph Carey's Destiny, 439 
 
 xxxvu. Reconciliation, 444 
 
 rxxvni. Coral and Prince, . . . ' . . 478 
 xxxix. Conclusion, 49?
 
 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES ON NEW-YEAR'S EV. 
 
 "The wild wind swept the mountain side, 
 
 And pathless was the dreary wild, 
 
 Where, 'mid the darkest hours of night, 
 
 A mother wanderM with her child." 
 
 " F/ THER in Heaven, I humbly thank Thee ! I praise 
 Thee J I bless Thee ! Thou hast heard my prayer ! Even 
 mine, in worthy as I am! Thou bast heard my prayer! 
 Thou hast ' strengthened the weak hands, confirmed the 
 feeble knees,' sustained me through many days' wanderings, 
 aud brought me almost home,! I have not fainted through 
 hunger, cold, or fatigue, though much, very much I have 
 endured ; nor have I lost my way through the drifted 
 siiO\v, though almost every landmark is buried ! There, I 
 know, are Prospect Plains. Yonder, against the horizon, 
 rises Prospect Hill ; upon it stands Prospect Hall, with its 
 white chimneys gleaming, ghostlike, against the leaden sky ; 
 beyond that hill, in the hollow, lies my father's house, not a 
 quarter of a mile from the Mansion- House, already in sight ;
 
 26 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 my father's house, my mother's home, my birth-place dear 
 old Blackthorns 1 Will my father forgive me ? Ah, yes ! 
 stern and harsh with the guilty aye, even with the peni- 
 tent he is yet just with the innocent, and tender with the 
 suffering. When he knows all that I am at length permit- 
 ted to tell him when he knows that he whom he so deeply 
 hated, against whom he swore so terrible a vengeance uaa 
 not the selfish, arrogant, and triumphing criminal that he 
 deemed him ; when he knows that / whom he so bitterly 
 cursed am not the lost and ruined girl he believes me; 
 when he knows that this baby I bear in my arms, is not the 
 child of sin and shame he thinks it ; when he knows that 
 my greatest sin was a sin of disobedience then,, then, he 
 will forgive, receive, and love me ! Yes ! yes ! even though 
 I did return to him on my sixteenth birth-night, widowed, 
 beggared, heart-broken ! I, his only child his lost child ! 
 And my mother! Will she not forgive me? Ah, yes! 
 my dear mother, my blessed mother ! she forgave me the 
 hour in which I left her no change has come over her 
 heart she loves me still she will receive me gladly ; and 
 when sinking at her feet, I lay my baby in her gentle arms, 
 she will gather it to her bosom with one arm, and raise and 
 embrace me with the other. Ah, I know it ! I feel it ! I 
 do not feel the cold so bitterly now. The sight of Prospect 
 Hall the knowledge it gives me that I am almost homo, 
 takes away the agonizing sense of piercing .cold, and puts 
 fresh warmth into my limbs ; and you, my little baby, you 
 have not felt the cold yet so warm you are in your littlo 
 nest, between my shawl and bosom. Little one, I have a 
 mother, too, who loves me as tenderly as I love you ; and 
 mon she will warm me, as I am warming you. I grow weary 
 almost sleepy how is this? and almost in sight of home, 
 too ! Rouse, weary heart and brain ! bear up, feeble limbs 1 
 Ihe goal is near 1"
 
 TWO X I G H 1 S C E N E S . 27 
 
 Such was the mental soliloquy of Margaret Hawk, as 
 folding her infant closer within her shawl, she toiied through 
 
 the deep snow covering the waste plains of that part of 
 
 County which borders upon Chesapeake Bay. 
 
 What a night it threatened to bel What a scene it was! 
 Overhead lowered a dark, portentous sky, by whose cold, 
 steellike light, could be dimly seen field beyond field of 
 snow, verging off ui the distance, until their boundaries 
 were lost in the murky gloom of the heavily-clouded horizon. 
 
 Straight across the ice-fields before her, and against the 
 distant horizon, arose that dark, uncertain mass, crowned 
 by a faintly gleaming white object, which a stranger could 
 not have distinguished from a darker cloud, tipped with a 
 dim light, but which she had called Prospect Hill and 
 Hall. 
 
 Nearer, here and there, slightly varying the blank mo- 
 notony of the plains, stood groups of naked forest trees, their 
 skeleton limbs and branches traced sharp and black against 
 the gleaming snow. Here and there, also, was a dark line, 
 that marked the border of some piece of woods. 
 
 Dotted sparsedly about, at wide distances, were little collec- 
 tions of dense shadows, that marked the site of some rural 
 homestead ; and from one of these sometimes suddenly darted 
 a gleam of red light, made, perhaps, by an opened door and 
 a warm bright fire within and sometimes the enlivening 
 sound of a fiddle, that gayly spoke of rural festivity and 
 frolic, for this was Xew-Year's-Eve Night ; and from many 
 a warm and comfortable home came out the festive sounds, 
 glanced out the festive lights athwart the frozen snow and 
 into the fierce and howling night. 
 
 Did she, the wanderer, think of, or envy, the happy New- 
 Year revelers ? Ah, no I far other thoughts and feelings 
 filled her heart and brain ; and if for a moment she turned 
 be.? eyes to the suddenly-darting and quickly-withdrawn
 
 28 THE TWO SISTER 3. 
 
 lights, it was but to use their fitful streaks to guide her on 
 her way to a far Barer light. 
 
 She was now *> ling up t'he gradually ascending rise of 
 the plains as the; swept on from Chesapeake Bay toward 
 Prospect Hill, -am straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of 
 that "dearer light ' that distant "light of home," which yet 
 for many hours, si ? cannot see will she ever see it ? 
 
 Many, many we -,ry days of this wintry weather had she 
 wandered, with h infant in her arms ; and now, at last, 
 upon this New-T :ar's-Eve Night, her birth-night, she was 
 "almost home." 
 
 But oh ! it wa f a scene so waste and weird ! so desolate ! 
 a night so dai-l ind piercingly frosty, when, through the 
 fierce, black ct ' '., toiled on this young, slight, thinly-clad 
 girl, sheltering er infant in the folds of her only shawl. 
 
 She was suf< ing excruciating pangs pangs which only 
 those long ;, *ed to severe cold can know; not only the 
 fierce, smarh .g aching and burning of her limbs for the 
 sense of i7,V,.8e cold is like that of fire but worse than all, 
 that int''"ubl anguish in the chest, when, finally, in the 
 expres?/ Janj; <age of the poor "the cold strikes to the 
 heart! ' She r is suffering all this, but had roused all her 
 energ '. A bear it. 
 
 S 1 i toiled o and on, slowly, with extreme difficulty, but 
 stiU ru and on 
 
 V/:eady sh< was ascending Prospect Hill and lights 
 fro 11 the wind ws of Prospect Hall glanced down the hill. 
 Oh ! for strer ;th to get, over this hill and reach the hollow 
 on the other '.ide ! There was home ! 
 
 She toiled on and on but now the agony of the cold was 
 giving place to a feeling of extreme weariness, of extreme 
 drowsiness, even of heart as well as brain and now came 
 the strong temptation to stop and rest if she could stop 
 and rest a little while then she would be so much recruited
 
 TWO N I G H T - 3 C E N" E S . '39 
 
 as to be able to reach home all the sooner 1 and climbing 
 this hiil, was so much more wearisome than any other part 
 of her wearisome journey had been. She looked around 
 for a resting-place. 
 
 A bare rock, bared by the drifting of the snow, offered 
 the only seat. She sat down upon it, and no sooner had 
 she sunk to a resting posture than that feeling of irresistible 
 sleepiness, affecting heart as well as brain, as I said, came 
 with power upon her, and her eyes were about to close, 
 when something, it might have been the hand of her infant 
 groping for her bosom, or the finger of her guardian angel, 
 touched her, and she suddenly remembered that this feeling 
 of extreme drowsiness following the pangs of severe cold, 
 if indulged in, becomes the precursor of a sleep ending in 
 death. Once more her spirit rising in its strength brought 
 up all her sinking physical energies to their posts, and she 
 arose and stood up.' Her limbs felt twice their natural 
 weight, and it was with extreme difficulty she conld raise 
 one heavy foot after the other ; her arms also appeared no 
 longer to fold her babe by their own muscular power, but 
 seemed to be locked around it and frozen there, there was 
 no feeling in them. 
 
 She toiled on it was almost a miracle, but she reached 
 the top of the hill she passed Prospect Hall a quarter of 
 a mile on the right as she passed it she saw, without 
 observing, lights glancing rapidly across the windows, and 
 from window to window, and from one floor to another, as 
 though some event of unwonted bustle, hurry, and import- 
 ance, was taking place. She passed the lighted hall with- 
 out a second glance she did not care for that, though 
 there lived the gentleman planter, of whose great estate her 
 father was manager or overseer, the distinguished Joseph 
 Washington, Chief Justice of the Circuit Court she passed 
 the manor-house without a second glance, fur then low
 
 30 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 gleaming in the shadowy hollow burned the star of her hope, 
 at the sight of which her dim eyes brightened, for it shone 
 from her mother's own room. It seemed nearer than it was 
 it was a quarter of a rnile off yet, but what was that to 
 her who had traveled so many miles already. She braced 
 for the last time her fast failing frame and labored on. 
 
 Now a flake of snow fell and froze upon her colder brow 
 she looked up several hours of night travel had given her 
 an owllike vision in the dark, and she saw that the black 
 and heavy sky was lowered very near the earth, at the same 
 time that the rising wind foretold a tremendous tempest 
 She toiled on a little faster. She has reached the foot of 
 the hill she has crossed the hollow she is at the outer 
 gate of her father's yard ! pursued by the wintry storm, for 
 the wind has suddenly risen to a fearful height, and the snow 
 and hail is whirling fast and furiously around her, hiding 
 from her eyes the blessed, guiding star, the "light of 
 home." 
 
 She felt the gate by struggling up against it she wished 
 to open it, but her arras were fast locked by the cold, an.'] 
 she could not move them. She pressed her body again? i 
 it, pushed it partly open, and slipped through. She was in 
 her father's yard ! By fitful gleams now she could see the 
 light she pressed on toward it. 
 
 But now ! what now 1 Have extreme cold, hunger, and 
 fatigue completely exhausted her strength ? Shall she sink 
 now 1 She staggers wishes to throw her hands up to her 
 head, but they are frozen stiff she sinks slowly in the snow 
 . her senses are dulled her brain grows extremely heavy 
 her head falls, and she looses all consciousness in a deep 
 sleep while the bail and snow whirl thickly over her. 
 
 And the child is it awakened by this ? Wrapped -ip 
 warmly in the shawl, and secured in its little nest forn.^d 
 by the frozen arms and bosom, accustomed to motion, t
 
 TWO N 1 G II T- SCE N ES. ol 
 
 slept on soundly, only slightly moving as its mother sank 
 down in the snow, and with a gentle infant sigh dropping 
 into perfect rest, as she grew still. Only for an instant, 
 however, did vigilant nature permit her to lie in this death 
 sleep. Even in the sudden and deep sleep in the profound 
 and utter unconsciousness of mind and insensibility of body 
 when the chilled blood had left the frozen extremities, and 
 was slowly, slowly stagnating in the heart then that insuf- 
 ferable agony which attends a life-and-death struggle com- 
 mencing in the heart that intolerable oppression of the 
 lungs that sense of suffocation that feeling of present 
 death that instinct of life suddenly shocked her from the 
 death sleep and set her wide awake, and shaking violently 
 with extreme terror. Death was ou her ! There was no 
 mistaking its presence 1 She recognized and acknowledged 
 it. Fast as a powerful effort of will, a desperate struggle 
 for life sent apart the blood that stagnated at her heart, it 
 rolled back again and stopped. Death was on her. Oh ! 
 for strength to reach that door-step not far off to die at 
 home, to die in a bed with her mother's arms under her 
 head, with her mother's face looking down upon hers 
 with her baby warmed and fed and sleeping in a cradle 
 then would death be not so terrible. A desperate, a spas- 
 modic effort, and the stagnated blood once more circled 
 freely through iier heart and lungs, leaving them to free 
 action ; and she straggled to her feet and staggered on, 
 through the driving sleet, toward the lighted window. 
 
 She gains the door-step she cannot unlock her arms, 
 but she will push against it she does so, but the push ha 
 no force, and makes no noise the window by its side is 
 alight she will go there and look in and see them, and 
 ghostlike, stand until they see her. She staggers to .Yard 
 the window. 
 
 It is an old-fashioned casement window with iron &*shes,
 
 32 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 and diamond-shaped panes, and it opens on h Ingres, and 
 reaches almost down to the ground. There was never any 
 shutter or curtain to that window vines grew over it, but 
 they are now of course dry. It was her favorite seat, Sum- 
 mer and Winter, when she lived at home. She used to sit 
 there and sew and watch the flowers blooming and listen 
 to the bees that hummed in the hive at the end of the house 
 in Summer, and in Winter watch the snow-birds, happy, 
 hardy little things, hopping about ; and at all seasons 
 amuse herself with the great goings-on before the great 
 house on the hill, plainly visible from this window. Now 
 she struggled toward her favorite window. She leaned 
 against the frame-work, while the snow and hail whirled 
 around her. She looked in saw the blazing fire, the 
 strong light and deep shadows of the large room ; she saw 
 her mother and then darkness swam in upon her brain 
 and she sank ; this time the babe waked up, moaned, groped 
 with its little hand for her bosom, found it, and comforted, 
 sank to sleep again. She had sunk down in full view of 
 the room within separated only by the glass from those 
 for the sake of meeting whom she would have lived a thou- 
 sand years in purgatory dying, but with no strength of 
 limbs to go to them, or of voice to make them hear her. 
 When the darkness that had temporarily overswept her 
 vision, passed away, and she turned her dving eyes within 
 -there, right opposite, blazed the great fire on the broad 
 dearth there, on the right hand, sat her mother in a large 
 ~hair, with a basket of stockings by her side, and one 
 *rawn on her hand, which she was darning ; and on the left 
 sat her father, with his spectacles on his nose a stand by 
 Ms side, with a large Bible and a candle upon it. He had, 
 perhaps, just closed the blessed book, or was just about to 
 open it. How familiar every thing lookedhow dear 
 every thing was; the two dogs basking before the tire.
 
 TWO N I G H T - S E N E S . JJ3 
 
 Fes ! even the great black iron andirous with the lions 
 heads, and the large brass brackets on the tall mantel- 
 piece ; she saw them, and then her dying gaze was fixed upon 
 her mother's face. That suffering face had faded and 
 grown aged since she saw it last. Ah ! did she not know 
 why. Oh ! but to be reconciled to that mother again. She 
 strained her failing eyes to gaze longer on that dear face ; 
 there were tears in the gentle eyes. Ah 1 did she not know 
 for whom they were shed ? And then she endured a sharper 
 pang than the pains of death, and such a death ! at the 
 thought of what her mother would suffer, when her corpse 
 should be found there in the morning. She should die 
 without telling them all they ought to know would then 
 her father forgive his dead child, and permit her mother 
 without rebuke to mourn her ? She turned with difficulty 
 her eyes upon her father's face. It was set and stern, and 
 harsher than ever. As she looked, he fixed his eyes upon 
 her mother, and spoke angrily she saw by the expression 
 of his countenance, and by the tears that rolled down her 
 poor mother's face she felt that they were remembering 
 and talking about her. Was not this her sixteenth birth- 
 night the night upon which her mother had promised, 
 years ago, that she should have a white cambric dress, and a 
 party if she should live to see it ? Well ! she had lived 
 to see it and ass-uredly to-morrow she would have the 
 white dress and the party ; but the dress would be a shroud, 
 and the party would gather around her coffin. Clouds 
 came over her eyes, intercepting the sight of her mother ; 
 clouds came over her soul, hiding the face of her Heavenlv 
 Father. Again the blood tided to her heart, and stag- 
 nated there ; again came the insufferable oppression of tup 
 iungs the intolerable agony of suffocation the last strug- 
 gle of life and death ; and in the extremity of terror and 
 insaiiiiv, tier soul cried out ''I die! I die! I le;ivc m?
 
 84 ' E TWO SISTERS. 
 
 mined and fallen dwelling-place ! to go where? Just God' 
 I dare not mock Thy throne with a dying prayer for par- 
 don, now! nor think that the sins of a life may be blown 
 away by the expiring breath gasping one word, 'Pardon.' 
 Bat, oh ! Merciful Father, remit my doom ! remand my 
 soul back to earth for another probation, in another life 
 of suffering, of expiation only another life I a life in which 
 I can watch over this child with her heritage of orphanage 
 and suffering a life of redemption." So raved the dying 
 girl. A moment more and the agonized heart was at 
 rest. 
 
 In the mean time, the storm increased in fury ; the snow 
 and hail whirled rapidly around her, threatening to bury her 
 in a drift. 
 
 Now, reader, we will enter the farm house. 
 
 Now sylvan occupation's done 
 Aud o'er the chimney rests the gun, 
 And hanjf in idle trophy near 
 The gjtme-poiich, fishing-rod, and spear J 
 Now every terrier rough and grin-. 
 And greyhound with his length -j{ Htnh, 
 And pointer now employed no more 
 Camber the kitchen's oaken floor ; 
 New in his .stall the impatient steed 
 Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 
 And from the suow-eucircled home 
 Scarce dares the hardiest step to roam, 
 Since path is none, save that to bring 
 The needful water from the spring. 
 
 Heap on more wood ! The wind is chill, 
 But let it whistle as it will 
 We'll keep onr New Year merry still : 
 Each aare haw deemed the new-horn v.^ar 
 The fittest time for festal cheer. Scott. 
 
 "Awful Heaven, what a night ! How the storm hurtle* 
 against the windows. There'll be four feet of snow frozen 
 on the groihid to-morrow. Such a stormy exit of the old
 
 TWO N I G H T - S G E N E S . 35 
 
 year and advent of the new I never saw but once before 
 and I am sixty years old," said Adam Hawk, plunging a 
 heavy poker between the great smouldering logs, and mak- 
 ing them blaze and roar like the report of an explosion, 
 and sinking back in his old oak chair with a heavy groan 
 which was answered by a deep sigh from his wife, as she 
 said, 
 
 " God help Mary Washingion, if she be brought to bed 
 on such a night as this, for neither doctor nor midwife can 
 approach her." 
 
 " As to that, the granny has been staying in the house 
 for the last week. I brought her over myself from Hard- 
 bargain." 
 
 " There was where you went with the ox-team last 
 Saturday, and never told me about it ?" 
 
 "Am 1 a gossip ? Yes, there was where I went. The 
 young fool got scared as her time came near, and none but 
 the judge and the niggers about the house, and so the judge 
 told me to gear up, and go and fetch Mrs. Comfort." 
 
 " Poor Mary, poor motherless girl no wonder ! What 
 trials have been hers, and how sweetly she has borne them ! 
 Her mother dying when she was but a few weeks old her 
 brother waylaid and murdered the day after her wedding 
 her father struck with apoplexy on receiving the news the 
 loss of the property, but that was a trifle ; and then the 
 sudden death of her husband, in the second month of her 
 niarriaore ; and all happening in less than ten months. 
 Poor Mary, poor darling child no wonder she is nervous ! 
 Why didn't you tell me, Adam ? I, who am like her second 
 mother in a humble way, for I raised her I ought to 
 have gone and staid with her to comfort her. And I would 
 this blessed night, if it wasn't so dark and stormy. Why 
 didn't you tell me while it, was so I could go, Adam ?" 
 
 ; ' Just because I knew if I told you any thing about it,
 
 36 THE TWO SISTKKS. 
 
 you would go, and I didn't want you to go that's all 
 about it." 
 
 " Oh, Adam ! and she such a sweet child to us just like 
 our own child, much as she is above us such a blessing to 
 me always, such a comfort to me in my sorrow. Oh, 
 Adam I" 
 
 " I tell you, then, you were not Jit to go to her, with that 
 fitified thumping of the heart and stopping of the heart 
 that runs in your family, and that you have had so bad ever 
 since since d it! God forgive me ! that has followed 
 you for the last year." 
 
 " Yes, Adam, yes ; but I think I should have died with 
 it, if it had not been for my sweet child Mary. Think of 
 that time when you hurried half crazy off to town to search 
 for our poor " 
 
 "WOMAN!" 
 
 "Well, then, when you hurried off and left me here, not 
 knowing how ill I really was with grief when I couldn't 
 move but that the palpitation of the heart would nearly 
 kill couldn't drop into a doze, but that the stopping of 
 the heart would almost suffocate me think then of dear 
 Mary, fresh from the deathbed of husband, in the new grief 
 of her young widowhood, leaving the mansion-house and 
 coming down here to sleep with me, or, rather, to lie in the 
 bed with me to lie close to me, with her arm thrown over 
 my side so lightly, so softly, to note the beatings of my 
 heart while I went to sleep, and to rub my side if she felt it 
 beating slowly ; and staying with me all day to guard me 
 from all sudden noises and shocks that should start my 
 heart to palpitating again. Think of her continuing that 
 until her own delicate situation gradually confined her to 
 the mansion-house." 
 
 " And now then, that was no more than her duty to do. 
 Were not you a mother to her iu her helpless infancy ?
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 87 
 
 Wouldn't she have died if you hadn't divided your own 
 child's milk with her ? Tell me that !" 
 
 " Yes, yes so she would, for she was a very delicate 
 baby but then that was so natural, a heathen would have 
 done that for a poor little orphan babe too delicate to be 
 raised by hand !" 
 
 "No, a heathen wouldn't, either no, nor a Christian 
 either, upon the terms that you did refusing to take a 
 dollar, poor as you were !" 
 
 " Oh, Adam ! as if I could have sold my breast milk and 
 my tenderness to a poor little babe ! an orphan babe, and 
 I a mother, with a mother's feelings. Xo, Adam, I was a 
 healthy woman then, and conld very well nurse two babies 
 and we were not in need. But if it had been otherwise, 
 and I had been the poorest houseless wanderer in the world, 
 and any one had asked me to nurse a baby, and offered ue 
 wages, I should have said, 'No give me house room, 
 necessary food and raiment, and I will be strengthened to 
 nurse your baby but no money for that give me sewing 
 to do meanwhile, and pay me for that if you like.' No 
 sale of nature's tenderness, that is my feeling." 
 
 "And a very foolish feeling it is. People sell every thing 
 stock in trade, labor that is nothing but, their affec- 
 tions, their intellect, honesty, health, truth, soul and body, 
 they sell for money, and call it ' business,' so you see yours 
 is a verv stupid feeling." 
 
 "Well, it's my stupid feeling, and it keeps me warm and 
 comforts me, which is best of all." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" 
 
 ''Whoso receiveth one of these little ones in My name, 
 receiveth Me.' " 
 
 '' Hold your tongue, Peg ! yon hush !" 
 
 " Do good and lend hoping for nothing in return." 
 
 "Will yon stop ? s'pose nil the world were to do that? 
 Pretty prey the simple would be to the subtle."
 
 88 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 "If all the world were to do that, then there would be 
 no 'simple' dupes, and no 'subtle' cheats, but all would be 
 wise and good, and the kingdom of God would come. In 
 the meantime, let all that have it in them to do good, do it 
 for the sake of good, hoping for nothing in return, and 
 they will lose nothing, even in this world ' Cast thy bread 
 upon the waters, and after many days it shall be found.' " 
 
 "Peg, hush! I hate to hear women preach they don't 
 understand the Scriptures. St. Paul says that women 
 should be silent, or inquire of their husbands." 
 
 "Well, then but you have not quoted right, I think 
 I think women were to be silent in the church, or in the 
 congregation. No matter, I only wanted to remind my 
 husband for I like to prove a Scripture promise fulfilled 
 that our bread cast upon the waters has been found. Whea 
 I took little Mary Virginia though I did not take her for 
 the sake of good, but only because I somehow couldn't help 
 it Heaven keep me from the deceit of taking credit I do 
 not merit when I took little Mury Virginia for love and 
 mercy and not for money the Lord knows that I never 
 thought it would turn out as it has. But see ! what a 
 heart's comfort she is to me while her father loaded you 
 with benefits, recommending you to Judge Washington as a 
 proper man to manage his estate. And when the Judge 
 moved into the new mansion-house, upon the marriage of 
 his son with Mary then, for the love he bore his daughter- 
 in-law, our foster child, he gave you this fine old farm-house 
 to live in, with nearly all the furniture, just as he himself 
 hpd occupied it for all his life. Ah ! that should be p 
 lesson on faith for our whole lives, Adam ! That should 
 teach you that my going to comfort my sweet child in her 
 trial, will never hurt me. And, oh I if it did, it is still 
 ray duty to go. It is a duty I owe her. She ha? 
 done so much for me 1 more than ai.y other young ludv
 
 T W O N I G H T - S C E N E S . 39 
 
 In the world would do for anybody except her own 
 mother.'' 
 
 " You have done enough for her, as I said before." 
 
 " I have done nothing but what we have been abundantly 
 compensated for, and nothing but what any heathen under 
 the same circumstances would do let alone a Christian." 
 
 " And I repeat to you that you are a fool ! Christian ! 
 yes, many that pass for good Christians, aye ! and that are 
 good Christians, would not undertake what you did. Mary 
 herself, good as she is, would not do it. Come 1 there ! 
 now ! are you silenced ?" 
 
 " Xo for Mary would do it I" 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " I say Mary would do as I did." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps, if she had been in your sphere of humble 
 life, she might have taken some lady's child to nurse, without 
 pay, for you have brought her up to be just such a fool as 
 you are yourself but I am not talking of what might have 
 been, I am talking of what is, and I say that Mrs. Mary 
 Virginia Washington the young lady of Prospect Hall 
 would not now take an orphan baby that might be cast 
 helpless on her mercy to nurse with her own, at her own 
 breast to save its life good Christian as she is." 
 
 " Mary would ; if there was no one else to do it, Mary 
 would !" 
 
 "Folly!" 
 
 " Mary would." 
 
 At this moment a terrible blast of wind, driving on an 
 avnlanche of snow and hail against the side of the house, 
 ghook the firm building to its foundation. 
 
 " A wful Lord ! what a night 1 It was just such a night, 
 sixteen years ago, that my Maggy was born." 
 
 " WOMAN ! that name !" 
 
 " Well, yes ; I can't help it. I can't. My heart is broken
 
 40 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 this night. God ! what a blurl was that ! Surely the win- 
 dow sashes will be blown out ! Yes, yes sixteen years 
 ago how forcibly this night and storm brings back 4 his 
 night sixteen years ago 1 When my poor baby was born. 
 Ah, she is a baby still. Poor little one ! Did not the bit- 
 ing cold and the hurtling snow-storm then betoken all the 
 wretchedness that has come upon her ? They say that the 
 earlier a child is born in the year, the more fortunate will 
 be its destiny ; and the later in the year, the more adverse 
 will be its fate. My poor only one was born at eleven 
 o'clock, old-year night." 
 
 The tears were running down the poor mother's face, and 
 the stern father himself seemed struggling with some strong 
 emotion the muscles of his iron face worked he clutched 
 at his grizzled hair, and then burst out in fury, exclaiming : 
 
 "No more of her ! God ! you will drive me mad ! No 
 more of her, I say 1 I wish I knew that she was dead. I 
 would that she were stretched out here, stiff and stark, at 
 my feet ! Oh 1 that I could find her ! I would shut her 
 up a day to prepare her soul to meet its Maker, and at night 
 I would take the life I gave her ! I would put her to death ! 
 Even as Abraham would have offered up his spotless son 
 even as Jephtha sacrificed his virgin daughter so I would 
 immolate my fallen child would purify her as by fire 1" 
 
 A low growl and mutter came from some obscure corner 
 of the large and dusky room, and the words in a guttural 
 tone : 
 
 " You'd burn her up, would you, you sanctified old sin- 
 ne/ ! and swing for it in this world, and be sent to h in 
 the other which may the Lord grant ! Amen." 
 
 But these words, in the howling and shrieking of the 
 storm, attracted no attention. Another blast of wind, more 
 furious than the first, shook the house, until the substantial 
 building seemed to sway to and fro like a slight sapling.
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 41 
 
 " Ah ! merciful Father ! then what a storm it is ! How 
 ranch damage will be done, the Lord only knows. Heaven 
 be with poor Mary, and grant that if she is brought to bed 
 to-night, it may be after midnight !" 
 
 " I wonder what keeps that folly running into your head ? 
 Why should it happen to-night, anyhow, of all nights in the 
 week and then that cursed folly about the old year and 
 the new year, and happiness and misery depending upon the 
 difference between them ! And if there were any thing in 
 that pagan superstition why, who is Mary Washington, 
 that a patent for a happy life is to be taken out for her 
 child, any more than anybody else's? Stuff! what puts 
 such things in your head ?" 
 
 "Ah, I don't know; but I'm sorely troubled to-night. 
 This horrible storm 1 It shatters my heart so ! It brings 
 again the night when my Maggy " 
 
 " DEATH ! if you do bnt hint her name again, I shall 
 launch such a malediction upon her head, that you shall 
 die to hear it !" 
 
 "Ah ! do not be so obdurate consider " 
 
 " If I could but find her I would smother her ! Oh, the 
 shameless creature I dressed up in rouge, and satin, and 
 jewels, now I'eveling off the old year among companions 
 only less degaaded than herself! Do you think that if I 
 knew her place of abode, I would not enter it and strangle 
 her before her fellows? Satan's fiends! but my fingers 
 strengthen and contract at the bare thought !" 
 
 " Oh, do not talk so ! You are mistaken she is not 
 thai! She never could be thai! Onr child Mary Vir- 
 ginia's foster sister could not be that. Mary, too, wept 
 when she was lost ; but Mary believes her pure ; Mary prays 
 with me for her recovery. And even if she were betrayed, 
 guilty, lost, Mary would love her and pray for her still so 
 thu sinless feels for the sinful. The spotless Son of God
 
 42 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 \vis merciful. Only sinners wish to take vengeance on sin- 
 ntrs. Do not you be one of them. The good ever pity 
 and wish to recover and redeem the erring ; do you be like 
 thi'-m. My dear baby ! My little one ! My Maggy ! Her 
 sin, at the very worst, was only too much, too blind love. 
 God will redeem her. God will hear my prayers, and 
 Mt-ry's God will pity us. God will redeem her and bring 
 her back to me my little one ! my Maggy !" 
 
 " HUSH ! HUSH !" almost howled the father, starting up 
 ar.d clutching the iron-gray hair on his temples with both 
 ban Is. Just at this moment, in the pausing of the wind, 
 was heard a violent knocking at the door. 
 
 The overseer strided to it pulled jerked it open, letting 
 in an avalanche of snow ; and behind and through it, a 
 great, big negro man, closely wrapped in a coat with mani- 
 fold capes, and a fox-skin cap coming down over his ears. 
 
 The first thing done was to close the door against the 
 driving wind and sleet, by the united efforts of Adam Hawk 
 and the negro, and then the latter spoke in a hurried voice 
 to the overseer, who answered : 
 
 " Yes, hasten back and tell the judge I will be there in- 
 stantly," and reopening the door cautiously a little way, he 
 let the man out again into the tempest, and closing it be- 
 hind him, returned to the fireside, saying : 
 
 " It is as you feared, Peggy ; Mary Washington is ill. 
 The judge has sent for me to come to the house immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 " Something told me so something really told me so ! 
 Oh ! Heaven be with Mary !" 
 
 " Come, stir about. Get my great coat and mufflers." 
 
 "Yes, but I'm going myself." 
 
 " You ! You're mad. You'd perish in the storm before 
 you got a dozen yards from the house." 
 
 ' Oh, I must go ! I should die to stay here and know
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 43 
 
 that Mar}' was suffering, when I could not aid or comfort 
 her." 
 
 " Then you'd die any way ; and it's better to die in the 
 house than in the storm. So you'll stay where you are." 
 
 " I cannot. Indeed I cannot. I must go to Mary.'' 
 
 Aditm Hawk turned round, and fronting her, said : 
 
 " Peggy, now you understand that you are not to go 
 Sn, therefore, do not, take up my time in needless talk, but 
 help me on with my coat." 
 
 She said no more, fearing indeed to delay him, but helped 
 him to equip himself for the tramp through the tempest. 
 She lighted the lantern for him, let him out, shut the door 
 behind him, and then began to prepare herself to brave the 
 storm also for her mind was set to go to Prospect Hall 
 that night to attend her foster child. She put on a pair 
 of thick shoes, and drew over them a pair of her husband's 
 long thick yarn stockings. She put on a hood, tying a 
 thick vail over it to muffle her face ; lastly, wrapping a 
 heavy cloak around her form, she opened the door to set 
 out for Prospect Hall. She had no lantern ; and as she 
 groped her way out, buffeted about by the furious tempest, 
 she stumbled and fell over something at the same time that 
 a child's feeble wail and warm breath passed her face. She 
 strugg.ed upon her knees, and astonished to the last degree, 
 sought to raise the object over which she had fallen. It 
 was altogether not a very heavy burden ; she lifted it, and 
 then a wild cry of mingled joy, anguish, and despair burst 
 from her lips above the howling of the storm. This cry 
 speedily brought out from the house an old deformed crea 
 ture, who, stumbling and blundering through the tempest, 
 pitched at her side. 
 
 " What now what now ?" growled this object. 
 
 " Oh God ! it is it is it is Maggy. Help me to save 
 her "
 
 44 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 The dwarf, who possessed great strength, lifted the body 
 and bore it in the house, followed by the half-crazy woman. 
 He laid the body on a settle, and ran to bring a bed from 
 an upper chamber, and cast it down on the floor before the 
 fire, while the delirious mother was frantically rubbing her 
 temples, rubbing her hands, and trying to extricate the 
 living baby from the frozen arms of the body. 
 
 She at last succeeded in extricating the half-dead babe 
 from the locked arms, and taking some pillows from the 
 laden dwarf, laid it down on a hastily prepared pallet on 
 the settee. Then calling the dwarf to assist her in raising 
 the body, she carried it into her own bedroom, where a 
 warm fire was burning. This was the adjoining room, and 
 here she gave her whole attention to desperate efforts at re- 
 animating the frozen limbs. Thankful for even male help 
 at her extreme need, she allowed the dwarf to assist her in 
 divesting the stiff and swelled arms of the sleeves partly 
 frozen to them, and theu to draw off the stiffly-frozen dress, 
 and lay the cold form in a large warm blanket. During all 
 this time, she would cast anxious glances of speechless agony 
 at the dwarf, as if to seek comfort from his apparently 
 better experience ; and for some time the latter would shake 
 his head sorrowfully, but persevere in his efforts at resusci- 
 tation. At last his dull eyes brightened, and touching her, 
 he said : 
 
 " Not dead." 
 
 " Thank God ! Oh, thank God !" said the mother's raised 
 eyes and clasped hands ; but not a word was spoken in reply. 
 
 "May die, though," said the dwarf. 
 
 But the mother's hopes were raised, and she toiled on 
 vigorously, still zealously seconded by the dwarf. At last, 
 when there was a slightly perceptible warmth under the 
 arms and about the region of the heart, the dwarf got up 
 and said :
 
 T W NIGHT-SCENES. i~> 
 
 " I'm going to the child," and waddled into the other 
 room. 
 
 She looked after him with a countenance expressive of 
 her gratitude; said nothing though, but kept on with her 
 efforts of recover)'. At last the white breast slightly con- 
 vulsed, the white throat throbbed, both grew still, then the 
 blue lips and eyelids quivered, a deep sigh, and the large, 
 wondering eyes were wide open, and gazing into her moth- 
 er's face. 
 
 " Maggy, my darling, it is I. Don't you know me ?" 
 
 The large, dark eyes so very large and dark, in contrast 
 with the wan face were still fixed wonderingly in her 
 mother's face. 
 
 " It is mother, Maggy ; don't you know her ?" 
 
 The blue lips moved, though the gaze was not with- 
 drawn. Her mother bent down to catch, perhaps, her 
 faintly murmured words. 
 
 " Dead, too ?" 
 
 " Who dead, Maggy, my dear ? Xobody's dead. 1 ' 
 
 The blue lips faintly smiled, and she tried to raise the 
 still stiffened arms, failed to do so, and then faintly smiled 
 as if at her failure ; and during all this while, her feeding 
 gaze was not for an instant withdrawn from her mother's 
 face, that seemed a feast to their long-starved vision, and 
 all this while her mother still rubbed and bathed and 
 pressed her frosted arms. At last her gaze turned anx- 
 iously around, and her lips moved. Her mother stooped 
 down to catch her faint words 
 
 " My baby !" 
 
 Peggy had forgotten the strange little one in her anxiety, 
 lint now she went to the door, and opening it, slightly spoke 
 to the dwarf, who immediately came in with the child, 
 warmly wrapped up, in one hand, and the mug of warm pap 
 iu tha other. The child was too young to smile yet, but it
 
 46 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 looked quite alive to the comforts of warmth, food, and 
 tender nursing. Mrs. Hawk took the baby in her arms, 
 and carried it to the side of the bed. Maggy smiled, and 
 seemed satisfied, and her mother returned the babe to the 
 -harge of its rough though tender nurse, who took it from 
 he room, and soon after returned, bearing a glass of warm 
 .jordial, which he brought to the bed, saying : 
 
 " She must drink this." 
 
 Peggy put it to her daughter's lips, and she drank it 
 slowly, and was revived. 
 
 "Mother," she said, in a low, distinct voice. 
 
 " Mustn't talk," said the dwarf. 
 
 "Don't talk, Maggy, darling; wait a minute till you are 
 stronger." 
 
 " Mother !" persisted the dying girl, but in lower, fainter 
 tones. 
 
 Peggy bent down to her face. 
 
 " Mother, I was in Heaven just now. T thought yov 
 were there when I saw you. Mother, God has forgiven me 
 you have forgiven me ask father also to forgive me." 
 
 " My darling child, my Maggy, he must he will and 
 Mary Virginia loves you still she will come to see you." 
 
 "Mother," she murmured, in a still lower voice, "sit on 
 the side of my bed, and raise me in your arms I feel like 
 I was your little child still, so helpless I am. There that 
 is nice ! let me now lay my head on your bosom put my 
 two stiff hands together in my lap, mother, and hold them 
 between your own there now, mother, listen to me, for I 
 have something to tell you." 
 
 " She mustn't talk /" repeated the dwarf, emphatically, as 
 he sat at the foot of the bed, nursing the baby. 
 
 " Maggy, dear Maggy, don't talk ! I know what you 
 want to say I believe it, Maggy, beforehand. I always 
 did so did Mary."
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 47 
 
 " Bless dearest Mary !" 
 
 "SHE MUSTN'T TALK! SHE MUSTN'T TALK.!" desper- 
 ately exclaimed the dwarf, wringing his hands. 
 
 " Hush, hush, my darling Maggy !" 
 
 "Let me once more where is my father? I saw him 
 through the window before I fell." 
 
 " He is gone to the mansion-house." 
 
 " Ah, what there ? I saw, in passing " 
 
 She paused her countenance changed then reviving an 
 instant, she said, suddenly : 
 
 " Mary Virginia is near her confinement ?" 
 
 " Yes, darling, yes." 
 
 A divine light radiated her countenance an instant : she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " My prayer is heard !" 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh !" cried the dwarf, wringing his hands 
 violently. 
 
 The gray of death crept over her countenance the 
 blood flowed to her heart for the last time, and stilled 
 then forever one moment of suffocating agony, and all was 
 over. 
 
 "Oh, Maggie, I shall not be long behind you!" said 
 the bereaved mother, in a tone of strange calmness. It 
 was the apathy of complete despair. 
 
 " We might have saved her," groaned the deformed, as 
 though communing with himself rather than addressing the 
 mother. 
 
 "No, no, we could not ! Not hunger, cold, toil or sor- 
 row killed her, though these helped. It was disease of the 
 heart, brought on by these. It is that which will take me 
 Boon after her," she said, in the same quiet tone. 
 
 " We might have got over these rapids. We might have 
 kept her on a little longer." 
 
 "I aai content ! I am content !" said Peggy.
 
 4(6 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Ah, it is sadder to hear you say that, than it would be 
 to see you sad and weep." 
 
 " Oh, if you knew, if you knew, what I have felt for her 
 this last year, you would feel how much better it is to see 
 her here, and to know that not many hours hence I shall lie 
 by her side ! Yes, I know it it is only by an effort that I 
 now keep my death at bay it will advance upon me soon, 
 and take me to her." 
 
 Then she gently laid the head of the dead girl down, 
 settled her limbs, covered her, and kneeling by the side of 
 the bed, raised her soul in prayer to God. Meanwhile the 
 dwarf laid down the sleeping infant, replenished the fire, 
 and stole quietly away from the house for assistance. 
 
 ilalf an hour after this, a heavy tramp was heard with- 
 out, the door wai pushed open, the sound of stamping feet 
 stamping off the snow in the next room, and then the over- 
 seer's gruff, harsh tones, calling out : . 
 
 " Peggy, Peggy, I say ! why have you suffered this fire 
 in the keeping-room to go down ? Where are you now ?" 
 
 Peggy opened the door, and came out. 
 
 " Well, you had laid down, I suppose," he continued, still 
 shaking off the snow ; " that's right ; I don't find fault with 
 that, only you might have made Bruin put on a couple of 
 heavy logs to keep the fire hot for me, coming in out 
 of the cold. Thank God, the storm is over, and it has 
 cleared off. Come, help me off with my great-coat. Well, 
 the child is born. It is a girl ; and as you were anxious 
 upon the point, I made inquiry as to the precise hour and 
 moment of its birth, and am happy to tell you that the 
 family, by some strange oversight, are in a glorious state 
 of uncertainty as to whether the babe was born this year or 
 last ; the nurse swearing that it was one minute before 
 twelve, and the doctor affirming that it was two minutes 
 after ; so that it is a point of doubt, whether the child wan
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 49 
 
 born in the last death-throes of the old year, and is there- 
 fore to be unutterably miserable, or whether it came into 
 the world, twin-born with the new year, and is therefore to 
 be extremely happy," concluded Adam Hawk, in a tone of 
 coarse irony, without seeing the fixed despair of his wife's 
 look. " Well, why do you not answer me ? You haven'* 
 said a word yet to this hairbreadth point of dispute ; did 
 you hear me say that the babe was safely brought forth 
 between one minute to twelve and two minutes after ?" 
 
 " Yes ! That was the time our Maggy died. Come 
 here, Adam 1" 
 
 He did not appear to hear her first words, but something 
 in her manner constrained him to go where she led him, into 
 the bed-room. 
 
 There lay the dead girl ; her features in the beautiful com- 
 posure of sleep, and the expression that of innocent child- 
 hood. The bed and its coverings were all of white, and 
 upon it she lay extended ; the white counterpane drawn up 
 smoothly over her form as far as her chest. Her face was 
 exposed, and its marble whiteness formed a ghastly contrast 
 to the arched eyebrows, long eyelashes resting on the snowy 
 cheek, and the long locks of hair laid down each side, all of 
 jet black. 
 
 He approached the body with a dark and threatening 
 scowl upon his countenance it softened and cleared as he 
 gazed long and wistfully then grew suddenly anxious he 
 stooped and raised the body. The long, silky black hair fell 
 sweeping away from the pallid brow. He anxiously, nerv- 
 ously placed his hands upon her temples, upon her heart 
 and muttered low, in gentle tones, 
 
 " Ma.ggy Maggy, my child ! my dear child ! Wife ! this 
 if? not death .' It is a swoon ! Let me lay her down again I 
 My God, Peggy, why don't you move ?" 
 
 Tie was all this time rubbing her hands, feeling her wrist
 
 &0 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 tor the pulse running his hand in her bosom to feel for the 
 beating of her heart ; himself trembling all the while. The 
 sternness of the would-be uncompromising judge had com- 
 pletely given place to the tenderness and anxiety of the 
 father. 
 
 " Water, Peggy ! Vinegar, hartshorne ! Good God ! 
 woman, why do you stand there like a statue ?" 
 
 " Adam, she is dead I" 
 
 " Dead ! and you tell me so, so calmly 1 dead ! It is not 
 *o!" 
 
 " Adam, she is." 
 
 " Dead ! you stand there saying she is Dead ! You do 
 not love her as I do ! Dead ! Oh, God ! oh, God ! It is 
 not so ! My Maggy ! my Maggy !" he exclaimed, frantically 
 rubbing her hands. His wife went to him and put both her 
 arms around him, and said, 
 
 " Adam, dear, leave the dead in quiet ! It is irreligious 
 to disturb her snored corpse so leave her body, Adam 
 come away ! her spirit is with God 1" 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! You never loved her as I love 
 her, or you would not think I could ! You would not be 
 so quiet ! Oh ! my Maggy, dead ! dead with my harsh words 
 in your memory ! dead without receiving my forgiveness I" 
 
 "Adam, do not grieve so bitterly. Remember if she did 
 not receive your pardon, neither did she ever hear your curse ! 
 
 " Curse ! I never cursed her ! Curse my Maggy ! Oh ! 
 if I had I should have been mad ! If ever I came nigh to 
 do it afterward I always silently prayed to God not to 
 mind what I said in my wrath ! but to bless her to bless 
 her! Oh! dead! without knowing how tenderly I icved 
 her still ! 
 
 "Adam, she spoke of you with affection in her dying 
 hour. She told rne to ask you in her name for pardon. Sha 
 died in my arms she died in blessed peace."
 
 TWO NIGHT-SCENES. 51 
 
 But still Adam Hawk tore his gray hair and refused to 
 be comforted ; and still Peggy maintained her composure, 
 reproached all the time by her husband with not loving their 
 child as well as he did. 
 
 At last Peggy took the infant from the foot of the bed, 
 and bringing it to him, said 
 " This is her child, Adam I" 
 " Her child ?" 
 " Yes, Adam !" 
 
 " Away with it ! I won't look at it ! I hate it ! It has 
 caused her death and my despair! It is that d d devil's 
 child, and with some look of him about it, too. Away with 
 the brat !" 
 
 " But, Adam" 
 
 " Away with it, I say ! I don't know it !" 
 " But, Adam, it is Maggy's orphan baby !" 
 " It caused her death ! I don't know the thing! I won't 
 own it 1 Out of my sight with it, or by " furiously broke 
 out Adam Hawk. 
 
 Peggy, frightened and distressed by the screaming of the 
 babe, now wide awake, hurried away with it. 
 
 Morning was now dawning on the plains, and the red 
 light of the coming sun was reflected on the snow when Peggy 
 opened all her windows, and quietly set about preparing 
 breakfast, as though nothing had occurred ; but any watch- 
 ful observer might have noticed that from time to time she 
 would turn gray-pale pause, and then go on again. 
 
 Bruin, the dwarf, had returned with one or two of the 
 nearest neighbors, and they were in the next room, pre- 
 paring the dead girl for burial, and wondering alike at the 
 singular composure of the mother, and the despairing 
 sorrow of the father the conduct of each, upon the oc- 
 casion, so opposite to what might have been expected irom 
 either. But this was perfectly natural and consistent, had
 
 62 THK TWO SISTERS. 
 
 they taken the trouble to look beneath the surface of 
 things. 
 
 The sun was just rising above the horizon, and project- 
 ing the shape of the window in golden colors upon the 
 wall, above the bed, from whence they had just, removed 
 the dead girl to lay her out. 
 
 A cry from Adam Hawk brought the whole house into 
 the keeping-room ; and there stood Adam, with the appa- 
 rently dead body of his wife in his arms ! 
 
 The bed in the next room was hastily prepared by some 
 of the frightened women, and Peggy Hawk was laid upon it. 
 
 Another hour found the mother lying on her death-bed in 
 the bed-room, and the daughter laid out in the keeping- 
 room ; while Adam Hawk, stern and harsh to his best 
 beloved ones while they were living, gave himself up to grief 
 and remorseful tenderness, now that they were dead or dying. 
 
 But, reader, we will leave this gloomy picture, and turn 
 to a brighter and a happier one, upon which the same New- 
 Year's sun arose. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 
 
 " Tis night ; within a curtained room 
 Filled to faintness with perfume, 
 A lady lies at point of doom. 
 *Tis morn ; a child hath seen the light." Day of Life. 
 
 THE night of the Old and the New Year the night of 
 death at the Grange was the night of new life at the 
 Mansion. Mary Virginia, the childlike widow of the 
 youthful Joseph Washington, deceased, and the daughter-
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 53 
 
 in-la\v of the distinguished Judge Washington, was brought 
 to bed of her first and only child. Long had the young 
 creature suffered in silence, rather than disturb the rest of 
 the family domestics, whose old-fashioned regularity had 
 sent them to bed, as usual, at a very early hour ; and not 
 until amid pain and terror she had partly lost her self-com- 
 mand, did she pull the bell-rope, ringing a peal that pres- 
 ently brought her nurse from the next room the young 
 lady's dressing-room where a cot had been placed for her 
 temporary accommodation. This matron was no Mrs 
 Gamp, but one of those skillful, neat-handed, kind-hearted, 
 cheerful and comfortable old ladies, who are not only a 
 great consolation, but a real luxury in illness. The great 
 experience of Mrs. Comford convinced her at a glance 
 that this was no false alarm ; that sleep or no sleep, the 
 household would have to be aroused ; and tempest or no 
 tempest, Prince William or the overseer would have to 
 saddle Snow-Storm, and go for Dr. McWalters. 
 
 " I am very sorry to have awakened you, nurse, for now 
 I am better wr.ll, indeed but ju.st now you have no 
 idea how extremely ill I was !" 
 
 " Haven't I, my dear ?" said Mrs. Comford, in a tone 
 of gentle, compassionate irony. 
 
 " Excuse my disturbing you, dear Mrs. Comford, and go 
 to bed again. I will not be foolish again. I am well now 
 No 1 I am ill ! 
 
 And so indeed she was. 
 
 Mrs. Camford rang the bell with violence to rouse up 
 the servants, and returned to the side of her patient, who 
 was again enjoying a temporary respite from her agony. 
 
 " Can you not manage by yourself, nurse ? It is such a 
 pity to wake them up, poor creatures ; they have been at 
 work all day. Say, can you not manage by yourself?" 
 
 " My dear child, yes ! I have managed hundreds of
 
 54 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 cases all 9.1one by ray own self, without assistance, a:id I 
 would undertake yours, also, if you were any poor man's 
 wife or daughter; for raly it is a simple matter enough, 
 and nothing to frighten you, for it is as natrel for people 
 to be born as it is for them to die, you know, and seldom 
 requires any more assistance from the doctors for the one 
 than for the other; but notions are notions, and gentry 
 think they must have physicians at such times." 
 
 " I do not think so, nurse." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, but you are Judge Washington's daugh- 
 ter-in-law, and the babe about to come into the world is 
 the only heir or heiress of his own line he will erer have ; 
 therefore it is important that every thing should go exactly 
 right ; and if I should undertake this affair without a doc- 
 tor, and the baby should happen to be too red in the face, 
 or not red enough, or if it should scream too loud, or not 
 loud enough, it would all be laid on the nurse's want of 
 skill. I have heard them talk, my dear young lady, before 
 this the nurse is the doctor's scape-goat " 
 
 The coming agony of her patient again cut shoiit her 
 speech, and just as this fit was over, a rap at the door was 
 heard, and when it was opened, a gentleman, past middle 
 age, of majestic form and benign countenance, dressed in 
 black, appeared within it. 
 
 "Mary ?" inquired he of Mrs. Comford. 
 
 " Yes. She is ill, Judge. You had best at once send 
 for the doctor." 
 
 "Father! dear father !" said the gentle voice from the 
 bed. 
 
 "What, my daughter?" 
 
 " Come to me, please sir." 
 
 Tl^ gentleman advanced to the bedside and bent over 
 her. She raised her arms, placed them around his neck, 
 and said,
 
 MAKY VIKG1NIA WASHINGTON. 55 
 
 " Kiss me, father, and bless me ; then I shall not be 
 afraid." 
 
 " God bless thee, good, beloved Mary.," 
 
 "Now go to bed again, dearest father, please sir.'' 
 
 " Leaving you ill. No, my Mary." 
 
 " But I am not ill now, and if I were very, very bad, 
 then I would send for you to lift up my hands to God as 
 you have always done through all my trials, when my faith 
 has fainted. Go now, please sir, go to rest." 
 
 Judge Washington went, but it was to dispatch hiss con- 
 fidential servant, "Prince William," to the overseer, and 
 having done so, entered his daughter's dressing-room by 
 another door, and set himself down, covering his brow with 
 his hand, to await the issue of her illness. Here the over- 
 seer found him, and was sent for the family physician. And 
 here, as the hours went by, from time to time stealthily 
 entered the doctor or the nurse, with bulletins from the sick 
 chamber of the young lady. 
 
 Once when life and death seemed struggling desperately 
 for the victory, Judge Washington could no longer sit still 
 and hear the agonizing cries of the sufferer, but rising, passed 
 at once into her chamber and to the side of her bed. 
 
 " Mary ! my Mary ! call on God and be a woman !" be 
 said, taking her hands. His voice and touch possessed a 
 mesmeric power over her excited nerves she grew calm 
 and strong, and murmured, 
 
 "Oh, thank you, father! I feel safe with you in the 
 room." 
 
 " I will not leave it again, ray Mary. I will be near at 
 hand," and kissing her pallid brow, damp with a cold sweat, 
 he retired from the couch. 
 
 In the mean time the storm raged violently and shook the 
 windows. 
 
 And the household was in a state of confusion, only pro-
 
 56 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 duced by such events. In her department the cook was 
 superintending the preparation of a plentiful and luxu- 
 riant breakfast, which she modestly called " getting a 
 cup of coffee for doctor," which was to be served when 
 all was over above stairs or, when he had a chance to 
 take it. 
 
 In the linen-room Mrs. Washington's dressing-maid, a 
 very pretty mulatto girl, was sitting down with her red 
 apron flung over her head, crying bitterly, for this excellent 
 reason : Christmas and New Year is the great praising time 
 among the negroes on the Southern plantations, and the 
 very next night, of all the nights in the year, New- Year's 
 night, pretty Coral Pepper, Miss Mary's own waiting-maid, 
 was to be married to Prince William Henry, Judge Wash- 
 ington's body servant, (the reader will please to understand 
 that " Prince" was a name given Mr. Henry by his sponsors 
 in baptism and no titular dignity,) and Miss Mary had 
 promised them a wedding and now all this was to be 
 deferred perhaps till next New Year perhnps forever 
 who could tell delays were dangerous and who shall 
 place their trust in princes? therefore pretty Coral Pepper, 
 with her red apron thrown over her head, wept in the linen - 
 room, while her mother, Poll Pepper, the housekeeper, 
 bustled from kitchen to pantry, and pantry to kitchen from 
 the sick chamber to the linen-room, and from thence to the 
 laundry hurrying and worrying everybody out of their 
 wits and into chaos. At the last-mentioned apartment she 
 stumbled upon Coral. 
 
 "What are you doing here, you lazy huzzy, when the 
 whole enduring house is in a 'fusion from top to bottom, 
 and your dear young mistess at the pint of death and 
 young marse little worse ?" 
 
 Polly was, in fact, about the same age as her master, but 
 from the time she learned to lisp, she had been taught by
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 57 
 
 her parents to call him " Young Marse" in contradistinction 
 to " Ole Marse," his father, who bore the name of Joseph. 
 And the old man died, and his son, in his time, was a father 
 but he still continued to be young Marse to the whole 
 plantation, while the newcomer was dubbed "Marse Joe;" 
 and now that Judge Washington was in the eyes of the 
 whole State one of its most distinguished men, and now that 
 it had conferred upon him the highest dignities in its gift, 
 and now that his hair was turning white, and he was about 
 to be a grandfather to the people of his plantation who 
 had grown up and were growing old with him, he was only 
 " Young Marse" still. 
 
 "What are you doing here? Ain't yon ashamed of your- 
 self ? Little do you care for your young mistress !" 
 
 " Little my young mistess cares for me !" sobbed Coral. 
 
 "What do you mean ? I'm sure nobody can be kinder 
 than Miss Mary Ginny. What in the yeth are you cryin' 
 bout ? Who's been sayin' anythin' to you ? Ef it wur 
 Miss Mary, I know 'fore hand you 'served it. What's the 
 matter with you ? Why don't you speak ? Tell me what's 
 the matter of you this minnit!" 
 
 It's it's it's too bad !" 
 
 " WhoP s too bad ? Will the gal speak ?" 
 
 " It's it's it's," sobbed Coral. 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " It's nothin' 'tall, but Miss Mary's rotten, iufuunnelly 
 contrairiuess !" 
 
 " Look here, Corralline, don't let me hear you swear 
 again ! That's not the sample I sets you ! No more ain't 
 it the sample your blessed satanic young mistess sets. Who 
 ever heern an oath from the lips of that young saint, or 
 even yonng marse, as much as he has to try him ! There, 
 now, tell me what is ailing of you, and talk fast, too, for 
 I'm in a hurry !"
 
 68 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Well, then then then I say it's nothing bat 
 Mary's" 
 
 "Don't swear!" 
 
 " I ain't a-g\virie to spitefulness /" 
 
 " What is 1" 
 
 " To go and get ill the very night afore night afore 
 night afore " 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " Night afore me and Prince was a goin' to be what-you- 
 call-umrned !" 
 
 "The saints alive I as if she could help it the satanio 
 angel 1 Get up, gal. You needn't be in a hurry to borrow 
 trouble by getting married. It'll come soon 'nough. Get 
 up an' carry some hot water up in your mistess's room. I a 
 do it myself, but I'm tired, an' 'deed I'm gettin' older an' 
 older every day of my life. Fac' truffe I'm tellin' of you, 
 chile. I am, indeed, though you don't 'pear to think 
 so." 
 
 Coral wiped her eyes, and went out to do her mother's 
 bidding. 
 
 " Now listen !" called Polly after her. " Arter you've 
 done that, go right trait down in kitchen and grind. Every- 
 thing down der is turned upside down, and every singly 
 thin' in a 'fusion. Make haste." 
 
 The storm of wind, snow, and sleet that had been furi- 
 ously raging all night, had exhausted its power ; the clouds 
 had rolled away, the sky had cleared, and the full moon was 
 shining gloriously bright, when the nurse entered the dress- 
 ing-room into which Judge Washington had then returned, 
 and held before him the new-born babe, saying, respect- 
 fully : 
 
 "Bless your granddaughter, sir." 
 
 He took the child in his arms and blessed it ; entered
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 69 
 
 the chamber of the youthful mother, kissed her pale brow, 
 and retired with the physician. 
 
 It was now near the dawn of day. The room was dark- 
 ened and silent, and at the head^ of the bed, in a deep arm- 
 chair, sat Mrs. Comford with the babe on her lap. Nurse 
 and child were both watched by a pair of beautiful, wide 
 open eyes from the bed. 
 
 " Lay her here by my side and go to bed, nurse," 
 Baid the gentle voice, whose silvery, clear tones were ever 
 full of benevolence and compassion ; " do go to bed, 
 nurse." 
 
 " And leave you, my dear young lady ? that would 
 never do." 
 
 " But you have not slept all night." 
 
 "I am not sleepy, madam." 
 
 "But you must be quite wearied out." 
 
 " Oh, no, I am quite fresh." 
 
 "There is breakfast prepared down-stairs for the doctor; 
 go down and get a cup of coffee." 
 
 " I do not need it indeed, my dear ; besides, they will 
 bring it up here to me soon. But you must not talk, my 
 dear, you must go to sleep." 
 
 " I do not wish to sleep." 
 
 " You do not ? You have some uneasiness what is it ? 
 Do not, my dear child, be so unwilling to give a little 
 trouble, which is no trouble at all. You may do yourself 
 harm by it. Tell me where you feel bad, and let me do 
 something for you." 
 
 "I do not feel badly, I feel very well ; I am enjoying t 
 delicious repose." 
 
 "Very well, then, go to sleep, my dear." 
 
 "But I cannot." 
 
 "Then shut your eyes and lie still."
 
 60 T Li E TWO SISTERS. 
 
 "Nurse, I cannot sleep, indeed, or even lie still, and 
 know you, at your time of life, sitting there awake and 
 watching. Lay my little daughter how sweetly that 
 sounds to me, nurse lay ray little daughter by my side, 
 and do you go and lie down on your cot in my dressing- 
 room, and then I will try to sleep ; and if I cannot, at least 
 I shall rest delightfully." 
 
 Mrs. Comford thought it best to lay the child upon the 
 bed, and prepare to obey her. 
 
 " Tell me, now, is there nothing in the world I can do 
 for you, honey, before I go ?" 
 
 " Nothing, I thank you, nurse." 
 
 " Yes, but indeed I do not like to go and leave you so ; 
 is there nothing " 
 
 " Well, then, dear Mrs. Comford, yes, there is a little 
 thing I want done. Festoon the curtains at the foot of my 
 bed, and draw aside those of my dawn window." 
 
 " Your what, my dear child ?" 
 
 *> " My dawn window, nurse, the bay-window at the foot 
 of my bed." 
 
 " Excuse me, but what is that for, child ?" 
 
 " Every morning, nurse, since I first occupied this room, 
 after God called Joseph to Heaven, I have been accus- 
 tomed to wake early, and, lying here, watch through that 
 large bay-window opposite the foot of my bed the first faint 
 dawn of day on the Plains to watch it grow lighter and 
 brighter, until the glorious sun himself should arise, and 
 flood the whole earth and sky with glory. Any one would 
 think the prospect from that window a very monotonous 
 and uninteresting one nothing but level plains and the 
 sky but as I have lain here I have marked infinite and 
 beautiful varieties. I have seen the day dawn cloudless a 
 clear sheet of transparent crimson, burning red at the hori- 
 zon, and fading off to the pale, blue zenith. I have seen it
 
 M A K Y VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. b' I 
 
 dawn behind a range of cloud-mountains, whose summits 
 the hidden sun would gild and tint with a thousand brilliant 
 rainbow hues. I have seen it dawn upon an overcast and 
 leaden sky, and even then thought the soft stealing of mere 
 light upon darkness inexpressibly. beautiful ; and I have seen 
 day dawn upon every variety of ground upon the plains 
 upon the soft, bright, green verdure of spring and early 
 summer, upon the bronzed and burnished grass of autumn, 
 and upon the snow-clad fields of winter. Oh, yes, there is 
 infinite and beautiful variety even in that apparently monoto- 
 nous scene. Sunrise is a glorious sight a sublime sight, 
 and excites the highest admiration ; but the dawn of day is 
 beautiful and lovely, and touches my heart. I love the 
 dawn of day." 
 
 Mary spoke in a low voice, and more to herself than to 
 her attendant, who, however, said, 
 
 " But when it gets light, the sun, you know, will hurt your 
 eyes, my dear 1" 
 
 "When it gets light, nurse, if it should hurt them, I will 
 cover my eyes till you come." 
 
 Mrs. Comford, sorely against her will, festooned the bed 
 curtains, drew back the window curtains, and left her pa- 
 tient watching for the dawn. 
 
 There was a religious sentiment connected with the habit 
 in her mind. It was immediately after the death of hor 
 young husband, that her father-in-law, with thoughtful ana 
 tender feeling, had transferred Mary from the apartments 
 that herself and Captain Washington had occupied, to 
 these rooms at the opposite end of the house. The night 
 she was removed was that of the day of her husband's 
 funeral. It was a cold and stormy night, and she had lain, 
 awake weeping all night, while the wind sent the rain against 
 the large window opposite the foot of her bed. At length 
 she prayed, and was comforted, and fell asleep, and when
 
 62 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 she awoke again the rain had ceased, but the window was 
 black with the dense darkness of the hour ; but as she lay 
 there, struggling against the temptation of unbelief and 
 Despair, and trying, by faith, to follow her loved and lost 
 into the Heaven to which they had gone, and repeating 
 again, with her heart, and not her tongue, " Lord, I believe ! 
 help Thou my unbelief 1" the dense blackness against the 
 window grew thinner and more transparent, but so faintly 
 so, as scarcely to attract her notice, for she closed her eyes, 
 whose pupils ached at their great dilation in the darkness. 
 In a minute they were rested and opened again, and now it 
 was certainly less dark, and she knew that day was dawning. 
 Perhaps she had really never seen the day dawn before. 
 Perhaps she had always slept in curtained chambers, or 
 with the head of her bed against the light. At all events, 
 it is certain that she had never noticed the dawn of day 
 before and now she watched it with peculiar and profound 
 interest. As the dark, tempestuous night had associated 
 itself with ideas of death and the grave, with the darken- 
 ing of her sonl with clouds of momentary unbelief and 
 despair so the faint, soft, clear dawn now stealing on the 
 darkness, associated itself with the peace that fell with 
 prayer upon her troubled soul with the hope that came 
 by faith to her despairing soul with the day of resurrection 
 breaking upon the night of death and Mary folded her 
 hands devoutly, and raised her heart to God, while the 
 morning grew brighter on the earth, and faith grew brighter 
 in her spirit.' From that time Mary slept at night, but 
 woke at day-break, to offer up her morning worship before 
 her dawn window. 
 
 And now Mary folded her hands together and prayed in 
 sight of her dawn window. Her heart was swelling with 
 its flood of gratitude and needed to pour itself out in 
 thanksgiving. So Mary gave thanks for her living child,
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 63 
 
 and prayed for wisdom to bring her up aright. While she 
 lay there, she heard first, Mrs. Comford breathing deeply 
 and regularly in the next room, and knew by that, that she 
 slept next, a light pitpatting down the stairs leading from 
 the third story, a soft tread near her chamber-door ; and 
 then Mary rose upon her elbow and looked eagerly, and 
 with something of a remorseful tenderness in her gentle 
 face just as a child's meek voice was heard without to say, 
 
 "Mamma dear mamma, may I come in ?" 
 
 "Yes, Josey. Come in, darling." 
 
 And the door was softly pushed open, as softly closed 
 again, and a little delicate, fair-haired, blue-eyed child, of 
 some six or seven years old, came up quietly to the bed. 
 
 This was Mary Washington's adopted child and this 
 was his short and simple story. Five years before, in Mary's 
 happy childhood, she had gone to Alexandria with her 
 father, Colonel Carey. While staying there at the principal 
 hotel, their attention was one morning attracted to a crowd 
 gathering in the street before the door. Colonel Carey 
 went down to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and 
 discovered that it was occasioned by a beggar-woman having 
 fallen dead in the street and by a young babe that had 
 rolled from her arms. Much pity was felt and expressed. 
 The child was carried into the house and put in charge of 
 one of the under housemaids, and the coroner summoned 
 to set upon the dead body of the mother. Every possible 
 investigation Was made, but nothing was discovered of the 
 woman, or of any friends or acquaintances she might have 
 had. The woman was finally buried at the expense of the 
 Corporation, and the child destined to the Poor House. 
 Now Mary Carey had wept very much over the sad fate of 
 the pauper mother and the destitute babe, and when she 
 heard it was to be sent to the Poor House, she threw her 
 arms around her father's neck, imploring him to let tier
 
 Gi THE TWO SISTKRS. 
 
 lake it. Her father was surprised objected to the plan 
 reasoned with his little girl ; but her sympathies were 
 stronger than his logic, and finally, as he could not refuse 
 his motherless daughter any thing that was not wrong, he 
 gave his consent, to her adoption of the orphan ; and Mary 
 immediately took possession of her prize made herself very 
 happy in providing comfortably for its immediate wants, 
 and finally carried it with her to her country home. She 
 called him Joseph, after her youthful idolatry and betrothed 
 Joseph Washington ; and from that hour rhe infant shared 
 Mary's home and bed until she was married, and then the 
 infant of four years old was taken to Prospect Hall. 
 
 Neither Captain Washington nor Judge Washington had 
 raised the slightest objection to " Mary's pet child." On 
 the contrary, both were ever happy in the opportunity of 
 proving their affection for her in any extraordinary manner. 
 Captain Washington, in the tenderness and generosity of 
 his noble heart, had volunteered a promise to his bride, that 
 as the boy should be free from her leading strings, he would 
 charge himself with his education, and final establishment 
 in life. Already in his young enthusiasm and impetuosity, 
 he had fixed upon his protege's future profession the cap- 
 tain's own of course and announced that as soon as the 
 boy should attain the proper age, he should enter as a cadet 
 u he military academy of West Point. And this was pro- 
 mulgated by Coral through the household. 
 
 One among their number, however, shook his head and 
 objected that was Bruin, the Deformed, a nondescript in 
 parson and in office the son of some former long-deceased 
 overseer, who had grown up an old man about the planta- 
 tion now haunting his birth-place, Blackthorn Grange 
 now hovering about the Mansion-House. Never was a 
 great and beautiful soul imprisoned in so dwarfed and do- 
 formed a body. Little opportunity of mental or moral im-
 
 MARY V I K (i I N 1 A \V A S II I .\ G T O X . tJ5 
 
 provement had Bruin found for few books came in his way, 
 end few people talked with him ; and out of Judge Wash- 
 ington's family little kindness was shown him ; nevertheless, 
 his brain had thriven upon the very crumbs of knowledge 
 that fell from the rich man's intellectual table, and his heart 
 had fed upon the few sympathetic words and beneficial acts 
 'hat blessed him. 
 
 But more of that anon. It was Bruin the Dwarf, then, 
 that objected to the proposed destination of the child. 
 
 ' Xo," said Bruin, whose favorite study was phrenology. 
 " No," he repeated, taking the child upon his knee, and 
 running his long blackish fingers through the infant's sunny 
 hair, and feeling his " bumps ;" " no, that would never do ; 
 his whole physical, intellectual, and moral organization, 
 would be a living epigram upon bis profession ! the infant 
 is too greatly, too wonderfully endowed for that." 
 
 " Indeed, then !" exclaimed the scandalized Coral, " in- 
 deed, then, pray is not Captain Washington a soldier !" 
 
 " Captain Washington," said the dwarf, "got his commis- 
 sion ' in times that tried men's souls,' as they say and he 
 has reflected honor upon his profession. Captain Wash- 
 ington is the hero of the present, worthy almost even of his 
 illustrious namesake and relative ; but this infant, mark you, 
 is the man of the future. God ;" said the dwarf, still run- 
 ning his fingers through the golden curls, turning them back 
 from the snowy brow, and gazing into the clear, deep blue 
 eyes " God, what a physiognomy what a phrenology is 
 his !" 
 
 "What a what!" asked Coral. 
 
 But the dwarf went on as if talking to himself. " What 
 intellectual development ! what immense Comparison and 
 Causality ! what enormous Ideality and Sublimity ! what 
 towering Reverence, larger even than our Mary's I And 
 Conscientiousness ! My God, this boy would go to perdi-
 
 6(> THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 tion for the right, rather than purchase Heaven by the 
 wrong, could such an alternative possibly offer 1 What 
 social affection, too ! What love of women and of children ! 
 What Adhesiveness. But he has not Self-esteem enough ; 
 no nor Firmness, nor Combaiiveuess, nor Destructiveuess 
 enough ! Oh, my child, anointed for sorrow," continued the 
 dwarf, gazing sadly in the eyes of the wondering boy. " The 
 service of God and humanity that is your mission, my boy." 
 
 " No, he will never make a soldier. Too much Benevo- 
 lence too much Reverence too little Combativeness and 
 Destructiveness child anointed for suffering. Not much 
 attacktive or even defensive courage, but much passive 
 courage, endurance, fortitude, or whatever else the martyr 
 spirit be called. No, never will he make a soldier, othei 
 than a 'soldier of the Cross,'" decided the dwarf. 
 
 Josey wept bitterly at first, being separated from his 
 "little mother's" sleeping apartment, and Mary, to console 
 him, had selected a beautiful little room in the third story, 
 and given it to him as his own. She had furnished and 
 adorned this room with a view to its effect upon the infant's 
 mind and heart. He had a small French bedstead, of rose- 
 wood, a little chest of drawers, a little rocking-chair, and 
 several other little chairs, a little wash-stand and table ; and 
 lastly, a little book-case, stored with children's books. Of 
 this last he was permitted to keep the key. Yery few of the 
 books could he tell, except by the engravings, but he could 
 at any time select the book he wished, and little mother 
 would read it to him She adorned the walls with pictures 
 of the holy family the Child in the Temple, and others, all 
 of a religious or an affectionate nature. And she told him 
 Bible stories about them. The Holy Family, representing 
 a central group of Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus, 
 visited by Eli, Elizabeth, and John the Baptist, as a boy 
 rf two years old, standing, was the child's especial delight.
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 67 
 
 "Little mother," he said one day, "you are like Mary; 
 grandpa (as he called Judge Washington) is like Joseph ; 
 and I " 
 
 " Hush, hush, my darling, that is very irreverent. You 
 must try all your life to follow in the footsteps of the Di- 
 vine Infant." 
 
 "/am like the little boy standing there, who came before 
 Him, but was preferred after him, and was not worthy to 
 tie his shoes, but who loved him better than himself. Lit- 
 tle mother, am I like Him ?" 
 
 " No, little boy ; but you may, by his grace, become like 
 him." 
 
 After the widowhood of Mary "Washington, she had 
 found her best solace in the education and care of this 
 lovely boy. He was still left ia his little room in the third 
 story ; but much of her time not passed in other labors of 
 love, was spent by Mary there. And now his education 
 progressed rapidly. He had learned to read all the books 
 in his little book-case, and she had sent to Alexandria for 
 more. Among these came " The Exiles of Siberia," and 
 "Paul and Virginia." They read the "Exiles" first, and 
 by the story of Elizabeth's heroism and devotion, the heart 
 and imagination of the boy was fired, and he said fervently : 
 
 " Oh, mamma, how my heart does beat ! I want to do 
 something like that for you 1" 
 
 " We can prove our love by bearing, as well as by doing, 
 little boy, and you will have the opportunity." 
 
 "Oh, mamma! when?" 
 
 " Soon, perhaps, Josey." 
 
 But that was nothing to his excitement when reading 
 " Paul and Virginia." After it was done, and all his sym- 
 pathetic tears were shed, he fell into profound thought 
 thought was ever born of feeling with him and at last ha 
 aid:
 
 6i THE TWO SISTERS 
 
 " If I had been Paul I would not have died and left iny 
 poor mother. I think it was selfish in Paul to follow Vir- 
 ginia to Heaven, and leave her mother and his own poor 
 mother on earth. I would not have died if I had been 
 Paul." 
 
 " My love, it often requires more courage to live than 
 tc die." 
 
 " I know it, sweet mother, for who would not like to go 
 to Heaven ? Yes, I know it, sweet mother, for you would 
 rather go to Heaven with them that's gone than stay here, 
 if it wasn't for grandpa and Josey. Mamma !" 
 
 " Well, Josey ?" 
 
 "What is it that makes girls and women bear every 
 thing so much better than boys and men ?" 
 
 " What makes you think they do, Josey ?" 
 
 " Why, in all the books I read, I find that little girls bear 
 things best. There was Elizabeth, now, in the 'Exiles,' 
 what hardships she bore ; and there was Virginia. See 
 with what fortitude she bore the parting that Paul sank 
 under ; and here is you, little mother, when almost every 
 one you loved died, and grandpa Carey died of grief, you 
 kept alive ; and you said just now, ' it takes more courage 
 to live than to die.' " 
 
 " Sometimes, my love ; and I should have said not cour- 
 age, but fortitude. Men and boys have more courage than 
 women and girls ; but women have more patience than 
 men." 
 
 " I think I love girls best, little mother ; besides, all the 
 angels are girls." 
 
 " Oh, no, love ! none of them. There is no such thing 
 mentioned in the Bible." 
 
 The child's next observation was very childlike, but 
 neither sublime nor pathetic. 
 
 " Well, then, little mother," he said, pointing to the
 
 MART VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 69 
 
 picture of the Annunciation, "Gabriel wears loug frocks, 
 anyhow, and long hair, too ; now if he is a boy, why don't 
 he wear trowsers ?" 
 
 The question, involving the problem that confounds the 
 philosophers of the nineteenth century, was too profound 
 for the simple wisdom of Mary, who could only reply : 
 
 " Oh dear, love, do not talk so of the holy angels ; they 
 are neither male nor female, but fur above either angels 
 of the Lord." 
 
 Awed by her tone, the child raised his eyes in reverence 
 and fear once more to the picture, and became silent and 
 thoughtful. 
 
 Paul and Virginia became his favorite book, however, 
 though he never read the catastrophe without shedding 
 tears ; and his admiration of the beauty and goodness, and 
 his compassion for the tragic end of the lovely children, 
 was used by Mary to impress upon his infant mind this 
 truth : that when goodness does not meet its deserts, hap- 
 piness in this world, it is its surest guarantee of its receiv- 
 ing it from the hands of God, in heaven. But most of all 
 the boy loved the ideal Virginia. She evidently took a 
 rank among his patron saints and guardian angels, rather 
 than with the heroes and heroines of his other childish 
 books. 
 
 His birthday was unknown ; but his little mother had 
 always observed the anniversary of her adoption of him, as 
 a birthday. This was the first of July, and upon this day 
 she always made a little feast for him ; and gave a feast to 
 ull the little colored children. The first birthday they had 
 both passed at Prospect Hall was so very sad a one so 
 soon after her grievous bereavement that Mary could not 
 make a feast ; but she asked Josey what she should give 
 him. 
 
 "On mamma! give me a little sister named Virginia 1" 
 4
 
 70 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Mary smiled very sadly at this childish request ; hut will 
 ing to gratify her little boy to the utmost of her ability, 
 she sent to Alexandria and purchased a beautiful oil painting 
 of the infancy of Paul and Virginia that she remembered 
 to have seen there. This, in default of the real Virginia, 
 delighted Josey very much. It was hung up in his room. 
 
 Convinced of the great influence of early reading, and 
 even early pictures, upon the character of a child, she 
 sought by such books and prints as those of Paul and Vir- 
 ginia, The Exiles of Siberia, as well as by her own precept 
 and example, to foster every gentle household affection, 
 every high heroic virtue. By stories of the Saviour, she 
 cultivated his profound religious sentiments. By all that is 
 beautiful, lovely, or grand and awful in nature by flowers, 
 sunrise, mountains, storms by all the best emotions of his 
 own heart, and the brightest inspirations of his own mind, 
 she sought to raise his soul to God. 
 
 Mary was passionately fond of children, as I said, and 
 she had found sweet comfort in educating her lovely adopted 
 child. But when she found that God had blessed her with 
 the prospect of a child of her own, her joy was profound 
 her joy was profound, but alloyed by a sorrow and a tender 
 remorse a new sorrow for the loss of her husband, and a 
 remorse at the consciousness that now a dearer child would 
 supersede her orphan boy in her best affections. This made 
 Mary resolve that if her feelings changed, her actions 
 should not. This made her redouble her tenderness to 
 the child. This made her one day take him to her bosom 
 and shed tears of compassion over him tears that rained 
 from her eyes when the child too wept, and implored little 
 mother to tell him what was the matter. There was one 
 beautiful thing between this mother and child it was their 
 confidence in and faith toward each other so when Josey 
 wiping away her fast-falling tears with his little apron, and
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. 71 
 
 kissing her weeping, begged her to tell him what was the 
 matter she pressed him closer to her bosom, and said, 
 
 "Jo'sey, mamma loves you very dearly she can never 
 iove you any less ; but listen to me now God is going to 
 send me another child, a little baby." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! Indeed ! I am so glad that our Father 
 is going to send us a little child. Will it be a little girl 
 that will be my little playmate and sister, that I can call 
 Virginia, and love and wait on?" 
 
 "Perhaps so, love, and perhaps a little boy. Mamma 
 don't know." 
 
 " Didn't our Father send you word ?" 
 
 " No, Josey." 
 
 " But what made you cry, then, little mother ?" 
 
 " Because little mother fears that she shall love the little 
 stranger more than she loves her boy, and that her Josey 
 will be unhappy." 
 
 " Why, mamma ?" inquired the child, with his beautiful 
 eyes raised to her face dilated with wonder. " Why, moth- 
 er ?" he asked again, and Mary was again puzzled by the 
 searching question of a simple child, and in acknowledging 
 in him the presence of a nature even purer, more unselfish 
 than her own, felt ashamed of her former morbid anxiety. 
 The child, when his questions were not soon answered from 
 without, inquired within himself and now after falling into 
 a short but deep reverie, he spoke up : 
 
 " Now I know, little mother, though I don't know how to 
 te.1 you. But one thing I'll tell you two things I'll tell 
 you. If you love the baby that God sends you straight 
 from himself better than me, it will be because it will be a 
 gooder child than I am, and then I will be like the little 
 John in the Holy Family. I will stand by your knee ana 
 look at the baby, and love it until I get good enough to tie 
 its shoes."
 
 72 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 This last conversation had occurred only a few days be- 
 fore her accouchement. 
 
 It was this child, then, who now advanced to the bedside, 
 and by his mother's permission climbed upon the bed. 
 
 "What brings my little Josey out of his warm nest so 
 early this cold morning ?" inquired Mary, stroking his fair 
 curls. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I have been awake ever so long, I heard 
 Coral and Pepper, and all of them, running about in the 
 night, and it woke me up ; and I heard Pepper come into 
 the linen-room and say to somebody that you were sick, 
 and I got up and come down and stood by the door ; and 
 Coral came down with some hot water, and she set it down 
 and took me up and carried me up stairs again, and told 
 me if I made a noise or got up again before morning it 
 might kill mamma, who was very ill. And then I laid in 
 the bed and cried all night, and prayed to God not to take 
 my mamma to Heaven without me, too ; and then 1 heard 
 some one come in the linen-room and tumble about the 
 things and laugh, and then I knew you were well again, 
 because no one could laugh while you were sick ; and so I 
 laid and waited till I saw day dawning, and then I got up 
 and came down, because I knew that mamma would let 
 me in." 
 
 Mary passed her arms around the child, drew him down 
 to her bosom, and kissed him. Then rising upon her elbow, 
 she reached a shawl from the back of the chair, and drew it 
 around him, bidding him sit there quietly. Lastly, she 
 lifted her baby from the other side, and laid it before him, 
 saying, 
 
 " Look, my little Josey ! God has sent Virginia at last !' ? 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" exclaimed the child, fervently clasping 
 bis little hands together, and gazing at the babe with
 
 MARY VIRGINIA WASHINGTON. < 3 
 
 mingled awe, admiration and tenderness; "oh, mammal 
 she is so little I" 
 
 " And so innocent, and tender, and helpless, Josey 1" 
 
 " I love her so dearly, mamma !" 
 
 " Dear boy I Kiss me, Josey !'' 
 
 He kissed his " little mother " again and again, and 
 then, reverting to the baby, said, 
 
 " Is her name really Virginia, mamma ?" 
 
 " Yes, Josey, Mary Virginia that was my mother's 
 name it's mine, and I will also place her under the pro- 
 tection of the Virgin Mary." 
 
 " Oh, what a darling little Virginia ! but she is so little, 
 mamma !" 
 
 " She will every day grow bigger." 
 
 " And be as pretty, mamma ?" 
 
 " I hope so, and as innocent. But now the sun is getting 
 so bright, and I promised to call up Mrs. Comford ; pull 
 the bell-rope fur mamma, Josey." 
 
 And the child having done so, soon after Mrs. Comford 
 entered the room. The good woman gently reproved her 
 charge for worrying herself so, sent little Josey off to 
 Coral to be dressed, put the baby in the cradle made 
 Mary lie down again to sleep drew the curtains of the 
 " dawn window," and having set the chamber in pei'fect 
 order, replenished the fire, and left the room to prepare a 
 light breakfast for her patient.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 NEW-YEAR'S MORNING AT PROSPECT HILL. 
 
 " There's not a maid, nor wearied man of mine, 
 But now this day shall smile through all their earn, 
 Aud revel it in transport and rude harmony." Congreot. 
 
 VERY grand and beautiful, though very simple, was the 
 "prospect" from the front vestibule of the hall, which com- 
 manded a view of the smoothly descending sweep of the 
 snow-clad hill and plains, stretching many miles to Chesa- 
 peake Bay, which formed the boundary of the Eastern hori- 
 zon, and whose dark waters were now a-blaze with the 
 splendor of the risen sun. 
 
 Here upon this morning in the vestibule, smiling, stood 
 Judge Washington, and from all parts of the plantation, 
 coming up the hill in their gay holiday attire, were seen his 
 people men, women and children coming to wish their 
 venerated master and bis family a Happy Year, and to 
 receive from his hands some appropriate token of regard. 
 " Happy New Year, Judge !" " Happy New Year, 
 roaster 1" " Happy New Year, sir ! and many returns of 
 'em !" sounded now from all sides, as the people came up 
 the marble stairs and crowded around their master. 
 
 But she, the idolized young mistress, who had stood by 
 his side a week before, on Christmas-day, was absent ; and 
 as their inquiring glances went about, and sly smiles were 
 exchanged for they judged the cause of her absence by 
 the happy expression of their master's countenance Judge 
 Washington said 
 (74)
 
 NEW-YEAR'S MORNING. 76 
 
 "Wish me joy, my people, upon another happy ?ccasioo 
 the birth of my granddaughter Virginia !" 
 
 And then a shout went up into the air. And the Judge 
 was cheered. And the young mother. And tl.e child. 
 
 "But where is Adam Hawk?" inquired the old gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "We have not seen him this morning, sir." 
 
 " He was disturbed last night. He has probably over- 
 slept himself this morning. You, Prince, must do his 
 office upon this occasion," said Judge Washington, plac- 
 ing a heavy purse in the hand of his confidential attendant. 
 "Distribute this among your fellow-servants, and God bless 
 you all ! and stay ! Where is Bruin, my good Bruin ? I 
 do not see him !" 
 
 "We have not seen him at the house this morning, sir 
 'haps he's at Blackthorns." 
 
 "Prince, send some one to bid him come to me I have 
 Spurzheim's Philosophy for him." 
 
 "Yes, sir! yes! 'mediately, sir! Dull! do you come 
 here ! Run now as fast as you can go to Blackthorn's, 
 and 'form Bruin that young marse has spurs and a hoss for 
 him," said this deputy, in a low voice, to his messenger. 
 
 " Now go, my people, and enjoy your holiday, and God 
 be with you !" said the Judge, turning toward the house. 
 
 " God bless Judge Washington, and all his name I" 
 shouted the dispersing crowd. 
 
 Judge Washington turned to see, bowing low before him, 
 hat in hand, the tall, gaunt figure of Adam Hawk, with his 
 gray locks streaming on the wind. 
 
 "Happy New Year, my good friend ! I was just inquir- 
 ing for you, missing you from this, my patriarchal gather- 
 ing of the clans, and supposing you to be sleeping off your 
 fatigue. I hope you have not shortened your morning's 
 rest upon my account : for you look rather weary. Cover,
 
 76 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 my good Adam, cover this crisp morniug. Your gray 
 hair, like mine, looks not so well romping with the wind as 
 Mary's chestnut locks might look. And now I see you 
 again indeed, Adam, you look haggard. You have lost 
 too much sleep. Come in and take a glass of egg-nog to 
 Mary's health, and then go home and go to bed," said the 
 Judge. 
 
 But Adam Hawk bowed again more lowly than before, 
 and said : 
 
 "You see before you a stricken man this morning, 
 Judge ! Verily the hand of God has fallen heavily upon 
 me I" 
 
 "Adam, old friend, you speak solemnly. You alarm 
 me ! I trust no evil has befallen you since last night." 
 
 " My child, sir, who was lost, is found again ; but was 
 found in the snow, and her corse lies now at my house !" 
 
 "Adam ! My heaven, Adam, what do you tell me ?" 
 
 "Her mother, sir, overwhelmed by the shock, is dying." 
 
 Judge Washington gazed silently at the speaker, with a 
 countenance stolid with surprise and compassion. 
 
 " That, sir, is the excuse I offer for not being early at my 
 duty this morniug." 
 
 "Adam Hawk, I pity you from the very bottom of my 
 heart. Adam, I am deeply wounded by your griefs." 
 
 " There is no use in that, sir." 
 
 " Good friend, command me. What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Judge, since there is no withstanding the 
 Almighty." 
 
 " Let there be no rebelling then, Adam, against the Al- 
 mighty ; no doubting the All-wise ; no murmnring against 
 the All-merciful : He wounds to heal. I, too, Adam, as 
 you know, I and mine have been smitten to the dust ; but 
 we have been raised again. Earth has remedies for almost 
 everj' other affliction God only for those that come by
 
 NEW-YEAR'S MOUSING. 77 
 
 death." Adam bowed lowly, and remained silent. Judge 
 Washington continued : " Resign yourself, Adam not as 
 a prisoner to the sentence of a judge, but as a little child 
 to the discipline of his father." 
 
 Again Adam inclined his head, and saying, "Permit me 
 now to return to the bedside of my dying wife," turned to 
 depart. 
 
 "God be with you, Adam. Call on me for any service 
 you may need. I will be down to see you in a few hours." 
 
 Adam Hawk departed, and Judge Washington re-en- 
 tered the mansion, and proceeded to the bed-chamber of his 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 Mary was sitting up in bed, supported by downy white 
 pillows, and her sweet, wan face looked even fairer for the 
 soft shade of the delicate lace cap ; and beautiful, far more 
 beautiful, for the heavenly love and still joy beaming from 
 her countenance upon the babe sleeping before her. As 
 her " father," as she called him, entered the room, Mary 
 held out one hand to him, and as he came to the side of 
 the bed, she murmured in low tones, full of deep emotion, 
 
 " I am so happy. my beloved, ray venerated father ! 
 my second, good father, bless thy child, and her child." 
 
 " I do bless thee every day I live, my Mary ; and again 
 I bless thee. May God be ever in thy heart, and love and 
 truth be ever on thy lips, as now, my Mary." 
 
 " I am so happy. I am so grateful. My heart fills to 
 breaking with its wish, its need to do God some good ser- 
 vice. I am so happy. I am so grateful. 0, my father, 
 what shall I render unto the Lord for all his mercies ?" 
 
 " ' The cattle upon a thousand hills' are the Lord's ; the 
 whole earth and the fullness thereof are his ; yea, the hea- 
 vens and the majesty thereof are the Lord's," said Judge 
 Washington, contemplating the lovely young mother with 
 a B\veet solemnity of brow.
 
 78 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " What, then, shall I render unto the Lord for all his 
 mercies, since all that is, is his of right ?" 
 
 The patriarch bent over her, and with a countenance 
 and in tones full of blessing, said, 
 
 "My daughter, 'Thou shalt LOVE the Lord thy God with 
 all thy heart, and all thy soul, and all thy strength.' That 
 which we frail creatures created by a breath, and by a 
 breath destroyed that which we beg for in every act and 
 word and thought, the Supreme Sovereign of the universe 
 himself in his lone omnipotence pleads for LOVE. ' My 
 son, my daughter, give me thy HEART.' Mary, above and 
 before all things, raise thy soul and the soul of thy child iu 
 LOVE to the Universal Father, and all good else will follow 
 of itself." 
 
 "0 ! I do, I do, and shall ; and it has made me happy, 
 and will make me so ; but a barren love, father ! when 
 my soul burns to do something !" 
 
 " 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself:' there is large 
 DOING in that, my Mary." 
 
 They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Judge 
 Washington stepped to the door, and opened it partly. 
 Bruin, the deformed, appeared, and said a few words in a 
 low voice. " Certainly ; remain below stairs a few minutes, 
 Bruin," were the only words of the colloquy that Mary 
 heard ; and these were spoken by the Judge, who, closing 
 the door, returned, and seating himself by the bed, said, 
 
 "Mary, my dear daughter, I have something to tell you 
 something that, in your present state, perhaps, you should 
 not hear; but which duty nevertheless constrains me to re- 
 veal. I will rely upon your self-command and fortitude, as 
 well as upon your strength of nerve." 
 
 " Well, father, Margaret it is about Margaret," said 
 Mary, in a low voice, but growing very pale 
 
 "My dear Mary, remember yourself now ; be calm."
 
 NEW-YEAR S MORNING. 79 
 
 "I am, I am, father. But Margaret!" 
 
 "Has passed away from earth." 
 
 Mary sank backward upon her pillow, pressed both 
 open hands to her brow, remained perfectly still for a little 
 while, and then uncovering her face, said, 
 
 " The circumstances, father ?" 
 
 " She returned home last night, died in her mother's 
 arms ; died in the hope of a blessed immortality, and 
 blessing with her last breath you and your child, my Mary." 
 
 " Father, my nurse her mother ! How is it with her ?" 
 
 " Mary, you knew her state ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 "The slight tenure by which she held her life ?" 
 
 "Well, well!" 
 
 " She blessed her dying child, received her last breath, 
 and " 
 
 "She, too, died," said Mary, convulsively clasping her 
 hands, and then with an effort controlling herself while she 
 repeated, " She, too, died 1" 
 
 " No, my Mary, she lives yet ; but her life is despaired 
 of." 
 
 " Ah, my dear nurse my tender friend !" 
 
 "I have a message from her for you, Mary." 
 
 " Tell it to me, father ; the message of the dying " 
 
 " Listen then, Mary ; Margaret left a babe of four weeks 
 old." 
 
 " A babe 1 oh, poor, poor things ! Oh, poor, poor things I 
 Mother and babe ! How it must have tortured the soul of 
 Margaret to leave her babe behind I And oh, the poor, 
 poor, helpless, most destitute innocent!" said Mary, with 
 the tears bathing her face. Tears such tears are not 
 dangerous and so they did not alarm Judge Washington 
 or stay his speech. 
 
 " It is in behalf of this destitute babe that the dying
 
 80 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 mother sends you this message. She implores tha , for the 
 sake of all her tender care of you in your infancy, for the 
 sake of the dead Margaret, and for the sake of God, you 
 will care for the orphan babe who is cast off by her grand- 
 father, and see to its being put in a place of safe nurture. 
 And, my Mary, it is because the poor woman cannot die 
 peacefully without a promise brought to her from your owu 
 lips, that I have ventured to risk disturbing you." 
 
 "Thank you, dear father. Wise and good father, thank 
 you for telling me." 
 
 "Bruin waits to take your answer back, my Mary." 
 
 " Let him hasten and tell my dear nurse that I take her 
 Margaret's baby my sister's baby, to my own bosom, and 
 think that God has given me twins. And let him tell her 
 that I come myself to assure her of it with ray own lips." 
 
 The Judge left the room, and soon returned, saying : 
 
 " I did your bidding, Mary, in regard to the first part of 
 your message, but for the last, my love, it is impossible, you 
 know. You cannot go." 
 
 " Ah, father, do not you say so. You have faith and 
 courage. You know that God will protect me if I rely 
 upon him while venturing any thing for the sake of good." 
 
 " My dear Mary, my love, my darling, consider. You 
 would risk your life unnecessarily ; that would be rash and 
 presumptuous." 
 
 " Ah, no, father, not to give peace to my dying friend, 
 would be unnecessary, rash, or presumptuous." 
 
 " But you would run a fearful risk, my dear Mary. " 
 
 " Ah, father, is not that what old nurse would call a 
 ! notion,' that tender fear of yours ? See, father, how strong 
 and well I am for all my ephemeral look, and see how 
 much I have already gone through, which, thanks to God 
 and to your sustaining aid, has not impaired my bodily 
 health."
 
 NEW-YEAR'S MORNING. 81 
 
 " That you know of, my love. But, Mary, this exposure 
 *t such a time ah, my child, you must not think of it 
 you must give it up. I myself will go and see poor Mrs. 
 Hawk, and deliver literally any message you send, and 
 promise any thing you wish in your name," said the Judge, 
 with affectionate earnestness and gravity. 
 
 Mary raised her pleading eyes to his, and placed her 
 delicate hands together, and said, in an imploring voice : 
 
 " Father, dear father, hinder me not. If you forbid me, 
 I will not go ; but oh, I shall lie here with such an aching 
 heart, to know my nurse-mother dying, and so near me, and 
 I not with her ; and afterward to know her dead, and the 
 opportunity of doing her this good service taken from my 
 power. Father, dear father, oh, let me go !" 
 
 " Mary, my own dear heart's child, if it were not for fear 
 of risking your health, I should not oppose your wishes. 
 Forbid you, hinder you, Mary, I do not ; I never did or 
 shall arrogate to myself any control over your free action, 
 my child." 
 
 " But, father, I will not, indeed I could not bring myself 
 to do any thing against your wishes ; but I want you, in 
 this instance, to think as I do." 
 
 "Be a woman like thou, dear child?" 
 
 "Father, just consider; it is all a 'notion,' this, about 
 the danger. Think how many women I have read of in 
 history, who, in ' troublous times,' frequently endured hun- 
 ger, cold, fatiguing journeys, all at once, delicate women, 
 too, and yet they never perished. Now, father, the sun has 
 come out warm, and it is thawing out of doors, and the 
 distance is short, and I can go in the close carriage, and 
 oe well wrapped up in shawls and furs and my eidei-down 
 quilt. There will be no danger, if care is taken, in my 
 going ; but if I stay here, oh, father, I am afraid that, like 
 a very bad child, I shall cry myself ill."
 
 82 THE TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 Much more was said on both sides with which I will not 
 weary the reader, as it was but a variation of the same 
 thing. And finally Mary prevailed ; and at high noon 
 found herself well wrapped up, with her nurse and her baby 
 also, in the close carriage, and on her way to Blackthorns. 
 
 It was but a ten minutes' drive, and Mary was soon at 
 the bedside of the dying woman, while the nurse and babe 
 remained in the outer room. 
 
 " You good child ! you angel ! So you have come ! 
 But, oh ! Mary, my darling, what have you risked ?" 
 
 "Nothing, dear, good nurse nothing at all! I do not 
 feel tired from this little, very comfortable ride !" 
 
 " God love my darling ;" faintly gasped the sufferer ; 
 "Grd b'ess the good girl V 
 
 " Send for Maggy's baby, and let me see it, dear nurse. 
 Mine is in the other room that shall be brought also, and 
 you shall see it." 
 
 " Quickly, then, Mary, my child ; you are my child 
 ain't you, Mary ?" 
 
 "Always, ever dearest, earliest friend !" 
 
 " Send for your baby, my dear, that I may bless her 
 before I die. " 
 
 Mary made a sign to Bruin, who left the room for a few 
 minutes, during which Mrs. Comford entered with the babe. 
 She was soon followed by Bruin himself, bringing in the 
 dead Maggy's infant, which had become his charge for the 
 time being. 
 
 Both little ones were brought to the bed. 
 
 " Lay Margaret's baby in my lap, Bruin," said Mary. 
 
 And he did so. 
 
 " Raise me up, and place my Mary's infant befere me, 
 neighbors," requested Peggy and her wish was complied 
 with. " What is her name, my child ?" asked the dying 
 woman.
 
 NEW-YEAK'S MOANING. 3J 
 
 " Mary Virginia I have given her, for her patron saint, 
 the spotless Virgin." 
 
 The dying woman looked at Mary Washington with a 
 profound but undefiuable earnestness, and joining her feeble 
 hands together, raised her eyes to Heaven, and in simple 
 but fervent words invoked the blessing of God and the pro- 
 tection of the Virgin upon the children; then she motioned 
 them to take her away, and sank back exhausted upon her 
 pillow. 
 
 Alary waited a few moments, and then gently inquired, 
 " What is the name of this my younger I meau my second 
 twin nurse ?" 
 
 "I had not thought of her name before but she is of 
 bumble birth she will be poor may be beautiful ; she 
 will associate with those of higher rank than herself; a lot . 
 full of trial and temptation, from which even your goodness ' 
 may not be able to defend her ; therefore I will give her for 
 a guardian spirit her who knows the mazy and treacherous 
 road from having lost her way therein her who was 
 tempted, fallen, repentant, and redeemed by LOVE St. 
 Mary Magdalene." She paused again, exhausted, and the 
 tears were streaming from Mary Washington's face, ob- 
 structing her reply that at length amid sobs came forth 
 
 " Your Maggy, my foster sister, did not so ; I have 
 perfect faith in her purity so has my honored father." 
 
 " Thank you ! bless you 1 I knew it ! / never had a 
 doubt of my child never ! It was not that which made 
 me speak as I did ah, no ! with my cold, dying breath, 
 could I breathe a cloud upon my dead child's spotless 
 name ah, no ! it was not that it was but my time ; s so 
 short ! Mary !" 
 
 " My dear nurse 1" 
 
 " Did you see Father Lucas, as you came in ?" 
 
 "Yes, nurse."
 
 84 THK TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " He was sent for to receive my last confession, and to 
 give me extreme unction. Mary !" 
 
 "My dear friend!" 
 
 " I have another request to make of you." 
 
 " Make it, dear nurse !" 
 
 "Let the two children be christened now, by my bed- 
 side." 
 
 " Yes. indeed, my dear friend, it shall be done immedi- 
 ately, if you like." 
 
 " Yes, immediately, for my time is very short, and you, 
 my own darling, should be at home and in bed." 
 
 " Bruin, please ask Father Lucas to come in," said Mary. 
 
 The dwarf departed to do her bidding. 
 
 "And another request I have to make, dear Mary so 
 many favors have I to ask of my child." 
 
 " So many rights, dear nurse, that are gratefully acknowl- 
 edged what is it then, nurse ?" 
 
 " Stand sponsor for Magdalene." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I will, very gladly, nurse will you also 
 stand sponsor for Virginia?" 
 
 "Ah, my Mary, but I die!" 
 
 " Will you be less powerful to protect her in heaven than 
 on earth ?" 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Then let it be so, kind nurse." 
 
 " It shall." 
 
 Father Lucas now entered the room, and by the bedside 
 of the dying woman administered the rites of Christian 
 baptism to the infant foster sisters: 
 
 Mary Virginia, and 
 
 Mary Magdalene. 
 
 When this was over, the expiring woman took the infants 
 successively in her arms, and earnestly invoked for them the 
 blessing of God, and the guardianship of saints and angels.
 
 N K W - Y A B ' S MORNING. 86 
 
 Then Mary received them both together upon her mp, and 
 folding her arms around them, pressed them to her bosom, 
 vowing to love both equally as much as she could, and to 
 cherish both alike as long as she and they should live. 
 Then the dying nurse bid Mary a tender farewell, blessed 
 her and dismissed her, and was left alone with the priest, to 
 recnve the last services and consolations of her church. 
 
 As she passed through the outer room, Mary Washing- 
 ton, pausing, gave a last look of love and adieu to Margaret, 
 in her coffin, severed one long, glossy, black ringlet from 
 her head, pressed one final kiss upon the cold brow, and 
 replacing the white covering of her face, went her way. 
 
 " Thank God 1" said Mary, " oh, thank God 1 that I was 
 permitted to come to her." 
 
 In fifteen minutes more, wearied out by all she had gone 
 through, Mary Washington was reposing on her own 
 luxurious couch. 
 
 That day the soul of Peggy Hawk returned to God. 
 
 " It WM a strange and wileful sprite 
 An ever frighted human if?ht," 
 
 Th Changeling Shreve. 
 
 " The glorified saints in Heaven ! the saints alive ! What 
 tin imp ! It looks like a little devil ! Look at its eyes, will 
 you I Angels alive ! did ever any one see such eyes ? Ef it 
 don't scare me 1 'spose it was to talk ! 'Deed, I b'lieve its 
 gwine to ! 'spose it was to open its mouth and speak ! 
 shouldn't I drap it an' run ! Here mammy ! take the scare- 
 crow afore I let it drap !" 
 
 " Wish you would ! You let it drap now I and see what 
 you'll get 1 You take the chile right straight out'n the 
 draf, an' up in Miss Mary's room, as you wer' bidden." 
 
 " Deed, mammy, I Traid of it ! Look at its great hollow
 
 86 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 eyes I It's gwine to say something ! 'Deed, ef it talks, I 
 shall drap it and run !" 
 
 " Look here, gal ! take chile right np stairs Foolish- 
 ness !" 
 
 " ' Spose I shall have to nuss the witchified little thing ! 
 Wouldn't sleep with it for the best goolden guinea that 
 ever was fetched over from Englan !" 
 
 " Lord a marcy ! is the creature gwine to stand there all 
 day yopping her mouth ? 'Clare to man, ef you don't start 
 it'll be the wus for you 1" 
 
 " I'm gwine I'm gwine now ! But mind, mammy, ef 
 you hear any thing fall, and anybody you may know what 
 it is ! 
 
 " Yes, you do ! It'll be good for you, that's all I can 
 say !" 
 
 This colloquy took place at the foot of the great stair- 
 case, between the mischievous Coral and her mother, the 
 morning after the funeral, when the infant Magdalene was 
 brought by Bruin to Prospect Hill, and placed in the arms 
 of the frightened maid to be carried up to her mistress. 
 
 Mary Washington was in her own chamber. I must 
 describe this chamber, as it was the very sanctuary of the 
 mother. It was a large, square front chamber, upon the 
 second floor, and fronting the East. It was lighted by one 
 large East bay-window, her dawn window. Opposite, 
 against the West wall, sat the head of Mary's rosewood 
 bedstead, under a canopy ; on the right of this was a door 
 leading into the passage-way ; on the left, a door leading 
 into the dressing-room now the nursery. On the South, 
 were two windows, at which the sun shone in nearly all the 
 whole day ; between the windows stood a rosewood bureau 
 and dressing-glass. On the North was the fire-place, sur- 
 mounted by a white marble chimney-piece. The canopy
 
 NEW- YEAR'S MORNING. 87 
 
 of the bedstead, the curtains of the windows, the coverings 
 of the chairs, lounges, and foot- cushions, were all of light 
 blue damask. 
 
 The walls of the chamber were white. The carpet was 
 of a white ground, with running blue flowers. There were 
 books, pictures, statuettes, and musical instruments all, not 
 costly, but beautiful. And there were many other things 
 besides every thing that goes to make any one particular 
 room in a house seem like the very heart of home. 
 
 Mary Washington sat in a large, blue-covered easy chair 
 by the fire. Her delicate form wrapped in a warm dressing 
 gown of fine white flannel, wadded and lined with white 
 silk ; her soft brown hair was parted smoothly above her 
 brow, and the gossamer borders of a thread lace cap 
 dropped faint shadows upon shining hair and snowy 
 cheek. On one side of the youthful mother sat the cradle 
 in which reposed the infant Virginia, covered with a blue 
 silk quilt of eider down ; on the other side, upon a cushion, 
 between her chair and the corner of the fire-place, sat Josey 
 with his book. Mary had stopped to listen for some one 
 who was coming up the stairs, when the door opened, and 
 Coral entered, bearing little Magdalene in her arms. She 
 crossed the room, bringing the child gingerly, and stoop- 
 ing, held it before Mrs. Washington, saying, 
 
 " Here it is, Miss Mary the little Jack-my-lantern !" 
 
 " Lay her on my lap, Coral. I have just laid littlo 
 Virginia down to sleep, and am ready for Magdalene." 
 
 " Don't take the thing, Miss Mary, dear ! it do look so 
 fierce and wenomous, with its great eyes and its lantern jaws !" 
 
 " She is only famished, Coral. Give her to me!" 
 
 " Oh don't put the little wampire to your bosom, Miss 
 Mary ; 'deed it'll bite you !" 
 
 " Coral /" said Mrs. Washington, in a tone of grava, 
 though gentle rebuke.
 
 
 88 THE TWO SISTERS 
 
 The girl immediately placed the babe in the lady's arms, 
 who, receiving it, said, 
 
 " You must not take a dislike to this poor babe, 
 Coral." 
 
 " Lord save it, Miss Mary, I don't hate it more an I do 
 lizards, but I'm fear'd of it, you know ! it is snch a queer 
 little human, an' it do look so kuowin' an' wicked but 1 
 'spose the Lord made it yes, I do 'spose he really did, 
 just as he jaade the scorapins, (scorpions) for some good 
 an' wise purpose, as they say 1 though it ain't safe to handle 
 of 'em. Miss Mary, 'xcuse me this once, but 'deed you 
 better let me take the little reptyle down-stairs, and feed it 
 with gruel !" 
 
 " Coral, you pain me by speaking so of the poor starved 
 baby." 
 
 This was always Mrs. Washington's gravest rebuke. 
 " You pain me," and it always had its effect. 
 
 " Dear Miss Mary, don't mind me. 'Deed, I haven't the 
 leastest mislike to the baby it's all put on for fun. You 
 know mammy says I'm a big devil, anyhow, and the baby 
 is such a funny, scrawny, savage-looking little thing." 
 
 " You may go now, Coral," said her mistress, and "Pretty 
 Coral," " Coral Red," went. 
 
 " Will you love this sister also, Josey ?" 
 
 " I will try, if you like me to, little mother ; but it will be 
 very hard, for it is a very ugly sister." 
 
 "Oh, Josey !" 
 
 "I will love Virginia, mamma, as much as ever you 
 please. Virginia is so white, and soft, and pretty, and 
 good !" 
 
 "But won't you try to love poor Magdalene ?" 
 
 " I said I would try, mamma ; but it is such an ugly sister 
 so thin and black-looking, just like a little young gosling 
 before the feathers are on."
 
 N E W - Y Ifl A It ' S M O R N I N G . 89 
 
 " Josey, she is like that poor little naked, uufeathered 
 bird which the storm beat from its nest, and which you 
 found nnder the tree which gasped and died in your little 
 hands." 
 
 " Yes, mamma, I was sorry for the birdling, because you 
 said, if the storm had not beaten it from its nest, it would 
 have become a beautiful song-bird, that would have soared 
 and sung through all the sunny air." 
 
 "Little buy, Magdalene is like that bird storm-beaten 
 from her nest; and if we do not warm, and feed, and cher- 
 ish her, she, too, will die." 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said the little caviller, thumbing his 
 book ; " but then, again, she has got such such such 
 what-you-call-em eyes !" 
 
 " Such fierce, eager eyes, you mean, Josey; so she has, 
 for a baby, but then that is because she is famished. Her 
 eyes are fierce because her stomach is famished. Let us 
 nurse and love her, and we shall see how soft her eyes will 
 beam, and how round and fair her face will grow, and how 
 pretty, and good, and lovely she will be. And now listen, 
 little boy, I have something to tell you which I want you 
 to remember ; are you listening ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, little mother." 
 
 " Well then, it is this : When you get to be a man, and 
 see men poor, ill-used men, perhaps with fierce passions 
 do not hate them, and wish to take vengeance on them, 
 but think that something in their natures has been starved 
 think that where passions are fierce, the soul has been 
 famished do you understand me, Josey ?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma, yes, mamma better than you think I do. 
 I feel it here, and I know it here, but I don't know how to 
 tell you any more," said he, placing his hands upon his heart 
 and his head, and raising his dilating blue eyes to her eyes, 
 with one of those profoundly solemn looks that often moved
 
 90 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 the mirth of the merry Coral, and excited the admiration 
 of Bruin to a fever height. 
 
 The orphan babe was certainly unpopular at the hall. 
 Mrs. Comford entered with her charge's dinner just at this 
 point of the conversation, and finding Mary actually en- 
 gaged in nursing the child, set herself to expostulate seri- 
 ously against the measure. 
 
 "You cannot stand it, ma'am. It will certainly break 
 down your health." 
 
 " Ah, no, good Mrs. Comford ; you know it will not. 
 More delicate women than myself have nursed twins before 
 now." 
 
 "Ah, dear lady, but this strange child such a thing was 
 never heard of!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, good nurse, it has been heard of, and done 
 Margaret's mother divided her cradle and her milk with me, 
 and I will do so for her child." 
 
 " But, dear lady, it is enough to take the infant in the 
 house and care for it, without putting it to your own 
 bosom." 
 
 " So did not Margaret's mother think when she took me 
 to her bosom ; so do not I think by her child." 
 "But, dear lady, you are so fragile." 
 "Good nurse, all who look fragile are not so ; because I 
 am very small and slight, and have a very fair skin, you 
 need not think me feeble. Size and weight, is not so often 
 a sign of health and strength either, as is supposed, or the 
 want of it an indication of weakness ; indeed, I think the 
 contrary is the case, and that small persons are proportion- 
 ably stronger than large ones. No, nurse, I am strong and 
 healthy, thank Heaven 1 and quite adequate to the task of 
 nursing these two children. Besides, oh, consider, I feel so 
 sorry for this poor, destitute little one, she is so thin, so 
 delicate, she can never be raised by hand ; she will die if I
 
 NEW-YEAK'S JIORNING. yi 
 
 do not save her. Ah, it would give me too much pain not 
 to do this ; and I think, suppose I had died, would I not 
 have blessed, from heaven, any mother that would have 
 taken my child ?" 
 
 The young mother was right in one thing her Health 
 and strength suffered no diminution from nursing the two 
 infants. The Judge made no objection to this second 
 protege, only smilingly he said : 
 
 " My dear Mary, you have a talent for colonizing ; we 
 will send you to the West some day." 
 
 Adam Hawk by no word or sign gave evidence of his 
 knowledge of the existence of his grandchild for some time 
 . but then game, braces of quails, canvas-back ducks, 
 benches of ortolen, and other rare river or forest luxuries, 
 found their way to the Mansion-Honse with Adam Hawk's 
 duty to the mistress. 
 
 Mary was soon out of her room, and had resumed her 
 place at the head of her father's table. And now there 
 came one of those beautiful spells of weather that often visit 
 this climate, even in the dead of winter, and Mary received 
 the congratulatory visits of her neighbors, the Mountjoys, 
 of Alta Bayon ; the Brokes, of Forest Hall ; and, in short, 
 of all the county ladies, far and near. 
 
 " Pity the babe had not been a boy." 
 
 "She will be a great heiress one of these days." 
 
 " I wonder whether she will be educated in the Catholic 
 or Protestant religion the grandfather being Episcopalian 
 and the mother Catholic." 
 
 These were some of the comments made by the guests as 
 they would depart. Of Mary's second adopted child they 
 said nothing at all. Her character was so unique, so well 
 known if not well understood, that the circumstance of the 
 adoption excited no interest by the side of that of the heir- 
 ess. So passed January. During a second spell of fine
 
 92 THE TWO S I S T E K S . 
 
 weather in the latter part of February, Mary returned some 
 of these visits, and after a final blast of winter in the first 
 week of March, the Spring opened unusually early, and 
 Mary could freely ride or walk about, accompanied by her 
 children and their nurse, Coral, whose marriage with the 
 black prince, for some mysterious reason between the par- 
 ties, was indefinitely postponed as she said, " Broke off for 
 good !" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST." 
 
 " Is there a crime 
 
 Beneath the roof of Heaven, that stains the soul 
 Of man with more Infernal hue, than damned 
 Assassination 1" Gibber. 
 
 SPRING had fully opened, and Mary, malgre all her past 
 trials, was glad with her children and with nature. The 
 Judge, bidding her an affectionate farewell, departed on his 
 circuit, leaving her to superintend the house, the garden, 
 the people, and in some sort the whole estate but in this 
 weighty responsibility she was aided arid seconded in their 
 several departments, by the housekeeper, the overseer, and 
 the gardener Gulliver so named for his marvelous stories. 
 It was Mary's habit to devote all her forenoons to hearing 
 the different reports, and giving orders to these domestic 
 ministers ; and this Coral whose quick intelligence picked 
 np all sorts of sonorous phrases called her " Kitchen Cabi- 
 net." In the afternoon, it was her pleasure to go rambling 
 with her children, leading little Josey by the hand, and fo.- 
 lowed by Coral with a babe on each arm. But as the
 
 THE SKELETON AT T H K F E A S T . 93 
 
 children grew, and Madgie's skeleton form tilled out with 
 flesh, they became too heavy a burden for Coral and then 
 a light wicker carriage, with two seats, was purchased for 
 them, and then Josey grew obstreperous, and insisted upon 
 dragging it himself. Mary tried it herself, and finding 
 indeed that it would be no labor at all even for her little 
 boy to drag it, gave her consent for of all things Mary 
 loved best to be alone with her children. So in that old- 
 fashioned guise namely, Ginnie and Madgie, as the babes 
 were called, seated in the carriage, Josey pulling it before 
 and Mary walking by its side steadying it over rough places 
 they would go wandering : down the gradual hill in 
 trout of the house, and .over the plains covered with soft, 
 bright-green grass, or by the "still waters" of the clear 
 ponds lying here and there, or through the beautiful groves 
 of trees scattered around ; or : going out from the back of 
 the mansion, ascend the easy and tree-shaded slope that led 
 into the woods behind the house, and entering a broad road 
 that used a long time ago to lead to the county-seat, but 
 that with long disuse was now grass-grown, shady, cool, 
 and fresh, and formed a most delightful avenue through the 
 thick interminable forest. This was pre-eminently Josey's 
 favorite haunt for here he found at every step such l^ea- 
 sures of nature, plants, insects, flowers, birds, trees of end- 
 less variety and interest and here, too, for its sequestered 
 shade, Mary loved best to come. 
 
 One day it was the first of May Mary had promised that 
 she would give a woodland May-day fete, and that Josey 
 .should have his little neighbors, Viola and Violetta Swan, 
 the twin nieces, and Broke Shields, the nephew of their 
 near neighbor, General Mountjoy, of Alta Bayou ; and so 
 at an early hour of' the morning, the "Pair of Swans," as 
 the twin sisters were called, arrived in charge of their cou- 
 sin. Broke Shields, a fine boy of ten years of age.
 
 94 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 The party set out early in the forenoon, and after a ram- 
 ble through the forest, during which they gathered an 
 abundance of wild flowers, they seated themselves to rest in 
 a forest glade through which the " old road" passed. And 
 when a plentiful repast of light white biscuits, fresh butter, 
 cream, and early strawberries had been spread upon the 
 green grass, the children gathered around this feast, waited 
 upon by Coral, while her mistress sat apart under the shade 
 of a large oak, and beside the wicker carriage where her 
 babies lay. 
 
 The children were in the midst of their hilarity, when an 
 event occurred that speedily put an end to the festivity of 
 the morning. 
 
 Mary had just laid Magdalene in the little carriage, and 
 taken up Virginia, whom she was about to fold to her 
 bosom, when the report of a pistol was heard near, and a 
 bullet whistled past her and between herself and the child 
 she held, so that she felt its whiz and heat, and passing 
 through the top of the many-colored turban of Coral and 
 carrying it off, lodged in the bark of a tree on the opposite 
 side of the road. The danger was past as soon as known ; 
 but consternation fell upon the little party, who gazed at 
 each other in dismay, and then upon Broke Shields, who 
 had sprung upon his feet with starting eyes and extended 
 arm, and was staring and pointing in the direction whence 
 the shot was fired one instant and then with a bound 
 forward he disappeared in the forest. This broke the spell 
 of silent amazement. Viola and Violetta clung to each 
 other, screaming in terror. Josey instinctively sprang to 
 the side of his mamma his best loved and threw his arms 
 around her as if to shield her. Coral clapped her hands to 
 her dismantled head, and ran about wildly, asking every- 
 b( dy : 
 
 "Am my brains blown out ? Am my brains blown out ?"
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST, 95 
 
 " Be easy, children. The danger is quite over now. It 
 was only some sportsman, who did not know we were here, 
 and who fired at a bird. They ought not to shoot the poor 
 birds at this season, while they are raising their young, 
 either,'' said Mary ; but her face was ashen pale, she trem- 
 bled in every limb, and her voice faltered, even while she 
 attempted to reassure herself and the children. 
 
 The children were too much terrified to remain there. 
 The May-day feast was broken up. The little ones cowered 
 around Mary, who only waited the reappearance of Broke 
 to return to the house. The lad came at length, pale, fa- 
 tigued, and disappointed. 
 
 " Why did you run off, my dear boy ? Did you see any 
 one ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mary," answered Shields, who being but six years 
 Mary's junior, and having been her playmate, continued to 
 call the child-mother Mary. 
 
 " Whom did you see, Broke ?" 
 
 "A man." 
 
 "Some sportsman, my boy; never look so heated and 
 angry. It was careless, perhaps, but it was unintentional." 
 
 "Was it a white or colored man?" asked Coral, with 
 much interest. 
 
 " I don't know ; in fact I only saw a pair of legs in dark 
 pantaloons between the trunks of the trees. I could not 
 Bee the form or face of the man for the thick leaves. I saw 
 his arm protruded the pistol aimed at Mary's bosom 
 fired and the legs spring away all in a second just as I 
 started up." 
 
 Mary became deadly pale. 
 
 " Aimed at mamma 1 fired at mamma !" faltered Josey. 
 
 " Fired at Mary," murmured the frightened twins. And 
 the children hovered around their beloved Mary as though 
 they would have covered her.
 
 96 THE TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I saw the muzzle pointed look ! look ! look , 
 Coral has fainted." 
 
 Coral had indeed fallen in a deep swoon. Mary laid her 
 child in the carriage, arose and tottered toward her fallen 
 maid, stooped over her and attempted to raise her, then 
 turning to the terrified children, she said, in a voice tremu- 
 lous in spite of herself : 
 
 " Go, go, my dear children, hurry to the house and tell 
 Aunt Poll to come quickly. Broke, do you go with them, 
 my dear." 
 
 The children departed all but Josey. 
 
 " Go, Josey," said she. 
 
 " No, mamma, no. Never will I leave you in the wicked 
 woods alone," said Josey, who had closely followed his 
 mother. 
 
 "Dear Josey, there is no danger. It was a mistake of 
 Broke's. The man was taking aim at something in or near 
 aline with me, but beyond me. There is no danger, darling." 
 
 "But, mamma, you have such white lips, and you shake 
 so." 
 
 " It is fright, Josey, only fright, the weakness of the 
 .body ; ray mind tells me there is no more danger, love." 
 
 " Mamma, THERE is ! I feel it here and here where I 
 feel every thing that is true about you" said the child, 
 placing one hand on his head and the other on his heart. 
 "Mamma, go home, leave me here with Coral and the 
 babies." 
 
 " Little soldier!" fondly exclaimed Mary, withdrawing 
 her hand from Coral's forehead, which she was bathing, 
 and encircling Josey with her arm. " Little soldier, one 
 of these days what a protector you will be to mamma and 
 four sisters ; but now, love, there is nothing to alarm us. 
 It is only your loving anxiety, darling, that troubles heart 
 and brain."
 
 THE SKELETON AT 1 hi K FEAST. 97 
 
 "Mamma, mamma, was not Uncle Carey shot so juxt 
 so?" 
 
 "Merciful Heaven! so he was, and his murderer never 
 discovered, and his motive never even remotely guessed !" 
 faltered Mary, shuddering through all her litnbs, and lor a 
 moment dropping her face upon her hand. 
 
 " Come, go home, little mother," pleaded Josty, with his 
 arm around her neck. 
 
 She returned his embrace, and then said : 
 
 " No, no, I cannot leave Coral here alone and and 
 there can be nothing in it ! No ! No ! It is only a coin- 
 cidence it just happened so, Josey ! I have not an enemy 
 in the world ! I never had ! And there is not a soul on 
 earth that could be benefirted by my death ! It is terrible ! 
 It is very terrible ! but it only happened .so/" said Mary, 
 striving for composure but so sick so sick with deadly 
 fear that she could scarcely keep from swooning herself. 
 
 The hasty approach of Poll Pepper, followed by two or 
 three of the housemaids and Prince, relieved her ; motion- 
 ing them to raise Coral, she prepared to return to the house, 
 amid the comments, questions, and exclamations of astonish- 
 ment, fright, and horror from the assembled servants. 
 They reached the hall the children were sent home, and 
 Coral conveyed to bed in a raging brain fever. 
 
 So terminated the May-date fete. 
 
 After her first fright was over, Mary Washington reso- 
 lutely withdrew her thoughts from dwelling upon the mys- 
 terious event in the Old Road, and gave her whole attention 
 to her children, her maid, and her multifarious household 
 duties. It was four weeks before Coral was up and so 
 changed! She was no longer "Pretty Coral," or "Merry 
 Coral," and nobody called her as of old, " Coral Red ;" she 
 was almost white- Coral, so pale was she. " How she loved 
 her mistress," every one said, " that such an escape from
 
 }8 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 danger should have overwhelmed her so." And Mary her- 
 self felt redoubled affection for her hand-maiden. Mary 
 did not deem it necessary to disturb Judge Washington's 
 mind by the relation of these circumstances in any of her 
 letters and to herself, as well as to all the family, and to 
 the neighbors who chanced much to her regret to hear the 
 story, she continually said, " Of course it was an accidental 
 shot from some unseasonable sportsman. 1 cannot possibly 
 think otherwise. I have not I never had an enemy in the 
 world ; and none on earth could be benefitted by my death." 
 But Mary walked no more on the " Old Turnpike Road." 
 
 Thus, buried among her hand-maidens, like some Roman 
 matron of old, were the two next months of the Judge's 
 absence passed and the end of this period brought the 
 first of July, when he was expected to return home. 
 
 "Your master will be home to-morrow," she had said to 
 the field negroes, while making her round that afternoon 
 upon her little donkey, in company with Adam Hawk and 
 taking sweet authority upon herself, dismissing them earlier 
 than usual to their quarters. " Your master will be home 
 to-night, and for that and another reason, to-morrow will be 
 a holiday you know so every man, woman, and child, must 
 dou their new clean clothes, and be in front of the vestibule 
 to greet him, and see what he has brought for them." And 
 smiling a good-night to them, she turned away. And they 
 were half inclined to regret holiday, master's return, and all, 
 for the reason that his beautiful and gentle daughter would 
 no longer reign in his stead. Mary was in very high spirits 
 for her. The Judge had said to her on leaving, three 
 months before, and on. concluding his directions to her con- 
 cerning the management of the estate during his absence 
 '' Thus you see, my child, I leave you a large margin to be 
 filled out at your own discretion. You must not be fettered 
 by any more directions. You must learn to be a planter
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 99 
 
 practical, Mary for one of these days, when Adam Hawk 
 and I are gathered to our fathers, you will have the whole 
 business upon your own hands or, what is the same thing 
 or worse, you will have some new overseer who is unfit for 
 his place." 
 
 Every thing in the Judge's absence had gone marvel- 
 ously well ; and now Mary was prepared to render an 
 account of her stewardship with great pleasure. 
 
 " Grandpa is coming home to-night," she had said to Josey 
 on putting him to bed. " Prince has gone with the carriage 
 to St. Leonard to meet him but it will be late when he 
 comes, and he will be tired, and must not be disturbed by 
 children so my little boy must even content himself and go 
 to sleep but he may wake as early as he pleases to-morrow, 
 and come in mother's room for to-morrow is the first of 
 July, and a holiday and Josey shall see grandpa, and go 
 to the wild beast show at St. Leonard's, and have his birth- 
 day party out on the Old Road, too." And she kissed and 
 left him to repose. Her two babies were also asleep. And 
 Mary went down to the wainscoted parlor, where she had 
 ordered a late supper to be prepared. And there she 
 awaited him. 
 
 The carriage returned at nine o'clock, with the Judge,- 
 looking hale and cheerful, and full of expressions of delight 
 at returning, and of affection for his Mary. He looked at 
 her with surprise and pleasure. He led her under the light 
 of a chandelier, and looked again. Yes! she was certainly 
 improving her fair cheeks had rounded and become rosy 
 she looked considerably less dreamy and spiritual and more 
 substantial and real nursing, goodness, active occupation 
 one or all of these agreed with her assuredly. 
 
 "Why, my little daughter, I shall certainly superannuate 
 Adam Hawk, who is getting old, and make you my manager, 
 since you thrive so upon farming."
 
 100 THE TWO SISTEBS. 
 
 " Perhaps you will, sir, when you see the results of my 
 administration ; though I fear I should have made a bad 
 regent without the advice and assistance of the great prime 
 minister of agricultural affairs. Now let me help you off 
 with your coat here is your dressing-gown and slippers 
 sa you need not go to your room; but come in to supper, 
 for we have what do you think ? Turtle soup !" 
 
 During supper the Judge told Mary that he had invited 
 a party to dine with him on the ensuing " Fourth," when 
 he said he hoped her dinner would do credit to Southern 
 housewifery in general, and her own skill in particular. 
 Mary smilingly told him to rely on the ablest co-operation 
 of his " Minister of the Interior." And soon after that, the 
 Judge, deferring business until the next day, retired to his 
 chamber. 
 
 The next day Mary awoke early, and lay awake as usual 
 for an hour watching the day break. The morning was 
 perfectly clear, not the lightest, fleeciest cloud was to be 
 seen as the dull, red dawn of the horizon brightened and 
 brightened into intensest crimson fire that flamed up to- 
 ward the zenith, lighting into a blaze the flashing waters 
 of the bay, and flushing the soft, green plains with rose 
 folor. Mary lay watching the coming of the sun, and it 
 was not indolence that led her to select that time and man- 
 ner of offering up her morning worship. She prayed before 
 the dawn window as others prayed before altars. Her de- 
 votions were scarcely over when Josey's merry voice and 
 quick step were heard the door was burst open, and he 
 ran in and climbed up for his mother's morning kiss ; 
 suddenly he stopped in his gladness, and became very 
 grave. 
 
 "What is the matter, my love ?" asked Mary. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I have just remembered it !" 
 
 " What dear ?"
 
 THK SKELETON AT 1HK FEAST. 101 
 
 Without replying, he asked mysteriously : 
 
 " Mamma, is there any thing in dreams ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so, my love, a great deal more in dreams 
 than knowledge-proud people like to confess." 
 
 ' Well, mamma, I think so too," said Josey, with an 
 approving air. 
 
 " What did my little Josey dream, then ?" 
 
 " Mamma, I dreamed that all of us children, me and you 
 md the babies and Broke, were walking up the ' Old Turn- 
 pike Road,' and that you carried Virginia in your arms. 
 Well, mamma, I thought on the left side of the road, in and 
 out through the trees oow in full sight, and now hidden 
 walked a great, spotted leopard ; and, mamma, it seems to 
 me I can see him now, as he put out his great, strong, thick 
 fore legs, armed with such claws slowly and slylv, in and 
 out, and through the trees, as he kept up with us on the 
 grass, and, mamma, his fire-coal eyes were always on you! 
 Turn which way you would, they would turn after von ; and 
 I tried to do something, but I couldn't something held me 
 tight and fast, though all the time I was walking along. 
 Well, I thought we sat down to a feast in the open glade 
 just as we did that day, mamma and I thought I turned 
 to see if the great leopard was after us just in time to see 
 his great tail fly up in the air and swell, and his eyes strike 
 tire as he made one bound and sprang upon you, mamma ! 
 then I went to throw myself upon him, and I woke up 
 mid found it was a dream, and that I was in bed. I was so 
 glad it was a dream, you know, and I went to sleep again 
 and forgot it, and never thought of it until just this mo- 
 ment, mamma." 
 
 " And now, dear, I will tell you how much meaning 
 there was in your dream. I promised to take you to see 
 tno menagerie at St. Leonard's this morning, and to give 
 you a fesist in .! glade of the Old Road this evening, and
 
 102 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 you went to bed thinking of leopards and festivals, and 
 dreamed of the same." 
 
 "Sure enough, mammal" exclaimed the child, delighted 
 at the natural interpretation. 
 
 " And now go and be dressed, darling," said Mary. " For 
 this is going to be a busy, happy day. We are to have 
 ireakfast early, and I am to spend two hours in the library 
 with father ; then I am to take all the children riding, and 
 let the little boy see the menagerie, and then return to din- 
 ner, and give the children their festival this afternoon in 
 the forest glade." 
 
 "Oh, mamma, not there !" 
 
 " Yes, Josey, our forest glade is too pretty to be deserted, 
 and we have nearly deserted it we have not been there 
 since May-day." 
 
 "But oh, mamma, I shall be so miserable all the 
 time !" 
 
 " Shall you ? Well, then, mamma will not make her 
 little boy miserable on his birthday ; we will go down the 
 hill and have our feast by the Grove Spring." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! that is a nice place, we will go there." 
 
 " There now, go, Josey, and send Coral to me," said 
 Mary, and the child went. 
 
 That morning again Judge Joseph (as he was often 
 called) stood upon the vestibule of his mansion, while the 
 men, women, and children of his plantation thronged to 
 welcome him home, and to receive of his bounty. He dis- 
 missed them pleased and grateful, and went into the break- 
 fast-room, where Mary, at the head of the table, awaited 
 him. When breakfast was over, he called her into his study, 
 ttn-'l there she gave him an account of what she called her 
 administration of the government. The Judge expressed 
 himself highly gratified with his little regent; and as she sac 
 by him, half encircled by his left arm, while his right hana
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 103 
 
 held both hers caressingly, he asked her what had been her 
 regulations her recreations. 
 
 "Gardening." 
 
 " No, no, that is work, little daughter, though very plea- 
 sant work, I grant." 
 
 " Well, then, reading." 
 
 " That is study, my Mary. Come ! the amusements, now, 
 o ray little sixteen-year-old matron." 
 
 " Well, then, riding the donkey, driving out with Josey 
 and the babies, walking and one party, a May festival for 
 the neighbors' children." 
 
 " And no visiting?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I went once to see old Mrs. Swan." 
 
 " An old lady bedridden with paralysis fifteen years ! 
 but, my love, I hope you received visitors at home ?' 
 
 " Yes. Father Lucas was here twice !" 
 
 " My little Mary I Look up here, my child ! This will 
 not do ! housekeeping and fanning, visiting the sick, enter- 
 taining priests, and waiting on children ! So passes your 
 life ! The life of Colonel Carey's orphaned and widowed 
 daughter, a child of sixteen years, left to my charge ! So 
 would not Charles Carey have acted by a child of mine so 
 left to him 1 Mary ! you must go out more among young 
 people. You must gather them around you also. You 
 must be joyous, my child, as befits your youth !" 
 
 " And my widowhood, father ! Ah, father, I can be 
 happy 1 You know I can ! you see I am ; but it is with 
 the earnest happiness that looks to Heaven f^r its full com- 
 pleteness. I can be happy, father, but not joyous, except- 
 in sympathy with the innocent gayety of childhood !" 
 
 " Mary ! such solemn renunciation of the joys of social 
 life might befit a mourner of seventy not one of sixteen. 
 No, no, Mary ! You must not isolate yourself. I have 
 other and happier views and hopes for you ! Besides,
 
 104 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 society in a sparse neighborhood like this has large claims 
 upon a young lady of your rank and station. Mary ! much 
 as I love the lost, I cast no selfish, regretful looks back to 
 the irrevocable Past ! I look only to the promising Future 
 I look to see what good it has in store for you no longer 
 iny daughter-in-law, but my daughter, upon whom all my 
 hopes are set !" 
 
 " Father, may 1 ever be a daughter to you ! I will, as 
 long as you will let me ! I will never leave you, dear 
 father Joseph's father ! -for I can never forget ! and 
 the greatest good I aim at in the future, lies beyond the 
 grave 1 a reunion with Joseph in Heaven !" 
 
 And Mary dropped her head, weeping, upon the bosom 
 of her father a little while and then lifting her head, and 
 shaking off the sparkling tears, she smiled, as she said, 
 
 "I did not want to cry to-day it is Josey's birthday 
 and I promised him oh, sir ! are you engaged this 
 morning?" 
 
 "No, Mary." 
 
 " Well, then, perhaps will you take me and the children 
 a drive to St. Leonard's, and let Josey see the menagerie 
 that is staying there for a few days if it will be no incon- 
 venience to you, sir ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, my Mary ; on the contrary, I have 
 business there, which will make the jaunt perfectly con- 
 venient, as well as agreeable." 
 
 They separated the Judge to order the carriage, Mary 
 to prepare her children for the drive. 
 
 They set out in half-an-hour, reached St. Leonard's in 
 another half-hour's rapid drive over the smooth and level 
 new road, saw the menagerie, did the shopping and the 
 other business, and returned in time for dinner. When 
 Mary entered her chamber to change her dress for dinner, 
 she found upon her dressing-table severa 1 packets, containing
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 105 
 
 dress patterns, shawls, scarfs, etc., of light and cheerful 
 material and a note from her father, saying, 
 
 " My Mary must now lay aside her mourning, which haa 
 so long reproached Divine Providence, and dress herself, 
 as nature now does, in grateful brightness." 
 
 Mary could not wear any of the unmade dresses, but, to 
 comply with his request, she arrayed herself in a graceful 
 white crape dress, and threw a light blue silk scarf one 
 of the new purchases over her shoulders, and went down 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, when the 
 children of the neighborhood assembled to the festival of 
 Prospect Hall. According to agreement, Mary took them 
 down to Grove-Spring This grove was rather an arm of 
 the forest than an isolated grove, and was freshened and 
 beautified by a clear spring, to which it gave a name. Here 
 were swings and skipping ropes, battledores and shuttle- 
 cock graces, and every other conceivable means and 
 appliance of youthful and childish amusement ; and here, in 
 various games in listening to stories in singing songs, and 
 putting enigmas in gathering flowers and weaving them 
 into wreaths, or in tying posies in chasing butterflies, and 
 then releasing them at Mary's request, the children passed 
 the afternoon, until the sun began to decline in a splendor 
 cloudless as was that of his rising. Then the feast of light 
 bread and butter, cakes, fruit and milk, was spread upon 
 the grass, and the children merrily gathered around it. 
 After the gay and noisy meal was over, Mary proposed to 
 them to return to the bouse, and prepare to go home, as 
 their parents had sent carriages for them : but, "A dance ! 
 a dance first ! one dance !" pleaded Broke Shields, and the 
 girls seconded him with " A dance ! just one dance !" And 
 Mary, with a sigh and a smile, sent for "Uncle Gulliver," 
 who played the fiddle. " Uncle Gull" soon arrived, and
 
 106 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 began to strum and twang his fiddle-strings, " tuning the 
 instrument," while the boys took partners. 
 
 " Mary shall dance with me no one shall but Mary 1" 
 exclaimed Master Broke Shields with a sultanic authoihy. 
 ' Give me Ginie, Mary, and let me lay her in the carriage 
 while you dance with me." 
 
 Mary shook her head gently, but the boy persisted while 
 the dance was delayed. At last, fearing to detain the 
 children, and wishing the dance over, that they might re- 
 turn home before sunset, with a second sigh and smile, 
 Mary turned and placed her child in the carriage, when the 
 sharp crack of a rifle was heard. Mary sprang suddenly 
 forward, and sank slowly, slowly, upon her knee, then upon 
 her side, gasping, with difficulty 
 
 " I am struck ! oh, Heaven !" 
 
 At the first report of the pistol the children had flown to 
 Mary for protection ; they now remained around her, pale 
 and silent, with tearless grief and terror. She was reclin- 
 ing where she had sunk, lying a little over on her side, and 
 supporting her head with her left hand, while her right 
 hand pressed the blue silk scarf in a wisp to her breast. 
 Josey knelt by her side, pale and still. Broke Shields was 
 running up the hill toward the house, whither, also, the 
 old fiddler hobbled as fast as he could go. A perfect 
 silence reigned, until Judge Washington, without his hat 
 his hair flying was seen hurrying down the hill, followed 
 by Adam Hawk, Prince William, Polly, and others. Then 
 the children left Mary, and hurried off to meet him ; each 
 eager, amid fear and sorrow, to give his or her report. 
 ScarcMy- heeding them, Judge Washington hastened to 
 Mary knelt raised her upon his knee looked, with 
 anguish, in her face her face, calm, except for a slight 
 lontraction of the brow, and quivering of the lip, that be- 
 '/rayed her silent agony and patience.
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 107 
 
 "Mary! Mary ! oh ! my beloved child! what is this ?" 
 he groaned, as he drew her into his arms, and lifted her 
 hand, with its wisp of silk, from her. The blood ooz,d 
 from the uncovered wound. Their eyes met his, full of 
 astonishment and grief; hers, full of patient sorrow both, 
 full of inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, father ! what is this ?" she faintly asked. 
 
 But the Judge was ghastly pale, and shaking as with an 
 ague, yet he gave his orders with promptness and precision, 
 as he exclaimed, hurriedly, to those around 
 
 "A sofa ! a sofa! run to the house, Prince, and have a 
 sofa brought. Adam I hasten immediately for Dr. Me Wal- 
 ters. Polly ! hurry to the house, and prepare a bed, and 
 linen bandages." 
 
 Then he turned to Mary himself, trying to stanch the 
 wound, by pressing the scarf to it, and all the time looking 
 in her patient, suffering face, with unutterable love and sor- 
 row. All astonishment, indignation all wish to pursue 
 and punish her assassin lost completely lost in the one 
 feeling of profound tenderness and grief. 
 
 The sofa was soon brought, and Mary gently laid upon 
 it, to be carried to the house. As she was about thus to 
 leave the scene of rural festivity, she turned her eyes to the 
 little wicker carriage, wherein sat the two infants and the 
 Judge, knowing the cause of her anxiety, said " Have no 
 care, dearest Mary, I will see them safely bestowed." 
 
 And Josey, stopping and kissing her, ran to the carriage, 
 and drew it along, close by the side of the moving sofa, 
 and so, followed by all the grieved and terrified children, 
 they returned to the house. Mary was taken to her room, 
 undressed, and laid upon the bed to await the arrival of the 
 physician. And Judge Washington, leaving her there for 
 a few minutes, went below, and hastily dismissed the chil- 
 dren to their homes, lie bad scarcely seen the last little
 
 108 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 girl into the carriage that had been sent for her, before the 
 gig of the physician rolled up to the foot of the piazza 
 stairs, and Dr. McWalters, agitated by the terrible re- 
 port that had been carried him, jumped out, and ran 
 up the stairs, where Judge Washington stood to receive 
 him. 
 
 " My dear Judge ! my dear sir ! I trust I have been 
 misinformed the terror and confusion Mrs. Washing- 
 ton" 
 
 " Mary has been wounded come and see her, at once," 
 said the Judge, with forced calmness, and led the way into 
 the house, and up into Mary's chamber. 
 
 She lay upon the bed pale, still, silent, and patient, 
 with both hands pressing a napkin to her breast, and as 
 before, only revealing the agony of her wound by a slight 
 corrugation of the eyebrows, quivering of the lips, and 
 spasmodic twitching of her hands. 
 
 The doctor approached and while addressing a few 
 soothing words of encouragement and hope, examined the 
 wound. Judge Washington, in the meantime, standing in 
 the shadow, to conceal the anguish he could not control. 
 With all her heroism, Mary winced and quivered at the 
 slightest touch in one direction. With all his self-com- 
 mand, the doctor could not help betraying the increasing 
 and intense anxiety he felt, as the examination progressed 
 When it was ended, he turned to the Judge and said 
 
 " Send post to Baltimore, for Doctor ," (naming the 
 
 most eminent surgeon of the country.) 
 
 " I will 1 I will ! but, good Heaven ! is there time ?' 
 added the Judge, in a low voice. 
 
 ''There is a chance let there be not a moment's delay." 
 
 Down hastened Judge Washington to the stables, and 
 dispatched Prince, upon the fleetest horse in the stable, 
 'tiling him to ride day aud night, till be reached hi* des
 
 THE SKELETON' AT THE FEAST. 109 
 
 tination, for, even then, it would take two days and nights 
 before the surgeon could reach Prospect Hall. 
 
 In the meantime, Dr. Me Walters, advised and assisted by 
 another physician of some local celebrity, used his best skill 
 for her relief. But all that night Mary lay in patient, silent 
 agony, lest she should give unnecessary pain to her father, 
 who kept his watch by her bedside, in the deepest trouble. 
 When he would bend over her, and discover by the spasms 
 of anguish that would traverse her face, that she was not 
 asleep, he would ask : 
 
 " Mary, my love, is your wound painful ?" 
 
 She would willingly have answered "No," or, "Not 
 much," but truth forbade her, and she said 
 
 " Not more than I can bear, dear father." After which, 
 she did not speak again for hours, but lay, with her two 
 hands held to her bosom, until the clock struck eleven ; then 
 she said to the troubled watcher by her bed " Go to rest, 
 dear father do go to rest let no one lose their rest for me 
 it will do no good." Her fever was now so high, and her 
 anxiety so great, that every one should be at ease, that Judge 
 Washington had to soothe her by the promise to retire to 
 bed as soon as she herself should be asleep. As her fever 
 increased, her power of self-control diminished once she 
 suddenly started up in a sitting posture, as struck by a new 
 terror, and demanded, rapidly "Where are the children? 
 Where where are the children ? Are they safe ? Were they 
 hurt ? Oh, let me see them !" 
 
 Judge Washington put his arm around her, spoke to her 
 soothingly, pointed to the corner of the room, where by her 
 own directions the babies had been placed in the crib at sun- 
 set, and where they now slept sweetly ; then he gently laid 
 he" down and tremblingly, faintly she murmured 
 
 " Thank you, dear father never mind my nervousness 
 it was ouly u dream ; go, go to rest you are so weary. Oh I
 
 110 THE TWO SISTERS 
 
 let no one, still less, you, lose their rest for me, it will do no 
 good." 
 
 " How do you feel, Mary ?" 
 
 " Not very well 1 But go to rest, father, I will try to 
 go to sleep." And she closed her eyes and folded her 
 hands, but spasm after spasm oft traversed that highly- 
 flushed face, and the little hands that lay together on her 
 bosom sometimes started and fluttered like wounded birds. 
 Without falling asleep, she seemed to get into another de- 
 lirious dream, for suddenly she started up again her eyes 
 wildly staring, and exclaimed with breathless haste 
 " Josey ! Josey I where is Josey ? was he struck? is he 
 hurt ? Oh, for the Virgin's sake, tell me !" 
 
 Again the protecting arms were around her, again the 
 reassuring voice soothed her, and the strong but gentle 
 hands laid her down and composed her to such rest as she 
 could take. And seeing her close her eyes, the Judge arose 
 softly with the intention of leaving the room and summoning 
 the physician, who slept in the house and was stealing 
 from the bedside when he felt the light clasp of a child's 
 hand upon him, and turning he saw little Josey standing 
 there in his white night-gown who said, in the softest 
 murmur 
 
 " / will go for any thing or anybody you want, grandpa." 
 
 The Judge looked at him in bewildered surprise for a 
 second, and then murmured low 
 
 " You here, my boy ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, grandpa, and I know I know you will let 
 me stay I will not disturb her, grandpa! I will not even 
 speak to her, or come in her sight for fear of disturbing her. 
 1 dia not speak to her even when I heard her call my name, 
 fy fear of hurting her. Will you only let me stay here, 
 dear grandpa ?" 
 
 The eyes of the Judge filled with tears, and silently
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. Ill 
 
 pointing the boy to the chamber sofa that sat against the 
 foot of the bed, be left the room in quest of the doctor. 
 From the effects of a cooling and composing draught ad- 
 ministered by the physician, Mary slept till morning, and in 
 the morning awoke apparently better. 
 
 Early in the morning, Poll Pepper came into the room to 
 remove the children before they should awake, lest their 
 awakening and crying should disturb Mary. She was steal- 
 ing away softly with one at a time, and hud carried off 
 Magdalene in silence, and had returned and was bearing 
 away Virginia, when the latter awoke, and first by crowing, 
 pointing, and other pretty coaxing baby-ways, pleaded to 
 be taken to her mother's bed, and when this was refused 
 her, she demanded it eagerly and angrily by loud screams 
 and violent gestures and struggles. This aroused Mary, 
 who, holding her arras from the bed, said, 
 
 "Give her to me, Coral." 
 
 " It is not Coralline, it's me, Miss Mary you better let 
 me take the child out, she'll make you more iller." 
 
 "No, bring her to me," persisted Mary, her arms still 
 extended to the babe, whose little hands were also held out 
 to her. Polly obeyed, and as she was setting the child 
 upon the bed, "Where is Magdalene ?" asked Mary. 
 
 "I took her away first. She woke and held out her 
 hands to go to you the first thing, but I 'fused, and she let 
 me carry her out 'out 'sistance ! See how strong natur is 
 to be sure now Madgie know incesestinctively she haddent 
 nc right to be a troublin o' you, Miss Mary, and so after 
 the fuss indictment of her wishes she 'plied with my wishes, 
 and let me pnrwey her out o' the room. But when I comes 
 to take little Miss Ginny out that was another guess matter, 
 Miss Ginny know she had a right to stay, aud so she sets 
 up a squall ? See what natur is 1" 
 
 "Yes, see what nature is," said Mury, " but it is not ?
 
 112 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 you think, Polly nature possesses no power of divination, 
 and Madgie and Ginnie know no different relation of each 
 other to me. But, Madgie is very easily managed, while 
 Ginnie takes her sanguine, passionate temperament from my 
 mother's family, the red-haired Haroldsens children of the 
 Dane Harold, the Violent. But Madgie must not suffer for 
 her meekness go bring her to me, Polly." 
 
 " My dear Miss Mary" 
 
 " Polly, I have no breath to argue with go " 
 
 Polly unwillingly left the room on that errand, turning 
 her eyes to the last upon her young mistress, who lay back 
 upon her pillow, holding one arm feebly around Virginia. 
 
 When she returned to the room with Magdalene, the first 
 thing she saw was that Virginia had crawled up quite to her 
 mother's face, and stooping over was trying intently to do 
 something. Approaching the bed, she saw that Mary had 
 fainted from exhaustion, and that the child, with the impres- 
 sion of her being asleep, was trying with its little fingers to 
 lift her eyelids. Polly, with a look of dismay, seized the 
 infant, and as she carried them both (Ginney screaming and 
 kicking violently) from the room " out of her grief and 
 impatience," she exclaimed, 
 
 "Indeed, it is no manner o' use fer any singly soul to try 
 to do a singly thing for that young gall, 'deed an' 'deed it 
 aint 'cause she's 'termined for to kill herself, an' Marster 
 Jesus knows it !" and setting both the screaming children 
 (Ginnie screaming for anger, and Madgie for sympathy) 
 down upon the carpet in the parlor, she hurried off for the 
 doctor, who had not yet left the house, and for the Judge, 
 who had for about an hour been lying down to take some sleep. 
 
 Both soon entered the chamber. Mary had recovered 
 from her faintness ; but the presence of her children, as well 
 as all things that could in the slightest degree disturb, was 
 forbidden her
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 118 
 
 From that hour, however, not perhaps in the least from 
 that cause, she grew worse her wound became very painful, 
 and her fever rose very high. Yet until she became frenzied 
 with pain and fever, scarcely a complaint escaped her patient 
 bosom. All day she raved in high delirium. Judge Wash- 
 ington watched in speechless grief by her bedside. Toward 
 night, though still delirious, her visions lost their terrible 
 aspect, and as the hours passed on, she became cheerful, 
 even joyous. 
 
 She was again in the home of her childhood, full of life, 
 joy, and electricity, as she was before the mainspring of her 
 heart had been broken. Now she would call in merry 
 tones to Joseph her lost husband, and challenge him to a 
 game now she would cheer on her fancied steed to race 
 against some fancied rival. Now her light laugh would ring 
 merrily through the room. And so it continued neaily all 
 night. And the doctor knew that the pain that had origi- 
 nated the fever and delirium was gone, while the delirium 
 remained ; therefore, he looked graver and more troubled 
 than ever, and no longer evinced any anxiety for the arrival 
 of the "eminent surgeon." Toward morning she grew 
 gradually composed. At dawn she was asleep, and the 
 physician prevailed on Judge Washington, who fondly 
 believed in her amendment, to go and lie down. When 
 the sun arose and shone broadly and brightly in upon her 
 bed, Dr. Me Walters got up and drew the curtain over the 
 dawn window, and returning to the bedside, saw that his 
 patient was wide awake, though quiet. 
 
 "How are you, Mrs. Washington ?" 
 
 "Better, I thank you, doctor. Oh, very much better, 
 indeed. I think I have had a whole good night's sleep and 
 pleasant dreams, very pleasant dreams ! I feel so well and 
 nice this morning. Not the slightest uneasiness anywhere. 
 You are a magician, doctor ! Doctor, I think such people
 
 114 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 ought to be very grateful to their physicians. / am !" and 
 she held out her hand to Dr. McWalters, who took and 
 pressed it tenderly, while turning away his head to conceal 
 the tears that rose to his eyes. 
 
 "I wonder if father got a good night's sleep last night ? 
 he sat up so late the night before." 
 
 " He is not up yet," replied the physician, evasively. 
 
 "And the children ; I wonder if they slept quietly ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the physician, confidently. 
 
 " I think, doctor, that after breakfast I may be able to 
 get up and sit in the chair may I not ? My dear father 
 will not be so troubled nor think me so ill if he sees that I 
 am able to sit up. May I not sit up, doctor?" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Washington, I will talk to you more of 
 that after breakfast." 
 
 " One more question, doctor. I may have my children, 
 to-day ?" 
 
 "Yes yes yea," he said, talking partly to himself, 
 partly to her. "Yes you may have the children in to-day." 
 
 Just at that moment a rap was heard at the door, and 
 Dr. McWalters arose, went to it, spoke to one without a 
 few moments, and closing the door, returned to his patient'a 
 bedside. 
 
 " Who has arrived, doctor, did he say ?" she asked. 
 
 " Doctor , the eminent surgeon from Baltimore." 
 
 " Ah ! we do not want him now, do we, sir ?" 
 
 " No," replied the family physician, speaking as before 
 half abstractedly. 
 
 " But he must be liberally remunerated for his trouble, 
 however, and by the way, breakfast must be hurried for 
 him, and he must be conducted to a room, as no doubt he 
 has ridden all night and would like to refresh himself by a 
 bath and a change of clothes. Doctor, will you touch the 
 bell I want the housekeeper."
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 115 
 
 " No, no, dear child, you must not weary yourself. I will 
 go down and put the traveler in charge of the housekeeper." 
 And so saying, the doctor arose and went out, as much to 
 give vent to the emotion he could no longer control as for 
 any other purpose. 
 
 Soon after this, Polly Pepper entered the room to set it 
 to rights, inquired of her young mistress how she found 
 herself, and expressed herself highly delighted that she was 
 "doing so well," but heaved a profound sigh nevertheless. 
 
 " Where is Coral ? I have not seen her since I have 
 been sick," said Mary. 
 
 " She is down stairs," said Polly ; but she did not add, 
 as she might have added, "ill of another brain fever." 
 
 Polly had nearly completed her task of arranging the 
 room, bathing her young mistress's face and hands, etc., 
 when the family physician entered, introducing Doctor 
 
 , from Baltimore. Mary received her new physician 
 
 with a smile, begged him to take the arm-chair at the head 
 of the bed, and apologized to him for what she called the 
 unnecessary alarm and solicitude of her friends which had 
 caused him to take so hasty and unpleasant a journey. 
 Then she inquired if he had breakfasted. The doctor had, 
 in company with Dr. McWalters and the Judge, who, by 
 the way, was now below, awaiting in high hope the opinion 
 of the new surgeon upon his daughter's case. The two 
 physicians spent half an hour by the bedside of the sick, 
 and then retired to the library in consultation a few mo- 
 ments before entering the parlor occupied by the Judge. 
 
 In the meantime, Polly Pepper, having left her young 
 mistress's room, went down to carry the good news to the 
 Judge, who, as soon as he saw her enter, exclaimed cheer- 
 fully, 
 
 " Well, Polly, well you have come to tell me that my 
 child is a great deal better."
 
 116 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " yes, young marse, Miss Mary is a great deal better 
 indeed. I hearn the doctor tell her she might 'haps she 
 might don't let me falsify the truffe Vmps she might even 
 set up to-day ; and to be sure she might even have the 
 children in the room ; 'deed, I hearn him say myself that 
 there wa'nt no nse in the new city doctor comin' at all, 
 now." 
 
 "Thank Heaven ! Oh thank Heaven 1" fervently exclaimed 
 the Judge. " Has she taken any thing ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; bat I thought I'd 'quire of the doctor first 
 what I might give, and so I jes' did ; and so he says, ' any 
 thing she wishes,' and so, young marse, I'm gwine to take 
 her up a cup of tea, a saft-biled egg, an' some water-crack- 
 ers, as she was a wantin' of, sir.' 1 
 
 " She asked for that ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, young marse." 
 
 " Then she must, indeed, be very much better, thank 
 Heaven! Oh thank Heaven! Do not keep her waiting; 
 hasten, Polly, hasten, and do her bidding." 
 
 Polly left the room, and the Judge walked the floor in 
 the restlessness of joy ; impatient, now, to hear the report 
 of the physicians, only that after it he might hasten to 
 Mary's bedside, and congratulate her on her convalescence. 
 
 Not soon enough for his impatience, but soon the door 
 swung open ; and the Judge, with a stately joyousness, 
 advanced to meet the two doctors, but checked himself 
 half-way, smitten by the gloom of their faces with a vague 
 but painful presentiment. The eminent surgeon withdrew 
 himself, and remained standing by the corner of the mantel- 
 piece ; and the family-physician, taking Judge Washing- 
 ton's hand with an air of profound and respectful commis- 
 eration, invited him to a seat by the window, and placed 
 himself in a chair by his side, saying, while he still held his 
 hand,
 
 T H K S K E L K T O N A T T H E F ^ AST. 117 
 
 "My dear friend, my honored friend, Judge Washington, 
 you are not new to grief. You possess great fortitude, I 
 know, yet how shall I tell you that which I have to com- 
 urinicate ? Your Mary " 
 
 " Well, well, in Heaven's name go on." 
 
 " She cannot survive many hours ; mortification has 
 taken place." 
 
 Judge Washington suddenly withdrew his hand from the 
 ciasp of the doctor's, got up, sat down again, pale as ashes, 
 covered his face with both hands, and only betrayed by the 
 heaving of his chest, and the shuddering of his whole framo, 
 how heavily the sudden blow had fallen under which he 
 had to bear up. 
 
 At last he lifted up his head, and asked, 
 
 " Does she know it ? does Mary know it ?" 
 
 "Ah, no, sir ; the approach of death has brought her 
 ease ; she thinks she is better; she talks of rising " 
 
 " How long may she live ?" 
 
 " On earth, not many hours." 
 
 "Hours only hours! 11 
 
 Again the Judge covered his face with his hands, and 
 struggled to subdue his great emotion. When he lifted 
 his head agnin, the doctor said : 
 
 " If there is any thing that you could wish Mrs. Wash- 
 ington to do, or that she could wish to do any disposition 
 of the property, she " 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! She holds no property ; she is uot 
 yet seventeen years old. But yet Mary must not be de- 
 ceived : she must be permitted to meet death consciously ; 
 Mary has faith, hope, and love enough to cast out fear for 
 herself or the helpless ones she leaves behind her. Doctor, 
 Buffer me to leave you." 
 
 The physician lifted and pressed his hand respectfully 
 again, and the Judge slowly and heavily withdrew from the
 
 118 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 room. He went into his chamber, knelt, bowed his face 
 upon his hands, and prayed. Strengthened, then he aiose, 
 and calmly passed into Mary's room. 
 
 The chamber wore the cheerful air of a convalescent's 
 sick room. The bed was made, the furniture neatly ar- 
 ranged, fresh cedar branches in the fireplace, fresh ftowei'3 
 on the mantel-piece, and near the bay-window "the dawu 
 window," iu the large, blue damask-colored arm-chair, 
 sat Mary, surrounded by her children. She wore the thin 
 muslin wrapper which the warm July weather permitted, 
 and her chestnut hair was smoothly parted over her fore- 
 nead, and carried back under the edge of a fine lace cap. 
 She looked wan, fragile, faint, but inexpressibly beautiful, 
 as she leaned sideways toward the corner of her chair, and 
 resting her elbow upon the arm of the chair, leaned her 
 head upon her hand, and watched and talked to her chil- 
 dren. Magdalene and Virginia were sitting on the carpet, 
 playing, and Josey was standing by her side, wearing the 
 most serious countenance of all. 
 
 As Judge Washington entered the room, he slightly 
 started at seeing Mary really up, and an expression of in- 
 tolerable pain passed rapidly over his countenance. 
 
 As soon as she saw him, Mary lifted her head and smil- 
 ingly held out her hand to him. He came and took it, 
 drew a chair to her side, and sat down. 
 
 " How does my dear child feel this morning ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, so well, dear father, that you must not look so 
 pitifully upon me ; I feel very well." 
 
 "Well, Mary? Well?" 
 
 " Considering, you know, father. My wound feels per- 
 fcctly easy, I only feel faint, and I do not think that my 
 circulation is quite healthy yet ; my hands and feet are a 
 little cold, and my breath is not free, quite. But now that
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 119 
 
 I have had my bed made, I shall lie down, and shall soon 
 be right." 
 
 Judge Washington, to conceal his deep emotion, and to 
 gain time for composure, stooped a-nd lifted Virginia to 
 his knee, who immediately threw her arms around his neck 
 and kissed him. Mary's head had sunk again upon he> 
 hand, and a grayness crept slowly over her face and van 
 ished. She said, speaking faintly as before : 
 
 " I see, father, you often lift Virginia to your knee, and 
 never Magdalene ; don't you like little Madgie ?" 
 
 In reply to this the Judge lifted Madgie to his other knee, 
 where the child sat quietly. 
 
 "Will you not lie down, dear Mary?" he next inquired. 
 
 "No, not yet, father. I said I would sit up half au 
 hour ; I have only been up a quarter ; and indeed I prefer 
 sitting here. Father, it does not seem to me as if I were 
 sick, while I am sitting here." 
 
 " Still, my dear Mary, I think it is not well to exhaust 
 your small strength." 
 
 " Dear father," replied Mary, speaking slowly and faintly, 
 " I am not sure, after all, that it is sitting here which 
 wearies me. I rest very well leaning so and somehow, 
 father, I have a strange, strange depression of spirits at 
 the idea of going back to bed ; please let me sit here as long 
 as possible." 
 
 " Sit as long as you like, my beloved child," replied the 
 Judge. 
 
 It was hard, hard, calmly to sit there and to see the rapid 
 approach of death to its unconscious victim. 
 
 " Mary," he said, tenderly, calmly, for he had now mas- 
 tered himself; "Mary, my child, if God were to call you to 
 himself, should you be resigned to go ?" 
 
 " Resigned, dear father, resigned to obey tli summons 
 of my heavenly Father ! That is scarcely a loving or a
 
 120 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 faithful word," said Mary, as a holy radiance illumined her 
 beautiful countenance an instant and vanished. " Yet, 
 father, were He to summon me away, I should not go all 
 in gladness ; oh no ! how could I, and leave my children 
 and you, father ? No, I should feel in death somehow as 
 I felt in marriage joyous and sad sad to leave these I 
 love joyous to go to those I love," concluded Mary, per- 
 haps not without some suspicion of the bearing of his words, 
 for she became very serious. 
 
 " Mary," said he, taking her hand, and looking gravely 
 and tenderly in her eyes those meek blue eyes that looked 
 so lovingly up to meet his own those mildly questioning 
 eyes, so soon to be closed forever. " Mary," he said, " were 
 God to call you to himself, could you not trust your be- 
 loved ones to me, fearlessly ?" 
 
 "Yes, father, oh yes, father!" she replied, without with- 
 drawing her eyes nay, they became more intense, more 
 searching in expression, and she inquired calmly : " What 
 did you mean by that question, father ?" 
 
 He replied first by a long and tender gaze, deep, deep 
 into those asking eyes and then winding his arm around 
 her and drawing her head upon his bosom, he replied : 
 
 " Mary, my Mary, it is even so ; God has called you to 
 himself." 
 
 Mary's hands flew suddenly up before her, and holding 
 them thus, she shrunk away as one does before a sudden 
 burst of too much light. 
 
 Her adopted child heard all, and stood motionless and 
 olorless o her other side ; but nobody noticed him. 
 
 Judge Washington bent toward her. 
 
 " Mary, my dear child." 
 
 " Father." 
 
 " How is it with you, my Mary ?" 
 
 " Stunned and blinded by too sudden, too much light,
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 121 
 
 but it will soon he over, father." And soon it was and 
 she turned her calm face to him and said : " They may lay 
 me on the bed now, father ; perhaps I may live longer so, 
 and I have somewhat to say to all." 
 
 Judge Washington summoned assistance, and she was 
 conveyed to bed. Josey followed in the same quiet manner 
 and stood silently by her side. She saw him, and turning 
 hei face toward him, held out her hand ; he took it, and 
 with an effort a mighty effort, for a little child swallowed 
 the sobs and forced back the tears that would have burst 
 forth. 
 
 " You heard what grandpa said, Josey ?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 "Josey, listen to me, dear, and try to remember my 
 words, and you will take their meaning by-and-by. You 
 and I, Josey, will never be separated by death, because we 
 know each other and love each other so much. When I 
 have disappeared from your sight, hearing, and touch, Josey, 
 seek me with your love, and your love will find me ; often 
 will I come to you, Josey, but you must have faith to re- 
 ceive me ; you will not see or hear me, but in happy, peace- 
 ful, loving emotions ; your spirit will feel me, if you will 
 only believe it ; you will believe it. I shall not come from 
 the spirit-world, and stand by the side of an unhappy, un- 
 believing child, whose want of faith shuts me from his spirit. 
 Ah ! I do not know how to make you know. Shut yonr 
 eyes, Josey, and turn yourself toward the south windows ; 
 now, Josey, can you see the sun ?" 
 
 " No, mamma." 
 
 " But you feel the warmth, and know thai he is shin- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma.'' 
 
 "So, Josey, to the senses of your body, and even to the 
 faculties of your mind, I shall be lost ; but to the purest
 
 122 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 love and highest aspirations of your spirit I shall be ever 
 present. And when you sit or walk apart, adoring God, 
 loving his children, and remembering with tenderness 'little 
 mother,' and you almost feel her presence in your heart, 
 know that it is really so, that she is really there, watching 
 over you, loving you, teaching you still teaching you Di- 
 vine truths perhaps she has learned in Heaven ; that she is 
 nearer to you than ever she was in the body, because she 
 communes with your inmost self. You do not understand 
 this truth now" 
 
 "But I have got it in my heart, mamma, and I love 
 it." 
 
 " And mamma will make it dearer to you, when she 
 comes constantly from God to her child. Oh, little one 1 
 I have told a deep truth one that I dared not tell to many 
 gray-haired men, good and wise though they might be." 
 She paused from exhaustion then seeing her father ap- 
 proach soon after this, she held her hand out to him, and 
 as he stooped very low over her, she took his face between 
 her hands, and looking in his countenance, at first with pro- 
 foundest sympathy and grief, through which at last, faith, 
 hope, and love shone as shines the sun through clouds, she 
 said : " Poor, worn face ! sorely-tried heart ! bear up ; God 
 is in this as in all things." 
 
 But his fortitude for a moment was quite overcome, and 
 he bowed his head upon his hands, and wept, after gasp- 
 ing : 
 
 "Oh, Mary I so good, so young 1" and unable to stand, 
 he sank down in the chair by her side. 
 
 Mary watched him for a while, and then said, in a voics 
 faint but clear and sweet as angels' whispers : 
 
 " Yes, life has been short, but very sweet to me. The 
 earth has been so sublime with its high mountains, its deep 
 valleys, and its great waters ; so glorious with its rising and
 
 THE SKELETON AT. THE FEAST. 123 
 
 its setting sun ; so beautiful with its forests, fields, and 
 flowers ; so lovely with its little children. Oh, yes, the 
 world has been so beautiful friends have been so kind 
 life has been so sweet to me ; and when those dear ones, 
 who loved life with me, passed away, they drew my vision 
 after them to a higher, sublimer, more beautiful life above ; 
 and now I go after them. But now I go to God. Think 
 you, because I go to God, I leave you ? Ah, no, dear 
 father, no. I shall pass from your sight, to enter your 
 soul ; to come into a closer communion with you, if you will 
 receive me in every gentle thought of me receive me. Oh ! 
 I will come to you, bearing mffny a happy inspiration. You 
 shall have more faith, and hope, and love, because I go to 
 God. I will be often near you, and when you see my baby 
 smile in her sleep, believe that it is awakened by her spirit- 
 mother's kiss. When you dream of me, believe that I have 
 been really with you. Do you hear, my Josey ? Heaven 
 and its angels are not far up in the sky, as little children 
 are misled to believe ; Heaveu and its angels are all around 
 about us." 
 
 She paused from faintness, but her radiant countenance 
 was still eloquent with all that her words had failed to com- 
 plete. 
 
 It looked not like a chamber of death. The two little 
 ones were playing on the carpet, varying baby sport some- 
 times with baby wrangles that were soon over, and often 
 their crow and laugh would ring pleasantly through the 
 room ; but at last they grew restless, and Josey went to 
 quiet them ; and, not succeeding, Judge Washington touched 
 the bell, and summoned Polly to carry them out. As she 
 was passing, however, Mary faintly called her to bring 
 them to her, and asked her father to raise her up in his 
 firms. He did so, and the babes were brought and set upon 
 the bed before her. Then, for the first time, the mother's
 
 124 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 heart of flesh melted, and tears arose to her eyes, and over- 
 flowed her cheeks ; folding her arms feebly around them 
 both, and dropping her head upon them, she sobbed : 
 
 " Oh, children ! children ! Oh, children ! children !" and 
 this she said many times. After having kissed Magdalene, 
 she motioned Polly to take her, and then looking long and 
 earnestly in Virginia's little face, she said : 
 
 " Oh, Ginnie ! Ginnie ! that you could remember me ! 
 Look at mother, oh Ginnie ! Let her try to leave her 
 features on your heart ; for oh, Ginnie ! never till now did 
 I feel how much beyond all things on earth or in heaven, 
 save God, I love you, littl^ one ! Oh, Ginnie ! remember 
 me, mine only one 1" she said gazing profoundly in her 
 countenance, if, as in desperate love, she hoped to leave 
 upon the infant's soul the impress of its mother's face. 
 Then fondly again and again kissing the child, whose heart 
 seemed to have received what its intellect missed, she per- 
 mitted her to be taken away, and sank back into the arnw 
 of her father, almost dead. He laid her gently on the 
 pillow, and resumed his seat by her side. When she was 
 somewhat recovered again she felt a gentle clasp on her 
 hand, and turning her eyes, she saw Josey, who said to her : 
 
 " Ginnie shall remember you, mamma she knows you 
 now so well, and your portrait is so much like you, that I 
 will never let her forget you. I will keep up the memory ; 
 every morning, before she says her prayers, she shall see 
 your portrait ; every night before she sleeps, shall she see it, 
 mamma. Every day will I talk to her of you, and when she 
 loves me most, I will bid her remember you, dear little 
 mother." 
 
 She pressed the little hand that clasped hers, and said, 
 
 " Josey, in the course of nature, grandpa may go tc 
 heaven before Ginnie grows up. You are a little child, 
 oh, I mean because vour are a little child, I leave Ginnie
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 125 
 
 in your care. You are not much older than she is, and there- 
 fore you may go all through life together. I have so much 
 trust in you, so much hope of you, Josey ! Love my child, 
 and make her good 1" 
 
 " Love me from Heaven, and make me good enough to 
 do it, mamma." 
 
 All day her father and her adopted child remained with 
 ser all day, until according to the custom of the church 
 in which she had been brought up the priest came to 
 administer the last consolations of religion to one whom 
 God himself had comforted already. The priest came to 
 impart faith aud strength for tBe trial to the passing angel, 
 and went away with a purer heart, and a higher faith, and 
 greater courage. 
 
 Bruin had been in to see her. 
 
 "It is better," he said, "than a thousand learned dis- 
 courses on the Evidences of Christianity, this passing away 
 of Mary never did I feel immortality as now." 
 
 Her father and her boy returned to the room, where 
 they remained all night. Her children were brought in for 
 the last time before they were put to bed. Then she kissed 
 and blessed, and resigned them with an angel smile. She 
 was sinking fast, but the spirit grew brighter and brighter 
 as the clay fell away. Sometimes she spoke, but though 
 the words were faint in sound, they were strong and hopeful 
 in import. Toward morning she became silent, and lay 
 holding Josey's hand while her father held her other hand. 
 
 The day was dawning clearly, brightly through the East 
 window at the foot of her bed. Then she began to speak 
 again, and some one said she was delirious ; when, drawing 
 her hand from her father's clasp, she pointed to her dawn 
 window, through which the newly-risen sun was pouring a 
 broad, bright ray from the eastern horizon to her bed, and 
 said while a divine radiance illuminated he* countenance.
 
 126 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Behold the Angel of the Lord ! Behold DEATH the 
 Beautiful ! the Deliverer! Behold the path of glory down 
 which he comes from God !" 
 
 " God" was her last word ; slowly, slowly, her arm fell 
 slowly, slowly, the light faded from her countenance, as the 
 invisible angel released and bore her invisible to " God P 
 
 The bereaved father calmly composed the head an>l 
 folded the hands of the beautiful sleeper ; knelt and prayed 
 a few moments, and rising, left the chamber, to send in 
 those whose sad duty it was to perform the last offices of 
 the living to the dead. 
 
 Josey remained statue-like by the bedside, until one of 
 the women took him gently by the hand, and leading him 
 to the ; door, put him out and closed it behind him. 
 
 There he stood a moment, bewildered ; then with a vague 
 delirious wish to escape from something he knew not 
 what, himself perhaps or the first sharp agony of bereave- 
 ment so new, so strange, so insufferable to the young 
 child he threw both hands to his temples, and started into 
 a run. Down the stairs he ran, and through the passage- 
 way, out of the front door, down the stone steps and 
 across the lawn down the hill with frantic haste, and across 
 the plains, on and on he ran, until exhausted, he fell for- 
 ward upon his face, where the waves of the Chesapeake Bay 
 washed the beach. 
 
 In the grief and dismay of the household it was long 
 before he was missed ; and then, when inquiry was set on 
 foot, some negro children, who had seen his insane flight, 
 directed the search toward the bay, and there they sought 
 and found him, insensible. They bore him back to the 
 house, and when he came to himself in Bruin's arms, he 
 looked up in his face, and said, 
 
 " I forgive Paul now for dying only God can give 
 courage to live, after she we love best hast died.''
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 127 
 
 In reply to this, Bruin took him to Ginnie, who was 
 Fcreaming frigntfully with grief and anger not, of Bourse, 
 because of the loss of her mother, whose loss she did not 
 know, and could not understand but because Adam Hawk, 
 who was an ogre to all children, had entered the room 
 belore her very eyes, and, despite her cries, had lifted np 
 in his arms and borne off the tranquil little Madgie, her 
 playmate her shadow her other self. Well might the 
 impetuous little Ginnie scream for her sister: for years 
 would pass, and the indelible impress of character would be 
 stamped by education upon each before they met again. 
 
 The funeral of Mary Washington took place upon the 
 fourth day of her death. It was attended by numerous 
 relatives and friends, crowds of the gentry of three or four 
 counties, and many others whom affection, respect, grati- 
 tude, or a morbid curiosity had brought to the house where 
 BO deep a tragedy had been enacted. Profound indeed had 
 been the consternation of the whole community when the 
 news of Mary Washington's assassination had spread from 
 nouse to house. Bruin, the dwarf, had made a deposition 
 before a neighboring magistrate, imploring at the same time 
 that the investigation might proceed without disturbing 
 Judge Washington, who, besides being in the deepest sor- 
 row, really knew nothing about the catastrophe, having been 
 absent from the spot at the time of its occurrence. The 
 magistrate then summoned those among the children who 
 had seen the fatal event, and whose age rendered them 
 competent witnesses. Broke Shields was among the most 
 important of these. He deposed to what he had seen at 
 the May-day festival, in the forest-glade, on the Old Turn- 
 pike Road, and, what was much more to the purpose, he 
 testified that he had a second time seen, from the cover of 
 the woods, the man who had fired the deadly ball: He
 
 128 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 swore to the pantaloons being the same. He knew them 
 they were very peculiar garments looking very dark, and 
 strong, and coarse, and very much torn, as if by violence, 
 and nowhere mended. The man he described as being 
 slight and wiry in figure, dark and emaciated in face, with 
 shaggy black brows, and stringy black hair ; his general 
 appearance, wild and savage ; he had seen him but a second, 
 as he had tired and leaped into the forest. 
 
 This was the best testimony that could be gathered, and 
 beyond this all was dark. Who the man was, none could 
 guess ; and what his cause of enmity to one so young, so 
 fair, and good as Mary, none could imagine. 
 
 Then the memory of Captain Carey's mysterious murder, 
 little more than a year previous, and the almost unprece- 
 dented train of death and disaster that had followed, struck 
 with terror the hearts of even the most courageous, and 
 caused even the least superstitious and imaginative to feel 
 that some malign star reigned over the destinies of the 
 doomed family, and that some hidden, potent, and im- 
 placable enemy had vowed their extermination. 
 
 The State authorities took the affair up zealously. The 
 governor offered a large reward for the discovery and appre- 
 hension of the murderer. The papers were filled with 
 accounts of the tragedy, and every circumstance bearing 
 upon it, however remotely. Many private individuals 
 added largely to the reward offered by the chief magistrate 
 of the State for the arrest of the heinous assassin. 
 
 Buried in the deepest grief for the untimely loss of the 
 gentle daughter, who had been to him as his last, his only 
 child, the youthful widow of his only son the comfort, 
 stay, and hope of his declining years the bereaved father 
 had no thoughts to give to vengeance, or even to justice ; 
 and it was not until the morning after the funeral, when 
 some of his oldest and most intimate freuds called upon
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 129 
 
 him with fervent expressions of sympathy, and earnest 
 offers of service, that the JUDGE awoke to the calls of Jus- 
 tice and then terrible indeed might have been the awaKCii- 
 ing, but for the habitual restraints of religion, whose life- 
 long control over his actions could not now be shaken off 
 by one tempest of calamity or passion, however great and 
 violent. So, after the first dark gathering of his brows, 
 and the first impulsive, fierce flashing of the eyes, his coun- 
 tenance settled, and he said : 
 
 " v riends, friends ! it is not for ME to take an active part 
 in the pursuit and in the apprehension of this guilty man. 
 I am too deeply, sorely stricken. My wounds still bleed 
 and smart, and any measure I should take for the arrest of 
 the criminal would savor more of passionate vengeance than 
 intelligent justice. You who have cooler heads and quieter 
 hearts take this matter from my hands." 
 
 And now, unable to recover his composure amid scenes 
 in which such terrible calamities had occurred, Judge 
 Washington prepared to remove his family to a new estate 
 he had recently purchased, and which comprised the whole 
 of a small and beautiful islet that lay immediately opposite 
 Prospect Plains, but ten leagues off on Chesapeake Bay. 
 
 The plantation of Prospect Plains, with two-thirds of the 
 field-hands upon it, the Judge determined to leave under the 
 charge of Adam Hawk. The remaining third of his labor- 
 ers, together with the whole of his household servants, he 
 resolved to carry with his family to the isle. 
 
 It was on the night before his departure, that on return- 
 ing from his last visit to the grave of Mary, he found Adam 
 JIawk standing before him. 
 
 " Judge Washington, return with me again to the grave 
 of your daughter," he said, respectfully, but in stern, deep 
 tones; and the Judge mechanically complied.
 
 130 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 The moon was shining down clear and bright upon the 
 uew and glistening tombstones so many of them in the 
 family burial-ground, when they paused beside the newest 
 grave, tint of Mary, which lay between them, and across 
 which they spoke. 
 
 "Judge Washington, my patron and ray best friend," 
 said Adam Hawk, " until this moment I have not opened 
 my lips upon that dark subject which has filled all minds, 
 and been upon all tongues for many weeks. But, now that 
 you go hence for many years, hear me. That of which I have 
 said nothing, I have/e^ much, and thought more. I have 
 not been unmindful of the great goodness of you and yours 
 to me and mine, now hear me. I permitted the destroyer of 
 my child to die in his bed, because his life was not forfeit to 
 the laws for his crime, else he had not lived to this time ; 
 but, by the eternal justice of God 1 if the murderer of your 
 child lives on sea or laud, alive or dead, shall sea or land de- 
 liver him up. And, like the Nazarites of old, in memory thereof, 
 nor razor nor scissors shall touch my grizzled hair until 
 that unknown demon stands upon the scaffold so help me 
 God ! 
 
 Never before had the latent Indian blood of Adam Hawk 
 risen up so luridly as now, when, with his sharply-cut aqui- 
 line profile strongly relieved against the moonlight, he stood 
 stern, dark, and fierce, and took his oath of unsleeping ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Judge Washington stood for a while in silence, and then 
 passing his arm within that of Adam, and resting upon the 
 physically stronger man, he said : 
 
 "Let us go hence, Adam. The outraged community will 
 cast forth the murderer from its bosom nay, violated nature 
 herself, in her wildest solitudes, will give no shelter to the 
 criminal. Justice will have its course, but let it be jus- 
 Mce I"
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 131 
 
 "Yes, JUSTICE !" exclaimed Adam Hawk, raising, with 
 flashing eye, one arm to Heaven "Yes, justice ! not not 
 mercy not any degree of mercy I JUSTICE !" continued 
 .A darn Hawk, shaking aloft his lifted arm. 
 
 " Not vengeance, my friend. Come now, let us talk of 
 something else your little granddaughter, Magdalene. 
 We are botl in the same case now, Adam, old companion 
 each with an orphan granddaughter on his hands. Each 
 infant is as much as one of us can attend to in its infancy ; 
 but, Adam, after that I will care for the education and after 
 prospects of my Mary's adopted girl." 
 
 Adam Hawk gravely bowed his thanks, though it is prob- 
 able, in his preoccupation, he had not heard exactly what 
 was said. 
 
 Very early the next morning, Judge Washington and 
 his household embarked in the packet-boat that lay at the 
 landing of Prospect Plains, and set sail for the Sunny Isle.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAGDALENE. 
 
 " Who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing 
 
 Would like an angel's soothe a dying hour, 
 With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing 
 As e'er passed maiden's lip in rnooulit bower ; 
 
 That underneath that face like summer ocean's, 
 
 Its lip as moveless and its cheek as clear, 
 Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, 
 
 Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow all save fear." Halledt 
 
 TEN years have passed since the tragedy resulting in the 
 severance of our young foster sisters was enacted ; ten 
 years, and the perpetrator of the crime remains undis- 
 covered ; ten years, and the glittering new white tombstones 
 of the family burial-ground have grown gray with age and 
 green with mould ; ten years, and the proprietor of Pros- 
 pect Plains has never revisited his plantation. 
 
 Ten years and Joseph Washington has passed all this 
 time in his official duties, or at his home of more than ideal 
 beauty his island home 
 
 " On the Cbesapeake's 
 
 wnere nis granddaughter, Virginia, was growing up a little 
 queen of an isolated little kingdom. 
 
 Ten years and Adam Hawk still resided at Blackthorn 
 Grange, and still managed the estate, or passed his leisure 
 hours in the education of his granddaughter, Magdalene. 
 
 At the time I write of the Roman Catholic and the 
 Protestant Episcopal churches nearly equally divided the 
 (132)
 
 MAGDALKXK. 133 
 
 religious faith of the States of Maryland and Virginia; the 
 Roman Catholic having the ascendancy in the former, the 
 Protestant Episcopal in the latter. Other denominations 
 were almost unknown in these two States. 
 
 The old Episcopal Parish of All Souls, one of the very 
 oldest in Virginia, covered the best part of three counties, 
 nnd had been for many years under the pastoral charge of 
 the Reverend Theodore Horvey, a near relative of him of 
 the " Meditations," who had been sent out from England as 
 a missionary to the parish, and afterward retained by it as 
 the stationed and resident minister. 
 
 The Old Forest Church, as All Souls Church was some- 
 times called, and the old parsonage, had been repaired for 
 him ; and as the declining parish revived and prospered 
 under his ministry, a liberal salary was subscribed for him. 
 He had married Helen Broke, the daughter of the wealthy 
 Major Broke, of Forest Hall, and this connection greatly 
 augmented his influence and prosperity. One son and one 
 daughter, Theodore and Helen, had blessed this union. 
 
 Among the most important and influential of his parish- 
 ioners were, besides the Brokes, of Forest Hall, the Wash- 
 ingtons, of Prospect Plains, the Mountjoys, of Alta Bayou, 
 and Gen. Wolfe, of Mount Storm. 
 
 Joseph Washington and Adam Hawk were both profes- 
 sors of the Episcopal faith ; both members of All Souls 
 Parish ; both had received the rites of Christian baptism at 
 the font, and of Christian confirmation at the altar of the 
 Old Forest Church ; both had knelt at the same communion- 
 table, and as boys, youths, and men, both had sat under the 
 same preaching for nearlv fifty years the last twenty years 
 being under that of the Reverend Theodore Ilervey thus 
 both held the same articles of Christian faith both pos- 
 sessed the reputation of eminent piety, and both wore 
 equally nincc.re. But here all parallel between the religion
 
 13i THE TWO S I S T Ji R S . 
 
 of the two men ended. Each enjoyed religion in his own 
 way, and a far different way, and nothing could be more 
 dissimilar than the effect through the modifying influences 
 of natural constitution, temperament, and home education 
 produced upon the character of each. 
 
 Joseph Washington was a man of warm temperament, of 
 genial, social affections, of large benevolence, and great phi- 
 lanthropy in a word, naturally GOOD GROUND for the seed 
 of Gospel truth to fall on, and he had received the Word in 
 joy he had inhaled the very spirit of Christ the Faith 
 that soothed all his sorrows, plucking the sting from death 
 itself the Hope that added to all his joys the crown of im- 
 mortality the Love of God and his Neighbor that inspired 
 all his thoughts, words, and actions "THE PERFECT LOVE 
 that casteth out fear," which led him to look through all 
 apparent contradictions and impossibilities to the final judg- 
 ment as the day of great Redemption. Thus it was Joseph 
 Washington's highest, purest joy to contemplate with rever- 
 ential love and worship the benignities of the Divine char- 
 acter and law. 
 
 Adam Hawk had gotten the thirty-nine articles of the 
 church well beaten into that hard head of his ; and, perhaps 
 from the alloy of that stern North American Indian blood, 
 or his constitution and temperament generally, or his early 
 home training, or all of these together but all he saw and 
 felt in his religion was original sin, total depravity, the 
 wrath of God, and barring a soul like his own plucked 
 here and there as a brand from the burning eternal per- 
 dition ; and these terrible subjects possessed a strong attrac- 
 tion for his own dark, fierce, and sanguinary soul. He 
 joyed to think of the final judgment, of the consuming wrath 
 of an Almighty God, of the tremendous fall of the wicked, 
 of the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone and when 
 he thought that he himself should be there to see the grand
 
 MAGDALENE. 135 
 
 final catastrophe of the tragedy of life with his own eyes 
 and not another's he experienced an atrocious rapture 
 such as might fire the fierce soul of a North American sav- 
 age at the prospect of the scalping, torturing, and burning 
 of an infinite number of foes. 
 
 These, reader, were the two men that were respectively 
 the earliest educators of our two foster sisters, Virginia and 
 Magdalene, and who, for the first ten years of their live?, 
 had had almost the exclusive charge of forming or develop- 
 ing their characters. 
 
 We need have no misgivings for Virginia, passionate and 
 impetuous as we already know her to have been, we know 
 also that she has been in excellent hands we will there- 
 fore leave her for the present in her island home, and turn 
 to Magdalene. 
 
 For some children, and in some respects for Magdalene, 
 Adam Hawk would not have made a bad educator, for he 
 was a man of strict truth, stern justice, pure integrity and 
 he had no dearer wish than the earthly, the immortal weal 
 of his granddaughter nay, perhaps, his savage joy at the 
 thought of the grand spectacle of the final judgment would 
 have suffered some alloy, had he been sure that Magdalene 
 would have been consigned to eternal flames. Yet truth, 
 justice, integrity, were the only virtues he really fostered in 
 Magdalene virtues which were naturally and by inheritance 
 hers ; while his severe code and harsh discipline developed 
 and cultivated to its utmost, that latent, hard implacability 
 of temper, received through him from her stern Indian fore- 
 fathers ; that bad spirit which formed the eul half of her 
 dread nature; and which, in after years, flooded her own 
 life, and that of another, with the darkest calamity. 
 
 Education, perhaps, never will be fully understood and 
 perfected unti. phrenology, the youngest of the sciences, be 
 elevated to an equal rank with its sisters.
 
 136 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 No one with the knowledge of character which phrenology 
 gives, would have taken a child like Magdalene Hawk, a 
 child of wonderful force of character, a child full of self- 
 esteem, firmness, destructiveness full of all things that go 
 to make up an excessively proud, strong, free, self-reliant 
 and self-sufficient nature a child so fearless and exultant, 
 that even in infancy, in the midst of a storm, she had clapped 
 her hands and crowed back in joy to the thunder. 
 
 There never was a more beautiful child than Magdalene 
 Hawk was at ten years of age. So tall was she for her age, 
 that she would have been taken to be two years older ; and 
 so harmoniously proportioned, that every slightest motion 
 was the perfection of grace. Her finely turned head and 
 neck had that naturally majestic grace we see in the swan 
 her rounded limbs tapered off to the slenderest wrists and 
 ancles, ending in the smallest and most elegant of all hands 
 and feet. Her step had the elastic stateliness of the deer's. 
 Her complexion was clear and brilliant her Indian blood 
 giving only the darker, richer tinge to the bright crimson 
 of her cheeks and lips ; her hair was long, black, and 
 straight her features were slightly aquiline her eyebrows 
 jet black, arched, and tapering toward the points her 
 eyes were wonderfully large, dark and lustrous, and fringed 
 by eyelashes jet black, and so very long,' straight, and droop- 
 ing, that they threw those large eyes always into shadow, 
 concealing their expression and, combined with very full, 
 red, and beautiful lips, gave to her countenance an air of 
 luxurious languor of the omnipotent fascination of which 
 the maiden of after years was quite as innocent as the 
 child of to-day. Perfectly beautiful as Magdalene was 
 or rather because she was perfectly beautiful there was 
 nothing delicate or fragile about her. 
 
 Strength, eloquence, beauty, and repose these were the 
 gro p of ideas suggested by Magdalene Hawk when the 
 first delighted surprise of first seeing her passed off
 
 MAGDALENE, 137 
 
 She was a solitary child, motherless, sisterless, eompan- 
 ionless, unless Adam Hawk, her grandfather, and Gulliver 
 Goblin, his only servant, could be called companions. And 
 perhaps, because she was a solitary child, she became a 
 charming one ; and that her infant life seemed to her like 
 the winter morning twilight of her own native plains, when 
 the day was dark with remaining light, and overcast with 
 clouds, and moaning with the monotonous sound of the 
 surge upon the shore, coming from night, dark, cold, 
 gloomy, obscure, and full of threatening sounds and sights. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking now ?" would Adam Hawk 
 ask, as the child would let the lump of seedy cotton-wool 
 she was picking drop upon her lap, while she fell into a 
 reverie by the great fire of the keeping-room, upon the 
 windy winter nights "What are you studying about 
 r?ow?" he would ask. 
 
 " I am wondering where I first came from, and trying to 
 remember," would be the truthful reply of the strange child. 
 
 " God created your body out of the dust of the earth." 
 
 " Yes, I know he did, as he does the flowers and trees, 
 but I am different from them and from it where did / 
 come from ?" 
 
 " God breathed into your nostrils the breath of life." 
 
 " I know I know where my breath comes from ; I draw 
 it in and send it out every moment since the Lord first gave 
 me the power to do it ; but where did / myself come 
 from, first of all ? not my body and my breath, but /, MY- 
 SELF, that studies, and wonders, and never sleeps ?" 
 
 Then would follow a section of catechism, and an expla- 
 nation of the subject that ought to have been perfectly 
 satisfactory, only it was not, for Magdalene would imme- 
 diately reply 
 
 " Yes, I know you told me that before ; but what. I wag 
 trying to remember was, where I came from first of all ; and
 
 138 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 I was just going to recollect, when you spoke to me and 
 put me out. I do wish I could remember it, but I feel as 
 if it were a very sad place." 
 
 Adam Hawk would repeat for the thousandth time that 
 a child would ask more questions than a philosopher could 
 answer in a thousand centuries ; and, exhorting her to 
 mind and complete her task of cotton-picking before bed- 
 time, return to his book or his thoughts. 
 
 The only other occupant of their fireside would sit on 
 his haunches, propping his chin on his hands, his elbows 
 on his knees, and study Magdalene for hours together, 
 watching the calm and beautiful face, the mature and 
 thoughtful expression ; and shaking his head slowly, slowly, 
 would mumble 
 
 "She ain't right she ain't. She ain't human she 
 ain't. Look at her now ! She is either one of the angels 
 of the Lord, or else she is the ole Satan hisself in female 
 form." 
 
 This was Gulliver Goblin, the superannuated gardener of 
 Prospect Plains, now the man-of-all-work to the overseer 
 " Gulliver Goblin," so called from his mendacious propen- 
 sities and his marvelous tales, all of a raw-head-and-bloody- 
 bones character. Gulliver Goblin, or Mr. Big-gs Chisselly, 
 as he called himself, united in his own person many more 
 offices besides those of plantation gardener, overseer's man, 
 historian and story-teller: he was a sort of self-constituted 
 magistrate on the estate, and self-ordained preacher at the 
 meetings, and the fiddler-in-general to the neighborhood. 
 In his magisterial dignity he would often decide how much 
 of perquisites or plunder should be given with a girl in 
 marriage ; in his clerical character he would pronounce the 
 marriage benediction ; and in his musical capacity he would 
 then play the fiddle for the company to dance ; and not un- 
 frequently entertain the company with some hornole story.
 
 MAGDALENE. 139 
 
 or improvise a humorous sketch of something that had oc 
 curred in their circle. This was his forte ; he was great 
 on the fiddle, greater on the banjo, but greatest in grotesque 
 satirical improvisations. Gulliver Goblin was indeed and 
 in truth one of those " mute inglorious" Paganinies of 
 whom a few may be always found among the negroes of 
 the Southern plantations, whose general musical genius is 
 too well known to be denied. A great terror was Uncle 
 Biggs and his banjo to evil-doers among the negroes of 
 the whole neighborhood ; more than every other penalty 
 for misdemeanor they dreaded being " put upon the banjo" 
 by Uncle Biggs. Gulliver Goblin was a solitary old man : 
 all his family, as he often said at meeting, "had succeeded 
 him to the land from whose burning no traveler returneth" 
 . that is to say, his parents, brethren and sisters had passed 
 away in the course of nature. Uncle Biggs had never 
 married ; he had been jilted once by Mrs. Polly Pepper, 
 and that peppering, he said, had seasoned his heart so. 
 highly that it was proof against all the 'fluencys of beauty 
 and time. Gulliver Goblin would have taken strongly to 
 our lonely child, only there was a natural reserve and state 
 about the little one that made him somewhat shy of her. 
 He would circle around her as a great black bug about a 
 bright candle ; he would admire her, study her, wonder at 
 her, and be half afraid of her, beautiful woman-child that 
 she was. Sometimes very seldom Magdalene would 
 notice him by asking some strange question upon subjects 
 that only he might be able or willing to inform her of; and 
 sometimes, with her calm, profound, and beautiful counte- 
 nance turned full upon him, she would suddenly frighten 
 him out of his senses by asking him some startling question 
 about his pve-existence. 
 
 As the winter morning twilight of her lonely and loveless 
 infancy passed off, however, the musinc: /rirl left off asking
 
 140 
 
 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 vain questions, and her reveries were filled with the present, 
 or her thoughts projected themselves into the future. 
 
 She became very observant of all things around her. 
 The face of nature with its infinite variety forests, fields, 
 and flowers water*, clouds, and clear ether day and night, 
 light and darkness, sun and stars, were deep unfathomable 
 mysteries to her mysteries she never, never grew weary of 
 diving into. 
 
 LIFE was the greatest mystery of all. What was it ? 
 whither tended it ? She accepted with awe all the Church 
 had to teach her, but reached for something beyond. Great 
 reverence she had for LIFE great sympathy for all life that 
 could SUFFER or ENJOY, however humble its form might be. 
 In her lonely rambles on the sandy shores of the bay, she 
 would stoop and pick up the little fish that might be 
 stranded on the beach, and if its life was not extinct, return 
 it to the water. In her solitary wanderings over the plains, 
 or through the forest, she would remove the small catter- 
 pillar that might be crawling across the foot-path, lest some 
 hasty foot should tread it to death. Even the drowning 
 fly was not beneath her care. Nor was this altogether 
 from benevolence strange as it may be it arose more 
 from conscientiousness ; and could the musing child have 
 understood her feelings, and put them into words, she 
 might have said : " All living things all that can suffer 
 and enjoy and that are lower and weaker than ourselves 
 have a rigH to our care and protection have a right to 
 all the happiness that we have the power to give them. 
 And as higher orders of beings, angels and ai'changols, 
 minister to us, cherishing, protecting, defending us, so we 
 should cherish, protect, and care for the well-being of all 
 that the universal Father has entrusted to our mercy 
 as far as we have power and they have neea. Shall I, 
 whose slumbers an angel guards, not save a wounded bird
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 141 
 
 from death?" Sometimes the chain of life was very dis- 
 tinct to her ; and in those lonely moods of hers, by a sudden 
 electric shock, she felt her connection with all the life above, 
 and all the life below her. 
 
 Very unequally educated was Magdalene. In all that 
 the society of other children might have taught her, she 
 was profoundly ignorant. In all that the face of nature, 
 solitude, self-communion could suggest, inspire, and teach, 
 she was prematurely wise. 
 
 Very few people had the solitary child seen in all her 
 life ; and these could be summed up in a very few words : 
 the assessor once a year would draw bridle at Blackthorn's 
 gate the clergyman in his pastoral rounds would visit 
 them about twice as often and these, I think, were all, if 
 we except an occasional traveler, who would be landed 
 from a packet at the beach, and journeying on foot across 
 the plains, with his bundle swung on a stick over his shoul- 
 ders, would meet Magdalene, and start with surprise and 
 admiration at the sudden vision of dazzling loveliness in 
 that wild place, and passing, turn again and again to gaze 
 and wonder at the marvelous beauty of the lonely child. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 " What shall be be e'er night ? Perchance a thing 
 O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing." Byron. 
 
 " COME ! It's not twelve o'clock yet, quite, but you may 
 nil break off there, and go to see the man hanged," sang 
 out the sonorous voice of Adam Hawk over a field where
 
 A 12 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 some fortr or fifty negroes were at work ; and in a moment 
 every implement of husbandry was thrown down, and a 
 general shout of joy was raised by the temporarily released 
 laborers. 
 
 " Stop that confounded howling and shrieking ! It is 
 the confusion of Babel ; Bedlam itself let loose would be 
 more reasonable. Hark ! do you hear me, lunatics ? STOP, 
 I say, or I shall stop the holiday ! Are we in Pandemo- 
 nium ?" clanged out the same harsh iron tones, as the 
 negroes, with a great noise, gathered up again their farming 
 implements, preparatory to scattering themselves. 
 
 When all had left the field, except Gulliver Goblin, the 
 overseer turned to him and said, 
 
 "You, also, are at liberty to go and see the spectacle, 
 Gulliver. Go, it may do you good. I should not have 
 permitted those idiots to leave their work, had it not been 
 that I hoped the ceremony would have a good effect upon 
 them that they would see that the way of the transgressor 
 is hard. Why do you stand waiting ? Go, it will interest 
 you especially as the culprit is a negro." 
 
 " Thanky, sur ! I wouldn't go to see a white man hung, 
 to-day let alone a colored gentleman nigger-roe, as you 
 call him." 
 
 " Why, sir ?" 
 
 " Gaze, in-^rs^-us ; I'm not morally swayed in my mind, 
 of the sobriety of exocutionizing a gentleman by the neck, 
 for borrowing another man's sheep !" 
 
 " Why, if one may crave your worship's reason ?" sneered 
 Adam Hawk. 
 
 " If your honor's worship had about eleventeen hours 
 ledger, I could confuse your min' by a 'liverin'of my 'ration 
 on caputating bunishment and de melodious opprobrium of 
 another man's property." 
 
 " Your WHAT ?"
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 143 
 
 " My 'ration, sir, on moral 'suading and carnal weepons ; 
 my lectur, sir, on capita-ting bunishment, sir, improvided to 
 be 'livered 'fore a journeyed meetin' o' de colored poplin of 
 this legion of contry for the debolishment of gallowses, an' 
 the 'vention of banishment in gineral. White poplin, sir, 
 'vited to 'tend we sees no difference in color, sir. The 
 meetin' to be helden' this arternoon, at the glade of the Old 
 Turnpike Road 1" 
 
 " The site of two assassinations ! a very proper place to 
 preach the abolishment of the scaffold from," growled 
 Adam Hawk, with a sardonic grin, as he turned from the spot. 
 
 " Hyena ! I'll put you on the banjo this very night, long 
 o' the jack-ketch and the governor !" growled Gulliver ; and 
 as this was the most sanguinary form his vengeance ever 
 took, I suppose it was perfectly satisfactory. 
 
 "Father," said Magdalene, "where are all the people 
 going?" 
 
 "They are going to St. Leonard's, to see the man 
 hanged !" 
 
 " May I go, too ?" asked Magdalene, without the slight- 
 est idea of what she asked for. 
 
 " No," was the curt reply of Adam Hawk. 
 
 "But I want to go very much." 
 
 " I have once said NO ! I mean it." 
 
 " But I never saw a man hanged 1" 
 
 " That is no matter for you !" 
 
 "What is it like?" 
 
 " It is none of yonr business." 
 
 " But why must I not go to see the man hanged, whet 
 everybody else on the plantation has gone ?" 
 
 "BECAUSE I WILL IT." 
 
 "But /WILL to go!" persisted the persevering child. 
 
 Adam Hawk looked at her a moment half in affection 
 half in severity, and said sternly,
 
 144: THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " See here, Magdalene ! When I have once said NO 
 you are to accept that and once for all, let me tell you, that 
 I will have you give up that bad habit of persistence ; do 
 you hear and heed me ?" 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 "Magdalene," said he, calling to her, as she was turning 
 thoughtfully away. " Magdalene, when Satan once puts 
 any thing into your head, an angel of the Lord couldn't get 
 it out ; now I see that hard head of yours is set on going to 
 see the performance. Now I repeat to you emphatically 
 you are not to go !" 
 
 " I will not go, sir ;" replied Magdalene, gravely. 
 
 " If you do, I will punish you with severity," concluded 
 the well-meaning but mistaken man. And at the degrading 
 threat, the bright countenance of the beautiful child changed 
 grew overcast and darkened ; and she turned silently and 
 moodily away. 
 
 It was a brilliant day and as she walked on over the 
 plains, crushing the slightly-frosted ground under her feet, 
 she encountered Gulliver Goblin. She looked up at him 
 and the inexplicable expression of her countenance drew 
 from him though it was a rare thing for him to address 
 her the inquiry, 
 
 " What is the matter, little mistress ?" 
 
 "I am hurt," replied the child ; and perhaps nothing but 
 her deeply humiliated feelings would have drawn from her 
 that admission a condescension that immediately embold- 
 ened Gulliver to say, 
 
 " Hurt, Miss Madge 1 I reckon how you'd be more 
 hurt, if you was gwine for to be hanged at this present 
 hour." 
 
 "That is what I have been wondering about this morn- 
 ing.. I never saw such a fuss among people, since the 
 Governor was elected, and had a dinner given him at St.
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 145 
 
 Leonard's and it is because a man is going to be publicly 
 banged. Is it good or bad to be banged ?" 
 
 " Marster save your mortal soul, Miss Madgie!" 
 
 " Well , why don't you tell me ?" 
 
 " The Lord help your heart ! sometimes you make objur- 
 gations as makes my hair bristle right for sheer scare and 
 sometimes you axes such simple questions, as a natural-born 
 idiot ninny-hammer would know better nor to ax ! Is 
 hanging good or bad ! I 'vises you to try the impediment, 
 an' fin' out for yourself," said Gulliver, looking at her with 
 n sort of gingerly compassion. 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said Magdalene. 
 
 ' I'm a gwine to," replied the Goblin, taking the child by 
 the band and leading her up the hill to the deserted man- 
 sion. He stopped in front of the lawn-gate to recover 
 breath, and then pointing to the top- of the Hall, he said. 
 " I am gwine for to take you tip to the top of that there 
 high house like Sam did Marster in the Bible, and show 
 you something." 
 
 Magdalene had never been within the enclosure, and she 
 now looked with great interest at the house. Goblin drew 
 a key from his pocket, unlocked the gate and passed in, 
 approached the front of the house, and admitting himself 
 by a side door, took the child up a narrow spiral staircase 
 that carried them up to the terrace walk on the roof of the 
 house. Magdalene had never been up here before, of 
 course, and had never seen the land and water from so high 
 a point of view. She turned with almost breathless delight 
 to look at the PROSPECT whose simple grandeur gave a name 
 to Hall, Hill, and Plains. 
 
 It was a brilliant day in early spring. Before her de- 
 Kcended the great green hill gradually sweeping into the 
 vast green plains stretching ruiles and miles to the dark 
 blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, falling away and away
 
 146 THE TWO S1S1EKS. 
 
 until they were lost to sight in the convex form of the 
 earth itself. Behind her arose the grand forest, rolling off 
 and off a boundless ocean of foliage, until it disappeared 
 in the far-off distant horizon. These were the grand and 
 simple features of the landscape. A magnificent PROSPECT 
 indeed ! 
 
 While Magdalene, almost forgetful of the subject upon 
 which her thoughts had concentrated themselves the whole 
 morning, gazed with admiration approaching to awe upon 
 this boundless outspread of land and water, and murmured 
 to herself 
 
 " Now I see for myself that the great earth is round, and 
 feel that it is indeed an immense heavenly body whirling 
 with inconceivable velocity through space, even as Mr. 
 Hervey says." 
 
 "Now she's at her witchified incanterations again 1 and 
 I sich a cussed infunuelly ole fool as fur to trus' myself on 
 top 'o the house 'long o' her ! In the name o' the prophets 
 an' off the 'postles, an' off the holy angels ! Amen ! Miss 
 Madgie, I say 1 leave off looking that way an' talking to 
 yourself or to Sam, and tend to what I'm gwine for to say 
 to you." 
 
 "Well, Uncle Gulliver, I am listening." 
 
 " Honey, look down at that there road, and see how full 
 o' people it is," said the Goblin, pointing to where the road 
 stretched like a yellow thread to the town of St. Leonard's, 
 which lay like a bright mosaic gem on the green plains. 
 "You can't see the gallows, but I'll tell you about it," saia 
 the Goblin ; and as he took a ghastly pleasure in such sub- 
 jects, he sat down upon the narrow bench that ran within 
 the parapet, and inviting Magdalene to do likewise, he com- 
 posed himself, cleared his throat, and commencing, gave tho 
 child the whole loathsome story of an execution he had 
 once witnessed with all its soul-sickening details one
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 147 
 
 circumstance of great horror of how the rope broke and 
 the criminal fell, and was picked up and dragged, mangled 
 and bloody, blinded and maddened, back to the scaffold. 
 Magdalene listened apparently unmoved, her cheek retained 
 its rich crimsoned tint, and her large, dark, thoughtful eyes 
 were not once withdrawn from the grotesque face of the old 
 negro, which became perfectly demoniac with the antics of 
 feeling as he told the story. After he was done her eyes 
 remained fixed upon him with the same thoughtful, pro- 
 foundly thoughtful expression, until he said, " Now, would 
 you like to go and see the execution ? If you ruu fast 
 you'll be in time ; they won't fetch him out for half an hour 
 yet. I thought you might o' seen it from the top o' this 
 house, but you can't, a cause the gallows is on the other 
 side o' the town. Why don't you answer of me, Miss 
 Madgie, and don't keep on o' boring o' holes through my 
 head with your eyes it kind o' puts a scare on top o' me, 
 'deed it do ! Come ! I'll take you to see the hanging ef 
 you want to go." 
 
 " I would not see it for ten thousand worlds like this ! I 
 would not see it for ten thousand heavens like heaven !" 
 
 "I thought you 'sired very much for to witness the 
 solemuification." 
 
 "I didn't know what it was! I did not know they 
 hanged living men like bacon, you see 1 I thought the 
 word hang might have two opposite meanings like like 
 pray, you know there is pray to heaven ! and prey 
 upon a kid or a lamb." 
 
 "Now !" said the Goblin, looking at the sun with the air 
 of a seer, "now it is twelve o'clock now if you want to 
 re-nlfy the thing you may 'maginate it all out, and almost 
 see it with your eyes jest this rainnit they are taking of 
 him up the steps o' the scaffold! stop! now I'll tell you 
 co a minnit when they fixes the rope."
 
 148 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Before he got any further, Magdalene had sprung, 
 bounded from his side, and fled precipitately down the 
 stairs. 
 
 Goblin gazed after her half bewildered, half relieved by 
 her sudden flight; and when he found his voice, he said, 
 
 "Ef she ain't gone to see the executionizing arter all, sell 
 rue to Georgey ! The hardest, hardest little devil I ever saw 
 in all the days o' my life ! She heern me tell all 'bout that 
 rope breakin', and all that bloody ghastly story, and her 
 red cheeks never turned ! It's Injun blood, or it'? Sam !" 
 and the old man rising left the terrace. 
 
 Meeting the overseer by chance, he threw that worthy 
 into great wrath by telling him that Magdalene had gone 
 to see the execution. 
 
 Yes, she had heard with unshaken nerves and unfading 
 cheek. Nerves of the strength and elasticity of tempered 
 steel, muscles of marble hardness and firmness, gave little 
 outward evidence of the strong mental ngony mysterious 
 ugony far greater than the occasion called for that shook 
 almost her reason from its centre. Now it seemed to her 
 that some spirit of evil had moved upon the waters of her 
 poul, and its vague vapors and mists had separated and 
 settled into something substantial and clearly defined as 
 horrible. Yes, the one monstrous, the one atrocious evil 
 in the world, was the legal SCAFFOLD. 
 
 Pursued by this terrible idea, she fled up the hill at the 
 back of the mansion, and plunged into the depths of the 
 forest. It was strange, passing strange one of the un- 
 fathomable mysteries of life, that among all the terrors of 
 the " night side" of nature, this only should have caused 
 her heart, to quail to its very core. 
 
 Often, often in after years, the woman recalled this first 
 terrible presentiment of the child, and concentrating all hor 
 reasoning powers upon the fact, sought vainly to account
 
 T H K F I K S T 1' K li S K -\ 1 1 il E X T . 1-19 
 
 for it. Now the child sought in the darkest shades of the 
 forest a refuge from the horrible phantom of her miud. 
 She wandered all that bright spring day, but saw no bright- 
 ness in it all nature was awake witli new life, but to her, 
 in her then mood, the faintness of death was in all things. 
 
 She wandered on and on, until the shades of evening 
 were stealing over the plains; then she turned her slow 
 steps toward home, her mind still absorbed in the one 
 horrible idea, now so agonizing in its intensity that it 
 seemed to affect her reason. She felt a sort of maniac 
 impulse to fly to the scene of the loathsome tragedy she 
 feared falling into the power of some fiend that should 
 impel her to a crime that should place her THERE ! 
 
 It was in this mood of mind, while returning down the 
 wooded hill toward the plains through the very Old Turn- 
 pike Road we have mentioned so often, that she met Mr. 
 Hervey, the preacher, on his return from St. Leonard's, 
 whither he had gone to give the last consolations of religion 
 to the condemned, (the reader will remember that Mr. 
 Hervey 's home was at the parsonage of the old Forest 
 Church.) 
 
 " You are out late alone, little girl," said the preacher, 
 stopping his horse, when he saw the beautiful child standing 
 in the road before him. "Where have you been, little one, 
 and where are you going now ?" he inquired. 
 
 She did not reply ; preoccupied with her strange, gloomy 
 thoughts, perhaps she did not understand or hear. Looking 
 at her now with more attention, and seeing the strange, 
 deep gloom u,ocu the young child's face, he said : 
 
 " Why, wtaat is amiss at your house, Magdalene ?" 
 
 " I wish I were dead, Mr. Hervey P' 
 
 " You wish you were dead ! I am afraid you have been 
 very naughty, and got into trouble, little girl. At least, 
 that is a very naughty wUh."
 
 150 THJi TWO Sl 
 
 " You said, yourself, when General Wolfe's grandson 
 died, that it was a blessing when children were taken to 
 heaven in their sinless infancy." 
 
 " I said that, little girl, but you are not to wish it ; and 
 I am very much afraid now, that you are very, very far from 
 being a sinless child. Madge, you have been naughty, and 
 are afraid to go home. Come, let me lift you up before 
 me and take you home," said the preacher, stopping and 
 reaching down his arms for the child. 
 
 Magdalene, for a reason of her own, accepted his offer, 
 and he set her up before him, and, turning again his horse's 
 head, rode toward the Plains. As they went along slowly, 
 the preacher once more sought to gain the child's confi- 
 dence, and asked her what she had been doing wrong. 
 
 " Nothing, indeed, that I know of, sir ; but I am very 
 unhappy." 
 
 " Unhappy, Magdalene ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Why are you so?" 
 
 " How old might a little girl be before she could kill any- 
 body and be hanged for it ?" 
 
 " MONSTROUS THOUGHT 1 what puts such horrors into your 
 head, my child ? 
 
 " What happened to-day did, sir. Please tell me how 
 old a little girl might be before she could take any one's 
 life and die for it ?" 
 
 " Magdalene, you revolt me I" 
 
 " Please answer my question, sir." 
 
 " Child, you are crazy I" 
 
 "Am I then, sir?" 
 
 " Indeed, I almost think so." 
 
 " Can crazy people be hanged, sir ?" 
 
 " Again ! what pertinacity 1 no ; crazy people cannot 
 nffer capital punishment."
 
 THE FIRST PRESENTIMENT. 151 
 
 "Can children, sir ?" 
 
 " Magdalene, such questions are horrible, and such 
 thoughts are, I think, even wicked for a little girl like you. 
 No, then, children cannot suffer so." 
 
 "Then I pray to God that I may die while I am a 
 child 1" said the little girl, clasping her hands together, and- 
 raising her splendid eyes to heaven, with such a fervor of 
 supplication, that the minister looked at her, divided be- 
 tween surprise, admiration, and amusement. 
 
 " Why, thou strangest of all beautiful witches, Magda- 
 lene ! do you suppose that if you live to be a woman, you 
 will ever be so wicked as to take any one's life ?" 
 
 "No, sir, I don't think so ; but yet Satan might get the 
 better of me, or else I might be accused of Going such a 
 dreadful thing, or some one I dearly loved might. Oh, I 
 hope, I hope 1 may die in peace !" 
 
 " Magdalene, I think that your young, susceptible and 
 ardent imagination has been too deeply and painfully im- 
 pressed and affected by what has happened to-day. Per- 
 haps it will relieve you to hear what I have to tell you 
 the condemned criminal has been pardoned." 
 
 " Pardoned I" 
 
 " Yes, Magdalene, pardoned on the scaffold ; are you 
 not glad ?" 
 
 " I don't know : was he ?" 
 
 "Thou strange child, yes." 
 
 "I was thinking that 'if God had pardoned him first 
 that if he was ready to go to a better world, he had better 
 have gone. I was thinking that, after all he had gone 
 through, he never could be happy in this world again. I 
 shall never be, now that I know such things be." 
 
 "Magdalene, I must know you better; you are the 
 queerest yet the most interesting child I have ever met," 
 said the minister, contemplating her with profound interest.
 
 152 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Did you know my mother, sir ?" inquired the child, 
 seizing this opportunity of gaining information of her 
 whose name 
 
 " Was banished from each tongae and ear 
 Like words of wantonness or fear." 
 
 " Did you know my mother, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, Magdalene, but we will not speak of her now," 
 replied the preacher very gravely. 
 
 " Only one question, sir : in the month before I was born, 
 was there any very horrible execution in this part of the 
 country ? and was my mother's mind very much affected by 
 it, that you know of?" 
 
 The clergyman here stopped his horse short, and taking 
 the child by the shoulders, turned her around until she 
 faced him. Then he gazed deeply into her profound and 
 beautiful eyes for the space of a minute, before he said : 
 
 " My child, why, tell me why you asked me that ques- 
 tion ?' 
 
 " Because I heard one of the nigger women say, once, 
 that the quarter chimney caught fire a month before her 
 child was born, and that the child is now more afraid of 
 lire than any thing else in the world. Now, there is no- 
 thing on earth no fire, nor water, nor storm no wild 
 horse, nor mad dog, nor wolf nothing in life frightens 
 me, and makes me ill, except an execution. Oh I oh ! I 
 am afraid even to talk of it !" 
 
 " Magdalene," said the minister, "you must be sent to 
 school; 'Satan finds some mischief yet for idle brains to 
 do, as well as 'idle hands;' and you must mix more with 
 children, and less with old crones." 
 
 And the minister, privately resolving to speak to Adam 
 Hawk upon the subject, restored Magdalene to her former 
 position before him, and put his horse in motion. 
 
 It was nearly dark; there was no moon, and the sky was
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 15? 
 
 overcast with clouds, so that the minister, when he arrived 
 nt the gate of the grange, instead of going in, set Magda- 
 lene down ; and promising to call during the week and see 
 about that school business, turned his horse's head and rode 
 rapidly away. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 
 
 " He gazed on her and she on him ; 'twas strange 
 
 How like they looked the expression wag the game ; 
 
 Serenely savage, with a little change, 
 
 In the large dark eye's mutual darted flame ; 
 
 For she, too, was as one who could avenge 
 If cause should be ; a lioness, though tame. 
 
 Her father's blood before her father's face 
 
 Boiled up, and proved her truly of 'his nee." Byron. 
 
 MAGDALENE entered the grange. In the keeping-room, 
 or "big room," or hall, as it was by different persons called, 
 a great fire, which the cold spring night rendered necessary, 
 was burning in the wide chimney, and lighting up the whole 
 large room with blinding radiance. Not a soul was there. 
 She passed into the adjoining room, the inner room which 
 had been her grandmother's bed-chamber and was now 
 hers, and finding that some one's care had already let down 
 the windows, and kindled a little fire on the hearth, she 
 washed her face and hands and naked feet, and returned to 
 the outer apartment ; and after walking to the fire and 
 wanning her chilled limbs, and going to the corner cup- 
 board and eating a piece of bread and meat, with a draught 
 f home-brewed beer, finding herself in solitude, deter- 
 mined to spend her evening as she always did upon the
 
 15* THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 *are occasions of her having the house to herself. So, in- 
 stead of taking her basket of cotton- wool to pick, she went 
 to the rude book-shelf that contained the small library of 
 the farm-house, and looked for something to read among 
 what, child as she was, she had already waded through 
 many times ; and, with the exception of the Holy Bible, 
 such books as they were for a little girl's study Fox's 
 Christian Martyrs, with all its horrible pictures, History 
 of the Reign of Terror, History of the Spanish Inqui- 
 sition, were mixed up with books on Farriery, Agriculture, 
 Medicine, etc., etc., etc. ; and through all, proper or im- 
 proper, good, bad, or indifferent, had the lonely, musing, 
 and eager child waded. Her strong, voracious, aud starv- 
 ing mind bolted every thing that came in its way. She 
 now took down the History of the Spanish Inquisition, 
 and sitting in the chimney-corner, in the strong blaze of the 
 firelight, began to pore over its dark pages. 
 
 So deeply absorbed was she in this, that she did not hear 
 the door open aud shut violently, or a heavy step approach 
 her, until a strong hand fell hard upon her shoulder, grasp- 
 ing it roughly, and a stern voice exclaimed : 
 
 " So, mistress, you are here I Where have you been all 
 day and all night, while I have been tramping through 
 forest, field, and moor, in quest of you ?" 
 
 Awakened roughly from a deep, deep dream, her spirit 
 recalled from a far, far journey into the distance of time and 
 Bpace, Magdalene slowly lifted her long, languid lashes, and 
 gazed vaguely at him with her shadowy eyes. He repeated 
 the question in a louder tone, shaking her roughly, and lift- 
 ing her upon her feet; the book fell from her hands, and 
 she stood there in a sort of calm bewilderment, still unpre- 
 pared to reply to him. With a third and more violent shake, 
 Adam Hawk brought Magdalene quite to her senses, and 
 then slowly and sternly repeated his question.
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 155 
 
 " Where have you been all day and night 7" 
 
 " Sitting on the terrace of Prospect Hall, or wandering 
 in the forest behind it." 
 
 " Nowhere else 7" asked Adam, frowning darkly. 
 
 " No, father, nowhere else from the forest straight 
 home," replied Magdalene, quietly. 
 
 " WHAT ! have you not been to St. Leonard's, to see the 
 execution 7" . 
 
 " Father, you told me not to go, and I never disobeyed 
 you in my life." 
 
 " You have done it in this instance ! Take care. Con- 
 fess, now, that you have been at St. Leonard's." 
 
 " Father, I have been nowhere but to the places I told 
 you." 
 
 Adam Hawk drew up his lofty, dark form to its full 
 height, folded his arms, and looked thunder at the child. 
 Very ferocious looked Adam Hawk, with his tall, gaunt 
 form, his dark, aquiline features, and the ten years' growth 
 of grizzled hair and beard, hanging in unkempt elf locks 
 down his cheeks and bosom very ferocious in the best of 
 humors, and terrible in his wrath. 
 
 But he never was an object of terror to the undaunted 
 cnild. 
 
 "Look up into my face, mistress." 
 
 " I am looking at it." 
 
 "No*', then, tell me that, since you left me this morning, 
 you have been nowhere but to the terrace of Prospect Hall, 
 and the forest, and thence home." 
 
 " I am doing it. I am looking at you now, and I tell 
 you that I have been nowhere since I left you this morning, 
 except to the terrace of the Hall, and the forest, and home," 
 said Magdalene, with unfaltering tone, and unflinching 
 gaze 
 
 "You LIE!" thundered Adam Hawk. Magdalene started
 
 Io6 THE T WO S I ti T K R 3 
 
 and flushed crimson, as though smitten upon the brow, but 
 she did not reply. She quickly composed herself, and cast 
 down her eyes. 
 
 " Confess instantly that you have been to St. Leonard's, and 
 that you have lied to conceal your fault and escape punish- 
 ment !" commanded the father; but the child was silent, 
 moveless. " Confess, instantly, or I will thrash you within 
 an inch of your life, and until you do /" 
 
 But Magdalene never opened her compressed lips, or 
 raised her downcast eyes. Something in the matchless 
 beauty, purity, and patience of her air touched his heart, 
 and perhaps deceived him, for he said, in a less harsh 
 voice : 
 
 "'Repent and confess, and I will forgive you." 
 
 This softened tone succeeded better with Magdalene, for 
 now raising her eyes to his face with a sort of sorrowful 
 dignity, very strange and affecting in a child, she said : 
 
 " ' Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth.' 
 Lips accused of lying should close themselves forever. Until 
 you trust me, I will be silent." 
 
 " WHAT !" vociferated Adam Hawk, astounded and en- 
 raged at a resistance so unexpected and invincible, yet so 
 calm; "WHAT!" he thundered, as underneath his darken- 
 ing brow his hawk eyes started, seeming to grapple her 
 form with a hook-like clutch. He who had been the awful, 
 absolute master of his household for half a centpry, and 
 never before met opposition he whose wife and child had 
 been greater slaves to his own will than any negro on the 
 plantation, to be defied now by an infant, his grandchild ! 
 It was incredible ! it was astounding ! it was stupendous ! 
 the criminality of the thing* was even lost in its marvelous- 
 ness ! Adam Hawk did not stop to consider that his first 
 slave, his wife, had been of another race ; that as for his 
 child, traits of character are not reproduced in the second.
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 157 
 
 but in the third generation, and that in his grandchild his 
 infant SELF was opposed to him. " WHAT !" he roared, 
 and thrust out his talon hand, as though he would have 
 seized the child, but withdrawing it suddenly, as though he 
 feared to trust her form in his own grasp. He turned and 
 strode away, and reaching a whip from a rack across which 
 it lay, he approached her, shaking it sternly. " Come, 
 mistress, we will see how long this vow of silence will be 
 held. SPEAK ! Confess that you have disobeyed me : that 
 you went to St Leonard's, and that you have lied to con 
 ceal your fault and escape punishment. Speak, minion 
 Confess, before this lash descends upon you." 
 
 Magdalene was unmoved. Magdalene was naturally firm 
 as a rock, and just now her enthusiasm had been kindled, 
 by reading of the firmness and constancy of martyred virtue 
 and now in her outraged truth and integrity the rack ! 
 the rack ! would not have drawn one word from her lips 
 And now, furious with anger, Adam Hawk raised the lash 
 that would assuredly have descended upon the shoulders of 
 the proud and beautiful child, but that the door was sud- 
 denly burst open by the Goblin, who had evidently been 
 eaves-dropping, and who now breaking in, .caught the up- 
 raised arm of the enraged man, exclaiming, 
 
 " Ah ! for Gor A'mighty's sake, marster, don't, don't. 
 Try moral 'snading little longer, affore you result to carnal 
 weepons, as a, as a derned assault 1 (dernier resort) try 
 moral 'snading." 
 
 " There I" said Adam Hawk, lowering the whip. " There ! 
 there is one before whom you cannot persist in your lie, or 
 your lying silence. Uncle Biggs saw you go, and gave me 
 information." 
 
 Magdalene turned her large eyes slowly, inquiringly upon 
 the Goblin, who said, iu answer to that mute appeal what, 
 by the way, he really thought,
 
 158 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Yes, honey, I seen you go, yon know I did ! Yon 
 Fprang off like a kittenamouut ! and away you went a 
 scattering down the st%ps as fast as you could go, soon as 
 ever I told you how you might be in time. 'Deed 'fore my 
 hebenly 'Deemer you did, chile ! Now, don't 'ny ; wieM to 
 moral 'suadin'l" 
 
 " Confess !" vociferated Adam Hawk. But Magdalene's 
 large eyes were fixed upon the ground, again, and her lips 
 compressed together. " CONFESS !" thundered Adam Hawk, 
 elevating the lash ; but the firm lips were motionless, not 
 even the scorn corroding her young bosom curled them. 
 " TAKE THIS, THEN !" and again the lash was whirled into 
 the air, and would have descended with a sharp rasp 
 upon the shoulders of the child, but that with a cry of 
 mingled anguish and despair, and with the bound of a 
 panther, she cleared the width of the room and sprang upon 
 a table where she stood at bay ; and no leopard at bay 
 could have looked more splendidly, terribly beautiful than 
 that child as she stood there consuming with the fierce 
 anguish of her impotent wrath, and shame as she stood 
 there with the smoldering fire of the blood of a thousand 
 Weerowancees flaming through her crimson cheeks and 
 blazing eyes ! Again the madman, for such Adam Hawk 
 now was, rushed furiously upon her, when a loud knock at 
 the door was followed by the instantaneous presence of 
 Bruin the Deformed, whose electric apprehension took in 
 the whole scene at a glance. 
 
 "Brute! Demon! what were you about to do?" ex- 
 claimed he, seizing the whip from the hand of Adam, and 
 whirling it away through the open window. 
 
 " I was about to chastise her for falsehood I How dare 
 you interfere ?" growled the old man, turning upon the 
 dwarf. 
 
 " Her, for falsehood !" sneered Bruin, going p to the
 
 INDIAN B L O O I) . 159 
 
 table and looking with enthusiasm at Magdalene, " Her 
 little Indian princess ! Her, for falsehood ! Adam Hawk, 
 I have not seen her since she was a babe, but now, looking 
 at her, I tell you, Adam Hawk, that she never told a false- 
 hood in her life ! That she would not have lied to have 
 saved your neck from the rope, and your soul from eternal 
 perdition, even when she loved you as she will never love 
 you again /" said the dwarf, as he raised his arms, in a 
 gingerly manner, however, as though he was about to take 
 hold of a young catamount. But Magdalene's countenance 
 softened softened into that mellow and beautiful languor 
 common to her face, and to the leopard's in repose, and she 
 passed her arm around his neck and suffered him to lift her 
 from the table. 
 
 " I will not be balked so ! I will not be trampled upon 
 in my own house I" muttered the old man, in deep reverbe- 
 rating tones of retiring thunder, as his fury began to subside 
 under the new impression that he might have been wrong. 
 "I will in it be balked so 1 If she has told a falsehood she 
 shall be severely punished !" 
 
 " And what shall be done with you if you have wrongly 
 abused her ? hey ? Parents can do no wrong, I suppose !" 
 
 "Bruin! I" 
 
 " Tut, man, is this the way in which you receive an old 
 comrade after a ten years' absence ? But, no matter for 
 me. I came to tell you that the brig Confidence has cast 
 anchor below, and that Judge Washington, with his family, 
 are on board ! He has come to the main land with the in- 
 tention of procuring better assistance in the education of his 
 granddaughter and heiress, Miss Washington, my island 
 maiden ! my Miranda, as I call her I being Caliban at her 
 service, and yours and everybody's !" 
 
 " Judge Washington below 1 This is sudden !" said 
 Adam Hawk, thoughtfully.
 
 Jt30 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Ah 1 he has come upon you in an hour you wist no 
 of. I hope he will find yon watching : lamps filled and 
 trimmed and burning !" 
 
 " 1 am prepared to render an account of my stewardship ! 
 Judge Washington below 1 Well, this is sudden ! How is 
 the Judge and the young lady ?" 
 
 " The Judge is hale, and the young lady, my island 
 queen, is but did I not tell you that you are to gear up 
 the carriage and drive down to the beach immediately, and 
 bring them up ? They are to sleep here to-night the 
 mansion-house being considered too damp and cold until it 
 has been aired and wanned with fires a day or two." 
 
 " I would that I had known of his purposed arrival. I 
 might have had the mansion-house made comfortable for his 
 reception," said Adam Hawk, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Oh, aye, and a great many other things in better readi- 
 ness I But courage, man ! 1 know you do not grudge 
 your hospitality to the master of the estate, and for the rest 
 why you know it is not the first time, by many hundreds, 
 that Joseph Washington has ate and slept in this, that was 
 his birth-place, and his residence for forty years. Come 
 hurry, friend Adam ; hurry, gear up and go down for them, 
 while I stir Goblin up and have supper got against they 
 get here. Have you no woman about the place ?" 
 
 " No, I hate to have women about when I can do with- 
 out the creeturs : but I will send one from the quarters as I 
 go," said Adam Hawk, leaving the house. 
 
 " Go, Gulliver, and get together the best you can for your 
 master's supper," said the dwarf; and as soon as Gulliver 
 was gone, and he was alone with the child, he sat down and 
 called her to him. Magdalene approached, and stood 
 before him. He drew her between his knees, and laying his 
 hands upon her shoulders, looked at her long and wistfully ; 
 she returning his searching gaze. And so the old, deformed
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 161 
 
 mun and the beautiful child understood each ther per- 
 "ectly. 
 
 " You were very deeply moved just now, Madgdalene ?" 
 said the dwarf. 
 
 "Yes if he had struck me, I should have killed myself! 
 I did not say it, or think it then, but the more I think of it 
 now, the worse I think of it ; and the surer I feel that if ho 
 had struck me, I should kill myself." 
 
 "I believe it! firmness, self-esteem, destructiveness, mon 
 strous !" muttered the dwarf to himself and then he added 
 aloud " Magdalene, you are not raging, but you have more 
 malign feelings now toward your grandfather, tnan half an 
 hour ago, when you openly deiied him I" 
 
 " It is deeper down," said the child ; " the more I think 
 of it, the worse I hate it and I cannot help thinking of 
 it!" 
 
 "I know it! firmness, conceutrativeness, immense !" 
 
 "But how did you know that I would not tell a false 
 hood ? It was true ! I would not, no ! not to save myself 
 from being torn to pieces by wild beasts not to save my 
 self from being cast into the flames and burned alive to 
 cinders, would I tell a falsehood, or do a single thing to 
 make me feel mean /" 
 
 "Conscientiousness, self-esteem, inordinate," muttered 
 the dwarf to himself, laying his hand upon her stately 
 head. 
 
 "But how did you whom I never remember to have seen 
 before know that I would not ; while he who has brought 
 me up from infancy, suspected me ?" 
 
 " My child, from your head and face as well as from your 
 air and manner though the latter, except in childhood, ia 
 not so sure a guide, as it can be assumed ; but on the 
 former, my child, on the face and head, the character is 
 written as plainly, its clearly, and as truly, for those who cau
 
 lb'2 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 read the language, as the letter-press of a printed volume 
 Magdalene, you are a wonderfully beautiful child ; and you 
 will be an eminently beautiful woman that is a great deal, 
 but it is a little to what I am about to say. Magdalene, 
 you are a very bad and a very good child I you are endowed 
 with strong passions, strong intellect, and a strong will. 
 There is no medium course for you in life ; an ignoble or u 
 brilliant destiny will be yours. Infamy or fame, disgrace or 
 dominion, is written in letters of fire upon tablets of iron in 
 your character. Were you a man, Magdalene, and in 
 Europe, I should say a scaffold or a crown would complete 
 your destiny : as it is, Magdalene, you will be a great crimi- 
 nal or an illustrious woman ! Why do I talk to you so, ray 
 child ? because I cannot help it. Magdalene, you appear 
 unmoved by what I have said, but you arc not so it is 
 your steel-like nerves; You partly understand me, little 
 one ?" 
 
 " Yes, my blood runs cold, and hot ! Tell me, tell me 
 how I may keep from being a bad how I may become a 
 good and great woman ?" 
 
 " Ah, Magdalene, other agencies, other agencies ! the 
 soul is being educated for good or evil far enough out of 
 the sphere of my knowledge and influence which is to de- 
 stroy or perfect yours 1" 
 
 They gazed at each other in silence the dwarf profoundly 
 studying the greatest soul for good or evil that had ever 
 fallen under his notice the child trying to read in the eyes 
 of the seer the mysteries of the future ; and within the door 
 stood one as profoundly studying them both, Gulliver Goblin, 
 the whites of whose upturned eyes gleamed in the firelight as 
 he muttered to himself " Marster Jesus 1 as sartin as that 
 child is a witch that 'tother is a conjurer 1" 
 
 Only for a moment remained they thus when the sound 
 of approaching footsteps and voices aroused them, ami ;t
 
 INDIAN BLOOD. 163 
 
 couple of negro women, hastily summoned from the quarters, 
 entered to set the table for supper. 
 
 "Now, my child," said the dwarf, releasing Magdalene, 
 " you must go and prepare a nice bed-chamber for a little 
 girl about your age and size. I suppose you have heard 
 of the Judge's grandchild, Virginia ?" 
 
 "Miss "Washington, the great county heiress she who 
 will have the two largest estates on the Western shore, be- 
 sides the island in the bay she whom they call the little 
 Island Princess yes 1 all my life I have heard a great deal 
 of her. She shall have my bed-room ; it is the best in the 
 house." 
 
 And Magdalene left him and went into the inner cham- 
 ber to prepare it for the little guest. She kindled a bright 
 tire, swept up the hearth neatly, painted it with the red- 
 ochre from the swanips ; then going to her press, she took 
 out the hoarded treasures of her chamber, the quilt of 
 scarlet stars on a white ground, and the knotted white 
 toilet-cover both the work of her mother's fingers and 
 placed one upon the bed and the other upon the chest of 
 drawers ; and lastly, she went out into the hall, and laying 
 her sacrilegious hands upon the hanging book-shelf, carried 
 it with all its volumes Farriery, Family Physician, Poultry 
 Breeding, and all into the chamber, and hung it over the 
 mantel-piece, as the crowning glory of the unaccustomed 
 magnificence. 
 
 She had scarcely completed that, when the sound of 
 many feet and many voices summoned her to the outer room 
 to see the newly-arrived guests.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 VIEGINI A. 
 
 " A thing all lightness, life, and glee, 
 
 One of the shape* we seem 
 To meet in visions of the night, 
 And should they greet our waking sight, 
 
 Imagine that we dream !" Qeorye Hill. 
 
 " She IB active, stirring, all fire, 
 
 Cannot rest, cannot tire 
 
 To a stone she had given life !" Browning. 
 
 As Magdalene entered the hall by one door, the opposite 
 door opened, admitting first an elderly gentleman of stately 
 appearance, clothed in complete black, and next a youth 
 of some fifteen or sixteen years, of slender form, fair com- 
 plexion, large, clear eyes, and broad brow, shaded by waves 
 of pale golden hair. He led by the hand a little girl, whose 
 dazzling radiance of beauty seemed to flash upon the vision 
 with the sudden splendor of a sun-burst. 
 
 Virginia Washington was a blonde of the most brilliant 
 type. She, too, was tall and full formed for her age, and 
 might rather have been taken for twelve than for ten years 
 of age. Her complexion was of that snowy, frosty fair- 
 ness only seen with brilliant ulta-marine blue eyes, and 
 resplendent golden red hair, the last crowning feature of 
 her glorious beauty. This splendid head of hair, after en- 
 circling her brow with a halo of light, fell in many luxu- 
 rious spiral ringlets far below her waist. She stepped into 
 the room " like some glad creature of the air,'' with smiling 
 lip and smiling eye, and only withheld from dancing for- 
 ward by the restraining hand of the earnest-browed youth.
 
 VIRGINIA. 165 
 
 Adam Hawk entered last, and immediately set forward 
 a large arm-chair for the Judge, while he also ordered 
 supper to be served. The Judge seated himself with a 
 weary, though stately air; and the youth led the maiden to 
 a chair, and drew another for himself to her side. Magda- 
 lene stood shyly off for a moment, and then, after looking 
 attentively at Virginia, she went tip to her and said, in a 
 low voice : 
 
 " Miss Washington, I think I shall like you very much, 
 but I am not sure yet. I am gladder to see you than I 
 thought I should be. I have got my room fixed very nicely 
 for you. Will yon come into it and take off your bonnet 
 while supper is bringing in ?" 
 
 Virginia started when first spoken to, and looked at 
 Magdalene with her intense, brilliant blue eyes brought 
 full upon her; then holding out her hand, suddenly, impul- 
 sively, she said : 
 
 " And I don't think at all, but I know that I like yon 
 very much. What is your name ?" 
 
 " Magdalene Hawk." 
 
 " I do not think, then, but I am quite sure that I like 
 you very much indeed, Magdalene. You are beautiful as 
 the starlight nights on the ocean !" 
 
 " And you, Virginia, are lovely as the summer morning 
 on the plains !" 
 
 "And I think that we are both two very clever girls, 
 Magdalene, with the gift of admiring each other," said 
 Virginia ; and then her silvery laugh rang out upon the 
 air, shocking Adam Hawk's solemn home from ts pro- 
 priety; and springing quickly up, she said : 
 ! come ! come ! I'm ready. 
 
 And thus singing and swinging hr bonnet, .she danced for- 
 10
 
 16(5 THE TWO SISTKRS. 
 
 ward, preceded by Magdalene, into the bed-room. She 
 had only time to take off her pelisse before they were called 
 to supper. 
 
 Immediately after supper, as it was quite late, Judge 
 Washington requested to be shown to his sleeping-room, 
 and Adam Hawk, taking a lamp, preceded him and Joseph 
 up-stairs. Magdalene lighted a taper, and attended Vir- 
 ginia to her chamber. 
 
 '' I wish you would sleep in here with me, Magdalene 
 Where are you going to sleep ?" 
 
 "On the settle in the hall." 
 
 " Oh, that will never do 1 I am afraid I have got your 
 sleeping apartment, Magdalene. Yes, indeed. Now 1 look 
 around it, it must be yours." 
 
 "Yes, it is mine, but I hope you will be comfortable in 
 it don't mind me, I sleep soundly anywhere, generally, 
 often summer nights I have gone out through this other 
 door that leads into the flower garden, and I have laid down 
 in the dewy grass and have slept finely all night the night 
 air and the dew not hurting me any more than it hurts the 
 plants or the cattle as, indeed, why should it ? but to- 
 night," added the child, as if speaking to herself, " to-night 
 I could not sleep anywhere" 
 
 " Why, Magdalene ? why could you not sleep anywhere 
 to-night ? You say that so sadly ! Are you like me with 
 my faults of temper ? Have you flown into a passion, and 
 hurt and wronged some one you love ? Poor Magdalene ! 
 I know what that grief is ; make friends with them again, 
 Magdalene that is the best way !" 
 
 " No, you mistake I never wronged any one, even the 
 smallest insect, in my life ; and I never flew into a passion. 
 But I have been wronged, and a hate is slowly, darkly tiding 
 'nto my soul, like the great midnight tide, and I cannot 
 'wist it !"
 
 VIRGINIA. 167 
 
 Virginia seemed to bring the bright rays of her golden- 
 fringed blue eyes into an intensely brilliant focus upon 
 Magdalene's starlight face, and then she said, 
 
 " I do not quite understand you, Magdalene ! But you 
 are unhappy, and I am sorry for you. Yon cannot sleep ! 
 Pray! ' God giveth His beloved sleep,' you know." 
 
 " God is a God of Vengeance ! He will understand me," 
 said Magdalene. 
 
 " He is a God of Love ! He will forgive and pity teach 
 and redeem yon, Magdalene. He does that for me every 
 day." 
 
 " I have done no wrong need no forgiveness and ask 
 no pity !" 
 
 " Will you tell me about it, Magdalene ?" asked Virginia, 
 gently, as she kneeled down to her traveling trunk to take 
 out her night-dress. 
 
 " No, I did not intend to say any thing it escaped me ! 
 I will see you at rest, Miss Washington, and bid you good- 
 night!" 
 
 " Oh, no ! do not leave me ! stay with me all night I 
 indeed you must; for if you go and lie on the settle, /shall 
 not sleep at all." 
 
 " You need not be troubled for me, Miss Washington, I 
 shall be very comfortable." 
 
 "Magdalene!" said she, caressingly, "do stay with me; 
 in a strange room I feel somehow afraid to stay alone ; be- 
 sides, I want to talk to you a great deal. 
 
 "I will stay with you, then, Miss Washington." 
 
 " Call me Virginia." 
 
 " Virginia, then I will stay with you, and I think that 1 
 shall even prefer it, for I feel as if I should love you, Vir- 
 ginia!" said Magdalene, gravely. 
 
 But at this Virginia langhed aloud, and throwing her 
 arms around Magdalene's neck, impetuously hugged her
 
 108 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 until all her resplendent red ringlets swept around our gipsy 
 child, enveloping her as in a flame, crowing 
 
 " Oh, you Magdalene ! you star-bright Magdalene I- 
 yes, still and bright, high and solemn as the stars 1 You 
 are coming on to love me, slowly, darkly, coldly, as the 
 night comes on to love the earth and you tell me so, 
 Indian princess ! with such an owllike gravity. Now when 
 / tell any one I love them, I sing it into them ! dance it 
 at them ! let it loose in a rain of sunbeams around them 1 
 rattle it in a hailstorm upon them ! shower it in a deluge 
 of meteors about them ! batter them with it ! bombard 
 them with it ! dazzle, bewilder, confound, and terrify them 
 with it ! Oh, I am a galvanic battery to those I love 1 
 Take care of me !" All this time she was hugging Magda- 
 lene spasmodically with her arms, at the same time that she 
 was dancing frantically with her feet, convulsed as it were 
 with the very exuberance and wantonness of life, fun, and 
 frolic. " Magdalene I" she said, at last, "you are the first 
 girl I ever met with, and I love you so dearly." 
 
 " You are also the first girl I ever met with, and, Virginia, 
 I feel that I shall love you very much 1" said Magdalene, 
 quietly, and without returning her fervent caresses. 
 
 "The future tense! always the future tense, thou far- 
 seeing little priestess !" laughed Virginia, gathering her 
 flashing ringlets, and crowding them into a little lace cap. 
 
 When the little girls were in bed, and Virginia had 
 thrown her arms around the neck of Magdalene and dropped 
 her head upon her bosom she whispered 
 
 " Are you sleepy, Magdalene ?" 
 
 "No, I told you that I could not sleep to-night," 
 
 "Neither can / every thing seems so strange and 
 charming ! Well, then, Magdalene, we will talk do 
 you know this is not the first time that we have slept 
 together ?"
 
 VIRGINIA. 169 
 
 " No !" said Magdalene, with serene surprise, ' I did not 
 Know it!" 
 
 " Really ! but did you not know that we had been foster 
 sisters ?" 
 
 "Had been what*" 
 
 " That you and I had been nursed at the same bosom, 
 and slept in the same cradle for the first six months of our 
 lives that is to say, until our mother went to heaven ?" 
 
 " No, I knew nothing of all this it is all strange and 
 new to me I never thought we had met before I only 
 knew we were both orphans." 
 
 Virginia then began, and told her all she knew, from 
 hearsay, of their mutual history, and this only dated from 
 the day of Magdalene's adoption by Mary Washington. 
 In conclusion, she said 
 
 " Magdalene, they tell me that I did not cry when our 
 mother went to heaven, because I did not know it ; but 
 that when you from whom I had never been parted an 
 hour, sleeping or waking when you were taken from me, 
 that then I stormed like a young hurricane while you who 
 were not like me, fire and tow you, patient child, and slow 
 to anger, suifered yourself to be carried off without a mur- 
 mur. Well, then, Magdalene, they tell me that my brother 
 was brought in not my own, but my adopted brother 
 Joseph, and that he only could quiet me. I Relieve that I 
 Oh ! Magdalene ! that brother of mine ! that brothei 
 Joseph ! our angel-mother had such faith in him, child as 
 he was, that she begged grandfather never to part us until 
 we grew up, and our road in life divided of itself. Well, 
 Magdalene, they say that the first night I slept alone. I 
 awoke in the night, hungry and cold for the night was 
 chilly and that I cried a long time without waking Aunt 
 Polly Pepper, who was fatigued, and slept soundly but 
 thai little Josey was lying awake and heard me weeping,
 
 170 THE TTVO SISTERS. 
 
 And came down and gave me the milk that sat there for me 
 to drink, and then lay down in the cradle by me, and patted 
 me to sleep, and that so we were found in the morning, 
 both asleep. So used was I to you, Magdalene, that I 
 could not sleep without a little child it was a habit of 
 affection ; and so after that grandfather would not let Josey 
 and I be separated, and we slept in the same crib until I was 
 three years old. That brother of mine, Magdalene 1 oh, he 
 is so good ! so good ! so faithful to rebuke my faults, yet so 
 patient to bear with them, and so loving to forgive them. 
 Every one else spoiled me. I should have been a very bad 
 girl had it not been for Josey always with me. Very willful 
 I am, anyhow ; I know I am, but very much worse I should 
 have been but for him. Grandfather is the best and wisest 
 man I ever knew, or heard, or read of but he was not 
 always with me as Joseph was, and he did not always feel 
 with me as Joseph did. It seemed to me then that Josey 
 was God's child, and now it seems to me that he is the 
 Lord's beloved disciple ! Yes, I have great faults, Magda- 
 lene ! great faults ! but if anybody can lead me to the Lord, 
 it will be Joseph." Virginia paused for a while as if she had 
 fallen into a short reverie then she said : "And now, Mag- 
 dalene, though you have scarcely ever heard of me except 
 as the fortunate inheritor of all this great plantation 
 though you have never certainly heard of our former 
 relation, yet I have not been suffered to forget you. Bruin 
 has kept you in my memory. I longed to see you, Magda- 
 lene ; and now that I do see you, I like you and it seems 
 so natural to be with you here. You do not answer me, 
 Magdalene. You are in a study. Of what are you 
 thinking ?" 
 
 Magdalene had indeed been all this time with her head 
 within Virginia's arms, quite still and silent. Now she 
 answered calmly,
 
 VIRGINIA. 171 
 
 " I am thinking of my father ; I cannot long think of 
 any thing else. Do not please ask me any more about my 
 thoughts." 
 
 And she was, with a feeling of bitter pain,' strange as 
 new to her young heart. And long after her restless and 
 excitable little bedfellow had fatigued herself to sleep, 
 Magdalene lay awake, suffering the slow but sure and bitter 
 antipathy to fill her heart while her thoughts concentrated 
 themselves upon the subject while her soul sat in judg- 
 ment upon her only moral guide. This was terrible, and 
 terrible was its effect upon the moral character of the 
 child. 
 
 Early in the morning Virginia jumped out of bed and, 
 after washing, as she stood in the morning sunshine that 
 streamed through the window, her joyous expression, her 
 dazzling complexion, her splendid red hair, flashing, scin- 
 tillating in the rays of the sun, never had Magdalene seen 
 so bright a human thing so full of life and light I 
 
 "I am up, you see, Magdalene! I am so impatient to 
 see all over this old house this house where my forefathers 
 have lived for more than two hundred years. You must 
 show me all over it, Magdalene." And so she rattled on, 
 as she hastily dressed herself in a light blue silk dress 
 which by chance for Virginia was innocent of the arts of 
 the toilet brought out her hair and complexion radiantly 
 The first thing that canght her quick glance was the book- 
 shelf. She tumbled over all the books with great curiosity, 
 and then turning to Magdalene, inquired where hers were. 
 
 Magdalene replied that those were all she ever had had to 
 read that they had been left there by the Judge, as she 
 had heard, for the use of the overseer. 
 
 " And very good books for the overseer there are farm- 
 ing, gardening, grazing, and stock raising; and some of 
 these histories except that they are very sanguinary are
 
 172 THE TWO SlaTEKS. 
 
 good enough for anybody. But, Magdalene, you do not 
 say that you have read these !" 
 
 "Yes, all of them. I have had no others to read. And 
 as for the sanguinary histories, I like them very much. I 
 am a little girl, but when I read of the martyrdoms, I know 
 that I also could clench my teeth and hands, and suffer to 
 be flayed alive, before I would do " 
 
 "Any thing wrong?" 
 
 " Any thing I did not want to do." 
 
 " I wish it was so with me, but I am timid except when 
 my Norse blood is up, and then I am violent, though my 
 excitement is like a blaze of straws, soon gone. Ah me, I 
 wish I had strength and courage and self-command." 
 
 " I have those, but I wish I had the power of forgetting 
 and forgiving !" 
 
 " Some one has wronged you, Magdalene, and you do 
 not wish to tell me, and I will not ask you who it is ; but 
 this I will say, that if every one / am sometimes unjust or 
 unkind to, treasured it up against me, I should be very 
 unhappy, and altogether discouraged from trying to be 
 good. Now I am going to tell you something pleasant to 
 put all gloomy feelings away." added the child, suddenly 
 changing her grave tone to one of cheerfulness " Oh, 
 Magdalene, I shall have such pleasure in introducing you 
 to my books, the Arabian Nights, and oh ! the book I have 
 lately begun to like, by the unknown author of Waverley. 
 Yes, Magdalene, you shall some day go with me to my 
 island home, my little kingdom, of which I am the solitary 
 little queen, and I will show you my little palace of white 
 freestone, and my library, and my garden my ocean isle, 
 where Joseph says that father, I, and Bruin, live like Pros- 
 pero, Miranda, and Caliban only I am a very naughty 
 little Miranda, and Bruin is a very amiable Caliban." 
 
 As they were now both dressed, the girls went out into
 
 VIRGINIA. 17,3 
 
 the hall, where the breakfast-table was set, and where the 
 family ard visitors had already gathered. As Virginia 
 made her appearance, Joseph arose from his seat, and ap- 
 proaching her with an expression of ineffable tenderness 
 and affection beaming from his serenely beautiful face, took 
 her hand, pressed it, and led her to a seat near the 6re, 
 which the chilly morning rendered necessary. 
 
 Judge Washington called Magdalene to him, and when 
 he had held her hand and looked into her face awbilo, 
 he said, with an expression, not entirely of approbation : 
 " There is a great deal of your grandfather in you, my 
 child." 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, Judge Washington, attended 
 by Adam Hawk, went out to take a survey of his planta- 
 tion. Bruin and Joseph left the house together to attend 
 to the transfer of baggage from the packet to the mansion- 
 house, which was now open and undergoing the process of 
 being aired, cleaned, etc., for the reception of the family. 
 During their absence, Magdalene took Virginia, at he- 
 request, all through the old farm-house, and over the 
 garden. 
 
 That night Judge Washington's family were re-estab- 
 lished at Prospect Hall.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SISTERS REUNITED. 
 
 " A grief without a pang void, dark, and drear 
 A stifled, shadowy, unimpassioned grief, 
 Which finds no natural outlet no relief 
 In word, or sigh, or tear." S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 NOT quite eleven years old, yet developed as only neglect, 
 suffering, solitude, and thought, varied only by the society 
 and conversation of the old, can develope a child's nature, 
 was Magdalene. Her sense of justice that stern justice 
 nataral to her own mind, and cultivated to the utmost by 
 her father revolted against the wrong that had been done 
 her. A child of quicker sensibilities, a child like Virginia, 
 might have felt the injury more keenly at first, but would also 
 have got over it soon. Not so Magdalene. Very slow 
 was she to receive any great impression ; but once made, it 
 was indelible, and time did but deepen and indurate the 
 lines. Thus that night, after the departure of their guests, 
 when her grandfather returned from the last supervision of 
 the fields, she had scarcely a word or a look to bestow on 
 him, and her own appearance and deportment was sorrowful 
 as grave. After supper, when they were gathered around 
 the fire, Adam Hawk in his big chair, with his candle-stand 
 and Bible by his side, Magdalene, with her basket of seed- 
 cotton to pick, and Goblin making acute angles of his legs 
 and arms by squatting on his haunches, with his elbows on 
 his knees, and his chin propped upon his hands Adam 
 Hawk, laying his hand upon the Bible, preparatory to open- 
 ing it, and looking over his spectacles, said :
 
 THE SISTERS REUNITED. 175 
 
 " Come, hither, child, to rae." 
 
 Magdalene dropped her bunch of cotton into the basket, 
 crossed the hearth, and stood before him with folded hands 
 and downcast eyes. 
 
 " Magdalene," said Adam Hawk, " I have seen Mr Her- 
 vey to-night; I met him on his way to the mansion-house, 
 whither he was going to welcome Judge Washington home. 
 He tells me, Magdalene, that you were really not at St. 
 Leonard's, but in the old forest yesterday ; so that Gulliver 
 was mistaken, and he led me into a mistake. I am sorry, 
 Magdalene, that such was the case." 
 
 " I, too, am sorry, very sorry." 
 
 " I am glad, however, Magdalene, that yon are a better 
 girl than I thought you. Are you not glad ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; for if the minister hadn't told you, you never 
 would have believed me. No, sir ; I am not so good a 
 girl as you think me. I never shall be so good a girl again 
 as I was before yesterday." 
 
 " What do you mean by thai, mistress ?" 
 
 " Nothing, only not to deceive you, for I will neither 
 speak nor act a lie." 
 
 " Then if you deliberately propose to be wicked, you 
 know the consequences !" 
 
 "I do not propose any tning, father ; but I can not help 
 growing wicked now, any more than the iron on the anvil 
 could help becoming a hatchet blade, when it was heated 
 and hammered into that shape by the blacksmith." 
 
 " We'll see," quoth Adam Hawk. 
 
 " Marster Jesus !" ejaculated Gulliver 
 
 Days passed, during which Magdalene saw no more of 
 
 Jjie family at Prospect Hall, excent by such glimpses as 
 
 she got of them at a distance. Still, every thing about the 
 
 new life at the mansion-house interested her extremely 
 
 For hours she would sit at the vine-shaded window the
 
 X . 
 
 V \ ' > 
 
 176 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 same window through which her poor mother had gazed 
 the night of hes^death and watch thegrand company that 
 came and went in their fine carriages, or on their fine 
 horses ; she would notice the elegant dresses of the ladies, 
 and the gay apparel of their servants ; and all this seemed 
 very magnificent to the unaccustomed eyes of the simple 
 child She would see the handsome family carriage, with 
 its splendid pair of dappled grays, drawn up before the 
 door of the mansion, and Virginia come out, looking ra- 
 diant and joyous in her beautiful and costly dress. She 
 would see the obsequious respect paid .the beauty and the 
 heiress by her attendants, and she would feel that the dis- 
 tance which divided her from her newly-found foster-sister 
 widened every day. Yet no germ of envy took root in the 
 child's heart. No ; Magdalene, young as she was, had lost 
 her peace, but it was from another cause. She had lost 
 her confidence in, her repose in her grandfather, and she 
 felt that she would never find it again until she had some- 
 how justified him. Could her sense of JUSTICE have been 
 satisfied at any expense, at her own expense, even, she would 
 have been comparatively happy. The idea weighed heavily 
 upon her spirits, it became morbid, it might have ended 
 in a monomania, but for a circumstance that saved her. 
 
 Bruin, the deformed, was a close and deeply interested 
 observer of Magdalene. With his profouncL knowledge of 
 human nature in general, and his intuitive insight into in- 
 dividual character, he had reaft* Magdalene's heart^ctearly 
 as an open book printed in familiar characters, and under- 
 stood it better than she did herself. Often he came back 
 and forth from the mansion to the grange, and often joined 
 Magdalene in her wanderings. One evening the dwarf had 
 overtaken Magdalene on her return home from a ramble 
 in the old forest. He joined her, and as they descended 
 '.he hill toward the hollow of the grange, he pleaded
 
 THE SISTERS REUNITED. 177 
 
 fatigue, and sat down under a tree, drew her down to his 
 side, and placing his hand upon the top of her head in his 
 caressing, mesmerizing way, and looking out upon the 
 Plains, he said, in a tone of respectful pity : 
 
 " Poor old man /" 
 
 " Who ?" asked Magdalene, in a soft voice, looking up, 
 for her sympathies were slightly moved by his tone and 
 manner. 
 
 "Poor, solitary old man!" said the dwarf, as if commun- 
 ing with himself. 
 
 " Who ?" again asked Magdalene, with more interest. 
 
 " Adam, child, poor old Adam Hawk ! who has outlived 
 brethren and sisters, wife and child, and is now toiling on 
 in his lonely, loveless, hopeless old age, with nothing but 
 the grave before him. Look, Magdalene, when he comes 
 from his work, look at his stooping form, his gray hair, and 
 his worn face !" said Bruin, pointing him out on the Plains, 
 while he gazed with all the benevolence of his soul into 
 Magdalene's eyes. 
 
 H continued : 
 
 " See how weary and sad he is how much good a word 
 of affection a little act of attention from one he loved 
 would do him now. It would refresh him more than his 
 supper, and rest him more than his arm-chair. Poor old 
 man ! he, has t iHJ^long to live. To think, Magdalene, that 
 in all probability by the time that you grow up to be a 
 vigorous young woman, he will be moldering in his grave, 
 and the opportunity of doing him good passed away from 
 yon forever." 
 
 Magdalene's eyes filled with tears as she looked on her 
 ^M^idfather and listened to the dwarf. He continued to 
 gaze into her eyes after he had ceased to speak, and then 
 *he said : .^ 
 
 " Oh, Bruin, you are very, very wise and good. Take
 
 178 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 this sense of wrong inflicted out of my heart, that I may be 
 able to love my grandfather again, and talk to him as before." 
 
 "I cannot do it, my child ; only you can do it." 
 
 " How ? how ? I wish I conld I wish I could !" 
 
 " Wait on him as before, talk to him as before, and the 
 sense of injury will depart of itself." 
 
 " But that would be deceitful." 
 
 " No, my child, it will not be deceitful unless you do it 
 to deceive, which you do not. My child, we must do our 
 plain, literal duty, without regard to our feelings, and then 
 our feelings will go after it. When we know it to be our 
 duty to forgive, and wish to forgive, yet cannot bring our 
 hearts to it, let us resolutely do violence to our wrathful 
 feelings, and return good for evil, and we shall experience 
 to our surprise that we are suddenly enabled to forgive 
 without an effort. My child, it is a trait of human nature 
 to love those to whom we do good, and to hate those to 
 whom we do ill ; therefore, if you wish to love any one, 
 begin by doing them good, and you will love them for the 
 very good you have done them ; and if you wish to avoid 
 hating any one, do them no evil, lest you hate them for the 
 very evil you have done them. But, Magdalene, this does 
 not throughout apply to your grandfather. Forgiveness is 
 an inadmissible word between you and him. You owe him 
 love, veneration, service; the first he may have lost, the 
 last, my child, you must give him." 
 
 " I will do as you say," said the child ; and pressing the 
 rough hand of the dwarf against her bosom, she rose up 
 and left him, and walked rapidly on after her grandfather 
 until she had overtaken him. " Give me the dinner-basket, 
 grandfather, you are tired, and I am quite fresh, so let ow 
 carry it," said she, coming up to his side. v Mj^- 
 
 The old man looked at her in stern surprise, and then 
 the harshness of his countenance softened as he said.
 
 THE SISTERS REUNITED. 179 
 
 " No, no, it is too heavy for your young arms." 
 
 "Heavy, grandfather! Let me try it. See here," said 
 she, lightly swinging the basket from one hand to the other 
 with the utmost ease, and finally hanging it OH her arm. 
 
 "God bless and redeem thee, Magdalene," said Adam 
 Hawk. 
 
 They went home together, and that evening and from 
 that time the child exerted herself to please her grand- 
 father; but, reader, the sense of injury was only numbed, it 
 was not destroyed. In the evening, when he would be re- 
 turning home weary and bowed, wearing the look of old 
 age, then, indeed, her heart would yearn toward him ; but 
 in the morning, when he would go forth to the fields vigor- 
 ous and erect, the child would feel the sense of wrong done 
 her returning again ; and moody and musing she would 
 wander forth upon the sea-shore, or up into the forest. la 
 one of these rambles through the woods at the back of the 
 mansion-house she met Virginia. 
 
 It was a glorious morning in early spring. The a?* was 
 soft and bright, and musical with the joyous songs of birds, 
 the mellow lowing of cattle, the shrill crowing and cackling 
 of cocks and hens, and all the jubilant reveille of aroused 
 and exultant nature. And our Magdalene wandered forth, 
 penetrated by the divine beauty of nature, before which her 
 obscure moral pain had withdrawn itself like an evil thing 
 into the deepest abysses of her soul. 
 
 She wandered up the Old Turnpike Road, watching, not 
 the intense blue sky, the fleecy, silvery clouds, the splendid 
 sunlight shimmering on the brilliant green leaves; not these 
 exclusively, but the setting hen to her stolen nest ; the 
 bantam hen, that with seeming careless saunter, picking 
 here and there, and ruffling her feathers, with the oblique 
 eve watched her watcher with equal vigilance.
 
 180 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 She approached the small open glade of the Old Turn- 
 pike Road, the glade which now in the dense dark forest 
 gleamed like a sunburst from the clouds ; and in its strong- 
 est light was pictured a beautiful group two equestrian 
 figures, a youth and a child, each seated upon an elegant 
 white Arabian ; the youth wearing a suit of invisible green, 
 the child a riding-dress of mazarine blue. On the left, 
 with his hand upon the mane of the child's steed, stood 
 Bruin the Dwarf; and on the right, leaping up the side of 
 the youth's horse, was a splendid jet-black Newfoundland 
 dog. 
 
 On approaching this group, Magdalene's fugitive hen 
 ran scampering off into the woods, and was lost to sight ; 
 while the girl herself paused, undecided between affection, 
 pride, and shyness, whether to meet Virginia or retreat. 
 
 Virginia settled the matter at once, by, as soon as she 
 saw Magdalene, bounding to her side, followed at more 
 leisure by Josey. "I am so very glad to see you, Magda- 
 lene ; so very glad to see you !" said Ginnie, as she bent 
 from her saddle to kiss her "sister;" while Joseph, dis- 
 mounting, led his horse to her side, and lifting Magdalene, 
 seated her as well as he could in his own place, saying, " I 
 can walk on with Bruin ; and Magdalene, if you are like 
 Virginia, you can ride any sort of saddle, or even a bare- 
 backed horse." 
 
 "Yes, I can, but I do not wish to take your seat." 
 
 " Never think of that : I prefer to walk with Bruin here : 
 and Ginnie, this arrangement pleases you, does it not ?" 
 
 " Yes, oh yes, thank you, dear Josey ; only walk by the 
 side of Magdalene, her seat is not safe." 
 
 When they were thus arranged Bruin walking by the 
 side of Virginia's horse, and Joseph by that of Magdalene 
 Virginia said : 
 
 "And now, dear Magdalene, I have something to say to
 
 THE SISTERS REUNITED. 181 
 
 you I have not been at the Hall a week without wanting 
 to see you ; but I have never been a strong child, and the 
 weather has been soft and moist and enervating, and the 
 hollow is very damp ; so father would not let me go, but 
 said that as soon as Miss Hervey arrives, yon should be 
 tnt for to come and live with me, and be my sister, as 
 mother wished. Now Miss Hervey is corning to-day; and 
 father is gone down to the fields to ask Mr. Hawk to con- 
 sent to let you come to the Hall and share ray studies. 
 Now as Mr. Hervey approves of the plan highly, and says 
 that we really need each other that we will be correctives 
 of each other, I suppose there will be not the least difficultv. 
 Now, Magdalene, as you appeared to be only taking a 
 woodland ramble, you might as well return with us to the 
 Hall, and wait the event there." 
 
 " I was only watching the sitting-hen to her nest," re- 
 plied Magdalene. 
 
 "And she, with the cunning of her kind upon such oc- 
 casions, has eluded or escaped you I do not see her ; so 
 come." 
 
 And so Virginia prevailed with Magdalene, and they re- 
 turned together to the mansion-house. 
 
 Ginnie hnrried her off to her own chamber her late 
 mother's chamber with the " dawn window," which re- 
 mained with the same blue damask curtains, and the same 
 furniture generally ; and after showing her every thing 
 that was interesting in it, opened the door leading into 
 what had been the nursery, and told Magdalene that that 
 should henceforth be her room, as it connected with her 
 own. Then she showed her across the broad middle pus- 
 sage into two corresponding rooms ; the front one of 
 which was to be the school-room, and the back one Miss 
 
 I'tM'Vc..-'.; c!l;llllh"r. 
 11
 
 Ic2 THE TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 By the time Ginnie had gone through these, the dinner- 
 bell rang, and they went down into the dining-room to find 
 there Judge Washington returned, in the company of Adam 
 Hawk. The latter seemed surprised to find his grandchild 
 there, until Ginnie, quickly reading his thoughts, said 
 
 " /brought her !" 
 
 Then he took Magdalene by the hand, and said " My 
 child, through the kindness of Judge Washington, you are 
 to reside here as a companion to Miss Washington, shar- 
 ing her studies. Go and thank your benefactor. " 
 
 But Magdalene looked as if she would consider the sub- 
 ject first. 
 
 And the Judge smiling at Magdalene's hesitation, and 
 Adam Hawk's dark frown, said, " Leave her to her honesty, 
 Hawk !" 
 
 After dinner, Adam Hawk with a parting admonition to 
 his granddaughter, went away. In the afternoon Magda- 
 lene's slender wardrobe and other little effects, were sent up 
 from the grange, and placed in the room appropriated to 
 her use. 
 
 Late iu the evening, Miss Hervey, in charge of her 
 father, arrived.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE YOUNCJ GOVERNESS. 
 
 " Her eyes were shadowy full of thought and prayer- 
 And with long lashes o'er a white-rose cheek, 
 Drooping in gloom aud, oh ! the brow above : 
 So pale and pure ; so formed for holy love 
 To gaze upon iu silence but, she felt 
 That love was not for her, though hearts would melt 
 Where'er she moved, and reverence, mutely given, 
 Went with her ; and low prayers, that called on Heaven." 
 
 Mrs. Hemanf. 
 
 THE family were assembled in the wainscoted parlor. 
 The crimson curtains were let down. The crimson sofa 
 drawn up on the left side ; the crimson rocking-chair on the 
 right, and the black-walnut reading-table in front of the 
 bright fire that the cool evening made agreeable. Those 
 were not the days of solar lamps, but a statuette of Faith, 
 holding a light above her head, stood upon the table, 
 illuminating the scene. Judge Washington sat in the 
 easy-chair on the right, reading his paper, Joseph with 
 Magdalene and Virginia; occupied the sofa on the left, and 
 were engaged in examining a book of prints. They were 
 waiting tea for the arrival of Mr. and Miss Hervey. 
 
 At the time of our story the schools and colleges of New 
 England had not, from among the number of their pupils, 
 flooded the whole South with a surfeit of tutors and 
 governesses then a tutor was a rare, and a governess an 
 unheard-of thing, in the Southern States. Therefore Judge 
 Washington, unwilling to send his granddaughter from 
 home, had decided to entrust her to the care of Helen 
 
 (183)
 
 184 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Hervey, and prevailed on the clergyman for that purpose, 
 to part for a season with his youthful but accomplished 
 daughter. 
 
 The family had not waited long, before the loud knocking 
 at the hall door announced the arrival of Mr. and Miss 
 Hervey, who were immediately ushered in. 
 
 Mr. Hervey was a gentleman of middle age, medium 
 stature, dark complexion, and ardent and intellectual cast 
 of countenance. 
 
 His daughter, Helen Hervey, was about sixteen years of 
 age, of small but well-proportioned figure, of sallow com- 
 plexion and hollow features, and might have been called 
 plain, but for the large, black, brooding eyes with their 
 black eyelashes and eyebrows, and the clustering black hair, 
 shading her dark, spiritual countenance, and giving it a 
 singular charm, that might outrival even the brilliant glow 
 of Magdalene's complexion, or the radiant bloom of 
 Virginia's. Helen wore a closely-fitting, dark-green dress, 
 which threw out into greater relief the singular style of her 
 features and complexion. 
 
 The Judge arose to receive his guests, and with statelv 
 courtesy seated Miss Hervey in the easy-chair, before pre- 
 senting his daughter and her young companion to her 
 notice. When the introductions were over, supper was 
 announced ; and after supper Mr. Hervey departed, and 
 Miss Hervey was shown to the departments she was to 
 occupy as school-room and chamber. 
 
 The grave, fervent, and beautiful countenance the gentle 
 voice, and easy manners of Helen Hervey, had made a 
 very favorable impression upon the mind of Magdalene, and 
 had won, at once, the heart of the ardent and susceptible 
 Virginia. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Judge Washington 
 introduced Helen into her school-room, and presenting her
 
 THE YOUNG GOVERNESS. 185 
 
 pupils to her, left them with her, while he and Joseph vent 
 out for the day. 
 
 Helen had evidently been well prepared in all respects 
 by her father for the onerous duties laid upon her youth. 
 Her first object was to gain the confidence and affection 
 of her pupils, and then to study their characters with a view 
 to their improvement. Never had a young teacher *\vo 
 pupils of such totally opposite personal appearance, 
 characters, and circumstances, as Helen had in Magdalene 
 and Virginia. Virginia, with her dazzling fairness, her 
 sparkling blue eyes, her splendid red hair, her quick move- 
 ments, and her ardent, impulsive feeling Magdalene with 
 her rich and glowing crimson cheeks and lips, her jet black 
 hair, and eyes, and eyebrows, her languid motions and her 
 thoughtful air. Virginia, with her good and bad her 
 large veneration and benevolence her affection, her 
 docility, her patience, and above all, her trust and her hu- 
 mility on the one hand, and her hasty violence of temper, 
 and her timidity (both these faults perhaps arising from 
 nervous irritability) on the other. Magdalene, with her 
 truth, justice, courage, and self-command on the one side ; 
 and her pride, ambition, and stubbornness on the other. 
 Virginia, the heiress of the two largest estates in the 
 county ; Magdalene, the penniless dependent on her father's 
 bounty. Yet the principal virtue of Virginia was her 
 humility, and her principal failing, a want of fortitude and 
 self-command ; while the grand fault of Magdalene was 
 inordinate pride, and her great virtue, invincible courage 
 and self-control. 
 
 But a trifling incident that occurred in the course of the 
 summer, will serve fully to illustrate the characters of the 
 children. It was a very warm evening, and Helen Hervey 
 had taken her pupils out into the shaded arbor. There 
 already sat Judge Washington smoking don't be shocked
 
 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 his pipe of tobacco. And there sat Joseph, with a vol- 
 ume of Mosheira in his hand. Ginnie sat down, but instead 
 of studying the French grammar she held in her hand, she 
 let it fall, and running into the house, returned with a bas- 
 ket filled with cotton-wool, on which reposed two little 
 young Guinea pigs, her new pets presents from Midship- 
 man Broke Shields, who had brought them from the Coast 
 of Africa for her. Every one knows the extreme tenderness 
 and delicacy, as well as the irascibility of these pretty little 
 creatures. Ginnie, in her willful manner, took one of them 
 upon her lap, and began to play with and teaze it. The 
 little creature at first only squealed and struggled, but Ginnie 
 laughed and teazed it the more. Miss Hervey spoke to her, 
 gently requesting her to desist; but Ginnie replied by giving 
 her pet another squeeze and pinch. The little animal, iu 
 self-defense, suddenly turned, and struck its little sharp 
 teeth into Ginnie's soft arm, inflicting a slight wound. 
 Enraged with pain, Ginnie's face flushed up she screamed, 
 shook the little creature violently, and threw it heavily upon 
 the ground. The little thing convulsed, rolled over, stiff- 
 ened, and lay perfeclly still, and in this time Ginnie had 
 come to her senses, and Judge Washington, Miss Hervey, 
 Joseph, and Magdalene had gathered around her, drawn by 
 the scream. Virginia now stood with clasped hands and 
 pale face, contemplating her work of destruction, with deep 
 contrition. 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh, oh ! I am so sorry," she said, wringing her 
 hands. 
 
 " How did this happen, Virginia ?" inquired Miss Her- 
 vey. 
 
 ' Oh, I was teazing him, you know, and he bit me, and I 
 flew in a passion and threw him down and killed him! Oh, 
 I am so sorry ! Oh, I would give all the pretty things I 
 have in the world to bring him to life again 1"
 
 THE YOUNG GOVERNESS. 187 
 
 " So you killed him, Virginia ?" said Judge Washington, 
 very gravely. Then turning to the others, he said, 
 
 " Magdalene, ray love, tell this little girl what you think 
 of this act of vengeance and destruction of hers coine, 
 speak out your thought like a brave girl as you are." 
 
 " I think that it is tyrannical, cowardly, mean, to take 
 vengeance on any thing weaker than ourselves," replied 
 Magdalene, looking straight in Virginia's face. 
 
 " Oh, I know it, Lena, I know it," said the penitent and 
 humbled child. 
 
 " Helen Hervey, my dear, give this little girl your thought 
 upon the subject." 
 
 "I think that Virginia is very sorry that she has killed 
 the little thing, when she reflects that though a little girl 
 may take a life, yet that life, once taken, all the power of 
 earth could not restore and I think that Virginia will 
 never give way to such fatal violence of temper again," said 
 Helen Hervey, gently. 
 
 "Never again! oh, if the Lord will please to help me, 
 never again," said Ginnie, earnestly. 
 
 " Where is Joseph I must have his opinion ! Yes, my 
 little girl, painful as it may be to you, you must hear the 
 public sentiment upon these tempers. Where is Joseph ?" 
 asked Judge Washington. 
 
 But Joseph had taken the Guinea pig out some minutes 
 before, in order to remove the painful object from the poor 
 little penitent's sight, and he had not yet returned. But 
 now he comes, and bringing back the pet alive and kick- 
 ing. Yes, he brought it back into the circle, and standing 
 before the surprised and overjoyed child, he laid the tiny 
 animal on the palm of one hand, while he stroked down its 
 soft, spotted back with the other, and said, 
 
 "You see he was not dead, Virginia. He was only 
 thro-vn into a fit ;" and smilingly he laid it in the basket of
 
 188 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 cotton-wool by the side of its sleeping sister. And Vir- 
 ginia, she looked around upon the circle for an instant, and 
 then impetuously casting herself upon Josey's bosom, clasp- 
 ing her arms tightly around his neck, and pressing her head 
 closely against his breast, she sobbed, 
 
 " Oh, my dear brother ! my dear, dear brother ! My 
 dear brother Josey ! Other people scold and lecture me, 
 and it is very proper, too ; but you save, and restore, and 
 turn all my wrongs into rights, without a word of reproach. 
 Oh, my dear brother Josey, what should I do without you, 
 you are so good, so good 1" 
 
 And this she said a score of times, while hugging Joseph 
 tightly around the neck, and pressing her head upon his 
 bosom, until Joseph gently disengaged her arms, put her 
 from him, and, turning, dashed the quick tears from his own 
 eyes, and hurried from the arbor. 
 
 To improve the event of the evening, Judge Washington 
 took Virginia by the hand and led her into the library, 
 where he set before her the fatal evils of anger, in the most 
 impressive manner, making her to know that the same pas- 
 sion that had raised her little hand against the feeble life of 
 her pet, in its stronger development had armed Cain against 
 his brother Abel's life. Finally, he prayed with her before 
 leaving the library. When they entered the wainscoted 
 parlor, Ginirie went up to Joseph, and laying her two little 
 hands softly upon his arm, leaned her head against him for 
 an instant. It was her manner of expressing gratitude, 
 confidence, and dependence. He bowed his face over her 
 bright hair a moment, and then leaving her, took up a book, 
 jitid went to the other side of the table to read. 
 
 Years passed away. By the persevering and affectionate 
 care of Judge Washington and Helen Hervey, Joseph, and 
 ever: poor, deformed Bruin, the faults of Virginia's temper
 
 THK YOUNG G O V E II X E S S . 189 
 
 and temperament were gradunlly being corrected. They 
 were so superficial, and outweighed by so many inherent 
 virtues, that indeed they required nothing more than a 
 loving persistence on the part of her educators to eradicate 
 them. The evil of Magdalene's stern character lay deeper, 
 more out of sight ; nothing occurred to call it forth, there- 
 fore it was unsuspected, and again, therefore, uncorrected ; 
 while her good qualities, as calmness, patience, fortitude, 
 courage, were very apparent. Do yon cavil at " courage, 
 fortitude," in a young country girl in domestic life ? I will 
 reply by a single instance. When our foster sisters were 
 fourteen years of age, the healthy shores of the Chesapeake 
 were visited by an epidemic and malignant fever, which laid 
 waste many a plantation. Judge Washington's people suf- 
 fered extremely from illness, and that there were no deaths 
 among them, was mainly attributable to the intelligence, 
 firmness, and patience of Magdalene, who, with Virginia 
 and Miss Hervey, had temporarily abandoned the school- 
 room, and given herself up to the care of the sick. Poor 
 Ginnie, the gleam of a lancet would make her flesh creep, 
 and the trickle of blood would turn her ill to faintness ; yet, 
 not for these failings of the flesh would Judge Washington 
 suffer Virginia to abandon her duties no ; for he decided 
 to use this very opportunity, and these very means, to teach 
 her self-control and fortitude, and while gently encouraging 
 her, he firmly kept her to her task. But in the most fright- 
 ful aspects of the fever, when Virginia would utterly fail, 
 and even Helen Hervey turn sick to faintness, Magdalene's 
 firm nerves and muscles would retain their immobility, and 
 her ruby cheeks and lips their glow, and her soul its invin- 
 cible courage. 
 
 Virginia admired Magdalene very much. " Oh, Magda- 
 lene, how I wish I were a soldier like you ! For my part, 
 much as I admire the chivalrous Buckingham and prince
 
 190 TIIE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Charles, I sympathize more with douce King James' dread 
 of cold steel and red blood. By the way of a little sun- 
 beam, Magdalene, when these dark days of sickness are 
 quite over as they are almost over, thank Heaven ! shall 
 we not have a nice time these winter evenings, with the 
 History of the Crusades and the Waverley novels ?" 
 
 The dark days of dire illness were over their mission 
 was accomplished to one strengthened and instructed spirit 
 at least. The frost of Autumn came bringing health, and 
 then the winter evenings came with their fireside delights. 
 
 In their morning studies, their afternoon pastimes, and 
 their evening light reading, the opposite character of the 
 foster sisters were still more plainly revealed. Botany, 
 geology, the beautiful and curious things of the earth, 
 interested Virginia. Magdalene took no sort of pleasure 
 in dissecting a flower, or classifying a stone ; nay, she even 
 disliked it. Flowers were beautiful things in form and 
 color, and stones were beautiful also, with more light and 
 shade, and acknowledging this, she turned from them. 
 Astronomy was her passion. In contemplating the infinite 
 majesty of the heavens, her soul was raised in a calm 
 trance of ecstacy, that though it gave no outward sign of 
 its being, reached almost the confines of an exalted insanity. 
 
 In their amusements, Virginia loved dancing, riding, 
 foot-racing over the plains, battledoor and shuttlecock, 
 singing glees every thing, in short, that was active, sport- 
 ive, vivacious. 
 
 Magdalene, delighted in the reading aloud, or declama- 
 tion of epic poetry, the thunder of martial music, and the 
 study of historic paintings of high heroic subjects. Vir- 
 ginia loved the green grass, flowers, birds, pets, and little 
 children. Magdalene joyed in storms, rocks, the sea-shore, 
 the starlight nights. Virginia loved all the people imme- 
 diately around her. Magdalene adored all the gloriou*
 
 THE YOUNG GOVERNESS. 191 
 
 names that blazed upon the pages of history, and all the 
 great souls of the living age. Their evening readings in 
 the wainscoted parlor were very pleasant things. Judge 
 Washington and Joseph were alrernate readers, until Mag- 
 dalene, by especial vocation, took it herself. In their 
 reading and discussion of Shakspeare, Milton, and Scott, 
 Magdalene would be silent after reading, until called upon 
 to express herself, and then would startle the little circle by 
 such high-treason as this : That Adam, Eve, and the 
 Archangels, were well enough she supposed ; that if they 
 were extraordinary, she herself had not the genius to appre- 
 ciate them ; but that that which attracted her whole soul with 
 mighty power, was his Satan. This would greatly shock 
 Virginia, to whom Eve appeared the very model, the very 
 ideal of womanly perfection. In reading Ivanhoe, in the 
 same manner, when called upon, not before, Magdalene 
 avowed her decided preference for Rebecca and Brian de 
 Bois Guilbert, wishing that they had married and revolu- 
 tionized some kingdom, as he dreamed. In Shakspeare, 
 Virginia had taken the character of Desderaona and Cor- 
 delia, and enthroned them in her mind on each side of Mil- 
 ton's Eve. Magdalene could neither understand nor feel 
 the exquisite beauty of those creations, but rendered hom- 
 age to the demoniac power of Richard III., and of Lady 
 Macbeth. When questioned about the reasou of these 
 tastes, she would reply : 
 
 " I do not know it is ray nature, I suppose but I feel 
 my own affinity to the STRONG, and I admire strength, evca 
 wicked, more than the softness and delicacy that so resem- 
 bles weakness !" 
 
 Thus the sisters did not sympathize entirely. Magdalene 
 needed no sympathy she could enjoy her stern tastes in 
 solitude. 
 
 But Virginia needed companionship in all things and
 
 192 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 one day she said, sorrowfully, "Ah, Lena I you hate all 
 the beautiful things that I love 1" 
 
 "Virginia-!" replied Magdalene, who chanced then to be 
 in one of her sublime moods : " Virginia, if I trample 
 flowers under foot, it is not because I hate them but be- 
 cause I see not where I tread my eyes are caught up by 
 the stars or ! if you will rather have it so, by the tem- 
 pestuous skies, the terrific beauty of the thumder and light- 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 " There's not a lovely transient thing 
 Bat brings thee to oar mind t 
 The rainbow or the fragile flower, 
 Sweet summer's fading joys, 
 The waning moon, the dying day 
 The passing glories of the clouds, 
 The leaf that brightens as it falls, 
 The wild tones of the .flSolian harp, 
 All tell some touching tale of thee : 
 There's not a tender, loving thing, 
 But brings thee to our mind !" Mrs. fbllen. 
 
 As our young foster sisters approached womanhood 
 they became .nore serious and earnest, though from par- 
 tially different causes. With Virginia this period of life 
 was marked by the deepening and intensifying of all her 
 social affections her profound veneration of her only par- 
 en;, her love for her foster sister, and lastly both veneration 
 and love for her adopted brother and by the arising of fer- 
 vent religious aspirations. 
 
 To Magdalene this era brought no enlargement of the
 
 MOTHER. 193 
 
 affections, social, or religious ; but gave a great impetus 
 and force to thought. Further than ever her mind pro- 
 jected itself into the past and the future, deeper thau ever 
 it dived beneath the surface of the present. Among my- 
 riads of thoughts, feelings, hopes, fears, anxieties, ambi- 
 tions known only to her own soul, the predominant idea 
 was her mother. Virginia talked a great deal about her 
 mother, talked of her mother's whole life with the fami- 
 liarity of a cotemporary and it was therefore evident that 
 she had received very minute information from those around 
 her but Magdalene never heard of her mother. Never 
 with the single exception we have recorded had the young 
 girl made any inquiry of her. Something perhaps the 
 tacit influence of the wills of those around her had re- 
 pressed the questions she would have liked to ask. And, 
 there was this trait of Magdalene's character when once 
 silenced upon any subject, it was her peculiarity to continue 
 silent so far as that subject was concerned, and when once 
 inquiring upon a topic to continue to investigate until she 
 should be satisfied. The reader must have observed it 
 before it was what phrenologists call concentrativeness, 
 continuity. So, Magdalene once interested in her moth- 
 er's history, never lost a tithe of that interest, and once 
 effectually silenced, continued so for years. She began to 
 wonder and to speculate why it was that she was called by 
 her mother's maiden name. This was a question full of 
 bitterest sorrow to her. It wounded her filial- love, it 
 wounded her pride to the quick. Was she really that 
 which sometimes some malignant negro in insolence had 
 called her in her childhood ? She shuddered and would 
 rather have died in infancy. She could scarcely forbear 
 reproaching her parents in their graves. Her parents 
 who was the other one ? She had not th* 1 remotest idea. 
 One day she inquired of Helen Hervey,
 
 194 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Helen, why is it that I am called by my mothers name ?" 
 
 "I do not know, my love," replied Helen. 
 
 " Who was my father, Helen ?" 
 
 "I do not know, my love." 
 
 44 One question more, Helen. Oh, Helen, reply to that 
 question, if you can !" and then with an unfaltering voice 
 and an unfading cheek that revealed nothing of the trouble 
 of the girl's heart, she inquired, " Were my parents mar- 
 ried ?" 
 
 " I do not know, Magdalene," said Helen Hervey ; and 
 drawing her pupil to her bosom, she kissed her affection- 
 ately, as the tears rose to her eyes. 
 
 Magdalene shed no tear. Then Helen said : 
 
 "Magdalene, my dear girl, do not mention this subject 
 again to any one, will you ?" 
 
 " I cannot promise that," said Magdalene, sadly. 
 
 11 At least do not mention it to Virginia." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly not. I know that that which con- 
 sumes the very heart of Magdalene Hawk must not reach 
 the ear of Miss Washington, even in the echo of the faint- 
 est whisper." 
 
 Magdalene soon after withdrew quietly from the room, 
 and too troubled for society or conversation, left the house 
 by the back-way for a ramble up the Old Turnpike Road. 
 She had not gone far before she came upon the dwarf, sit- 
 ting under the spreading branches of a large walnut-tree, 
 and reading with profound attention a folio volume that 
 lay upon his knee. Magdalene stopped, and the half- 
 formed purpose of speaking to him of her parentage was 
 i'lstantly completed. 
 
 "Bruin, I am very glad to meet you this evening," she 
 said. 
 
 He looked up, closed his book, and motioned her to sit 
 by his side.
 
 MOTHER. 195 
 
 " If I disturb your studies, Bruin, I know that you will 
 have the candor to say so." 
 
 "Certainly. You do not. It is getting too late in the 
 evening to read. Besides, I wished to talk to you." 
 
 " Talk to me ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, to talk to you of the subject that liea 
 nearest your heart. Magdalene, no one watches you with 
 so much interest, or reads you with so much clearness, or 
 kn-owsyou with so much certainty as myself; and no one loves 
 you better, for I knew and loved your mother, Magdalene." 
 
 "You knew my mother ?" 
 
 "And loved her, Magdalene, more than life." 
 
 "And my mother she deserved that love ! I see by 
 your face that she did." 
 
 " She merited the love, the veneration, the worship that 
 I gave her, Magdalene." 
 
 " Heaven bless you for saying that." 
 
 " You have heard Mary Washington's name lauded 
 almost to canonization ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All that Mary Washington was she owed to the teach 
 ing of your sainted grandmother, and the constant associa 
 tion and example of your angel mother." 
 
 " Heaven bless you for saying that." 
 
 " I know it better than any one else, for I was with 
 them all the time. Marv was by nature just such a child 
 as Virginia now is ; but, through the blessing of God upon 
 the influences I have named, she became the young saint 
 whose image is now enshrined in every heart almost as an 
 object of worship." 
 
 " Heaven bless yon for those words," again said Magda- 
 lene ; and this, fervently, earnestly, and yet half uncon- 
 sciously, she repeated at every pause, as though her heart 
 kept repeating it without her knowledge.
 
 196 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Well Magdalene, at that time Prospect Hall was not 
 finished. The Judge and his son, what time they staid at 
 home, had rooms at the grange, his birth-place, you know, 
 but into which he had put your father. The Judge then. 
 Magdalene, very soon became attached to Mary Carey ; and 
 while she was yet a little girl, before she had gone at at I 
 into the world, he wrote and solicited her hand from the 
 Colonel for his only son Joseph. Colonel Carey was not 
 averse t-o the proposition ; and as in a few years the yonng 
 people were quite fond of each other, they were married. 
 Prospect Hall was, in the meantime, ready for their recep- 
 tion. But now, Magdalene, comes that part of the story 
 that most concerns yourself. Margaret, your mother, was, 
 by Mary's earnest entreaty, her first bridesmaid ; and, in 
 that capacity, accompanied her to the hall, and was thrown 
 into all the wedding festivities of the neighborhood. Pros- 
 pect Hall was filled with gay company for weeks, and, in- 
 deed, until the awful tragedy, the murder of Captain Carey, 
 dispersed them. Among the guests were the Mountjoys of 
 Alta Bayou, the Brokes of Forest Hall, besides many dis- 
 tinguished visitors, friends of Col. Carey, from up the 
 country. The first groomsman of Captain Washington was 
 Victor, the youngest son of General Mountjoy. Well, in 
 nil the ridings, walkings, sittings, or dancings of the bridal, 
 it, of course, according to the local custom, fell to the lot 
 of Victor Mountjoy to escort, or attend, or dance with 
 Margaret. Ah ! Magdalene, you know the rest without 
 my telling you. It is the stereotyped plot of all the love- 
 stories in the world. They loved each othei 1 . Victor was 
 honorable. Margaret innocent. Victor confessed his love, 
 and asked his father's consent to marry her. General 
 Mountjoy commanded him never to see Margaret again, on 
 the pain of his severest displeasure. Victor, I am willing 
 to think, was inclined to do his duty and obey this com-
 
 MOTHER. 197 
 
 mand ; but then he had to go and tell Margaret, and in 
 that interview his dutiful resolutions all melted away. He 
 would have persuaded Margaret to marry him at least I 
 presumed that this was so, for the end of the interview was, 
 that Victor led Margaret into the grange, and asked her 
 of her parents ; in requital of which straightforward ho- 
 nesty, Adam Hawk ordered him out of the house, locked 
 nis daughter up, and abused his wife for not looking 
 sharper after her. I was present then, and I know that 
 from that time the life of the poor girl was made miserable 
 by the well-meant but mistaken harshness of her father. 
 She was grieving for her violent severance from Victor, for 
 her enforced separation from her dear friend, Mary Wash- 
 ington, and left without the least sympathy. Her stern 
 father would not permit her to visit Prospect Hall, lest she 
 should be thrown into the society of 'some other puppy ;' 
 nor would he permit her mother to say one consoling word 
 to her for fear of ' enervating the girl, and making her be- 
 lieve that she had something to cry for.' The end of all 
 this was, Magdalene, that one night at prayer-time the 
 maiden was missed from her place ; and while Adam Hawk 
 was beating up all the quarters of the plantation in search 
 of her, her hand was resting in that of Victor's, and the 
 minister was pronouncing over them the marriage benedic- 
 tion." 
 
 " They were married ! they were married ! Heaven's 
 richest blessings on you for that intelligence ! Why, then, 
 do I not bear my father's name ?" 
 
 " Listen I they were married, or thought they were. 
 They went to Richmond. They lived there nearly a year, 
 during which time Victor's pocket-money, watch, etc., and 
 at last his credit, came to an end. They sunk into extreme 
 penury. Victor got employment wherever he could, rath-r 
 than soe his young \vif<> starve or freeze. He haunted the 
 12
 
 198 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 steamboat wharf, and became porter whenever he could. 
 But Victor was naturally of a delicate organization. Want, 
 toil, sorrow, remorse wore away his health, and in less thai) 
 twelve months after his ill-starred marriage, Victor Mount- 
 joy (sad misnomer) lay upon his death-bed. He wrote U 
 his father, General Mountjoy, saying that for himself he 
 never should have dared to ask forgiveness but that now, 
 from his sick bed, he implored his mercy on his wife and 
 child. In reply to this letter General Mountjoy wrote to 
 him informing him that his marriage was illegal, null 
 and void for that himself and the girl were minors, and 
 had eloped against the commands of their parents. That 
 if he would immediately break the discreditable connectio i, 
 his family would suitably provide for the girl and her child, 
 and open their doors for the return of their prodigal sen. 
 That until they were separated nothing should be done to 
 alleviate the sufferings of either.. The heaviest blow was 
 the news that his marriage would not stand ; that he she nld 
 leave his wife and child beggared, ruined, and will out 
 hope. Could he have left the State with Margaret, and 
 legalized his union by a marriage in Maryland, he wi uld 
 have done it but far from the boundary line, and prost 'ate 
 upon a bed of illness, he was powerless. Death was on 
 him death, hastened by these sorrows and the second 
 day from the reception of that letter he died. Yes ! he 
 died of hunger, cold, and his father's cruelty. A fortnight 
 after that, Magdalene, at the dead of night, in the midst of a 
 furious snow-storm your mother reached her home to die." 
 
 Again nor frown of brow, nor flash of eye, nor motion 
 of lip, nor change of color betrayed the slow and sure 
 coming of the deadly hatred with which her heart was filling 
 full 
 
 Again Bruin spoke 
 
 " The judgment of Heaven seemed to fall upon General
 
 MOTHER. 199 
 
 Mountjoy. Of four other tall and handsome sons, not one 
 remains. Of several fine grandchildren, only one puny 
 boy ! 
 
 At this instant the breaking of twigs and dry leaves 
 under a heavy tread, drew their attention, and in another 
 moment the Goblin stood before them saying 
 
 " Gee-hoss-o'-fat, King of the Dews, ain't this a singular 
 co-inference. Here have I been seeking of Mr. Bruin all 
 over the plantation, an' jes 'bandoned the 'suit, when here I 
 fin's the extinguish' geraman hisself, with the 'dentical 
 skyentifick book, on the 'dentical road we wishes of him to 
 travel ! Good-evening to you, master!" 
 
 " Well, Gulliver ! what did you want of me and above 
 all things, where are all these people going ?" inquired the 
 dwarf, pointing to a group of negroes who had passed them 
 on the road. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! yes ! that's what I were going for to 
 enumerate. There are to be a 'journeyed 'vention o' the 
 colored poplin o' these districts, at the Old Turnpike Glade, 
 for the confusion of useful knowledge among the risin' 
 degeneracy. White poplin 'vited to 'tend no difference 
 what color. An' I myself was 'missioned by the 'mittee to 
 'vite Mr. Bruin, the extinguished Phrenzyologist, to 'liver a 
 lecture on Phrenzyology an' Oazyology, an' to tell him as 
 a number o' crazy-urns (craniums) would be 'mitted, for 
 the jiractical examplatiou o' the skyence." And having 
 delivered this eloquent oration, the Goblin bowed, with au 
 air of extreme self-satisfaction, and waited hi? answer. 
 
 "Yes! tell them I will be along soon," replied the dwarf, 
 to the surprise of Magdalene. 
 
 But when Gulliver, with a second and deeper bow, left 
 them alone, Bruin said 
 
 " Yes, Magdalene, I will go and make them a -speech. 
 What right have I to laugh at them ? I sometimes think
 
 200 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 that the pedantry and pretension of our greatest philoso- 
 phers are as amusing to the angels as the Goblin's learning 
 and magniloquence to us. Yes, Magdalene, I will go, and 
 thank God for the opportunity of saying something to a 
 crowd that may possibly do them good 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS. 
 
 "To cheer, with sweet repast, the fainting guest, 
 To lull the weary on the couch of rest, 
 To warm the traveler numbed with winter cold, 
 
 The sad to comfort, aud the lost direct. 
 
 These are their cares, and this their glorious task, 
 
 Can Heaven a nobler give, or mortal ask ?" 
 
 Sir William Jones. 
 
 THE time arrived for the termination of Helen Hervey's 
 governess duties at the Hall, and the emancipation of her 
 pupils from her gentle rule. Miss Hervery had tried to 
 persuade Judge Washington to give his granddaughter the 
 advantage of a two years' residence at some fashionable 
 finishing school ; but to this proposition the Judge was 
 firmly opposed. 
 
 It was early on a Spring morning that Mr. Hervey ar- 
 rived in a gig to take Helen home. Helen took leave of 
 her pupils with some emotion; but consoling herself and 
 them with the reflection that the Old Forest Parsonage 
 was but a few miles off, a pleasant morning or afternoon 
 ride ; that, therefore, they should all occasionallv meet
 
 THE YOU. NO HOUSEKEEPERS. 201 
 
 during the week, as well as regularly every Sabbath at 
 church. After she was gone, Virginia and Magdalene re- 
 mained on the piazza looking after her, until the sweeping 
 curve of the carriage drive took her in a semicircle around 
 to the back of the grounds toward the thick woods behind, 
 in which she was quickly lost to sight. 
 
 Then the Judge, with the view of turning their attention 
 from sad subjects, placed a benedictory hand on each young 
 head, and then said : 
 
 " My dears, you are freed from the schoolroom only to 
 be promoted to the superintendence of household affairs. 
 Up to this time, Polly Pepper has managed pretty well for 
 an old man, two girls, and their governess ; but Polly, as she 
 says herself, has been ' growing older and older every day' of 
 her life ; therefore the establishment requires other manage- 
 ment. I suppose, now that I have a young lady to present 
 to the world," continued he, stroking Virginia's glistening 
 red hair, and looking with affectionate pride upon her, 
 " that I should be expected to engage some accomplished 
 housekeeper ; but the same feeling that prevented me from 
 sending you away from home to a fashionable academy, my 
 dear, hinders me now from placing a stranger at the head 
 of my household. I prefer that my own girls should be at 
 the head of domestic affairs. Come with me into the library, 
 and we will talk further of this matter," and patting the 
 two girls on the head, he sent them in before him. 
 
 It was arranged that Virginia and Magdalene should 
 keep house alternate weeks, Virginia taking the first week, 
 and entering upon her duties from the next Monday, (this 
 being Friday.) 
 
 Virginia began her new career with the zeal and ardor 
 that characterized all the feelings, sayings, and doings of 
 our oeautiful red-haired girl. What a housekeeper she 
 would be indeed ! What bread, what butter, what cheese
 
 202 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 she would make ! What tongues and hams she would 
 cure ! What domestic carpets, counterpanes, and quilts 
 she would manufacture ! What webs of linen, cotton, and 
 woolen cloth she would weave ! What socks and stockings 
 she would knit ; or rather, in what a very superior manner 
 she would have these things done, and how many prizes 
 would be won at the newly-established Agricultural Fair ! 
 until suddenly it occurred to her that all the prizes she 
 would win, Magdalene would miss, and then she hastily 
 sought Magdalene. She found Magdalene in her own 
 chamber, engaged in painting an historic subject the trial 
 of Joan of Arc. For months past Magdalene Hawk's 
 natural serenity had fallen into melancholy ; lately the 
 melancholy had deepened into gloom. The family had 
 sought, by every delicate and affectionate effort, to raise 
 her spirits, but without success. Judge Washington had 
 been especially kind, attentive, and even respectful to the 
 girl, whose perfect beauty, grace, truth, and genius, had 
 won his highest admiration, while her unfortunate social 
 position appealed to his tenderest and most benevolent 
 sympathies ; but all in vain. The goodness of Judge 
 Washington did but deepen the gloom upon her spirits. 
 It was indeed partly in the hope of dissipating this sadness, 
 that the Judge had associated her with his granddaughter 
 in the government of the household. 
 
 Virginia, now dancing into the room, entreated her to 
 choose from among the dairy, the spinning-room, or the 
 kitchen, that department of domestic economy in which she 
 would prefer to excel, and leave her the others. This 
 Magdalene declined doing, averring that she was sure she 
 should never reach eminence by any of these roads. Tl 
 sanguine blood of our red-haired child rushed to her brow 
 at this irony, but Virginia had learned to repress her eoulli- 
 tions of temper. A moment's thought, too, convinced her
 
 THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS. 203 
 
 that this sarcasm npon her favorite pursuits was not really 
 leveled at herself, and she replied gently : 
 
 That is true, Magdalene ; true, only because Providence 
 intended me for nothing better than a good daughter, sister, 
 and housewife, and I think that nature designed yon for 
 something more than that. You very much excel me in 
 every drawing-room accomplishment, Magdalene. Besides,- 
 father," (as she called her grandfather) " father, Bruin, Jo- 
 seph all say that you have so much genius, so that you 
 see you may easily afford to let me win some praise in the 
 housekeeping department." 
 
 Touched by her gentle reply, Magdalene passed her arm 
 around the waist of Virginia, and drawing her to her bosom, 
 said : 
 
 " My dearest Virginia, my dearest girl, you have one 
 grace for which it were well for me if I could barter all 
 the best gifts I may chance to possess you have GOOD- 
 NESS, my own darling, goodness, love, forbearance for 
 all 1" 
 
 " Ah, Lena, don't tell me that, dear ; I have had such a 
 temper in my time ! And even now even now ! Why, 
 Lena, if ever I try to hope I have conquered my faults, I 
 am sure soon to fall into some evil temper that convinces 
 me of my error. Ah, Lena, after all, the best thing in me 
 is onlv my earnest wish that I were good that I could do 
 something for all God's goodness to me. Father says, 
 "love God," but all my feelings are demonstrative or no- 
 thing. When I was an irritable little child, some years ago, 
 if I grew angry with any one, I wished to slap them in the 
 face, or if I loved any one, I wished to hug and kiss them. 
 Now, when I feel benevolence, gratitude, love, toward any 
 being, human or divine, I wish to act it out. Now, I do 
 feel gratitude, love, to my Father, for all his boundless mer- 
 cies but I do not act it ont, alas ! No, no, Magdalene.
 
 204 THE TWO SI6TEKS. 
 
 do not call me good ; by contrast, it makes me feel so very, 
 very bad /" 
 
 Short-lived, far too short-lived were all Virginia's quick 
 emotions. Soon leaving the serious subject of her thoughts, 
 and reverting to the former one of their conversation, she 
 wiid : 
 
 " Talking of your accomplishments, Magdalene, I saw 
 Bruin shake his wise head yesterday with a look of infinite 
 profundity, and say it was immediately after your reading 
 the supper scene in Macbeth ' she reads that well loo well 
 -far too well !' What did he mean by that, Lena ?" 
 
 Magdalene smiled gravely, but remained silent. When 
 at last she spoke, it was in reference to their relative posi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Virginia, you and I are two young girls, little over 
 fifteen years of age, and we are not supposed to know much 
 of society ; yet this much even books have taught us 
 namely, that while a wealthy and beautiful heiress of a dis- 
 tinguished family takes the highest place in society, a girl, 
 who bears her mother's maiden surname, has no entree 
 therein. I do not complain of this, dearest ; of any social 
 law that secures the greatest good to the greatest number ; 
 I only say that it is so that Magdalene Hawk has beeu 
 made to feel it all her life that neither Judge Washington's 
 protection, nor his daughter's love, has been able to shield 
 her from it that directly or indirectly, silently or in words, 
 she has been taunted with it from childhood, by even the 
 very menials of the plantation !" 
 
 " Oh, Magdalene ! Magdalene ! and all of these many 
 years you have not complained ! Oh, Magdalene, why is it 
 that you shut your heart up so from all your friends ? Why 
 is it that you never, except when you are questioned, speak 
 of yourself, your thoughts, your feelings, your sufferings, or 
 your purposes r Why did you not complain of the very
 
 THE YOUXG HOUSEKEEPERS. 205 
 
 first affront you received ? If you had, that would also 
 have been the last affront offered to you ; insult to our pro- 
 tege, our guest, Magdalene, would have been visited with 
 greater severity than any offense against me, the daughter 
 of the house, for obvious reasons." 
 
 " I know it, and therefore, among other reasons, I would 
 not complain even in childhood. Ginnie, darling, among a 
 thousand faults, I have not that of petty vengeance ; I 
 cannot punish a weak or powerless offender any thing by 
 birth, education, or position, inferior to myself is safe, even 
 from my just anger, while they may be sure of my protection 
 and assistance, as far as I have power, and they nave need." 
 
 " Oh, Magdalene, how noble ! how magnanimous ! how 
 different from my petty vengeances ! May I become like 
 you, Magdalene I" 
 
 " May you never, never be like me. No, Virginia, it is 
 from no Christian feeling, but out of an inherent personal 
 pride, that this forbearance grows. The time is at hand 
 when society will brand upon my brow the name the name 
 the NAME ! with which I will not sully your pure ear, 
 Virginia the name that negro slaves, in their spite and 
 jealousy, have called me ! Shall I, who will have no power 
 to reverse the sentence of the world shall / take a mean 
 vengeance on the poor negroes ? Nonsense ! never /" 
 
 Virginia sprang to her feet, her eyes sparkling tire her 
 sanguine blood crimsoning the brow through which the 
 swollen ve?n throbbed, as she exclaimed, passionately : 
 
 " You have no right to that name ! no right to that 
 name ! Let me hear of any one who has called you that 
 name, and they shall leave the plantation this day. Society ! 
 I have heard all my life of the place I should hold in so- 
 ciety the duty I owed society ; but that world that frowns 
 upon yon, Magdalene, shall never have a chance of smiling 
 upon me ! That world which would crush the crown of
 
 206 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 thorns into your noble brow, Magdalene, shall never place 
 the diadem of its loyal approbation upon mine. Oh, do 
 not do not talk so 1 I do so much wish to govern myself, 
 and not to get angry. But do not do not, Magdalene !" 
 
 And Ginnie's little gust of passion passed off in a showei 
 of tears upon Magdalene's neck. 
 
 Magdalene, who only answered this outburst by saying, 
 gently 
 
 " Enthusiast ! you know not what you say !" 
 
 Magdalene, Magdalene ! I have been betrayed into one 
 of my angry fits again. Magdalene, those who insult you, 
 fling a slur upon the white bosom of my own angel where 
 you lay in infancy. Magdalene, it is partly your own act 
 why do you call yourself by your mother's maiden name, 
 when the proudest name in the State is yours by every 
 family and every legal right, Magdalene Mountjoy ?" 
 
 " No, Ginnie, no, never will I assume the name of a 
 family who give no sign of their knowledge of my existence. 
 No, Ginnie, no ! Old Adam Hawk is stern and harsh, and 
 oftentimes unjust, and he has graved upon my heart some 
 hard thoughts of himself but he is proud and honest he 
 bestowed upon me all he had, his half-savage name. I like 
 it 1 It suits me ! Magdalene Hawk !" 
 
 " Alas, how did this painful conversation originate ?" 
 
 " You were speaking of my poor accomplishments. You 
 said that Bruin shook his head with a look of profound 
 wisdom, and declared that I read Macbeth too well. You 
 wished to know what he meant. / know what he meant as 
 fie knows what /mean ! Virginia, I must leave you, darl 
 ing !" 
 
 " Leave me, Lena ?" 
 
 " Yes, clear, for your own best interest and for mine. Do 
 you know what makes the Judge look so sad and moody 
 when he contemplates us ? I will tell you. The time is
 
 THE Y C U N G hOUSEKEEPERS. 207 
 
 near at hand when he must bring his heiress out ! What 
 shall he do with her foster sister ? That question, that dif- 
 ficulty pains his kind heart. He had hoped, no doubt, that 
 his patronage would have been a passport for me into the 
 best society the last year past has convinced him of his 
 mistake. When Judge and Miss Washington are invited 
 out to tea, Magdalene Hawk is always neglected !" 
 
 " But does Ginnie ever go when her sister has been for- 
 gotten ?" 
 
 "Forgotten!" 
 
 "Yes, forgotten. I will believe that they have consid- 
 ered you only a casual visitor, and so forgotten you, Mag- 
 dalene !" 
 
 " Well, let it pass. No, Virginia never accepts an invi- 
 tation iu which her sister is not included. But this must 
 not continue. Miss Washington must not be secluded from 
 the world because Magdalene Hawk is not admitted into 
 it. Upon this very account must Magdalene leave her 
 sister 1" 
 
 " Ob, Lena, do not talk so I What can the world give 
 me in exchange for my dear sister ?" said Giunie, clingiug 
 to her fondly. 
 
 Magdalene held her there a long time, and then said, 
 
 "Virginia, darling, I am not that I seem ; people call me 
 steady, still, patient. The Judge praises my calmness, my 
 prudence, my self-possession. They do not know me. He 
 does not know me. I did not till lately perhaps I do not 
 now, know myself. Ginnie, I am not calm I or if calm, not 
 contented. No, this seeming quietude is an insupportable 
 heaviness of heart." 
 
 "What have you really to make your heart heavy, 
 Lena ?" 
 
 " That is what /do not fully understand. I know most 
 certainly that it is not f'-om any of the causes I have men-
 
 208 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 tioned. I am proud, Virginia, yet it is not wounded pride 1 
 I am ambitious, yet it is not the yearnings of ambition ! It 
 is an insupportable oppression of spirits that I struggle 
 against in vain ! I awake in the morning with a heavy, 
 heavy weight upon my bosom, that I can neither compre- 
 hend nor shake off. I try to occupy myself with our daily 
 tasks and amusements, but they do not interest me the day 
 is so tedious, life so weary a mere round of eating, drink- 
 ing, sleeping. I want- I know not what ! I must do I 
 know not what ! but something. Life oppresses me most 
 in the morning, when all life is waking to light ! The sun 
 brings me no gladness ! I see him rise, and think that so 
 he has been rising a hundred ages, and I wonder if he is not 
 weary of the ceaseless round. I see the sun set, and I feel 
 a sort of content that soon I shall lose all consciousness of 
 life in a deep sleep." 
 
 % " There is something the matter with you, Lena. You 
 are not well 1 You must see Doctor McArthur !" 
 
 " Oh, 1 am very well too well ! I wish that I were not ! 
 A pain, I think, would loosen as it were scatter this 
 weight in my bosom. But tell me, Grinnie I am sometimes 
 curious to know have you any such experiences ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Lena ; I awake in the morning so beauti- 
 fully as if my guardian angel had kissed my eyelids and 
 I see before me my mother's dawn window, with the beau- 
 tiful morning breaking, and the glorious sun rising, and 
 never, never do I get tired of that vision of beauty and sub- 
 limity, for .never does it appear the same, and ever does it 
 present infinite variety. I feel how faithful our Father is to 
 send the light of day ; I feel loving and grateful for life and 
 light, and I cannot help praising and praying then ! Then 
 1 get up and dress. Now I will tell you the whole truth 
 as I stand before the glass and twine the red ringlets round 
 my fingers and let them drop, and as they gUstw so bril-
 
 THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS. 209 
 
 liantly in the morning sun, I feel grateful to the Lord even 
 for giving me such beautiful hair!" 
 
 " And such a beautiful face and form, my dearest love !" 
 "Well, yes, I hope it is not vanity, or if it is, I hope I 
 shall be able to put it away from uae but my soul loves 
 my body's beauty as if it were its sister's aud oh, I feel 
 so thankful to be beautiful, because it makes those I love 
 happy, and makes them love me more! You are smiling 
 now, Lena ! Oh, I am glad to see you smile, if it is even 
 at my folly ! And now I am going to make you smile 
 more, and at more folly. Next don't be disgusted I 
 think about breakfast ! You know I have^a very good ap- 
 petite, and I anticipate, with great gusto, the fragrant 
 coffee, the hot muffins, fresh butter, soft crabs, or potted 
 perch. And then, I think, how soon I may be able to get 
 done trimming the flowers, and how much I can do on 
 father's shirts before it is time to take our morning ride ; 
 and if it happens to be my week of what I shall give 
 out for dinner ; and of our afternoon sewing, and our sail 
 \ipon the bay, and our round among the quarters, and of 
 supper, and finally of our delightful evening readings in the 
 wainscoted parlor. And above all, I wonder whether dear- 
 est Joseph will be able to leave his writing-desk and 
 spend the whole day with us or not. And, oh I I have not 
 told you a tithe of what I have to think of and to do ! 
 And through all I feel so profoundly grateful to the Lord 
 for opening to us so many avenues to happiness, that their 
 multiplicity is really, though delightfully, confusing. Lastly. 
 ] go to bed at night very, very tired ! and it is the last of 
 luxuries to fall asleep. Then I dream such beautiful dreams ! 
 Lena, you shall come out of your room and sleep with me ! 
 I always did want you to come and sleep with me, and so 
 you shall ; and I will love away that gloom from your 
 spirits just as the sun shines away the night. Ah ! Lena.
 
 210 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 be happy. You have every thing that I have to make you 
 happy. We are very much alike in many things. We are 
 both orphans we have each a grandfather we are foster 
 sisters as our mothers were before us. I acknowledge the 
 relation with all its claims, with all my heart and soul 1 As 
 long as I live, Lena 1 all that I have is thine ! At present 
 we have the same home, the same occupations, the same 
 amusements." 
 
 " Yes ; /, by sufferance not by right !" 
 
 " By right, Lena ; by every right !" 
 
 " By sufferance ! I am made to feel it every day. No, 
 Ginnie ; dearest sister, I am in a false position, and I em- 
 barrass all around me. Let me go !" 
 
 Virginia threw her arms around Magdalene's neck again, 
 and said, 
 
 " Why go ? Listen to me ! I want to keep with me as 
 long as I live all that I have with rae now dearest grand- 
 father, as long as his life shall last, and Josey and you. 
 And that that may be so I do hope that, by-and-by, Josey 
 will marry either you or me, just which he likes best, and 
 then we can all live together, and never be separated. 
 Why should people who love each other separate ? It al- 
 most kills me to think of parting. Do not talk of it any 
 more, please, Magdalene ! Put it out of your head. In- 
 deed it will make me ill if you do not ! My head aches 
 now, indeed it does. Any thing that grieves me makes me 
 ill, you know, Magdalene ! Oh Magdal-ene, I love yon 
 so dearly, don't grieve me, let me be happy !"
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LOVE-SPELLS OF HALLOW EVB. 
 
 r, I can call spirits from the vusty deep i 
 Hotspur. Why, so can I, or so can any man : 
 
 But will they come when yon do call for them ? Shakspeare. 
 
 MAGDALENE was accustomed to say that those she loved 
 could make an angel or a demon of her. Those she loved 
 indeed, possessed great power over that proud heart in ita 
 sternest mood. Virginia's clasping arms, and tearful eyes, 
 and pleading voice, arrested Magdalene before she had 
 given her vague intentions the form and substance of a de- 
 fined purpose. She spoke no more of leaving Prospect 
 Hall, but nevertheless "pondered these things in her heart." 
 That her singular position in the family embarrassed every 
 member thereof, was but too painfully evident that they 
 each and all loved her too well to willingly permit her to 
 see this, was also certain. Did not duty as well as strong 
 inclination require her to relieve them from the difficulty by 
 withdrawing from the family ? She felt that duty did. 
 Whither should she go? "The world was all before her 
 where to choose," and within her strength and courage to 
 go forth and cope with it. But her first advancing step 
 must be upon the hearts of those who loved her; and who, 
 indeed, did not love our dark-haired girl with an affection 
 deepened by compassion and elevated by admiration ! 
 Whither should she go ? Her grandfather still lived at 
 Blackthorn Grange, in company with Bruin the dwarf, and 
 their sole domestic, Gulliver Goblin, where, year by year. 
 he had grown more savage and morose. The residence of 
 
 (211)
 
 212 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 his granddaughter there would have interrupted and an- 
 noyed him. Magdalene felt this ; and as the infirmities of 
 advancing years had not yet begun to affect that iron con- 
 6titutio.n as no sort of want on his part appealed to her 
 conscientiousness, Magdalene freely indulged her great re- 
 pugnance to returning thither. No ; excitement, active life, 
 was what she needed. She passed in mental review all the 
 roads by which women, thrown upon their own resources 
 for a living, generally arrive at independence or distinction 
 at wealth or eminence she would fain have said, but that 
 the instances were so very rare. Besides mere manual labor, 
 there were only the teacher's desk, the pen, the stage ! 
 At a superficial glance, the first of these the teacher's pro- 
 fession seemed to be the most desirable for her ; but was 
 she best fitted, or at all desirable to the profession ? for 
 there were two sides to every subject, and Magdalene de- 
 termined to look upon both, and in the perfect truth of her 
 heart she felt and admitted that she who could not at all 
 times govern her own spirit was unfit to govern others. 
 The pen ? But Magdalene's life was all unlived, and what 
 had she to say ? Besides, she felt that much of the latent, 
 the undeveloped, but wild energy of her nature must be 
 broken or exhausted before she could sit down patiently day 
 after day, night after night, to study and to labor for distant 
 and doubtful success. The stage ? That had a potent fas- 
 cination fur the mind of the restless girl, and she dwelt 
 upon the idea in secret. She felt that Adam Hawk w >uld 
 be outraged, the Judge would be shocked, Mr. Hervey, 
 Helen, and Joseph scandalized, and Virginia deeply grieved 
 and mortified by such a proposition on her part. She 
 could, without remorse, have outraged Adam Hawk, shocked 
 Judge Washington, scandalized Mr. Hervey, Helen, and 
 Joseph ; but with all her independence, energy, and daring, 
 she could not find it in her heart to grieve and mortify the
 
 HALLOW EVK. 213 
 
 teuder-hearted girl ; this restrained her. The greatest ten- 
 derness is sometimes found united with the greatest strength, 
 and so it was in Magdalene. But her thoughtfulness deep- 
 ened into melancholy, her melancholy darkened into gloom 
 " I am a trouble and a discord here among my best friends 
 I must leave them. Better I should give Virginia one 
 short, sharp sorrow on rny departure, than live to be a con- 
 stant source of embarrassment and distress to her. As for 
 the rest were I ever so fit or so willing to be a teacher, the 
 blot upon my name would exclude me from success. No 1 
 1 am fit for nothing but the profession I have thought of. 
 And I know that, be its toils, its difficulties, its tempta- 
 tions, its dangers what they may, / can enter it and hold 
 my course in it as purely, as highly who knows ? perhaps 
 as eminently as the great and good Mrs. Siddons herself. 
 At least the profession suits me, and / suit it. I would 
 Virginia did not love me so." 
 
 So dreamed, and thought, and reasoned, and regretted 
 our troubled gipsy. But Virginia did love her " so," and 
 she watched her " so," and yet dared not speak to her again 
 upon the subject of her gloom, lest she should hear again 
 something about her wish to go away. No suspicion had 
 Virginia of the real wish and purpose of her sister. No, she 
 naturally supposed that if Magdalene wished to depart, it 
 would be to become a governess in some gentleman's family. 
 Judge Washington also noticed the dejection of Magda- 
 lene, and without suspecting her wish to leave the mansion- 
 house, but divining the cause of her pensiveness, his manner 
 to her became every day more kind, considerate, and affec- 
 tionate. Joseph also noticed it, and sought by every 
 delicate a^ention to assure her of his love and esteem. 
 
 But the eyes the mind the heart that watched Magda- 
 lene with the intensest interest, were those of which she 
 thought th' 'ast in the world, those of which she took no
 
 214 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 note at all those of Theodore Hervey, the son of the Rev. 
 Mr. Hervey, the brother of Helen, the college chum of 
 Joseph Carey. 
 
 Theodore Hervey had returned from college 10 spend his 
 vacations, at the time that Helen had left Prospect Hull 
 permanently. But Theodore and Helen were frequent 
 visitors at the mansion-house ; and all that he saw of 
 Magdalene Hawk there, and all that his sister told him of 
 her in their intimate conversations, but served to draw and 
 rivet his heart to our dark, stern girl. Theodore Hervey 
 was very much like his sister in form, features, and com- 
 plexion ; of a tall, slight, and elegant figure ; of pale, dark 
 complexion, and hollow features ; of shadowy eyes, and 
 shadowy hair, and that natural expression of profound, but 
 beautiful melancholy, peculiar to those predestined by the 
 love of the gods to an early grave, or foredoomed by the 
 hate of fiends to a violent and bloody death. 
 
 He was now reading theology with his father, pre- 
 paratory to entering Holy Orders. If now he was growing 
 to love and worship Magdalene, it was diffidently, silently, 
 reverently, and afar off; and his devotion was not suspected 
 by any one, least of all by its preoccupied object, among 
 whose restless thoughts, love and marriage had no share. 
 
 One day, late in the autumn, Virginia sought her grand- 
 father in his study, and requested his permission to invite a 
 a party of young people from the neighborhood to spend a 
 week or two at Prospect Hall, with a view, she said, of 
 amusing her dear sister, and raising her spirits. The 
 Judge, caressing his amiable child, gave his consent, hoping, 
 in bis secret heart, that the beauty, grace, and genius of his 
 young ward, Magdalene, might find such favor in the eyes 
 of their visitors as to induce them to revoke the sentence by 
 which she had been tacitly excluded from society. Very 
 happy in having gained her grandfather's consent to the
 
 HALLOW EVE. 215 
 
 party very merry in anticipation of the frolic, our impul- 
 sive child bounded away to consult Magdalene to make out 
 her list, and to begin her preparations. Helen and Theo- 
 dore Hervey, Broke Shields, the devoted cavalier of the 
 former, Viola and Violet Swan, the twin nieces of General 
 Mouutjoy, were put upon the list ; and to these, when they 
 were submitted to the Judge, he added the name of SIR 
 CLINTON CAREY. 
 
 "And who is he, dearest father?" inquired Virginia, 
 with surprise. 
 
 "Your mother's English cousin your second cousin, my 
 child I" replied the Judge. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I remember now to have heard of him 1" 
 
 " He has been making the tour of Europe, Asia, and a 
 part of Africa he has lived lately in Paris. He has just 
 come out to Virginia, and is now a guest of General 
 Monntjoy." 
 
 It was a warm, golden, refulgent autumn morning, when 
 Virginia and Magdalene left the wainscoted parlor at the 
 news that some one was coming, and stood in the vestibule 
 to receive their guests. And Virginia's radiant face and 
 joyous air proved the life and eagerness of her social 
 afi'ections. The fair twin sisters, Viola and Violet Swan in 
 advance. She clapped her hands softly, and exclaimed 
 
 " Here they come ! the beauties ! the fairies ! See how 
 their white horses fly ! Now they scud along, side by side ! 
 Now they spring apart ! Now they come together, meet- 
 ing softly as two white clouds ! Oh I the loves ! the 
 beauties ! look at them, Magdalene !" 
 
 Very well worth looking at they were those two fair 
 sisters so very fair so perfectly alike, that none but 
 their nearest relatives and most intimate associates could 
 tell them apart the " White Swans " they were called 
 from their name and their exceeding fairness by some,
 
 216 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Silver Swans, from their name, their fairness, and their 
 wealth. They were blondes of the snowy order like 
 themselves not of the snnuy sort, like Virginia. Virginia's 
 complexion was a blending of dazzling white with glowing 
 carnation, her eyes were brilliant ultra-marine blue, and 
 her ringlets a glistening red-gold. "The sisters" had fair, 
 soft complexions, with delicate, peach-blossom bloom ; with 
 clear, light blue eyes, and pale, yellow hair. Their motions 
 in guiding their horses were light, swift, smooth, and grace- 
 ful, and so simultaneous, that it seemed as though they 
 were actuated by the same soul. 
 
 " See, they have outridden Broke Shields but now he 
 comes up with them," said Ginnie, as she hastened down 
 the steps to meet them. 
 
 Magdalene lingered behind. She saw in those fair 
 sisters two girls, distant relatives of General Mountjoy, 
 who, without any claim upon him, occupied her own right- 
 ful place iii the home and heart of her grandfather. But 
 she noted this only as a fact only in passing without 
 one bitter feeling for our "Indian princess," with all her 
 great faults, was totally incapable of envy or jealousy. As 
 the sisters came up the steps, holding slightly up their light- 
 blue riding-habits, they bowed frigidly in acknowledgment 
 of Magdalene's salutation, and a cloud passed over the 
 sunshine of Virginia's countenance. Magdalene's brow 
 was unruffled serene not, alas, in meekness, but in pride. 
 Broke Shields gayly saluted her, as he sprung after his 
 cousins into the house; but he who came last Theodore 
 Hervey addressed her with profound respect, and drawing 
 her arm within his own, took her into the house. Blind 
 Magdalene ! But with her own heart untouched ; with her 
 mind preoccupied, what could she know or suspect of that 
 deep, unspoken love ? 
 
 The other guests of the little party, with one exception.
 
 HALLOW EVE. 217 
 
 assembled in the course of the day. But all with one 
 accord, though without preconcert, avoided Magdalene. 
 Perhaps this was in part Magdalene's own fault. Wrap- 
 ped in her pride and reserve, she had not shown that 
 courteous bearing to the visitors which they had a right to 
 expect from every member of their host's family. And 
 Magdalene had not done this, from a haughty aversion to 
 being suspected of courting society. 
 
 That evening, after an early tea, ihe girls dispersed to 
 their several chambers to dress for the drawing-room, for 
 there was to he an accession of company, for whose diver- 
 sion some scenes from Shakspeare were to be acted. Mag- 
 dalene sat before her glass, combing out her long, straight, 
 glossy black hair not unconscious of, or indifferent to, the 
 midnight beauty of her own countenance, or its stormy 
 power of expression. The promise of the child was richly 
 fulfilled in the woman, whose dark and splendid style of 
 beauty had its correspondences in night, in starlight, in 
 storms, in fire, in the fierce flashing and burning, or in the 
 beautiful languor and repose of the leopardess's counte- 
 nance. Magdalene bound her hair that, soft, and black, 
 and brilliant as herself, was also firm as herself in refusing 
 to twine its jetty locks into ringlets into large bands, that 
 divided about her majestic brow, and sweeping, like two 
 folds of glossy black satin, down each crimson cheek, were 
 twisted into a rich and heavy knot behind, confined by one 
 large golden pin. She wore a dark changeable brocade, 
 whose shades were black, and whose lights were crimson, 
 and without ornament, in this dark bright costume, that 
 suited well her Indian style, she went down into the draw- 
 ing-room. The apartment was, as yet, quite vacant, and 
 she stood musing before the fire. The glowing lights and 
 shadows of the drawing-room threw a richer, warmer, 
 brighter hue over the gorgeous picture of her beauty.
 
 218 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 She stood there musing, lost to all around her until a 
 voice at her side murmured, 
 
 " My cousin, Miss Virginia Washington, I presume ?" 
 
 Never had Magdalene heard tones so deep, so soft, yet 
 so clear as these. She raised her eyes to behold standing 
 before her a gentleman of princely presence and almost 
 godlike beauty. 
 
 "My cousin, Miss Washington, may I hope?" inquired 
 the stranger again. 
 
 Those tones, the most mellifluous she ever heard, and 
 coming from the most magnificent-looking man she ever 
 saw, thrilled upon her ear, reached her heart. But nothing 
 of this impromptu admiration, involuntary worship, was 
 visible. With serene courtesy she replied : 
 
 " Miss Washington has not yet left her own apartment 
 for the evening. I believe I have the pleasure of first wel- 
 coming Sir Clinton Carey to Prospect Hall ?" 
 
 The superb stranger bowed and smiled with stately grace 
 and graciousness, his air and manner at the same time pay- 
 ing the involuntary tribute of admiration to the beautiful 
 girl with whom he spoke. 
 
 " Will you be seated, Colonel Carey ?" inquired Magda- 
 lene, with a slight move of her hand toward an arm-chair. 
 
 Again he bowed low, nor were the dark, brilliant eyes, 
 eloquent with respectful admiration, withdrawn, until he 
 said: 
 
 " I have the honor of seeing " 
 
 " Magdalene Hawk, Miss Washington's dame-du-com- 
 pagnie," replied our girl, with the slightest perceptible taste 
 of irony in her words. 
 
 The gracious brow of the august stranger clouded, and 
 with a grave bend of the head, he sat down. 
 
 Light footsteps on the stairs light laughter in the pas- 
 sages merry voices at the door, and the girls were a?ll in
 
 HALLOW EVE. 219 
 
 the drawing-room. Judge Washington was among them 
 Perceiving and at once advancing to his new guest, he in- 
 troduced him to the company. Last of all, he presented 
 him to Virginia, whose radiant beauty that evening was 
 brought out dazzlingly by the contrast of her dark maza- 
 rine-blue satin dress. Magdalene saw, without seeming to 
 see, every thing. She saw him address Virginia, the blend- 
 ing profound respect with ardent admiration, the same 
 chivalrous gallantry that distinguished his manner when 
 first addressing herself. She saw him sink into a seat by 
 the side of Virginia with an air of majestic indolence, and 
 let his haughty eye rove over the assembled company with 
 an expression of weary scorn, passing her form as if, like 
 Rachel's children, she "were not." And she saw that, 
 for not one in that room or house, did he seem to feel the 
 slightest regard, except for his cousin Virginia, because, 
 probably, she was his cousin by his mother's side. And Vir< 
 ginia, benevolent, social, lively, and gracious to all, was gra- 
 cious to him as well. Magdalene had never seen such an 
 incarnation of sovereign self-sufficing pride, as this magnifi- 
 cent Englishman presented. And it had a strong attraction 
 for a nature like hers. And oh, prophetic wisdom of the 
 heart, hidden mystery of the spirit ! how was it that, over- 
 looked by his arrogance, she yet knew herself, of all that 
 company, to be the only one who really engaged his seem- 
 ingly idle thoughts, as she felt too certainly that he absorbed 
 her own ? What instinct was it now that caused her to 
 rejoice that her theatrical projects had never been broached 
 to any one, far less put into execution ? What instinct was 
 it that prompted her to forego her purpose of assisting at 
 the dramatic entertainment of the present evening ? lie 
 who reads the secrets of the heart, knew ; Magdalene did 
 not surmise. 
 
 Early in the evening, dramatic scenes from Shakspeare
 
 ii20 THE TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 were first faintly, then eagerly and vociferously called for 
 by the young people. There was a general rising, a gene- 
 ral pushing back of chairs, and clearing of a space in front 
 of the curtained arch that divided the saloon as folding- 
 doors do now ; and Broke Shields, who seemed to consider 
 himself Master of Ceremonies, called out : 
 
 " Scene, Macbeth Act I., Scene V. Lady Macbeth 
 Macbeth ;" and, going gayly up to Magdalene, who, with 
 him, had been appointed to enact the scene, he stopped 
 short, put his laugh to a violent death, assumed his tragedy 
 face, and, with rnock gravity, offered his arm to lead Mag- 
 dalene to her place. But gently and firmly Magdalene 
 declined taking an active part in the amusement. And, 
 despite his surprise, his displeasure, rising at last to aston- 
 ishment and indignation, Magdalene was immovable. 
 
 He left her, and, crest-fallen, went up to Virginia. 
 
 " The vengeance of it is, that /am thrown out of office, 
 /should not care at all whether she played or not, if 1 
 could play. But the diabolism of it is that, with this ban- 
 dit's face of mine, I can play nothing but Macbeth, nor 
 thai without her, to galvanize me into a little devilism. 
 
 'Did time, place, and circumstance adhere ' 
 
 5t would be a relief to swear just now." 
 
 Virginia placed her hand upon his lips with childish 
 familiarity, and saying some soothing, coaxing words to 
 comfort him, bade him call the Tempest, Act III., Scene I. f 
 in which she and Joseph would do their best to discredit 
 themselves, and amuse the company, as Miranda and Fer- 
 dinand. 
 
 Magdalene had seen all this, also ; she had seen the bril- 
 liant eyes of Sir Clinton Carey fixed on her in approval, 
 but withdrawn the instant they were met. She saw now a 
 cloud overshadow the arrogant splendor of his countenance
 
 HALLOW KVE. 221 
 
 as Virginia, with a quick apology, sprang away from his 
 side, flashed like a sunbeam through the room, and took 
 her place on the stage, across which Joseph already bore 
 a log. Soon, however, his brow resumed its majestic im- 
 mobility. 
 
 And Theodore Hervey was at Magdalene's side, looking 
 at her with his large, dark, melancholy eyes, murmuring to 
 her in his low, love-tuned voice and calling her attention 
 to Virginia, who, with her beauty and grace, and some 
 genius for the sport, and much gentle affection for the Fer- 
 dinand of the evening, was getting through the part with 
 great success. 
 
 Two things Magdalene noticed during the course of the 
 evening that Sir Clinton never seemed to see her again, 
 and that, in leading Virginia to supper, he had said, in 
 reply to a gay question of Virginia's, and in a voice of cold 
 rebuke 
 
 " Scarcely an accomplishment in which I should expect 
 to see my cousin Virgina a proficient." 
 
 The next day, after breakfast, as it was very fine weatner. 
 a sail upon the bay was proposed and unanimously agreed 
 upon, and the whole party set out Sir Clinton escorting 
 Virginia, and effectually separating her from other com- 
 panionship. And Virginia chatted and laughed in girlish 
 glee, quite unmindful of his majestic displeasure. Magda- 
 lene was of the party, attended this time by Joseph, whose 
 earnest brow wore now such an impress of sorrow, that 
 Virginia, seeing it, abruptly left her august relative, and 
 sitting by Joseph, laid her hands on his, and looked up in 
 his eyes, with oh ! such a look of unutterable tenderness 
 and sympathy in her searching gaze of inquiry ; and Joseph 
 took and pressed those two little soft hands together, be- 
 tween his ov r n, and returned that look of profound and
 
 222 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 unspeakable love, and they did not think of others in the 
 boat, and they did not see Sir Clinton Carey's eyes fixed 
 with haughty surprise upon the act of Joseph. But Mag- 
 dalene saw this, and she saw Sir Clinton saunter a.vay to 
 the other end of the vessel, and join Judge Washington, 
 and enter into an earnest conversation with him. Tlieir 
 glances were frequently directed to Virginia and Joseph, who 
 sat there quite happy, and unconscious of being observed. 
 
 The third day, being very beautiful, an equestrian excur- 
 sion was proposed, and accepted by all the company. 
 Joseph had always been the attendant of Virginia in all her 
 riding expeditions ; but now, just before they were about 
 to set out, Judge Washington called him, and placing his 
 hand upon his shoulder, affectionately begged him to remain, 
 and pass the forenoon with him in his library, where he 
 very much needed his assistance in the arrangement of some 
 business. 
 
 The fourth day was spent at home, but Joseph was sent 
 to the county town on business, and remained away three 
 or four days, during which Virginia's high spirits gradually 
 sunk ; and when Sir Clinton Carey gravely demanded the 
 reason of her pensiveness, she answered, without the least 
 reserve, 
 
 "No, I am not happy. I never was so far from being so, 
 for I never was separated a day from my brother before, and 
 now he has been gone three days, and I feel so lost I" aud 
 Ginnie burst into tears, and ran away. 
 
 That afternoon, however, Joseph returned, and brought 
 back Ginriie's smiles and glee. And as the little party of 
 girls was sitting around the fire that night, talking, aiuong 
 other things, of the superstitious observances, and the love- 
 spells of Halloween, Ginnie laughingly proposed that they 
 should each test the efficacy of a potent charm to invoke a 
 night vision of future destiny, and an image of the future
 
 T H K VISION OF MAGDALENE. 223 
 
 life-long partner. This proposition was received with accla- 
 mation by all present, except Magdalene Hawk, whose 
 serious refusal drew from Ginnie the merry sally, 
 
 " Do you know, girls, that Lena, who is not afraid of any 
 thing in the visible world, has a vague terror of the 
 spiritual ?" 
 
 But then Ginnie put her arms around Magdalene's neck, 
 and placed her rosy lips to Magdalene's cheek, and pre- 
 vailed ; and Magdalene, like the others, would lift her sacri- 
 legious hand to the curtain of the Future, to draw it and 
 reveal its mysteries. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE VISION OF MAGDALENE. 
 
 " A horrid spectre rises to my sight 
 Close by my side, and plain and palpable, 
 In all good seeking and close circumstance, 
 As man meets man." Joanna Baillie. 
 
 " Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with \"S/iakspcare. 
 
 LET those who have studied the "Night side of Nature,' 
 and believe in the "Rochester Rappings," account for the 
 developments of this chapter for I shall not attempt to 
 though the story is the best authenticated of all the ghost 
 stories T ever heard. Let the unimaginative set it down at 
 once as a " singular coincidence." I only insist upon it 
 truth.
 
 224 THE WO SISTERS. 
 
 Magdalene entered the breakfast-parlor with her usual 
 reserved expression of countenance and perfect repose of 
 manner but, for the first time in her life, pale. Virginia 
 was already there. It was Virginia's week to superintend 
 the housekeeping, and she was now arranging the breakfast 
 table, and one maid-servant and a boy were in attendance 
 upon her. As Magdalene entered, Virginia looked up by 
 an involuntary impulse, the eyes, the thoughts of the two 
 young girls met both smiled, but it was with sickly smiles. 
 Virginia turned and dismissed her two assistants. They 
 were alone, and Virginia was pale and agitated. 
 
 "I I had really a very bad dream last night, and it it 
 has shaken my nervous system dreadfully. I I am truly 
 ashamed of my nervousness this morinng, Lena," faltered 
 Virginia, with another faint smile, as she dropped into a 
 chair by the corner of the fireplace. 
 
 " What was your dream ?" inquired Magdalene, standing 
 on the rug, and resting her brow against the mantel-piece. 
 
 " Oh I quite a 'raw head and bloody bones' affair such 
 as might be told to frighten children with, and I am nothing 
 better than a child," she replied shuddering. 
 
 " Tell me about it," said Magdalene, in the same even 
 tone, and with the same moveless attitude. 
 
 Virginia paused, turned paler, trembled, recovered her- 
 self, and proceeded, 
 
 " At first my dream was fair, very fair, and all was fresh 
 and sweet, and bright and joyous in Summer landscapes, 
 where I wandered with one I 10ved dearly. I was, besides, 
 very, very happy, I know not why or wherefore, for nothing 
 is distinctly traced upon my memory, but the impression 
 remains very beautiful. Then, suddenly, as the rising of a 
 thunder-storm upon a Summer's day, all was instantly 
 changed ! All was mystically dark and clouded, and 
 troubled and threatening ; and I was besides very, very
 
 THE V 1 S I O X OF ii A G D A L K N K . 225 
 
 wretched I know not why or wherefore ; again, nothing is 
 distinctly traced on my memory, but the impression remains 
 very wretched. Suddenly, it seemed, the lightning flashed, 
 the thunder rolled, and I sprang up in my bed with my 
 heart violently palpitating, to see only my quiet chamber 
 with its blue hangings, and my dawn window, with the full 
 moon shining peacefully through it, and the glistening snow 
 on the plains without ; but while I looked, the door that 
 connects your chamber with mine, swung noiselessly open, 
 and a tall, dark man, of exceeding grace and majesty of 
 form, slowly advanced into the room, crossed the floor, and 
 in turning again faced me ! I saw not his features plainly, 
 for oh, horror ! a ghastly crash drove in his forehead, and 
 the blood in thick turbid streams crawled down his cheeks 
 and dropped upon his chest. He seemed to regard me 
 with profound sorrow a moment before he slowly, mourn- 
 fully disappeared. A deadly faintness seized me, there was 
 numbness in all my flesh, a rushing sound in my ears, the 
 room swam before me, and I sank into insensibility. When 
 1 came to myself, or rather when I awoke for I consider 
 all this to have beeu a dream of course the night was far 
 advanced, and the beautiful dawn that I like so to watch, 
 was slowly smiling up the horizon beautiful awakening 
 from a frightful dream ! But sweet Heaven ! Magdalene ! 
 Magdalene ! what ails you ? You are as pale as ashes ! 
 You are fainting, Magdalene ! Oh, I must call some 
 one !" exclaimed Virginia, as she caught the falling form 
 of her sister, and rested her in the chair. " I must call 
 some one !" 
 
 " No, no ! no, no ! do not ! There I have recovered, 
 you see !" said Magdalene, dashing her hands twice or 
 thrice across her brow, and sitting up. 
 
 " Was it my dream that frightened you so ? You who 
 are not afraid of any thing ? :>
 
 226 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " It was no dream ! It was a VISION I" 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear Lena !" 
 
 " It was a VISION ! It was a VISION ! /, even I saw the 
 same ! the same in every leading feature ! I, too, had- the 
 dream, first of beanty and of glory ; but instead of wander- 
 ing in Summer gardens with one I loved, I stood with one 
 I worshiped, in a magnificent palace, resplendent with 
 every thing that wealth and genius and luxury could gather, 
 to create a terrestrial paradise ; but beyond and above 
 this, I felt proud and joyous, with a consciousness of inborn 
 strength, and energy, and determination, that should com- 
 mand for me success, power, dominion ! When, suddenly, 
 all was changed ! not as in your dream, by a Summer 
 thunder-gust, tempestuous but renovating no ! but by a 
 CONFLAGRATION ! bright, dazzling, awfully sublime ! illumi- 
 nating a' city with terrific splendor ! but devastating ! 
 destructive 1 desolating ! leaving a desert of charred and 
 blackened ruins ! and beside and below all this, I felt fallen 
 and despairing, with the consciousness of an overwhelming 
 defeat. Then, with the hot rush of a burning flame of fire ! 
 with the terrible rush of a fiend about to catch my soul to 
 perdition ! came the awful shock that thundered me from 
 sleep ! I bounded I sprang up ! with my heart in a death 
 pause ! and an icy sweat beaded upon my brow ! to see my 
 room, closed up and dark, but for the lurid red light of 
 smoldering fire in the chimney to see ! the same tall, 
 dark, awfully beautiful form with majestic but blood- 
 streaming brow, and uplifted hands, stride toward me, with 
 vengeful and denouncing gestures ! / did not tremble, 
 or faint, or turn my gaze away ! my eyes were fascinated to 
 gaze upon that horrid form until " She paused every 
 vestige of color left her face ; it grew white as that of 
 the dead ; shudder after shudder convulsed her form- 
 she remained silent.
 
 THE VISION OF MAGDALENE. 227 
 
 Virginia's emotions were quicker and more frequent, but 
 not so deep, so powerful, or so lasting, as those of the 
 sterner Magdalene ; she too trembled, but was the first to 
 recover and speak. 
 
 "Dear Mag, be composed ; such dreams are frightful, I 
 know, and they shake our nerves very much; but as we 
 know they are but dreams, we should not permit them to 
 afl'e( t our minds." 
 
 " It was a vision a PROPHETIC VISION !" said Magdalene, 
 as though the words had leaped from her white lips without 
 her consent. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear Mag, you will laugh at this next 
 week ! Come, tell me the rest, and then let us forget our 
 folly and our dream." 
 
 " It was a VISION ! and never, never can I tell you how 
 that vision ended which curdles my very blood with horror 
 but to think of it !" 
 
 " You, my dear, dear Mag ! ray Indian princess ! my 
 Semiramis ! my Joan D'Arc ! you, my martial and heroic 
 Meg ! your hot blood congeal at the vision of a spectre in 
 a dream I Why, even cowardly little me, who gets scared 
 if a bull-dog flies out at me, or a horse runs away with me 
 even /, if the grim Enemy himself stood bodily before 
 me, after the first shock, and the little reverberating quiver- 
 ing was over, I should cross myself, and ask him what he 
 wanted 1" 
 
 " Yet you fainted." 
 
 " No, dear Lena, I dreamed I fainted it was all a dream.'' 
 
 " It was a VISION ! and you you tremble now I" 
 
 " Ah, dear Mag, it is only my weak nerves, you know. 
 My nerves are a great deal weaker than yours for yours 
 are not weak at all, they are strong, immovable or I 
 never saw them moved till now and that astonishes me so ; 
 but for me, if a door claps I start and tremble, yet I know
 
 22$ THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 there is no danger ; even so now, I shudder at the recol- 
 lection of my dream, though I know that it meant no- 
 thing." 
 
 " It was prophetic!" 
 
 " It was pickled oysters." 
 
 " It was prophetic ."' 
 
 " Nay, then, dear Mag, if you speak so solemnly, I must 
 reply as gravely. Seriously, then, I do not believe in 
 dreams, signs, omens, apparitions, or presentiments ; and 
 neither nightmare nor remarkable coincidence can inspire 
 me with any faith in them." 
 
 "Yet wherever belief in God, or a saving faith in the 
 Devil has been professed ; wherever the existence of a sur- 
 rounding spiritual world of good and of evil has been felt 
 there has been confessed more or less faith in dreams, omens, 
 auguries, presentiments, and visions." 
 
 "Yes, and other errors, superstitions, and falsehoods." 
 
 " Faith in these things is more widely diffused than faith 
 in the Christian religion itself!" 
 
 " So has all evil been, alas !" 
 
 " I wish you could shake my belief in presentiments and 
 visions." 
 
 " I would that I could build up your faith in God. Do 
 you know, Magdalene, that if I had rnarvelousness enough 
 to believe in these things, and to have my mind disturbed 
 by them, what 1 would do ?" 
 
 " No that is what I should like to know." 
 
 "There is one great means to every good end." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 "One absolute sovereign, God one sure agent, prayer!'' 
 
 " Prayer!" 
 
 : Yes, prayer. There is no evil so great or so small 
 from the overwhelming calamity that prostrat.es all the 
 strength of mind and body, to the absurd hallucination
 
 THE VISION OF MAGDALENE. 229 
 
 that seems too trifling and ridiculous to excite the pity of 
 the most charitable friend ; no evil that annoys any crea- 
 ture of God's, that may not be cured, or alleviated, or sanc- 
 tified by prayer. Prayer is the universal remedy." 
 " But if one has not faith to pray ?" 
 " Prayer is the remedy even for that great evil. Listen. 
 
 Faith is the gift of God,' 'Ask and ye shall receive.' If 
 one sits in such darkness that they cannot see God, they 
 can at least grope for him, and the very groping will dis- 
 perse the shadows, and all will grow clear and light ; they 
 can at least invoke the ' Unknown God,' and him they ig- 
 norantly worship shall be declared to them ; and this God 
 is the one great treasurer of the Universe, who ' possesseth 
 all things,' and ' who giveth freely to those that ask him.' 
 
 Faith is the gift of God,' and this gift once obtained should 
 be cherished as the one great means to every good end. I 
 am not superstitious, I do not believe in the presentiments, 
 signs and omens, dreams, visions, and apparitions that 
 trouble some imaginations so much and, candidly and 
 seriously speaking, neither do I despise and reject them. 
 In all ages and all nations of the earth they have re- 
 ceived some credence ; faith in them, some faith, has per- 
 vaded literature, and even religion, while philosophy her- 
 self, with all her cool truths and hard facts and subtle logic, 
 has not been able to refute and overthrow them. The 
 Scriptures themselves say that we war ' not with flesh and 
 blood (only), but with powers and principalities of dark- 
 ness.' We know also that the spiritual world lies all around 
 us, with its benign or malignant influences acting upon our 
 souls and destinies ; we know that some human being?, from 
 a purer organization, are more susceptible of spiritual influ- 
 ences for good or evil than others. If I were superstitious, 
 however if this singular coincidence of our fearful dream, 
 after having startled my nerves from their proprietv. cim-
 
 230 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 tinned to oppress my mind, I would recollect that there is 
 ONE Supreme Ruler of the Universe, Lord of Angels and 
 Archangels, and Lord also of the evil and revolted spirits, 
 and I would call on him to avert the evil, and I should feel 
 comforted and cheered, knowing that I was safe under the 
 shadow of my Father's omnipotent throne." 
 
 " Might would He not avert the evil without your 
 prayer ?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe so ! all evil that would not be ultimate 
 if any such case can be; but then He has permitted us to 
 pray to him ; prayer renews our faith, hope, and courage." 
 
 " Dear Ginnie, dear child, you sweet, solemn little seraph ! 
 if you cannot cure, you will at least console me. Dear, 
 gentle Ginnie, how I love you 1" 
 
 "And I you, Lena!" 
 
 "Oh, Ginnie! It has gone, Ginnie the cloud! Oh, 
 Ginnie, it is thus oftener with me than you think. Some- 
 times in the midst of the brightest, warmest sunshine of the 
 heart, a cloud suddenly oversweeps my soul, and all is cold- 
 ness and darkness and terror ; and sometimes the cloud de- 
 scends in a shower of tears, and sometimes it is dispersed by 
 a sun-burst of love, as now, my Ginnie, all is clear and 
 b r ight, and glad, and hopeful." 
 
 They were interrupted by the entrance of two servants, 
 one bearing a waiter, upon which the hot coffee and choco- 
 late steamed, and the other bringing a larger one, upon 
 which hot rolls, muffins, Virginia corn-pone, and various 
 meats were placed. Ginnie left Magdalene's side to super- 
 intend the " plummet-and-line" arrangement of the dishes, 
 and then gave orders for the second bell to he rung, which 
 soon brought in all the other members of the family, as well 
 as all their guests. The morning meal was a very joyous 
 one, notwithstanding the fact that the visitors were to de-
 
 THE VISION OF MAGDALENE. 231 
 
 part immediately after breakfast. The girls jested with 
 each other about the fate-spell. They would insist upon 
 hearing whether Giunie had been visited by a prophetic 
 vision ; but Ginnie laughed her gay silvery laugh, and 
 shaking all her bright ringlets, declared that she had seen 
 the identical spectre, which 
 
 " Drew Priam's curtains at the dead of night." 
 
 And then the butterfly fancies of the volatile girls flew off 
 to something else; and soon after they arose from the table 
 and dispersed to prepare for their hasty rides home ; and 
 this was the more necessary that the sky was slightly over- 
 cast, and a light soft snow, which might increase, was be- 
 ginning to fall. With many a laugh and gay caress, and 
 affectionate invitation, they bade adieu to Virginia. In 
 two hours the house was clear of guests, if we except Sir 
 Clinton Carey, who seemed now an inmate. 
 
 " I do love a snowy day once in a while, so much ! It 
 keeps everybody together around the fire and it gives one 
 an excuse for a very rich and spicy soup for dinner. And 
 I particularly like the snowy day to-day, for it will keep 
 everybody away, and I am going to be so busy," said Ginnie, 
 as she laughingly kissed her hand to the fireside circle and 
 sprang through the door. 
 
 Ginnie was eagaged in household cares all the forenoon. 
 Dinner was to be ordered as usual. Then the whole house, 
 lately in state for company, and now vacated by the visitors, 
 was to be restored to its normal condition. The guest- 
 chambers were to be visited the white Marseilles quilts and 
 toilette-covers, and the rich elaborate Aurilla nettings and 
 valances, were to be taken off, aired, folded with dry lav- 
 ender twigs, and laid away in the large chests of the linen- 
 room ; and bright scarlet white and green plaid yarn counter- 
 panes, of domestic manufacture, and home-made hanging
 
 i>32 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 and covers were to replace them. And then the guest- 
 chambers were to be shut up. And then the saloon was to 
 be visited furniture covered, lamps and chandeliers 
 shrouded, pictures and mirrors vailed, and the apartment 
 closed. Finally, it was one o'clock their old-fashioned 
 dinner-hour before Ginnie finished her task, drew off her 
 sheep-skin mittens, changed her dress, and took her place 
 at the head of the dinner-table, where the party consisted 
 only of the Judge, Sir Clinton, Magdalene, and Joseph. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE EVENING FIRESIDE. 
 
 " Now stir the fire, and clone the shutters fast. 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round ; 
 And while the bubbling and loud-hissing nrn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups 
 That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, 
 So let us welcome peaceful evening in." Coioper. 
 
 THE lines above were aptly quoted by Ginnie, as sne 
 busied herself with preparing the wainscoted parlor for 
 the evening circle. She was not quite alone. Joseph was 
 with her, but under the spell of a gloom so profound as to 
 resist all her gay and gentle efforts at enlivening him. 
 
 "I like Covvper best of all poets," she said, as after 
 having adjusted the cushions of a settee, she settled herself 
 upon it. " I like Cowper best of all poets, because he is so 
 downright domestic and natural ; he has immortalized fire- 
 sides, sofas, and tea ; newspapers, needles, and embroidery 
 every thing that is cosy, comfortable, and familiar. You
 
 THE EVENING FIRESIDE. 233 
 
 and Lena may like Milton, Byron, and Shakspeare, and 
 glory in the wars of angels and fiends, with the infinity of 
 space for a battle-field, and the throne of the universe for a 
 stake ; or you may revel amid night-storms on the Alps 
 and giaours, and corsairs, and conflagrations ; or you may 
 enjoy yourselves in the company of humpback assassins, 
 female demons, and poor old murdered kings ; or lose your- 
 selves in any of the grand visions of the sublime poets ; but 
 I, for my part, love sensible Mr. Cowper, who knew how to 
 appreciate cozy parlor comforts !" 
 
 Not a word from Josey, who stood upon the rug, leaning 
 his brow against the chimney-piece, and gazing down into 
 the fire. Ginnie looked at him keenly, and resumed her 
 conversation. 
 
 "I think, however, that with all my favorite's charms, he 
 was himself a laughable commentary on discontented peo- 
 ple." 
 
 Joseph feeling that this little gibe was intended for his 
 benefit, asked, without lifting up his head, 
 
 " In what manner ?" 
 
 " Come, sit by me, Josey, and I will tell you. There 
 that is my dear brother ! now smile away that cloud from 
 your brow ; if you don't, I'll send for the laundry-maid, and 
 make her sprinkle and iron the wrinkles out of your fore- 
 head. So, now, this dear Mr. Cowper, this first of poets, 
 in my humble estimation, notwithstanding his delightful 
 home, his beautiful garden, his cozy parlor, and his high 
 appreciation, his exquisite, his ineffable enjoyment of such 
 comforts and luxuries, and the luscious gusto with which he 
 dwells upon them in his verse, this discontented Mr. Cow- 
 per delivers himself in this strain : 
 
 ' Oh ! for a lodge in same vast wildf.rness; 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade,' etc. 
 
 Now, what do you think of thai for disconteut ? Having
 
 234 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 no comfort or luxury to wish for in his home, he wants a 
 lodge in the wilderness. For my part, I think he ought to 
 have been sent across the desert as a lesson. And now 
 what ought to be done with my brother, who, despite all I 
 can do to make him happy, looks so sad ?" 
 
 Joseph smiled in answer, and laid his hand affectionately 
 on her glistening head ; but, oh, it was such a pensive 
 smile ! Virginia, leaning toward him, placed both hands 
 upon his shoulders, and looked up into his eyes with a gaze 
 of such deep, unutterable affection. Joseph passed his arm 
 around her waist, stooped, and pressed his lips upon her 
 brow, as she dropped her head upon his bosom. So they 
 remained a moment, although the sound of approaching 
 footsteps were heard, and Sir Clinton Carey, followed by 
 the Judge, entered the parlor. Slowly then their arras un- 
 locked, and they separated. 
 
 " Where is Magdalene ?" inquired the deep, rich tones 
 of the Judge, as he dropped into his large, easy chair. 
 
 He was answered by the entrance of Magdalene herself. 
 Sir Clinton had taken the seat on the sofa by the side of 
 Virginia, vacated by Joseph, who remained standing by 
 the centre-table. 
 
 Virginia had a plan for that evening's amusement. She 
 wished, at the first favorable moment, to ask Magdalene to 
 read, for the entertainment of the company, a portion of 
 the new poem of Sir Walter Scott, Marmion. This she 
 desired for two purposes : to bring out the fine elocution of 
 her sister, and to enforce on the latter the argument of the 
 morning's homily by the moral of the evening's entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 So, after a little chat about the heavy fall of snow, etc., 
 taking advantage of the first dead pause, Virginia pro- 
 posed the reading of a portion of Marmion, and selected 
 the Vision of Dun Eden's Cross. The proposition was
 
 THE EVENING FIRESIDE. 235 
 
 readily acceded to by the little circle, and Magdalene in- 
 vited to become the reader. Magdalene took the book with 
 an involuntary air of proud indolence, and commenced read- 
 ing ; but soon the high, heroic tone of the sentiment, the 
 martial measure of the rythm aroused her enthusiasm, and 
 forgetting pride and scorn, forgetting self and others, she 
 threw her whole soul, with all its strength, fire, and de- 
 Btructiveness into the subject. 
 
 When she had done reading, the book dropped gently 
 on her lap, and she remained still absorbed, lost in the 
 vision, unconscious of the observation of those around her, 
 unconscious that the look of one who had scarcely deigned 
 to see her since their first meeting was fixed with interest 
 upon her. For an instant only she remained thus, for 
 Magdalene had the faculty of sure if not quick self-recovery. 
 
 "Now tell us, Virginia," said the Judge, "why you 
 chose that, by no means the best part of the poem ?" asked 
 the Judge, turning to Ginnie. 
 
 " Why, for this reason, father : because I liked it best. 
 I have no gift for grandeur ; but I do like something new 
 and hopeful, like De Wilton's onslaught upon predestined 
 fate just there. It is quite different from any thing else we 
 read in that line. I do think that, generally, poets, drama- 
 tists, novelists, and tale-writers, often quite thoughtlessly 
 cause a great deal of unnecessary misery to such of their 
 readers as may be naturally given to superstition." 
 
 " How, Virginia ?" inquired the Judge, who loved to 
 hear the little Mentor talk, when she so far forgot herself 
 as to do it. 
 
 " How, Virginia ?" also inquired Joseph, earnestly. 
 
 " Why, by seizing the dark superstitions of the earth 
 for artistic purposes, and endowing them with infallibility." 
 
 " As, for instance ?" 
 
 " Ju novels, poems, plays, all omeus, dreams, visions, ore-
 
 236 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 sentiments, etc., are prophetic, and all prophecies fulfilled ; 
 thus these superstitions, endorsed by the authority of great 
 minds, impress very forcibly feeble ones, or even strong 
 ones that happen to be very imaginative, and seriously 
 affect their happiness. I know it from myself, and from 
 one who loves me ; from myself, because I was from novels 
 and poems impressed with the feeling rather than the 
 opinion that presentiments had to be fulfilled, until real 
 life taught me that no presentiment of mine ever meant 
 any thing, as I ne,ver had one justified by the event in my 
 life." 
 
 " Had you ever a presentiment, Virginia ?" asked the 
 Judge, smiling. 
 
 " Oh yes, father !" 
 
 " Oh ! let's hear it," said Sir Clinton. 
 
 "Why, even before the epidemic reached our plantation, I 
 had a painful secret conviction, that if it should visit us, I 
 myself, should be among its first victims. I felt as nearly 
 convinced, in my own mind, as any one could be of an 
 error, and above all, I thought that this being a presenti- 
 ment, was obliged to be fulfilled. I even made a little 
 memorandum of my small personal effects, with the names 
 of those to whom I wished to leave them, and locked it up 
 in ray writing-desk. Nevertheless though I thought I was 
 going to die, I did not wish to, and I recollected that our 
 Lord was above every thing, and could reverse fate, even 
 fore-ordained fate, and so I prayed that I might not die, 
 but that I might live the handmaiden of the Lord on earth 
 and so I did live, as yon see. Besides, I have had other 
 presentiments, and forebodings, and dreams, and evil omens, 
 and never, in any instance, had them justified by what fol- 
 lowed so, at last, life has delivered me from the power of 
 the dark superstitions into which poetry and romance had 
 led me. Bu* I do wonder, among the many objectious,
 
 THE EVENING FIRESIDE. 237 
 
 rational and irrational, that are made to romances, this 
 never should have been advanced !" 
 
 " What do you say to all this, my Queen of Night ?" 
 inquired the Judge, turning smilingly to Magdalene. 
 
 "I think that the prophetic Vision of Dun Eden's Cross 
 was very fearfully fulfilled on the fatal field of Flodden." 
 
 " So it was, in every instance, except mark you, Mag- 
 dalene except in case of the faithful De Wilton, who, when 
 the phantom herald 
 
 'Thundered forth a roll of names.' 
 
 Ending with 
 
 ' De Wilton erst of Aberlay,' 
 
 citing them to appear before the final tribunal ; De Wilton 
 replies, 
 
 ' Thy fatal summons I deny, 
 And thine infernal lord defy, 
 Appealing me to One on High 
 Who burst the sinner's chain.' 
 
 Now mark the result, Magdalene : 
 
 'At that dread accent, vrith a scream, 
 Parted the pageant like a dream ; 
 The summoner was gone /' 
 
 The moral of all of whih is, Meg, that the Lord is above 
 the fiend." 
 
 " Which means," smiled the Judge, patting Ginnie's 
 glistening red hair, "that the Lord's above the fiend, an 
 observation equally profound and original, my little 
 moralizer !" 
 
 " Ah, father, at least, some folks have to be reminded of 
 some of its applications every day," replied Ginnie, shak- 
 ing the aforesaid red head at her father. 
 
 Conversation now took a lighter tone, and became gen- 
 eral. Virginia was the life principle of that little group
 
 238 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 around the tire, as she was of every circle, great or small, in 
 which she chanced to be. Magdalene sat apart, half iu 
 shadow, and in her usual attitude of calm dignity, very 
 still, yet with the sense of a new life, half of pain, half of 
 pleasure, stirring in her heart. The little circle separated 
 at an early hour. 
 
 Sir Clinton Carey remained at Prospect Hall during the 
 next two months. He became the constant companion, or 
 rather the vigilant supervisor and protector of Virginia, for 
 his manner toward our ardent and volatile child was rather 
 magisterial and paternal for so young a gentleman so that 
 the brightness, freshness, and elasticity of our Ginriie, some- 
 times faded, withered and drooped under the shadow of his 
 wing and then again with a light spring of her tiny foot 
 and stately head, she would escape from him and run, romp, 
 or rant by the hour. Joseph 1 superceded, lonely Joseph, 
 fell deeper into trouble every day, and frequently when the 
 gloom was deepest and darkest on his brow, Ginnie, no 
 matter who might be present, would go to him, stand by 
 him, place her hands upon his shoulder, and lean her bright 
 head down upon him with such an air of affection, reliance, 
 fidelity 1 Joseph, at such times, would occasionally pass 
 his arm around her and press her to his bosom, but more 
 frequently always when others were present, he would 
 gently put her from him, and leave the room. Magdalene ! 
 Slowly, strongly, as every other passion or emotion had 
 ever arisen in her soul, flowed in the mighty tide of a first 
 and all absorbing love.
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 "Of manners gentle, of affections mild, 
 In wisdom man, in innocence a child." Pop*. 
 
 JOSEPH CAREY confined himself almost exclusively to the 
 library, perseveringly endeavoring to concentrate all the 
 faculties of his mind upon the study of the law. "Bringing 
 to the task an intellect of the highest order, having for a 
 master so eminent a lawyer as Judge Washington, his 
 prospects for success in his profession were very great. 
 Perhaps had he felt free to choose, the court-house would 
 never have been the chosen place of his labor. Perhaps 
 the church might have been more congenial to his tempera- 
 ment. But his patron had suggested the law, and at once 
 Joseph perceived that this was the most convenient profes- 
 sion that the Judge could bestow upon him, since it caused 
 no expense of college education, boarding, books, etc. It 
 required nothing but library room, with a little occasional 
 verbal teaching on the part of his benefactor, while, the 
 good conferred upon himself at so little cost was immense. 
 Besides, this plan gave Joseph the opportunity of mani- 
 festing his gratitude by performing for the Judge the duties 
 of private secretary, and out-door man of business. Last 
 oh ! not least, this arrangement retained Joseph still 
 under the roof with Virginia the fondly, madly, hopelessly 
 beloved ! 
 
 Joseph's relations to his patron, from earliest childhood, 
 had been of such a filial character, that it never occurred 
 
 (230)
 
 240 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 to the poor boy to look upon himself as a nameless and 
 penniless dependent. His feelings toward Virginia had 
 been from their earliest infancy of so paternal a nature, that 
 the vast distance between their social positions, did not 
 suggest itself to his mind until the era of manhood revealed 
 to him that the very vital fibres of his heart were indissolubly 
 eternally, fatally entwined with those of the partner of his 
 cradle, the companion of his childhood, the pure love of 
 his youth, Virginia the enthusiasm, the worship, the mad- 
 ness, yea, the madness of his maturity. Now he felt that 
 for her was a brighter, higher destiny than any he could 
 achieve for her, while for him remained no matter what, 
 no matter what so that she were happy. Now his task 
 was plain, to cut down and root up feelings that had dared 
 to germinate and spring in his heart yes, though that 
 lacerated heart should bleed to death from the wounds. 
 Virginia must not even suspect their existence. Virginia 
 was a few years younger than himself; she had not as yet 
 dreamed of other love than the deep, still love of father, 
 sister, brother ; aud she must never know of another from him. 
 When Virgitiia, troubled by his troubled countenance, would 
 come and stand by his side, and pass her hand around his 
 neck, and lay her head against him, so gently, so tenderly, 
 her innocent caress would send a shock of mingled ecstacy 
 and agony through every nerve and vein to his heart's core, 
 causing his heart to pause, his brain to reel, his eyes to 
 dim, while the thought, the feeling of a perfect joy near, 
 but impossible, would nearly madden him. Even then, "in 
 the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of passion," he 
 exercised a matchless constancy and self-command. Yes, 
 he even calmly and tenderly returned those pure caresses ; 
 f>r, with the instinct of true affection, he felt that any 
 change, any chilling of his manner toward her, would, by 
 the very sorrow it should cause her, tend to develop that
 
 JOSEPH. 241 
 
 new, strange phase of love, that anguish which tortured 
 him, but which she must not know. He immured himself 
 in the library among the law books, where he struggled 
 with himself, prayed and tried to study. And none but the 
 All-seeing Eye beheld the written agony of the brow, the 
 struggle, the prayer or the motive. But Virginia conld not 
 enjoy herself without her brother she told everybody so 
 and often when a little party of pleasure was planned, she 
 would run up into the library to draw him from his books. 
 To her invitations he would reply something like this : 
 
 " You know, dear, that I cannot leave my studies now. 
 I must read industriously. My day of grace is almost over. 
 I must stand my examination this winter." 
 
 " But oh, Joseph, you look so pale, so thin, so weary 
 You are killing yourself, Joseph, with all this plodding." 
 
 A smile, wan as moonlight, illumined his spiritual coun- 
 tenance as he replied by a question : 
 
 "What was that line so often set you for a copy in your 
 school-days, Virginia ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes: 'Perseverance commands success.' Dear 
 Joseph used to set it for me because I was such a flighty, 
 volatile little elf, flying from one thing to another, and 
 sticking to nothing long." 
 
 " And do you know what perseverance means ?" 
 
 " Why, persistence ; I cannot think of any other syno- 
 nyme now." 
 
 " I do not want the synonyme, but that for which the syno- 
 nymes stand. ' Perseverance,' ' persistence,' are no holiday 
 w;)rds like ' success,' ' honor,' ' fame,' ' glory.' Perseverance, 
 BO soft and smooth upon our tongues, so hard and rough in 
 our lives, Virginia. Perseverance means with steady, pa- 
 tieut unf inching, untiring labor and efforts, day and night, 
 summer and winter, in sunshine and in clouds, in prosperity 
 and adversity, with the sympathy of appreciating friends and
 
 24:2 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 in the solitude of a misunderstood heart, in health and in 
 sickness, through good report and through evil report, in 
 encouragement and in discouragement, in fruition or in 
 blight, in ease or in pain, in competence or in penury, in 
 weakness and in strength, in shame or in glory to pursue 
 
 ONE OBJECT." 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 " Success, Ginnie !" exclaimed the young man, with 
 "EXCELSIOR" sparkling all over his face. 
 
 "No, not always, not often, very seldom, indeed. Ah, 
 it is too true. We see it in the lives of all the great and 
 good who have lived and suffered, toiled and persevered, 
 
 " They were not good and great enough, or else, despite 
 onr shortness of sight, and misapprehension of facts, and 
 haste of judgment, they have not failed. No, Ginnie, noi 
 failed 1 by all the Christian promises ! by eternal justice, 
 they have not! Success, earthly success even, is for thos* 
 energetic enough to work for it, hopeful enough to look foi 
 it, patient enough to wait for it, brave enough to seize it, 
 strong enough to hold it !" 
 
 "But those others those great and good souls who have 
 lived, and labored, and persevered, and died, with their 
 work unaccomplished," said Ginnie, looking deep into his 
 eyes, "those others that make me sad, Joseph ; how useless 
 their endeavor ! how hopeless ! they have fallen and died 
 at their task, and left it unfinished !" 
 
 " Not so ! not so ! if his work was great and good in its 
 object, he has taken it to heaven to complete ! Not so ! for 
 in the long struggle though the physical energies may be 
 worn out, and the earthly success utterly lost, yet, in the 
 struggle, the soul has gained great strength, great energy, 
 erreat fortitude, a property of which she cannot be deprived 
 by caprice, the injustice, or the persecution of the world, a
 
 JOSEPH. Li3 
 
 good which has become a component part of herself, tlial 
 she takes into eternity with her that is immortal and that, 
 dearest Virginia, is the moral of all the 'bootless endeavor' 
 that so tries your faith in this world and tries it only 
 because you see the temporal blight and not the eternal 
 bloom. The seed sown here in tears, perishes ! but the 
 germ springs, and the harvest is reaped in eternity 1 We 
 have the promises, Virginia ; sometimes they seem to fail, 
 but it is only in seeming. The promises are kept when ice 
 are faithful we know that they are, though we may not set 
 7iow* How do we know, for instance, that a philanthropist, 
 worn out with his labor of love, and passed away with half 
 his good and great purposes unaccomplished, may not be 
 permitted to inspire the mind of some faithful, strong, living 
 man, who is fit for his work, albeit he may be quite uncon- 
 scious of the source of his new and glorious thoughts ?" 
 
 "That is very fanciful." 
 
 "But not improbable or unchristian. Ah ! Virginia, I 
 often feel like ascribing all my purest and highest thoughts 
 to the inspirations of a loving spirit, who passed away with 
 her blessed work unfinished here, but to be accomplished 
 from above !" 
 
 "My mother?" said Virginia, as, with her hands clasped 
 on Joseph's knee, she sat and looked up wistfully into 
 Joseph's face. 
 
 A long time she sat, while he rested his burning brow 
 upon his hand, and looked down on her. At last she said, 
 
 "But to what tends all our serious discourse, Jceeph ? \ 
 only came to coax you to ride with me." 
 
 " And I, dearest Ginnie, did not mean to speak of any 
 more exalted object of perseverance than my common-place 
 calling of the law. I was led up higher, involuntarily. 
 Now, coming down again, I say that if you wish to see 
 your brother succeed in his profession, you must leave him
 
 244 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 in his study chair, and never tempt him forth. The weari 
 ness of study here, and the bright sunshine and fresh air 
 without, is temptation enough, without your pleading, 
 Virginia. And if you speak, it must be to exhort me to 
 stay here." 
 
 After such a conversation as this, Virginia, thinking that 
 she was interrupting his studies, would sigh, get up, press 
 his head an instant against her bosom, and steal away from 
 the room, feeling very, very lonesome. And Joseph, left 
 alone, he would drop his head upon his hands, while shudder 
 after shudder would shake his frame, as he wrestled wfth his 
 own spirit, with his great temptation. How many there 
 are, oh God ! who thus struggle, and suffer, and pray in 
 Bolitude, in silence with no eye but Thine to read the 
 " written agony" of the brow no ear but Thine to hear the 
 sob that has riven the heart in its outburst, no hand but 
 Thine to raise, and heal, and comfort ! These are Thine 
 own. These are they to whose desolated spirits Thou 
 comest. To whom, in the night season of their despair, 
 Thou whisperest, " My son, my daughter, be of good cheer ! 
 sorrow endureth but for a night the night of thy pro- 
 bation joy cometh with the morrow the morning of thy 
 triumph over temptation the morning of thy regener- 
 ation!" 
 
 One morning, a beating, driving rain kept all the family 
 within doors, and immediately after breakfast, and after a 
 last hasty glance through the windows at the dark descend- 
 ing flood, they all assembled in the drawing-room. The 
 party gathered around the fire consisted of Judge Wash- 
 ington, Sir Clinton Carey, Virginia, Magdalene, and Joseph, 
 whom Ginnie insisted should abandon his books for the 
 public good that day. No member of the family could be 
 Hpared on that dark, rainy day, she said. Nor should any
 
 JOSEPH. 245 
 
 one look gloomy. The sky had monopolized all the gloom. 
 They and the fire must be bright. And bright would 
 everything have been if Qinnie could have lighted every- 
 body up but Sir Clinton challenged his cousin to a game 
 of chess, and so, with the best grace she could command, 
 she sat down to the table with him. Judge Washington 
 was occupied with opening his mail and looking over 
 papers and letters. Magdalene sat at a corner-stand me- 
 chanically drawing pencil-sketches, but really " shadowed 
 by her dream." Aye, Magdalene, dream on 1 live on in 
 your maniac's paradise, drawing a keen and stealthy joy 
 from the eyes that sometimes meet your own with such a 
 word of meaning dream on ! wonder, hope, BELIEVE ON ! 
 for if an angel from Heaven warned you not to do so, his 
 voice would be disregarded. 
 
 Joseph first struggled with the mood of melancholy that 
 was coming upon him, and then tried to mask it under a 
 cheerful countenance. In vain : his heart was sinking like 
 a leaden weight, and drawing down all the muscles of his 
 countenance ; and if he tried to smile at any gay sally that 
 Ginnie would launch at him to raise his spirits, it would be 
 such a ghastly mockery of a smile ! Ginnie played very 
 boldly this morning, making "most admirc-d disorder." 
 Joseph longed for solitude, and at length he stepped away 
 to his sanctuary, unobserved, he supposed, but it was not 
 so ; Judge Washington had noticed him, and Virginia, in 
 five minutes from the time he had left the drawing-room, 
 having finished her game of chess, arose and followed him. 
 
 She opened the library door and found him in an attitude 
 of the profoundest grief. She entered so softly that he was 
 only made aware of her presence by her passing her arms 
 gently around his neck, and drawing his head upon her bosom. 
 
 " Joseph, my dear brother, my only brother, what is the 
 matter?" 
 15
 
 246 THE TWO S J S T E R S 
 
 He could not speak a falsehood, nor refuse to answer her 
 be replied : 
 
 " I am not very well, Ginnie." 
 
 " I know you are not well, even in body ; but there is 
 noraething worse than that, Joseph. You are in deep trou- 
 ble. Oh, tell me, dear old playnu.to, why can we not tell 
 each other every thing, as we used to do on the glistening 
 sandy beach of the Sunny Isle ? It cannot be my cousin 
 Clinton's supercilious behavior, or his monopoly of ly 
 society ? Oh no, for ray proud English cousin can never 
 rival my dear brother in my esteem or affection, Joseph ; 
 and if I show him attentions, and accept attentions from 
 him, it is only through the politeness and hospitality due 
 to our guest; and, indeed, I fear that in his especial case I 
 fall far short in the performance of these rites, for I so 
 much dislike his supercilious manners ; and I ask myself 
 testily, ' Who is he, indeed, but a beggared and expatriated 
 Englishman, with nothing but his barren title, his pride, 
 and his heterodoxy ; expatriated by his own ultra repub- 
 lican opinions, and, I very much suspect, by his religious 
 and political skepticism generally, which must cut him off 
 from advancement in his own country.' Grandfather does 
 not see all ; he sees only just so much of his Liberalism as 
 he permits to be visible, and so far grandfather heartily 
 agrees with him and approves him. Magdalene does not 
 care for it. Magdalene is carried captive by the dark ma- 
 jestic melo-dramatic presence, and the splendid talents and 
 brilliant conversational powers of the man, and thinks him 
 a very magnificent fellow altogether. But / see it I feel 
 it. It requires a red-haired girl like me to do it. He doi-s 
 not reverence any thing that we reverence, Josey. lie 
 holds nothing sacred that gives us support and shelter, 
 Josey. Always in his presence I am troubled by emotions 
 of fear for myself and those I love, from his influence or
 
 JOSEPH. 247 
 
 through his agency, and a vague resentment toward him, 
 striving with a deep compassion for him. Believe me, I 
 have him aright; and if grandfather does not see the whole 
 of this, it is because he is not always with Clinton as /sun, 
 in his free and easy moments, or those moments in which 
 he approaches nearest to freedom and ease." 
 
 During all this time Joseph let her talk on, well pleased 
 that she should talk and save him the embarrassment of 
 further home-questions. But Virginia had not lost the 
 thread of her discourse : she resumed it : 
 
 " So you see, Joseph, that I really do not esteem this 
 man ; and indeed, my fear is, that my attentions to this 
 man, slight and imperfect as they are, and necessary as 
 they are, savor of hypocrisy. But is it not his monoply of 
 me that troubles you ?" 
 
 " No, dearest Virginia, it is not indeed. Be at ease, 
 dear sister, no misfortune has befallen me, nor do I antici- 
 pate any." 
 
 " Ah, you say that, but look at your haggard face I Jo- 
 seph, I wish you would speak to me freely. I deserve it 
 of you, indeed I do," she said, again passing her arms 
 around his neck, and drawing his head down upon her 
 bosom. 
 
 Her tears were falling, and her face was bowed over him, 
 and his arm encircled <her, and so they remained a minute ; 
 when Joseph, first recovering himself, put her gently off, 
 and looked up to behold Judge Washington standing 
 over them. Surprise, regret, but no anger was visible upon 
 his venerable face. Joseph was composed : and as for Vir- 
 ginia, she was not the least startled by the sudden appa- 
 rition of her grandfather. 
 
 "Virginia," he said, "the cook wants to consult you, my 
 love. Order something spicy for dinner, dear, for it is 
 very damp and cold."
 
 24:8 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Grandfather, Joseph is in trouble ; get Joseph to con- 
 fide in you, will you ?" she said, pressing Joseph's hand 
 before she left the room. 
 
 The Judge sank heavily into a chair on the opposite side 
 of the table, and leaning upon it, said : 
 
 " Joseph, there is not, I am sure, a feeling in that heart 
 of thine, or a thought in that brain of thine, of which thou 
 need'st be afraid or ashamed to speak. Joseph, canst thou 
 confide in me ?" 
 
 " Yes, I can confide in you, mine honored patron ; and 
 my confidence will also be a confession. Judge Washing- 
 ton, I love Virginia with a deeper and a fiercer love than 
 that of a brother. I have never permitted her to see it. 
 She does not surmise it she never shall from me !" 
 
 "No. That is right. You know you can never marry 
 Virginia, Joseph. Let me speak to you with the utmost 
 candor, my young friend. Virginia Carey Washington re- 
 presents in herself two of the largest estates in Eastern 
 Virginia. Sir Clinton Carey is the present head of the 
 elder branch of the Carey family. It was ever the wish of 
 the late Colonel Carey to unite the two branches of his 
 house again. Sir Clinton Carey is in every respect a suit- 
 able match for Miss Washington, and he is here with my full 
 consent and approbation to win the heart and hand of 
 Virginia, if possible. I have said nothing of this to any 
 one, not even to Virginia, lest by seeming to direct lv:r 
 choice thither, I should prejudice her against her suitor. I 
 shall never constrain the will of my granddaughter in this 
 respect, though I confess that I heartily desire the marriage 
 but however that plan may eventuate, Joseph, my dear 
 boy, it is but in mercy to yo.u, while with great pain to my 
 self, that I tell you that you must abandon the though! of 
 ever, under any possible circumstances, possessing the hand 
 of Miss Washington."
 
 JOSEPH. 249 
 
 " Believe me. sir, I never gave an instant's harbor to any 
 such mad hope." 
 
 " She loves you more tenderly than she loves any one 
 else on earth, Joseph, but it is with the fond affection of a 
 sister for an only brother. The nature of that affection must 
 not, as it might be chanyed." 
 
 "I know it, sir direct me I am at your disposal." 
 
 " In a few days, Joseph, we go to Richmond, to be m 
 time for the meeting of the Legislature, and the sitting of 
 the court I wish, also, to congratulate my old friend, Gov- 
 ernor *MouiHjoy, on his election, and for an especial 
 reason to present my granddaughter and her friend at his 
 opening levee. You will of course go with us, Joseph. 
 You will pass your examination triumphantly, I doubt not. 
 You will be admitted to the bar, where you shall have my 
 best interest to push you on. But on returning with my 
 family to Sunny Isle, whither I shall go iu the spring I 
 shall leave you in Richmond There, Joseph, you must 
 give yourself up wholly to your profession, and so forget 
 Virginia. You must not see her again until you have done 
 so. Look your destiny bravely in the face, and consider 
 this, that of all men and women who love in the world, not 
 one in ten thousand get the object of their first passionate 
 attachment and perhaps it is well for them that they do 
 not," 
 
 Judge Washington stopped looked with deep compas- 
 sion upon the pale face of the young man, pressed his cold 
 hand, and with a " God bless you, Joseph," left the room, 
 feeling grieved and remorseful, as though he had just drawn 
 the black cap off his head, after saying " You shall be 
 taken from hence to the prison from whence you came, and 
 
 * To the hyper crttic.8. ASTCTTB FRIKXDS : the author, in introducing sucn * Jig. 
 nitary as a Governor into her pages, has taken the liberty of changing hit 
 mam E. S.
 
 260 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 from thence to the place of execution, where you shall be 
 hanged by the neck until you are dead dead dead. And 
 may the Lord have mercy on your soul .'" 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE GOVERNOR'S LEVEE. 
 
 " In the vast city with its peopled homes, 
 And hearts all full of an immortal life, 
 And busy merchants hurrying to aud fro, 
 And curious travelers with thoughtful mien ; 
 Grave men of wealth, and inexperienced youth 
 Learning his lesson from the sordid page." Mrs. Ellis. 
 
 JUDGE WASHINGTON owned a handsome dwelling in one 
 of the most fashionable streets of Richmond. Early in the 
 fall he had written to his agent there to have the mansion 
 opened, renovated, and furnished for the reception of his 
 family by the first of December. It was now ready, and he 
 prepared to dispatch, in advance of his family, and under 
 the charge of Joseph Carey, a staff of house-servants. 
 
 A week after the party left Prospect Hall, the Judge, Sir 
 Clinton, Virginia, and Magdalene, occupying the four seats 
 of the capacious family carriage, set out for the capital. 
 
 They arrived at their town-house late on a fine clear win- 
 ter's night, and found a sumptuous supper, prepared 
 under the auspices of Mistress Polly Pepper, awaiting 
 them. 
 
 The next morning the Judge left his address and his 
 daughter's card at the homes or hotels of all his oldest and 
 most valued friends, resident or now sojourning in the capi-.
 
 THE GOVERNOR'S LEVEE. 251 - 
 
 tal ; and in a few days thereafter their house began to he 
 besieged with calls, invitations to dinners, to parties, &c. 
 Miss Washington, or Miss Carey Washington, as she was 
 most frequently called, being the greatest heiress of the 
 State, was, of course, voted the beauty of the season. 
 Rumor, with some reason certainly, promised her hand to 
 her English cousin, Sir Clinton Carey, upon whom the same 
 gossip, with less truth, bestowed an immense patrimonial 
 estate in Hertfordshire, England. Very eagerly did onr 
 vivacious child enter into the new life of the city her 
 mornings were passed in seeing sights such sights as the 
 city afforded in shopping, in consulting milliners and 
 dressmakers, in making and receiving calls, and her even- 
 ings at parties, balls, concerts, plays, &c. Very much in 
 danger would Virginia have been of being spoiled by adu- 
 lation and dissipation, but for her excellence of heart, and 
 simplicity and frankness of manners. On the shopping ex- 
 peditions, to the sight-seeing, to the concerts, plays, &c., 
 Magdalene went with Virginia, but nowhere, else. Magda- 
 lene distinctly and decidedly refused to accompany Miss 
 Washington in making calls, and doubtless it was for that 
 reason that no cards were left for the former, and that her 
 name was never included in the invitations extended to the 
 other members of the family. This was a great drawback 
 to Virginia's happiness. She would never have ceased ex- 
 postulating with Magdalene upon the subject, but that 
 Judge Washington said 
 
 " She is right, my dear ! wait until the Governor's levee, 
 when I shall present you and Magdalene together to Gen- 
 eral Mountjoy. He will immediately recognize his grand- 
 daughter, by her likeness to the family. As my ward, with 
 rny introduction, my daughter's companionship, and Magda- 
 lene's remarkable beauty, grace, and dignity, she must, I 
 link, find favor in his sight. I do not wish her known by
 
 2- <2 T H E T \V O S 1 S T E K rt . 
 
 name tn society until her presentation then, if her grand- 
 fa tner acknowledges her, she will have the proudest name, 
 and the first rank in the city." 
 
 " But, father, by what name will you present Magdalene ?" 
 
 " By that to which she has the best right." 
 
 " Will Magdalene consent to this ? You know how 
 tightly she grips that grim patronymic ' Hawk. " 
 
 " I do not think it necessary to consult my ward in this 
 matter." 
 
 " Grandfather !" 
 
 "Well, Ginnie?" 
 
 " If Governor Mountjoy should not notice her ?" 
 
 " Then she remains my child." 
 
 "Oh! best, most honored, dearest father! how I thank 
 you ! but in that case, father, let us return to Prospect 
 Hall again. I cannot, oh, I cannot enjoy a world that 
 casts out my innocent, my noble-minded sister !" 
 
 "We do not know that General Mountjoy will fail to ac- 
 knowledge his granddaughter I do not think so." 
 
 " I hope not. Generally I am very sanguine, but yet 
 in this case, I do not know how it is, I feel sad and 
 anxious." 
 
 The day of the levee approached. Judge Washington 
 had signified to Magdalene his wish that she should be pre- 
 sented with his daughter to General Mountjoy, and Magda- 
 lene had bowed acquiescence. Virginia's little head was 
 filled to aching with milliners, mantua-makers, velvets, sat- 
 ins, laces, feathers, jewels, but not for herself for Mag- 
 dalene. She was anxious that Magdalene should triumph. 
 
 Virginia wished Magdalene to wear a rich white satin, 
 with a light tiara of diamonds on her head, and offered for 
 the purpose her own brilliants to be reset. But Magdalene, 
 with a g'-ave smile, declined shining in borrowed jewels
 
 THE GOVERNOR'S LEVKJC. 203 
 
 and wore only the rich white satin, trimmed with fine lace, 
 and no head-dress but the heavy, glossy bands of her own 
 magnificent black hair. 
 
 " Indeed, Lena, you are superb, empresslike ! goddess- 
 like. I am glad you did not take the diamonds. A jewel 
 would desecrate the statuesque majesty of your presence." 
 
 " I have to remind you every day, that you are an ex- 
 travagant little enthusiast, Virginia," replied Magdalene. 
 
 Virginia wore a white crape, with her golden red hair in 
 many glistening spiral ringlets, and a band of oriental 
 pearls around her forehead. 
 
 One other looked upon Magdalene with enthusiastic but 
 silent admiration. Sir Clinton Carey, who often meeting 
 her eyes in one long, long burning gaze expressive of all 
 that her profound heart chose to translate turned, gave 
 his arm to Virginia to conduct her to the carriage, and no- 
 ticed Magdalene no more that evening. Judge Washington 
 led Magdalene. They drove to the gubernatorial mansion. 
 The street before the house was crowded with carriages, the 
 windows of the mansion blazing with light. A band of 
 music sounded from the saloon. Our party alighted and 
 went in. After arranging their toilettes in the cloak-room, 
 they entered the reception-chamber. Magdalene resting 
 upon the arm of Judge Washington, and Virginia on that 
 of Sir Clinton Carey. The room was crowded with a bril- 
 liant company, through which they made their way with 
 some difficulty to the presence of the Governor. General 
 Mountjoy was standing near one end of the room, the 
 centre of a group of civil and military officers, " both hear- 
 ing and asking them questions." Not far distant from him, 
 and the cynosure of neighboring eyes, sat his fair twin nieces, 
 Viola and Violet, chaperoned by their mother, Mrs. Swan, 
 a fiiir and stately lady, the present mistress of the mansion- 
 house. On drawing near tne Governor, Juilg*- W^i-toti
 
 254 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 bowea with profound gravity, and taking the hand of Mag- 
 dalene, said, 
 
 " General Mountjoy, allow me the honor of presenting to 
 your excellency, my ward, Miss Mountjoy, of our county." 
 
 Magdalene cast down her eyelids, and courtesied deeply, 
 before raising her eyes to meet those of her grandfather. 
 there was a slight start of surprise and displeasure a 
 quick, penetrating glance into the brilliantly beautiful face 
 of his granddaughter, and then the Governor, with a suave 
 and stately courtesy, expressed himself happy to see Miss 
 Mountjoy no more. 
 
 The Judge then presented " My daughter, Miss Carey 
 Washington," and " Sir Clinton Carey, of Hertfordshire, 
 England." And that ceremony over, our party paid their 
 respects to Mrs. Swan and her daughters, and passed off to 
 the saloon, where a band of music was in full operation, and 
 where several waltzing couples were on the floor. Magda- 
 lene had heard Judge Washington present he\ as Miss 
 Mountjoy with great astonishment, but, with her incom- 
 parable self-possession, she had not betrayed the slightest 
 surprise. As they passed through the crowded saloon, 
 Judge Washington drew the arm of his ward with affec- 
 tionate empressement closer within his own, and stooping, 
 whispered to her : 
 
 " Magdalene, my child, twenty people heard and saw your 
 presentation this evening now, however this may eventu- 
 ate, I shall insist, my dear, upon your bearing your proper 
 patronymic," and pressing her hand, he led her on. He 
 found a seat for Magdalene, and, like her true knight, re- 
 mained by her side. The rumor had spread through the 
 rooms, that that superb woman presented by Judge Wash- 
 ington was Miss Mountjoy, a near relative of the Governor; 
 and so it fell out that, while the Judge attended Magda- 
 lene, manj were the applications to him to be presented to
 
 THE G O V E K N O K ' rf LEVEE. 255 
 
 his beautiful ward, and soon Judge Washington bowed and 
 left Magdalene surrounded by a group of his own most 
 valued friends. 
 
 Virginia was waltzing with Sir Clinton, but as soon as 
 the waltz was over, she desired to be taken to her sister 
 Magdalene. No sooner had " Miss Washington" taken a 
 seat beside "Miss Mountjoy," than the circle about the 
 two beauties very greatly enlarged, and the former intro- 
 duced all her own acquaintances to the latter. Seeing his 
 ladies so well amused, Judge Washington withdrew from 
 the saloon, to re-enter the reception-room, and join the 
 circle immediately around the Governor. 
 
 " What sort of an evening has it seemed to you, Lena ?" 
 inquired Virginia, when they had reached home. 
 
 " It should have been a rather pleasant evening. There 
 were several persons who should have been rather agree- 
 able." 
 
 " And with what a majestic weariness you say that ! Yet 
 it is proper. You looked like an empress, or rather as an 
 empress should look, to-night ! You held a court of the 
 most eminent men and the most fashionable women of the 
 capital around you ; and you say, in comment on the hom- 
 age, ' some persons should have been rather agreeable ! 1 
 have been caressed very much, but I tell you, Lena, that 
 had 1 received one half the homage that has been wasted 
 upon you this evening, it would have turned my head quite 1 
 Why, Lena, you were ' the star of that goodly company,' 
 ' the observed of ail observers' 'the glass of fashion and 
 the mould of form.' Why, Lena, you have set the fashion ; 
 the statuesque simplicity of your dress this evening will 
 banish jewels, ringlets, flounces, furbelows, and all other 
 fineries, from all the ball-rooms of this season. You have 
 (Succeeded, Magd-Uene. You have 'made a sensation' not
 
 256 THE TWO S I S T E K S . 
 
 a fussy sensation, like a giddy flirt, but a deep, admiring 
 one, like yourself. And in reference to all this triumph, 
 you only say, with an august ennui, ' It should have been a 
 pleasant evening !' " 
 
 " Dear Virginia, it is better to tell you the truth, than to 
 leave you to suspect me of such absurd affectation. Well, 
 then, with all its successes, the evening was a very anxious 
 one to me, with the thought of General Mountjoy, and 
 the construction he might be pleased to place upon the 
 circumstance of my introduction to him. You, also, 
 dearest Ginuie you who enter into all my disquietudes 
 with more feeling than I would willingly permit you 
 frequently betrayed the uneasiness that / felt without 
 betraying." 
 
 "Yes, it is true. I felt very anxious, but oh, there can 
 be no doubt he will call upon you to-morrow 1" said Vir- 
 ginia, earnestly. 
 
 " Perhaps so, dearest Ginnie. Now go to bed, my own 
 darling, for these late hours are beginning to dim the 
 sparkling brilliancy of your complexion, Ginnie." 
 
 And so Magdalene embraced and dismissed her. And 
 she herself retired "to bed, but not to sleep." Anxiety, 
 anxiety which humbled her in her own eyes, kept her 
 awake. What wild hopes were hers ! hopes for which she 
 half despised herself, even while encouraging them. The 
 next day ! What would the next day bring forth ? Should 
 her grandfatlur seek her, acknowledge her, how changed 
 would be her real position ! then the high rank she had, as 
 it were, usurped that evening, would be hers by hereditary 
 right. If he should not, very soon would her unfortunate 
 position be understood, and the world that had rendered its 
 homage to her to-day, would cast its contempt upon her 
 to-morrow. Yet not for the world's distinctions was Mag- 
 dalene alone anxious. No ; underneath all these things,
 
 THE GOVERNOR'S LEVEE. 257 
 
 was that motive that she scarcely dared to look into which, 
 perhaps, she did not really suspect which she could not 
 have contemplated with any remnant of self-respect. Shall 
 I strip aside the vail, and reveal proud Magdalene's humili- 
 ating secret to the reader? It was the latent hope that Sir 
 Clinton Carey, while doing silent homage to the beauty and 
 genius, evidently despised the position of Magdalene Hawk, 
 would honor the rank of Miss Mountjoy. " Proud Mada- 
 lene" had no pride for him. 
 
 No, Magdalene had no pride for him. The prejudices 
 of his aristocratic education, the haughtiness of his hear,., 
 the superciliousness of his manners gave her no offense. 
 That deportment which, in another person, would have 
 repulsed her at once and forever, in him, by a strange 
 fatality, attracted her constantly. The secret was, perhaps, 
 this : Magdalene had a high self-appreciation, great per- 
 sonal pride, and in her heart she felt that this arrogant 
 Englishman valued her as highly as she estimated herself; 
 that it was only her position he despised, and in her perfect 
 justice she excused him of this, because she despised it her- 
 self. She felt, too, that those two passions, which were fast 
 becoming the masters of her soul, were indivisible ; that 
 she could not have loved with all her heart one who did not 
 meet her aspirations after social eminence. 
 
 Magdalene arose late in the morning. She found the 
 family assembled in the breakfast-room, and only waiting 
 for her appearance before sitting down to the discussion of 
 their coffee, muffins, etc. Soon after breakfast, Virginia, 
 attended by Sir Clinton Carey, went out to fulfill an engage- 
 ment; she had previously invited Magdalene to go with 
 her, but Magdalene, ruled by a wild, irrational hope, pre- 
 ferred to remain at home. Judge Washington and Joseph, 
 or Mr. Carey, as we should call him, were engaged in the 
 study of the former. Magdalene was the only occupant
 
 258 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 of the drawing-room, and through the long hours of the 
 dny she watched and waited with a sickening heart. Every 
 carriage that approached the house, every knock at the 
 door aroused her expectation, and then disappointed her. 
 It was, now, cards left for Miss Washington and Miss 
 Mounljoy, and now a footman, or a gentleman coming on 
 business to Judge Washington. 
 
 Virginia returned late in the afternoon, asked one hurried 
 question of the servants, received an answer in the negative, 
 then sought Magdalene in her chamber, and silently and 
 fervently embraced her. A week previous, Virginia had 
 been invited to a party that was to come off this evening. 
 She now proposed to send an excuse and remain at home, 
 to pass the evening with Magdalene. But Magdalene 
 would not consent to this arrangement. The Judge him- 
 self disapproved it, and so Virginia went, attended, as 
 usual, by Sir Clinton Carey. Magdalene passed another 
 sleepless night, and another anxious day. The next morn- 
 ing, being the third after the night of the Governor's recep- 
 tion, Virginia remained at home with Magdalene. The 
 hour was early, and they bad not yet " dressed to receive 
 calls," when a servant came up stairs and placed two cards 
 in the hands of Miss Washington. Virginia looked at 
 them with surprise and displeasure. They bore upon their 
 enameled surface the names of MRS. SWAN, THE MISSES 
 SWAN, Magdalene's near relatives, and yet no card had 
 been left for her. Virginia impatiently cast the cards into 
 the grate, where they were soon shriveled up in the flames, 
 and burst into tears of mingled grief and rage. To all Mag- 
 dalene's inquiries and efforts at soothing her, Virginia 
 answered not a word, but " I am sick and tired, yes, dis- 
 gusted and worn out with this city life. I wish to return 
 to Prospect Plains ;" and this, with trifling variations, she 
 repeated some twentv times while sobbing passionately.
 
 THE GOVERNOR'S LEVEE. 259 
 
 And when her fit of crying was quite over, and she had 
 wiped her eyes, she said : 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Meg, I am weary of English baronets, ana 
 governor's nieces, and senator's ladies, and ' lighted halls,' 
 and sounding music, and nodding plumes, and glistening 
 jewels, and dressing, and visiting, and balls, and levees, 
 and concerts, and plays, on and off the stage, and feverish 
 nights, and languid mornings oh, very, very weary, in- 
 deed. If Satan does not angle for my soul with some 
 more attractive bait than ' society,' he will never get it, 
 surely ! I want to go back to the country to old father 
 Hawk, and Bruin, and Gulliver, and the negroes, and the 
 poultry. Oh, how I wish this 'winter in town,' which 
 smells so of lamp-oil and musk, which they call light and 
 perfume, as if it were sunshine and violets ; and tastes so 
 of rancid cream and stale eggs, disguised with essences, 
 which they call ' ices,' and looks so like Vanity Fair, and 
 feds so like, nay, I have no simile for what it feels like." 
 
 Virginia resolved that she would not, at any one's 
 request, return the call of Mrs. Swan and her daughters. 
 
 The next week the fashionable world at Richmond were 
 thrown into great excitement by the rumor of a ball to be 
 given at the gubernatorial mansion ; and in the course of a 
 few days notes of invitation arrived for Judge Washington, 
 Miss Washington, Sir Clinton, and Mr.Carey none for Mag- 
 dalene. Upon this occasion Virginia wished to send an apol- 
 ogy for declining the invitation, but the Judge said to her: 
 
 41 We cannot, my love, do any thing for Magdalene by re- 
 senting this ; a slight put upon her most likely by the jealous 
 fears of the ladies of the family, who would at once lose their 
 rank in the household, and perhaps their dowers too, were 
 the Governor to acknowledge and take home his only grand- 
 daughter, Miss Mountjoy. Xo, General Monntjoy received 
 MagdaJene with favor, I think ; he has been immersed in
 
 26C THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 business for days past ; he knows nothing of this neglect on 
 the part of the ladies of his family. To-morrow the Uov- 
 ernor leaves town, not to return until the day of the ball, 
 which you must attend, Virginia ; but after that I will my- 
 self call on him on Magdalene's behalf." 
 
 Very reluctantly Virginia consented to attend this ball 
 Very regretful she felt to leave Magdalene now so grave 
 and stern at home. Before setting out, she came in, 
 looking beautiful and brilliant in her light-blue satin dress, 
 with a wreath of white rose-buds in pearl arid emeralds, 
 encircling her graceful head. She cast her arms around 
 Magdalene, and pressing her to her bosom, said 
 
 " If I go, Magdalene, it is for your sake, indeed it is. I 
 would not offend those proud Swans. General Mountjoy 
 has just got home, and father intends to wait upon him to- 
 morrow, for the purpose of having an interview with him ! 
 Oh ! you know, Magdalene, that no one can withstand 
 Judge Washington in a good cause ! You know that it 
 was mainly attributable to my father's your guardian's 
 great exertions, that General Mountjoy was elected. So, 
 you see, a word from him must I Oh ! Magdalene, 1 
 shall yet see Miss Mountjoy placed above all these people 
 who have dared to slight her ! Good-night, dear Magda- 
 lene !" and kissing her, Ginnie vanished from the room. 
 
 Magdalene's hopes were raised again. Could her grand- 
 father fail to be influenced by the opinion of so esteemed a 
 a man, and the advice of so valuable a political adherent as 
 Judge Washington ? Yet he might ! What would " to- 
 morrow" the second " to-morrow" of her great anxiety 
 devolope ? It was not social position alone it was all her 
 soul's dearest hopes that were at stake. Again the night 
 was passed without rest, and Magdalene arose from her bed 
 excited, fevered, almost ill. 
 
 Judge Washington kept his promise in going to see
 
 PARTING. 2<>1 
 
 General Mountjoy, and the long hours of his absence were 
 passed in the greatest anxiety by Magdalen-e and Virginia. 
 It was near noon when he returned, with a grave and dis- 
 appointed expression of countenance. Virginia sprang to 
 meet him, opened her mouth to speak to him, but the Judge 
 placing his hand upon her lips, stopped her, and passing 
 up to Magdalene, took her hand, bent and kissed her brow, 
 and said 
 
 " I have undisputed possession of you now, Magdalene 
 You are henceforth my daughter." 
 
 That was all that was ever said of his interview with 
 Governor Mountjoy. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 " And canst them think because we part 
 Till some brief mouths have flown, 
 That absence e'er can change a heart 
 Which yearn have made thiue own f 
 
 THE end of the season approached. Joseph had passed a 
 triumphant examination, and had been admitted to practice 
 nt the bar. Judge Washington had presented him to many 
 of his friends, men of great influence; he had also taken for 
 him a suit of handsomely furnished rooms in a private 
 lodging-house kept by the widow of one of his own old class- 
 mates, and thus having seen him in every way comfortably 
 provided, he prepared to take his family back to Prospect 
 Plains. Virginia, from the first, had heard that they were 
 to leave Joseph in town, but Ginnie was predisposed to 
 merriment, and happiness and the bright side of things, 
 16
 
 262 '1HE TVtO SISTERS. 
 
 occupied with many novelties, and interested in Magda- 
 lene's fortunes, so she did not anticipate any trouble so far off 
 as the parting with Joseph at the end of the season. When 
 this parting came, however when the cart packed with the 
 strapped and corded trunks, and drawn by stout mules, had 
 rolled away from the back gate of the house, and the 
 carriage was drawn up before the front door, the family in 
 traveling dresses were assembled in the hall, and Joseph 
 standing there, the only one to be left behind Virginia 
 look leave of him at first with little show of emotion ; 
 but after Magdalene had kissed him, the Judge and Sir 
 Clinton Carey had shaken hands with him, and she herself 
 was about to be handed into the carriage, Ginnie suddenly 
 broke away, flew back, cast her arms around the neck of 
 Joseph, and, regardless of all eyes upon her, buried her 
 face in his bosom, and gave way to a violent burst of grief. 
 Joseph raised his eyes once to Judge Washington, as much 
 
 as to say, " Let me ! trust me !" and then folded Ginnie 
 
 in his arms and pressed his lips upon her brow. 
 
 " Come, my love," said the Judge, when a full minute had 
 
 elapsed, and 
 
 " Good-by, dearest sister," said Joseph, trying gently to 
 
 put her away ; but Ginnie buried her face in his bosom and 
 
 clung desperately around his neck now realizing, for the 
 
 first time, what it was to part with Joseph. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear child," said the Judge a second, 
 
 a third time, before Ginnie, amid convulsive sobs, whispered 
 
 to Joseph, 
 
 "Take me to the carriage yourself, I am getting so weak I 
 
 Put me in, Joseph ! Don't leave me till the carriage rolls off. 
 
 Then stand in the door until it is out of sight, and I will look 
 
 from the window as long as I can see you, dearest Joseph !" 
 Joseph lifted her in his arms and set her within the 
 
 carriage.
 
 PARTING. 
 
 " God bless you, Joseph ! Oh 1 God bless 
 she said fervently, and this she repeated mapf times aloud, 
 whi'e waving her handkerchief from the, -window as long as 
 she could see him, and many times ki her heart, after the 
 carriage had rolled out of the city. Yirginia fell back in 
 the corner of the carriage and wept behind her vail^ Mi g- 
 dalene held and pressed her hand from time ^0" time, but 
 abstained from other attempts at soothing' her. Judge 
 Washington and Sir Clinton Carey from' delicacy, policy, or 
 both, refrained from noticing, her, but entered into some 
 earnest, political^cojjj^rsStion, carried on in a low tone. 
 At the little town of Warsaw, where they stopped to dine, 
 Ginnie could eat nothing. At Heathville, where they 
 stopped to sup and to sleep, Giuuie entered her chamber, 
 leaning heavily upon the arm of Magdalene ; upon whose 
 bosom she lay awake and weeping all night. To all Mag- 
 dalene's words of condolence and consolation, she would 
 answer 
 
 " Oh, Lena ! I did not know how it would be till I felt 
 it ! I did not dread it! but now I feel as if one half my 
 life was gone. My whole heart and frame is sinking, Lena, 
 nnd my head throbs so dreadfully! Is there any thing in 
 the world worth so much suffering ?" 
 
 The next morning her eyes were highly inflamed, and 
 her temples hot, and the veins heating fast and full. Judge 
 Washington was alarmed. He could not at first decide 
 whether to remain where they were for the present, or to 
 hurry home with all possible expedition. ITe determined 
 on the latter course, as they were within a short day's 
 journey of Prospect Plains. They arrived early in the 
 evening of the fifth of March, and Virginia was lifted from 
 the carriage and conveyed immediately to bed. Dr. Mc- 
 Arthur was sent for, but, as is usual, when a physician is 
 much needed in the country, he could not be found. All
 
 264 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 night long Judge Washington and Magdalene watched by 
 the bedside of Ginnie, whose brain struggled fearfully be- 
 tween reason and frenzy. She would fall into a fitful, feverish 
 sleep, and hear loved tones in her dreams, and starting oui 
 of them would ask 
 
 "Was that Joseph who spoke? Have we turned back? 
 Are we at home?" (the city house was home now,) and then 
 a burst of violent sorrow would prove that full reason hud 
 for the moment returned. In the morning Dr. McArthur 
 carne, and by his skillful treatment the fever was abated, 
 and the threatened inflammation of the brain prevented. 
 
 "This will soon be over, sir. These ardent and sanguine 
 temperaments, who feel and express emotion so violently at 
 first, soon expend their force and recover. Your little 
 daughter will not kill herself now, as she has not done it 
 already," said Dr. McArthur to the Judge, who had made 
 a confident of him. 
 
 The event proved his words to be true. Yet Virginia 
 was confined some days to her room during which time 
 Sir Clinton Carey had received letters, that summoned him 
 to an interview with the British Minister, at Washington ; 
 and he now intimated his intended departure. 
 
 Magdalene ! The stream of her external life had flowed 
 on tediously and monotonously enough for the last two 
 or three months, since her rejection by her grandfather. 
 But hurriedly, troubledly, continually passing through new, 
 various, most bitter, and humiliating experiences, and mak- 
 ing new revelations, had thundered the onward current of 
 her soul. 
 
 Magdalene stood before her easel, but her subject, " The 
 Death of Martnion," did not grow beneath her hand. She 
 mused What could be the meaning of Sir Clinton Carey's 
 singular manner toward her ? Her experience in life, nor 
 her reading, gave her a solution of the mystery. His man-
 
 r AH TING. 265 
 
 ner toward her was that of an absolute neglect, or over- 
 Bight. Even in Richmond he had never noticed any word 
 or act of hers never addressed his conversation ty, her 
 uever by word or gesture given the slightest recognition of 
 her existence ; yet how often in the drawing-room, even 
 when it was full of people, and he and she were separated 
 by the width of the apartment, would sheafed his dark eyes 
 fixed full upon hers with what language ? How much they 
 said ! What love, what reverence, ,-wh-at confidence they ex- 
 pressed and inspired ! How distiqtftly, how forciby, how 
 eloquently, those eyes said-i " Believe in me, Magdalene ! 
 I love you ! I venerate you ! but must not seem to see 
 you! Aye, Magdalene! wonder at me, if you will but 
 believe in me ! love me !" Thus she read them, and so she 
 dreamed, and wondered, and believjed, .and loved. The 
 very inexplicability was the? maze that drew the imagination 
 and the heart of the doomed girl, more swiftly, surely, 
 fatally, into the whirlpool. She abandoned herself to the 
 delirium of this new joy of life. She knew her own pride 
 and ambition she knew his unbending arrogance ; yet 
 excited and intoxicated, blinded and bewildered, she never 
 feared how all this might end. Her plans were all fore- 
 gone now. There was no more ennui ; no more emptiness, 
 weariness of life; no more vague longings after she knew 
 "not what;" no! all feelings, thoughts, desires, hopes, 
 ambitions, aspirations, were merged in one great want, love! 
 " Oh, yes !" she thought, " I have wanted many things 
 wealth, luxury, rank, fame ! but now, now I wish for nothing 
 but love ! one exclusive love ! the whole heart's love of one 
 man. All wants are swallowed up in that ! And despite 
 his icy, stubborn indifference despite his studied neglect 
 and scorn, I must win it ! I will win it ! Oh, hungering 
 and thirsting yes, starving and fainting for this love I 
 will have it, though it were the very forbidden fruit, whose
 
 266 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 taste is death ! Ah, to be loved once ! to be loved once exclu- 
 sively, even though ^o die with the memory in my heart!" 
 
 During the last few days of his stay at Prospect Plains, 
 his conduct had become still more inexplicable. His man- 
 ner from being merely neglectful, had become coolly, quietly 
 insolent. He even called her " Magdalene " not affec- 
 tionately as the bosom friend of his cousin, but supercili- 
 ously, as he would have called Miss Washington's maid 
 "Coral." Nay, more he asked small services of her with 
 perfect nonchalance as, to hand him his gloves, hat, or cane, 
 and would frequently offend Virginia who was now able 
 to come down-stairs and take a walk in the middle of the 
 day by sending Magdalene for Miss Washington's shawl, 
 or bonnet, etc. Even this cool impudence did not offend, 
 discourage, or daunt Magdalene. I repeat, that she had 
 no pride where her affections were concerned. It is written 
 " Perfect love casteth out fear." It is true, also, that per- 
 fect love casteth out pride, as well. She felt, besides, that 
 she was quite worthy of him that he must love her when 
 he knew her well that he must love her even as she loved 
 him, when he should know her mind and heart, as they 
 could only be known in the intimacy of domestic life. All 
 this time, with that refined intuitive tact which is not guile, 
 but which so closely resembles it that exquisite tact by 
 which some women are enabled to mould themselves to the 
 ideal standard set up by the man they love ; Magdalene 
 appeared, or really became the model of all that Clinton 
 Carey most worshiped in woman. Nevertheless his man- 
 ner toward her, as 1 said, became daily more arrogant and 
 inexplicable and indeed, it was only by his seeming indif- 
 ference, that Magdalene could maintain her self-possession 
 at all ; for if he chanced to speak to her in a softened tone, 
 her heart trembled, her voice failed, and her whole face was 
 suffused with blushes.
 
 PAKTIXG. 267 
 
 The day at length came for Sir Clinton Carey's depar- 
 ture. He had taken leave of the family the night previous,* 
 in order to set out before 'sunrise to meet the stage at St. 
 Leonard's. Since Virginia's illness, Magdalene had had 
 exclusive superintendence of household affairs, and was 
 usually the first one astir of the family. Upon this morn- 
 ing she had risen by daybreak for two reasons : firstly, be- 
 cause she had not slept all night ; and secondly, because, 
 away down in the bottom of her heart, unguessed at least 
 unconfessed by herself lurked a wish to see Sir Clinton 
 Carey once more before his departure. She entered the 
 wainscoted, crimson-furnished parlor, which, from its light 
 oak pannels and thick curtains, as well as by the remaining 
 fire of the previous night, was comfortably warm, though 
 dark and obscure. Magdalene stood upon the hearth, with 
 her brow bent forward, and resting upon the mantel-piece, 
 in that attitude of sombre thought peculiar to herself. The 
 servants were not yet astir, the house was very quiet, when 
 she heard the door swing gently open, a step advance into 
 the room, and Sir Clinton Carey was beside her. She had 
 expected, wished for his entrance ; yet now a consciousness 
 of that wish, like a feeling of guilt, oppressed her, she, 
 the strong and self-possessed, turned sick with faintness 
 arid fear, as she raised her eyes to his countenance and 
 bowed her morning salutation. What was in that counte- 
 nance to send all the blood from her cheek, and bring it 
 back again in a rush ? He looked at her in the face a mo- 
 ment intently, and, dropping upon one knee, took her hand. 
 Yes, he, the arrogant, coldly -contemptuous man, whose 
 scorn of her had, more than any thing else on earth, galled 
 her proud spirit with a sense of her humiliating position 
 he was kneeling at her feet, holding her hands, raising his 
 eyes to hers with such a soul of earnestness yes, of ayony, 
 piercing through their fire.
 
 268 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Magdalene !" he said, and the very tone of music, of 
 eloquence, spoke volumes " Magdalene !" 
 
 She was very much agitated, her voice utterly failed her, 
 after saying, 
 
 " Rise ! oh, rise !" while she impulsively closed her hands 
 upon his, as though she would have lifted him. He only 
 dropped his head an instant upon those hands, and shud- 
 dered through every limb. 
 
 " Magdalene ! ray Worship ! my Terror !" 
 
 "Up, up, for Heaven's sake, up !" she struggled to say. 
 
 " Nay, my Queen, nay !" he said, lifting ap his head. 
 " Even here will I make my confession ! here, at the feet 
 of her whom I have worshiped, seeming to scorn ! Mag- 
 dalene, from the first moment I met you do you remember 
 it ? it was not in what might be called a picturesque or 
 an interesting position it was in the evening, in the draw- 
 ing-room, before the lamps were lighted ; you were stand- 
 ing before the fire, but had stooped to tie your shoe, or, 
 perhaps, to pick up something, when I approached you 
 raising your eyes, they met mine in a first full gaze ; and, 
 Magdalene, those full dark eyes of thine struck at once the 
 whole ' electric cord' of my being ; I trembled to the very 
 centre of my heart. It was so dark that yon could not see 
 it. You spoke and welcomed me, and, Magdalene, your 
 voice had the same strange, thrilling spell as that of your 
 glance. Since that, Magdalene, my whole being has tended 
 strongly, irresistibly, fatally, toward you, Magdalene, I 
 sought, by avoidance of you, by repulsion of you, to coun- 
 teract, or at least to weaken the centripetal power of your 
 spirit over mine. Magdalene, I have dared to look on you, 
 to speak to you but few times during our acquaintance, and 
 even then my whole soul has been shaken as by a st^rm 
 Yet ever, Magdalene, have you been at my side sleeping, 
 making, by night, by day, have you haunted,
 
 1' A K T 1 X G . 269 
 
 Magdalene, my Destiny, I was about to depart and make 
 no sign. You have willed it otherwise. Be it so 1 But 
 now listen ! It is vainer than vanity, my love and yours ! 
 I am poor, even very poor, Magdalene. My Christian 
 father, offended by my freedom of thought and opinion, 
 disinherited me as far as he could, and left the whole of his 
 estate to my younger brother, leaving me only the barren 
 title, of which he could not deprive me. Yes, Magdalene, 
 I am poor, and so are you. I am ambitious, and so are 
 you. We must both reach eminence, or, rather, you aud I 
 must each ' achieve greatness,' but not together. Magda- 
 lene, much as we love each other for I will not affect ig- 
 norance of your heart much as we love each other, we 
 should be each fatal to the ambition of the other." 
 
 During this speech, Magdalene had assumed that sover- 
 eign self-possession which none but he possessed the power 
 of disturbing. Withdrawing her hand, she was about to 
 say, "Sir Clinton, I thank you for your candor," but, 
 meeting his eyes, so eloquent with love, sorrow and rever- 
 ence, she said, as speaking beside herself for how else 
 should she have forgotten her maidenly reserve she said, 
 softly, 
 
 "I think you are mistaken ; why should we not command 
 success together ? If it were not so if each can only suc- 
 ceed apart from the other is not the price of such success 
 too high to pay ?" 
 
 "That is the logic of youth and womanhood, dearest 
 Magdalene I" 
 
 "It is truth !" 
 
 " Perhaps so ; yet a truth you would hate me for follow- 
 ing, ten years hence. And Magdalene," he said, turning 
 very pale, "I am affianced to another." 
 
 Magdalene clenched her hands, and compressed her lips, 
 intl her brow became livid, as she said,
 
 270 THE TWO SIS TEES. 
 
 " Then, why this address to me ?" 
 
 " Why did you throw yourself in ray way this morning, 
 M.igdalene ? Nay, do not reply we were both impelled 
 by a power stronger than our own sense of right !" 
 
 '' / was not you must know this," said Magdalene, 
 making a great effort to subdue her emotions, and speak 
 clearly; "you must understand this. I am incapable of 
 doing any thing I believe to be wrong. My bosom's judge 
 acquits me in this instance. But you you are pledged to 
 another, yet you do not love her !" 
 
 " No, I only love Magdalene 1" 
 
 " Does your betrothed love you ?" 
 
 "No, she loves another !" 
 
 " Both false or both inconstant !" said Magdalene bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Thou child ! this engagement was concluded upon bj 
 others, before we had ever seen each other." 
 
 The countenance of Magdalene cleared. 
 
 " Does she know of this betrothal ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 MagdaJene's brow was irradiated she was about to 
 speak, when the door opened, and, Prince appearing with- 
 in it, said, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but your horse has been saddled 
 half-an-hour, and the stage leaves St. Leonard's at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Not a moment to lose, Magdalene ! Farewell ! fare- 
 well 1" he said, pressing her hand to his iips an instant, and 
 then he was gone. 
 
 Her face was radiant, even after he left her. " I will win 
 him yet. He loves me. I always felt it, and now he avows 
 it. He sha!l not commit the sin of while he loves another 
 marrying a girl he does not love, and who also loves not 
 him, but some one else I thus making four people uu-
 
 SORROW AND CONSOLATION. 271 
 
 happy. No I by the very strength of my soul he shall not 
 do this. I cau wait, wait ! I do not care how many years 
 of time, or miles of sea and land may sever us 1 This heart 
 is mine, and I can wait !" 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 THE MAIDEN'S FIRST SORROW AND CONSOLATION. 
 
 " Now In thy youth beseech of Him 
 
 Who giveth upbraiding not, 
 That His light in thy heart become not dim 1 , 
 
 Nor His love be unforgot ; 
 And thy GOD, lu the darkest of days, will be 
 
 Beauty, and greenness, aud strength to thee." Bernard Barton 
 
 THOUGH the first violence of Virginia's grief at parting 
 with Joseph had abated, yet her cheerfulness had by no 
 means returned. Slie missed the intimate associate of her 
 infancy, childhood, and youth every hour. Her very home 
 Beemed desolate without him, and all else that remained to 
 her as valueless as the ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness 
 seemed to the shepherd who left them for the sake of the 
 one that was lost. After the departure of Sir Clinton Ca- 
 rey, she seemed somewhat less depressed ; she resumed her 
 usual avocations ; took her alternate weekly charge of the 
 housekeeping, and always kept a supervision over the 
 hous", the garden, the dairy, and the poultry-yard ; but her 
 livelj interest in all these things had flagged ; very wearily 
 she performed these duties. Her bloom had departed with 
 her vivacity. One day her grandfather found her on her 
 return from her favorite bantam chicken- coop-- leaning 
 with fatigue or peusiveness against the gate post, her straw
 
 L72 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 nat hanging off behind her head, and the little basket of 
 coarse ground com hanging heavily from her tired hand. 
 It was such a picture of weariness, sorrow, and self-aban- 
 donment, in one so young and artless, that her grandfather 
 looked on hr with a moistened eye, as he said, within him- 
 self 
 
 "It is not the love-sickness of a sentimental school-girl. 
 It is not love-sickness at all. It is the lonely sister's pining 
 for her cradle-brother. Virginia !" he said, aloud. 
 
 " My dear grandfather," she answered, looking up. 
 
 " What is the matter, my love ?" 
 
 " I was thinking of Josey, father, and I do not feel 
 strong that is all," she said, drawing her basket upon her 
 arm, putting on her hat, and turning to open the gate. 
 
 But the Judge, with that stately suavity of the old-school 
 manner, which ever blended the courtesy of the gentleman 
 with the affection of the relative, intercepted the motion, 
 and taking her little basket, and drawing her arm within his 
 own, led her toward the house. 
 
 " Will you pass an hour with me in the library, Vir- 
 ginia ?" 
 
 "Certainly, aear grandfather." 
 
 " Come then," he said, and led her thither. A little 
 bright fire, that the fresh spring day required, was blazing 
 on the small hearth. Judge Washington placed Ginnie in 
 the easy-chair, laid away her little hat, and drawing his 
 elbow-chair to her side, said : " Give me your confidence, 
 ray child. You have no mother. Speak to me freely, my 
 Ginnie." 
 
 Virginia wiped away the tears that began to fall from her 
 eyes, and said : 
 
 " I miss Joseph so much, father, that is all The place 
 does not seem the same without Joseph." 
 
 "And persons do not seem the same."
 
 SORROW AND CONSOLATION. 278 
 
 " That is so. I feel it is wrong, but I canuot help it ; 
 persons do not seem the same to me. Now that Joseph is 
 gone, I do not take comfort in any one that is left behind 
 as I ought. I do not love any one here as I ought. Is it 
 because my heart is desolate ?" 
 
 "What has become of your faith in the universal efficacy 
 of prayer, my child ?" 
 
 " I have it yet, father. I do pray. If I did not, I should 
 die ; for I am not a strong girl, father. My life and gayety 
 was not strength, not energy, not fortitude, father- only 
 vivacity as different from sound, well-founded, all-enduring 
 cheerfulness of heart, as as a blaze of stubble-straw is from 
 a bright, lasting fire of solid hickory logs. And the quick- 
 ness of intelligence for which I have been overpraised it 
 is not force of thought, only swiftness of apprehension as 
 different from strength of intellect as the fitful flashes of 
 lightning are from the ever-shining stars. No, father, I 
 am a weak girl in mind and body, very weak ; and I feel 
 it so much, now that Joseph is gone. I feel as though a 
 support were taken from me, and I should fall ; and if I 
 did not pray, father, I should and perhaps I should 
 die." 
 
 " Listen to me, my dear Virginia. I am going to tell 
 you a deep and high truth. That feeling of desolation, 
 Virginia it comes to all, many times in life, no matter bow 
 happy their position may be and most of all it comes to 
 earnest souls it is a visitation from heaven, Virginia, it is 
 a providence of God, it is intended to call up the soul that 
 neglects its higher life. Yes, Virginia, there are times in 
 the lives of all, even of the most loving, and the most happy, 
 when neither luxury, wealth, fame, nor love ; neither mother, 
 nor father, nor brethren, nor sisters, nor wife, nor children 
 can satisfy the soul when the soul, even in the midst of the 
 truest surrounding affections, feels a complete desolation,
 
 274 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 which she endures in solitude, in silence, as though it were 
 some guilty secret until, perhaps, indeed, the affections 
 die in the desert. If that soul, at that stage of its experi- 
 ence, would lift itself fervently, earnestly, perseveringly to 
 God not by going down upon the knees formally, but by 
 raising the heart she would find that the love of God 
 would .meet her with a blessing. She would return with 
 strengthened faith, renewed love, refreshed hope, and her 
 friends would be dear to her again, and her possessions 
 valued again. Yes, Ginnie, our dearest affections and best 
 enjoyments require constantly the renovating sunshine and 
 dew of Heaven to keep them alive*and blooming through a 
 long life. When the soul is wearied even unto death, with 
 every thing in the world, let her go to God for rest and 
 renovation, and she will return with a new gift of life a 
 new capacity for enjoyment an almost childlike zest for 
 the blessings of life. Dearest child, I wish I could impress 
 this upon your heart. You think that you do not love me 
 or your friend Magdalene now. It is only because your 
 bosom is filled with sorrowful regret. Pray, my Ginnie, 
 and the regret will be softened, and the love fully re- 
 stored." 
 
 " I have done so, father, and have been sustained I will 
 do so, and I believe that I shall be restored."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 i 
 
 THE ADOPTED CHILDREN 
 
 ' Leave as not, leave us not, 
 
 Say not adieu ! 
 Have we not >een to thee 
 Tender and true T 
 
 Too sad our love would be 
 
 If il^u wert gone 1 
 Turn to us, leave us not, 
 
 Thou art our own." Heinans. 
 
 As time passed, Virginia regained her health and cheer- 
 fulness, and became once more zealously interested in her 
 household affairs. About once a fortnight they received 
 letters from Joseph Carey, every one of which gave evi- 
 dence of his success in his profession, as well as of his con- 
 tinued regard and undying gratitude. At last, however, 
 came a letter to Judge Washington, marked "private." 
 He took it away to his study, opened, and read it. It 
 began by informing him that the writer, though then in the 
 high current of prosperity, determined to abandon his pro- 
 fession, believing himself to be the subject of a Divine mis- 
 sion to carry Christianity and civilization to the heathen 
 the Light of Life to nations that sat in darkness ; it con- 
 cluded by expressing a hope that his dear friend and patron 
 might approve the mission to which he was so strongly at- 
 tracted. Judge Washington pondered on this letter some 
 time before replying to it. He wrote, and, laying before 
 Joseph all the difficulties, hardships, toils, privations, dan- 
 gers, and discouragements of the missionary's life, and re- 
 minding him that many enthusiastic young people mistook 
 
 (275)
 
 276 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 that for a Divine call, which was in reality nothing but dis- 
 appointment, ennui, love of adventure, or some other coun- 
 terfeit, begged him to stick to his profession for at least 
 twelve months longer before deciding". For the present, he 
 said nothing of this to Virginia. 
 
 The same mail brought him letters from Sir Clinton 
 Carey, at Washington, informing him that business of the 
 utmost importance called him to England ; that he was 
 then on the eve of his journey and voyage ; and begging 
 permission to make his adieus to the family by letter only. 
 This the Judge communicated to Virginia and Magdalene. 
 
 From this time Magdalene's restless energies began to 
 give her trouble again. And now, as Virginia's health and 
 cheerfulness was fully restored, as there was no hope of 
 Magdalene's family acknowledging her, as the approach of 
 winter would certainly call the Washingtons to Richmond, 
 where her presence must embarrass them more than ever, 
 Magdalene determined to relieve them of her company, and 
 herself of her insupportable ennui, by going ont into the 
 world alone, and upon her own responsibility. One morn- 
 ing, therefore, while Virginia was engaged with her domes- 
 tic duties, Magdalene entered the library of Judge Wash- 
 ington, and, requesting of him the favor of a few moments' 
 conversation, announced her determination. This astonished 
 Judge Washington the more, that she seemed not for a 
 moment to have considered, with a view of being influenced 
 by it, what might be Jns opinion of her proposed course. 
 
 " What motive urges you to this, my dear ?" he inquired 
 
 She replied, by reminding him of the social embarrass- 
 ment she caused his family. He repudiated that considera- 
 tion altogether and instantly, and inquired if she had no 
 other motive ? 
 
 " Yes,'' she replied, " the strong necessity of absorbing 
 occupation."
 
 THE ADOPTED CHILDREN. 277 
 
 " Is there not a great field of labor here, ray dear Mag- 
 dalene ? Every sort of labor manual, mental, moral? 
 Truly the harvest even here is ripe, but the laborers are 
 few." 
 
 " Change, excitement, the pursuit of an object. She 
 needed it, she must have it at any cost," she said. 
 
 " And have you not considered my approbation or dis- 
 approbation, my dear child ?" 
 
 Magdalene told him that she would be deeply pained if 
 he disapproved her plan ; that she had not alluded to such 
 a contingency, because, having decided that her purpose 
 was the best for the happiness of all concerned, she had 
 fully determined to carry it out before she had thought of 
 mentioning the subject to any one. 
 
 " If your own grandfather, old Adam Hawk, opposes it ?" 
 
 " It will not turn me aside from my object, dear sir, much 
 as I might regret his opposition." 
 
 " You wish, you say, to be independent, to start in life for 
 yourself: how do you propose to do it?" 
 
 " First, I shall try to get a situation as governess in some 
 gentleman's family, far from the associations of my child- 
 hood, if possible." 
 
 " Your position would then be very similar to what it 
 now is, quite as monotonous, without the affection that I 
 hope alleviates all that is painful in your present situation. 
 In a month you would be as weary as you now are." 
 
 "Then I should change it, sir." 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 "Change it again and again, until I found content 
 ment fi 
 
 " The Indian blood, the untamed nature, the restless ener 
 gies, the vagrant disposition," thought the Judge, and he 
 replied : 
 
 " That will never do, Magdalene. You will not find 
 17
 
 278 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 rest to your spirit by any such means ; and the encourage- 
 ment of such a disposition would utterly unfit you for ihe 
 duties you would assume." 
 
 Magdalene felt the truth of this remark, but very much 
 disturbed in mind, she did not reply. 
 
 " But, Magdalene, in the event of your failure to secure 
 a situation as governess, what do you propose to do ?" 
 
 Magdalene's face flushed deeply, and she answered : 
 
 " I may try my brush and canvas. You have been so 
 partial as to intimate that I am no bad artist." 
 
 " A slow way of making an independent living, however, 
 Magdalene, and if it should disappoint you ?" 
 
 " Something else, then, sir," she replied, with a deeper 
 flush, -then hastily added: "but I will try the governess 
 first." 
 
 Much more the Judge said to shake her purpose, without 
 producing that effect. 
 
 Adam Hawk, when he heard of it, growled a great deal 
 against the course proposed, but without stopping it. 
 
 Virginia wept and pleaded in vain. 
 
 Finally, Magdalene having, through Judge Washington, 
 advertised for a situation, found one in a far-distant Southern 
 State, and prepared for her departure, which was to take 
 place at the same time that the family set out for Richmond
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THEODORE AND MAGDALENE. 
 
 " Imagine something purer far, 
 
 More free from stain of clay 
 Than friendship, love, or passion are, 
 
 Yet human still as they ; 
 And if thy lip for lore like this, 
 
 No mortal word can frame, 
 Go ask of angels what it is, 
 
 And call it by that name." Jtoore. 
 
 THEODORE HERVEY was still at college when the news of 
 Magdalene's expected departure reached him, in a letter 
 from his sister. He lost no time in setting out for home. 
 
 One morning when the Judge was in his study arranging 
 some business with his overseer, previous to leaving home 
 for the Winter, and Virginia was in the upper chambers 
 superintending the folding and packing away of the house- 
 linen in the chests and presses, in which they were to remain 
 until their return in the Spring Magdalene sat in the 
 parlor, putting the last stitches into a little traveling hood 
 she was quilting for Virginia, when her attention was 
 attracted by the sound of the light wheels of a solitaire 
 rolling up the carriage drive. A moment after, the door- 
 bell was rung, and the next instant, much to the surprise of 
 Magdalene, " Mr. Theodore Hervey" was announced, and 
 immediately afterward entered the room. Magdalen 
 arose and received him with much cordiality, expressing 
 warmiy the pleasure she felt in seeing him once more before 
 her departure from the neighborhood. She begged him to 
 be seated, saying that she would immediately send for Vir- 
 ginia and the Judge, who would be rejoiced to see him again 
 
 (279)
 
 280 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 before they left and she was about to ring for a servant, 
 when Theodore, by a gesture, stayed her hand. 
 
 " No, if you please, pardon me ; I wish to speak with you 
 alone, Magdalene. 
 
 Surprised at the unusual earnestness of his tone and 
 manner, Magdalene resumed her seat, and turned to give 
 him her full attention, and in so doing noticed, for the first 
 time, that his naturally dark and picturesque style of beauty 
 was even exaggerated now in the very pale and hollow 
 features, in the large shadowy eyes, and the highly intellec- 
 tual and spiritual expression of his countenance and her 
 silent comment was, " He is killing himself by this ' Read- 
 ing for honors.'" 
 
 Theodore remained buried in thought for a few minutes, 
 as though at a loss how to open his business; at length he 
 said, 
 
 "And so you are to leave us soon, Magdalene ?" 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow.-" 
 
 11 Yes. And I have come, Magdalene, to entreat you to 
 delay your journey, perhaps to abandon it finally." He 
 paused. Magdalene, looked up to hear more before express- 
 ing the quiet wonder she felt. He resumed. " Magdalene, 
 my father, Helen, myself all know, and appreciate the 
 motive that led you to the formation of this resolution, and 
 I cannot tell you how much it pains us even while we honor 
 you for it. Magdalene I bring you a letter from my mother, 
 in which, expressing all the affection that herself and our 
 whole family feel for you she prays you to come and spend 
 the Winter of your friend's absence, at the parsonage," 
 said he, as he handed her the letter. 
 
 She received it, and opening, read it to the end. Had 
 Magdalene been of the "melting mood,'' the kindness of 
 this letter would have opened the fountain of her tears as 
 it was, she folded it up and put it in her pocket with
 
 THEODOKE AND MAGDALENE. 281 
 
 no show of the strong emotion that really stirred her 
 heart. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how grateful I am, dear Theodore," 
 she said. 
 
 " And you will make us all happy by coming, dear 
 Magdalene ?" 
 
 " Impossible, my friend ! my engagement is concluded, 
 and my arrangements are all made ; besides, Theodore, you 
 are mistaken in me. Yon have given me credit for a dis- 
 interested motive. I had also a selfish one. Theodore, I 
 must have change, action, excitement, life !" 
 
 Here followed a controversy between Magdalene and 
 Theodore, very similar to those that had occurred between 
 the former and the Judge, and with, of course, a similar 
 result. At the end of this interview, Theodore declining 
 to see Judge Washington or Virginia, left the house, 
 When he was gone, Magdalene told Judge Washington of 
 the kind offer that had been made her, and showed Virginia 
 the letter. The Judge advised and entreated his adopted 
 child to accept Mrs. Hervey's hospitality ; and Virginia 
 cast her arras around her neck, and weeping, besought her 
 to go to the parsonage, where they would all know that she 
 was safe, and hear from her continually. But Magdalene 
 shook her head. A comet might be turned from its course 
 as soon as this erratic being. In the afternoon, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hervey, with Helen and Theodore, came by a previous 
 appointment, to spend the last evening with the Washing- 
 tons. Mrs. Hervey, warmly seconded by Helen, renewed 
 her invitation which Magdalene, deeply pained, declined. 
 The afternoon was not half over, when Theodore requested 
 a private interview with Magdalene, and she received him 
 in the library. He came in, drew his chair to the side of 
 Magdalene, took her hand, and in a voice that trembled 
 with excess of emotion, he said
 
 282 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 ' Magdalene, I have something to say to you ; and if 
 there be too great abruptness iu my speech, you will par- 
 don it for the sake of the- strong affection and the urgent 
 necessity that constrains me to speak. Magdalene, I ha ye 
 loved you since you were a child. My affection has grown 
 with my growth, and strengthened with my strength. I 
 have read your heart with a clearness and precision that no 
 one else, perhaps, has ever done ; and while deeply deplor- 
 ing some things that I see there, I love you still, I must 
 love you ever. I know well that it is the first and last, the 
 only one exclusive love of my whole life. It is a part of 
 my soul. I shall never lose it in time nor in eternity. 
 When I left home for college, it was the parting with you 
 only that grieved me. When I returned, it was the meet- 
 ing with you only that rejoiced me. I have perhaps with 
 culpable egotism and presumption long habituated my- 
 self to consider you as the lifelong companion of my 
 future. When, a few days since, I received a letter from 
 my sister, announcing your intended speedy departure, I 
 then felt for the first time how much I loved you. I felt, 
 Magdalene, that I should not have the courage to come 
 back to the neighborhood after you were gone, to miss you 
 everywhere. Well, Magdalene, after passing a night full 
 of anxiety ah, you know nothing of such sleepless nights, 
 Magdalene " He paused. A dark smile was her only 
 comment. He resumed : " I arose in the morning to put 
 in execution a resolution I had formed. I came down 
 here. I arrived late last night. I opened my heart to my 
 parents, and you know what followed, Magdalene. Finally, 
 I am at your side, with their full consent and approbation, 
 to offer you my hand, and such a home as my father's mod- 
 est house can afford my wife. Will you have me, Magda- 
 lene ?" He pressed her hand, and paused for a reply, look- 
 ing anxiously, intently into her half-averted fa'ce, until with
 
 THEODORE AND MAGDALENE. 283 
 
 sudden self-recollection, he flushed to the brow, and dropped 
 his eyes. 
 
 ' Theodore, I am profoundly grateful for this proof, a 
 confidence and affection that I pray God I may ever be 
 able to merit " 
 
 She paused for words to convey her rejection in tne most 
 delicate manner. But there was something in her counte- 
 nance that disturbed him, for he said anxiously, 
 -"You do not answer me, Magdalene." 
 
 She clasped his hand that still held her own, and replied, 
 
 "Dear Theodore, dear friend, in return for all this that 
 you offer me, I have only a sister's deep affection and high 
 respect to give you." 
 
 "Magdalene, you do not mean Oh no, my God !" he 
 exclaimed, dropping her hand, and growing very pale. 
 " Speak ! say something to me, Magdalene." 
 
 " I say then, dear Theodore, that highly as I estimate 
 the honor you intend me, I am forced to decline it." 
 
 " ' Honor !' do not mock me, Magdalene. I have nothing 
 to offer you but a true and affectionate heart, and the pros- 
 pect of a modest competence to be gained by years of in- 
 dustry and economy ; and this I have presumed to tender 
 you with startling abruptness. You are proud, and you 
 are somewhat offended, and you mock me. Forgive me, 
 Magdalene, if I have been necessariJy too hasty in this 
 Take time to consider. Only do not leave us yet. Ac- 
 cept my mother's invitation. It. was prompted by a true 
 affection for yon. Do, Magdalene." 
 
 " Dear Theodore, hear me : I am deeply sensible of 
 your mother's and your own goodness to me ; profoundly 
 grateful for the proof of confidence and affection she gives 
 me ; devoutly thankful for the honor you do me the great- 
 est honor you could give me the greatest honor I could 
 receive from any man ; and " she said, with impressive
 
 284 . <>: . T 11 ic i v o * i a T n K 3 . 
 
 earnestness, "well, perhaps, ii would be for tne, conld I 
 avail myself of it ; but it is impossible I cannot. I can 
 never have the quiet happiness of being your wife, and lov- 
 ing you as your wife should. I cannot I It is impossible !" 
 she said, iu a tone of the very anguish of regret, as though 
 tlv4) good and evil of her nature had suddenly risen in bat- 
 tle-array against each other, and the good had retreated. 
 Bnt this manner and expression, so unusual, so surprising, 
 yet so natural for she stood then at the very fork of the 
 road of destiny, and felt the crisis of her fate acutely 
 passed quickly as a spasm, and she was herself again. 
 
 " You you are not engaged, Magdalene ?" he asked, 
 in a voice that was momentarily becoming more agitated. 
 
 " No, I am not engaged." 
 
 " You have no suitor, I think, Magdalene ?" 
 
 "No," said she, with a painful consciousness of having 
 suppressed a part of the truth. 
 
 " Then I will still hope that in time " 
 
 "No, indeed you must not think of it," said she, ear- 
 nestly; "for if I am not engaged if I have no suitor 
 still it is nevertheless true that you must indulge no falla- 
 cious hope ; and yet," she said, with a sneer at herself, " it 
 is no great good I forbid you to hope for." 
 
 "'No great good,' Magdalene? the hand of one we 
 love!" 
 
 Her heart was stricken with a sudden pain by the thought 
 called up by this question, yet she did not again lose the 
 " natural ruby of her cheek," or the calmness of her manner, 
 as she replied, 
 
 " You must forget this, dear Theodore." 
 
 " 1 cannot! It is my nature to remember, and to hope. 
 Ah, Magdalene, my life's star ! I will strive, and wait, 
 and hope. I will win thy heart by patience yet." 
 
 The vert/ words she had used in reference to another !
 
 THEODORE AND MAGDALENE. 285 
 
 Again that sudden, inexplicable pang pierced her spirit, 
 but without betraying itself through those nerves of steel, 
 and muscles of marble, that scarcely any thing could disturb, 
 but the presence, the voice, the gaze of ONE. 
 
 Finding all his arguments useless for the present, Theo- 
 dore closed the interview by saying, while he stood before 
 her, holding her hand, 
 
 "My dearest Magdalene ! you go out into a life full of 
 toils, privations, humiliations and perils for one like you, 
 But remember this ! in me, whom you will not now accept 
 as a husband, you will always, and under all possible 
 circumstances, find a friend and a brother. I here pledge 
 you an affection, a devotion, and a fidelity that ' neither life 
 nor death, nor things present nor things to come,' shall be 
 able to shake. God bless you, Magdalene I" 
 
 " And you, Theodore 1" 
 
 So closed the interview. 
 
 After an early tea, the Herveys took leave and departed. 
 
 Early the next morning, the family set out in the ca- 
 pacious traveling carnage for Richmond. Virginia was 
 in very high spirits, notwithstanding the prospect of soon 
 parting from her beloved foster sister. The joyful antici- 
 pation of meeting Joseph, gave an impetus to her happy 
 temper, that nothing could check. They arrived at their 
 
 house on Street, at Richmond, upon the evening of 
 
 the second day. Joseph's lodgings were in a distant part 
 of the city, and they had expected to meet him waiting for 
 them at the house. He was not there, however. Judge 
 Washington was obliged to convey Magdalene to the hotel, 
 and place her under the charge of a gentleman and lady 
 who were going South the next morning. He promised 
 Ginnie to go for Joseph, and bring him home with him if 
 possible. Though Magdalene showed no emotion, Virginia 
 wept freely at parting with her. Her tears were soon dried
 
 286 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 however, in the excitement of expecting Joseph. Virginia, 
 attended by Coral, went into her room to change her dress, 
 while Polly Pepper, below, arranged the tea-table against 
 the return of Judge Washington with Mr. Carey. Ginnie 
 came down in a dress of light-blue prince's cloth, with her 
 hair in its usual glittering spiral red ringlets. 
 
 "Ah, Polly, I am glad you remembered the crumpets 
 Mr. Carey likes so well," she said. 
 
 "How could I forget, when you sent me so many 
 messages about them, Miss Ginnie," said she. 
 
 Ginnie tidgetted about the table, and walked the floor, or 
 looked out at the windows, until the carriage again rolled up 
 to the door, and Judge Washington alighting, entered alone. 
 
 " Where is Joseph, father ?" anxiously exclaimed 
 Virginia. 
 
 " My child, he is not at his lodgings. His landlady tells 
 me that he left them this afternoon she does not know for 
 what destination." 
 
 " He he has not left the city ?" asked Virginia, growing 
 pale, and sinking into a chair. 
 
 " No, I presume not, my love, we shall probably see or 
 hear from him to-morrow ; in the meantime, Ginnie, my 
 dear, order supper," said the Judge, with an effort to con- 
 quer or conceal the anxiety that troubled him. 
 
 Virginia, trembling, sick to faintness with disappointment 
 and apprehension, complied. 
 
 The next morning the postman stopped before the door, 
 and delivered letters for the Judge. Among them was one 
 from Joseph Carey, dated at Richmond the d;iy before, 
 which the Judge opened and read to himself. It ran thus 
 
 TficJimnnd, December 1st, 18- % 
 Mv DEAR AND HONOREB FRIEND : 
 
 I have been striving with myself, long, sturdily, but vamlv.
 
 THEODORE AND MAGDALENE. 287 
 
 I dare not remain here, and meet Virginia. The parting 
 with her last Spring caused me and her so much bitter 
 anguish ; the prospect of meeting her soo-n, of spending the 
 Winter in her dear company, agitates me with such a wild 
 ecstaey, that I cannot venture to trust myself to the trial. 
 Bethink you, sir, of the days of your own youth, and consider 
 the tremendous test to which you would subject me a test 
 I dare not meet. Enough ! Yon come to Richmond, 
 and bring Virginia to-night. I leave the city to-day. My 
 habits of severe economy have enabled me to save money 
 enough for my present small expenses. I go straight to 
 Boston, to join a Christian Mission about to sail from that 
 port for India. Let your blessings go with me, my best 
 friend! Convey my endless affection, and my farewell, to 
 Virginia, at the time, and in the words you may deem most 
 fitting. I dare not write to her. I can scarcely trust my- 
 self to write to you. I do not know that I write cohe- 
 rently for heart and brain are not right ! But, happy 
 or wretched ; present or absent ; sane or insane I am 
 always, and under all circumstances, Judge Washington, 
 most gratefully, affectionately, and faithfully, 
 
 Yours, JOSEPH W. CAREY. 
 
 " Noble and generous young man ' Poor boy ! poor 
 boy !" said the Judge, commenting upon thu letter. "And 
 now to break this to Virginia." He paused in thought a 
 long time, holding the open letter behind his back, and 
 walking slowly up and down the room. At length he 
 ouched the bell, and when a servant answered it, he said 
 " Go and say to Miss Washington, that I shall visit her in 
 her chamber, immediately." And soon he followed his 
 messenger up-stairs, to Virginia's apartment. He found 
 his granddaughter industriously working a pair of slippers. 
 
 " For Joseph, father," she said, in reply tc his look ; and
 
 288 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 laying them down, she wheeled an easy-chair near the fire, 
 for him to repose in. 
 
 "I have heard from Joseph this morning, Virginia, "said 
 the Judge, quietly taking the seat. 
 
 " And he, father is he well ?" exclaimed she anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, he is well." 
 
 " Thank Heaven and yet, father, there is something 
 in your countenance alarming what ! what is the mat- 
 ter ?" 
 
 "Nothing alarming, my love! Joseph has left the city." 
 
 " Left the city," she repeated calmly. Her back was to 
 the window, so that he could not see how pale she had sud- 
 denly grown. " Left the city," she reiterated. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, loft the city," continued the Judge, 
 thoroughly misled by the very quietness of her tone 
 though that quietness was only the weakness of a fainting 
 heart. " Yes, uiy dear child, my dear Virginia, your bro- 
 ther has put in execution his long-cherished design of going 
 out to India as a Missionary Virginia ! My God, Vir- 
 ginia !" he suddenly exclaimed, starting forward to receive 
 her falling form ; for, before he had got to the end of his 
 sentence, Virginia had thrown up both hands, taken a step 
 toward him, and now he caught her, fainting, in his arms.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MAGDALENE. 
 
 ' I see the cloud and the tempest near, 
 The voice of the troubled tide I hear, 
 Thy bo.iom's bark on the barge I see, 
 For, wanderer, thy loved one is there with thee." L. Davitton. 
 
 AT the period of which I write, traveling was of course 
 much more tedious and inconvenient than at the present 
 day. Therefore, although Magdalene had set out on her 
 journey near the first of December, it was near Christmas 
 when she arrived at Natchez with her friends, who, leaving 
 her at the only hotel the little town afforded, proceeded on 
 their journey into the interior. Magdalene wrote a letter 
 from her lodgings to Major Lincoln, the cotton-planter, for 
 whose only daughter she had been engaged as a private 
 governess. 
 
 The next day while waiting in her room, the chamber- 
 maid entered and informed her that a gentleman was in the 
 parlor inquiring for her. Magdalene sent down word that 
 she would attend him immediately, and pausing only long 
 enough to adjust the folds of her dark-green habit, and 
 smooth the bands of her rich black hair, she descended into 
 the parlor. As she entered, a gentleman somewhat past 
 middle age, tall, handsome, and of erect military carriage, 
 arose, and advancing to meet her, bowed low, saying, 
 
 "Miss Mountjoy, I presume?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Magdalene, returning his salutation. 
 
 " I am Major Lincoln, and am very happy to meet you, 
 Miss Mountjoy permit me to offer you a seat," said the 
 
 (289)
 
 2^0 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Major, handing a chair to our girl who seated herself in 
 it and taking one himself. He then entered into conver- 
 sation with Magdalene, deporting himself throughout the 
 interview with that suave and stately courtesy which dis- 
 tinguished the dignified old school, but which the loose 
 familiar manners of the present day would stigmatize as 
 "stiff." At the close of their interview, he said, 
 
 " As you express yourself quite refreshed, Miss Monntjoy, 
 1 will order the horses to the carriage immediately, and we 
 will set out for Boxwood, where my little girl is awaiting 
 her new friend with great impatience. And bowing again, 
 he left the parlor to give the necessary orders, while Mag- 
 dalene returned to her room to put on her bonnet and furs. 
 She had scarcely completed this arrangement, when a porter 
 appeared to take down her baggage, and the chambermaid 
 to tell her that Major Line )ln was ready. She went down, 
 and was conducted to the carriage by the Major, with the 
 stately suavity that distinguished his manners. 
 
 It was near night when they set out, and after a drive of 
 about two hours on a road between the forest on one side 
 and the river on the other, they turned into the former, and 
 drove a couple of miles before reaching a plantation, in the 
 centre of which, standing on a slight elevation, stood a very 
 shabby-looking country house, of frame-work, two stories 
 high, very long in proportion to its height, and surrounded 
 with a piazza to both stories. The lights that were shining 
 through the lower windows gave an air of cheerfulness to 
 the place. The carriage entered the gate, rolled up toward 
 the house, and stopped before the middle front door. Major 
 Lincoln alighted, handed out Magdalene, and conducted her 
 into the house, and by a door to the right into the parlor, 
 where a bright fire was blazing, a bright lamp burning, a 
 tea-table waiting, and a little girl reading. The little girl 
 made an impulsive bound to meet her father at first, but
 
 MAGUALENE. 291 
 
 then with a shy look retreated into her big easy-chair. 
 Major Lincoln led Magdalene to a seat, and then taking 
 the child's hand, brought her up, and said, 
 
 " This is ray little daughter Lucy, Miss Mountjoy," and 
 stooping over the child, he said, " Lucy, this young lady ia 
 your friend and instructress welcome her !" 
 
 The little girl blushed deeply, and bashfully and silently 
 held out her hand. Magdalene took it, drew her up to her 
 knee, stooped and kissed her. 
 
 " Now go and order tea, little one !" said the Major, and 
 the child vanished. 
 
 The next day after breakfast, Magdalene was introduced 
 to Mrs. Lincoln, the wife of the Major, and the mother of 
 Lucy, a lovely woman, an invalid for many years, who nov 
 seldom left her room. 
 
 " You will find our house not very comfortable, Mis: 
 Mountjoy ; and that indeed is the truth of every planter's 
 house in this region of country. The reason is, that they 
 are scarcely homes at all. Between winters spent at New 
 Orleans, or other cities, and summers at the sea-side, we 
 are at home for so short a portion of the year, that it 
 scarcely presents a motive for homestead-improvement. I 
 sometimes wish it might be otherwise. Now in a few days 
 we go to New Orleans for the winter. We return here in 
 April, and remain until June. Then we go North, to the 
 sea-side, and stay until the first of September. We reach 
 home in October, and remain until December, when we g< 
 to the city again. So passes our year. During our absence 
 the plantation remains under the sole charge of an overseer, 
 and the house under that of a housekeeper. When the clear- 
 ing up of the country shall render our summers more health- 
 ful, and the interior improvements make the roads in winter 
 more passable, I trust lhat we shall be enabled to pass mor* 
 time at home, and be encouraged to improve our houses ."
 
 292 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Magdalene found in this amiable family none of the 
 "toils, privations, humiliations, and perils," with which she 
 had been threatened by her friends and well-wishers. No 
 more finished "gentleman of the old school" could any- 
 where have been found than Major Lincoln ; no more 
 amiable lady of any school, than Mrs. Lincoln ; no more 
 gentle and endearing child, than Lucy Lincoln, whose 
 delicate health she inherited her mother's fragility of con- 
 stitution induced her parents to keep her at home, and 
 engage a governess to educate her, rather than send her 
 abroad. Soon after Magdalene's arrival, the family went 
 to New Orleans, to spend the remainder of the winter. 
 Though in the midst of one of the gayest cities in the 
 Union, they entered into few of its gayeties. Once or 
 twice, Major Lincoln took Magdalene to the theatre, to 
 which amusement she was passionately devoted. In the 
 spring they returned to Boxwood, where they spent the 
 three most beautiful months in the year for that region of 
 country. Never had Magdalene seen so charming a country 
 as Mississippi in April, May, and June ; and she earnestly 
 echoed the phrase of its people "The Eden of the South." 
 
 In June, when the weather began to be very oppressive, 
 they set out for the North, and about the first of July, 
 
 arrived at Cape , then first becoming the resort of 
 
 health or pleasure-seeking visitors. It was, as yet, early in 
 the season, and the place was comparatively vacant of com- 
 pany. Our party enjoyed themselves the more upon this 
 account, for Mrs. Lincoln was too delicate, Lucy too young, 
 and Magdalene's social position too undefined to make it 
 agreeable to mix much in society. As the season advanced, 
 however, the place became crowded with company. Morn- 
 ing and evening they rode or drove back into the country, 
 or walked by the sea-side. They had been there more than 
 pix weeks, and Magdalene was beginning to fool the mo-
 
 w A G i' A L I-:N E. 2'.'3 
 
 tions of those restless energies, that latent Indian nature 
 which forbade her to be quiet anywhere for any length of 
 time, when one evening she set out for a solitary ramble on 
 the beach. Up and down she wandered until twilight was 
 darkening into night, her morose, half-savage mood, soothed 
 by the monotonous, deep, low thunder of the great ocean on 
 the coast. Up and down she wandered unmindful of the 
 gathering darkness, or the comments that, might be made 
 upon her long absence at that late hour, thinking of one. 
 Not with regret, not with doubt, not with anxiety, but with 
 a deep and intense prophetic conviction of happiness mysti- 
 cally blended with darkest doom. Up and down she 
 wandered, until a deep-toned voice, at her side said, 
 
 "Magdalene. " 
 
 She did not start or exclaim, though her very heart stood 
 still, as Sir Clinton Carey paused at her side and raised her 
 hand to his lips. He led her a few steps onward to a pile 
 of rocks, seated her thereon and stood before her. She bad 
 not spoken yet. 
 
 " You are surprised to see me here, Magdalene ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Andglad ! 
 
 " Oh yes ! yes !" 
 
 He sat down by her side, drew her to his bosom, and 
 pressed his lips to hers. 
 
 " You think this meeting a ' singular coincidence,' Mag- 
 dalene?" 
 
 "No, I do not think sol I think that you knew I was 
 here and sought me." 
 
 "You are right, but how knew I that you were here, my 
 Magdalene ?" 
 
 "I do not know, certainly; I think possibly that you have 
 never lost sight of me yet." 
 
 " You are right again. Mairdalene a frequent and 
 18
 
 294: T H K TWO SIS T E II S . 
 
 regular correspondence with Judge Washington hns kept 
 me advised of the external circumstances of your lite, mJ 
 in them, Magdalene, I have read that which others have 
 not dreamed," and again he drew her within his arms and 
 rested her burning face upon his bosom. " Now for my 
 secret, Magdalene. You have been with me everywhere ; 
 in the city, in the ship ; in the calm, and in the storm ; on 
 the sea, and in port; in the Babel of great London, and 
 in the solitude of my remote native hills you have haunted 
 me. Never has your form and face been absent from my 
 side ; never has your voice ceased to make strange, sweet 
 music in my ears ; never have your darkly-vailed bright 
 eyes withdrawn their glances from mine ! Never night 
 or day sleeping nor waking, have you left me ! Magda- 
 lene, why have you pursued, chained and brought me back ? 
 Do not defend yourself! Do not tell me that you were far 
 distant in Mississippi while I was on the sea or in England ! 
 That you never wrote to me never spoke of me. You 
 thought of me. You dreamed of me 1 You loved me ! 
 You wanted me! You followed me in the mighty strength 
 of your spirit ! You have recaptured the fugitive, and he 
 is at your feet ! Do with him as you please, Magdalene ! 
 It is such a worn-out phrase to say ' I love you !' that I 
 /want you more than all else the world or heaveu can offer 
 me that I prize you more than life ! Oh, this has been 
 said by millions of men to women, not one of whom ever 
 felt a tithe of the power that has vanquished me ! Magda- 
 lene, speaK to me." 
 
 But she could not have spoken, with all her self-command 
 she could not have spoken, had her soul depended on it. 
 
 "Magdalene, my destiny ! answer me 1" 
 
 She put both hands in his, and dropped her head upon 
 bis shoulder. 
 
 " Magdalene 1" he whispered, between many soft caresses.
 
 MAGDALENE. 295 
 
 " Magdalene, I have somewhat to say to thee but not 
 now !" he added, after a moment's thought. 
 
 The loud ringing of the last supper-bell aroused both 
 from their forgetful ness, and they arose simultaneously to 
 return to the house, when Sir Clinton, laying his hand upon 
 Magdalene's, said, 
 
 " Magdalene, my love, listen to me ! And in spite of 
 all the strangeness of what I am about to say to you be- 
 lieve in me will you, can you, Magdalene ?" 
 
 " As in heaven ! Yes !" 
 
 " Then this is what I have to say to you. You must 
 not recognize me in this place at all I Do you understand 
 me, Magdalene ?" 
 
 " I understand your words, but not the reason for them." 
 
 " You shall know the reason soon, Magdalene 1 and, for 
 the present, you will oblige me in this ?" 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 " And yon will not suspect me ?" 
 
 "When I do, Sir Clinton, I will renounce you," said she, 
 as she bowed and walked toward the house, leaving him 
 aLone upon the sands. She entered the house and seated 
 herself at the supper-table oppressed with a sense of wrong, 
 degradation, and danger. 
 
 And yet Magdalene could not be angry with him proud 
 as she really was, humiliating as his manner toward her at 
 limes certainly was, she could not be angry with him. She 
 wondered at herself for this ! She wondered if any thing 
 on earth that he could say or do, could raise a single vin- 
 dictive feeling in her heart. It was because she loved and 
 trusted him througn all things and beyond all things. Aye, 
 Sir Clinton Carey, bring her high spirit low 1 trample her 
 pride in the dust ! set your heel upon her neck : she has 
 no pride for you. She will bear it all ; and when you tell her 
 that you love her, she will believe your word against a thou-
 
 296 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 sand facts. Yes, but once outrage and utterly betray her 
 love ! and you had better, alone and unarmed, have met a 
 lioness in her forest walk than Magdalene in her roused 
 wrath. 
 
 The next morning early Magdalene was walking on the 
 beach, when Sir Clinton Carey again joined her. He in- 
 vited her to sit upon the rocks, and placing himself beside 
 her, took her hand 
 
 " My dearest Magdalene, I told you, did I not, that I 
 had somewhat to say to you." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Listen then, Magdalene. Your heard me say upon the 
 morning that I left you at Prospect Hall, that I was poor, 
 very poor, did you not ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Magdalene, in a low voice, for a vague pain 
 seized her heart. 
 
 " Hear me further upon this subject, my child, my dear 
 child 1" he said, drawing her to his heart. " Like the un- 
 just steward of the New Testament, I cannot work to beg 
 I am ashamed. I am poor still, Magdalene ; and the only 
 prospect of better fortune is a wealthy marriage, or the 
 continued favor of an aged and rich relative, whose heir I 
 am, but whose favor and fortune I should alike lose by con- 
 tracting what he would consider an ill-advised matrimonial 
 engagement are you listening to me, my dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes/' said Magdalene, in a dying voice. He drew 
 her hand up over his shoulder, and stooping, looking ten- 
 derly in her eyes, whispered in a lulling, soothing voice, 
 
 " Will you go to England with me ? Will you trust me 
 with your happiness, your honor ?" 
 
 Magdalene snatched her hand away as though a serpent 
 had stung it ; flushed crimson, turned deadly pale, arose 
 and staggered from him and would have fallen, but that 
 he was at her side again in a moment, and leading her back
 
 MAGDALENE. 297 
 
 seated her upon the rock, and dropping upon one knee took 
 her hand, aud while his face was flushed, said, in a voice 
 faltering with strangulation " Magdalene, you have mis- 
 apprehended me ; most cruelly misapprehended me. For 
 what in the name of God do you take me, Magdalene ? 
 Magdalene, say that you trust me ! Say that you will con- 
 sent to a secret marriage, and go with me to England. 
 Talk, Magdalene !" His energy of manner her own pas- 
 sions, or both, mastered her ; recovering herself, she said, 
 
 " Sir Clinton, speak to me always plainly, I beseech you. 
 I speak very plainly. And my words never admit of two 
 constructions pardon me 1 I do not understand my own 
 emotions, my own utter loss of self-government almost 
 utter loss, not quite for now, even now, in this moment of 
 great agitation, I will not give you a reply ; I am disturbed 
 I must get quiet I am heated, I must get cool I am mad 
 indeed, and I must get sane ! Leave me or suffer me to 
 go!" 
 
 "Foolish and tormenting girl ! For what reason do you 
 wish time to consider of this ? you have no parents to dis- 
 obey or forsake, no relatives to grieve." 
 
 "I have a storm in my'own soul to still, though !" 
 
 And she arose and walked toward the house. Not until 
 the next morning did she lay her hand within that of Sir 
 Clinton Carey, and say : 
 
 " I will go with you." 
 
 Their arrangements were quickly and quietly completed. 
 Magdalene signified her wish to quit her present situation 
 at the end of the ensuing term, which would bring also the 
 end of the season at Cape . The company were leav- 
 ing daily, for the last week in August had come, and upon 
 the first of September Magdalene bade farewell to her 
 friends, and set out for Norfolk under the escort of a gen- 
 tleman and lady who were traveling thither, aud who iu
 
 203 THE T \T S I D T K R S 
 
 * 
 
 their turn placed her for the remainder of her journey in 
 the care of a fellow-passenger, whom they had known ar the 
 Cape, and who was no other than Sir Clinton Carey. It 
 was at a small village some few miles out of Norfolk that 
 Sir Clinton Carey and Magdalene Mountjoy pledged to 
 each other those vows that nothing but death could annul. 
 The only witnesses of this marriage were the confidential 
 servant of Sir Clinton, and a young girl recently engaged 
 as a traveling maid for Magdalene. Immediately after the 
 ceremony they returned to Norfolk, from whence they sailed 
 the next morning for England. 
 
 One thing only troubled Magdalene on her voyage out. 
 It was this. During the many months of her connection 
 with the Lincolns, she had written many letters to Virginia ; 
 to none of which had she received any reply. At length 
 she had written to Judge Washington, and had received a 
 letter, long after its date for it had followed her around 
 the country in which she learned that Virginia had been 
 very ill, was very slowly recovering, and was then residing 
 at the Sunny Isle.. Again, before leaving the Lincolns, 
 Magdalene, anxious for later intelligence, had written to 
 the Judge ; but though she had waited long for his answer, 
 it had not arrived up to the day of her sailing and now 
 ehe felt that there rolled between them an ocean of fate 
 wider than the Atlantic,
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 NEW LIFE. 
 
 "A new life, like a yonnff sunrise, break* 
 On the strange unrest of thy night." Browning. 
 
 MAGDALENE'S happiness was not long qualified by i egret 
 for those she loved, yet had left. She knew precisely how 
 it was, and how it would be, with her friends, in their 
 thoughts, feelings, and actions toward herself. She knew 
 that Judge Washington and Virginia would write to her 
 again and again, and that their letters would remain un- 
 answered. She knew that, alarmed at her continued silence, 
 they would write to Major or Mrs. Lincoln, and that then 
 an eclaircissement would occur, filling both parties with as- 
 tonishment, grief, and dismay ; that Major Lincoln, sur- 
 prised to hear that she had not returned to the protection 
 of her friends, would write and tell Judge Washington when, 
 where, and as far as he knew under what circumstances 
 Magdalene had left his family ; that Judge Washington, 
 grieved and alarmed, would instantly set on foot an inquiry 
 to find the clue to her fate, which, owing to the strict pre- 
 cautions taken, would fail ; that, finally, their sorrow and 
 anxiety would yield to time, or to the conviction that its 
 object was dead, or, what was worse, utterly lost and un- 
 worthy to live. But, until then, how much from suspense 
 they must suffer ! How much, from sympathy with them, 
 must she herself suffer! But, in respect to the extent and 
 duration of her own trouble, Magdalene was mistaken. 
 Soon she felt that all regret, remorse, and grief every 
 
 (299)
 
 300 TUB TWO SISTERS. 
 
 emotion and thought was swallowed up in one infinite 
 contentment. The old, scornful maxim that " Marriage is 
 the bane of love," was utterly refuted iu the case of Magda- 
 lene and of Clinton. Every day, as they knew each other 
 more, they loved each other better, and were happier in 
 their mutual love. Their happiness seemed a constantly 
 increasing good. How Clinton was changed since their 
 marriage ! Had he been egotistical, arrogant, and capri- 
 cious before ? No lover could be more disinterested, de- 
 voted, and constant than he was now. There was some- 
 thing almost deprecating in his service of her. And as for 
 Magdalene, her heart ached with the fullness of her grati- 
 tude, love, and joy; and this excess of life took a strange 
 turn. 
 
 It was September, and the voyage out was, in almost 
 every respect, delightful. When out of sight of land, the 
 vast panorama of the unbounded waters aroused all the 
 power, and the sublime splendor of the rising and setting 
 sun at sea kindled all the fire of Magdalene's strong and 
 ardent enthusiasm ; and this stimulated passion for the sub- 
 lime and terrific excited a desire to be in the midst of a 
 great storm at sea. She felt that her own strong, energetic 
 and half-savage spirit would revel alike amid the wild war- 
 fare of winds and waves, and amid the powerful emotions 
 of terror, grief and despair they would excite in men. And 
 so, in a moment of gay confidence, she told Sir Clinton, 
 with a kindling cheek and a flashing eye. He enjoyed to 
 the quick the freshness of her joy, laughed almost aloud, 
 and, caressing her, exclaimed, 
 
 "Oh, Magdalene, with what newness of life you inspire 
 me ! How I shall delight to go over the Continent with 
 you I To see those fine eyes of yours soar up to the top 
 of Mount Blanc, and blaze in the light of the glaciers I To 
 see those cheeks and lips of yours glow under the refulgent
 
 N H W LIFE. 301 
 
 Bkies of Italy ; and that earnest, fervent soul of yours full 
 into one of its profound and beautiful reveries amid the 
 ruins of the old world's grandeur ! Oh, Magdalene, to take 
 a beautiful, intellectual, and ardent country girl to see the 
 wonders of the old world what a new sense of existence 
 is in that !" 
 
 But iii the matter of the desired storm at sea, Magdalene's 
 destructive sublimity of mood was not destined to be grati- 
 fied at so costly a price. The voyagers were favored with 
 a fast-sailing vessel, fine weather, and fair winds, and they 
 made the trip in something less than a month. 
 
 It is not my intention to record minutely the life of Mag- 
 dalene and of Clinton for the next few months. They 
 landed at Liverpool, but without staying in England, im- 
 mediately took passage across the Channel to set out upon 
 their continental tour. They passed the remaining autumn 
 months of October and November in Germany and Switz- 
 erland ; and her awe and enthusiasm among the stupendous 
 Alpine precipices, and her admiration of the sublime and 
 beautiful scenery and gray old ruins on the Rhine, came up 
 to his highest expectations, and refreshed and renewed him 
 like a bath in the fountain of youth. Early in December 
 they journeyed southward toward Italy ; and here her deep 
 interest in the magnificent records of the ancient world 
 brought back, conjured back the days of his own first ar- 
 dent enthusiasm ; and he never wearied of making a ruin, 
 a relic, a picture, or a statue the theme of history, tradition 
 or poetry, to give it a deeper interest in her heart. And 
 Magdalene felt how kind, beyond a lover's or a husband' 
 kindness, was this perfect sympathy, this never-wearying 
 devotion ; and she fell that her whole soul's gratitude and 
 love, great as it was, was insufficient for bis merits. 
 
 They went to Sicily, and here, under sunny skies and 
 amid luxuriant landscapes, in a palazzo where all that
 
 302 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 wealth, taste, and love of luxury could create, were com- 
 bined in a terrestrial paradise, they passed the winter. 
 And here, in this luxurious retirement, Magdalene disco- 
 vered every day new and surprising beauiies and attractions 
 in a heart and mind seldom equaled for depth and strength 
 of passion, force, and originality of thought, and for power 
 and splendor of expression. Every day she admired and 
 loved him more, until her love and admiration verged upon 
 adoration^ worship, idolatry ; and the longer she contem- 
 plated her image of clay, the brighter, diviner it became 
 in her eyes. She thought with a secret joy how opposite 
 her case was to that of most other women, who saw at first 
 only what was best, and often what was false in their lov- 
 ers, and had nothing left but faults to discover and illu- 
 sions to mourn. She had seen his faults at first, and loved 
 him in despite of them ; and now those faults had seemed 
 to pass away, leaving his character all bright and clear, 
 while new excellencies were revealing themselves continually. 
 She never questioned the reality of this change never in- 
 quired whether he were not at heart the same whether it 
 were not the difference in her position that made the differ- 
 ence in his deportment whether he did not consider the 
 difference in station between Sir Clinton Carey's wife and 
 the overseer's grandchild quite wide enough to warrant any 
 distinction in manner. She never questioned or caviled at 
 any thing he said or did now. She was too happy to specu- 
 late upon her happiness. This was, altogether, the most- 
 delightful winter she had ever spent in the whole course of 
 her life. 
 
 Early in the spring they left their Sicilian " Garden of 
 Eden," with much regret on Magdalene's side. They went 
 to Paris, where Magdalene soon found herself the centre of 
 a brilliant circle of poets, wits, and philosophers, of both 
 sexes, whose attractive charui of manner, brilliancy of con-
 
 NEW LIFE. 303 
 
 versation, startling originality of thought, and daring spec- 
 ulations, would have fascinated and carried away a mind 
 less stern and inflexible than was that of our " Indian girl," 
 in all cases where her heart was not concerned. Often 
 after some evening spent in such a circle, when her intellect 
 had been aroused and excited, at the same time that all her 
 preconceived opinions and all her cherished early ideas had 
 been startled from their propriety, and she had staggered 
 under the shock of some powerful new impression, she would 
 seek Clinton, and in the sanctuary of confidence speak of 
 these subjects, and he, with a smile half paternal, half lover- 
 like, would caress her, and express himself glad that she 
 was not "frightened ;" for so he would continue to inter- 
 pret the unchanging cheek, unfaltering voice, and perfect 
 quietude of manner with which she would speak, and which 
 was owing, not to deficiency of moral emotion, but to a 
 superabundance of physical strength. Magdalene was 
 "frightened," but by the only phantom, real or imaginary, 
 that could possibly frighten her, namely, the doubt, the 
 fear of her future happiness with him ; and so, in her per- 
 fect candor, she told him one night. She remembered that 
 night all her life long. They were sitting on a sofa in her 
 chamber. He put his arm around her neck, and drew her 
 head down upon his bosom, and gazed long and deeply, as 
 though he would have read her soul as though he would 
 have sent his piercing glance deep into the profound 
 abysses of her spirit the terra incognita of even her own 
 self-knowledge and searched for her yet unknown and un- 
 developed character, and prophesied of her future. His 
 eyes expressed in turn sorrow, pity, TERROR, as he gazed 
 with delating pupils, and .slowly withdrew them, exclaiming, 
 in a deep voice 
 
 " My God, Magdalene, if I have been mistaken in you 
 all this time ! If, in willing you the greatest good, I have
 
 304 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 done you the greatest harm I" and he put her from his 
 bosom, and walked about awhile, in great trouble. 
 
 That was the first painful impression Magdalene had ever 
 received from him, and, I had nearly said, the last. From 
 that time he became, if possible, still more devoted to her 
 happiness. Every thing that the most solicitous affection 
 could inspire was done for her. Before their marriage, 
 he had said that he was "poor, very poor," yet now 
 there seemed no want of money, or sparing of expense ; 
 every thing that imagination could suggest, and wealth 
 purchase, was procured for her. To Magdalene there was 
 something almost painful in this excess of solicitude. It 
 made her feel as if she were foredoomed to some unhappy 
 fate. It so resembled the self-sacrificing devotion we give 
 to the dying, or those soon to die. And Magdalene felt 
 that neither for declining health, or ensuing calamity, did 
 she need so much care. 
 
 It was September again, just one year from the anniver- 
 sary of their marriage, when one day Sir Clinton Carey 
 came into the room where she was awaiting him, and laying 
 a packet of letters on the table, sat down and called her to 
 him. She came and sat upon his knee, with one arm 
 around his neck, while he opened the packet ; but then, as 
 by a second thought, he said : 
 
 " You will not care to hear the letter read, Magdalene : 
 the news is, that my relative, Lord Cliffe, is in extremity, 
 and his lawyer, who is also mine, has written for me to 
 come instantly to London.' 
 
 " And you go to-morrow ; perhaps to-day ?" questioned 
 Magdalene. 
 
 " Not so, my dear. I must see you comfortably provided 
 for, first ; for of course you know, my dear Magdalene, that 
 under all the lircumstances, I cannot take you to England
 
 NEW L I F K . 305 
 
 " I suppose not," admitted Magdalene, with a sigh, and 
 an enforced smile ; " but, dearest, never mind my comfort. 
 You care too much for my comfort, too little for your own, 
 and for other people's interest. Go at once. Leave Paris 
 to-morrow to-night, because a day's procrastination may 
 close the opportunity of your ever seeing your aged relative 
 again, and the wishes of the dying should be commands. 
 Go to-night, or you never may see him again. Me you can 
 afterward see. 1 am young, and have indestructible health, 
 and shall live to please or to plague you half a century or 
 more yet. Come, I release you. Go at once, and send for 
 me as soon as you can." 
 
 He bent his head over her, and shuddered as he strained 
 her to his bosom, and his voice faltered, as he said : 
 
 " No, Magdalene, I cannot leave you in this place. I 
 shall not leave Paris for several days yet." 
 
 Nor could she persuade him to do so ; nor did she much 
 regret his inflexibility upon this point. 
 
 We often think it our duty to urge a person to a certain 
 course of conduct, which, nevertheless, we cannot help hoping 
 they will not pursue. 
 
 All the next day Sir Clinton Carey was engaged in busi- 
 ness. On the morning of the third day he came into Mag- 
 dalene's boudoir, and invited her to take a drive. She was 
 soon ready ; and he drew her arm within his own, conducted 
 her down-stairs, and placed her in the carriage that was 
 waiting before the door, stepped in after her, seated himself 
 by her side, and gave the direction to the coachman. They 
 were driven through the city, and out some distance into 
 the country, until the carriage was drawn up before the gate 
 of a small, but elegant villa, of white marble, upon the 
 banks of the Seine. The driver alighted, opened the door, 
 and let down the steps. Sir Clinton Carey stepped out 
 and handed out Magdalene, who looked inquiringly in hi*
 
 806 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 ^ace, drew her arm within his own, and led her into the 
 nouse. 
 
 "Are you fatigued, Magdalene ?" he inquired, gently, as 
 they entered the house. 
 
 She looked up with a queer smile " When was I ever, 
 Clinton?" 
 
 " Then I will take you at once over the house, and I want 
 you to criticise its appointments. It belongs to a dear 
 friend of mine, for whose residence I have fitted it up. 
 Come," and taking her hand, he conducted her through the 
 suits of splendidly-furnished rooms. " Now, Magdalene, 
 what is still wanted to perfect this ?" said he, as they sat 
 down together on a sofa in a beautiful boudoir. 
 
 " But one thing." 
 
 " What ? It shall be procured if the earth possesses it." 
 
 "Do not make rash promises. This home wants, to 
 perfect it, a master and a mistress who love each other as 
 we do.. Is your friend married ?" 
 
 " Are you married, Magdalene ? For this house is 
 yours. " 
 
 Magdalene was perplexed as well as gratified by this 
 announcement. She wondered that Sir Clinton should 
 purchase a villa just as they were upon the point of leaving 
 France, and with her usual frankness she expressed this. 
 
 " It may be many months before the settlement of my 
 business in England enables me to send for you, Magda- 
 lene. In the meantime I wish you to be perfectly comfort- 
 able here. This villa is a very desirable piece of property, 
 and a very delightful place of residence. It is within an 
 easy drive of the Tuilleries ; and if we come to Paris another 
 year, it will be pleasant to have this home." 
 
 " And I am the friend for whom you furnished it," said 
 Ma<rdnlene. 
 
 " Yes ; I would not tell you at first, dearest, because I
 
 N E W L I F E 307 
 
 knew that in that case yon would not name any defect that 
 you might see I thought possibly you might, if you were 
 left to suppose that the house was furnished for another. 
 I am rejoiced that you like it, dear, for you do, do you 
 not ?" he inquired, caressingly. 
 
 " Clinton, you overwhelm me with kindness. You put 
 me down and silence me. I have absolutely nothing to say 
 that; would not be disgracefully inadequate to express my 
 feeling of your goodness." 
 
 " Yes, I am good in some things, and God knows, my 
 dear, I hope and trust that you may continue to think so. 
 [ have willed your largest life and greatest happiness, 
 Magdalene. I have studied and labored for it day and 
 night, with a burning heart and throbbing brain, even when 
 I seemed not to see you, Magdalene. I have schemed and 
 plotted for your good, more than ever courtier did for 
 court favor. And this was the more intricate, difficult, and 
 heart- and-brain racking, because I wished to achieve your 
 own good without causing ill, even by a moment's pain to 
 any other. I loved you, Magdalene, so much ! I knew 
 yon lo\ed me. And sometimes when wisdom dictated a 
 thaw of coldness that I never felt, Magdalene, sometimes I 
 would catch your eyes and pour through mine the whole 
 meaning '"of ray soul." 
 
 "And I read you aright." 
 
 "Ah !" said Clinton, with something of a bitter sneer at 
 himself. 
 
 "Yes, I did. I never suspected that you scorned ME. 
 How could I suppose that ?" 
 
 " I never did. Matrdalene." 
 
 " 1 knew from the first evening that we met, you loved me " 
 
 " I d.'d, Magdalene ; and from that hour one idea pos- 
 sessed and governed me your happiness. Yet, great God ! 
 if I have failed 1"
 
 308 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 "It will be my own fault." 
 
 " It will, Magdalene ; yet not the less my own terrible 
 misfortune. " 
 
 "You feel and speak too morbidly about this, my dear- 
 est friend. I am very happy, only I reproach myself that 
 I do not feel the same great concern for your future, that 
 you feel for mine." 
 
 " And yet, Magdalene, there is something in your eye 
 something on your brow that is not happiness. You are 
 the soul of truth and candor. What is it ? Tell me !" 
 
 "I will. It is because every thing that is not plain, 
 simple, square, well-defined, unmistakable, pains me. Words 
 nnd sentences that do not express the full truth, or that 
 express more than the truth, or that admit of more than 
 one construction, pain me, pain me always, pain me deeply 
 in one that I love. You deal in such phrases, dear Clinton, 
 und they give me trouble. It seems ungrateful in me to 
 feel so, but I cannot avoid it. It seems insolent in me to 
 Kay so, but you asked me for my thoughts, and I have no 
 concealments from you ; and you are so forbearing, so pa- 
 tient, that I have no fear of offending you. I loathe mv- 
 self for feeling and for saying this. Visit it in any way you 
 please, Clinton, I will submit." 
 
 " Alas, Magdalene !" he began, and there he stopped. 
 Soon he embraced her and said : " Let us talk of something 
 else." 
 
 " Yes, of your trip to England, of the career that opens 
 before you. You succeed to the title and estates of Lord 
 Cliffe. That is valuable, but most valuable as a step into 
 a more useful sphere of action. You will be in the House 
 of Lords. Oh, Clinton, how anxious I have been to see 
 you in public life ! how impatient I have been to see you 
 wasting your manhood's years, and your splendid talents in 
 idleness and self-indulgence ! Oh, Clinton, I have had
 
 NEW LIFE. 309 
 
 great ambition, high ambition, powerful .ambition for my- 
 self ! Now, all my ambition is merged in aspiration after 
 your success. Oh 1 I shall feel so glorified in your glory, 
 so great in your greatness, so royal in your royalty ; for, 
 Cliiuon, you will be great, you will be glorious ; and if you 
 have not the sovereign's name, you will have the sovereign's 
 might! You will be that ' power behind the throne greater 
 than the throne itself. ' You will rule the nations of the earth 
 by force of mind. Clinton, you know that I am no excitable 
 enthusiast. I have enthusiasm, but it is profound, and only 
 moves on great occasions, and it moves powerfully. I 
 would it were a force to impel even you on to a career of 
 greatness. Clinton, I would have men point you out and 
 say : ' That is the first man in Europe, the greatest states- 
 man in the world !' and I would have all that power con- 
 verted into blessing for humanity. I would sanctify a 
 human ambition by a Divine beneficence." Her head was 
 raised, her cheeks were glowing, her crimson lips apart, 
 her eyes sparkling as she spoke. Suddenly, as by magic, 
 all was changed in her. She started violently, shuddered 
 terribly. Her high glance fell, her cheek paled, her lips grew 
 ashy, and she was falling, when he caught her, exclaiming . 
 
 " My God, Magdalene, are you ill !" 
 
 " No hush ! Nothing ! I am better !" she said, inco 
 herently. 
 
 " What is the matter ? You tremble yet I" 
 
 " Tt is nothing ; really nothing !" 
 
 " What is or was the ' nothing' then, that caused yonr 
 midden indisposition ? Come, Magdalene, you have no 
 concealments !" 
 
 " It it was a dream /" 
 
 " A dream !' 
 
 " Or rather, the sudden realization of a scene in n 
 dream. "
 
 810 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Magdalene ! snch absurdity, nay dear 1" 
 
 " Do not speak of it. Forget it, pray 1" 
 
 " I have never seen you so terribly shaken." 
 
 "Forget it, I beseech you." 
 
 " ' Shadows this night have struck more terror to the 
 heart of Richard, than could the substance of ten thousand 
 men.' Will you not tell ine this remembered dream, Mag- 
 dalene ?" 
 
 " Not now ; not now ! Oh I I beseech you, speak no 
 more of it," said she. And Sir Clinton, astonished at this 
 unparalleled weakness and continued agitation, became 
 silent. 
 
 " Let us go hence," said Magdalene, as soon as she had, 
 in some degree, recovered her self-command. 
 
 And they left the villa, re-entered the carriage, and drove 
 back to Paris. 
 
 That night, as they talked together of Clinton's speedy 
 departure, and of Magdalene's longer residence in France, 
 Clinton said, 
 
 " In the exigencies of your daily life, Magdalene, you 
 will need some intimate friend. I would like to leave yon 
 in the care of such an one. In and among the many men 
 whom I have presented to you, is there any single indivi- 
 dual for whom yon feel a greater degree of friendship, or in 
 whom you place a deeper confidence than in all the others ? 
 Tell me, Magdalene." 
 
 She thought for a few moments, and then replied 
 
 " No, there is not ! There are several I admire some I 
 esteem one or two I highly respect ; but no one individual 
 111 whom I feel any especial interest !" 
 
 " I am sorry, Magdalene ! I would like to leave yon in 
 the care of Borne one, and would prefer to be guided liy 
 your preferences."
 
 NEW LIFE. 311 
 
 " I can take care of myself, dear Clinton'." 
 
 " Yes, dear, among the forests, fields and floods of the 
 Chesapeake better than upon the banks of the Seine. I 
 cannot leave you unprotected, Magdalene 1" 
 
 " What do you think will happen to me ? Well if it 
 will ease your own mind at all, you may give Monsieur De 
 Ville a charge over me." 
 
 " That hideous old satyr " 
 
 " That biting old satirist, you mean. Yes, I like him I 
 I like his ' mirthfulness and destructiveness," as my Virgin- 
 ian familiar demon, Bruin, would understand it ! his bitter 
 irony, as we call it." 
 
 " Oh, Magdalene 1 you have a taste for monsters ! Well, 
 be it so he is sincere, brave, and frank." 
 
 " That is what I like in him ! He would not be sincere 
 and frank, without being brave, or brave without being sin- 
 cere and frank." 
 
 The next morning, Sir Clinton Carey removed Magdalene 
 to the Villa on the Seine, and spent the last night of his 
 stay in France there with her. At day-break the next 
 morning the carriage was in readiness before the door to 
 convey him to Paris, whence be was to set out on his return 
 to England. Of course the parting even for a few months 
 between those who loved each other so devotedly and so 
 exclusively, was very painful. Magdalene possessed, or at 
 least exhibited more fortitude, than did Clinton. They 
 parted at the door of the carriage, and again and again 
 Clinton stepped out, and folding her to his bosom, ex 
 claimed, 
 
 " Oh Magdalene ! We do not know what may turn 
 np in this world ! We cannot prophecy what a day may 
 bring forth. But, oh Magdalene ! what ever happens, 
 believe that I love you. For as the Lord lives, I do, Mag- 
 dalene. I do /" he reiterated, pressing her to his heart.
 
 512 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 "Think of me as well as you can, Magdalene. Good-by !' 
 
 " God bless you, Clinton," said she fervently. 
 
 " Good-by ! Good-by 1" he exclaimed, almost wildly 
 straining her to his bosom an instant, then leaping into the 
 carriage, which was soon whirled out of sight. Magdalene 
 returned to the Villa, pained most deeply at the thought 
 of his pain at parting with her, yet gratified at that proof 
 of his affection for her. 
 
 His words and manners of late had been perplexing. 
 There had been a latent meaning in them that would have 
 seriously disturbed her peace, but that she conscientiously 
 and perse ver in gly banished every thing from her mind that 
 tended to create a doubt or a suspicion of him. 
 
 That day her little old " guardian" came down to bring 
 her the news of Clinton's departure from Paris, and to re- 
 ceive her " commands" for any service in his power to per- 
 form. Magdalene thanked him, and promised to let him 
 know when she required " aid and comfort." 
 
 Magdalene soon began to feel her loneliness in this 
 strange country. This was not the immediate effect of 
 her solitude, but day by day she felt it more and more. 
 
 She would have fallen into gloom, but that with one of 
 her strong volitions of the will, she wrested her thoughts 
 from herself and her own situation, and fixed them upon a 
 work she had long had in view, namely : a new tragedy of 
 Joan D'Arc, which she wished to compose in French blank 
 verse, and offer to the principal theatre in Paris. This was 
 an exciting and absorbing labor, and once interested in its 
 progress, Magdalene worked on from day to day passing 
 into the being of her own creation, and losing all sense of 
 her real in her ideal existence ; and so the first weeks of 
 Clinton's absence slipped away, and her drama was com- 
 pleted to her own satisfaction, before she paused to \voude r 
 why Clinton did not write.
 
 NEW LIFE. 313 
 
 "He is busy, absorbed as I have been. Doubtless I 
 shall hear soon. Or if I do not get a letter, he will step in 
 upon me himself some day soon 1 Instead of writing, he 
 will come !" 
 
 She submitted her drama first to M. De Yille, feeling 
 sure that if it passed his biting, acrimonious criticism, it 
 would have gone through the sharpest, severest ordeal to 
 which any such production could have been subjected. The 
 old man took it home, with many a carping sarcasm, that 
 boded no good fortune to the author. 
 
 That night Magdalene wrote to Clinton not to comolain 
 of his silence not to express anxiety, for she indulged no 
 weakness of the sort but to tell him of her occupations and 
 her hopes, and to ask him if he were not corning soon, at 
 least to write to her. And this letter she determined to 
 send in by M. De Ville, when he should come out the next 
 day. The old man presented himself about sunset. Mag- 
 dalene could guess nothing from his shut-up countenance, 
 but not being a person to endure a moment's unnecessary 
 suspense, she at once broached the subject of her thoughts, 
 by saying, 
 
 "Perhaps you have had time to look through my drama, 
 Monsieur ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I have not, madame ! Perhaps that drama 
 defrauded me of my whole day's business yesterday. Per- 
 chance I carried it to Madame De B 's soiree, and 
 
 read it to her circle. Perchance there was some sensation, 
 some excitement and the name of the author was called 
 for by acclamation ! I would not give it up, and the 
 result of my persistence in silence you may easily coujf r. 
 ture !" 
 
 " They fixed the disowned child upon you." 
 
 " Exactly. How I blushed ! No maiden crimsoner I 
 But how much more painfully I blushed when they found
 
 814 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 out the author, aud their mistake ! Well, Madame, as ex- 
 pedition in these matters is of primary importance, I took 
 advantage of the fresh enthusiasm of this circle, and begged 
 
 the interest and recommendation of M. D , and 
 
 E , and Mad. M , with Leviere, the manager 
 
 of the Theatre, to have it brought out. M. D 
 
 called on Leviere this morning. In short then, Leviere 
 looked over the drama, sent it to Madame Henriette, and 
 finally, this afternoon, I received a note from Leviere, in- 
 forming me that the tragedy was accepted, and would prob- 
 ably be produced in a few weeks I came straight to you 
 with the news I" 
 
 " A thousand thanks but " 
 
 " Well, madame ! You were about to ask " 
 
 "Have you received no letters from England ?" 
 
 " Ah, bah ! I tell you a piece of news that should over 
 joy you, and you captiously ask me for letters from En- 
 gland 1 Will you still think of that fellow ?" 
 
 " I w.ll trespass on your kindness so far as to ask you to 
 take charge of a letter to Paris, and mail it for England, if 
 you will so far oblige me." 
 
 With something between a groan and a sneer, the old 
 man received the letter, and depositing it in his pocket, took 
 his leave. 
 
 Having thus dispatched her letter, Magdalene experi- 
 enced no further uneasiness on that score. She felt sure 
 that it would soon bring a reply from Clinton. 
 
 Having finished her work, she had no other occupation 
 to keep her at home. She went to Paris, and to the lite- 
 rary soirees of Madame De B often. 
 
 The next few weeks, during which the new dresses and 
 new Scenery were being got up for her drama, and the re- 
 hearsals already being commenced, were full of interest and 
 excitement for her. The daily rehearsals of the new drama
 
 NEW LIFE. 815 
 
 were attended by the elite of the literary circles of Paris, 
 and already the approaching sound of a coming triumph 
 reached her ears. 
 
 The "eventful" night at last arrived when the tragedy 
 was to be performed. The tickets had all been sold early 
 in the day. 
 
 The house was crowded at an early hour of the evening. 
 Magdalene, attended by "her monster," "her familiar," 
 " her demon," as Monsieur De Ville was called, occupied a 
 private box closely curtained. 
 
 The night was one of unalloyed triumph. 
 
 The first scene was welcomed cordially. The interest of 
 the audience was strongly aroused in its progress, and the 
 excitement increased to the close of the first act, when the 
 curtain fell amid such a storm of applause as only a French 
 audience can raise around a favorite actress in a highly suc- 
 cessful drama. 
 
 "Ciel! What do you think of that, Madame?" asked 
 her "demon," in a tone of sympathetic triumph. 
 
 " That the public is in a good humor to-uight 1" 
 
 "And the dramatist, too ! w' est ce pas ?" 
 
 " I do not know. Mile. Uenriette does not satisfy me ! 
 She is a pretty woman, a graceful women, and a talented 
 woman, but she has not force of character enough to con- 
 ceive Joan D'Arc !" 
 
 "You could play it better?" asked the "familiar," with a 
 qnecr blending of truth and sarcasm in his dry tone. 
 
 "Yes," answered Magdalene, quietly ". could do it 
 Utter!" 
 
 The triumph of the evening arose higher with every a^l 
 of the play, and at its close the curtain finally dropped amid 
 a tempest of enthusiastic excitement, such as has seldom 
 been seen in a French theatre. 
 
 "Now then, pardieu! what do you think of that?" crowed
 
 316 THE TWO SISTtKS. 
 
 M. De Yille, as he threw Magdalene's shawl over her 
 shoulders, when they were about to leave the box. " Have 
 you ever, in all your life, experienced a greater triumph, a 
 keener joy ?" 
 
 " Yes, several times in my life ! Last month I experi- 
 enced a greater triumph, a keener joy when I had com- 
 pleted the drama to my own satisfaction, without which it 
 might still have succeeded, but the success only would have 
 bitterly mocked my own sense of failure !" 
 
 " You knew it ought to succeed ! You did not know it 
 would! Now you know it lias! Are you not happy? 
 Are you not triumphant?" 
 
 Magdalene was not at least not triumphant ! She was 
 profoundly grateful profoundly happy but there was a 
 voice in her heart that asked " Who maketh thee to differ 
 from another?" " Verily I say unto you, of them to whom 
 much is given much will be required." The gratitude she 
 felt in the power freely bestowed upon her, the pleasure she 
 took in its exercise, the joy she felt in its triumph, all im- 
 pressed her with a strong feeling of obligation to God, and 
 inspired her with a desire to sanctify by great usefulness a 
 gift so full of happiness. 
 
 Early the next morning, little Monsieur De Ville rode 
 out to the Maisouette-sur-Seine. 
 
 "Well, Mudarne La Lionne, how breaks the morning on 
 last night's fever?" Magdalene smiled gravely. "All 
 Paris is ringing with that triumph ! The drama will run a 
 hundred nights, I have no doubt ! Well ! what do you say ? 
 Nothing ' Bas ! Vil ! Infame ! There is nothing in life 
 that transcends the self-appreciation of a successful young 
 debutante!" 
 
 " Except the self-conceit of an old stager !" Magdalene 
 rould not help retorting.
 
 NEW LIFE. 817 
 
 " Ah ! well ! I have budgets of news besides ! a mail from 
 England with letters for you ! Ha ! does that move your 
 serene highness ? Here they are then 1" said the little 
 "monster," putting a package in her hand. A glance 
 showed her that several of the papers were legal documents, 
 and one only a letter I 
 
 A letter from Clinton. 
 
 She tore open the seal she never realized until that 
 instant, how, through all occupations and emotions, she had 
 waited, watched, and hoped for that letter! how, under 
 every superficial interest, had smoldered that intense fire 
 of expectation ! Forgetting, utterly, the presence of another 
 with crimson cheeks and lips glowing in breathless eager- 
 ness, and eyes consuming the page, she began to read. 
 
 What was there in that letter that suddenly struck all 
 color from her face, and all power from her frame ? 
 
 De Ville forgotten looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 She read on, with face as white, as motionless as marble. 
 She might have seemed a statue, but, for the slow, steady 
 motion of the stony eyes that followed the lines. At length, 
 the hand that held the letter fell, like lead, by her side, and 
 she sat with deathlike brow, and white lips struck apart, 
 and straining eyes fixed on vacancy ! 
 
 Long she sat so perfectly silent and the old man dared 
 not speak to her. 
 
 At last she arose the letter dropped from her hand 
 and with the same pallid brow and stony gaze with one 
 hand raised as in perplexity to her head, and the other ex- 
 tended dubiously before her as one sudden)- stricken with 
 blindness or with frenzy as a sleep-walker e- a phantom, 
 she passed slowly from the room ! 
 
 The little philosopher looked after her in grief and 
 ntnnzement, as one nndei the influence of a baleful dr<*un
 
 818 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 His eye fell upon the letter; he picked it up; straightened 
 it; sat down; took out his spectacles; put them on his nose, 
 and composedly read the epistle from beginning to and. 
 
 He felt no more surprise at Magdalene's anguish and 
 despaSi gazing with dilated eyes upon the letter, he ex- 
 claimed, " Mon Dien ! Mon Dieu ! has she then been kept 
 in the dark so long ! Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu ! had I 
 known that, and known the contents of this letter, I would 
 have cast it into the fire, or burned my own right hand to 
 cinders before ever I would have brought it to her ! Pliit 
 a Dieu! I had known this before." Having finished the 
 reading, he folded it up and put it into his pocket saying, 
 " This must not be left about." 
 
 Then he walked slowly up and down the room a long 
 time in deep thought. 
 
 At length after hours had passed, he rang the bell and 
 directed the man who answered it to send Mademoiselle 
 Lisette, Madame's fetnme de chambre, to him. 
 
 When this girl came in, he told her to go to her mis- 
 tress and say that he awaited her commands for Paris. 
 
 The girl left the room, and after an absence of half an 
 hour, returned with the news that Madame's apartments 
 were fastened on the inside that she had knocked and 
 called gently, but having received no answer, she supposed 
 Madame might be reposing, and feared to disturb her. 
 
 " Very well," said the little " familiar ;" and dismissing 
 : ii- j-irl, he set himself down to rood a paper fof an hour. 
 
 Soon growing restless again, he got up and walked the 
 floor a while, and then rang the bell a second time, and 
 sent Lisette on a second errand to Magdalene's apart- 
 ment, with .precisely the same result. 
 
 Monsieur de Ville knew very well that Magdalene was 
 very far from any sort of repose. 
 
 The little guardian was half terrified at the idea of leav-
 
 NEW L1FK. 31i> 
 
 ing his charge in what he considered a very alarming state ; 
 but it was getting late in the afternoon, his dinner-hour 
 was near, and he was hungry! So directing Lisette to in- 
 form him if her mistress should be ill, or need his services 
 in any manner, he left the Villa with the promise to return 
 early in the morning. 
 
 The next morning while he sat at breakfast, in dressing- 
 gown, night-cap, and slippers, suddenly 
 
 Magdalene stood before him like an apparition I 
 With face as white and moveless as death, and all the 
 nerves and muscles drawn tight as with the action of acute 
 pain, with eyes sunken, drawn in, and down, as by cords 
 of extreme suffering, yet strained and burning intensely, as 
 fire under frost. In her whole manner there was an air of 
 still, powerful, self-restrained frenzy. As the little savan 
 gazed at her in surprise and alarm, and before he found his 
 speech, she said, in a voice unnatural from its enforced 
 steadiness 
 
 " I must go to England to-day. Get all ready." 
 " Go to England to-day ! You are mad, Madame !" ex- 
 claimed the philosopher, recovering his speech, yet still 
 gazing at her. 
 
 " I must leave Paris for England to-day. Get all ready." 
 "Leave Paris for England to-day! Pardonnez moi, 
 Madame. I have kept you standing all this time. The 
 surprise, the delight of seeing you I Be seated, Madame." 
 In- saiil, somewhat at random, wheeling a chair tin and 
 seating her in it, and giving her a half-terrified attention. 
 " Did you hear me ?" she asked, in a hollow voice. 
 
 " Madame, you were saying ?" 
 
 " That I must leave Paris for England to-day." 
 " Leave Paris ! You '. Pardon me, Madame, you leave 
 Paris! You, the lionne of the day! FJU you! in the
 
 S'JO THK TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 first flash of your brilliant success ! You ! with the wreath 
 just twined for your brow ! You leave the scene of youi 
 fresh triumph !" 
 
 With a painfnl and impatient gesture she arrested nis 
 further compliments, and said : " Look at me, and HUSH ! 
 Yes, to-day. Assist me, or tell me that you will not !'" 
 
 He would have resisted her, he would have argued, en- 
 treated, flattered, coaxed her to forego her purpose he 
 knew and felt that there was madness in its object but he 
 saw in the mighty force of a will strong enough to restrain 
 the outbreak of the frenzy that filled her heart and brain, 
 an inflexibility that would never bend to any strength of 
 opposition. Powerless to stay her journey, he did all that 
 he could to expedite it. That day Magdalene left Paris, 
 traveling fast. The third day from that she sailed for 
 Portsmouth. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 "Medea burning 
 At her nature's planted stake." Mrs. Brotoniny. 
 
 SOON after the events recorded in our last chapter, early 
 one morning, a cab drew up before a handsome house in 
 Portman Square, London. The driver dismounted from 
 his seat, and going to the cab door, received from the lady 
 inside, a card. Then going up the front steps of trie man- 
 sion, he rang the bell and delivered it to the servant who 
 opened the door. The man receiving the card took it in 
 the houe, and after an absence of some minutes, returned
 
 321 
 
 with the news that his master was not at home. But now 
 the head of a lady, closely vailed, appeared at the cab 
 window, and she beckoned the servant to approach her. 
 lie went to her. 
 
 " Your master, Sir Clinton Carey, is not within, you 
 say ?" 
 
 " My master, Lord Cliffe, late Sir Clinton Carey, is not, 
 madam." 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 " In Hertfordshire, superintending the funeral of his 
 lordship's uncle, the late Lord Cliffe." 
 
 "When is he expected to be at home ?" 
 
 " I do not know, ma'am," replied the man, dropping his 
 eyes beneath the strained and piercing gaze of the pale 
 and haggard lady, whom he half suspected to be a maniac. 
 
 A colder pallor crept over the face of the lady, succeeded 
 by an instantaneous rigidity of feature, as by the taking of 
 a sudden resolution. 
 
 " That will do home again !" she said respectively to 
 the servant and to the cabman. 
 
 The next morning, at a later hour, the cab stood again 
 before the same house. The driver got down, and opened 
 the door, and the lady herself looking even iller and more 
 wasted than upon the day previous alighted, walked up 
 the steps of the mansion, and rang the door-bell. The same 
 servant opened the door. 
 
 " Take this to your master's room, and, if he is not in, 
 eave it on his table," she said, putting a letter in his 
 hand. 
 
 The man took it hesitatingly, looked at her in doubt a 
 moment, and then turned to do her bidding. She stepped 
 Boftlv after him, up the broad hall, up the wide staircase, to 
 tiie first floor, then down a long passage, near the further 
 extremity of which he opened a door, through which he dis-
 
 3:22 TUB TWO SISTERS. 
 
 appeared, closing it behind him. He had scarcely done so 
 before her hand was on the knob ; she turned it, and fol- 
 lowed him into the dressing-room of Sir Clinton Carey, or, 
 as we must now call him, Lord Cliffe, who, in dressing- 
 gown and slippers, with newspaper in hand, dawdled over 
 a late breakfast. Neither Lord Cliffe nor his footman per- 
 ceived her entrance at first. 
 
 " A letter, my lord, from the lady who called in the cab 
 yesterday," said the man, approaching, bowing, and re- 
 spectfully offering the letter. 
 
 As Lord Cliffe turned to receive it, his glance fell upon 
 Magdalene, standing within the door, and their eyes met ! 
 He started violently, gazed fixedly at her an instant, and 
 exclaimed, in an agitated voice : 
 
 "My God, Magdalene 1 You here! And how fearfully 
 changed 1 Oh heaven, Magdalene, have I done this ?" 
 
 With a straining gaze and an adjuring gesture, she sank 
 into the nearest chair. 
 
 "Leave the room, Jenkins," he said to the footman, who, 
 wondering, obeyed. 
 
 He went to her, hastily untied and removed her bonnet, 
 loosened the shawl about her neck, and poured out and 
 offered her a glass of wine, which she waved away, and 
 which he set down again, sank upon his knees by her side, 
 took both her cold, cold hands in his own, gazed inquir- 
 ingly, imploringly in her face, and cried, in a voice full of 
 anguish : 
 
 " Magdalene ! Magdalene ! My dear, dear Magdalene ! 
 What is this ? Speak to me !" 
 
 She looked down in his face, and her own relaxed from 
 its frozen rigidity, and her eyes softened from their stony 
 fixedness, as she replied : 
 
 " I I received a letter ! Where is it ? I I think I 
 have lost it !" and she put her hand, in pain and doubt, to
 
 DESPAIR. 323 
 
 her head. A spasm of agony traversed his countenance, 
 and he said, in a voice whose utterance seemed to wring 
 his own heart : 
 
 '' Magdalene ! my dearest Magdalene ! Recollect your- 
 self! What is it you are trying to say ?" 
 
 Again her hand passed backward and forward before her 
 brow, as though to clear away a mist that was there, and 
 she continued to gaze on him in a vague insanity. Sud- 
 denly, by an almost omnipotent effort of will, she recovered 
 herself. Her countenance cleared its expression became 
 intelligent intense with meaning her eyes fired, fixed, and 
 seemed to strike deep into his soul, as she said : 
 
 " Yes, a letter ! Just before leaving France, I received 
 
 a letter, dated Castle Clitfe, and bearing your signature 
 
 but Clinton! did you write that letter?" 
 
 No language can describe. the agony of desperate hope 
 expressed in the tone and manner in which she put this mad 
 question. He dared not answer it he dared not meet her 
 consuming gaze. He averted his head in an anguish of 
 spirit scarcely less than her own. 
 
 " Did you write that letter ?" she asked again. 
 
 " My friend ! my love 1 oh, Magdalene ! be calm !" 
 
 " I am. But Did you write that letter ?". 
 
 " ' Calm !' " he exclaimed, evading her searching ques- 
 tion. " ' Calm !' You calm ! There is a chained frenzy 
 in your whole bearing more terrible than the most frantic 
 fury could be ! Magdalene !" 
 
 " Did you write that letter ?" 
 
 He started from her side paced the room with rapid 
 strides stopped poured out and quaffed a large glass of 
 brandy, and returned to her with some words of soothing 
 import but 
 
 "Did you ? Did you write that letter?" she cried, in a 
 low, deep, but piercing voice, her restrained excitement
 
 824: v H K r v; o s i s i K R a. 
 
 becoming more violent every moment, until he could almost 
 see the burning lava of passion roll, and flame, and surge 
 beneath the still surface. 
 
 " Magdalene 1" he said, at last, in a voice of com- 
 manding tenderness, as he sat down by her and took her 
 hand. 
 
 " DID YOU WRITE THAT LETTER ?" she almost shrieked. 
 
 With a gesture of desperation, as though the reply had 
 been torn from him, he said : 
 
 " Yes, Magdalene ! I did write that letter ! but are you 
 sc agonized, my love, in knowing that you are free ?" Then 
 b stopped suddenly, as in terror, and glanced at her 
 quickly, with the expectation of seeing some violent oat- 
 break of furious frenzy. 
 
 He was agreeably disappointed. 
 
 With his answer, her form and face relaxed, her hands 
 dropped into her lap, and she remained perfectly quiet 
 Swiftly mortal wounds cause no struggle, exhibit no agony ; 
 it is only all over death naught ! The shaft that strikes 
 at once the brain or heart is not felt. So it is with moral 
 wounds. Her affection was now mortally wounded pierced 
 at once to the quick and so she scarcely felt it. She only 
 felt that the dread agony of suspense was quite over The 
 instant he had said, " Yes, Magdalene, I did write the let- 
 ter 1" the last, wild, desperate, frantic hope that had strained 
 every nerve upon the rack of an excruciating anxiety was 
 cut off, and the tension was relaxed, and the torture was 
 over ; and the despair that was ease, because it was death, 
 had corae. 
 
 An instant before she had been desperate now she was 
 in despair. Despair is to desperation what death is to the 
 death-struggle the ease that succeeds agony. Complete 
 despair is perfect peace, because it is insensibility, apathy, 
 torpor.
 
 DESPAIR. 825 
 
 The infusion of one drop of hope would have aroused 
 life, pain, agony even as a cordial revives the victim, faint- 
 ing from the rack, to new tortures. But no such cruel 
 stimulant awaited her. There was no disturbing 'iope for 
 her. Her despair, her calm, was complete. 
 
 She remained perfectly quiescent, and he was deceived. 
 
 Because her countenance at once relaxed because the 
 muscles of her face were no longer drawn into tight lines 
 because her eyes were no longer strained out and burning, 
 he was misled. He did not know that it was the snapping 
 of her heart-strings that had relieved the tension of her 
 nerves, and allowed her countenance to settle into the pla 
 cidity of death. 
 
 She did not speak, she did not move, but sat perfectly 
 silent and motionless, while he continued to watch her, un- 
 til, thoroughly deceived by her quietude, he camo and sat 
 beside her, took the hand that she did not withhold, and 
 pressed it to his lips and to his bosom, and said : 
 
 "Magdalene, dearest Magdalene, do you not fee!, not- 
 withstanding all, that I love you ? that I love you more 
 than I shall ever be able to love another ? that I lov^ you 
 more than life ? more than all things else, except wel. nc 
 matter. f)o you not know this, Magdalene ?" he said, 
 passing his arm around her waist, drawing her, unresis'.ing, 
 to his bosom, and pressing his lips to hers. " Say, Magda- 
 lene, do you not feel that I love you more than life ? For 
 1 do, Magdalene, I rfo.'' He waited for a reply. 
 
 She did not speak, but she seemed to hear, and he re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " Magdalene, you are so pale, and cold, and strati erf ' 
 I'ut von will get over this, my lovo. Magdalene, I toM 
 von did I not? that in loving yon, in winning your love, 
 I willed your largest life and hoppim 1 ^. Magdnlene, in 
 fvi-ry net of mine toward yon. from first to la^r. I have 
 held th same purpose. It will he your own wt i akiu' if
 
 326 THE TWO SISTKHS. 
 
 you are not happy. Magdalene, be reasonable, be strong, 
 be free !" He paused again. 
 
 She made no comment, but appeared to listen quietly, 
 and he went on : 
 
 " Your social position is an eminently happy one. Your 
 freedom from family and social ties shackles is liberty 
 indeed ; a liberty that very few are blessed with Many, 1 
 know, would consider your birth and condition unfortunate. 
 So do not I ! Life is given you, filled with the means of 
 happiness. Your strong constitution, your fine vital tem- 
 perament, your perfect health, your peerless beauty, your 
 grace, genius, and accomplishments, and last and best 
 your crowning glory perfect freedom, form a combination 
 of felicitous elements rarely brought together on this earth, 
 and offer you a life, a happiness, scarcely to be paralleled 
 in this world. How I envy you, Magdalene ! How I, 
 the born serf of rank, of conventionality, of public senti- 
 ment, of 'society,' envy you the nameless birth that puts no 
 mark of ownership upon you the social banishment, that 
 gives to you largest liberty 1 You have no chains, no fet- 
 ters, Magdalene. See that in the fire of your strong pas- 
 sions you forge none for your limbs. You are but loo apt 
 to do it. Women such as you make thtir own tyrants. 
 Had I lived with you many months longer, Magdalene, 
 your tender subserviency, your passionate devotion, would 
 have made me the most selfish and exacting man alive. 
 There would have been no resisting the influence. Why 
 dc you not speak to me, Magdalene ?" 
 
 She looked up at him so strangel 
 
 "Do you know, love, that it will not do for you to stay 
 here ? Do you know that you must go home, now ?" 
 
 She arose mechanically and look her bonnet. 
 
 "Tell me where you live, Magdalene; I will come and 
 ee you." 
 
 She answered as au automaton might :
 
 D ESI' AIR. 327 
 
 "At Ridgway's Hotel, Rutland Place." 
 
 Mournfully she stood up, and mournfully left the room. 
 
 He stepped after her, drew her arm within his own, con- 
 ducted her down-stairs, and placed her in the cab, saying 
 as he closed the door of the carriage : 
 
 " I will see you to-morrow, Magdalene." 
 
 And the cab rolled off. 
 
 She reached her hotel. 
 
 She got to her room, and there sank down, down upon 
 the floor, and rolled over, with her forehead in the dust ; 
 not weeping, nut fainting, but humbled, collapsed, prostrate 
 with no feeling of resentment, only the feeling of heart- 
 broken desolation of utter, final, helpless wretchedness! 
 
 Mournfully she had left his house mournfully she had 
 returned to her lodgings. She had made no attempt to 
 combat his purpose no attempt to change her destiny. 
 She felt herself what she was. 
 
 Her dream of love, of faith, of ambition, and of great 
 achievement, was at once and forever dispelled 1 and what 
 was life to her now ? 
 
 She had lived all her past life to come to THIS. She 
 had been evoked from the nothingness of non-existence to 
 confront THIS and to sink again into nonentity. 
 
 Life had been a failure, a mockery, a cheat, a taunt ? 
 She wished for the perfect oblivion of death, or the counter- 
 irritation of pain ; but death nor illness would come at her 
 call. Despite all the spirit's failing, dying. the strong 
 body kept up ! 
 
 Wl-.sn a weak spirit fails and droops, a word or look of 
 kindness or of encouragement, is sufficient to lift the light 
 thing up again. But when a strong spirit falls, nothing 
 but the hand of Satan or the arm of God can raise it And 
 Miigdal'-ne was without God in the world. 
 
 Let the curtain fall upon this picture of Jeath in life 
 despai".
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 BLACK ROCK. 
 
 " And in thy heart there springs a poison fountain, 
 Deadlier than that where bathes the Upas tree : 
 And in thy wrath, a nursing cat-o-monntain 
 Is calm an her babe's sleep compared with thee '."Halleck. 
 
 CLINTON, Lord Cliffe, did not make his appearance at 
 Ridgeway's Hotel the next morning, according to promise ; 
 nor did Magdalene expect him, nor think whether he were 
 unable, or unwilling to keep his engagement ; nor did she 
 even remember his promise ; perhaps she did not even hear 
 him make it. Her whole being was absorbed in other 
 thoughts and feelings. 
 
 Her soul had passed through a tremendous crisis, a 
 terrible experience. She had, as it were, suffered death ; 
 and a new resurrection, more awful than death ! a " resur- 
 rection to damnation !" for all that was best in her was left 
 in the grave of her blighted past and all that was worst in 
 her, had arisen, and was alive, feeble indeed as infancy at 
 first, but growing with the lapse of time, into great, into 
 mighty, avenging, demon-strength ! 
 
 One fell purpose filled her life Revenge! This had not 
 come suddenly, had not sprung from anger, but had arisen 
 slowly, slowly, sternly, in the feeling of the great wrong 
 done her ; arousing her sense of that inflexible JUSTICE, 
 that with unsparing hand metes out to the offender the full 
 measure of his offense ; arousing all her deep, stern, unfor- 
 giving, unrelenting Indian nature, that could through any 
 (328^
 
 BLACK BOCK. 329 
 
 length of time or space, or any amouut of obstacle keep 
 its eye upon its victim, and plot and wait for its revenge ; 
 arousing all the mighty power of her individual self; 
 that comprehension and strength of intellect that could 
 embrace and gather all its great and varied powers to a 
 focus ; that fire and force of passion that could fuse them, 
 and forge them into one weapon ; and that strength of 
 will that could drive it home to its end kindling a con- 
 suming hate that must burn forever, or until quenched in 
 the heart's blood of its victim and smothered in the ruin 
 of remorse ! 
 
 This did not spring in an hour, or grow in a day, any 
 more than it could decay or perish in the lapse of months 
 and years. But daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, as with the 
 natural concentrativeness of her mind, and intensity 01 ner 
 passions, she brooded over her great wrong, until it be- 
 came the one idea that, however diseased itself, in its 
 great strength and unity of purpose subjected all the 
 other strong and healthful faculties and propensities of 
 the brain and heart to its demon power ! the one idea 
 concentrated, intensified, precipitated to monomania 1 
 
 And this was the condition and history of her inner life 
 through the months and years of varied action that followed 
 
 In a few days and before she had recovered from the shock 
 that had prostrated her, she discovered that Lord Cliffe had 
 gone abroad. 
 
 Drawn by the attraction of destiny, rather than following 
 the volition of her own will, she left London for Liverpool, 
 whence in a few days she sailed for Norfolk, where she 
 arrived after a tedious passage of six weeks. 
 
 During her passage over, her plans of immediate action 
 had been laid out. 
 
 She could not thiuk of going to her friends indeed, as
 
 330 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 ail her soul was absorbed in one great passion, her desire to 
 see them was very feeble. 
 
 Fortunately, she happened to have with her the packet 
 of testimonials, and letters of introduction and recom- 
 mendation that had been given her by friends and acquain- 
 tances when she had first left home to go as a governess 
 into the world. These were invaluable to her now they 
 stood in lien of friends, favor, and patronage. 
 
 With these, stopping but a night in Norfolk, she set 
 out on a journey to Kentucky, determined to stop at the 
 first town or village that should please her, and there to 
 open a day-school. 
 
 After more than a week's journey by stage-coach, 
 through the roughest, though the most picturesque routes 
 in Virginia she crossed the border line into Kentucky, 
 through a pass of the Cumberland Mountains. 
 
 They came to the little hamlet of Black Rock, situated 
 in a cleft of the mountain, which had nothing to recommend 
 it but the savage aspect of the scenery in unison with the 
 morose mood of her own mind. Here the stage remained 
 all night, and here she determined to stop for a few days, 
 with the intention of surveying the capabilities of the place 
 for Tier purpose, and if it suited her, of taking up her abode 
 there for the present. 
 
 The morning after her arrival she sent for the landlord, 
 and began to make the necessary inquiries as to whether the 
 neighborhood were provided with a school ; if it were not, 
 whether it could support, a school. The landlord answered 
 her questions hesitatingly, looking at her furtively the 
 while. Her youth, her remarkable beauty, her unprotected 
 situation, tlie independence of her manner, and even the 
 richness of her plain-dark traveling habit, all tended to 
 excite suspicion. Magdalene read this on his countenance. 
 It did not daunt or distress her in the least.
 
 BLACK ROCK. 331 
 
 " If your neighborhood is, as is most probable, in want 
 of a school, and if it can give a teacher, in return for her 
 services, enough for the merest necessaries of life, I will 
 remain here and open a school. I like the air of the moun- 
 tains. I like the looks of the scenery, and I have brought 
 with me testimonials that shall satisfy the most cautious 
 of your citizens." 
 
 The longer the landlord looked at her, the better he 
 thought of her. He saw that it was courage and self-reli- 
 ance that had brought her without protection into his 
 neighborhood. When, at last, she spoke of her testimo- 
 nials, he lost his reserve, and admitted that the neighborhood 
 was very much in want of a school, and gave her the names 
 of the most prominent citizens in that sparsedly settled 
 cunntrv, advising her to see and confer with them. 
 
 Many of them, in the course of that week, Magdalene 
 i-iiMed upon. Her youth and beauty, her loveliness, and her 
 i'.ngnlar enterprise, excited much wonder and suspicion, 
 that was finally lost in admiration of her self-reliance and 
 courage. 
 
 How little did they know how much those qualities 
 covt-red. 
 
 Her testimonials were perfectly satisfactory. Her vonch- 
 is were amoni; the most eminent and respectable men in 
 ih' land. What was there to fear, or to suspect ? Nothing, 
 ' iid Magdalene been alive to her better nature. But all her 
 ac.inns, not withstanding their energy and rapidity, were 
 uperficial. 
 
 C inlerneath all, like a sultfrranean river, rolled on the 
 dark current of her master-passion to its end. 
 
 A -chool-hoiise was built for her, and in the course of a 
 H'w weeks, a school of twenty pupils were gathered to- 
 irether. and for her private accommodation board was ob- 
 taiuol hi a family in the village.
 
 o32 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 While she had been hi energetic action, with obstacles to 
 meet and overcome, she had been, in some degree, diverted 
 from her darker thoughts, and passions, and purposes 
 But now that all obstacles were surmounted, and all difli- 
 cnlties were cleared from her path, and she sat down quietly 
 among her pupils, her strong, restless, unoccupied energies, 
 began to goad and sting her, to torture and force her from 
 the quietness, safety, and repose of her present life, even 
 as they had done twice before. 
 
 Once, when the vague longings of strong life for full and 
 free expression, had prompted her first effort to leave the 
 home of her childhood. 
 
 Again, when love was her master-motive, and she had 
 broken wildly, recklessly, from the protection of her friends, 
 and cast herself alone into the whirlpool of life for the 
 bare chance of meeting her beloved, or losing the sense of 
 dull disappointment in the whirl and jar and rapid change 
 of scenes and events. 
 
 Now, neither love nor ambition ruled her, but the darker 
 passion that arose upon the ruins of both. To the unrest 
 of her spirit, intolerable beyond endurance, was the mo- 
 notony of her present mode of life. And she had not been 
 there many weeks before she resolved to quit it. Rush, 
 hurry, whirl, excitement, was what she wanted. The affec- 
 tion of her pupils and the kindness of their parents, could 
 no more soothe the fierceness of her mental malady, than 
 summer breezes could heal a bnrn. The unrest, the ws>r 
 of her spirit must seek peace in strife, rest in struggle. 
 
 Her taste for the histrionic art had never left her. It 
 recurred to her now in great power. Many things conspired 
 to urge and to attract her to this fascinating but laborious 
 and perilous profession : general fitness for the art a 
 physical organization remarkable for fearless beauty, won- 
 derful strength, and marvelous power of expression ; lastly,
 
 BLACK ROCK. 333 
 
 the conscious possession of the very highest order of his 
 trionic genius, and a very strong vocation for the profes- 
 sion. Besides, it offered her life, action, excitement, and 
 perhaps : 
 
 The means to an end, to which, underneath all these 
 things, the deep but poignant sense of wrong goaded her. 
 
 Magdalene warned her employers that she would leave 
 them at the end of the ensuing term, advising them at the 
 same time to advertise for a teacher to take her school, 
 whicn was now in a very flourishing condition. Her patrons 
 opposed her resolution, and sought to induce her to stav ; 
 but Magdalene, with her customary contumacy, resisted all 
 arguments, entreaties, and inducements, laughing aloud, 
 when, as a last bribe, they offered to raise her salary. 
 
 At the end of the terra, therefore, Magdalene, bearing 
 with her that invaluable packet of testimonials, as a safe- 
 guard against continued misconstruction and insult left 
 Black Rock for the Eastern city which she had fixed upoi 
 as the theatre of her new enterprise. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE ACTRESS. 
 
 " Eloquence ! her gift is thine which reaches 
 The heart and makes the wisest head its sport." ffalUck. 
 
 EVERY once in awhile our story approximates so near the 
 literal truth, that I tremble for those, yet living, who were 
 concerned in its events. And so it is in the present in- 
 stance for I think that many of our oldest theatregoers 
 will recollect the debutante of whom I am about to write.
 
 334: THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 jtnd the extreme, though short-lived enthusiasm, that greeted 
 her debut at the Old Federal Street Theatre, Boston po.-- 
 hible not though possibly her short and brilliant careei 
 may have entirely passed from the memory of man no fame 
 in so ephemeral as that of the histrionic " star" or, more 
 properly comet. 
 
 It was just before the opening of the two great theatres 
 for the winter campaign, that Magdalene reached Boston 
 Though very short in funds, it was a part of her policy to 
 go at once to the best, and consequently the most expen- 
 sive hotel ,in the city. Here she engaged a chamber and 
 private parlor, and from this place she addressed a note to 
 Mr. P , the manager of the first theatre in the city, re- 
 questing an interview, and stating her reason for desiring it 
 ^ The next day she received a civil reply to her note, de- 
 clining the proposed interview, and stating that the mana- 
 ger's arrangements for the ensuing season were all com- 
 pleted. Magdalene smiled to herself at this answer. It was 
 just what she expected, and was prepared for for what 
 
 indeed should Mr. P know of her, her character and 
 
 purpose, her personal appearance, or her capabilities she 
 might be old, ugly, and conceited, for aught that he knew, 
 or cared to know to the contrary but she knew that she 
 was young, vigorous, beautiful, talented, and resolute. She 
 xvmte to !iim again in this strain 
 
 "All that I request of you is to come and see me to 
 hear me read and recite then if you are not disposed to 
 >ilVr me an engagement, I shall assuredly not press the 
 matter upon you, any more than I shall repeat this request 
 Hgain, if now it be refused. Listen: You would not mind 
 i he outlay of five dollars upon a lottery ticket fur the 
 Jianrc, one in a thousand, of winning a prize. Valuable 
 u> voiir precious time may be, it cannot be worth /o/r to 
 yen diau live dollars the half-how. Speud that hail-hour
 
 THE ACTRESS. 336 
 
 with me as you would spend five dollars on a lottery ticket, 
 for the chance of winning a prize. If the ticket, myself, 
 turn out a prize, the half-hour has been well expended. If 
 a blank, you will have only lost half-an-hour. As for me, 
 I kno\v myself, and have no doubt or fear as to the result 
 of our interview. It is proper to say to you, that in the 
 event of your now declining my proposition, I shall imme- 
 diately apply to the manager of the Tremont Street Theatre. 
 My motive for giving your establishment the preference, 
 being merely the respect for its greater age." 
 
 There is something in sound faith that is very contagious. 
 When one is thoroughly persuaded of any one thing, it is 
 comparatively easy to persuade others of the same. The 
 calm assurance, as well perhaps as the oddity of this letter, 
 
 brought Mr. P the same day to the hotel, to see, as he 
 
 afterward said, what strange sort of an individual it was 
 that could write such a queer letter. When he was intro- 
 duced in Magdalene's private parlor, and found a young, 
 strong, and beautiful woman awaiting him, his countenance 
 betrayed a curious blending and conflict of more emotions 
 than it is needful to enumerate and classify. Magdaleu 
 arose to receive him. 
 
 "Miss Mountjoy, I presume," said he, bowing. 
 
 Magdalene inclined her head in an affirmative, and set 
 him a chair. He took it, and not to lose any time, or to 
 give him any chance of misunderstanding her, Magdalene 
 at once opened the object of the interview, by saying, 
 
 Mr. P , I have been a governess and a school-mis- 
 tress the profession of a teacher is not at all to my taste, 
 and 1 desire to change it for one very opposite in every re- 
 spect for that of the stage, for which I have a strong vo- 
 cation, and some genius, which you may put to the test. But 
 first, as you are, or should be, interested for the personal 
 respectability o e an applicant these are my testimonials."
 
 33o THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 And she laid her packet before the eyes of the astonished 
 manager. He certainly had not expected this. He opened 
 them, and glanced at them merely as a matter of form. He 
 saw that they were what they professed to be. He lied 
 them up and returned them. He was beginning to feel a 
 strong curiosity and interest in the beautiful girl before 
 him, whose manner was so full at once of freedom and re- 
 serve. 
 
 "Pardon me have you no family, young lady no 
 friends ?" 
 
 " None nearer and having greater claims upon me than 
 those whose names stand at the foot of my testimonials ; 
 but, Mr. P , I do not wish to take up more of your val- 
 uable time than is strictly necessary. I am ready to read, 
 or recite for you as soon as you please." 
 
 " What line of character do you propose for yourself ?" 
 inquired the manager. 
 
 " The sterner impersonations of tragedy Lady Mac- 
 beth" 
 
 "Ah," said the manager, with as much incredulity in his 
 face as was polite to let appear. 
 
 "Yes! I could play Lady Macbeth, Clytemnestra, Elec- 
 tra, Medea, Joan D'Arc, Elvira and that role. I do not 
 think I could personate well the soft and gentle, and love- 
 lorn characters even of tragedy. I could not enter into and 
 impersonate Juliet, Ophelia, or Desdemona. No ! I could 
 understand, enter into, and impersonate Richard III. with 
 more effect." 
 
 " Youthful lovers of this art, however, seldom know how 
 much or how little they may be able to do in any particular 
 line. It is common for those who fancy themselves quali- 
 fied by talent for the highest walks of tragedy, to be very fit 
 tor low comedy, and for nothing else. It is curious that the 
 young and happy invariably prefer tragedy, or melodratue
 
 THE ACTRESS. 887 
 
 before comedy. It is because they have no misery of their 
 own, that fictitious misery possesses the zest of novelty for 
 them." 
 
 " I said that you could test my abilities, sir," s#id Mag- 
 dalene, with some little hauteur. 
 
 " I beg your pardon I shall be pleased, Miss a Mount 
 to hear you read the Supper Scene in Macbeth." 
 
 Magdalene took her pocket-edition of Shakspeare from 
 the table, and turning to the scene, commenced and read it 
 without the least falter or mistake through nervous trepida- 
 tion. 
 
 " You have, among others, two very rare requisites of 
 success in a debutante." 
 
 " Hardihood and effrontery, I suppose you mean ?" 
 
 "Self-esteem and self-command." 
 
 " Simple strength of physical organization, sir are you 
 satisfied with me iu other respects, or shall I read any thing 
 else ?" 
 
 - " Yes if you please Juliet's Hymn to the Night I 
 enould like to test your abilities in the in what you call, 
 with some irreverence, the ' love-lorn' parts." 
 
 " I do not like it! nevertheless " and Magdalene turning 
 to the right page read that. 
 
 "Very fair, very fair indeed." 
 
 "But the other scene the Supper Scene in Macbeth I 
 hope it met your expectations ?" 
 
 "Decidedly not, Miss Mountjoy," said the'manager, with 
 n singular smile. " I see that you pique yourself upon your 
 reading of this particular sort of thing but pardon me 
 have you ever had the advantage of comparing your own 
 omewhat novel style of reading with that of others have 
 MI ever, in short, seen the play of Macbeth for instance 
 
 performed ?" 
 
 ' Yes ! seve-al times you look surprised !"
 
 838 
 
 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " I am. Your conception of the character of Lady Mac- 
 octh, your style of reading the part, strikes me as so entirely 
 original, yet, at the same time, so full of truth and nature, 
 that I had supposed " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Well, in fact, that you could have had no opportunity 
 of copying the manner of another. The histrionic art is emi- 
 nently an imitative one. A great actor fixes a certain style 
 of playing a character, and all the lesser actors, with more 
 or less precision, copy that. It is difficult not to imitate. 
 Original genius, in any art, I think, comes, not from those 
 educated in, and familiar with its common routine hut 
 from those new and unfamiliar with it. Benjamin West is 
 an instance among the painters. You have certainly strong 
 and striking originality of conception and style, but 
 that is what I cannot understand in a frequenter of the 
 theatre." 
 
 " I never was a frequenter of dramatic entertainments ; 
 and, moreover, my style was formed before I ever saw a 
 play." 
 
 " That accounts for it." 
 
 "But you have, as yet, evaded the main question are 
 you satisfied will you give me an opportunity of submit- 
 ting my histrionic abilities, great or small, to public criticism 
 in a debut ?" 
 
 " I am more than satisfied. I told you that you had not 
 me f my expectations you have not, inasmuch as I expected 
 my expended half hour would have drawn a blank, whereas 
 it has drawn a prize." 
 
 " You are satisfied then ?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 ''And your 'arrangements for the season are' not- 
 completed ?' " said Magdalene, with a half-suppressed sar- 
 donic smile.
 
 THE ACTRESS. 339 
 
 ''Not until I have arranged with you the preliminaries of 
 a debut, and perhaps afterward the terms of an engage- 
 ment ; and for this purpose I will call on you again at 
 your first convenient hour." 
 
 "To-morrow, then, at this time," said Magdalene, and 
 the manager bowed himself out. 
 
 Faithful to his engagement, he called the next day at the 
 appointed hour, and in that interview it was arranged that 
 as Magdalene wished, for many reasons, to leave her hotel, 
 she should, for the present, take up her abode with the 
 family of the manager, who, with his wife and daughters, re- 
 sided in the city. It was further stipulated that she should 
 enter her new profession under a nomine deplnmi: by whiel 
 she should be known in private as in public life. Thus 
 in having selected a city as far from the scenes of her child- 
 hood as was then practicable, and in having changed her 
 name, Magdalene had cut off every external link that bound 
 her to her former life and associations. 
 
 The character selected for her debut was that of Lady 
 Macbeth the day of her first appearance was fixed at some 
 weeks distance, in order to give the debutante the advan- 
 tage of many rehearsals in which to become familiarized 
 with the mecamquti of the stage, and to prepare the new 
 scenery and new costumes that were to lend additional at- 
 traction and eclal to the occasion. 
 
 The night of the debut at length arrived every circum 
 stance was fortunate the weather was very fine the debu- 
 tante herself in high health and beauty the corps drama- 
 tiqiie in good order, and what was better in goo<l humor 
 and the public, it would appear, propitious. Magdalene 
 dressed for her part without the least, doubt, fear, or m-m u- 
 ol the nerves, and smiled scornfully when her eha; riviie, 
 Mrs. I' , herself an <irti*>ie of superior merit, advised
 
 840 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 her not to think of the audience as a collection of sentient 
 Aidividuals, but to look upon it as a mere panorama of 
 faces. 
 
 " I shall certainly look at the audience and pick out some 
 one to speak at, 1 ' said Magdalene. " I know, beforehand, 
 that I cannot play to vacancy. Now give me the property 
 letter' for my hour has come," and so saying, as com- 
 posedly as though she had been a veteran of the boards, 
 Magdalene sauntered through the side scenes and took her 
 place upon the stage. A round of applause accorded to 
 the young, beautiful, and majestic woman, or, to the debu- 
 tante, rather than to the genius of which they, as yet, knew 
 nothing, greeted her entrance. Neither did this enthusiastic 
 welcome hurry, in the least, the well-governed pulses that 
 beat faster or slower only by her own will. She stood 
 there, indeed, the stern inflexible woman the woman of 
 "demoniac firmness" whom she came to personate, conscious 
 b't careless of her coming triumph. 
 
 Her debut was, as had been confidently expected, a com- 
 plete triumph. But all successful debuts are so much alike, 
 the same "enthusiastic greetings," the same "rounds of 
 applause," the same showers of " bouquets" and " wreaths" 
 welcomed the entrances, attended the scenes, and followed 
 the exits of our debutante, and the curtain finally fell, amid 
 a tempest of acclamation, in which the nomme de plume of 
 the new favorite was the only distinguishable word. At- 
 tended by the manager, she obeyed the stormy summons, by 
 entering at the right of the stage, passing before the cur- 
 tain, conrtesying, and passing off at the left. In answer to 
 the congratulations of the well-pleased manager, Magda- 
 lene's lip curled in scorn, as she said, 
 
 "Yes, they have patted me on the head ! Pity I huvo 
 not lubricity and flexibility enough to wriggle and twist as 
 (log should, when receiving such distinguished marks of
 
 THE ACTRESS. 841 
 
 approbation. Pah ! In a word, I do not like this sort of 
 reception. Think of the thrice-distilled quintessence of ab- 
 surdity in showering flowers upon a murderess ! as they 
 did in that murderhig scene. I do not think that I have a 
 very keen sense of the ridiculous I am too much in ear- 
 nest ; yet, had it not been for the faculty of thoroughly losing 
 individual identity in an ideal impersonation, I should have 
 ruined myself and you by laughing out in the midst of all 
 that folly. What do they mean ? Real and sound appre- 
 ciation would not have manifested itself in that way. No ! 
 If my acting really merited approbation, I did not really 
 get it. All that fuss was fustian ! nothing more. Gen- 
 uine approbation of a play and part so sombre as that, 
 would not have been so noisy would not have vented itself 
 in a shower of flowers. At all events, I will not go before 
 the curtain if they call me again that is certain. For my 
 own private pleasure, and the enjoyment I find in the art, 
 as well as for their entertainment, I will use my best abili- 
 ties in the role for which I am engaged. Yes, in letter and 
 in spirit, I will keep 'the bond' but beyond that, I will 
 not go." 
 
 This was the haughty, scornful spirit in which Magdalene 
 received the testimonials of public favor. Two years be- 
 fore, she could not have been so bitter and ungrateful 
 This was the instance of a great soul ruined by a great 
 wrong. Now she looked upon herself and the world with a 
 jaundiced eye, and from a false point of view, as antago- 
 nists. 
 
 " I do not ask its pity, its sympathy, its love, its admira- 
 tion. I ask only a quid pro quo for value received 1" she 
 said, in the stern and savage acrimony of her heart. 
 
 So went off her debut. 
 21
 
 CHAPTER XXYII. 
 
 THE DEEP HE ART. 
 
 1 One fatal remembrance, one Borrow that throw* 
 Its shadow alike o'er her joys and her woes, 
 Than which life nothing brighter nor darker can bring, 
 For which joy hath no balm, or afflictiou no sting." Moore. 
 
 IT was natural and deplorable that the profession chosen 
 by Magdalene the particular role of characters taken by 
 her the passions, emotions, and sentiments adopted as her 
 own for the time should have tended to foster that very 
 spirit of hate and revenge, which had taken complete pos- 
 session of her heart. But in the very fact of having pre- 
 ferred this line of strong demoniac creations and of per- 
 sonating such with the greatest power, she was true to the 
 stern and cruel unity of her own spirit and purpose. 
 
 Yes ! amidst all her multifarious occupations and amuse- 
 ments, the fell purpose of her soul was remembered under 
 all the superficial excitements of her life, the deep strong 
 under-current of her soul rolled onward to its fatal consum- 
 mation. 
 
 She had many admirers, some suitors. Among the 
 number of the latter was one whose pusition scarcely 
 entitled him to the distinction il Signor Bastiennelli, an 
 Italian, the leader of the orchestra and whom no degree of 
 coldness, hauteur, or scorn could possibly discourage or 
 repulse. He devoted himself to Magdalene with the most 
 determined persistence, yet with a manner that so admira- 
 bly blended high respect with deep affection, that no open 
 offense could be taken. 
 
 Magdalene concluded a long engagement, and a longer 
 (342)
 
 THE DEEP HKAKf S43 
 
 re-engagement at Boston, and then set out southward on a 
 professional tour, stoppping at New York, Philadelphia, 
 Baltimore, Washington, Charleston, and so on to New 
 Orleans only avoiding Richmond in her route. Signer 
 Bastieunelli distinguished himself by breaking his compact 
 with the managers of the Old Federal Street Theatre, leav- 
 ing Boston and following his guiding star, or rather his 
 misleading comet, on her erratic orbit. To leave metaphor, 
 the Signor Bastiennelli made himself very conspicuous by 
 his pursuit of the new favorite traveling in the stages and 
 steamboats in which she traveled, stopping at the cities 
 where she stopped, putting up at the hotels where she 
 boarded, and going to the theatre every night when she 
 performed where, seated in the middle seat of the front 
 row of the pit, immediately before the foot-lights, he would 
 lean forward, prop his elbows on his knees, prop his black 
 muzzled chin upon his palms, and pour from under his 
 shaggy and lowering brows, consuming streams of fire upon 
 his inamorata, from the moment of her entree on the scene 
 until that of her exit, when, relaxing all his muscles, he 
 would sigh heavily, sink back, and smolder out. 
 
 It was on her return tour, that, still followed by her 
 satelite, Bastiennelli, Magdalene stopped at Washington to 
 fulfill a short engagement. One night, when personating 
 the Queen, in her own tragedy of Gyges in the midst of 
 that one scene between the arrogant and outraged Queen 
 and the King's favorite and colleague, in which the former 
 assures the latter that himself or his royal master, one of 
 the two men whose gaze had feloniously profaned the 
 sacreclness of her unvailed beauty, must die, and that she 
 would live the wife of the survivor in the midst of this 
 scene the eyes of Magdalene turned and fell upon LORD 
 CLIFFE, seated in the box of the British Minister, imme- 
 diately in front of the stage.
 
 844 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 He had recognized her evidently ; their eyes met hia 
 full of tenderness, hers blazing. Did she pause or falter ? 
 No ! A great impulse was given to her heart and brain, 
 and she played out her part to the end with unprecedented 
 power and passion " bringing down the house" in a tem- 
 pest of enthusiastic applause. 
 
 When the performance was over she was about to retire 
 by the stage door to her carriage that was in waiting, she 
 met Lord Cliffe face to face. 
 
 " Magdalene, my lost love !" he began, in a rich, full, 
 tender voice, taking her hand. 
 
 "STOP!" she exclaimed, snatching her hand away and 
 folding her arms, while her countenance darkened, her eyes 
 fired, and she said in the low, deep thunder-tone of intense 
 hate : " You are deceived in me your address shows it. 
 When we parted last, I left you under a false impression. 
 You supposed me heart-crushed, spirit-broken, and so I 
 was ; and you supposed me docile, submissive, because I 
 was quiet, and so I was not ; for, mark you, my quietness 
 was the quietness of the STUNNED LION not of the lamb ! 
 I come of that Red race who never yet betrayed a friend 
 or forgave a traitor ! Yet, as I am avenging and not 
 traitorous or deceitful, I could not strike without warning 
 you. I am your MORTAL FOE !" and thus as it were, throw- 
 down the gauntlet of a fell defiance, before he had recov- 
 ered from his surprise she folded her mantle around her, 
 passed before him and stepped into her carriage, which was 
 immediately driven off. 
 
 " Monomaniac !" muttered Lord Cliffe, as he too left the 
 premises. 
 
 Magdalene returned to her hotel, where, in her private 
 parlor, she found Bastiennelli awaiting her return to renew 
 and press his snit. Magdalene listened to him with more 
 favor and patience than she had ever shown bffore. When
 
 T II K DEEP HEART 845 
 
 he had urged all he had to say again and again, with all 
 the eloquence, energy, fire, and passion of his race and 
 clime, Magdalene said to him : 
 
 " Signor, leave me now, and to-morrow, near this hour, 
 J pledge you my word that I will give you an answer." 
 
 And he left her full of hope. 
 
 The next morning she raised the Italian to the seventh 
 heaven of happiness by permitting him to go with her to 
 the rehearsal. At night again she allowed him to wait on 
 her to the theatre and attend her behind the scenes. It 
 was at the close of the first act that Magdalene entered 
 upon the vacant stage then separated by the canvas cur- 
 tain from the audience and while the men were shifting 
 some back scenes, beckoned the Signor Bastiennelli to the 
 left-hand front entrance, where she stood. He came to her 
 side, startled, astounded by the expression of stern, relent- 
 less determination upon her face, as she laid her hand upon 
 his arm, and pressing it until he shrank, said, in the same 
 low, deep tone of earnestness 
 
 " You love me, you say ?" 
 
 " St. Peter ! lady yes !" 
 
 " Signor ! for one I should love, I would, if needful, lose 
 my soul. How much would you do for one you love ?" 
 she said, her fingers pressing his arm like a vice, and her 
 eyes intently fixed on his, striking their glances deep into 
 his soul. 
 
 " Lady ! try me !" aspirated the Italian, in a deep voice. 
 
 She drew him within an angle, between the side scene 
 and the curtain, where, unseen themselves, they had a full 
 view of the audience ; and pressing again his arm, with the 
 same vice-like grasp, she pointed to a gentleman who occu- 
 pied, alone, the British Minister's box, and said 
 
 " Do you see that man ?" 
 
 The quick, piercing eyes of the Italian followed her index,
 
 J-i8 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in a low tone. 
 
 " He is a very handsome man," said she, mockingly. 
 
 The Italian frowned. 
 
 " And very gracefully accomplished, and fascinating." 
 
 The Italian scowled darkly. 
 
 " I loved him once, and it was for him I would have 
 gone to perdition, had he " 
 
 The Italian had started violently at the commencement 
 of this sentence, and now stood gazing at him with the con- 
 suming fire of jealousy and rage burning in his eyes with 
 less fierceness than they burned in his heart. 
 
 " Had he been true to me. But he was false. He LIED 
 to me. He won my hand in a false marriage, by a LIE. 
 Had he committed the higher crime of killing my body, the 
 laws of the land would have demanded his life. He has 
 perpetrated the greater atrocity of destroying my life of life 
 and the laws have no adequate justice for me. I should be- 
 come a mockery, a by-word, a laughing-stock by making an 
 appeal to them ! I must avenge myself. I am of a savage 
 race, who never forget or forgive ! I have registered a vow 
 never to marry while my mortal foe lives ! You are an 
 Italian ! You understand me I" 
 
 " St. Judas, Signorina ! you demand this man's death as 
 the price of your hand I" exclaimed the Italian, appalled. 
 
 " It is the sacrifice to a stern JUSTICE that I demand," 
 said Magdalene. 
 
 " Lady ! I will give you your answer to-morrow," said 
 the Italian, after a thoughtful pause, and in a deep, signifi- 
 cant tone. 
 
 Magdalene left him and passed out her countenance 
 darkly illumined with the lurid light of a stern triumph. 
 
 Magdalene saw nothing more of the Italian until late the 
 next night the last night of her engagement at Washing-
 
 THE DEEP HEART. 347 
 
 ton when she was to appear in her own original character 
 of the Queen, in the tragdey of Candaules. At the rising 
 of the curtain, she looked anxiously for Lord Cliffe, and 
 missed him from among the audience. The drama pro- 
 gressed, and still he did not come. The drop-scene fell at 
 the end of the first act, and arose at the commencement of 
 the second, and yet he had not made his appearance. 
 Finally, the green curtain fell upon the last scene in the last 
 act of the tragedy, and Magdalene left the theatre in a state 
 of intense anxiety. The continued absence of the Italian, 
 together with that of Lord Cliffe, filled her with the most 
 horrible conjectures. She thought a vengeance as complete 
 a tragedy as terrible had that day been enacted in real 
 life, as the one presented that night upon the stage. She 
 returned to her lodgings in a mood of dark, morose, bat 
 suppressed excitement. She sent to the bar to inquire for 
 the Siguor Bastiennelli, and received word that he had not 
 been in since the preceding night. She sent again with the 
 request that he might wait on her in her apartment as soon 
 as he should return ; and then she sat down firmly, sternly, 
 rigidly, restraining the frenzy that was racking heart and 
 brain, as her soul shuddered shuddered upon the dread 
 boundary line that separates the purpose from the deed, 
 the revenge from the REMORSE. 
 
 The clock struck the hour of one of two and the 
 Italian Irul not yet returned. In an hour more she was to 
 ici.vf \V-i . hington Her place had been taken in the st;ige 
 that was to leave Washington at three o'clock for Baltimore, 
 A here she wag engaged to appear at the principal tin-litre 
 the next evening. But her engagement and her speedy de- 
 parture were both forgotten in the fatal concentration of In r 
 thoughts, and intensity of her emotions on one fell subject, 
 and she remained in the same fixed position of self-guarded, 
 self-governed madness, until the clock struck a quarter to
 
 348 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 three, when a loud rap at her chamber door startled her. 
 It was the chamber-maid, come to tell her that the stage 
 was at the door, and bringing a porter to take down her 
 baggage. Never in her life had Magdalene broken an en- 
 gagement, and with her habitual justice, she determined not 
 to break this, but to depart even without seeing Bastinnelli. 
 She directed the porter to take down her trunks, and rising, 
 with apparently perfect calmness, put on her traveling 
 dress, and was preparing to follow, when a hurried step was 
 heard upon the stairs, and Bastinnelli, travelstained and 
 travelworn, stood before her. 
 
 " For the Virgin's sake, Signorina, one moment ! 
 come !" and he took her hand and hurried her back into the 
 private parlor. 
 
 " Well, speak !" said Magdalene, in a deep, but steady 
 voice " speak, and quickly ! shortly 1 for I have little 
 time to lose ; the coach starts in less than half an hour !" 
 
 Yes ! though reason shook upon her throne, Magdalene 
 remembered, and governed herself, and spoke in a calm, 
 though stern voice : 
 
 " Signorina, I will !" said the Italian, in an agitated 
 tone, stepping back, closing the door, and returning to her 
 side. 
 
 " What have you to tell me ? Quick !" 
 
 " Listen ! Sit down," he said, pointing to one chair, and 
 dropping himself into another. 
 
 She sank into the indicated seat he drew his chair to 
 her side, took her hand, pressed it to his lips, to his heart, 
 and said : 
 
 " Signorina, your great wrong remains yet unavenged ; 
 the traitor goes yet unpunished !" 
 
 She snatched her hand from his clasp, darting a look ol 
 indignation at him, and exclaimed : 
 
 "And you return, alive and unhurt, to tell me so!"
 
 THE D E E F HEART. 84.9 
 
 " Lady I listen last night I sent him a challenge !" 
 
 " Fool !" muttered Magdalene. 
 
 "I received no reply." 
 
 " Of course not I" she said, with withering scorn. 
 
 " This morning I called at his lodgings." 
 
 "Idiot!" 
 
 The Italian scowled. 
 
 " Well ! what then ?" 
 
 "He had left them no one knew for what destination." 
 
 " Certainly 1 Assuredly I" 
 
 " I need scarcely tell you, madame, scornful and incredu- 
 lous as you affect to be, that I did not rest until I obtained 
 what I supposed to be a clue to his whereabout, and fol- 
 lowed it for fifty miles, when I discovered the imposture 
 of which I had been the dupe or perhaps the mistake of 
 which I had been the victim ; and I lost no time in hurry- 
 ing back to you." 
 
 " COWARD !" exclaimed Magdalene, in the most taunting 
 and exasperating tone, as her fine face darkened and 
 flashed. 
 
 The Italian started, frowned darkly, impulsively dived 
 his hand into his bosom, in the shades of which the handle 
 of a poniard glittered, but withdrew it quickly again, 
 smoothed his face, and composed his manner, as he said 
 calmly : 
 
 " Lady, you use your sex's privilege had a man uttered 
 that word " 
 
 " You would mercifully and prudently have allowed him 
 ample time and space in which to make his escape from 
 your consuming vengeance ! Now listen, Signor !" 
 
 "Madame, the coach waits 1" cried a waiter, rapping at 
 the door. 
 
 " Yes ! I am coming. Listen, Signor Bastiennelli ! I 
 am not ove to be trifled with ! No amount of resolution.
 
 850 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 of determination, of energy, of effort that is not SUCCESSFUL, 
 will win one favoring smile or glance from me ! The CON- 
 SUMMATION OF JUSTICE is what I will have 1" 
 
 "The stage, madame !" vociferated a voice from the foot 
 of the stairs. 
 
 " I come ! Farewell, Bastiennelli !" 
 
 "I attend you, lady," said the Italian, and he accompa- 
 nied her down-stairs, placed her in the coach, closed the 
 door, watched the vehicle until it had rolled out of sight, 
 and returned, to prepare to follow her the next day, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Aye, my queen, play the despot ! but I have that which 
 the recklessness of your own nature has given me ! Your 
 secret your avowed criminal purpose and by it, the mas- 
 tery of your fate ! By my passion you would have made 
 me your slave your tool 1 By your own passion, I be- 
 come your master, and the disposer of your fate ! Instead 
 of riveting fetters upon my wrists, you hare placed a wea- 
 pon in my hand instead of chaining me a slave to your 
 triumphal car, you have armed and invested me with power 
 over your life ! Look to it I" 
 
 While this dark conspiracy against his life had been pro- 
 ceeding, Lord C'liffe, unconscious of any danger he might 
 be leaving behind, left the theatre at the close of the per- 
 formance, and returned to his hotel, rouse-d up his servant 
 from his first sleep, gave directions p or his horses to be sad- 
 dled, mounted one, and, attended by his servant on the 
 other, left the hotel and the city, with the intention of 
 thro\vit.g two days' journey into one, and of ivaching Pros- 
 pect Hull, according to appointment, that evening. 
 
 And thither as we tire now weary of the heart-sruivh 
 phases of Magdalene's terrible life thither, as it is lin'.v 
 Spring, and the country will be pleasant, and the society
 
 V I K G 1 M A AND II E L K N . 351 
 
 of Virginia and even of Bruin and Gulliver will be refresh- 
 ing thither we will precede him to more peaceful scenes 
 and better company. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 VIRGINIA AND HELEN. 
 
 'Ton must endnre, yet loving all the while, 
 
 Above, vet never separate from your kind, 
 Meet every frailty with the gentlest smile, 
 
 Though to no possible depth of evil blind 
 This is the riddle you have left to 8olve ; 
 
 Bat in the task you shall not work alone, 
 For, while the worlds about the sun revolve, 
 
 God's heart and mine are ever with his own." HUnts. 
 
 AFTER spending the winter in Richmond, early in the 
 Spring Judge Washington and his granddaughter, Vir- 
 ginia, had returned to Prospect Plains. But before g-Mng 
 further, let me briefly sura up the few events of the last 
 three years of Virginia's life the three years that we have 
 passed in Magdalene's company. From the shock of her 
 sudden separation from Joseph Carey, Virginia suffered a 
 long and severe illness, leaving her, at the close of its acute 
 stage, so enfeebled in body and mind, as to make change of 
 air and scene, and retirement, absolutely necessary. 
 
 Therefore it was that in the month of May following, 
 Judge Washington took her to the Sunny Isle, to which 
 place he also invited Helen and Theodore Hervey to bear 
 her company ; and here he gave his whole time and atten- 
 tion to the recovery of his beloved child; and here, too, 
 he kept up a "lontinual correspondence, as far a? circnm
 
 852 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 stances would admit of it, with Sir Clinton Carey in 
 Europe, and with Joseph Carey in India. 
 
 At the close of the summer, Virginia, " resigned, not 
 happy," was taken by her grandfather to Prospect Plains 
 to spend the autumn, and to receive from the hands of the 
 Bishop the rites of Christian confirmation ; for Judge 
 Washington, with all his lively charity for other sects, was 
 a somewhat rigid observer of the forms and ceremonies of 
 his church. 
 
 Here, however, a great trial awaited them here, as 
 Magdalene had surmised, they had written to her several 
 times, and receiving no answer, they had written to Major 
 Lincoln, and from him received the startling news that she 
 had left them two months before. This news overwhelmed 
 Judge Washington and Virginia vith grief and anxiety. 
 Greatly did Judge Washington reproach himself for having 
 permitted her to leave his protection ; bitterly did Virginia 
 lament fancied coldness, fancied neglect and forgetfulness 
 on ber own part, which might, she supposed, have alienated 
 her sister. This was the first effect of their first shock and 
 dismay. Afterward Judge Washington said, as he caressed 
 the weeping Virginia : 
 
 " Our only fault toward Magdalene has been the having 
 lost sight of her these several months past. We must not 
 spend the time in idle regret, but must do all that we can 
 to find her." 
 
 And accordingly every possible means was used to that 
 effect, but, as the reader already knows, without success. 
 Preparation for the approaching solemn ceremony of con- 
 firmation, by which she should renew in her own person the 
 Christian vows made for her by her sponsors in baptism, 
 now claimed Virginia's whole attention, and by engaging 
 her thoughts in a more exalted subject of meditation, with- 
 drew them from painfully dwelling upon her sorrows.
 
 VIRGINIA AND HELEN. 353 
 
 They spent that year at Prospect Plains. 
 
 The next winter, being the third from the separation and 
 dispersion of their family circle, the Judge and nis grand- 
 child prepared to go and spend the winter in Richmond, 
 where Sir Clinton Carey, now Lord Cliffe, was expected to 
 oiu them. 
 
 They reached Richmond early in December, and soon 
 after their settlement in their city home, they were joined 
 by Lord Cliffe, who had just come over from England. 
 
 Whether it were that " practice makes perfect," and that 
 Clinton Lord Cliffe was now an adept 
 
 "In winning, fettering, moulding, welding, bending 
 The hearts of millions till they move as one " 
 
 or whether it were simply that time, study, and close asso- 
 ciation, acquainted him perfectly with Virginia's individual 
 heart and mind, thus teaching him how to adapt himself to 
 her taste, and recommend himself to her favor, I know not ; 
 but it is certain that with his fine tact and fascinating 
 blandishments, with the splendor of his talents, the bril- 
 liancy of his conversation, and the grace and charm of 
 his manner, he succeeded, not only in blinding her naturally 
 refined instinctive insight, and overcoming her preconceived 
 ideas of his character, but even, and this was a highly im- 
 portant step, an immense stride toward success, awakened a 
 tender remorse in her bosom, for having been so harsh and 
 unjust in her former estimate of the character of one so 
 noble and so gentle. 
 
 And so passed the winter, every day adding to the power 
 of Lord Cliffe over the heart of our Ginnie. 
 
 And in this stage of affairs, when they were about to 
 return to Prospect Plains for the spring and summer, Lord 
 Cliffe urged Judge Washington for permission to speak to 
 Virginia upon the subject nearest to his heart.
 
 354 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 But still Judge Washington entreated him to forbear yet 
 a little while ; not to lose the ground he had gained in 
 Virginia's affections, by shocking her with a precipitate 
 avowal of his wish to make her his wife. 
 
 And so, about the middle of March they separated, the 
 Judge and Virginia leaving Richmond for Prospect Hall, 
 and Lord Cliffe going to Washington city on business 
 that would occupy him for a week or two, but promising at 
 least by the first of April to be with them. 
 
 It was now the first of April, and near the close of a 
 soft, bright spring day, that Virginia Washington and Helen 
 Hervey sat together in the upper front piazza of Prospect 
 Hall, alternately working, or noting the beauty of the scenery, 
 and conversing in a low and confidential tone. At a short 
 distance from them stood in attendance the negro waiting- 
 maid of Miss Washington. 
 
 Virginia was engaged in embroidering a fine mull collar, 
 Helen in knitting a lambswool stocking, and the colored 
 girl in leaning over the parapet, watching the turkeys as 
 they flew up to their roosts in the trees near the house. 
 
 It was a clear, bright, beautiful evening, and unusually 
 warm for the early season. The sun was setting behind 
 the house, and casting the piazza and its occupants into 
 ihe deep shadow that extended, long and black, across the 
 terrace and the lawn, and toward the Plains, enlivening, 
 by the contrast of its darkness, the brilliant light of the 
 emerald green fields that stretched flashing out to the dis- 
 tant dark waters of the Chesapeake bounding the horizon. 
 
 Observe the young women as they gaze softly in rever- 
 ential silence npon the still, bright, beautiful scene. 
 
 Helen Hervey is, in almost every respect, the same wo- 
 man that we saw her last pale, dark, hollow-featured, pic- 
 ruresque, spiritual.
 
 VIRGINIA AND HELEN. 355 
 
 Over Virginia's form and features, air, manner and tone, 
 there has passed a great change. Her eyes have lost some- 
 what of their flashing splendor ; her complexion its dazzling 
 radiance ; her voice its joyous lightness ; her manner its 
 jubilant vivacity ; and this seemed the effect, not so much 
 of cherished sorrow or of ill-health, as of deeper emotions 
 and more earnest thoughts. Virginia had remained a few 
 minutes with her hands and her work resting on her lap 
 idle, and gazing thoughtfully upon the evening landscape, 
 until the sharp outlines of light and shade softened and 
 blended in the sinking of the sun beneath the horizon. 
 Then, resuming her needle and her conversation at the 
 same moment, she said : 
 
 "And so you really refuse Broke Shields, and suffer him 
 to go ? How strange, dearest Helen ! How perfectly un- 
 accountable !" 
 
 " Do you think so ?" 
 
 " Why, yes. Just see. You were playmates in infancy, 
 fellow-students in childhood, lovers in youth, deeply and 
 strongly attached friends in maturity. Your exclusive 
 mutual affection, your constancy and fidelity have been pro- 
 verbial, and your marriage has been expected for years 
 past by your friends on both sides, who are quite agreed 
 upon the subject ; and yet you refuse him, and suffer him to 
 leave you, thus wounding his heart and your own ; for you 
 love him still, Helen ! By those fast-falling tears you do. 
 Why do you weep, yet permit him who loves yon so well 
 who deserves your love so well to depart ? Tell me, dear 
 Helen." 
 
 " I will, I will tell you. Look at my pale and hollow 
 cheeks and hollow eyes. Consider my languor, and that 
 depression of spirits which even family and social affections 
 and Christian faith and hope conjoined cauuot always re- 
 lieve."
 
 35ci THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 "Well, clearest Helen, I should think the faithful love of 
 one so noble-hearted as Broke Shields would cure all that." 
 
 "Ah, this languor, this depression may indicate the ex- 
 istence of some obscure and wasting malady. If this be 
 BO, or while there is a doubt about it, I ought not to marry. 
 And if no point of duty were involved, still I have too 
 honest a friendship for dear Broke to afflict all the best 
 years of his young manhood with the burden and the sor- 
 row of my fading and failing life." 
 
 " Ah, but he loves you so ! he loves you so that he would 
 rather be with you, and, if needful, devote his health, and 
 strength, and life to sustaining and consoling you in your 
 feebleness and languor for years, than to suffer the banish- 
 ment and the absence that he now does ; put it to your own 
 heart. If Broke were ill and you were healthy, would you 
 not rather be with him in his sickness and sorrow than any- 
 where else ?" 
 
 "It is not what one would rather do, but what they 
 would be right in doing, which must be considered. I will 
 never be married while my health is so precarious." 
 
 "Dear Helen," said Virginia, looking at her with eyes 
 full of deep affection, "do not speak so sadly. You speak 
 too seriously of this. Why, you are stronger than 1 am, 
 yet I confidently hope and expect to recover full health and 
 strength. This autumn father talks of taking me to the 
 south of France. You shall go with us, if you will con- 
 sent, and your parents can be persuaded to part with you. 
 My father has set his heart upon having your company out. 
 Now, if the sea-voyage and the change of climate does me 
 any sort of good, as the physician avows that it will, why 
 the same means must quite restore you." 
 
 " I thank you and your grandfather, dearest Ginnie. I 
 am not startled at your kind offer, you perceive. No de- 
 gree of kindness from you or your grandfather surprises uie
 
 VIRGINIA AND HKLKN. S57 
 
 in the least. I am your great debtor, and must always con- 
 tinue so to be ; but I think the sea-voyage and the change 
 of climate will not avail me. That it promises to restore 
 you, Ginnie, is the greatest evidence that it will fail to re- 
 store me. We are of opposite constitutions and tempera- 
 ments, Ginuie, as opposite as our complexions are. Besides, 
 your indisposition is comparatively recent and temporary, 
 /have been from childhood what I am now. Dear Ginnie, 
 I have given you, and you alone, the secret motive of my 
 rejection of Broke. Keep ray confidence, and now let us 
 talk of something else. Magdalene have you ever heard 
 from her ?" 
 
 " Ah, no. Every means taken for the discovery of her 
 abode or fate has failed. She is dead or lost to us forever, 
 the restless, adventurous spirit. If we had found any clew 
 to her fate, we would have followed it up until it should 
 have led us to her ; and if we could not bring her back, we 
 would at least have shielded her from as much evil, and sur- 
 rounded her with as much good as should be in our power. 
 Oh, how I wish we knew where to find her !" said Virginia, 
 pausing in sad thought, while her work dropped again upon 
 her lap, and her eyes fixed on vacancy. After a little time, 
 resuming her work, she said, " By the way, talking of dear 
 Magdalene, how is Theodore, Helen ? Poor Theodore, 
 how severely he felt her loss 1 Where is he now, Helen ?" 
 
 "Yes! where? 1 ' repealed Helen, sadly and gravely, 
 " where ? Gone in search of Magdalene, .'" 
 
 " Gone in search of Ma-rdalene ! He is mad 1 Where 
 does he expect to find her ? In what manner does he pur- 
 sue his search ?" 
 
 " If he is mad, as I am sometimes inclined to sny myself, 
 there is provoking 'method in his madness.' In short, he 
 got himself appointed traveling agent, for the Foreign Mis- 
 sionary Society, and goes from city to city, and from State
 
 358 THE TWO SiSTKRS. 
 
 to S'ate preaching, collecting, mid as fnr ns he onn rlo (> 
 without, notoriety looking for Magdalene ! T" ;:ii 
 persuasions to all our parents' arguments, he replio U:ti 
 Jet her condition be what it may, if his love and lift- r.m 
 redeem and restore her, she shall be redeemed and restored 
 
 "May Heaven be with him to direct and to guard him ! 
 But there is another whom Magdalene's flight has nearly 
 maddened. Poor old Adam Hawk 1 I have not seen him 
 since our return but I am told by Bruin that a few days 
 previous, staff in hand, and with his Nazaritish hair and 
 beard still unshorn, according to his vow, he left his home 
 for no one knows where ! Nor can his object be con- 
 jectured, except by a few words uttered at parting with 
 Bruin, when he said something wild about dogging the 
 footsteps of a murderer giving him rope enough to hang 
 himself with, and then delivering him up to justice 1" 
 
 "Hush.!" said Virginia, turning pale and shuddering. 
 " Let us talk of something else," she said, in her turn. 
 
 " Dear Ginnie, we must talk of nothing else here longer ; 
 it is growing dark, and is, besides, quite chilly this evening 
 these early Spring days are so deceptive. Come, let us 
 go iu. You are too delicate to brave these evening chills. 
 I was wrong to permit you to do so. Come !" said Helen, 
 arising and rolling up her knitting. 
 
 " I was wrong to do so, dear Helen, both upon your 
 account and my own. Besides, father will soon be home 
 from Heathville now, and we must have a fire in the sitting- 
 room and tea ready for him. Dear father ! how my heart 
 fills with love and reverence at the very thought of him, 
 Helen 1 What a guard and guide and support he has been 
 to me, Helen I Had I never known my Creator and 
 Heavenly Father, methinks the love and reverence inspired 
 by my earthly one must still have made me wish to be good. 
 Yet that may seem impious ! Heaven forgive me if it be
 
 THE SITTING-ROOM. 859 
 
 so, for I do not mean it. Yet I can never express half the 
 deep and fervent affection and veneration I feel for my 
 father ! Come, Helen I" and the girls went into the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE SITTING-ROOM 
 
 " I se a small, old-fashioned room, 
 
 With paneled wainscot high; 
 Old portraits round in order set, 
 Carved heavy tables, chairs, buffette 
 
 Of dark mahogany ; 
 And there a high-backed, hard settee, 
 
 On six brown legs and paws, 
 Flowered o'er with silk embroidery; 
 And there, all rough with flllagree, 
 
 Tall screens ou gilded claws." Mrs. Sonttey. 
 
 THIS was the snuggery, in constant family use when 
 there were no strangers at the hall ; and here the busy 
 hands of the two affectionate girls assisted in preparing 
 for the evening meal and the evening Greside ; and soon a 
 clear fire was glowing in the chimney, and the shutters 
 were closed, and "father's" dressing-gown laid over tho 
 back of his chimney-corner easy-chair, and his slippers 
 laid on the hearth, and the tea-table in readiness, and the 
 girls sitting down upon the settee upon the opposite side 
 of the chimney, with their arms locked lovingly around 
 each other's waist, talking in a gentle tone of their mutual 
 subjects of interest, and waiting "father's" coming home. 
 
 This room was home of home a place of such sweet 
 security and tempting repose, that the very oat lif-rself the
 
 860 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 large, motherly, tortoise-shell cat with all her maternal 
 love and feline caution, could here marshal in her frolic- 
 some and variegated brood of kittens, and nurse them on 
 the sofa, or the foot cushion, or permit them to race 
 around the room, very sure that they would not be 
 molested, even by the great St. Bernard dog stretched at 
 length upon the rug. 
 
 "Where did the Judge go this afternoon, Ginnie'" 
 inquired Helen, lifting one of Madame Grimalkin's pret- 
 tiest babes to her lap, and caressing it. 
 
 " Father went to the post-office, and he felt so anxious 
 about some letters, that he decided not to wait until a mes- 
 senger could go and return, but to save several hours of 
 suspense, by being there in readiness to receive his own 
 letters as soon as the mail should arrive and be opened." 
 
 "I read in ' The Federalist' that a foreign mail was ex- 
 pected to-day does he expect to hear from Joseph 
 Carey ?" 
 
 " Alas, no ! we have not heard from Joseph for nearly a 
 year I do not know " and Ginnie stopped short, for she 
 choked with emotion, and lost her voice. 
 
 " Is that possible ! I am very sorry for that," said 
 Helen, in a tone of deepest sympathy ; " but then, Virginia, 
 the foreign mails are so uncertain, and the Geld of Joseph's 
 labors so far out of the bounds of civilization, that there is 
 much more ground to hope that his letters have miscarried, 
 than there is for fear of his health or life I" 
 
 " I do not know," said Ginnie, with an effort at self- 
 recovery. " I do not know ; all that we have heard of Jo- 
 seph proves the most enthusiastic devotion of every faculty 
 of his soul and body to his work his most arduous work ! 
 The very last we heard of him was through an English 
 foreign missionary magazine that providentially fell into our 
 hands, where his name was quite incidentally introduced, and
 
 THE SITTING-BOOM. 361 
 
 by which we learned that he was in a very distant part of 
 Further India, quite alone and unsustained, amid a horde of 
 hostile heathen. Yet not alone ! ' God's heart and mind 
 are ever with his own.' " 
 
 At this moment a heavy step was heard in the hall, the 
 door was swung open, and Judge Washington entered the 
 sitting-room ; Virginia and Helen both arose to meet him. 
 He shook hands with Helen, stooped and kissed Virginia's 
 brow, and then the two, with solicitous attention, hastened 
 to make him comfortable. 
 
 Helen went for the boot-jack, while Ginnie helped him 
 off with his great coat, and settled him in his dressing-gown 
 in the easy-chair. 
 
 And then Ginnie carried off the great coat, hat and stick 
 to hang them in the hall, while Helen, now returned, rang 
 for tea. 
 
 Though the house was full of servants, the girls were 
 always happy in proving their affectionate respect by per- 
 forming, with their own hands, these little personal favors. 
 
 Tea was soon served, and the Judge, somewhat rested 
 and refreshed already, arose, and with his usual amenity of 
 manner, handed Virginia to her place at the table, and they 
 all sat down. 
 
 After tea was over, and the cloth was removed, when 
 they had gathered around the fire again, and the little 
 round table, with the bright lamp, was drawn up between 
 them, and Virginia had taken out her embroidery, and 
 Helen her knitting, Ginnie "opened 'her' mouth and spake, 
 saying," 
 
 " Dear grandfather, you look happy this evening ! The 
 mail has not disappointed yon ! You have letters and good 
 news !" 
 
 " Yes, Virginia, much news, strange news and good 1" 
 . " Of Magdalene ?"
 
 |$ft / tHE T W 6 SISTERS. 
 
 " No, my dear, not of her. Go, look into the pocket of 
 my great coat, Virginia, and bring the packet of letters and 
 papers that you will find there." 
 
 Virginia hastened to obey, and returned with a large 
 bundle of papers. The Judge received them, spread them 
 out before him on the table, and while Helen and Virginia 
 watched him anxiously, he selected one from the number, 
 saying, 
 
 " Now, my dears, I chose to say nothing of this letter 
 until after tea, for I knew with this letter to digest there 
 would be no appetite for supper !" 
 
 " Though with the supper to digest we are starving for 
 the contents of the letter 1" said Ginnie, with something of 
 her old vivacity, for with eyes as bright as stars she had 
 already recognized the dear, familiar hand-writing. 
 
 " I see that you have discovered this letter to be from 
 Joseph. It is. I will read it ;" and unfolding the epistle, 
 Judge Washington read it to eager hearers. 
 
 The letter proved that the surmise of Helen Hervey had 
 been correct. Joseph had written regularly every month, 
 though being in a distant part of India, he had frequently 
 been compelled to entrust his letters for transportation to 
 the nearest missionary station to unknown and perhaps un- 
 faithful messengers. He more than half suspected, he said, 
 that all his letters sent from that quarter had failed to reach 
 their destination. He had, through almost unparalleled 
 toils, privations, and hardships, and over nearly invincible 
 obstacles, alone and unaided succeeded in planting in 
 that social desert, a vineyard of the Lord, a little Christian 
 Church, which owned him^for its pastor, a little school 
 which had him for its teacher. Every faculty of his soul 
 and body was busily and happily engaged. His health was 
 not quite so strong as it had been, but that was doubtless 
 owing to the change of climate. He would get acclimated.
 
 THE SITTING-ROOM. 368 
 
 and then he should be better This letter closed with fer- 
 vent expressions of undying love to those dear friends he 
 left behind, and unshaken faith in the God who would watch 
 over and finally reunite them. Helen's and Virginia's eyes 
 were full of grateful tears. 
 
 Virginia's hands were clasped as if in prayer or praise, 
 and her whole countenance and manner glowing with so 
 much fervor and earnestness of emotion, that the Judge re- 
 marked it, and she answered truly, 
 
 " Oh father ! my heart glows and dilates with I know 
 not how much mingled admiration, joy, and regret. Oh 
 father !" and Ginnie pressed both hands tightly upon her 
 bosom as though to still its throbbing she could say no 
 more. To Helen alone, or to her father alone, she could 
 have spoken freely, but a new aud nameless scruple a 
 vague feeling that she did not understand, prevented her from 
 speaking to them loyel/ier, the thoughts that were burning 
 in her heart made it impossible for her to say that which 
 so strongly, so ardently she felt : " He is there alone, alone. 
 Oli 1 why, when I wish to go so much, when I could be 
 such an aid and comfort to him, when I love him so, and 
 he needs me so ! why may I not go to him ? Oh ! to be 
 there where I am so much wanted ! To be there in Jo- 
 seph's lonely home ! To be there alone with him ! With 
 nothing to care for but him ! With nothing to do but to 
 help him ! To enter heart and soul into all his labors and 
 desires and enterprises! To labor with Joseph and for 
 humanity and God ! With mutual affection on earth and 
 heaven in view ! What a happiness ! what a happiness ! 
 Oli ! that it might be mine ! To be able to conceive of 
 this, and not to be able to realize it ! Joseph ! Joseph ! 
 sea and land! waves and mountains! separate us not so far 
 as fate ! Joseph ! my dear brother Joseph !" This was 
 the inarticulate cry in her heart tuut choked
 
 364 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 that suffused her face with blushes and her eyes with tears, 
 as the gaze of her grandfather fell upon her. 
 
 But soon the sight of her grandfather's venerable and sad- 
 dened countenance, and his silver hair and bowed form, 
 roused something like remorseful tenderness in Ginnie. She 
 wiped away her tears, and smiled, and kissed his hands, and, 
 starting up, ran and brought his pipe and tobacco, filled, 
 and lighted, and handed it to him, and sat down on a 
 cushion by his side, folded her hands upon his knee, and 
 looking up in his face with eyes full of veneration and love, 
 watched him. 
 
 They were sitting thus when the quick trampling of 
 horses, followed by steps upon the portico, and a loud ring- 
 ing of the door-bell, announced a visitor. 
 
 " Who cau it be at this late hour ?" inquired Ginnie and 
 Helen, in a breath ; but, before the Judge could reply with 
 a conjecture, a servant entered and announced that Lord 
 Cliffe had arrived, and had been shown into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " And strange that he should have come so late is 
 there a fire in the room ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Show him in here, then ; if you have no objection to 
 receiving him in our family sanctum, young ladies," said the 
 Judge, addressing the first clause of his speech to the man, 
 and the last to the girls. : . 
 
 " Certainly not, father. Let him come in here while I 
 go and order supper, for I dare say he has not supped." 
 
 "Do, my dear, but do not be long, Virginia. Give your 
 directions, and leave their fulfillment to Polly or rather to 
 Coral and come yourself back here to welcome your cousin 
 Clinton." 
 
 Virginia left the room, and the Judge, turning to the 
 man, directed him to show m Lord Cliffe.
 
 THE SITTING-ROOM. 365 
 
 Judge Washington and Miss Hervey arose tc receive 
 Lord Cliffe as he entered their snuggery, bowing with his 
 customary courtly grace. He shook hands with the Judge, 
 and gallantly raised the slender fingers of Helen to his lips, 
 and assumed the seat on the sofa by her side. He informed 
 his host in explanation of his late arrival, that business had 
 detained him at the seat of Government a day longer than 
 he had expected that being determined to keep his ap- 
 pointment for the first of April, he had set out from Wash- 
 ington city at three o'clock that morning, and had ridden 
 all day. 
 
 The Judge was in the midst of some expressions of con- 
 cern for his fatigue, when the door opened and Virginia 
 entered. 
 
 It was not with the least remnant of weariness or even of 
 his habitual and dignified nonchalance, that Lord Cliffe 
 sprang up, and, with very unaristocratic vivacity hastened 
 to meet Virginia, and, with the privilege of a cousin or a 
 fianck, drew her trembling to his bosom, and pressed a kiss 
 upon her blushing cheek ; then he led her to the settee, 
 seated her, placed himself at her side, and, for a while, gave 
 up his whole attention to her. He declined the proffered 
 refreshments, saying that he had supped at St. Leonard's, 
 where he had stopped to change his dress and to rest his 
 horses. He yielded a ready acquiescence, however, to the 
 advice of his host, that he should retire to rest early in 
 consideration of having ridden something like a hundred 
 miles ; and in accordance with this proposition, the family 
 circle separated. 
 
 Lord Cliffe, in bidding good-night to the Judge, re- 
 quested to be informed at what hour of the next day it would 
 be convenient to favor him with a private interview. Judge 
 Washington expressed his readiness to receive Lord Clifle 
 in his library immediately after breakfast. This little eon-
 
 366 THE TWO SISTEBS. 
 
 versation passed in a low voice at the foot of the great 
 staircase, where the host and his guest parted for the 
 night. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 THE MAIDEN'S HEART. 
 
 ' Her bosom is the soft retreat 
 
 For love, aud love alone ; 
 And yet her heart has never beat 
 
 To love's delicious tone. 
 It dwells within its circle free 
 
 From tender thoughts like these 
 Waiting the little deity 
 
 As blossoms wait the breeze, 
 Before it throws its leaves apart, 
 And trembles like the love-touched heart.' Amelia S. Welly. 
 
 AFTER breakfast the next morning, while Helen was in 
 her chamber, and the little housewife, Virginia, was giving 
 orders for dinner, Lord Cliffe sought Judge Washington in 
 his library. 
 
 His unexpected meeting with Magdalene in the United 
 States, her threat had had one effect upon him not that 
 of alarming him for his personal safety, but of disturbing 
 his sense of security in Judge Washington's high esteem 
 and in Virginia's pure affections. He wished, therefore, to 
 insure his position by a speedy marriage, or by the speedy 
 removal of Virginia far from the neighborhood of Magda- 
 lene. It was with this intention that he entered the library 
 of Judge Washington. The old gentleman sat before the 
 fire in a large, red, easy-chair beside a table covered with 
 green cloth, and scattered over with books, papers, writing 
 materials, etc. On the opposite side of the table stood u
 
 THE MAIDEN'S HEART. 367 
 
 empty chair similar to his own. He arose and received 
 Lord Cliffe with much urbanity, pointing to the vacant seat, 
 which the latter took. With an air of stately, yet graceful 
 deprecation, Lord Cliffe apologized for again, so soon, 
 opening the subject recently closed between them at Rich- 
 mond, and entreated permission to renew and press his suit, 
 for urgent reasons, which he begged leave to explain. 
 
 Judge Washington looked sad and grave, but bowed and 
 requested him to proceed. 
 
 Lord Cliffe then informed him that business of vital im- 
 portance would call him to England immediately, and de- 
 tain him there for many months that the thought of leav- 
 ing his promised bride, in whom his whole life was bound 
 ap, was painful beyond sufferance ; that her affections and 
 confidence already half won, might be entirely lost again 
 during his protracted absence ; and finally, both as a favoi 
 and a right, he entreated Judge Washington's consent, and 
 claimed his promise of permission to speak to Virginia of 
 his love, and to ask her hand. 
 
 The old gentleman leaned his head upon his hand, and 
 remained in silent thought for the space of a few minutes, 
 while Lord Cliffe uneasily awaited his answer. At last he 
 said in a serious tone " I am old, I know and feel ; and 
 life and health is precarious in its duration. If I die, leav- 
 ing my granddaughter unmarried, she will be unprotected. 
 I have, perhaps, put off this matter long enough. Virginia 
 is nineteen years of age. Yet if I have delayed the con- 
 summation of your betrothal, Lord Cliffe, it has been, as 
 you know, from no disinclination to fulfill my promise and 
 Colonel Carey's wishes. It has been from the deepest in- 
 terest in Virginia's happiness, and in yours as connected 
 with hers. I wished you to secure the first place in her 
 affections before you should obtain her hand.'' There was 
 an emphasis in the latter clause of this speech, that caused
 
 368 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Lord Cliffe to look up in great anxiety, with difficulty re- 
 strained ; Judge Washington continued " Virginia has a 
 warm regard for you, Clinton, but she does not love yon as 
 I could wish her to love her husband as you, if you wed 
 for happiness, should wish your wife to love you." 
 
 "You more than intimate that I am not so blessed as to 
 hold the highest place in Miss Washington's regard is 
 another besides yourself so favored ?" 
 
 " Yes more than yon more than myself, more, far 
 more than any one else on earth, Virginia loves her adopted 
 brother, Joseph Carey." Lord Cliffu arose, and slowly and 
 thoughtfully paced up and down the floor. Returning, he 
 resumed his seat, and looked inquiringly in the face of Judge 
 Washington, who, in reply to the sad and silent interroga- 
 tive, said " Do not be alarmed, or the least uneasy at this 
 annunciation. I spoke of it in order to anticipate and pre- 
 vent any needless misconstruction and anxiety. Virginia 
 esteems and loves Joseph Carey beyond and above all others 
 but it is the esteem of a pure heart for a noble one the 
 devoted love of an only sister for an only brother for such 
 from babyhood has been their relation. She loves you in 
 the same manner, but in a less degree. That greatest, 
 strongest, warmest love that one predominant love, has 
 never been inspired in Virginia's heart." 
 
 Lord Cliffe's countenance cleared as he said " Be of 
 good cheer, sir, far from cherishing a morose uneasiness at 
 this circumstance, I understand it and recall the beautiful 
 lines of our greatest poet, 
 
 ' Oh ! she that hath a heart of that fine frame 
 To paythis debt of love but to a brother, 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
 Hath killed the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her:' 
 
 I only await your permission to address Virginia."
 
 THE MAIDEN'S HEART. 369 
 
 " You have it, then, Clinton ; and may Heaven 
 your wooing and bless your love, as you deserve." 
 
 " I shall have the honor of your wishes on my side ; shall 
 I also have the influence of your word with Virginia." 
 
 " Assuredly, Clinton, so far as the expression of my 
 earnest desire leaving her then free to act will go, you 
 shall have the weight of my interest with my child." 
 
 So ended the interview. 
 
 Lord Cliffe bowed and withdrew from the library, and 
 Judge Washington, pulling the bell-rope, summoned a ser- 
 vant whom he dispatched with a message to Virginia. 
 Ginnie obeyed the call instantly by coming into the presence 
 of her grandfather just as she was just as she happened 
 to be dressed when the messenger met her half way be- 
 tween the "meat-house" and the kitchen, with her ging- 
 ham sun-bonnet and sheepskin mittens, and her morning 
 apron, and little basket of keys. 
 
 "Come here, my child," said her grandfather holding out 
 his hand ; and as she advanced, he drew her toward him, 
 looking with fond and grave affection upon her face, as he 
 removed her bonnet, took her little basket from her, set it 
 away, placed her in a chair by his side, and again taking 
 her hand, said, very seriously : " Virginia, how do you like 
 your cousin, Lord Cliffe ?" 
 
 " At first, father, I did not like him, but of late, since 
 I have known him so much better, I have liked him more 
 and more every day." 
 
 "That is well very well May your regard for him 
 continue to increase. Virginia, your grandfather is an old 
 man.' 
 
 " My dear father." 
 
 " He cannot expect to live many years he may not live 
 many months, Virginia." 
 
 " Dear father."
 
 370 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " If he should die, you would be left quite unprotected 
 exposed to nil the snares and dangers that beset the path 
 of a young, beautiful, and wealthy orphan. Do not weep 
 Virginia, but hear me. That thought, Virginia that 
 thought of leaving you so unsheltered and defenseless, 
 saddens ray life, it would darken my death." He paused 
 mid looked at her. She wiped her eyes and replied : 
 
 " Do not let it, then, dearest father. Your child is young 
 and inexperienced, but she is not silly, or vain, or cowardly. 
 In the event of God, in his infinite wisdom, visiting me with 
 such an affliction as your loss, dearest father, I will tell you 
 what I will do, so that you shall not have one fear for 
 me." 
 
 " Well, Virginia ?" 
 
 " If the Lord would strengthen me to bear the trial, the 
 first thing I should do would be to write to Joseph to come 
 over to me, and the next thing would be to go to Mr. 
 Hervey's, and put myself under the protection of the family 
 until he should arrive." 
 
 " And then, Virginia ?" inquired the Judge in evident 
 anxiety. 
 
 "And then why, then then what Joseph pleased," 
 she said, twisting up the corner of her apron, while her brow 
 crimsoned. 
 
 Both were silent, until a profound sigh from Judge Wash 
 ington caused Virginia to look up and say : 
 
 " Dear father, you are sighing ; what for ? Can I do any 
 thing for you ?" 
 
 "Yes, Virginia." 
 
 " What is it, dear father ? Tell me." 
 
 " Will you do it, Virginia ? 
 
 " Will I? Will I do what my father wishes? Oh, 
 father, when did ' Ginnie' ever do otherwise ?" 
 
 "Promise me, Virginia, to do what I wish."
 
 THE MAIDEN'S HEART. 371 
 
 " T promise, denr father of course I do though no 
 >nt'iiist's cm liind me any faster than duty does now." 
 
 " Virginia. l>v fnllowing ray advice in an affair of which 
 f ;IMI about to speak to you, you will lighten my latter days 
 nf their great burden of anxiety." 
 
 " Oh, speak, and tell me what it is, dear father. OJ 
 course I will do it! Can any one doubt it ?" 
 
 "Listen, then, Virginia. I wish to see you married be- 
 fore I die," said he, looking at her with earnest affection. 
 To his surprise, her face at first lighted up with an impul- 
 sive joy; but then a sudden bashfulness flushed her brow, 
 and she dropped her eyes upon the carpet. " Can you 
 surmise who it is that I have selected as your husband, 
 Virginia ?" Again the smile and the blusii, the pleasure 
 and the bashfulness, conflicted in the maiden's bosom, and 
 on her downcast countenance. " Speak, Virginia. Tell 
 me if you know the name of him who prefers you before all 
 women, and upon whom, before all men, I prefer to bestow 
 the hand of my child? Ah, do you know his name, Vir- 
 ginia ?" said he, and he stopped to catch the scarcely audi- 
 ble sound made by the smiling lips, and he heard her mur- 
 mur in a love-tuned voice 
 
 "Joseph Carey." 
 
 Judge Washington drew back, changed countenance, and 
 sighed more heavily than before as he said : 
 
 "No, my dear. No, Virginia, I never thought of him 
 in that light never could think of him in that light. He 
 is a most estimable young man, but he is your brother. 
 Let him ever remain so. Sisters do not marry with their 
 brothers I No, Virginia, no ! Decidedly not him ! You 
 must not dream of such a thing. What ever could have 
 put it into your head ? Did Joseph ever hint such a propo- 
 sition to you ?'' 
 
 "No, sir, never, 1 ' said Ginnie, in a low, trembling tone,
 
 372 THK TWO SISTERS. 
 
 with her crimson brow between the drooping ringlets, still 
 bent, " never. But when you talked with such approval of 
 one whom you preferred before all others, I thought, of 
 course, dear father, that you meant him who merited such 
 preference above all others, my dear brother Joseph, that 
 was all forgive me," and Ginnie twirled her apron quite 
 up to the belt. 
 
 " Virginia, darling, you do not inquire whom I do mean." 
 
 " Because, dear father, I do not much care, since it is not 
 Joseph. Alas ! pardon me I know not what I am saying. 
 I did not mean to answer you so, father. Tell me, then, 
 sir, whom" she paused and trembled. 
 
 "A most proper match for you, my dear child, in every 
 respect. Your Cousin Clinton Lord Cliffe !" 
 
 Virginia's color faded, and she remained silent. 
 
 " What have you to say to it, my dear child ?" 
 
 " Nothing but this that I had hoped to spend all my 
 life among my childhood's friends, and in my childhood's 
 home to live and die with you, and Magdalene, and Joseph, 
 at, Prospect Plains." 
 
 " That is a favor few young people have, and fewer still 
 desire from fate. ' The young bird must leave its nest,' 
 Virginia. Come, my dear, you will give peace to your old 
 father by complying with his wishes. You will listen 
 favorably to Lord Cliffe's suit ?" 
 
 " I gave you my promise. Yes, father !" and Virginia 
 burst into tears. He let her weep, unchidden. And then 
 he drew her to his bosom, kissed her, and sent her away to 
 change her dress. Virginia met Lord Cliffe at dinner, and 
 the conscious blood mounted to her brow. All day she 
 avoided him as much as she could without unkindness. And 
 in their few chance meetings, her face flushed and paled, her 
 limbs trembled, and her voice faltered, so deadly was her 
 f ear of the private interview she had promised. And how
 
 THE MAIDEN S HEART. 373 
 
 much this dread resembled the bashfulness of virgin love I 
 and how nearly it had deceived even her lover ! 
 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was shining through 
 the crimson curtains of the wainscoted parlor, and falling 
 redly on the sofa underneath the window where they sat, 
 Lord Cliffe found the opportunity of declaring his love, and 
 pressing his suit with all the eloquence of passion and of 
 genius, that she should bless him with the promise of her 
 haud. At last she gave him this promise only pleading 
 that no more should be said of it until their return from 
 their European tour. 
 
 And finally rising, she begged the privilege of retiring to 
 her room for recomposure. 
 
 Lord Cliffe arose, and, with his usual suave and deferen- 
 tial gallantry, took her hand and led her to the door, open- 
 ing, and holding it open until she had passed. 
 
 And Virginia went to her chamber. 
 
 She had obeyed her father. She thought she had done 
 her duty. Yet her heart was full of trouble tender, re- 
 morseful memories of Joseph, and his love, and his loneli- 
 ness and a compunctious sense of injustice to Lord Cliffe, 
 and abuse of his confiding faith. 
 
 Full of distress, she dropped upon her knees by the side 
 of her bed, buried her head in its downy softness, wept, and 
 prayed that God would bless, would highly bless her brother 
 Joseph, and give to her clear sight to see her duty, and 
 strong heart to do it. 
 
 She arose with one thing clear in her mind that in a 
 vital matter like this she must have no concealments from 
 Lord Cliffe No, painful as it would be, she must nnvai! 
 her heart to him. He was in the wainscoted parlor yet 
 she would go to him now, while she had a little strength 
 and courage. 
 
 Without stopping to arrange her disordered dress, or 
 23
 
 374 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 smooth her disheveled hair without thinking of them at 
 all, she quickly glided down the stairs, and softly opened 
 the parlor door. She paused in fear, and looked in. 
 
 He was there yet, sitting upon the sofa, under the crim- 
 son light of the window, gazing fixedly upon a miniature 
 he held in his hand, and his attitude was full of strange 
 distress. Against the bright light she could not see his face, 
 but she thought with affectionate compunction " He, too, 
 has his sorrows what sorrows can he have ? Have all sor- 
 rows, then ? And can I add to the sum of his, the cruelest 
 one of a false, deceiving bride ? No, my profound soul ! 
 Notwithstanding all rny failing and faltering, I will go iu 
 and toll him." 
 
 And all this while he was gazing on the miniature his 
 hand passing to and fro in a troubled gesture across his 
 brow. Virginia, closing the door behind her, approached 
 him trembling. He looked up, and perceiving her, arose, 
 and tenderly and respectfully taking her hand, led her to 
 the si- fa, seated her, and took his place at her side, before 
 he deliberately shut the locket containing the miniature, 
 and returned it to his bosom. Then he gave his whole at- 
 tention to her. She was blushing deeply, and the tears 
 were sparkling on her eyelashes, as she said, in a low, tremu- 
 lous voice, and with an averted face : 
 
 " I have something to say to you, Lord Cliffe, which it is 
 right that I should say ; but it is very painful to me to say it." 
 
 She paused, and her brow flushed. 
 
 "The sun-light is too bright in here it is blinding," 
 said Lord Cliffe, and he arose, turned, closed the blinds, let 
 down the crimson curtains, reseated himself beside Virginia, 
 and gently passing one hand around her waist, and laying 
 her face against his bosom, he bent over her, and tenderly 
 stroking back the damp, pale hair from her paler brow, he 
 said, in a soothing voice :
 
 THE MAIDEN'S HEART. 375 
 
 " Say on, now, Virginia. There is nothing in that in- 
 nocent heart of thine that may not fearlessly be spoken. 
 Say on, ray love. Murmur in ever such a low whisper, and 
 I shall catch or guess your meaning." 
 
 And with her face hidden on his bosom, where he held 
 her, she began to speak in a tone as low, as mellifluous, 
 and nearly as inarticulate as the shiver of distant forest 
 leaves : 
 
 " You ought to know before you marry me, that I love 
 my brother Joseph better than any one else in the wide 
 world that if father had been willing and Joseph had 
 been willing I had rather passed my whole life with him 
 than with any one else on earth that I had rather shared 
 his home, however humble, or his fate, however hard as 
 his wife, or as his sister, I did not care which, whichever 
 Joseph pleased than to live in the most splendid palace, 
 and share the most brilliant destiny on earth ! I cannot 
 feel in my heart that it is wrong to love Joseph 1 I feel as 
 if it would be wrong not to love him, even if I could help 
 it 1 But I cannot. I feel that I shall always love my dear 
 brother more than any one else in the world. But I feel 
 that yon should know this, and I fear that it is not right 
 for me to marry only that my father who knows all 
 about it, who is both wise and good, and who, above all, 
 has the disposal of my destiny gives me to you 1 There, 
 my lord ! I have unvailed to you the holiest sanctuary of 
 my heart ! I am yours by my father's gift, and by my own 
 promise. Do with me as you please reject or receive me !'' 
 and she moved as though to withdraw herself from his em- 
 brace, but he gathered her closer to his bosom, bent over 
 her, parted the golden ringlets each side, pressed his lips to 
 her pure forehead, and said, in tones as low and musical as 
 flute notes, 
 
 "I will not take you no ! much as ray heart is set upon
 
 376 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 you, I will not take you as any one's gift but your own, my 
 Virginia ! But, do you not like me a little, then ?" 
 
 " Oh ! very much, very much I like you as my cousin 
 and very much more, because I was so unjust to you once. 
 But see, when I feel most impressed and inspired by your 
 nobleness and gentleness, by all your goodness then I 
 most want to see Joseph ! I want to say to him how much 
 I esteem you because, you see no emotion, however happy, 
 and no thought, however bright, is perfect without Joseph's 
 sympathy. But, oh, Lord Cliffe, much as I esteem you 
 indeed " She burst into tears, and hid her face in his 
 bosom, as though it had been her father's. 
 
 He let her weep freely, caressing her gently, tenderly all 
 the while ; and when she had recovered herself, he said, in 
 a soft whisper, 
 
 'You shall not be called to fulfill your engagement, dear 
 one, until I have won your heart. Without loving Joseph 
 less, you shall love me much more with a perfect love of 
 which you have never dreamed yet. Now tell me of yonr 
 brother Joseph. Tell me freely about your childhood and 
 youth. I also feel that I shall love Joseph for his sweet 
 sister's sake. And when I have won her love and won her 
 hand, her brother's welfare shall be my first care." 
 
 Thus he obtained her confidence. 
 
 "You are so good! so good !" said she, pressing his 
 hand ; "so good may Heaven bless you as you merit." 
 
 After a little time, with a strange, sad smile, he said, 
 
 "Virginia! you saw me place a miniature in my bosom ?" 
 
 "Yes, Clinton." 
 
 "I, too, have a sister of the heart. That was the portrait 
 of one whom I once loved passionately whom I now love 
 purely; and whom I must continue to love through life." 
 
 Virginia gazed at him earnestly, anxiously, feeling now a 
 strange, deep sympathy for him, such as she had never felt
 
 THE SISTER'S HEART. 877 
 
 before. She expected him to tell her the namg, and show 
 her the portrait of this " one," but he did not only with a 
 deep sigh, he said, earnestly, 
 
 " Virginia ! if ever in after life this sister of mine crosses 
 your path, or gives you uneasiness, think of your brother, 
 and forgive me ! And yet, my pure angel, how different 
 Go, now, dear Virginia ! I, in my turn, need solitude for 
 recompo&ure ;" and so he dismissed her. 
 
 The next morning, in a conversation between Lord Cliffe 
 and Judge Washington, it was arranged' that the voyage of 
 the family should be hastened, in order that the former, 
 whose business required his speedy departure, should ac- 
 company them. It was also agreed, that the whole party 
 should go first to England, and remain for the few weeks it 
 would take to settle Lord Cliffe's affairs, and then that he 
 should accompany them on their continental tour, and that 
 the marriage should take place on their return to Virginia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE SISTER'S HEART. 
 
 " Only be sure thy daily life, 
 In its peace and in its strife, 
 Never shall be unobserved ; 
 We pursue thy whole career, 
 And hope for it, or doubt, or fear, 
 So thou hast kept thy path nnswerved. 
 We are beside thee in all thy ways, 
 With our blame, with our praise, 
 Our shame to feel, our pride to show, 
 Glad, sorry, but indifferent no." Browning. 
 
 BY tacit consent never had Magdalene's name been men- 
 tioned in the family since the last conversation about her
 
 378 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 between Helen and Virginia, in the presence of Lord Cliffe, 
 or of any other one not known as an intimate friend of hers, 
 it had never been mentioned at all. Bat as the day ap- 
 proached upon which they were to leave home and country 
 for a distant voyage and a long absence, Virginia felt about 
 her heart the constraint of those sister ties she had never 
 been able or willing to unloose. She could not depart 
 without leaving some fresh evidence of her continued love 
 for Magdalene. But how ? Magdalene was lost. Yes, 
 but Theodore Hervey was gone to seek her. Therefore, 
 Virginia determined to write a letter to Magdalene, and 
 send it to the elder Mr. Hervey to be transmitted to Theo- 
 dore, to be delivered to Magdalene, when she should be 
 found. Virginia wrote this letter, eloquent with the most 
 earnest and anxious affection, entreating her sister to inform 
 her of her place of residence, so that she might hasten to 
 see her as soon as she should return home ;. or if it suited 
 her convenience to do so, at any time during their absence, 
 to return to the hall, where the housekeeper, Polly Pepper, 
 had standing orders to keep her rooms in readiness for her 
 reception, assuring her with the most loving faith that her- 
 self and her father trusted her through all things ; that if 
 she would come home, only come home, she should be wel- 
 comed with the most joyful affection ; that her confidence 
 should not be obtruded upon ; that only so much as she 
 would volunteer to communicate should be heard of the 
 past three years' history, telling her that ever when she 
 knelt down at her o^vn private devotions, she prayed first and 
 most for her bosom's sister ; that when the household 
 gathered in family prayer, morning and evening, they 
 prayed for their lost daughter, that God would watch over 
 her, and guard and guide her, and restore her safely to 
 their love. The first and last words were : " Come" 
 " Come home."
 
 THE SISTER'S HEART. 879 
 
 This letter she folded, sealed, directed, and gave to Lord 
 Clilfe, with a request that he would dispatch it by a mes- 
 senger to the Old Forest Parsonage. Lord Cliffe read the 
 superscription with ill-restrained agitation. 
 
 " ' Magdalene Mountjoy, care of Rev. Theo. Hervey,' 
 does he ? where ?" and there he paused. Virginia 
 took his hand, drew him to the distant sofa against the 
 window, and sitting down with her head resting against his 
 shoulder, told, amid many tears, the story of Magdalene's 
 disappearance, of which, of course, he knew far more than 
 any one else. It was well that she sat a little back of him, 
 with her face leaned forward downward on his shoulder, so 
 that she could not see the white storm in his face. It was 
 in a very low, deep, steady voice, that finally he asked : 
 
 "This young minister, this Theodore Hervey, was the 
 dark picturesque personage I met here the first winter of 
 my arrival ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And he knows the place of Magdalene's abode ?" he 
 further inquired, without turning his head toward Virginia. 
 
 "No, he does not only you see this is it: he loved 
 Magdalene, and offered to marry her. Magdalei.e had a 
 great esteem for him, but refused him. When she was 
 missing, he took it to heart very deeply. He has pledged 
 his life to find and restore her that is it. I entrust my 
 letter to Win as the most probable means of getting it to 
 her. Oh, that she may be discovered and restored to us ! 
 Oh, you see I could not leave the country without leaving 
 our home open for the reception of my sister, and without 
 writing and entreating her by my love, by all our love, to 
 come and dwell in it ! There, you may read the letter, 
 if you will, Clinton ; I have no secrets from you." 
 
 "No. But does your grandfather approve this invita- 
 tion under the circumstances, the strange circumstances ?"
 
 380 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 asked Lord Cliffe, somewhat abruptly, and still wilh averted 
 face. 
 
 " My dear, venerable father will open his arms for his 
 other daughter, whenever she will turn and lay her wild 
 head on his bosom for rest. Oh, you do not know my dear, 
 dear father. It would take you all your life to learn how 
 good he is. There is only one more among those I know 
 in the world who is as good as he is the boy of his own 
 rearing Joseph." 
 
 " What do you think that Magdalene will return ?" 
 
 " I do not know ; but what I hopo is, that Magdalene 
 will return, and that Theodore, who -deserves her, if ever 
 man deserved woman, will win her love and her hand. 
 WHAT'S THE MATTER ?" 
 
 This sudden terrified question was put by Virginia, as 
 Lord Cliffe starting, threw off her hand, and strode up a-nd 
 down the floor in strong agitation. When he recovered 
 his composure, and came and sat by her side, and she 
 anxiously repeated her question, he replied : 
 
 " A pain, a pain, Virginia ! Ginuie, dearest, did you 
 love you. brother very much ?" 
 
 The next morning, the whole party, consisting of Judge 
 Washington, Lord Cliffe, Virginia, and Helen Hervey, set 
 out in the old family carriage for Norfolk, which they 
 reached, by easy stages, in a few days. Then sending the 
 carriage back by the coachman to the Hall, they embarked 
 aboard the good ship Xyphias, Captain Harper, and sailed 
 for Liverpool, where they arrived after a tedious passage 
 of two months. They proceeded at once to London, and 
 put up at handsome lodgings, intending to remain in the 
 city while the business that brought Lord Cliffe to England 
 was pending. While here, they went out every day, at- 
 tended, as often as he could leave his business, by Lord
 
 THE 6 I S T K K ' ti H Jfi A K T . 381 
 
 CHffe, as cicerone, to see all that was remarkable or won- 
 derful in the city or the surrounding country. Among 
 other places visited, not because it was wonderful or even 
 remarkable, but only because it was an object of interest as 
 the prospective home of his daughter, was Castle Clifte, 
 the seat of Lord Cliffe, in Hertfordshire ; in which, at the 
 invitation of its master, Judge Washington, with his party, 
 passed a week very pleasantly. When the affairs of Lord 
 Cliffe were finally settled, they set out for Scotland, visited 
 all the places made classic ground yes, holy ground by 
 the " Great Magician of the North," and visited the High- 
 lands, passing over to the Orkney and the Shetland Isles. 
 Here the temptation to cross to Denmark and Sweden, the 
 great Norse country, was so powerful as scarcely to be re- 
 sisted ; but, unprepared for this tour, they returned to Scot- 
 land, and journeyed southward and westward toward Wales, 
 where they spent some weeks among its wild and beautiful 
 scenery. Next they visited Ireland, where they spent the 
 early weeks of autumn. Finally, they returned to London 
 to make some arrangements previous to crossing the Chan- 
 nel to France, and spending the winter in Paris. 
 
 It was at the period of their return to London that & 
 shock met them a shock of astonishment to all, of rapture 
 to one. A BOOK had burst upon the startled minds of men 
 like a new REVELATION a book from the depths of Asia, 
 written by a young missionary, whose name was already the 
 synonyme of courage and self-devotion, but nothing more ; 
 and yet a book that had shaken to its centre the triple 
 kingdom of Letters, Church, and State, that had set oppo- 
 site parties of the literati, the politicians, and Christians at 
 war a book, upon which, as upon the first production of 
 every great original thinker, unmeasured praise and blame 
 had been bestowed, yet a book full of divine light and 
 Christian love. Its title, THE HARMONY OF THE CUEEDS,
 
 382 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 by the Reverend Joseph Carey, Missionary to Changduagn, 
 Tonquin, Further India. 
 
 You know before I tell you that Virginia possessed her- 
 self of a copy of this book before eating or sleeping Yes, 
 you do not wish me to say that she went away with it to 
 her room ; that she kissed and hugged the senseless volume, 
 and loved it, and talked to it as if it had been a living 
 thing ; that lying on her sofa, she pored over its contents, 
 with one hand supporting her glowing cheek, down which 
 the-bright golden ringlets flashed, and the other, holding 
 the book, upon the page, of which her gaze was riveted. 
 I need not tell you that this very book first awakened Vir- 
 ginia's higher intellect, and engaged her in subjects of 
 general interest to the human race until now deemed beyond 
 and above her comprehension ; that she who sat down to 
 its perusal only a loving girl, arose from its reading a think- 
 ing woman, so suddenly is the mind sometimes aroused 
 from a deep sleep, and quickened to an endless life and 
 growth. 
 
 They went to France, and spent the winter in Paris. 
 
 They passed the spring and summer in making the tour 
 of Europe, and early in the autumn they returned to En- 
 gland, preparatory to sailing for home. And everywhere 
 they heard the name of Joseph Carey spoken of with deep 
 veneration by the young, with high approbation by the old. 
 He had seemed almost to have conquered the first tempest 
 of opposition that bad assailed him. Joseph Carey, the 
 Missionary, the Christian Politician, the Philosopher, the 
 Philanthropist, was the admiration, the enthusiasm of the 
 day. His works on Paganism, Judaism, and Mohammedan- 
 ism, written before the first was published, and already 
 translated into almost every language of Europe, were 
 everywhere read. 
 
 Virginia's heart bounded for joy, and her eyes flashed
 
 THE SISTER'S HEAKT. 388 
 
 with affectionate triumph, as she raised them to the counte- 
 nance of Lord Cliffe, who watched her, and thought, as 
 she remembered his stately condescension in promising to 
 befriend Joseph, " You patronize Joseph Carey ? that 
 star-bright one ! the welfare of Joseph Carey be your care? 
 Why, it was the special care of God !" And oh ! her soul 
 within her sang for joy and triumph, to think that Joseph, 
 the nameless, penniless, friendless outcast, the street pau- 
 per, the poor foundling boy, dependent on a child's pity 
 for his life, dependent upon an old man's charity for his 
 nurture and education yes, dependent on them for his 
 very name a name that he had made illustrious that this 
 Joseph had turned out to be not the lost heir to some 
 immense estate, stolen at his birth, or changed in his cra- 
 dle oh, no ; for any light thrown upon his birth and pa- 
 rentage, he was the pauper foundling still but God's own 
 child, God's chosen child, crowned with the triple crown of 
 goodness, genius, and beauty ; anointed to toil and suffer ; 
 endowed to achieve and triumph. Oh, yes, the sister's 
 heart sang for joy, and the burden of its glee was 
 
 " Io ! psean 1 
 Joseph ! Joseph 1" 
 
 In truth, Lord Cliffe made small progress in her heart; very 
 little had he advanced beyond the point at which he stood 
 a year before, when she had given him her quiet, steady, 
 cousinly affectioh and confidence. Far enough was Virginia 
 from that "one undreamed-of love," which should surmount 
 without destroying all other loves and which Lord Cliffe 
 had hoped and expected to inspire in her heart. 
 
 In this posture of affairs they returned to the United 
 States. They landed at Norfolk, and proceeded immedi- 
 ately to Richmond, where they arrived on a Saturday night 
 near Christmas. On Sunday morning they went to the
 
 38 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Episcopal church, and heard an excellent sermon from the 
 stationed minister, Doctor Goodwin. A sermon was an- 
 nounced for the evening, at seven o'clock. In the evening 
 Judge Washington and his party went. Though the church 
 was large, it was crowded to excess, so that our party, who 
 came late, were obliged to take a pew in the lower end .f 
 the building near the door. They entered and sat down 
 the Judge, Helen, Lord Cliffe, and Virginia, in the order I 
 have named them Ginnie at the head of the pew. Yet 
 what was this ? What strange, pleasing, painful influence 
 was this ? What new experience ? Was the air highly 
 charged with electricity ? No sooner was Virginia seated, 
 than her nerves thrilled, and her heart thrilled with a new, 
 strange, half-pleasurable, half-painful emotion ! The min- 
 ister arose to give out the hymn the words of which she 
 had always admired with enthusiasm, and which now kindled 
 her heart to its old fervor ! Yet this did in no measure ac- 
 count for the strange, new sensation of mingled trouble and 
 delight that agitated her bosom, when burst from the full 
 choir the inspiring music and words of the hackneyed but 
 beautiful hymn 
 
 "From Greenland's Icy mountain*, 
 
 From India's cural strand, 
 Where Afric's sunny fountains 
 
 Boll down their golden sand : 
 From many an ancient river, 
 
 From many a palmy plain, 
 They call us to deliver 
 
 Their land from error's chain." - 
 
 What was there in this music and this poetry that had 
 inspired her a score of times before, but that now nearly 
 overwhelmed her with the force of a new, strange, and fear- 
 ful experience, that sent the blood pouring into her heart, 
 while an icy coldness spread like a garment over her ? What 
 was there in the cadences of this music, that made every
 
 THE S I S T M R ' S HEART. 385 
 
 separate note seem a separate, sentient, conscious being, ap- 
 pealing to her soul, filling it with a mingled exstacy and 
 anguish, that in its fearful excess nearly destroyed her ? 
 The hymn was finished, and she sank down in the corner of 
 the pew overwhelmed. 
 
 Dr. Goodwin arose, and gave out the text "Go PREACH 
 THE GOSPEL TO EVERY NATION." The subject of his sermon 
 Foreign Missions. In spite of the strange excitement of 
 her nerves or, indeed, as if the master influence over her 
 had changed its mode, and now exercised a calming power, 
 she grew serene, and then in a strange, sweet quiet, she sat 
 until she became profoundly interested in this sermon, as 
 heretofore she had been in every subject that nearly or 
 remotely concerned the mission and the life of Joseph 
 Carey. 
 
 Yet at the conclusion of the sermon, when the last hymn 
 arose in a swelling volume of harmony again she paled and 
 flushed with that strange, thrilling, ague-shake, and fever 
 glow and again, at its conclusion, she sank half fainting 
 back in her seat, in the dark corner of the pew. When the 
 hymn was concluded, and before the benediction was pro- 
 nounced, Dr. Goodwin, turning to a gentleman who sat 
 obscure in the back seat of the pulpit, invited him to ap- 
 proach, and as he arose and advanced to the front of the 
 pulpit, presented him to the congregation with these 
 words 
 
 " My dear brethren and friends, I have especial joy this 
 evening, in introducing to your acquaintance one whose 
 name has long been dear as familiar to every Christian heart 
 the Rev. Joseph Carey, late Missionary to Changduugn, 
 Tonquin." 
 
 A slight murmur of surprise and pleasure ran through 
 the congregation it subsided and then in a few pointed 
 words, full of truth, nature, and Christian affection, Mr
 
 336 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Carey expressed the joy he felt in once more greeting hia 
 countrymen and fellow-christians, and sat down. 
 
 Then Dr. Goodwin announced that his esteemed brother 
 would lecture at that church on the next Wednesday even- 
 ing the subject of the lecture being the Christian Missions 
 in Further India. 
 
 Then the minister spread forth his hands, and the congre- 
 gation arose and bowed their heads to receive the benedic- 
 tion. That over, the congregation began to move some 
 to depart, and some to crowd up near the altar to welcome 
 the returned missionary, who, with the minister, was de- 
 scending from the pulpit. Judge Washington bending 
 down the pew toward Virginia, said, 
 
 " My child, come ! We must go and welcome Joseph I' 
 
 But Virginia, very pale, said, 
 
 " Not now ; wait 1 wait till the crowd has thined. Stay 
 here ! he will not leave the church till all the congregation 
 are gone, and then he must pass down this way. Stay, do, 
 dear sir, indulge me!" 
 
 And they sat still, watching the congratulating crowd 
 that surrounded the missionary, whose head could just be 
 seen above them. At last they began to disperse, and 
 passed down the aisles. 
 
 When all had left the church, with the exception of the 
 minister, the missionary, and one or two old members of the 
 vestry, who were also intimate acquaintances of the Jud<re, 
 the latter signed to his party, and leaving the pew, drew 
 Helen Hervey's arm within his own, and followed by Lord 
 Cliffe, conducting Virginia, passed up the middle aisle 
 toward the front of the altar, where Joseph still stood, 
 conversing with Dr. Goodwin, Governor Mountjoy, and 
 another distinguished gentleman. Joseph Carey stood 
 there under the full, clear, bright light of the altar chande- 
 liers. But Virginia, she was a little in the rear, leaning 
 heavily upon the arm of Lord Cliffe.
 
 THE SISTER'S u K A R x . 387 
 
 She saw Joseph Carey, as he stood in the full light, 
 hot ween the venerable minister Doctor Goodwin, and the 
 equally venerable Governor Mountjoy to her eyes a 
 prince of Heaven's own crowning with his court around 
 him. His tall and stately form was draped by the rich 
 furred Spanish cloak that hung from his shoulders with the 
 classic grace of the Roman toga, and the regal dignity of the 
 ermined purple ; his broad, white, glorious brow around 
 which the fair golden hair, shining like a sun-ray, might 
 have seemed a halo, or a crown combined and harmonized 
 the celestial beauty of an angel's forehead with the royal 
 majesty of a king's front how elevated, how exalted how 
 gloriously transformed yes I how divinely transfigured 
 he seemed to her. 
 
 But then a rush of blood to the brain must have dazzled 
 Virginia's vision, so that fire flashed before her eyes, and 
 she saw stars, and crowns, and halos where none were to 
 be seen. 
 
 Yet I wish I could place this missionary before you as 
 he stood there, and electrify your hearts with the impression 
 he really made. 
 
 In truth, a great change had passed over Joseph Carey. 
 He was no longer the delicate, though beautiful boy, 
 shuddering and torn by passion, as the sapling is shaken 
 and uprooted by the whirlwind faint and pale with passion, 
 as the sapling beaten down and blanched in the tempest 
 and the flood. 
 
 No ! but the mature, self-possessed, self-governed, 
 regnant man. A very handsome, portly man, of very noble 
 presence, constraining a high respect and deference even 
 from those veteran dignitaries of church and state around 
 him. 
 
 As soon as he raised his eyes, and saw Judge Washing- 
 ton and his party approaching, a smile of surprise and
 
 388 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 pleasure lighted up his countenance, and stepping forth, he 
 held out his hand to greet him. They shook hands warmly, 
 warmly expressing the joy they felt at this unexpected 
 meeting. Had they followed the impulses of their hearts 
 they would have embraced ; but ours is a cold-mannered, if 
 not a cold-hearted nation. He shook hands with Helen 
 Hervey next, and then the Judge, stepping on one side, 
 revealed to his view Virginia, leaning on the arm of Lord 
 Cliffe. 
 
 " Lady Cliffe !" said Joseph, advancing at once, though 
 his brow flushed, offering his hand, and smiling upon her. 
 
 But oh ! an electric shock could not have been so 
 powerful in its effect upon her nerves as the touch of that 
 long-lost hand the meeting of that long-lost gaze. She 
 wished to reply to disabuse him of his mistake, and to 
 welcome him home she wished to say, " No, Joseph ! your 
 sister, Ginnie Washington still, who is so happy, so happy 
 to see you !" But she durst not, she could not a strange 
 bashfulness and humility never before felt in reference to 
 her brother, blended with her affection, and prevented her 
 speech. There was a sovereignty even in his gracious 
 smile and softly-modulated tone, that awed her into silence 
 that awed her into stillness while the love-lit eyes that 
 beamed upon hers awoke now for the first time the woman's 
 deep passionate nature to life. To be so full of life new 
 life strong life ; and yet so still, and pale, and passive 
 her eyelids dropping dropping slowly before the gentle 
 gaze fixed upon her. 
 
 ' Lady Cliffe, I presume ?" said Mr. Carey, looking 
 around, inquiringly, still holding her hand. 
 
 "No, sir; Miss Washington, as y-t," replied Lord 
 Cliffe, in no very benignant tone, and in no very benignant 
 manner. 
 
 A flash of unutterable joy irradiated Joseph Carey's
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 389 
 
 countenance an instant, notwithstanding the warning words 
 "as yet." His eyes fixed upon hers again, and with a 
 gentle dominion said what only her profound hea,ri heard 
 then quickly turning to Lord Cliffe, he said, apologeti- 
 cally 
 
 " My serious error, sir, grew out of a paragraph in an 
 old English newspaper, which announced your then ap- 
 proaching marriage with Miss Washington." 
 
 A pang of remorse she scarcely knew wherefor pierced 
 Virginia's heart at this speech. 
 
 In reply to it Lord Cliffe bowed stiffly. 
 
 All this passed in an instant, and then Judge Washington, 
 coming up, begged the happiness of Joseph Carey's com- 
 pany next day to dinner, in their private apartments at the 
 Richmond Hotel. Thanking him, Joseph Carey accepted 
 the invitation, and the party separated. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 
 
 "For there in probation to decree, 
 And many aud loug must the trials be : 
 Thou shall victoriously endure 
 If that brow is true and those eyes aro sure." Browning. 
 
 VIRGINIA had not spoken during the interview. She did 
 not speak during the drive from the church to the hotel. 
 She did not speak even when she found herself alone with 
 Helen Hervey in the sleeping apartment occupied in com- 
 nion by the two girls. She seemed enwrapped in a happy 
 24
 
 390 THE TWO SISTEKS. 
 
 trance, too happy to admit of thought, still less of speech. 
 She retired to rest in the same unbroken silence, and all night 
 long with closed eyes and soft smile she lived in the meaning 
 of one poem the happy, eloquent gaze that spoke to her 
 heart through Joseph's eyes, when he knew that she was free. 
 With the morning vanished the blissful vision and came 
 the reality. She remembered her grandfather's wishes and 
 the world's expectations, and above all, her own implied 
 engagement to Lord Cliffe ; and with these, the predomi- 
 nant and deathless attachment between herself and Joseph 
 Carey. But she recalled all these irreconcilable facts with- 
 out the slightest confusion of ideas, or doubt, or fear. Her 
 head was clear, and her heart was strong, and her line of 
 life and action drawn out brightly, clearly, harmoniously 
 before her. She read the past with uridimmed eyes now, 
 as she read the future with undazzled ones. She understood 
 perfectly now the magnanimity, the self-immolation with 
 which Joseph Carey had become an exile and a wanderer 
 for her sake; venerated the faith, hope, and love, with 
 which he had sought to devote that exile to the cause of 
 God and humanity ; and gloried in the courage, energy, and 
 perseverance with which he had overcome obstacles of co- 
 lossal magnitude and achieved success. And now for her 
 own part I repeat it her head was clear, her heart strong, 
 and her line of life and action drawn out clearly, brightly, 
 harmoniously before her. 
 
 She joined the family at breakfast, wearing a fresh and 
 joyous countenance, such as she had not worn since her 
 sixteenth year and all remarked it in silence, ascribing the 
 happy change to the right cause Joseph Carey's return 
 but with somewhat different sentiments. Helen Hervey 
 with quiet sympathy, Judge Washington with uneasiness, 
 Lord Cliffe with anxiety. When breakfast was over, and 
 they had risen from the table, and the Judge was in the
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 391 
 
 act of putting on his greatcoat to go out, Virginia followed 
 him, laid her hand softly on his arm, and said gently, 
 
 " Father, I want to talk to you alone, somewhere ; I want 
 to open ray heart to you." 
 
 He looked down at her serious though happy face, and 
 said, with an air of some anxiety too, "When I return, 
 dear child. I have been summoned in haste to go out on 
 urgent business. When I return, my dear, I will hear you." 
 And stooping and pressing a kiss upon her open brow, he 
 buttoned up his coat, took his hat and stick, and was pass- 
 ing out, when at the door he was arrested by Lord Cliife, 
 who begged the favor of an interview with Judge Wash- 
 ington, if his convenience served. The Judge turned to 
 look at him, scarcely able to repress a smile at the thought 
 of how much he was in demand upon this especial morning. 
 " My dear sir," he replied, " I am called in haste to the 
 bedside of my old friend, General Mountjoy, who is taken 
 suddenly ill. When I come back I shall be happy to see 
 yon in your own apartment or in mine." 
 
 " Permit me to accompany you, Judge Washington, as 
 far as the door of General Mountjoy's house. I can open 
 my business as we walk." 
 
 " I do beseech you to excuse me, sir, I am in great haste. 
 When I come back I shall be at your commands," and bow- 
 ing deeply, the Judge walked forth. He had not proceeded 
 far, however, when he met Mr. Carey walking arm in arm 
 
 with the Honorable J M , who, though then but a 
 
 rising star, was yet one of the most eminent men of his day. 
 Bowing and excusing himself, Mr. Carey took a moment's 
 leave of his distinguished companion, and turning with 
 Judge Washington, he said 
 
 " My dear sir, can you grant me the favor of an inter- 
 riew this morning, at your earliest convenient hour ?" 
 
 " Humph 1 my dear Joseph, a prime minister or a royal
 
 392 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 favorite, could not be more in demand than I am this morn 
 ing. I have already three appointments. I shall have the 
 pleasure of seeing you at dinner. After that I am at your 
 service. Good-morning, sir." 
 
 " Pardon me, I was on my way to your lodgings. Have I 
 your permission to call on Miss Washington this morning ?" 
 
 "Ay; go, Joseph ! Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning, sir," replied Mr. Carey, bowing, and 
 quickening his steps to rejoin Mr. M . 
 
 Joseph Carey came up with his companion, and they 
 walked together until they came in front of the Richmond 
 Hotel, when parting, the latter walked on, and the former 
 entered the house. He found Virginia alone in their pri- 
 vate parlor. Lord Cliffe had left the house soon after 
 Judge Washington. Helen Hervey was lying down with 
 a slight indisposition. 
 
 Reader, I shall not intrude upon the reunion of these 
 long-severed friends. Let it suffice to say that Joseph 
 passed an hour with Virginia alone in the parlor that 
 then they parted until five o'clock, she remaining on the 
 sofa in a smiling trance he leaving the house with a happy 
 air and regnant step. Observe : A few paces from the 
 door he met Judge Washington coming home ; he bowed, 
 smilingly renewed his promise to dine with the Judge, and 
 went on. A little further on he encountered Lord Cliffe 
 returning. The gentlemen silently touched their hats in 
 passing that was all except : Lord Cliffe quickened his 
 steps and overtook the Judge just as he had reached the hotel, 
 and they entered the house together. Judge Washington ex- 
 pressed his readiness to receive Lord Cliffe in his own apart- 
 ment, and the two gentlemen proceeded thither together 
 Lord Cliffe's business with the Judge was to entreat him to 
 urge his granddaughter to name an early day a very early 
 day for their marriage. He did not wish, he said, unduly
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 893 
 
 to hasten the lady or her friends, but that really the long 
 delay \vas more than enough to exhaust the patience of a far 
 more patient suitor than himself. He did not wish to sep- 
 arate the only child from her aged parent he only wished 
 to secure her ; and having done so, would be quite willing to 
 pass the first year of their marriage in America and after 
 that, alternate years in America and in England, hoping 
 that the Judge would always accompany them to the latter 
 country. The Judge bowed in reply to this speech, and 
 said that he would speak to Virginia would urge his lord- 
 ship's wishes, backing them with his own earnest desire ; 
 but that there his influence must stop he would not, and 
 should not, coerce her will in the matter. 
 
 And so the interview terminated. And the Judge, 
 remembering his promise to Virginia, rang the bell and 
 desired her presence. Virginia entered the room with a 
 book in her hand and her thumb in it. She came in, and 
 drawing a foot-cushion up to her father's easy-chair, sat 
 down at his feet, and laying the book open on his knees, 
 with her hands resting upon its pages, turned her eyes up to 
 his, with an expression of serious archness, if I may be 
 allowed the term. 
 
 " Well, Virginia, my child, I have sent for you not only 
 in accordance with ray promise to you, but also in fulfill- 
 ment of one just made to Lord Cliffe. And I suspect, Vir- 
 ginia, that both relate to the same subject your marriage." 
 
 Virginia's face flushed, but did not lose its happy, confi- 
 dent expression. Her grandfather then taking both her 
 hands in his, and looking down upon her with the most 
 earnest and anxious affection, began to speak in very serious 
 and even solemn tones. He reported to her the sum of 
 Lord Cliffe's conversation, and repeating all that he had 
 said to her upon a former occasion, touching the long delay 
 of Inr marriage, now longer by more than a year than then
 
 3U-4 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Ills own earnest desire to see her settled in life before he 
 should be called away his own great age and the uncer- 
 tainty of life finally, he besought his child, as she loved 
 him, to make him easy, and her suitor happy, by naming a 
 day for their marriage. 
 
 " Now, was it not in relation to this marriage that you 
 came to speak to me, Virginia ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear grandfather, it was and to tell you that I 
 know that it would be wrong in me to suffer Lord Cliffe to 
 go on any longer under the influence of an error." 
 
 " What is that, my dear Virginia ?" 
 
 " To permit Lord Cliffe to devote any more of his time 
 and attention to one who can never be his wife !" 
 - "My child, you shock and grieve me beyond measure 1" 
 said the Judge, with a look of sorrow and amazement. 
 
 "My dear and honored grandfather, I very much regret 
 that it is so but listen to my objections, dear sir, and you 
 will not blame me ; hear me quite out, and I am sure you 
 will not feel anxious or even uneasy about me !" 
 
 "Go on!" 
 
 " Dear grandfather, please to tvy and remember what 
 happened little more than a year ago. When you first 
 mentioned this subject of my marriage with Lord Cliffe to 
 me, I told you at once whom I loved better than all the rest 
 of the world put together. And when, notwithstanding all 
 that, you advised me to receive Lord Cliffe's addresses, I 
 consented to do so, only telling him, in all candor, of that 
 affection of which I had first told you. He only smiled, 
 entreating time and opportunity for trying to win the first 
 place in my heart. Bound by your wishes and my own 
 promise to you, I agreed to that. I have kept my promise. 
 For more than a year we have lived in each other's almost 
 exclusive society, and I have given him every opportunity 
 he sought, and I have tried to love him for your sake. In
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 395 
 
 v;iin ! For though I love him even a little more than I did 
 last yea'-, yet it is only with that affection induced by habit 
 and association, and which I always feel for any person or 
 any thing not positively disagreeable, with which I have 
 lived for any length of time, and not the least dependent 
 upon or connected with respect or esteem. I will tell you, 
 dear grandfather, my whole opinion of Lord Clifle. I will 
 tell you the various impressions he has made upon me at 
 various times, and the last result in my final idea of him. 
 When I first saw my cousin, and during the first winter of 
 our acquaintance, my impression of him was very unfavor- 
 able that unfavorable impression was effaced when a closer 
 association exhibited to me the fascination of his manners 
 and the splendor of his talents, which even dazzled and 
 bewildered me somewhat. A longer and more intimate 
 acquaintance, however, familiarized me with these adventi- 
 tious accomplishments, and deprived them of their danger- 
 ous and misleading power, while it revealed to me the 
 character of Clinton Carey, Lord Cliffe." 
 
 " Or rather, what you suppose to be bis real character." 
 
 " No, dear grandfather, I am not mistaken ; the cloud of 
 unjust prejudice, and the glare of excessive admiration have 
 both passed away from my vision, and I see clearly." 
 
 " What, then, is the sum-total of your estimate, social, 
 physical, moral, and mental, of your lover, Lord Clifi'e ?" 
 
 " My suitor, Lord Cliffe for lover he is not, and has 
 never been, and never will be well, then, I appraise my 
 suitor thus : Socially, he is a nobleman of high rank and 
 great wealth, and promises to become a statesman of great 
 eminence. Physically, he is an eminently handsome man, 
 with fair distingue. Mentally, he is gifted with splendid 
 talents and brilliant accomplishments. Morally, he is brave, 
 ardent, generous, magnanimous ; but but somewhere, in 
 bis sentiments, or feelings, or principles, or opinions, I
 
 596 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 know not which, he is unsound. I could not confide in 
 him. I could not repose in him. I could not feel safe and 
 at ease with him as I do with, and as I could with Joseph 
 Carey." 
 
 " Ah, Joseph Carey ! I very much suspect, my dear, 
 that it was the miraculous touch of Joseph Carey's hand 
 last night that caused the clouds and glare to pass from 
 before your eyes !" 
 
 " No and yes, grandfather. No for if yesterday you 
 had urged this marriage upon me, yesterday I should have 
 replied as now ; yes for it was certainly the reappearance 
 of Mr. Carey that caused Lord Cliffe to press the subject 
 of our speedy marriage. Yes for the meeting with Joseph 
 Carey has taught me this that to him only can I in right- 
 eousness give my hand." 
 
 "Virginia, my dear child, this is romance, folly." 
 
 "Listen, dear grandfather," she said, and her counte- 
 nance became earnest, and even devout in its expression. 
 " Listen to me ' I speak the words of truth and sober- 
 ness.' I have to-day been reading the SOLEMNIZATION OF 
 MATRIMONY wherein the woman, calling most devoutly on 
 God to witness her vow promises, in the name of the 
 Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, to love, honor, 
 and obey the man she marries until DEATH. Oh, God ! 
 what an awful vow ; what an awful vow, even in favor of 
 one whom we do love deeply and honor highly, and would 
 be willing to obey implicitly. What an awful vow ! not 
 to say perjury not to say sacrilege not to say BLAS- 
 PHEMY ! as it would be on my lips, were I to stand before 
 God's altar and call on God's name to witness that I would 
 LOVE TILL DEATH a man whom, as a husband, I could not 
 Icve at all that I would HONOR TILL DEATH a man I cannot 
 sincerely respect even that I would OBEY TILL DEATH a 
 mau in whose integrity I cannot even trust ! Good Heaven !
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 397 
 
 I wonder a woman's tongue is not palsied with horror when 
 she commits such an awful perjury !" 
 
 " She considers it meuely a form. Too much, perhaps, 
 that ceremony has been considered a form." 
 
 " Merely a form ! with the heart, and brain, and con- 
 science assenting to every inspired word contained in the 
 vows, if they are spoken in sincerity, and God invoked to 
 witness them 1" 
 
 "Yes, too much this has been considered a mere form." 
 
 " Dear grandfather, all this love, honor, service, obe- 
 dience I can promise with a clear conscience, a fervent 
 heart, and a steadfast will, and in the sight of God, to 
 Joseph Carey. For I. have loved, and honored, and obeyed 
 him from the time I can first remember till the time he left 
 us. Never a doubt of his wisdom or goodness has crossed 
 my mind. I love and honor him more than ever." 
 
 Judge Washington groaned. His family prejudices, in 
 spite of his better nature, were deeply wounded. He re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Virginia, I will not insist upon your marrying Lord 
 Cliffe. Perhaps, though it was Colonel Carey's darling 
 wish, and is also my earnest desire, and I stand over you 
 invested with his delegated, as well as my own personal 
 authority, perhaps, strictly speaking, I have no right to do 
 so ; but I certainly object to your marrying Joseph Carey, 
 a young man who, though admirable in many respects, is 
 no match for Miss Washington." 
 
 " No match for me, grandfather ! No ! Heaven doth 
 truly know that he is not, unless a superior is a match for 
 an inferior." 
 
 "You are, as I said, romantic, Virginia. Think, my 
 child, how it would sound in your native county, where 
 you are the last sole representative of two of the oldest 
 families, and two of the largest estates in the county ; and
 
 398 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 wheie, from the hour you were born and known to he a 
 girl, it was a subject of speculation as to who your future 
 husband, the future master of the two great estates would 
 possibly be, how will it sound through the State the Slate 
 in which your hand was considered the one great prize to 
 be contended for by the most distinguished among the un- 
 married men of the commonwealth how will it sound when 
 it is said that Miss Carey Washington has bestowed her 
 hand and fortune upon a penniless adventurer, indebted to 
 her mother's charity for his very name ?" 
 
 "A name that he has made illustrious! Oh, grand- 
 father, I do not know how it may sound to old Virginian 
 prejudices, when old Virginian families hear that ' Miss 
 Carey Washington has bestowed her hand and fortune upon 
 a penniless adventurer ;' but I know what a proud and 
 happy day it will be for Ginnie when Joseph Carey takes 
 her to his heart forever ! Grandfather, I wish you could 
 feel as I do, as my sainted mother would feel, were she on 
 earth 1" 
 
 " Virginia ! I said that I objected to your marriage with 
 this young man, "repeated Judge Washington, emphatically, 
 as he folded his arms, leaned back in his chair, and looked 
 at her gravely. 
 
 Virginia met his steady gaze unflinchingly though her 
 eyes were full of sadness and determination. 
 
 " What do you say to this, Virginia ?" 
 
 " That I am very sorry, sir." 
 
 " But determined, nevertheless, to marry him ?" 
 
 Virginia was silent, and dropped her eyes upon the 
 ground. 
 
 ' Favor me with a reply, if you please, Miss Washing- 
 ton." 
 
 Virginia's brow crimsoned with confusion. It was the 
 first time in all her young life that her grandfather had
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 399 
 
 called her Miss Washington, and it wounded her deeply 
 nevertheless she replied, in clear, steady tones, 
 
 " My dear grandfather, I believe that one so wise and 
 good as yourself will not long persist in an objection, 
 founded only on the prejudice of rank, and to one so noble 
 as Joseph Carey 1 and believing in that, and trusting fu 
 God, we will wait a little. Dear grandfather, forgive me if 
 I have offended you, and bless me for my dead parents'sake 
 for I cannot smile again to-day if you are displeased with me." 
 
 The Judge laid his hand upon her fair, bowed head, and 
 gently said, 
 
 " God bless you, Virginia, my child ; and God bring 
 you, or me, to the right way of thinking 1" 
 
 And so he dismissed her. 
 
 Joseph Carey came to dinner according to appointment, 
 and, notwithstanding all that had passed between Virginia 
 and her grandfather, Judge Washington received him with 
 the utmost kindness of manner, and soon drew him into 
 giving an account of Further India, the Christian Missions, 
 etc., to which Virginia and Helen listened with the pro- 
 foundest interest. 
 
 Lord Cliffe was really and deeply anxious at heart, but 
 he was too well bred to betray his uneasiness. So that, not- 
 withstanding a few hidden, disagreeable elements, the even- 
 ing passed very agreeably. Joseph Carey took leave at a 
 rather late hour. Soon after his departure, Judge Wash- 
 ington, much fatigued, retired to his chamber. Virginia 
 and Helen were preparing to follow his example, when 
 Lord Cliffe detained the former, by saying, 
 
 "One moment, Miss Washington, if you please, and if 
 Miss Hervey will excuse us ?" 
 
 Helen Hervey bowed and left the room, closing the door 
 behind her. Lord Cliffe led Virginia to the sofa, and seat- 
 ing himself by her side, and holding her hand, and looking
 
 400 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 sadly, tenderly, half reproachfully in her face, he said, in a 
 pensive tone, 
 
 " Virginia, dearest, ' how long ?' ' how long ?' " 
 
 She lifted her eyes full of deprecation to his face. 
 
 " Virginia, how long will you keep me in this suspense ?" 
 
 " May God may you forgive me the weakness, igno- 
 rance and sin of having kept you in suspense so long, Clin- 
 ton I will do so no longer no, not a day." 
 
 " You will set my heart at rest at once, my dear Vir- 
 ginia, by naming to-night, the day, at no great distance I 
 trust, when I shall call you my wife will you, Virginia ?" 
 he said, pressing her hand. 
 
 She withdrew it, and said kindly, but firmly, 
 
 " Lord Cliffe, you have widely misconceived my mean- 
 ing. Understand it now. I can never be your wife." 
 
 " Miss Washington ! !" he exclaimed, in a tone of indig- 
 nant astonishment ; but then quickly controlling and re- 
 covering himself, he became again perfectly cool, calm, self- 
 possessed, and said, with a slight wave of his hand, " For- 
 give my haste, Virginia; but the overwhelming shock of 
 such an annunciation, my dear love I Virginia " he con- 
 tinued, taking her hand caressingly " Virginia, you do not 
 mean what you say ?" 
 
 " Indeed, indeed I do, Clinton I" 
 
 " What ! you can never be my wife I" 
 
 " Never, never, Clinton." 
 
 " But I love you so, dear Virginia will you can you 
 cast away all that afi'ection ?" 
 
 " Love me 1 Yes, I know you love me, Clinton, but 
 oh, dear ! 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Why, yes, you like me after a fashion as I perhaps like 
 you but " 
 
 " Well ?
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 401 
 
 " You do not like me as you love one whom did 'time, 
 place, and circumstance adhere' you would prefer to marry 
 rather thar. all others !" 
 
 " And who is that, Virginia?" he asked, in a slightly un- 
 steady voi;e. 
 
 " I do not know her name, or person, or abode, but she 
 is the original of that miniature which I have never yet be- 
 held, but which I have seen you gaze upon with oh ! how 
 how many strong, various, and opposite emotions at differ- 
 ent times ! love! pride! sorrow! triumph! remorse! all 
 save auger, hope, or fear ! with all passions that refer to 
 the past, with none that relate to the future! Oh, yes, that 
 pictured image has power to trouble the deep waters of 
 your soul as never my living face and smile and touch has 
 been able to do! Ah! does your countenance change so at 
 the bare allusion to one so passionately beloved ? Yes, 
 Clinton, you like me, I know ! Were every circumstance 
 of rank and wealth satisfactorily adjusted, and you were 
 married to the unknown, you would be well pleased to have 
 me also in your sight, by your fireside, coming and going 
 through your house. You would be happier for my pres- 
 ence, for you like me with a genial, cousinly regard but! 
 now mark me ! Reverse the case. Were you married to 
 me, could you bear the presence of that other one ? Could 
 you endure to have her always in your sight, by your fire- 
 side, coming and going through your house ? Would you 
 be any happier for her presence ? Ah ! no ! no ! It 
 would destroy, utterly destroy your peace ! Ah ! no ! for 
 it is her you love with all your heart and soul ! Go. Clin- 
 ton, my cousin, leave one whom you do not love best and 
 who does not love you best leave me impale your sinful 
 pride, and marry the original of that miniature, who, cer- 
 tainly, if not beneath your love, should not be considered 
 below your rank !"
 
 402 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " That is the special pleading of youth, romance, and 
 sentiment, iny love ! All natural, proper, and beautiful 
 in one of your age and disposition. But, Virginia, dear- 
 est, you must permit me to be the best judge of the woman 
 best suited to me ; and so I claim with pride and joy your 
 promise to become my bride," he said, passing his arm 
 around her waist, and attempting to draw her within his 
 embrace ; but with a gentle dignity she withdrew, and re- 
 plied : 
 
 "Lord Cliffe, I have told you that I cannot be youi 
 bride." 
 
 " But your promise, Virginia ! You gave me your pro- 
 mise." 
 
 " My lord, I did give you that promise weakly and 
 ignorantly I gave it to you, and you accepted it ; but aj- 
 terward I told you all that was in my heart, and you kindly 
 and graciously released me from my vow, promising on 
 your own part never to demand the fulfillment of our en- 
 gagement, until you should have won the first place in my 
 humble heart you have never done so, Lord Cliffe ! The 
 place is filled, but not by you, my cousin I So I stand 
 absolved from my promise." 
 
 " Special pleading again, my dear Virginia, very special. 
 You are not absolved ! Virginia, in admitting my ad- 
 dresses, and, by so doing, encouraging my hopes, you have 
 virtually renewed your promise every day. Come, Vir- 
 ginia, my treasure 1 my prize I 1 cannot so readily yield 
 you up ! I claim your promise !" 
 
 " I can never, never be your wife, Lord Cliffe I" 
 
 "But your promise!" 
 
 " If it is so if I have tacitly renewed that promise 
 may God in- his infinite mercy forgive me for the great 
 sin of having made it ! may God in his infinite mercy keep 
 me from the far greater sin of performing it !"
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 403 
 
 "Forgive you for the sin of making a promise keep 
 you from the greater sin of performing it ! What absurd 
 sophistry is this, my Virginia ?" 
 
 " No sophistry, but the Lord's holy truth and reason. 
 God forgive me for getting myself in a false position 1 God 
 daliver me from it !" 
 
 " Virginia " 
 
 " Listen to me, Lord Cliffe ! You say that I have made 
 you a promise that I am bound to fulfill in becoming your 
 wife ; but, Lord Cliffe, if I do so if I go before the altar 
 with you, I shall not make a promise, but in the name and 
 in the sight of God RECORD A vow that with every pulsa- 
 tion of my heart, and every aspiration of my breath every 
 instant of my life, I shall break with a breaking heart ! If 
 1 have tacitly, as you say, promised to be your wife, while I 
 "fet could not love you, may the Lord forgive me my sin, 
 and defend me from putting it to compound interest." 
 
 " Your aged grandfather's earnest desire for this union 
 of ours I is that nothing to you, Miss Washington ?" 
 
 " I opened my heart to my dear grandfather this morn- 
 ing. I have the fullest confidence in Judge Washington's 
 wisdom and go'odness. I trust in the Lord that his wishes 
 will finally be one with mine." 
 
 " It is the return of this Joseph, madam ! this nameless 
 adventurer !*' 
 
 " This illustrious philosopher, politician, missionary, and 
 philanthropist, you mean," said Virginia. 
 
 " Enough ! It is the return of this person that hns 
 changed all your purposes !" exclaimed Lord Cliffe, rising 
 ir. anger, and pacing the room with rapid strides. " It is 
 the return of this fellow /" 
 
 '' It ts," sa id Ginnie, elevating her red head till it flashed 
 as brightly as her flashing eyes. " It is the return of 
 Joseph Carey my life-giver ! my crown of life ! uiy king
 
 40* THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 whom, were he to call me to it now, I would even now pass 
 out from among you all, and follow barefoot through the 
 world, even unto the world's extremity, too happy to walk 
 in his shadow ! Lord Cliffe, I hope you have your an- 
 twer." 
 
 Many times, with rapid strides, he walked up and down 
 the room, and then he came again to Virginia's side, took 
 her hand, and while he held it, said : 
 
 " Virginia, I entreat your pardon ; extreme disappoint- 
 ment, extreme chagrin, has caused me to forget myself 
 and you! pardon me." 
 
 " Forgive me, Clinton, if all these many months I have 
 suffered you to cherish an illusion. I, myself, have been 
 under an illusion in regard to what my duty was one 
 duty, filial obedience, carried to a blind excess, made me 
 forget for that the higher duty of truth to God and man, 
 made me dizzy with confusion, reeled me to the verge of a 
 great moral precipice that of marrying one to whom every 
 pulsation of my heart must needs be false." 
 
 " But, Virginia " 
 
 "Oh, Clinton ! I know now that I am doing right ! I 
 know, as well as if an angel had come down from Heaven 
 and told me, that I am doing right ! My head is clear 
 my heart is strong. I have now no doubt or fear." 
 
 At this moment a low rap at the door was answered by 
 Lord Cliffe, who went and opened it, wondering at the in- 
 terruption at this unusual hour. It was one of the waiters 
 of the hotel, who, placing a note in his hand, said, in 
 apology : 
 
 " The messenger who brought this, sir, urged its imme- 
 diate importance." 
 
 "Did the messenger wait?" inquired Lord Cliffe, turning 
 over in a gingerly manner the very dirty missive. 
 
 " No, sir, he is gone."
 
 CROSS PUKPOSES. 405 
 
 " You may retire," and the waiter left the room. Lord 
 Cliffe went to the lamp, opened and read the note, became 
 excessively agitated, crashed and threw the paper into the 
 grate, and saying to his companion, " My dear Virginia, 
 excuse me, I am called out on business of vital moment 
 Retire, my dearest girl. You will you must reconsider 
 your rejection of me yet ; but retire, Virginia, that I may 
 leave you," and lighting the chamber lamp, he rang for her 
 maid, who came to attend her to her own apartment. 
 
 Two hours after that, when the hotel was closed, a 
 violent ringing of the principal door-bell aroused the watch- 
 man, and then the whole household. 
 
 Great and increasing terror and dismay, noise and con- 
 fusion, spread through the house. 
 
 The servants and officers of the hotel, the landlord, and 
 even the guests, and finally the aged Judge Washington 
 himself, hastily dressed, and hurried to the scene of action, 
 where they found Lord Cliffe extended lifeless and covered 
 with blood upon a litter, and Joseph Carey in the hands 
 of the police 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE SICK SOUL. 
 
 " Canst thon not minister to the mind diseased, 
 Plnck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
 Raze oat the written troubles of the brain, 
 Aud with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the fonl bosom of the perilous stuff 
 m That weighs npon the heart?" Sluikspeare. 
 
 THE medical faculty, the hydropathists, the homceopath- 
 ists all attempt to teach us physical hygiene ; an eminent
 
 406 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 metaphysician has given us a theory of mental hygiene; 
 there is also a moral hygiene this last requiring more skill 
 in its management than either of the former a moral phar- 
 macopoeia, dispensed with perfect skill only by the great 
 Physician of souls. 
 
 Pure precept and high example are moral stimulants ; 
 sympathy, compassion, affection, are moral anodynes ; oppo- 
 sition, persecution, sorrow, are moral tonics ; the right of 
 depravity is a moral emetic, so sickening the soul with evil 
 as to excite a desire to throw off even the " perilous stuff' 
 from its own bosom. 
 
 But of course this moral dispensatory like the medical 
 pharmacopoeia unskillfully dispensed, become poisons in- 
 stead of medicines injure or kill, instead of benefiting and 
 curing. 
 
 And as all spiritual truths and material facts correspond, 
 I think there is a spiritual homoeopathy fur a n.ible but 
 erring soul; a point at which the contact of a depraved 
 nature, by offending and arousing all its dormant good, ex- 
 cites an energetic and healthful reaction. Thus : 
 
 I have heard of a beautiful coquette a vain and unthink- 
 ing, but an intelligent and well-meaning girl, regenerated 
 by the sight of a fashionable married belle, whose immodest 
 freed OIL of manners offended her purer taste. 
 
 I have heard of a free indulger in wine reformed by the 
 disgust produced at the sight of a sot 
 
 The examples of this truth are almost infinite. 
 
 But the instance I have before me is a greater and more 
 signal cuse : When a " high mind of native pride and force" 
 has fallen under the dominion of an evil passion or, in 
 other words, caught a moral malignant fever and is in 
 process of cure by the intense loathing it conceives for a 
 depraved nature, to the constant association with which its 
 own malady has brought it.
 
 THE SICK SOUL. 407 
 
 And such was the case with Magdalene. 
 
 More than twelve months have elapsed since we saw her 
 last. During all this time she has followed her art in the 
 city of Boston haunted, tortured, nauseated by the foul 
 spirit her own evil passions had invoked by the Italian, 
 who seldom left her side. Guileful, cowardly, and treacher- 
 ous, she had discovered him to be. From the profoundest 
 depths of her soul she abhorred him ; and this abhorrence 
 extended to every thing in her own nature, surroundings, 
 and purposes, of which he in the slightest degree partook. 
 That fascinating histrionic art which had once been an en- 
 thusiasm with her, was beginning to present itself to her 
 apprehension in the repulsive colors of vulgarity and ex- 
 travagance, because he, with his loathsome wickedness, and 
 still more loathsome weakness, was intimately connected 
 with it. And that SACRIFICIAL JUSTICE which was the in- 
 sanity of her heart and the object of her life, was beginning 
 to take the hue of vengeance and assassination, which her 
 whole nature renounced and revolted from. 
 
 And yet, and yet if this depraved and abhorred wretch 
 came to her with hands crimsoned with crime, and claimed 
 her own hand as his stipulated reward, she must give it to 
 him, for she had promised, and JUSTICE was Magdalene's 
 regnant thought. 
 
 In a moment of extreme madness, when the sudden sight 
 of the traitor had aroused her malign passions into reckless 
 and destructive strength, she had made this dark contract 
 with him ; into this fearful position had her moral insanity 
 betrayed her. 
 
 Strong as her physical organization was, her passions 
 were of more enduring strength, and in the long-continued 
 stiugji'le, the intense, suppressed excitement, the burning 
 monomania of an unsatisfied JUSTICE, as she called it ven- 
 geance as it was was beginning to consume even Mag- 
 dalene's highly-tempered constitution.
 
 408 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Not that her beauty waned as yet no, kindled by the 
 fire in heart and brain, her cheeks and Hps glowed with the 
 beautiful brilliance, and her eyes blazed with the intolerable 
 light and splendor of that incipient madness, that restrained 
 frenzy, which, checked by word and gesture, lurked and 
 flashed in the darkening and lightening countenance. 
 
 But health and strength, and life itself, was burning out 
 Her nights of high exhilaration were followed by mornings 
 of complete prostration. Thus fevered and exhausted by the 
 heat and glare and turmoil around her 'burning and consum- 
 ing, fainting and sinking Magdalene, indeed, like a sorely 
 wounded and hunted lioness, would gladly have found some 
 cool, fresh, green forest glade in which to lie down and die. 
 
 In this state of mind she would often return from the 
 theatre after a night of triumph, fevered and exhausted, 
 and throw herself upon her bed, and sink into a deep sleep, 
 Often then her mind, in dreams, would travel back to the 
 sweet home and sweet friends of her childhood, and again 
 she would be sitting in some pleasant chair in the cool 
 piazza, with the rolling green plains and the distant waters 
 of the Chesapeake spread out before her and Ginnie by 
 her side, and the good Judge near with that sweet sense 
 of safety, repose, seclusion, love and leisure around her ; 
 and she would awake in a stifling room, with a weary task 
 and a revolting public exhibition before her, and instead 
 of Virginia and her father, the repulsive Italian. As she 
 marked his sinister countenance, and keen bright eye that, 
 underneath its heavy lid, glittered like a half-sheathed sti- 
 etto, she dreaded every day when he should come to her 
 and claim her promise. 
 
 She never, by even the most distant allusion, referred to 
 Ueir fell contract ; for the very memory of it curdled her 
 blood with horror. 
 
 Not that her fierce purpose of more than four years'
 
 THE SICK SOUL. 409 
 
 growth was beginning to decay; no, her sense ot JUSTICE, 
 by nature an excess, by cultivation a monomania justice 
 without mercy demanded an atonement, a sacrifice, a 
 victim. He that had betrayed her unto worse than death 
 MUST DIE. So her JUSTICE had decreed. 
 
 And nothing but the consummation of this justice, th\& 
 revenge, and the terrible retributive power of remorse, 
 could bring her to sanity upon this subject. 
 
 But her justice, in the hands of the Italian, took the 
 black hue of murder. 
 
 It was in the height of the theatrical season, and near 
 Christmas, when one morning the Italian was missing from, 
 his post. The stage-manager sent to his lodgings, but he 
 was not there. Needing his services very much in the 
 rehearsal of a musical passage, he was sought in all his 
 usual haunts, without being found. The day passed, and 
 he had not made his appearance. 
 
 The next day his continued absence occasioned increas- 
 ing surprise and conjecture. When a week had passed 
 away, and Bastiennelli was still among the missing, sur- 
 prise was at its height ; but when a fortnight had elapsed, 
 and no news of him had been received, conjecture itself waa 
 exhausted. 
 
 His mysterious absence, conjoined with the circumstances 
 of that dark compact between him and herself, filled Mag- 
 dalene with a dreary uneasiness. 
 
 This uneasiness became a terrible anxiety, when one day 
 picking up an old Richmond paper, she saw announced the 
 arrival of Judge Washington and family, and Lord Cliffe, 
 at the Richmond Hotel. The paper was dated about ten 
 days prior to the departure of the Italian, yet she instantly 
 and fearfully connected the circumstances. Nothing but 
 Magdalene's unparalleled self-command could have enabled 
 her to attend the rehearsal, and go through her part with 
 intelligence
 
 410 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 She instantly resolved to set out for Richmond by the 
 very next stage that left the ensuing morning. Returning 
 from the theatre, heated and exhausted, she threw herself 
 upon a sofa, where she had not laid long before her maid 
 brought her the morning paper. 
 
 She did not feel inclined to read, yet something, she knew 
 not what, caused her to open the paper, and cast her eyes 
 over its columns. 
 
 Suddenly, with a cry of horror, she sprang from the 
 couch with the sharp cry and the fierce spring of one 
 shot through the heart, she bounded up then sunk back, 
 with both hands pressed to her forehead, while the long, 
 low wail of a lost spirit slowly howled from her lips. 
 
 She had read the announcement of the murder of Lord 
 Cliffe ! 
 
 Oh, woman of "demoniac firmness," where is your 
 demon-power now ? Come, let us reckon together ! You 
 have the desire of your heart ! The one great object of 
 your life is accomplished. Your unparalleled wrong is 
 avenged. Your mortal foe is slain. Vengeance is com- 
 plete ! Then why that low, long, deep, fearful wail ? 
 
 Yengeance is complete. 
 
 Yes, so complete that the memory of the wrong is blotted 
 out, and anger is annihilated. 
 
 She could remember now nothing of his sin his 
 treachery only his love that love which had so blessed 
 the brightest period of her girlhood's years. From the 
 moment that he had first taken her to his bosom, to tiie 
 hour of their final parting, never had one ungentle word 
 or look escaped him never had one smallest disagreement 
 arisen between then? he had been self-devoted, earnest, 
 fervent, solicitous in his affection and care of her \vhiu> 
 they lived together he had sought to be so after they had 
 parted. Was there not something good and gentle, noble
 
 THE SICK SOUL 411 
 
 fid forebearing in that erring nature? Might she 
 not have attempted to redeem it ? But no not one 
 word to bring him to better thoughts and feelings had she 
 spoken not one appeal to his better nature had she made 
 no 1 not even in the hour of their parting, when she had 
 seen him softened, saddened how distinctly she recalled 
 the scene ! not one word had she spoken ! not one ap- 
 pealing look or gesture had she given ! No ! the mighty 
 power of influence she possessed ! the mighty power of 
 beauty and eloquence which should have been used to 
 redeem him, and to save herself had been used to destroy 
 both ! With the fascinations that should have won and 
 saved him, she had bribed atid armed a dastardly assassin to 
 destroy him, and consume her with horror and remorse. 
 
 All these thoughts and feelings whirled into her mind and 
 heart with tempestuous rapidity but once there remained 
 fixed as forever while she remained with her hands pressed 
 upon her brow, unconscious of the suffocating distension and 
 fiery burning of her chest and throat while she lay with the 
 low continuous wail issuing from her still lips. 
 
 Suddenly the door was thrown open, and the Italian 
 burst into the room, dusty, travel-stained, heated, haggard ; 
 and with blood-shot eyes and trembling frame threw himself 
 upon his knees before her seized her hands, and said 
 
 " Signora ! your commands are obeyed ! My part of 
 our contract is fulfilled I Your mortal foe is dead by my 
 hand ! I claim my reward ! Signora ! there is no time 
 no 1 not a moment to be lost ! every instant I remain here 
 is fraught with imminent danger 1 Come ! gather your 
 money and jewels together ! A carriage waits below ! a ship 
 sails for Europe with the first tide to-morrow morning! 
 Unstcn ! hasten ! We will go instantly out to some village 
 nnd be married, and at nightfall embark ! Hasten. Signora! 
 hasten !" he said, and pulling her bands, raised her.
 
 412 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Did she lose her senses straightway ? Did she go mad ? 
 Did she rave and tear her hair ? No ! She had been mad 
 before ! and that horror which might have driven a sane 
 person mad brought the mad one to perfect sanity. She 
 was calm, self-conscious, self-possessed, while she stood 
 sternly confronting him. 
 
 " The price of blood ? You want the price of blood ? 
 You shall have it 1" 
 
 " Signora I" exclaimed the Italian, in doubt. 
 
 " Yes 1 I will keep my promise to the very letter of the 
 bond ! I will place my hand in yours, stained as it is with 
 crime! I will go to the altar with you ! I will become your 
 wife ! The sooner the better 1 This day ! this hour 1 this 
 very instant 1 because I have promised to do so, and truth 
 and justice is my one predominant thought ! But, mark 
 you 1 By the eternal justice of God 1 JUSTICE shall have 
 her FULL COURSE ! JUSTICE shall be carried out to 
 EXTREMITY ! I will go with you to the altar this hour if 
 you will ! but, listen ! from the altar I go to the court- 
 house and denounce you us the murderer of Lord Cliffe, 
 and myself as your accomplice 1 Ha, sir I You thought to 
 find some short-coming some incompletion in my justice, 
 did you ? What think you now of retributive justice ?" 
 
 The Italian started violently gazed on her appalled 
 at the awful majesty of her sternly beautiful countenance ! 
 He felt that she would carry out to the uttermost that which 
 she had sworn to do ! He gazed at her struck statue-still 
 with astonishment, wonder, and terror for awhile then a 
 smile of demoniac triumph flashed across his countenance, 
 and he exclaimed, 
 
 " Be it so ! I exact your promise ! Be my wife for one 
 hour, and the next deliver me up to the scaffold if you 
 
 But even while the demon smile vet distorted his coun-
 
 THE SICK SOUL. 413 
 
 tenauce, as he glared upon her, her countenance had some- 
 what changed ; her face, that a moment before had been 
 highly flushed, was now deadly pale a grayness like the 
 shadow of death crept slowly across it her eye filmed 
 over her tall form rocked, as a tower about to fall, an 
 instant then suddenly pressing her handkerchief to her 
 mouth, she fell forward, and was caught in the arms of the 
 Italian, while the handkerchief dropped saturated with the 
 blood that oozed from her lips. 
 
 When Magdalene first recovered her sensibility the 
 feebleness of infancy, mental and physical, was upon her. 
 
 She found herself lying on a bed in a dark and silent 
 room, without the strength to raise her hand or murmur a 
 word. 
 
 SOCHI the silence was softly broken by the voices of two 
 women conversing in a very low tone, that was nevertheless 
 distinctly audible to her morbidly acute ears and which 
 recalled her to the full and terrible recollection of the past. 
 
 They were talking of the late murder. 
 
 Her attention became riveted her senses were very 
 sharp, her brain very clear, perhaps from the great hemor- 
 rhage and so she heard distinctly, and understood fully 
 that oh ! last of griefs that Joseph Carey had been ar- 
 rested and committed to prison, under the strongest circum- 
 stantial evidences. What were those evidences ? She 
 listened intently, and heard : Joseph Carey had loved a 
 young lady who returned his affection, but who was engaged 
 to Lord Cliffe. Joseph Carey had left the hotel at half- 
 past eleven o'clock. Lord Cliffe had been called out by a 
 note, and had left the house at twelve o'clock. At about 
 one o'clock, a cry of murder had raised the watch, who, run- 
 ning in the direction of the sound, came in front of the 
 hotel, where they found Lord Cliffe lifeless and weltering in
 
 414 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 his blood, and Joseph Carey standing over him with a drawn 
 and bloody knife, whose blade precisely filled the wound 
 and upon these circumstantial evidences, Joseph Carey had 
 been committed to prison to await his trial for the murder 
 of Lord Cliffe I 
 
 When Magdalene heard this, she started and tried to 
 speak but she found that her voice was powerless, while at 
 the effort her hemorrhage broke out afresh. The two old 
 women hearing the motion, one of them came to her bed- 
 side, and seeing what had happened, sent the other for the 
 physician, who instantly obeyed the summons. Remedies 
 were applied, and she was again relieved. 
 
 Relieved ? With the horrible weight of still accumulat- 
 ing guilt upon her burdened soul. Relieved ? Hearing 
 that for her crime an innocent man was now in prison, and 
 for her crime he might soon die upon the scaffold 1 while she, 
 agonized with remorse, agonized with the intense yet vain 
 desire to speak and clear him lay without the power of 
 speech or motion, feeble, prostrated, powerless in the grip 
 of a terrible remorse, with only her brain clear, clear as 
 crystal, without a softening mist between her consciousness 
 and her crime, and the stupendous accumulation of guilt, in 
 its consequences ! To have a mind so clear and bright, and 
 so distinctly cognizant of her awful crime, and the fearful 
 peril in which it had placed another ! and to have a heart so 
 strained upon the rack of conscience, and to know that 
 events were swiftly marching on to their dread consumma- 
 tion ! and to be too feeble to utter a single articulate sound, 
 or raise a prayer for justice ! Oh I for strength of voice to 
 utter a few short words. Oh I for strength of hand to hold 
 a |>en and trace one little sentence! Vain wish! vainer 
 fff'Tt ! The once strong, beautiful, and graceful arms and 
 liiinds. so significant and speaking in motion and in gesture, 
 now lay stretched down each side her form powerless to do
 
 THE SICK SOUL. 415 
 
 her bidding. The musical and eloquent tongue lay motion 
 less and almost dead within her cold lips. The strong phy- 
 sical constitution is broken and crushed down now, as noth- 
 ing but REMORSE could have broken and crushed it ! The 
 nearly omnipotent will is impotent now ! Sampson is 
 chained by single hairs ! The potent spirit is bound by the 
 impotency of its frame. The mighty spirit is mighty only 
 in its sufferings ! " Oh, God 1 oh, God ! not pardon, not 
 pardon ! but power to save the innocent, and time to suffer 
 and to expiate 1" was the inarticulate cry of her heart. And 
 when this excruciating anguish of spirit wrung from her tor- 
 tured bosom a low wail, some anodyne or opiate would be 
 placed at her lips, to relieve physical pain, or to procure 
 sleep. 
 
 Physical pain ? 
 
 She did not feel it I 
 
 Sleep ? 
 
 What was her sleep, but a fearful lapse of her soul into 
 hell! 
 
 Her remorse I Oh, words are incapable as she was to ex- 
 press it ! But there SHE lay, the strong, the great, the 
 might} 7 , the woman of unparalleled physical power, whose 
 nerves of steel and muscles of iron had never been weakened 
 by even that extremity of anguish and despair, which had 
 for years subverted her reason and left her the slave of a fell 
 monomania there SHE lay REVOLUTIONIZED I
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE COMFORTER. 
 
 Come now and let ns reason together, saith the Lc rd ; 
 Though your sins be as scarlet, 
 They shall be white as snow ; 
 Though they be red like crimson, 
 They shall be as wool." Isaiah. 
 
 MAGDALENE perceived that only when her attendants sup- 
 posed her to be in a deep sleep, would they indulge in con- 
 versation, which, though carried on in the lowest possible 
 tone, was always distinctly audible to her morbidly acute 
 ears. Now extremely anxious to hear the progress of 
 events, she would often close her eyes and affect to sleep, 
 that she might gather something from their talk. Nothing 
 more, however, bearing even remotely upon the subject of 
 her thoughts, did she hear, until one morning : While 
 lying still, with closed eyes, she heard her nurse enter the 
 room, followed by some one, whose light, soft foot-fall did 
 not belong to the attendant physician. Her nurse ap- 
 proached the bedside, bent over her, and said, as in reply to 
 some previous question, 
 
 "Yes, sir, you may come and see her now with safety 
 she is in one of her deep sleeps." 
 
 And the nurse receded from the bed, and the light, soft 
 steps approached, and she heard a deep sigh from the lips 
 bent over her brow and cheek, and she heard the low- 
 breathed music of the scarcely-articulated words, 
 
 " I have found thee at last, my lost Magdalene ! And 
 never will I leave thee, until thou sendest me away. I will 
 win thee yet, my soul's own Magdalene." 
 (416)
 
 THE COMFORTER. 417 
 
 And she recognized Theodore Hervey. Then she heard 
 the physician enter the chamber, make his usual inquiries 
 of the nurse, and receive her erroneous reply that the pa- 
 tient was sleeping. Then she heard Theodore Hervey step 
 away from the bedside, and present himself, by name, tu 
 the physician, and soon her attention becamed riveted by 
 the following conversation between them : 
 
 " You seem to be an intimate friend of my patient, sir ?" 
 
 " I have been the friend of the lady, from the earliest in- 
 fancy, up to maturity. Of late years, we have been severed 
 by the very opposite natures of our respective professions. 
 We had, in fact, lost sight of each other altogether, until 
 yesterday, having come to the city on a short visit, I en- 
 tered a gallery of art, saw and recognized her portrait, and 
 discovered her abode. What is the disease of your patient, 
 and do you consider her case very serious ?" 
 
 " It is serious, sir. There are peculiar circumstances 
 connected with her illness, and these circumstances render 
 her case very complicated and difficult. Her illness is the 
 effect of the rupture of a blood-vessel, caused by reading 
 or hearing suddenly, that first most outrageously exagger- 
 ated account of the midnight assault upon Lord Cliffe, in 
 Richmond, whom we presume to be a near friend or rela- 
 tive of the lady, from the fact of the terrible effect the re- 
 port of his murder produced upon her." 
 
 " He was an intimate friend himself, and, moreover, a 
 near relative of a very beloved companion of hers." 
 
 "Ah! well following this first account of the murder, 
 came another rumor, that -Mr. Carey, the celebrated mis- 
 sionary, had been arrested under strong circumstantial evi- 
 dence this reached the ears of my patient through the 
 thoughtless gabble of two old women, and threw her into 
 such a state of excitement, as to cause an instant and nearly 
 fatal return of the hemorrhage. She is very much pros-
 
 4:18 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 trated now, but free from fever, or any local inflammation. 
 In a few days if she does not sink, as we fear may be the 
 case we may be able, cautiously and gradually for the 
 least excitement, of whatever kind, might be instanilv fatal 
 to her we may, I say, be able, cautiously and gradually, to 
 andeceive her, in regard to this false newspaper report of 
 the murder of Lord Cliffe, and the arrest of Mr. Carey." 
 
 " False !" " False !" Had Magdalene heard aright ? 
 She uttered a low, inarticulate cry of joy, which startled the 
 physician and the visitor, and instantly arrested their con- 
 versation. The doctor stepped to the bedside. Magda- 
 lene's hollow eyes were radiant with the light of seraphic 
 gratitude and joy, and her cheeks and lips were crimsoned 
 with excitement; but between the beautiful lips already the 
 scarlet foam revealed where the life-blood had again broken 
 its bounds. The physician promptly applied the propel 
 remedies, the nearly fatal hemorrhage was arrested, and the 
 patient, under the influence of a powerful opiate, sank into 
 a profound sleep. Theodore Hervey, in right of his cloth, 
 and his old friendship, took the watcher's station by her 
 side, while the doctor gave his orders for the day to the 
 nurse, and retired. Theodore Hervey remained seated, by 
 the head of the bed, for three hours, watching the face of 
 the deep sleeper. At the end of that time, which brought 
 the middle of the afternoon, seeing her stir, as though about 
 to awake, he silently and cautiously withdrew from his 
 post, and from the room. Magdalene awoke, weaker than 
 ever before from the increased loss of blood but with her 
 brain clear as ever, and with a distinct memory of all that 
 had transpired and, oh ! words are impotent to describe 
 the deep, intense gratitude, that moved her whole soul to 
 God. Delivered from blood-guiltiness ! Her life saved 
 from death ! Her soul redeemed from perdition ! And, 
 oh ! above all, he, whom now that her hatred and revenge
 
 THE COMFORTEK. 419 
 
 nad been annihilated she would almost peril that soul to 
 save alive and possibly well. Yes, her deep joy and grati- 
 itide were great beyond conception, and must have been 
 fatal in their first excess, but for one drawback, one sad 
 qualification he had been attacked, and at her instigation. 
 If he had escaped death, it was not by her interference that 
 he escaped, and he must have been wounded might have 
 been dangerously wounded, and even now be very ill. 
 This reflection, when she awoke, sobered the first exultant 
 joy of her soul into a deep and earnest gratitude for his 
 delivery from death for her delivery from great crime 
 leaving her the fervent hope that all might yet be well with 
 him though, for herself, she felt that all life's pleasures 
 must be over. 
 
 At the physician's next visit he pronounced her much 
 better than she had ever been since her first attack, and 
 meeting Mr. Hervey down-stairs, informed him that the 
 next day he might be introduced to her adding, 
 
 " I suspect, from her improved state this morning, and, 
 above all, from the calm expression of her countenance, 
 that when we believed her to have been sleeping, she over- 
 heard our conversation, and obtained, without our intending 
 it, that very piece of news which we were so much afraid of 
 imparting lest it should, as it did, bring on a return of the 
 hemorrhage. Well, she has survived it, and now, with her 
 heart relieved, she will get well. What a wonderful con- 
 stitution she has ! And what a strength of attachment to 
 one who was only her friend, cousin I There must have 
 been more in it than that." 
 
 The next day Theodore Hervey was introduced at her 
 bedside, when she was known to be awake, and though she 
 could not move or speak, she looked at him, and smiled a 
 welcome full of affection. He sat down and took her wasted 
 hand, and quietly and cautiously introducing a subject of
 
 420 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 which be knew her thoughts were full, yet which would not 
 agitate her so much as the other topic did, he spoke of Vir- 
 ginia, and her unwavering affection, and her unceasing de- 
 sire to be reunited to her sister and of the letter entrusted 
 to himself, which, he said, he would deliver when she should 
 be able to read or to hear it read. Then he told her of 
 Judge Washington, whose confidence in his adopted daugh- 
 ter remained undiminished, and who longed to receive her 
 again. Theodore paused now, and continued holding her 
 hand and watching the changing expression of her face. 
 Magdalene gazed at him with such an intensity of expres- 
 sion in her deep, bright, hollow eyes, that he understood 
 her question, and bowing his head in compliance, got up 
 and requested the nurse to leave him alone with her patient 
 a few minutes, returned to his seat by the head of the bed, 
 took her hand again, and said, gently : 
 
 " Magdalene, can you bear to hear the true account of 
 that assault, whose false report gave you so much trouble ?" 
 
 A slight motion in affirmation, and a look so calm re- 
 plied to him, that he went on. 
 
 " I will tell you, Magdalene, as much as I know from the 
 corrected newspaper reports, and from a letter from my 
 sister. There was a man boarding at the same house, of 
 the name of Bastiennelli, who, it seems, was in the confi- 
 dence of the publisher of the Journal the Richmond paper 
 in which the false report originated. In the first dismay 
 and confusion that prevailed when the supposed dead 
 body of Lord Cliffe was brought into the house, and while 
 his lordship was yet insensible, and Mr. Carey yet in the 
 hands of the police, this Italian went off to the Journal of- 
 fice, which, late as the hour was, was still open, and had 
 the paragraph inserted with all its falsehood and exaggera- 
 tion that has been so nearly fatal to you, Magdalene. The 
 next day, of course, the report was contradicted, but not in
 
 THE COMFORTER. 4:21 
 
 time to save you all that you have suffered, Magdalene. 
 Lord Cliffe's wounds were very slight. As soon as he re- 
 covered from the insensibility, caused by a heavy blow on 
 the back of his head received in falling, an investigation 
 ensued, which immediately cleared Joseph Carey. Lord 
 Cliffe was confined to his sofa for a few days, but is now 
 perfectly well, and remains with the Judge and his family, 
 who have removed to their town house for the winter. My 
 sister is with them. Dear Magdalene, you have now heard 
 all that is needed to set your mind at rest, and you must 
 listen no more just now, but compose yourself to sleep." 
 
 But again the intense look and a slight motion of the lips 
 drew Theodore's attention ; he stooped down and caught 
 the breathed word, 
 
 "The assassin ?" 
 
 " Has not yet been arrested," replied Theodore. 
 
 Again the intense look and the feebly-moving lips drew 
 his ear down to catch her whisper ; " BastienneUi" was the 
 only word he caught, and misunderstanding the purport of 
 that, he replied : 
 
 " The man who originated the false report ? he had 
 committed a large robbery the very night he left Rich- 
 mond, and has since eluded the police, and effected his 
 escape to Europe. No one can guess the motive for his 
 act," 
 
 Finding it impossible to make him understand her self- 
 accusation, and completely exhausted by her efforts, Mag- 
 dalene closed her eyes, as a signal for him to depart. 
 
 He left her, and she remained with her eyes closed to 
 shut out all external objects, while her soul communed with 
 itself, and was still. Exhausted as were her other physical 
 powers, her brain was preternatii rally active. 
 
 She reviewed her whole life from earliest infancy to the 
 present hour ; and how had she passed it, and what had she 
 26
 
 422 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 been ? Her childhood, it is true, furnished her with little 
 for self-reproach lonely, strong and self-reliant, her strength 
 had been used to succor and protect all things weaker than 
 herself and much for self-palliation ; her stern training had 
 strengthened that very spirit of justice without mercy, which 
 passion had kindled to frenzy. But self-justification was 
 not her thought or purpose now. So, quickly passing the 
 memories of her childhood's years, she dwelt upon those of 
 her youth and womanhood when, gifted with more than 
 woman's fortitude and endurance, and more than man's 
 courage and energy, despising the sweet seclusion of her 
 rural home, and the quiet routine of domestic life, and 
 spurning the influence of father and sister, whose gentleness 
 and refinement were no match for her pride and strength, 
 and regardless of what their love might suffer in the mad 
 arrogance of power, she had left them, to carve out for her- 
 self an independent path through life. Here a new light 
 glimmered on her soul, revealing to her how really blind 
 and inconsistent had been her merely human sense of justice 
 that justice for which she had so highly valued herself. 
 How just, for instance she inquired with a mournful irony 
 how just it was to repay all their love, sympathy, care, 
 and protection for so many years with pride, coldness, in- 
 gratitude, and desertion, inflicting years of grief and anx- 
 iety upon them ! What a return to make them ! How 
 JUST ! Never had Magdalene's self-esteem shrunk as it did 
 before this little ray of light. And then, to break down 
 her stubborn heart with repentance and sorrowful gnititude, 
 came their message the father's message, which bade his 
 adopted daughter to come home, and lay her wild, hot head 
 upon his bosom for repose and coolness ; and the sister's 
 message, that said her heart still wailed for her sister's re- 
 turn, and told her of that sweet rural home, always kept in 
 readiness for her. At any time she might have found whal
 
 THE COMFORTER. 423 
 
 she had so much needed, solitude, coolness, repose. Her 
 "sweet rural home" had been open to her, as the bosom of 
 her heavenly Father had been, all along. 
 
 But her sou! traveled on to the thought of one to whom, 
 more than all others, she had wished to be very just Lord 
 Clilfe. Had she not loved him with all the great strength 
 of her strong nature ? With a passioi as fierce and more 
 selfish than his own ? Had she not, in her way, used all 
 her fascinations to win him ? Had she not, in her way, 
 done more than half the " love-making" ? Was she not 
 more than half responsible for all the evil that had ensued ? 
 Yes, yes, her awakened soul replied and shuddered. And 
 oh ! the thought came again, and still came that of all 
 those mighty charms that had been used to win the love 
 her soul craved for its selfish satisfaction, not one spell had 
 been essayed to redeem him when he wandered. No ! but 
 for the satisfaction of another selfish and demoniac passion, 
 had been used for his destruction his destruction provi- 
 dentially averted. She shivered to think of that. Then a 
 frantic desire flashed across her. brain an instant and van- 
 ished, for she felt that its gratification was impossible. It 
 was this for the opportunity, not of winning back his 
 love too much had come and gone between them for that 
 even to occur to her mind but of throwing herself upon 
 his bosom, and weeping out all the remorseful tenderness 
 of her subdued soul. 
 
 Finally, clasping, "appraising" her whole life what had 
 ehe been ? With all her wonderful endowments, what had 
 she been ? Only at best, a superb egotist. What had she 
 done for God or man ? Nothing 1 Her whole nature and 
 life had been self self, and still self. 
 
 But it would take volumes to transcribe all that passed 
 in an hour's time through that awakened soul that for 
 hours, and days, and weeks, toiled on out of the deep pit
 
 4H THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 of *in and remorse, and through darkness, chaos, error, and 
 donbt, toward the light. 
 
 The next day Mr. Hervey came again and spent the fore 
 noon with her. He brought the letter of Virginia with 
 him, and with a sign she expressed her wish that he should 
 read it. A great deal of it had been given Magdalene in 
 a message. Now she heard it all every affectionate and 
 earnest thought and feeling, in Virginia's own simple and 
 touching style and for the first time tears overflowed her 
 eyes and relieved her sorely burdened heart. The love and 
 mercy shown by her fellow-beings had revealed to her soul 
 the infinite love and mercy of her heavenly Father. For- 
 getful that any eye but that of God was upon her, she lifted 
 her eyes and moved her lips in prayer. But Theodore saw 
 the emotion with a gratitude scarcely less than her own. 
 
 I am making this too long, too tedious. 
 
 Who cannot imagine how, with Magdalene's awakened 
 conscience, and Hervey's piety, the time, for days and 
 weeks passed ? The daily reading of God's blessed word, 
 the earnest prayers and fervent thanksgivings, and the sweet 
 communion of soul with soul ? 
 
 It is true that she could not speak as yet earnest gazes, 
 tears, smiles, pressures of the hand, upraised glances, were 
 the only means of expression left to her but these were 
 most eloquent, even in their incompletion. 
 
 Daily she gained strength, and daily the countenance, 
 voice, and manner of Hervey became more cheerful. You 
 would have said that some bright, long-looked for light was 
 beginning to dawn on the night of his existence, and that 
 he watched in joyous expectation of the full and glorious 
 duy
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 " High miuds of native pride and forcfe, 
 Most deeply feel thy pangs, remorse." Marmion. 
 
 WHETHER the Italian had played a deep game from first 
 to last whether he had really gone to Richmond with any 
 hostile purpose toward Lord Cliffe, or whether his master, 
 the fiend, favored him with accident, is not certainly known. 
 All that was ever ascertained is the fact that among the 
 very first who hastened to the spot of the catastrophe at 
 the cry of murder upon the night Lord Cliffe was assaulted, 
 was Bastiennelli, who, having seen the fallen man raised 
 and carried into the hotel, hastened to the office of the 
 Journal, where, late at night, or rather early in the morn- 
 ing, as it was, the printers were yet at work getting up the 
 day's paper, and there hastily dashed off that paragraph, 
 grossly exaggerating the assault, which was accepted in 
 confidence, and printed and circulated, and afterward 
 copied, in good faith, throughout the country, and the 
 sight of which had been so nearly fatal to Magdalene. 
 Two hours after this, Bastiennelli threw himself into the 
 mail stage for Baltimore, on his way to Boston, where he 
 arrived simultaneously with the mail containing the Rich- 
 mond Journal, giving the false account of the assault. 
 Taking care, for his own private purposes, that Magdalene 
 should get a sight of this paper just previous to his appear- 
 ing before her, he presented himself to her and played out 
 the little drama described in a former chapter, the de-
 
 426 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 nouement of which formed no part of his plot. When 
 Magdalene had fallen, stricken down by the terrible 
 strength of remorse, and he had seen her utter incapability 
 of accompanying him, he lost no time in escaping on board 
 of the first ship bound for Europe. And this was the last 
 that was heard of him. Subsequent developments re- 
 vealed, that to secure Magdalene, he wished to avail 
 himself of a crime that he had never even attempted to 
 commit. 
 
 Enough of him. 
 
 Let us now return to Lord Cliffe, and the hour at which 
 he was borne lifeless into th*e great hall of the hotel. 
 
 When Judge Washington arrived upon the scene of 
 action, and beheld Lord Cliffe insensible in the arras of two 
 men, and Joseph Carey, very pale, in the custody of the 
 police, his first act was to dispatch a messenger for a sur- 
 geon, his next to request the officers to release Mr. Carey, 
 upon his own official responsibility ; then to have the wounded 
 man tenderly lifted, conveyed to the nearest chamber on the 
 ground-floor, and laid upon a bed ; lastly, to desire the 
 police to disperse the crowd from about the door. And all 
 this took but a few moments to execute. 
 
 The surgeon soon arrived, and was shown into the 
 chamber of the patient, where Judge Washington still 
 watched. He proceeded to the examination of the wounds. 
 Soon be turned to the Judge, and assured him that there 
 was not the slightest danger, or the least cause of uneasi- 
 ness. That the insensibility of the patient was the effect 
 of a stunning blow received on the back of the head in 
 falling; that the wound in the chest, though bleeding freely, 
 was only a flesh wound, and that the flow of blood was 
 actually proving beneficial in slowly bringing the patient to 
 bis senses 
 
 By the time the surgeon had finished dressing the wound
 
 K E M O R S E . 42? 
 
 in the chest, Lord Cliffe opened his eyes, and appeared per- 
 fectly cognizant of all that had happened, as well as all 
 that was n jw going on. 
 
 The Judge feeling most anxious to clear Joseph Carey 
 immediately, drew the surgeon aside, and requested to know 
 whether the wounded man might now, with safety to him- 
 self, be permitted to make a deposition as to the facts of 
 the assault, and the person of his assailant. 
 
 The surgeon thought that it could be done without 
 rfefc 
 
 Judge Washington then sat down by the side of Lord 
 Cliff*-, and af.er some inquiries as to his present state of 
 feeling, and some expression of deep regret for the misfor- 
 tune of the evening, he informed him of the arrest of 
 Joseph Carey, and of the necessity that he should imme- 
 diately give his testimony fur the purpose of clearing him, 
 as we.l as of pointing out the real criminal, and setting the 
 police upon the true track. 
 
 Lord Cliffe insmnily arose, supporting himself upon his 
 elbow, and requested Judge Washington, in his magisterial 
 capacity, to administer the oath, and receive his deposition. 
 
 The Judge rang for a waiter to bring the Bible, pen, ink, 
 and paper, and having them placed upon a stand by the 
 bedside, sat down before it, summoned the physician and 
 the landlord as witnesses, administered the oath, and pre- 
 pared to take down his deposition. 
 
 Lord Cliffe testified as follows : That while conversing 
 svith Miss Washington, in the ladies' parlor of the hotel, 
 between eleven and twelve o'clock, the bell of the private 
 door was rung, and an instant after, a waiter of the house 
 e.itered nnd handed him a note, purporting to come from 
 one who a\vuite 1 him at the Eagle House with a message 
 from (here Lord Cliffe hesitated an instant, and then 
 resumed) with a message from Miss Mountjoy. Heed-
 
 428 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 lessly he had cast the note into the fire, and feeling a great 
 anxiety to gain news of the missing lady, he had left the 
 house immediately, and set out for the appointed place 
 of meeting. He had not proceeded far from the hotel 
 before he perceived that his footsteps were dogged by one 
 who turned as he turned, stopped as he stopped, and 
 dodged and disappeared with the agility of a monkey as 
 soon as observed. He went on his way still followed by 
 this singular individual, whose monkey-like cunning and 
 agility, gave him the appearance of a savage or a maniac. 
 Once or twice he turned with the purpose of arresting him, 
 but, at such moments, he would vanish so suddenly as to 
 baffle pursuit in a dark night. He scarcely deemed the 
 occasion demanded the interference of the watch ; and so, 
 believing hisjbllower to be some harmless and timid lunatic, 
 and having his thoughts really engaged with a deeper 
 object of interest, Lord Cliffe reached the Eagle Hotel, 
 which, to his surprise and disappointment, he found closed 
 up for the night. Not well pleased with the result of his 
 midnight stroll, he turned his steps toward home with his 
 thoughts too deeply absorbed in the subject of his errand 
 to revert to his strange, forgotten follower, until getting in 
 the neighborhood of the Richmond Hotel, he was suddenly 
 thrown to the ground with only an instant's recognition of 
 his strange follower in the person of his assailant, before 
 he lost his recollection. He knew no more until he found 
 himself upon that bed, with the surgeon and the Judge 
 standing by his side. And here ended his deposition. 
 This, of course, immediately cleared Mr. Carey who was 
 summoned to give in his testimony. Being sworn, he de- 
 posed that having left the Richmond Hotel between eleven 
 and twelve that night, he had gone immediately to the 
 house of Dr. Goodwin, which was his temporary home. 
 That just before retiring to bed, a message from a dying
 
 REMORSE. 429 
 
 parishioner summoned the pastor from the house. That he 
 himself had offered his services to go in place of the aged 
 Dr. Goodwin, and was on his way to the house of the dying 
 man, when a fall, and a groan, immediately in his path, 
 attracted his attention ; he hastened on just in time to see 
 a singular-looking human being with his knee upon the 
 breast of a prostrate man. As he ran to the spot, shouting 
 for the watch at the same time, the assassin sprang up and 
 fled. He stopped to raise the fallen man, drew the knife 
 that remained in the wound, but just then the watch gath- 
 ered around, bringing a crowd at their heels, and he was 
 arrested. And here ended the testimony of Mr. Carey. 
 
 Both Lord Cliffe and Mr. Carey declared that, dark as it 
 was, it was impossible they could be mistaken in the strange 
 person of the assailant. Neither had ever set eyes on him 
 before, nor could they surmise his name or purpose. Both 
 were impressed with a strong idea of his lunacy. When the 
 examination was over, and Joseph Carey had departed to 
 the bedside of the dying parishioner, in the hope of being 
 yet providentially in time to render some service, if not to 
 the sufferer, at least to his family and when Lord Cliffe 
 had sunk to sleep, Judge Washington sought his own 
 chamber. Here, with his elbow resting upon the table, his 
 head bowed upon his hand, whose open palm covered his 
 eyes, he sat buried in profound thought. A single sentence 
 in the description of the person of the unknown assassin had 
 struck the electric chain of association and memory, and 
 darted a ray of light twenty years into the past, and almost 
 identified the assailant of Lord Cliffe and the destroyer of 
 Mary Washington the supposed secret foe of the whole 
 Carey family. What motive could any have to hate the 
 Carey's ? No one had ever been more generally admired 
 and beloved than Colonel Carey and his family. It was a 
 uioral impossibility that his son or daughter, both of whom
 
 430 THE TWO SISTEBS. 
 
 had fiillen victims to the unknown enemy, could have <riven 
 cause of mortal hatred. Was it Colonel Carey himself who 
 had made an enemy of such an unrelenting nature, that his 
 hatred extended to all bearing; his name ? If so. in what 
 manner had he nuide this enemy ? by what act ? what had 
 ever o curred in his life ? what had ever occunvd on his 
 plantation to inspire one person with such a las;ing and 
 fatal enmity ? But one instance of wrong-doing could 
 Judge Washington remember against Colonel Carey. That 
 though strictly speaking not his own act, or by his own 
 orders, had yet occurred on his plantation, and under hia 
 an horiiy and from the memory of this one act the Judge 
 had ever shrunk with the natural loathing of a humane and 
 ivfiued mind; but as he never could by any chain of circum- 
 stances connect that act with the awful events that speedily 
 followed, he had many times dismissed the thought. But 
 ii had recurred again and again, with singular pertinacity. 
 Now it fastened on his mind. Finally he drew his writing- 
 desk toward him, and sitting down, wrote to Broke Shield 
 to come immediately to Richmond. 
 
 Early in the morning the surgeon saw his patient again, 
 examined and redressed his wound, and commanded him to 
 lie still for a day or two to give it time to close and heal. 
 
 When Virginia and Helen came to breakfast, they missed 
 and inquired for Lord Cliffe, and received for an answer the 
 report that his lordship was not well enough to appear at 
 the table. After breakfast they were told of the assault 
 that had been made upon him in the ni<rht, but assured, at 
 the same instant, that all danger was passed. The girls had 
 been awakened from sleep by the noise of many people run 
 ning to and fro in the night ; but supposing such disturb- 
 ances not unusual or alarming in a large hotel, they had not 
 suffered the least fear or uneasiness. 
 
 Virginia asked permission to go to her cousin's room, ana
 
 REMORSE. 481 
 
 having received it, she took her work, and, accompanied by 
 Helen, went thither. The girls passed the greater portion 
 of the forenoon beside the lounge upon which the invalid 
 reposed amusing his tedious hours of confinement by music, 
 reading, or conversation. In the afternoon, Joseph Carey 
 looked in, and spent an hour. 
 
 The next day Lord Cliffe was much better ; and the third 
 morning from his attack, he left his room. 
 
 In the meantime, nothing was heard of the assailant, 
 though the utmost vigilance of the police had been put in 
 requisition. 
 
 Lord Cliffe and Mr. Carey persisted in their first opinion 
 that the assassin was a maniac. 
 
 A week from the day of the assault upon Lord Cliffe, 
 Judge Washington and his family removed into their town- 
 house, that was now in readiness for their reception and 
 residence through the winter. 
 
 During the past week, the Judge's time had been much 
 occupied between public duty and the demands of private 
 friendship. His oldest friend, General Mountjoy, was lying 
 extremly ill, and with the many great needs of sickness and 
 age, exacted much time and attention. 
 
 It was the morning succeeding that of their removal into 
 their own house, that the family were knocked up about 
 daybreak, and a request made that Judge Washington 
 would hasten immediately to the house of General Mountjoy, 
 who was lying at the point of death, and desired to see his 
 old friend upon business of the most vital importance. 
 Without a moment's unnecessary delay, Judge Washington 
 hastened to obey the summons. 
 
 He was absent many hours. 
 
 The family waited breakfast for him until ten o'clock, 
 and then sat down without him. At eleven the postman 
 called and left the day's nail. It was almost an unpre-
 
 4:32 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 cedented event for the Judge to be absent at the mail hour, 
 and yet he had not returned. Virginia took the letters, 
 glanced over their superscription, and started violently as 
 her eye fell upon one letter bearing the Boston post-mark, 
 directed in the handwriting of Theodore Hervey, and marked 
 "private." 
 
 " Helen," she said, turning the letter anxiously in her 
 hand, " you got a letter from your brother yesterday, say- 
 ing that he had just reached Boston, did you not ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And here is another, Helen, post-marked Boston, 
 directed to my grandfather, and marked 'private' Oh, 
 Helen ! what can this mean ? It is wrong to be curious 
 it is foolish to be anxious yet Magdalene, oh, how my 
 heart beats ! How I do wish father would come I" 
 
 At that moment, as though her wish had been magic, the 
 street-bell rang, and soon after Judge Washington entered 
 the parlor. Virginia's first impulse was to spring to him, 
 thrust the letter into his hand, and entreat him to read it. 
 But the stillness and solemnity of his countenance awed 
 her. She arose and handed him a chair, and he sank into 
 it silently. Presently she ventured to say to him, 
 
 "Father, the mail has come." 
 
 "Put it aside, my dear." 
 
 "There is a letter from Theodore Hervey we think 
 that 
 
 " No matter leave it awhile, my child." 
 
 Then Virginia recollected, with some compunction, that 
 selfishly absorbed in her own subject of anxiety, she had 
 almost forgotten her father's old friend, whose sick bed, 
 death-bed perhaps, he had just left. 
 
 " Father, I hope this also was a false alarm. I do trusl 
 that General Mountjoy is no worse 1" 
 
 "No. my child, he is better."
 
 REMORSE. 433 
 
 " Indeed, I am very glad to hear it, father. I thought 
 it would be so. I wish they would not disturb you so 
 needlessly, though." 
 
 "You mistake me, my child 1 General Mountjoy is better, 
 as it is better to be released by death from extreme infirmity 
 and suffering." 
 
 " Oh, dear father, is it so ? and you have had this trial. 
 You look so fatigued ! Won't you lie down in your room, 
 and let me bring you a cup of coffee ?" 
 
 " Dear child, no I will not lie down. I have a great 
 deal to do to-day, Virginia. But you may bring me a cup 
 of coffee, my love. Where is Cliffe ?" 
 
 " In the library, dear father," replied Virginia, as she 
 took his hat and cane, and put them awaj, and hastened 
 out to get the cup of coffee. 
 
 " Shall I call him, sir ?" asked Helen Hervey, coming to 
 his side, anxious to serve him. 
 
 " No-^-yes, my dear ! Go, Helen, and ask him to come 
 here," replied the Judge. 
 
 Helen hastened to the library, and soon returned with 
 Lord Cliffe. 
 
 When Judge Washington had drunk the cup of coffee 
 brought him by Virginia, he commanded the two girls to 
 be seated and said, 
 
 " What I am about to communicate to you, my children, 
 might as well be kept secret for the present, though in a 
 few days it must be generally known. Much as I know- 
 that you will condole with me for the loss of my oldest 
 friend" 
 
 " Oh, sir, we do 1 indeed we do," said both the girls, 
 while Lord Cliffe looked all that he did not speak. 
 
 " I am sure of that my children ! Much then as you 
 share in my grief at the loss of so old and dear a friend as 
 the late General Mountjoy, you will nevertheless rejoice, as
 
 434 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 I do, that he at last rendered full justice to one whom we 
 all dearly love, and who must be found if she be still 
 alive." 
 
 " Magdalene !" exclaimed Virginia. 
 
 " Yes, Magdalene. General Mountjoy sent for me, this 
 morning, to take charge of his will in which he acknowl- 
 edges his granddaughter, and with the exception of a few 
 very trifling legacies leaves her the whole of his great 
 estate Mattowa, The Levels, Alta Bayou all ! Vir- 
 ginia, my dear, you are no longer the richest heiress in your 
 native county." 
 
 "Oh, thank God, that my sister Magdalene is!" replied 
 Ginnie, fervently. 
 
 " Lord Cliife," continued the Judge, turning to his lord- 
 ship " when my old friend appointed me one executor of 
 his will, and requested me to name a coadjutor, I took the 
 liberty of naming yourself. It was for that reason that I 
 sent for you now. You and myself are the executors of the 
 last will and testament of the late Governor Mountjoy, and 
 we must immediately take measures for the discovery of his 
 granddaughter and sole heiress, Magdalene Mountjoy!" 
 
 During the latter part of this speech, Virginia's face 
 had paled and flushed, her frame trembled, and her manner 
 betrayed the greatest inward agitation. At last, when the 
 Judge paused, she started up and ran and got the letter of 
 Theodore Hervey, and thrust it into his hand, saying : 
 " Father, dear father, oh, do read this letter ! Quick, a* 
 once, please ! Oh, I am sure this must contain news of 
 our Magdalene !" 
 
 The Judge contemplated her with some surprise and dis- 
 approbation, slowly broke the seal of the letter and glancod 
 over it. But as he read, his face expressed in turn, sur- 
 prise, pleasure, perplexity, disappointment, sorrow. 'Yes, 
 this letter contains news of Magdalene, my dear child, but
 
 REMORSE. 435 
 
 news that we can scarcely rejoice at. Theodore has found 
 her in Boston, ill even unto death." 
 
 Virginia turned very pale at his words, and reached out 
 her hand for the letter ; but the Judge shook his head, re- 
 fusing it to her, and passing it over to Lord Cliffe, he said, 
 with a significant look : " My lord, as you are associated 
 with me in the trusteeship of Miss Mountjoy's estate, per- 
 haps this paragraph may have some interest for you us it 
 has for me. Perhaps you can throw some light upon it 
 a thing that I confess myself utterly unable to do." 
 
 Lord Cliffe received the letter with his customary serenity 
 of manner, and ran his eye calmly over the indicated para- 
 graph. You would never have surmised from his manner 
 of reading that he had ever heard of Magdalene before. 
 
 The passage was as follows : 
 
 "The strangest thing about Magdalene's illness is the 
 inexplicable circumstance that occasioned it. It appears 
 that she was in high health when the morning paper contain- 
 ing that false report, purporting to be an authentic account 
 of the murder of Lord Cliffe, was put into her hand. No 
 sooner had she read it, than she became so violently 
 agitated as to cause the rupture of a blood-vessel, which 
 resulted in her very dangerous, if not fatal illness. She 
 was recovering somewhat from the first effects of the 
 hemorrhage, when the conversation of her attendants, (who 
 erroneously supposed her to be sleeping,) turning upon the 
 subject of the supposed murder, she bacame so terribjy 
 shaken, as to cause a return of the hemorrhage. This 
 second attack also yielded to skillful treatment, and she 
 was again getting better, when the fact of Lord Clifl'e's 
 escape becoming known to her, her sudden joy was so 
 excessive as to occasion a third and most dangerous re- 
 lapse. This has also oeen relieved ; but it is the opinion 
 of her physician that she cannot possibly survive anotucr
 
 436 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 attack. She is now sleeping under the influence of an 
 opiate, and I have left her to write this letter. But what 
 connection is there, then, between the fate of Lord Cliffe 
 and her own happiness and life ?" 
 
 Lord Cliffe read this to the end, and calmly as ever, re- 
 turned the letter to the Judge without a comment, and 
 rising, begged to be excused, and left the room. He hur- 
 ried to his own chamber, and with both hands pressed to 
 his throbbing brow, gave himself up to the fiends of re- 
 morse, jealousy, and anger that tormented him. At first, 
 for very shame, he tried to subdue anger, and cast out jeal- 
 ousy, and suffer only the remorse that was just. He tried 
 to think of Magdalene lying ill, and broken with anxiety 
 for him, and to encourage all the penitence that that 
 thought could suggest ; but despite his efforts, the image 
 of Theodore Hervey in her sick chamber, by her bedside 
 as friend, brother, comforter, lover, would present itself to 
 his recently awakened jealousy. He had never ceased to 
 love Magdalene, notwithstanding all the wrong he had 
 done her ; he had never ceased to love her from the first 
 hour they had met to this; and when in his conventional 
 view of the fitness of things, he had thought of choosing a 
 wife from his own rank in society, and reuniting the severed 
 branches and estates of his own family, by marrying his 
 cousin, Virginia Washington, he had impaled his own 
 affections no less than Magdalene's fame. And with that 
 strange discord of heart and hand, even while he had 
 pressed his suit most vehemently with Virginia, he had 
 most deeply loved Magdalene. Nay more ; often, often 
 while gazing on her miniature, fascinated, absorbed by the 
 beautiful, dark bright countenance pictured there, which 
 Virginia truly said had more power to trouble the waters 
 of his soul than her own living face, and smile, and touch 
 possessed, he would feel an almost incredible temptation
 
 RE MO RSI. 487 
 
 10 start np and set out in search of his Magdalene. Be- 
 sides, she felt near to him, assimilated to him, familiar, in- 
 timate, as no other one in the world ever did, or could. 
 In every mood of her strong nature she was acceptable, 
 attractive, dear to him. He recalled the hour when she 
 had inspired him with a strength of life, emotion, joy, never 
 approached before or since ; and when do you think that 
 was ? The last time he had seen her, when meeting her 
 in the lobby of the theatre, he had stood one moment as- 
 tonished, appalled at her still and awful passion, and the 
 next felt an almost irresistible impulse to catch the beauti- 
 ful Medea to his bosom. He must have done so, but she 
 passed too swiftly, and was lost to him, and he had the 
 opportunity of recovering his self-control. Nevertheless, 
 from that hour his passion for Magdalene had returned in 
 all its pristine force. Did he regard her threat, knowing 
 the stern strength of his character ? Not a whit I He 
 alone possessed the key of that character. Was he shocked 
 at the deep and bitter intensity of her desire for revenge ? 
 Not in the least. He knew that that burning passion might 
 last years, many years, a lifetime, until it had consumed its 
 victim, if he himself permitted it to last so long. But he 
 knew also, that once by the side of his lioness, with his 
 own arm about her waist, and her head upon his bosom, 
 and his voice in her ear, with one word of pledged faith 
 upon his tongue, all that vengeance would be changed ; 
 the waters of Marah would be made sweet, and roll back 
 in a sea of returning love, such as weaker natures could 
 not feel or sustain. And not one whit of Magdalene's 
 strength of anger or of love because it was strength 
 would he have wished abated. 
 
 Since Virginia's firm and final rejection of his suit, his 
 thoughts had reverted again and again to Magdalene, with 
 undivided force. A thousand times had he cursed the fal^e 
 27
 
 438 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 pride, with which he had cheated his own heart, and be 
 trayed hers. Not very much did he regret Virginia's de- 
 cided refusal of his hand that cut one cord holding him 
 from his duty, and his deeper inclination, which his pride 
 prevented him from severing with his own act. 
 
 These had been his thoughts, even while his idea of Mag- 
 dalene's habitation and circumstances had been very vague. 
 
 Now the recent events of General Mountjoy's death and 
 will, by which be had left her an immense fortune, and the 
 simultaneous arrival of Theodore Harvey's letter, announc- 
 ing her extreme illness at Boston and the cause of her at- 
 tack, had so drawn to a focus all his vague and scattering 
 thoughts, feelings, and purposes ; had so intensified his de- 
 sire of seeing Magdalene, and throwing himself upon her 
 deep love that deep love that underlaid all else in her 
 nature for restoration ; his being appointed coexecutor, 
 with Judge Washington, of her grandfather's will ; his exact 
 knowledge of her residence and condition, had so smoothed 
 his path before him, that finally all these motives decided 
 bim to seek her presence without delay. 
 
 Writing a hasty note to Judge Washington and ex- 
 plaining his secession by her rejection, and other circum- 
 stances of equal moment, he begged leave to withdraw all 
 pretensions to the hand of Miss Washington. Then re- 
 questing his host to excuse his hasty absence for a few days, 
 and to make his respectful adieus to the ladies of his family, 
 he bade him farewell for the present. 
 
 He sent this note to the library, to be left until Judge 
 Washington should find it, and feeling very much disin- 
 clined for company, he left the house, and soon after set out 
 for the North.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 JOSEPH CAREY'S DESTINY. 
 
 " To wed the earliest loved 
 She whom in laughing childhood and ripe youth 
 Was ever thine with whose advancing thought 
 Yours grew entwined, and who at last doth yield 
 Her maiden coyness, and in mystic bond 
 Will link herself to thee, one heart, one life 
 Bind ye together in the innermost soul 
 Eeither be known to other." Al/ord. 
 
 WHEN Judge Washington read that portion of Theodore 
 Hervey's letter, which referred to the sudden and nearly 
 fatal illness of Magdalene, to the shock sustained by her on 
 hearing of the attack made upon Lord Cliffe's life, his sus- 
 picions as to the real state of affairs between them were, 
 for the first time, excited. When he placed the letter in 
 Lord Cliffe's hands, and called his attention to the para- 
 graph in question, watching him, and observing his counte- 
 nance change as he read it, his distrust was increased ; 
 when Lord Cliffe returned him the letter, without one word 
 of comment, and rising in haste, suddenly left the room, his 
 doubts were greatly augmented. Finally, when late in the 
 afternoon he received his lordship's note, respectfully with- 
 drawing his suit to Miss Washington, and taking leave of 
 the family for the present, his doubts were fully confirmed, 
 his mind made up, and his own course of action decided upon. 
 
 But just now the last offices of friendship to the late 
 General Mountjoy, claimed his "'hole attention. As the 
 intimate friend of the deceased, and as one himself in a high 
 official station, he was very properly selected to negotiate 
 with the family of General Mountjoy on the part of the 
 
 (439)
 
 440 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 State authorities, who wished to show every fitting re- 
 spect to the memory of the late ex-Governor, without ob- 
 truding upon the sacreduess of private grief. Thus his 
 part in the arrangements of the obsequies occupied him 
 exclusively for several days. The day of the funeral so- 
 lemnities was one of the most painful " parade" to Judge 
 Washington. 
 
 All places of business, and all public offices were closed. 
 The city was hung in black from sunrise the minute can- 
 nonading commenced many military and volunteer com- 
 panies were ordered out the streets were crowded with 
 soldiers, citizens, horses, and carriages the air was filled 
 with mournful martial music, and all the 
 
 " Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious death," 
 
 was upon the scene of action. 
 
 At an early hour of the day, Judge Washington's family 
 was, as friendship demanded, with the family of the de- 
 ceased; 
 
 In the absence of Dr. Goodwin, their pastor, who was 
 still confined to his house with indisposition, the Rev. Mr. 
 Carey performed the burial service, after the manner of the 
 Protestant Episcopal Church. 
 
 At the close of the funeral obsequies, at a late hour in 
 the afternoon, Judge Washington and his family returned 
 to their own house. He had invited Joseph, who was now 
 with the bereaved household, to come to him in the evening. 
 As soon as they reached home, the Judge retired, in deep 
 thought, to his study, and the girls went to their respective 
 chambers to repose awhile,, and prepare for tea. 
 
 At seven o'clock, their early supper hour, the family 
 assembled in the parlor, where Joseph Carey soon joined 
 them. The solemn events of the day had thrown a shade 
 of seriousness over the evening circle. Judge Washington
 
 JOSEPH CAREY'S DESTINY. 441 
 
 himself was still absorbed in deep thought. When tea was 
 over, and they had gathered around the centre-table, Helen 
 and Virginia with their needlework, and Joseph Carey with 
 a volume of Slmkspeare, to read aloud, at Ginnie's request, 
 the tragedy of King Lear, Judge Washington, in variance 
 with his custom, sat apart in his large, easy chair. Before 
 obeying Ginnie's command, Joseph turned to the Judge and 
 inquired if he were well, if the reading would disturb him ? 
 
 "No, my dear Joseph, go on," replied the Judge, in a 
 tone and manner of such familiar and endearing affection, 
 that Ginnie turned her eyes on her grandfather, with a look 
 full of the deepest love and highest veneration, and then 
 upon Joseph, with an expression of security and happiness. 
 The reading went on, and the length of the play filled up 
 the long winter evening. 
 
 At its conclusion, a half hour was spent in conversation, 
 and then the Judge requested Mr. Carey to read the even- 
 ing prayers. Virginia arose, and getting the Bible and 
 prayer-book, placed them on the stand before Joseph. 
 Helen rang for the domestics, who, with quiet and orderly 
 decorum, soon after entered, and took their places. The 
 evening services commenced proceeded ended and the 
 domestics quietly withdrew from the room. 
 
 Joseph Carey arose to take leave, but at a sign from the 
 Judge, he resumed his seat, 
 
 Judge Washington called Virginia to his side, and when 
 she came and stood by him, with so much of love and of 
 expectation on her speaking countenance. 
 
 "Ginnie," he murmured, and there was a world of affec- 
 tion in the tone in which he pronounced this soft ab- 
 breviative, " Ginuie, darling, put your hand in mine, Gin- 
 nie, the world looks very different after such a day as 
 this, to what it does in ordinary times. Ginnie, the 
 gauds, and splendors, and dignities of life are nothing to
 
 442 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 the soul gone to his Creator to-day ; they seem little worth 
 to me now. Good hearts, true and warm affections, firm 
 and honest principles and purposes, appear to me now of 
 infinitely greater value. Ginnie," he continued, after a 
 thoughtful pause, "Ginnie, dearest, I wished to reunite the 
 severed branches and estates of your family ; I wished fool- 
 ishly, for the worldly distinction of yourself, to see you 
 Lady Cliffe ; that title, I am now nearly sure, belongs of 
 rig/it to another. You look surprised : you will understand, 
 anon. Yes : that title belongs, in strict justice, to another; 
 and if it did not, still, knowing what I know, feeling as I 
 feel, I should not covet the dignity for you. I wish rather 
 to consult my own conscience, and your happiness and wel- 
 fare, in bestowing you, with my blessing, upon one of fixed 
 principles and pure affections one of whom you once truly 
 said that he merited my preference above all others." Then 
 rising, feebly, from his chair, and still holding the hand of 
 Virginia, he approached, and laid it in that of Mr. Carey, 
 saying : " Joseph, will you have her ?" 
 
 ****** 
 What did Joseph do ? what did he reply ? I am not 
 sure that I clearly recollect. I suppose that Mr. Carey said 
 every thing that was expected of him, and was proper to be 
 said, while it is not unlikely either that he might have said 
 something very foolish, and that he ought not to have said, 
 the most self-possessed and dignified persons are apt to 
 do so on such occasions, if they feel; and, besides, the ques- 
 tion was so sudden and embarrassing : " Joseph, will you 
 have her ?" Of course he would. Judge Washington 
 knew that well enough when he asked the question ; which 
 question, I suspect, was a piece of polite compensation, a 
 delicate apology for his long opposition and late consent, 
 as though he had said, "Joseph, the child that I have so 
 long withheld from you, I now give you an opportunity of
 
 JOSEPH CAREY'S DESTINY. 443 
 
 refusing in yonr turn, which (soito voce) I know you cannot 
 do." No ; I do not know, certainly, what Joseph said or 
 did, but tradition runs that he held Ginnie's hand tightly 
 within his own, (he need not have done so Ginnie was not 
 going to withdraw it), raised his eyes to Judge Washington, 
 and looked " unutterable thoughts." 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, Judge Washington 
 announced to his family his intention of setting out the next 
 day for Boston, for the purpose of seeing his adopted 
 daughter and ward, Magdalene Mountjoy, and also his 
 intention of requesting Joseph Carey to take up his abode 
 in the house for the protection of his girls during his short 
 absence. After breakfast the circle separated, the Judge to 
 seek Joseph and commence preparations for his journey, 
 Virginia to indite a loving epistle to her sister, and Helen 
 to write a letter to her brother. 
 
 But something immediately occurred to change all their 
 plans for the present, for no sooner had Judge Washington, 
 after leaving the hall, closed the door behind him, and ad- 
 vanced into the street, than he met Adam Hawk coming to 
 the house. Adam Hawk, " all shaven and shorn," and 
 wearing a look of stern satisfaction upon his countenance. 
 No sooner had Judge Washington caught a sight of the 
 tout ensemble of the old man, newly shaven, neatly dressed, 
 leaning lightly upon his staff, and wearing that look of 
 triumph, than the whole truth of Adam's mission to town 
 flashed upon the Judge's mind. 
 
 " Well, Adam ?" he said, eagerly. 
 
 "Well, sir, you see I am shaved." 
 
 " Come in, old friend ! Come in ! You are weary ! 
 How far came you this morning!" inquired the Judge. 
 stepping up the marble steps before him and opening ihu 
 door.
 
 4:44 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " I left Prospect Plains day before yesterday, riding the 
 mule Billy. He was tired out at the Cross Roads, where I 
 got to last night ; so this morning, leaving him there to 
 rest, I took my staff and walked on, and here I am." 
 
 " Eight miles on foot before breakfast ! too much for 
 you, at your age, old friend ! You must have breakfast 
 before you tell me one word," said the Judge; who, though 
 intensely anxious, was thoughtful for his old overseer's com- 
 fort. He took him into the dining-room, from which the 
 breakfast things were not yet removed, and set him down 
 the table, ringing for a servant to come and wait on him. 
 
 After breakfast, Judge Washington, followed by Adam 
 Hawk, entered his study, where he remained clos-ettd with 
 his overseer all the forenoon. At dinner he met his family 
 again, and changed the arrangement of the morning, in the 
 respect that, instead of going to Boston, he must, with all 
 his household, set out immediately for Prospect Plains. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 RECONCILIATION. 
 
 " Let us no more contend, nor blame 
 Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, bat btrivs 
 In offices of love, how we can lighten 
 Each other's burden in our share of life." Milton. 
 
 GRATITUDE deep, fervent gratitude more than any 
 thing else, burned in Magdalene's heart, and glowed upon 
 her countenance, as she lay hours, many long hours, with 
 clasped hands and upraised glance, silent upon her bed 
 gratitude that her soul was delivered from the guilt of a
 
 RECONCILIATION. 4:4:5 
 
 great crime gratitude to God only. This feeling so drew 
 in and absorbed all other emotions and thoughts, that 
 scarcely was she conscious of the deep devotion of Theo- 
 dore Hervey to her service While she would be thus wrap- 
 ped in reverie, hour after hour would he sit patiently by her 
 bedside, waiting until she noticed him, or anticipating her 
 wants before she had expressed them. Little did Magda- 
 lene know how much her life was owing to the constant 
 vigilance, the unremitting care of Theodore Hervey ; how 
 his anxiety for her recovery had endowed him with a sort 
 of additional sense a fine, subtle intuition, by which he at 
 once perceived and averted any danger that might threaten 
 while he recognized and gathered about her every good in- 
 Juence that could benefit her. 
 
 Above all things he guarded her from agitations ; and so 
 well had he succeeded in warding off this particular peril, 
 that she had been protected from the least cause of excite- 
 ment, and so had suffered no recent outbreak of her fearful 
 hemorrhage, and was now recovering her power of motion 
 and speech. 
 
 After writing to Judge Washington, and waiting long 
 enough to receive an answer, which owing to the multifa- 
 rious occupations of that gentleman had not yet arrived, 
 Mr. Hervey, in some expectation that the letter might be 
 answered in person by some member of the family, had 
 given orders that he himself should be first cautiously and 
 secretly informed if any one came inquiring for himself or 
 the sick lady, as it was positively necessary that she should 
 not be agitated by a surprise. 
 
 One afternoon he was sitting with Magdalene, reading, 
 for her amusement, from Mrs. Hemans' poems. Magda- 
 lene was not now, as usual, absorbed in reverie, but giving 
 him her whole attention, lying over on her side, with her 
 face turned toward him, her eyes fixed on him full of
 
 446 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 earnest, fervent, grateful affection while, with one hand, he 
 pressed her waxen-like fingers, and with the other held the 
 volume from which he read, looking extremely happy. He 
 had been reading " The Sisters," " Our Daily Paths," 
 "Christ Stilling the Tempest," finally he inadvertently 
 read the title of another and a different 'style of poem, 
 " Properzia Rossi." 
 
 " Yes, read that," murmured Magdalene. And as he read 
 the lines of the text : 
 
 " Tell me, no more, no more, 
 Of my soul's lofty gifts ! are they not vain 
 To quench its haunting thirst of happiness? 
 Have I not loved, and striven, and failed to bind 
 One true heart unto me, whereon my own 
 Might have a resting-place, a home for all 
 Its burden of affections ? I depart, 
 Unknown, though Fame goes with me; I must leave 
 The earth unknown. Yet it may b that death 
 Shall give my name a power to win such tears 
 As would have made life precious." 
 
 He had read thus far, when a low sob attracted his at- 
 tention. Ceasing, and turning to Magdalene, he saw her 
 eyes full of tears, and her bosom heaving an instant only, 
 and then the rising emotion was repressed, and with her 
 habitual self-control, she pressed his hand that held hers, 
 tind smiled on him faintly with clear eyes. 
 
 But that little betrayal of feeling was not lost on Hervey. 
 Closing the book, he sank on his knees by her couch, only 
 to bring himself nearer to her, and taking her hand between 
 both his own, he looked at her some time without speaking ; 
 then he said : 
 
 " Dear Magdalene ! dear Magdalene ! if I could only 
 make you happy if I could only make you feel how dearer 
 than all things else to me is your happiness. Magdalene ! 
 Magdalene! what can I do for you? Four 'soul's lofty 
 gifts' have bound at least
 
 RECONCILIATION. 447 
 
 One true heart nnto yon, whereon yonr own 
 Might find a restinjr-place, a home for all 
 Its burden of affections.' 
 
 Oh, Magdalene, if the gift of that heart could only give you 
 peace if its 'immolcUwn could purchase happiness for 
 you !" 
 
 Magdalene did not reply in words, but pressed his hands 
 again, and looked at him with eyes full of grateful love. 
 
 Just at that moment the noise of some one approaching 
 the door caused Theodore to resume his seat. It was the 
 nurse, who re-entered the room, and placed a card in Mr. 
 Hervey's hand. Theodore looked at it and changed color. 
 Magdalene turned her eyes on him with an expression of 
 inquiry. 
 
 " A visitor, my dear Magdalene, whom I must see that 
 is all," he replied, and rising, took her hand, pressed it, 
 dropped it again, and left the room to go to his visitor in 
 the parlor. 
 
 When Theodore Hervey entered the parlor, he imme- 
 diately recognized the tall and distinguished-looking indi- 
 vidual who arose and advanced to meet him as Lord Cliffe. 
 He instantly and cordially offered his hand, shook hands 
 with his lordship, and entreated him to resume his seat, 
 taking a chair at the same time himself. Then he expressed 
 his pleasure at meeting with Lord Cliffe, hoped that he was 
 well, and that he had left the Washingtons in good health. 
 Lord Cliffe assured him that the family were in excellent 
 health, and that he himself had quite recovered from the 
 effects of his trifling wound. Had any light been thrown 
 upon that dai'k subject ? Theodore ventured to inquire. 
 There had not the whole subject remained enveloped in 
 mystery ; his o\v.n opinion was simply that his assailant had 
 been some escaped bedlamite, Lord Cliffe replied ; and then 
 wishing to come at once to the subject of his visit, said :
 
 448 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " You have, of course, heard of the death of General 
 Mountjoy " 
 
 " Yes and I have been led to suppose that Judge Wash- 
 ington s intimacy with the family has constrained him to be 
 very much engaged with them just no-y, and has prevented 
 his replying to a letter of considerable importance written 
 to him by myself last week wiless, sir, as I am inclined to 
 hope, you bring a letter or a verbal reply or notice of some 
 sort ?" said Hervey. 
 
 " No, I do not bring either letter or message from Judge 
 Washington, whom I left quite taken up, as you surmised, 
 with the affairs of the funeral. Yet, nevertheless, my busi- 
 ness to Boston is directly concerned with the subject of that 
 letter." 
 
 " As in what manner, sir ? may I be permitted to 
 ask ?" 
 
 " I must revert to the subject of General Mountjoy's 
 death. By his last will and testament he acknowledged 
 Magdalene Mountjoy as his granddaughter the legitimate 
 daughter of his son, Victor Mountjoy ; and, with the excep- 
 tion of a few trifling legacies to his sister and nieces, the 
 Swans, he has left her the whole of his great estate, com- 
 prising three of the most valuable plantations in Virginia. 
 He appointed Judge Washington and myself executors of 
 his will, and in that character Judge Washington being 
 otherwise engaged I have come to Boston to look after 
 the condition and welfare of the heiress. " 
 
 Theodore Hervey heard this at first with great surprise, 
 and then his countenance became overcast with sadness. 
 When Lord Cliffe ceased to speak, and seemed waiting for 
 a comment, he observed, abstractedly : 
 
 " Yes, that was but just I am glad for his sake that he 
 did it. Yet if he had died intestate, the whole property 
 would have been inherited by Magdalene, his legal heiress,
 
 RECONCILIATION. *49 
 
 because the marriage of Victor Mountjoy and Margaret 
 Hawk was a fact that could be well proved, while there was 
 no proof of General Mountjoy ever having made the legal 
 demur that would at any time previous to the majority of 
 the parties have annulled the marriage. The silence of the 
 parent or guardian is held for consent if this silence lasts 
 up to the time of the majority of the parties, the marriage 
 is fully legalized." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Lord Cliffe ; and then very anxious to 
 hear of Magdalene, he inquired : " Where is the young lady 
 now, and what is the present state of her health ? Does it 
 admit the possibility of her receiving a visitor ?" 
 
 " She is boarding at this house, where she has lived for 
 years while in Boston. Her health has suffered cruelly, as 
 I wrote Judge Washington. She is convalescent now yet 
 so completely prostrated, and withal so excitable, that her 
 case is still so precarious as to require the utmost vigilance 
 and care to keep her from any agitation that might be fatal. 
 No, sir, I think that her state does not admit the visit of 
 one who must, however involuntarily, awaken so many pain- 
 ful reminiscences as yourself." 
 
 Lord Cliffe looked fixedly on the face of Mr. Hervey, but 
 reading there nothing new or strange, he asked 
 
 " What do you mean by these expressions, Mr. Hervey ?" 
 
 " You cannot, if you, as I suppose, have been made ac- 
 quainted with the contents of my letter, you cannot be at a 
 loss to know that it was the report of your death that 
 nearly killed Miss Mountjoy should you not reasonably 
 suppose that the sight of you would agitate her greatly, 
 in her weak state fatally ?" 
 
 " Magdalene was not wont to be so weak ?" said Lord 
 Cliffe, with a spasm of remorse griping his heart. 
 
 "No and yet she was very much attached to Virginia. 
 You were on the eve of marriage with Miss Washington,
 
 450 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 and reported to have been murdered I do not know that 
 any great weakness was betrayed in this acute sympathy 
 with what she supposed to be her sister's extreme anguish." 
 
 " Did Magdalene believe me to be on the eve of mar- 
 ringe ?" asked Lord Cliffe, with a strange blending of pain, 
 I egret, and doubt in the expression of his fine countenance. 
 
 " I take it for granted that she did." 
 
 " Yet you do not know it you never heard her allude 
 to this reported marriage ?" 
 
 " Never still there can be little doubt that she knew 
 all about it the projected marriage was the subject of com- 
 mon rumor." 
 
 "Common rumor is proverbially mendacious particu- 
 larly so in this instance." 
 
 " Sir ! 
 
 " I was not on the eve of marriage with Miss Washing- 
 ton I am not engaged to that young lady, and have no 
 intention of ever being so." 
 
 " You surprise me, sir !" 
 
 " So I judge. But to change the subject I must see 
 Magdalene immediately, if possible." 
 
 " Lord Cliffe, I regret very much the necessity of repeat- 
 ing that it is not possible. Miss Mountjoy's state is too 
 critical to permit the least chance of excitement the least 
 surprise might bring on a fatal relapse." 
 
 "In that state of affairs I must request a favor of you 
 that is, gradually and cautiously to prepare Magdalene for 
 my visit for, as soon as a due regard for her health will 
 allow, I must have an interview with her. Come, sir, when 
 shall I be able to see her ?" 
 
 " I fear that several days perhaps weeks, must first 
 elapse, sir ?" replied Theodore, coldly, for every moment he 
 was more displeased with the deportment of his visitor. 
 
 "Several days! a week! that will not do 1 that ?an
 
 RECONCILIATION. 451 
 
 can scarcely be necessary. Who is Magdalene's phy- 
 sician ?" 
 
 " The medical attendant of Miss Moirnfjny," said Tlieo 
 dore, emiliaticiilly, and by his most respectful manner oi 
 naming that lady rebuking Lord Cliffe's familiar mode oi 
 designating her, "the medical attendant of Miss Mounljoij 
 is Doctor Warren." 
 
 " His address !" demanded his lordship, curtly. 
 
 " No. 3 Washington street." 
 
 " I shall see him immediately upon this subject," said 
 Lord Cliffe, rising, and reaching for his hat to go. 
 
 " One moment, my lord !" said Theodore Hervey, sud- 
 denly, impulsively, laying his hand upon Lord Cliffe's arm, 
 and arresting his steps. " One moment !" and throwing hia 
 hand to his brow, he paused an instant in deep but rapid 
 thought, as link after link of the " electric chain" of mem- 
 ory and of circumstances flashed upon his mind revealing 
 the most painful possibilities her strange anguish too 
 great ! yes, much too great to be excited for a mere friend, 
 or the still farther removed betrothed of a friend ! And then 
 his familiar, and sometimes authoritative manner. Were 
 they betrothed lovers ? Were they the next thought was 
 overwhelming he turned sick and pale, reeled, held on to 
 the back of the chair for support, while Lord Cliffe gazed 
 at him in surprise and perplexity. " Your pardon, my 
 lord 1" said Theodore, recovering himself "sit down I I 
 myself can scarcely stand." 
 
 Lord Cliffe resumed his seat Theodore sunk into a chair. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Hervey ?" said Lord Cliffe, to recall him to 
 himself. 
 
 " Well, sir 1" 
 
 " You detained me for some purpose, I presume ?" 
 
 "Yes !" said Theodore, and ajrain dropped his head upon 
 his hands but then quickly arousing himself with an effort.
 
 452 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 he proceeded to say " Lord Cliffe, you are going to con- 
 sult Doctor Warren, and it is likely that he will tell you 
 that an interview with a casual visitor, on mere business, 
 may not be dangerous to Miss Mountjoy's serenity, and 
 therefore to her life. But you can best judge for yourself, 
 whether you are nothing more than a casual visitor 
 whether your interview with her will be likely to disturb her 
 quietude or not." He paused, in some embarrassment. 
 
 " To what does all this tend, Mr. Hervey ?' inquired his 
 lordship. 
 
 " Sir, I do not know what your relations with Miss 
 Mountjoy have been, may be now, or are about to be but 
 this I do know that if in your mutual experience there is 
 any exciting circumstance likely to be brought to mind, 
 during your intercourse with her that interview would in- 
 evitably be fatal to her :" and so, in his deep anxiety, Theo- 
 dore truly believed. " Yon know best now, whether, even 
 with the doctor's permission, you can visit Miss Mountjoy 
 or not." 
 
 Lord Cliffe remained quiet, and in profound thought for 
 Borne time. Then he arose, and slowly and thoughtfully 
 paced up and down the room. Finally, he resumed his 
 seat, and said, earnestly 
 
 " I must see Magdalene ! To be within a few feet of her, 
 and not to see her, is intolerable ! I must see Magdalene ! 
 I must be introduced into her chamber while she sleeps, 
 that I may gaze on her! Do you hear me, Mr. Hervey?" 
 
 "I hear you, sir!" 
 
 " Yet you say nothing in assent ! I tell you that I must 
 and will see Magdalene ! Do you mark !" 
 
 " Forgive me, Lord Cliffe, if, as Miss Mountjoy's oldest 
 friend, I inquire by what right you demand this privilege !" 
 
 "I might, perhaps, merely cite a precedent in yourself! 
 I might say that yi.u have passed hours in watching by the
 
 RECONCILIATION. 455 
 
 sick bed of Magdalene ! I might go further, and demand 
 opon what pretense you claimed the privilege of attendance 
 upon her." 
 
 " And I should reply, my lord," said Theodore, as a 
 dark flush rose to his brow " I should reply by the 
 sacred privilege of old friendship, and of my holy cloth 1" 
 
 " Oh ! your holy cloth !" interrupted Lord Cliffe, with 
 the first rude sarcasm he had ever indulged. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! my holy cloth ! however unworthy its present 
 wearer may be is a passport to the chamber of man, 
 woman, or child, whose sufferings demand sympathy and 
 relief. A minister's place is certainly by the sick-bed and 
 the death-bed thus it was and " added Theodore, with 
 a faltering voice " because she had no other friend to care 
 for her, I took the place. " 
 
 As Lord Cliffe looked at him now, and noted the pale and 
 hollow cheeks, and hollow eyes, and the slight fragile form, 
 involuntarily contrasting it with his own vigorous and ath- 
 letic figure and as he thought of this frail and delicate man, 
 so much needing rest and support himself, devoting himself 
 day after day, and night after night, for many long weeks, 
 with a perfect love, to the service of another and when he 
 thought how fruitless all this would be to him, and how soon 
 the object of his pure love would be snatched from him all 
 acrid jealousy and unworthy anger melted from his heart, and 
 he felt a good impulse to do what in the position of affairs 
 was perfectly right to confide the truth to this most 
 estimable young minister. Perhaps in another hour Lord 
 Cliffe would not have been governed by such an impulse. 
 However, now he arose, and laying his hand most offec- 
 tionately upon Theodore Hervey's shoulder, he said, in an 
 earnest manner, 
 
 Mr. Hervey ! believe me, I am most profoundly and 
 fervently grateful to you for your devotion to Magdalem>.
 
 454 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 In her name, and in my own, I thank you most earnestly. 
 By your devotion to her, you have very seriously impaired 
 your own health, I fear. Now you must rest from your 
 toil. And if you are superseded in your labor of love 
 think that it is only by one whoso duty, as well as inclina- 
 tion, calls him to the post " lie paused. 
 
 "By Miss Mountjoy's guardian, perhaps you mean, sir I" 
 said Hervey, without raising his head, as he leaned upon 
 his hand. 
 
 "By Lady Cliffe's husband." 
 
 As if he had been struck with death, Theodore turned 
 ghastly white his hands dropped, and his head fell back. 
 Lord Cliffe raised one of those cold hands and pressed it 
 earnestly; and then seeming not to notice his extreme dis- 
 tress, for he had great faith in his ultimate power of self- 
 control he went on to say 
 
 "Yes, Magdalene is my wife. You were very justly 
 surprised and offended because I called her 'Magdalene' 
 and still 'Magdalene' repeatedly even after you had, by 
 your example, emphatically rebuked me. The reason was, 
 that I could not bear to call my wife by her maiden appel- 
 lation. Theodore ! hear me further. We were married 
 privately, at a village just out of Norfolk, more than four 
 years ago. She spent a year in traveling over the Eastern 
 continent with me then, for causes not now necessary to 
 repeal, we separated I going to England she, after a 
 little while, returning here. Yet, Theodore, though we 
 were married and lived together more than twelve months 
 yet there was a slight informality in the license that 
 would were either of us now disposed to use it for that 
 purpose render our marriage invalid. Do you attend tu 
 me, Mr. Hervey?" 
 
 " Yes! yes! I hear!" 
 
 " Well, then, what I wish is my privilege f seeing my
 
 RECONCILIATION. 455 
 
 wife, of watching by her while she sleeps, of making 
 my presence known to her as soon as it may be safe to 
 do so." 
 
 " You are not now under the laws of Virginia ! You 
 ere in Massachusetts now 1 You have acknowledged, 
 mind! You have acknowledged to me, that this lady is 
 your wife. That binds you ! I will keep you to that !" 
 said Theodore emphatically mindful of Magdalene's inter- 
 ests, though his own heart was breaking. 
 
 " My dear Hervey ! you cannot do me a greater service ! 
 Nay, you shall bind me even faster! fast as State arxd 
 Church can bind me 1 As soon as Magdalene is suffici- 
 ently convalescent to bear the scene, you shall unite us by 
 the irrevocable rites of your own Liturgy !" 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! that must be done ! that must certainly 
 be done ! I myself must do it !" exclaimed Theodore, 
 almost wildly, as he arose with the intention of leaving 
 the room for some unknown purpose, but before he 
 had advanced three steps toward the door, he reeled and 
 fell! 
 
 Lord Cliffe sprang to him, raised him, bore him lifeless 
 to the sofa, laid him there, and rang the bell for assistance. 
 
 Theodore Hervey was confined to his bed by extreme ill- 
 ness for a week. In the meantime, Lord Cliffe had con- 
 ferred with the physician telling him only so much of his 
 story as he deemed strictly necessary much less than he 
 had imparted to Theodore Hervey and obtained the right 
 of entrance into the sick chamber. It was the afternoon of 
 the same day, while Magdalene was sleeping, that he was 
 admitted to see her. The room was very quiet and partially 
 darkened, for the better re-pose of the patient. He entered, 
 attended only by the nurse, who did not accompany him to 
 the bedside. He approached with an awed manner and
 
 456 THE TWO SISTER^. 
 
 stealthy steps, to gaze upon the beautiful and unconscious 
 sleeper. He bent over her. The sight of his Magdalene 
 lying there, helpless, prostrate, unconscious so pale, sc 
 very pale the wan hue of her face, made deathlike by the 
 contrast of her jet-black hair flowing down each side, and 
 the jet-black eyebrows and eyelashes resting on her cheeks 
 the sight of her, so beautiful even in ruins awoke the 
 deepest love of his soul ; the deeper, stronger, more earnest 
 and fervent for the remorse the remorse that must have 
 been very bitter, but for the purpose and hope of compen- 
 sating all her past and present sufferings, and making her 
 life happy. Yet, notwithstanding his predominating hopes, 
 he gazed at her with an almost broken heart for there was 
 still uncertainty, doubt, and fear she was so fearfully 
 changed. 
 Death itself, 
 
 " Before Decay's effacing fingers, 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers. " 
 
 could scarcely produce a greater change! 
 
 Where was now that fine complexion, that firm elasticity 
 of muscle, that grand contour of form, that great strength, 
 which must have been repellant but for its exceeding beauty, 
 that glorious vitality which was the great charm and power 
 of the wonderfully-endowed woman ? 
 
 Oh, gone, gone ! 
 
 And what had destroyed such a wondrous work of the 
 Creator ? And what in earth or heaven could restore it ? 
 
 All that was left now of that marvelous life and strength 
 and beauty, seemed nothing but a magnificent ruin. 
 
 The deep groan that escaped his lips was an upheaving 
 of the profoundest depths of his soul. 
 
 That groan disturbed the sleeper. She sighed in her 
 sleep, and slightly moved one thin, transparent hand, as 
 with an involuntary gesture of deprecation.
 
 RECONCILIATION. 457 
 
 Lord Cliffe, fearing that she would awake, retired 'rora 
 the bedside. 
 
 Then he heard her move and murmur in a low tone how 
 the first soft sound of her voice thrilled upon his heart ! 
 She was awake she spoke to the nurse, who immediately 
 approached the bed. 
 
 Lord Cliffe retired from the room. 
 
 Again he sought the physician. 
 
 " Can she recover ?" 
 
 "Yes, with careful nursing." 
 
 " I will nurse her myself I will never leave her, except 
 for her benefit ; will she, can she be fully restored ? Will 
 she ever be her former self?" 
 
 " She has the finest constitution I ever met with in man, 
 woman, or child ; but it takes years to repair such an injury 
 as she has sustained years of great care " 
 
 " That shall be my work ! Only tell me that years and 
 care can restore Magdalene to her former glorious self, and, 
 with that hope before me, years shall not weary my patience, 
 nor care fatigue me in the task," said Lord Cliffe, forgetting, 
 in the intensity of his emotion, his usual quiet and reserved 
 manner. 
 
 He took up his abode at the hotel. Whenever Magda- 
 lene slept during the day, he took the nurse's place by her 
 side, vacating it only when she moved as if about to awake. 
 
 The second day of Theodore Hervey's absence, just as he 
 was leaving the room, he heard her ask for Mr. Hervey, and 
 heard the nurse's evasive reply that he was confined to his 
 lodgings by a slight indisposition. Thus a week passed on, 
 when at last, one day, Lord Cliffe thought that his presence 
 at her bedside had very nearly been discovered by Magda- 
 lene. It was in the middle of the day that she was sleep- 
 ing, and he, as usual, sitting by her side. The shutters were 
 closed, and even the heavy lined curtains let down, the
 
 458 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 more effectually to keep out the glare of the noonday sun. 
 The room was. therefore, even darker than usual ; but from 
 having sat there an hour, his eyes had become accustomed 
 to the obscurity, and he could see things tolerably well. 
 He sat gazing in mournful admiration upon the marblclike, 
 majestic face, darkly shadowed by the magnificent sweep 
 of ebon hair, when suddenly the long black eyelashes, rest- 
 ing so deathlike upon the snowy cheeks, began to quiver, 
 and then the grand, profound, dark eyes were open, and 
 gazing dreamily, mournfully, lovingly upon him ! 
 
 He shrank into the shadow of the deep chair, and turn- 
 ing stealthily away, glided from the room, with her gaze 
 haunting his vision her gaze full of vague, dreamy mem- 
 ory, love, compassion, deprecation all blended in shadowy 
 mysticism, like thoughts in sleep, or clouds at night. He 
 paused at the door, but he was not recalled he heard no 
 slightest disturbance, until he just caught her low tones in- 
 quiring calmly of the nurse whether she knew if .Mr. Hervey 
 were better, and the reply that he was better, and out, and 
 that he was even then awaiting the end of her nap, to pay 
 her a visit. 
 
 " Let him come in, then, soon." 
 
 Then Lord Cliffe, congratulating himself that he hud 
 withdrawn before she had been sufficiently wide awake to 
 recognize him, left the door, first with the thought of imme- 
 diately seeking Mr. Hervey, and requesting him, during his 
 approaching interview with Magdalene, to prepare her to 
 receive his visit but then, with a delicate consideration for 
 Theodore's present condition and state of feeling, he gov- 
 erned his impatience and resolved to wait quietly until the 
 next day. 
 
 He met Mr. Hervey in the parlor, and grasping his hand 
 warmly, expressed the earnest gratification he felt at seeing 
 him recovered.
 
 RECONCILIATION. 459 
 
 Mr. Ilcrvey thanked him, and inquired, with a composed 
 manner, if he had just left Magdalene. Lord Cliffe re- 
 plied in the affirmative. 
 
 " How has she been for the past week ? How seems sh 
 now ?" 
 
 " Still better, and mending daily. Her voice this morn- 
 ing was much stronger than it was the first day of my ar- 
 rival." 
 
 ' She has not been apprized of your arrival yet, sir ?" 
 
 " No, though to-day even now she was very near dis- 
 covering it, very unexpectedly," and Lord Cliffe related to 
 him all that occurred. 
 
 Theodore remained in silent thought a little while, and 
 then said, 
 
 " Lord Cliffe, I will see Magdalene this afternoon, and 
 judge of her condition. If I think it safe, I will cau- 
 tiously apprize her of your presence in the house. It is 
 better that it should be done as soon as possible. The 
 shock of a sudden di-covery, in her critical state, would in- 
 evitably be fatal, and of such a shock she is in continual 
 lunger while yon watch her sleep. When once she knows 
 tliiit yon are here, we having nothing more to fear and she 
 with her mind so perfectly at rest, must recover health and 
 strength with great celerity. I can scarcely believe, how- 
 ever, in your having been so very near her for a week with- 
 itit her being in some measure already prepared to hear, 
 vithont great surprise, of your presence in the house 
 
 'ifit one can imagine without being a convert to the 
 'iii'f in the subtile communion of spirits either. Yes ! 
 it' h<* state will possibly admit it, I must tell her this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " I thank you, Hervey ; that is my desire. Yet I should 
 not have asked it of you to-day." 
 
 Theodore smiled a sad smile that said as plain as words
 
 460 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 could speak "The bitterness of death, hDpe's death, is 
 already past ! I have nothing new to suffer." 
 
 Both were silent for a few minutes, and then Mr. Hervey 
 repeated " Yes, I will, if possible, tell her to-day and 
 then as soon as may be, after that " 
 
 " You will remarry us by the ceremony of the Protest- 
 ant Episcopal Church." 
 
 Again silence fell between them, and then Mr. Hervey 
 extending his hand to the table beside him, gathered up 
 some letters and papers that lay scattered there, and said 
 
 " I have letters of much interest and importance from 
 Judge Washington perhaps your lordship has received 
 similar communications ?" 
 
 "No; I have not lately heard from Judge Washington." 
 
 " I think then that you must hear from him soon, on very 
 important business." 
 
 "I am not sure that Judge Washington is aware of my 
 present address. " 
 
 Mr. Hervey looked surprised at this observation, but 
 made no comment. 
 
 " As you have alluded to the interest and importance of 
 the Judge's communications, and hinted that they nearly 
 concerned myself, may I be permitted to inquire into their 
 nature ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Judge Washington writes me that the fune- 
 ral of General Mountjoy being over, he was about to reply 
 to my communications concerning Magdalene, by hastening 
 hither in person, the more especially as by the will of her 
 grandfather, General Mountjoy, she was left the sole heir- 
 ess of his estates, and he himself appointed executor. ,But 
 he goes on to say, just as he was about to set out for the 
 North, he received sudden information of the arrest of the 
 suspected assailant of your lordship in the vicinity of 
 Prospect Hall, which has called him in haste to that neigh-
 
 RECONCILIATION. 461 
 
 borhood. I presume, sir, that as soon as your address is> 
 known to your friends, you will be called to appear and 
 identify the man, if you have not already been summoned." 
 
 : 'No ; I repeat, 1 have heard nothing from Judge Wash- 
 ington, or from any one else in Virginia. This is ray first 
 knowledge of the arrest. I, myself, however, am fully im- 
 pressed with the idea that my assailant was a madman. 
 Such, I am certain, will, upon investigation, prove to be the 
 truth. Has any new light been thrown upon this dark sub- 
 ject by the arrest ? Does Judge Washington say ?" 
 
 Theodore Hervey changed color, and replied in a low 
 and solemn voice. 
 
 " Yes. A very fearful light has been thrown upon a much 
 darker and deeper crime long enveloped in mystery, a crime 
 so black and so atrocious, that even at twenty years' distance 
 the soul shudders to recall its memory the unprovoked 
 and cruel destruction of the most lovely and loving, child- 
 like, saintlike woman that ever lived on earth to give ua 
 faith in angels." 
 
 " Mary Washington ! You mean Mary Washington. 
 But how what twenty years ago twenty years between 
 the acts. What can the two circumstances have in con- 
 nection ? Pray explain yourself." 
 
 " Your assailant and the long undiscovered murderer 
 of Mary Washington, are supposed to be the same man " 
 
 "And he" 
 
 " Has been arrested through the persevering vigilance 
 
 of Adam Hawk, and is now in the county jail of 
 
 county." 
 
 "But his name his motive who is he? What in the 
 name of God could have been his motive, if, indeed, all this 
 is not an error, as I really think it must prove to be ? My 
 assailant, I repeat it emphatically, was a lunatic." 
 
 " Lunatic he might have been when he assailed you
 
 *fi2 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 no lunatic. I imagine, when he destroyed Mary Washing- 
 ion." 
 
 " But his name who is he ?" 
 
 " A fugitive slave of the late Colonel Carey, who ab- 
 sconded from his master's plantation more than twenty 
 years ago, who was supposed to be dead, but who has, in 
 reality, been a vagabond and a wanderer on the earth with 
 the mark of Cain upon his brow. Circumstances have 
 lately transpired that have resulted in this discovery of his 
 life, and his .crimes, and in his arrest." 
 
 " Hut his purpose ; his purpose in the fiendish act ?" 
 
 " VENGEANCE !" 
 
 "Against whom? Not the sweet, gentle, and chililiike 
 woman he destroyed? Not against me, who never injured 
 him?" 
 
 " Against A FAMILY against all who bore the name of 
 CAREY. It is one of those awful instances of demoniac 
 passion, of hellish malignity, that can only boil forever in 
 the lav alike MIXED BLOOD in the volcanic bosom of a 
 
 MULATTO !" 
 
 " Hut this grows more and more inexplicable. IL>w is 
 it ; ossible that the humane and upright Colonel Carey, or 
 iinv of his estimable family, could have provoked such a 
 fiendish spirit of hate and revenge ?" 
 
 " It is a very revolting story. I recollect hiving heard it 
 
 hen a boy, and its having made a very painful' impressim 
 
 >ou iic- at the time. Corporal punishment is of very rnr 
 
 .iiTrnce on the plantations in my native sicii n of 
 
 'iiiniry. It has never been allowed to take place on Jinlut 
 
 Washington's estate. It has never, except, in one single 
 
 instance, been resorted to on Colonel's Carey's plantation. 
 
 Then it was inflicted without the orders, and even without 
 
 lhe knowledge of the master, in his absence ; and was an 
 
 abuse of delegated authority by the then uew overseer,
 
 RECONCILIATION. 463 
 
 Adam Hawk, a man proverbial for sternness and harshness 
 of disposition and character; and ihe subject of the dis- 
 graceful punishment was Abram Pepper, a young mulatto 
 slave of Colonel Carey's. In his superintendence of the 
 farm hands, Adam Hawk was severe, but generally just, 
 He appears to have had little difficulty, however, in the 
 management of the negroes, except in the case of this 
 young mulatto, who was of a very insubordinate temper. 
 One day, during the absence of Colonel Carey in Rich- 
 mond, in busy harvest times, the plantation being left under 
 the exclusive care of the new overseer, Abram Pepper re- 
 fused to go to work. Adam Hawk sternly ordered him 
 off to the field. Abram, with an oath, swore that he would 
 not go. The overseer enraged, threa ened. The negro, 
 in a fury, defied him to do his worst. A very violent and 
 disgraceful scene ensued, which was ended by Adam Hawk, 
 who, with his accustomed prompt severity of measures, o'id 
 a thiiig that hud never before degraded the domestic gov- 
 ernment of Colonel Carey's household inflicted the pun- 
 ishment of the lash upon the culprit. When overpowered, 
 the mulatto no longer resisted, but submitted with a dogged 
 resignation. He went to his work, he never used a threat, 
 never spoke a word, dined with the hands as usual, went 
 to work in the afternoon, supped with them, went to bed. 
 No one suspected him of his immediate intention of run- 
 ning away, or of his darker, deeper purpose of vengeance. 
 The next morning, however, he was missed from his post ; 
 and though every possible search on the premises and 
 throughout the neighborhood was made for him, he was 
 never afterward seen upon the plantation. The third day 
 after his flight, Colonel Carey returned home and heard of 
 the insubordination of his servant, of the unprecedented 
 punishment inflicted by his overseer, of the flight of the 
 mulatto, and finally of the exceeding great unpopularity
 
 4:6* THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 of Adam Hawk by reason of all this. Colonel Carey sum- 
 moned his overseer to his presence heard Ms statement 
 of the affair and then paid him his salary up to the end 
 of the year and dismissed him from his service, giving as 
 his reason that he could not conscientiously retain in au- 
 thority over his people a man who had abused his power 
 by such a loathsome act of severity, and who, in conse- 
 ^uence of that act, had become an object of such strong 
 and natural aversion to the people over whom he had ruled. 
 Subsequently hearing that Judge Washington was in want 
 of an overseer, and not wishing that Adam Hawk, and 
 especially his wife, who was the nurse of his only daughter, 
 should suffer want from the loss of his situation, Colonel 
 Carey sought Judge Washington, and after telling him the 
 cause of Adam Hawk's dismissal from his own service, 
 strongly recommended him as a very efficient manager. 
 Finally, Judge Washington, premising that no such abuse 
 of power would be tolerated on his premises, engaged 
 Adam Hawk. But this is slightly apart from the main 
 subject of my account Abram Pepper. Years after thi'j 
 occurrence, when the mulatto was supposed to be lost or 
 dead, Captain Carey, the only son of Colonel Carey, was 
 waylaid and murdered, no one could surmise by whom 
 Not a soul then suspected that the long-missing mulatto 
 was, in the least, concerned in the crime. His death, you 
 have already heard, broke Colonel Carey's heart ; he did 
 not survive the loss of his only and much- beloved soil two 
 months. A year and a half from that time, the young, 
 beautiful, and most amiable Mary Washington, the only 
 daughter and sole remaining child of Colenel Carey, waa 
 mysteriously assassinated. Still no one, except one negro, 
 who kept silence, suspected the mulatto. How, indeed, 
 should they ? He had used no threats before his flight, 
 and now he was quite forgotten. All the efforts of the
 
 RECONCILIATION. 465 
 
 police to discover the assassin were vain Judge Wash- 
 ington, you remember, unable to bear the painful associa- 
 tions of Prospect Plains, removed, with all his family, to 
 his new plantation on Sunny Isle. There his family con- 
 tinued to reside for ten years, he himself coining and going 
 between the island and the main land as his duty or incli- 
 nation called him. I think that, under Providence, it is 
 chiefly attributable to her residence on the Isle that Vir- 
 ginia escaped falling a victim to this secret and deadly 
 hatred against her whole family." 
 
 Here the further speech of Theodore Hervey was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Magdalene's nurse, who an- 
 nounced that her patient was awake, and waiting to receive 
 Mr. Hervey. Theodore immediately arose, bowed to Lord 
 Cliffe, and followed the woman up-stairs. 
 
 When Mr. Hervey entered the chamber, he found Mag- 
 dalene sitting up in an easy chair, looking so much better, 
 that he started with a sudden emotion of surprise and 
 pleasure. 
 
 She held out her hand to him, smiling most affectionately 
 And oh, as that old familiar smile beamed upon him, his 
 heart stood still, his brain reeled. He recovered himself, 
 and going to her, took her offered hand, answered her smile 
 with another smile, and said, in tones calm, because they 
 were very low : 
 
 " I am so glad to see you up at last, my dear Magdalene 
 Is this the first time you have risen ?" and as he asked this 
 question, he drew a chair to her side, and seated himself 
 in it. 
 
 "No ; yesterday I rose for the first time, and sat up an 
 hour in the forenoon ; this morning I sat up an hour, and 
 I am jnst up now for the second time to-day. To-rnorrow 
 I hope to be able to sit up all day. Dear friend, I am
 
 466 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 getting well fast. But you, Theodore you nave been ill. 
 Your looks show that, indeed. What has been the matter ? 
 and how are you now ? Quite restored, I hope ?" 
 
 Magdalene spoke in a low, slow, even voice, such as she 
 aiight indulge in with safety. 
 
 Theodore paused a moment, with his hand before his 
 brow, and then replied : 
 
 " My head has been affected I am better now. But we 
 will talk of yourself, dear Magdalene : how have you been 
 employed here in your sick room during the week of my 
 absence ?" 
 
 A strange smile passed over Magdalene's countenance 
 she passed her hand before her brow, and replied, slowly : 
 
 " In reveries, dreams, visions." 
 
 "Your childhood's habits recurring, Magdalene?" 
 
 " No, not exactly. Yet those childhood's visions and 
 presentiments great God ! how nearly they have been ful- 
 filled !" exclaimed she, shudering, and turning paler than 
 before. 
 
 " What do you say, Magdalene ?" 
 
 "Nothing I mean I am confused something that I 
 will tell yon, perhaps, some day. When I can bear it 
 when I can bear it. But, Theodore, I believe in presenti- 
 ments, though not as the credulous generally accept them." 
 
 " How, dear Magdalene ?" 
 
 " I lielieve that some orders of mind in some of their own 
 peculiar phases, have the power of perceiving, vaguely it may 
 be. mystically it may be, as through a glass darkly, the 
 shadows of the mighty tilings in the far-off future. I think 
 thai these sudden shades of indefinable melancholy, ' that 
 ovtTCouie us like a summer cloud,' may indeed be caused by 
 Slum-thing in the unknown and distant future. But, in this 
 respect, my faith in presentiments differs from that of 
 others. 1 lliiuk they arise as warnings, not as prophecies
 
 RECONCILIATION. 467 
 
 They do not indicate an irreversible doom ; they point out 
 dangers in the dark, unseen future dangers that we may 
 pray against and strive against dangers that God may 
 avert. You will smile that I should be reasoning upon 
 that which is commonly regarded as the merest superstition 
 so, however, I never did regard it. I believe presenti- 
 ment to be a 'more refined and certain perception of unde- 
 veloped PROBABILITIES, and not prophecies of predes;i;ied, 
 immutable fate. All my childhood's years, Theodore, were 
 darkened by a fearful presentiment, arising, I know, from a 
 profound, inherent, UNDEVELOPED SELF-KNOWLEDGE akin 
 to prophecy ; and oh, my God, how nearly it has been ful- 
 filled. The shadow of the cloud that has since broken over 
 my head. But the storm has passed, the darkest peril is over." 
 
 She paused from weariness or thoughtfulness, while Theo- 
 dore held her hand, and watched her countenance. That 
 anxious examination was satisfactory; he saw that she was, 
 indeed, very much stronger he thought that she might 
 soon bear to hear the communications he had to make; but 
 to win her away from the grave, even gloomy subject of her 
 thoughts, he said : 
 
 " You say your lonely reveries and dreams of the past 
 week have been unlike those of your childhood ? I think, 
 judging from your improvement, they have been more plea- 
 sant." 
 
 Magdalene raised her eyes to him with a smile, and said : 
 
 "Yes, 1 will even tell you all about it. Do you know 
 that, for a week past, I have been the victim of an opln a.1 
 illusion? And one of so agreeable a nature, that, like a 
 pleasant, dream, or rather a succession of pleasant dreams, 
 its effect upon me lias been restorative." 
 
 Theodore started a light of the truth concerning this 
 optical illusion flashed into his mind. Magdalene, watch- 
 ing him, continued :
 
 468 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Yes is it not singular ? I suppose it is my long, long 
 illness, and the state of my nerves, that have caused this 
 pleasant illusion for it is, oh ! very, very satisfying, though 
 it is but an illusion !" 
 
 "Well, dear Magdalene?" 
 
 "I am going to tell you. I had a friend a very dear 
 friend a bosom friend another self; I had an unhappy 
 feud with this friend of my soul a feud that drove me mad 
 for years. Lately I heard that he had met a violent death 
 it was that which caused my severe illness. Then I 
 heard it contradicted he lived and it was that which 
 caused my recovery. Since that, I have lain and dreamed 
 of seeing my friend, as the bereaved dream of the dead 
 alive, for I knew that I should never see him again in the 
 flesh a gulf, deep and dark as death separates us. Well, 
 but think ! the last day you were here the day upon which 
 you were reading Mrs. Hemans' poems to me, you recol- 
 lect? a week ago it was I fell into a light slumber late 
 in the afternoon, and after a little while, awaking, I saw, as 
 plainly as if he had really been there, ray friend sitting by 
 me, gazing, with eyes full of affection, upon me and as I 
 moved the vision glided away ! Well, every day at about 
 the same hour, I have, in awaking from sleep, seen the same 
 vision. To-day, at noon, I took a nap. I awoke, and 
 there was the vision and there it remained longer than 
 usual." 
 
 " And you think this was really an optical illusion, Mag- 
 dalene ?" 
 
 " Of course it was imaginative as I am, I do not be- 
 lieve it to have been his spirit ; besides, look at the period 
 nt which the vision always presented itself, just at the mo- 
 ment of my awakening, in the ' chiara obscura" 1 of blended 
 dream and reality, and in the darkened room and then it 
 ever vanished as the last shadows of my sleep departed."
 
 RECONCILIATION. 46'J 
 
 "Yet you say this 'illusion' was so satisfying! Are mere 
 illusions ever really satisfying ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, do you not know that ?" 
 
 She was far from suspecting the truth yet. He arose 
 and drank off a draught of cold water he wished to be per- 
 fectly cool and steady, lest his agitation might be infectious 
 he resumed his seat by her side, took her wrist, and with 
 his finger on her pulse, said : 
 
 " Magdalene, was there no possibility that the supposed 
 optical illusion might have been a reality ?" The pulse 
 bounded, stopped. Magdalene grew deadly pale, bent for- 
 ward, clasped his arm, and gazed at him intently. He con- 
 tinued : "Was there no possibility, I say, that the supposed 
 vision might have been some loving watcher of your slum- 
 bers, who, to prevent surprising and disturbing you, glided 
 away on your first symptoms of awakening ?" Her gaze 
 became so intense, her cheek so white, that he felt he must 
 relieve immediately the suspense that was now more dan- 
 gerous than the full information could be. " Magdalene, 
 your vision was a reality Lord Cliffe is in Boston ; he is 
 in this house ; he has been your frequent daily watcher for 
 a week past. It was really him, and not an image conjured 
 up by half-sleeping fancy." 
 
 Magdalene's hold relaxed upon his arm, her hands fell, 
 her eyes closed, and she sank back in her chair, overcome, 
 but not swooning. Theodore sprang to the table, poured 
 out a glass of water, and putting his hand at the back of 
 her neck, raised her head, and placed the water to her lips 
 She drank a little, and waved the glass away. He set it 
 down and returned to her. 
 
 " Tell me more !" she said. 
 
 And Theodore resuming his seat, said : "He came here 
 a week ago, Magdalene Do you not recollect that the last 
 day I was with yon, previous to my sickness, a card was 
 brought me, and I left the room ?" 
 29
 
 470 THE TWO SISTEKb. 
 
 " Yes yes ! 
 
 " It was Lord Cliffe's card, and I found him awaiting me 
 in the parlor. He had recently heard of yonr residence in 
 Boston, and of your illness. He had come here seeking 
 you. Magdalene, dearest, he made me understand his 
 right of admission to your apartment." Magdalene's brow 
 crimsoned, and Theodore hastened to add : " He told me 
 of your secret marriage at a village near Norforlk, and of 
 jour making the tour of Europe together." 
 
 " He told you that !" exclaimed Magdalene, bitterly, cov- 
 ering her face with her spread hands. 
 
 " Yes, dear Masrdalene ! He saw that I was your friend. 
 even unto death, if needful and he knew that he could 
 confide in me, and saw that it was besides unavoidable. I 
 should have prevented his seeing you otherwise, and so he 
 told me that you were his wife if you consented to be so, 
 for that otherwise there was an informality in the marriage 
 ceremonies, by which you were united, that might be used 
 to annul the marriage." 
 
 " He said that," said Magdalene, with a deep joy break- 
 ing up through the conflicting emotions of her bosom and 
 irradiating her countenance a moment and then her brow 
 grew, overcast, as she thought within herself " Yes, but 
 when he knows all, all ! that I have to confess how that 
 it was my revenge that armed the assassin against his life 
 so nearly lost then how then ? Oh, at least I shall see 
 him yes soon ! and on his bosom pour out this story of 
 passion, guilt, suffering, and pray for forgiveness !" then in a 
 trembling voice, she asked, " Theodore, when shall I see him ?" 
 
 " Just as soon as you are strong enough I mean suffi- 
 ciently composed to bear the interview." 
 
 " Now, then ! Let it be now, Theodore 1 for I shall arrow 
 more agitated every moment that I wait. Give me a glass 
 of water and thank you "
 
 RECONCILIATION. 471 
 
 She received the glass from his hand, drained it off, re- 
 turned it to him, and said 
 
 "Theodore no no hasty, impertinent message from 
 me to him such would ill become me. Go to Lord Ciifl'c, 
 Theodore, and let him know that I wait here to receive him 
 at his own best convenience." 
 
 She looked so pale, so meek, so unlike her former self, 
 yet withal so beautiful, that he could have fallen at her feet 
 and worshiped her. He dared not trust himself to look 
 upon her a single moment longer. He hastened from the 
 room to do her bidding. 
 
 Magdalene remained seated in the arm-chair, with her 
 hands clasped and her face bowed, as in prayer. 
 
 A few minutes passed so, and then the door swung rap- 
 idly open, and Lord Cliffe entered the room. 
 
 She heard his footstep, and raised her head to look once 
 more upon that old, familiar, fondly-loved form and face. 
 
 His form was majestic and graceful as ever, but his face 
 was pale, and his countenance eloquent with profound emo- 
 tion. And oh ! at the first sight of his living self, all her 
 old, fond, half-lost affection rushed back in a- tumultuous 
 flood of overwhelming tenderness and joy, and with a sud- 
 den, overmastering impulse she started up, and threw her- 
 self upon his bosom. He caught her in his arms pressed 
 her to his heart, and kissed her pale lips and paler brow- 
 many times. And she wept convulsively on his shoulder 
 her whole frame heaving and shuddering. No word was 
 spoken for some time, until at length he whispered 
 
 " Magdalene, you have forgiven me you have already 
 forgiven me I know and feel it, dear, but tell me so !" 
 
 She attempted to reply, but sobs choked her utterance. 
 She essayed once more to answer, but failed. 
 
 He pressed her closer to his bosom, and murmured, sooth- 
 ingly-
 
 472 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " Magdalene ! dearest Magdalene ! do not try to speak, 
 yet, then. Weep on, love ! weep on ! it will do yon good. 
 Shed all your tears, and let them be the last you shall ever 
 have to shed." 
 
 She tfe)abled so much that he seated her npon the 
 lounge, and keeping his arras around her, rested her head 
 against his breast. Again she endeavored to speak, and in 
 a voice frequently interrupted by sobs, she exclaimed 
 
 "Oh! Clinton, if you knew all if you knew all! I 
 have a confession to make, that may oh ! that must sepa- 
 rate us again and forever !" And choking sobs again 
 arrested her further speech. 
 
 I know not what dark suspicion crossed the mind of 
 her lover it was not the right one for his countenance 
 changed, but he governed himself, and replied 
 
 "Magdalene! do not speak another word until you are 
 more composed." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! I must, for until you set upon my brow the 
 kiss of forgiveness if that can be every other kios burns." 
 And in impassioned and agonized tones, she poured out 
 the whole terrible story of her heart's life for the past four 
 years its ambition its love its jealousy despair re- 
 venge remorse. 
 
 He heard the whole horrible story through supporting 
 her head on his bosom all the time. At its close he folded 
 her closely to his heart and parting the dark hair from her 
 brow, he pressed his lips there, saying 
 
 "This is the kiss of reconciliation the other word is 
 inadmissible from me to you, my Magdalene. For the rest 
 we have both sinned against God let us ask ' forgiveness* 
 of him." 
 
 " God may forgive me ! but how can you ?" 
 
 " Dear Magdalene, your anger " 
 
 " Oh ! I was not angry ! I had not that excuse."
 
 RECONCILIATION. 473 
 
 " Yonr hatred, then, was very just ! and I had only to 
 be just to disarm all your vengeance. Let us talk no more 
 of it. Merciful God ! it was I, by sin, that led you to thid 
 precipice of fearful guilt." 
 
 Both were silent for a little while to compose themselves, 
 and gain that habitual self-control for which each was 
 distinguished. Lord Cliffe passed the whole afternoon in 
 her room leaving it at last, only at the nurse's command 
 who insisted that her patient had set up too long. Upon 
 leaving Magdalene, Lord Cliffe sought Theodore Hervey, 
 whom he found engaged in replying to Judge Washington's 
 letters. 
 
 The next morning Magdalene and Clinton were united 
 in marriage, according to the forms of the Protestant Epis- 
 copal Church. Theodore Hervey performed the ceremony, 
 and the attendant physician and his wife witnessed the 
 marriage. 
 
 After it was over, Theodore took -leave of the parties, 
 and, in company with Dr. and Mrs. Warren, left the hotel. 
 He would gladly have absented himself from Magdalene's 
 society from that da^ forth, but fearing to disturb her peace 
 with a suspicion of his deep sufferings, with his habitual 
 spirit of self-devotion, he visited her as usual. 
 
 From this day Magdalene rapidly gained health and 
 strength. A week passed away, and Lord Cliffe began to 
 talk of their removal to Richmond, where he wished to see 
 Judge Washington again, and to settle some business, pre- 
 vious to going to Europe, when one morning an event 
 occurred that for the present changed his plans. They 
 were sitting together in the parlor Magdalene, Lord Cliffe, 
 and Theodore Hervey when the door was thrown open, 
 and Judge Washington, Virginia, and Mr. Carey were 
 announced, and entered the room. Lord Cliffe and Mr. 
 Hervey arose to meet their visitors but Virginia (luu to
 
 47 1 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Magdalene, and throwing her arms around her neck, burst 
 into tears of joy. How long she would have wept I do not 
 know, but that Magdalene, kissing her cheek, gently seated 
 her in the easy-chair, and disengaged herself. 
 
 Magdalene then turned to give her hand to her husband, 
 who was standing by her side, and who now presented her 
 to Judge Washington as his wife, Lady Cliffe. 
 
 Judge Washington's brow grew dark and severe, and he 
 receded a step this was involuntary inevitable it was 
 an impulsive start of his nature it was but for a moment 
 . then reaching his hand, he took that of Magdalene, and 
 in a tone and with a manner more grave and earnest than 
 lively wished her and her husband much happiness. 
 
 Mr. Carey next came up, and shaking hands with Mag- 
 dalene, congratulated her upon her recovery. 
 
 They then sat down, and conversation was becoming 
 genera^** when the chamber-maid entered to show Miss 
 Washington to her room, to which her baggage had been 
 carried, in order that she might change her dress. Magda- 
 lene, at Virginia's desire, accompanied her to her chamber. 
 
 When they were gone, Judge Washington requested the 
 favor t of a private interview with Lord Cliffe, and the two 
 gentlemen retired to another room. Then Judge Wash- 
 ington informed his lordship that the object of his errand 
 to Boston had been, not only to bring his ward home to 
 Prospect Plains, but also to entreat Lord Cliffe to come 
 immediately to the same place, in order to be in readiness 
 to identify the man who had been arrested on the suspicion 
 of having assaulted him, and who was now in the county 
 jail. Finally, he bogged to know, in the event of his lord- 
 ship's agreeing to the proposed visit, how soon he could 
 coi. leniently set out for Virginia. 
 
 Lord Cliffe replied that he himself would be ready at any 
 time, but that he must consult the welfare of his wife, whose
 
 RECONCILIATION. 475 
 
 very recent recovery misrht not be sufficiently confirmed to 
 admit of her immediately taking so long and fatiguing a 
 journey. 
 
 In the meantime while Judge Washington and Lord 
 Cliffe were conversing in one room and Magdalene and 
 Virginia were tete-a-tete in another Joseph Carey and 
 Theodore Hervey were renewing their intimacy in the par- 
 lor. Theodore Hervey had always looked pale and grave, 
 and now a slight additional pallor and gravity excited no 
 surprise in the mind of his friend, who was too happily 
 engaged in his own beatitudes to be over observant and 
 solicitous where no cause of distress was suspected. So 
 Joseph Carey informed Theodore Hervey of all his' love 
 first of its hopelessness its deathlessness its long trial, 
 and finally, its triumph and its exceeding great reward 
 dwelling with unconscious cruelty upon his own great hap- 
 piness. Theodore wished him joy with all his. soul, but 
 after a little while, said 
 
 " But, Joseph ! how about your missionary station and 
 when are you going to be married ?" 
 
 , Mr. Carey replied that he could answer both questions 
 at once : 
 
 That he had returned to America for the purpose of 
 arousing by means of a series of lectures and sermons, 
 i he interest of the Christian community in behalf of the 
 Indian Missions that it was his intention to go out to 
 1 1. dia and return to his charge in the Spring that Vir- 
 Lrh'in would remain only his betrothed during her grand- 
 !;I'|I.T'S life for that he could not marry Virginia and It-are 
 her, neither could he take her from her grandfather in his 
 extreme old age. That she and himself had agreed upon 
 this that they were not unhappy about it that they had 
 no double or fears, either concerning each other, their future 
 union, or God's blessing.
 
 476 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 This Joseph Carey declared with a spirit as sincere as it 
 was cheerful. 
 
 But Theodore Hervey caught his hand, and clasping it, 
 said 
 
 " Oh, Joseph ! you and Virginia, long and fondly at- 
 tached as you are, and having her grandfather's consent to 
 your immediate marriage you can both agree to separate, 
 and put a hemisphere between your two selves for an indefi- 
 nite number of years, and only that she may devote all her 
 youth to an old man's infirmities ?" 
 
 "We both think it is right," said Joseph Carey. 
 
 Theodore Hervey remained silent and thoughtful for a 
 few minutes, and then he said, 
 
 " Joseph, I have a proposition to make to you ! Do not 
 misunderstand me, but agree to it, ff yon possibly can. 
 Joseph, for years I have felt a call to missionary labor. 1 
 have been unfaithful because one selfish human passion pos- 
 sessed my soul, and governed it. I am punished. Through 
 that passion I have been wounded almost unto death. You 
 saw that woman who just left the room with Virginia ? 
 Joseph, I have some religion or some name of it ! but, 
 Joseph, I loved that woman more than God's service for 
 her I might have betrayed the Kingdom of Heaven. Well, 
 Joseph, last week yes, a week ago to-day I married that 
 woman to another man. Look at me ! Let me go in your 
 place, Joseph ! Let me take your pastoral charge in India, 
 and do you marry Virginia, remain here, and do all you can 
 in this country, and among this people, for the cause of 
 Foreign Missions. Agree to this, Joseph ! It is sudden, 
 but it is wise and best ; you will think so, when you have 
 reflected upon it. For myself, I earnestly desire to go, 
 
 ' If Heaven will take 
 A heart that earth has crushed.' " 
 
 After the first start of surprise the first look of intenao
 
 RECONCILIATION. 477 
 
 sympathy Joseph Carey listened calmly and attentively ; 
 but when Theodore ceased speaking, he dropped his head 
 upon his chest in deep thought, and did not immediately 
 reply. 
 
 " What do you think of my proposition, Joseph ?" asked 
 Theodore, after a pause. 
 
 " I think this, dear friend ; that we must each of us have 
 a week or two of strict self-examination, prayer, and cool 
 reflection, before we speak again upon this subject, far less 
 come to any conclusion." 
 
 Here their further conversation was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Virginia and Magdalene, who were soon also 
 joined by Judge Washington and Lord Cliffe. 
 
 Virginia had already informed her sister of the proposi- 
 tion of Judge Washington, and though now his office as the 
 prote'ctor of his adopted daughter and ward was superceded 
 by the higher and stronger claim of another to that title, 
 vet Virginia had urged and entreated Magdalene to offer 
 no opposition to the plan, but consent to go with them to 
 Prospect Hall. 
 
 In a subsequent interview between Lord Cliffe and Mag- 
 dalene, they agreed to accept this invitation to Prospect 
 Hall, and made known their decision to Judge Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 In four days from this time the whole party set out foi 
 Virginia and Prospect Hall, whither, by a few hours, we 
 must precede them
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 
 
 " And the crush M beetle feels a pang 
 As great as wlieu a hero dies." Pope. 
 
 I AM not sure about the meaning of the above couplet, 
 ever, if I have quoted it aright, which is doubtful but its 
 application to our present chapter is palpable. For while 
 we have been interesting ourselves with the loves and for- 
 tunes of a pair of lovers, whose troubles were all created 
 not by hard-hearted parents and guardians but by tire evil 
 in their own "undisciplined hearts," we have treated with 
 thorough neglect a humble couple, who loved more disin- 
 terestedly, faithfully, and constantly, and who, for no faults 
 of their own, were divided by a cruel misunderstanding for 
 nearly twenty years Coral and Prince. 
 
 It was a fine, clear, genial winter day, "the air was still, 
 and the water was still," and the sun warmly bright one of 
 those days that visit our climate in the midst of winter a 
 June day in January, but for the leafless forest when old 
 Adam Hawk walked up to Prospect Hall with an open 
 letter in his hand, and calling for the housekeeper Coral 
 I'Vpper vice Polly superannuated informed her that the 
 letter he held in his hand was from Judge Washington, nnd 
 announced that he would arrive at home with a party of 
 guesis that evening, and requested that every thing might 
 bi in readiness for their reception. Having given this in- 
 formation, old Adiim Hawk turned about and marched off 
 Adam went from the house directly to the stables, where he 
 (478;
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 479 
 
 ordered the coachman to have the capacious family carriage 
 got in readiness, and to drive to Heathville to meet his 
 master. After completing these arrangements, Adam Hawk 
 turned to go home, but was met by a messenger from the 
 jailer at St. Leonard's, who brought an urgent request that, 
 if Judge Washington had not yet returned, he himself would 
 come with all possible haste to the jail, for that his prisoner 
 was at the point of death, and wished to see him with the 
 purpose, it was thought, of making a full confession. With- 
 out waiting a moment, Adam Hawk turned his steps imme- 
 diately toward St. Leonard's. Coral re-entered the house 
 immediately, and assembling all the housemaids and ser- 
 vants, gave her orders dispatching two of the former to 
 open and air the bed-chambers, change the bed-linen, and 
 lastly to light fires, so that the rooms might be gradually 
 and thoroughly warmed and sent two of the latter to take 
 off the brown-holland covers in the saloon, to fill and trim 
 the lamps, light fires, etc., and finally, she went herself 
 into the pantry and still-room, where, with several assist- 
 ants, she commenced the interminable labor of preparing a 
 Virginian supper for company for there was a ham, a 
 round of beef, and some tongues to be boiled early, so as to 
 give them time to get cold for slicing then there were 
 several kinds of bread, and of cake, that required time in 
 the rising and baking to say nothing of what came after 
 a turkey to be roasted, ducks to be baked, chickens to be 
 boiled, oysters to be stewed, <fec., &c., &c. 
 
 In fact, a Virginia supper for company, in no way differs 
 from a dinner for a like occasion, except in the absence of 
 wine and vegetables, and the presence of tea and coffee. 
 
 It was about six o'clock in the evening, when every 
 preparation was complete, except the lighting up. The 
 table was set out in very handsome style in the dining- 
 room. The fires were glowing in parlors and in chambers
 
 480 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Every man and maid was at his or her post, and Coral was 
 only waiting to hear the clock strike six, before lighting the 
 chandeliers. 
 
 She was standing in a moody attitude before the glowing 
 hickory fire in the wainscoted parlor, when she heard a stef 
 near her, and looking around, saw her old friend Prince 
 She gave a little start, and then she held out her hand, and 
 ehook hands with him. 
 
 " I suppose master has arrived, Prince ? I must make 
 haste and light the lamps." 
 
 "No, the carriage is five mile ahind yet; the Judge 
 sent me on a horseback afore, for fear his letter hadn't arriv'. 
 Let me light the lamps, Corry." 
 
 Coral thanked him, and when the illumination was com- 
 plete, he turned around to take a view of his lady-love, and 
 with a tragi-comic look of mingled deprecation, entreaty, 
 and reproach, said : 
 
 " Come, Corry, do come. It's so hard, so it is, that I'm 
 been waiting twenty odd year, and now our disunderstand- 
 ment is all brought tc light, and my innocense is a shining 
 like a star at noon day, and is as white as the driven lamb, 
 you should keep on being so disrational." 
 
 " Hush, Prince 1 Let me alone. Don't be foolish. Go 
 and see ef the fire is burning in master's room, and turn 
 his clean clothes that are airing on the chair." 
 
 "But, Coral, child, indeed this here is very unkind; jes 
 take a 'sideration on to it, chile. Here is I been waitiu' on 
 twenty odd years " 
 
 " You might a' married any time, I didn't hinder of you, 
 Prince." 
 
 " Jes hear to her. She talks to me, jes as if I wur as 
 onprincipled as a white man. Me leave you ! no, Coral, 
 Prince William Henry thinks more of hisself than that. 
 You may 'pulse me, and 'pull me, and 'spect me wrongfully,
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 481 
 
 ns yon has been a doin' of, an' you might trample on me, 
 and beat me, and kick me, as, meteorlogically speaking, you 
 has been a doin' of, but it ain't no good. I keep on a 
 lovin' of you same as ever, an' even samer ; there ain't no 
 dog on Marster's plantation no more faithfuller than what 
 I am, and that sayin' of a great deal and you 'spicionin' 
 of me so bad all along." 
 
 " I'm sorry I '.spected of you, Prince, 'deed I am ; but 
 'deed you did wrongfully, 'deed you did, Prince, in not 
 lettin' on 'bout your own 'spicions of him, 'deed you did, 
 Prince. It made you look so guilty to them as loved 
 you well enough to see your looks. It made me 'spect 
 you, an' it 'mos' broke my poor heart, 'deed it did, 
 Prince." 
 
 " Now you sees how it was." 
 
 " No, I don't, Prince. I sees how everybody ought for 
 to do 'cisely right." 
 
 " But I did do right. How could I be sure hox it was, 
 and" 
 
 " Hush, Prince I hush, Prince I you shan't stan' there a 
 'fendin' of yourself when you ought for to be 'pentin' in sack- 
 cloth an' ashes. I ses agin' it's everybody's dooty to shet 
 theer eyes and do 'cisely right without ever lookin' to see 
 what's gwine for to be the end of it." 
 
 " But let me 'xpound and 'xplain to you how it wor, 
 Corry ?" 
 
 " It's no use, Prince. You've 'xpounded and 'xplained 
 over an' again, and the more you 'xpound and 'xplain the 
 more worser I can't help thinkin' of it." 
 
 " That wasn't a ca'se I haddent the right on my side, but 
 a ca'se I wur an undeffunt bad lawyer; but ef you'll on'y 
 hear me argafy the subjec' and 'scuss the 'scussion over 
 again " 
 
 " It's not a bit o' use, Prince."
 
 482 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 " I will speak ! So jes listen, Corry. I known yum 
 oldest half-brother " 
 
 " Don't keep calling of him my half-brother ; he was 
 none of my mother's chile, an' so I don't b'lieve he was 
 ai:; kin to me at all. I feel like I knew he wd'ri't. I could 
 a'most stake my mortal soul on it. No one as had a drop 
 o' the same blood as I have in their veins could 'a been such 
 a oh, such a I don't know what name is bad enough. 
 Sometimes I doubts he was a human at all Sometimes I 
 thinks he must a' been an evil sperit in the body of a man." 
 
 "That you may 'pend upon it he was, Coral. All of 
 as is either good sperits, or bad sperits, or jack indef- 
 funt sperits in the human form at las' and no mir'cle 
 either but I wur sayin' that I known Abram well, bet- 
 ter nor anybody else. I known him when a chile he'd 
 hole the madness in his heart for months 'an months to- 
 gether, an' never let on 'till he got a chance to spite them, 
 as he was mad 'long of. So when I heern how he wui 
 treated of bad enough that I gree' to !" 
 
 " Yes ! but that was not the fault of my dear, angel 
 young mistress, who he 'stroyed so innocen." 
 
 " No more it wa'n't but it wur the fault of that bloody 
 minded ole Adam Hawk, her father's overseer ! an' spite 
 is blind and crazy as a mad dog, and it '11 tear to pieces 
 one person jes soon as another. Well ! as I was a savin' 
 of don' keep on interruptin' me when I heern how he'd 
 been treated of, and how he'd runned away, I said to my- 
 self how he'd never res' till he'd spited the farn'ly. / wur 
 nothin' more 'an a b'y then myself, and you wur a little gal 
 chile an' neither of us had thought 'bout keepin' company 
 'long o' one another. Well, so as years went by an' nothin' 
 raois was heern tell o' Abram, an' as I had courtin' an' 
 other 'portant business to 'tend to, it was nat'ral 'nough 
 f .hat he should o' scaped out'n my memorandum, an' so he
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 483 
 
 did 'plelely 'till when Marster Cap'n Carey wur waylaid an' 
 'stroyed, and nobody couldn't tell by whom, I thought 'bout 
 Abram and his spiteful ways, an' then, Coral, the first 
 'spicion came into my heart, an' it made me so onhappy and 
 so oneasy I didn't know what tew do. Sometimes J thought 
 how it was my duty to let on 'bout my thoughts, an' some- 
 times I thought how it wa'u't, ca'se, you see, arter all, I 
 had no foundation to go 'pon but my own 'spicions an' 
 finally it wore and tore 'pon my min' so, that every time I 
 heern Cap'n Carey mention' it turn'd me right sick, an' you 
 noticed of it, an' you 'gan for to 'spect me o' knowin' some- 
 thin' bout it, an' you cooled off from me. Meantime that 
 lack was made on Miss Mary, and then, Coral, you actilly 
 turned ill, an' that made me worse, for, Coral, 'deed an' 
 'deed / never did 'spect Abram of that 'normous wicked- 
 ness ! I didn't, indeed 'sides which, you know, I had no 
 reason to do it. I hadn't heern anything o' Abram for years 
 gone past deed I thought mor' it wur a chance shot fired 
 by some sportsman gentleman, 'deed I did ! an' so did 
 everybody else, an' even Miss Mary herself." 
 
 " Yes ! for what did she the dear angel I know of such 
 wickedness ?" 
 
 " Well, Coral, a short time after that, when I can't call 
 the day, the black day, without a chill well I say when 
 dear Miss Mary fell a sacrifice to that devil's spite." 
 
 " And to your want of courage." 
 
 " No, no ! no, no ! not that ! 'fore my heavenly Judge I 
 ntver 'spected him of any design ag'inst Miss Mary. 
 Well, but arter that, 1 suffered horrible 1 'deed I did, 
 Coral ! without your castin' of me off intirely as yon did ! 
 Yes, I suffered horrible 1 for the 'spicion wore on my heart, 
 an' it wore on it 'till I was almos' crazy. If there hud 'a 
 been the least bit of evidence beyant my own feelin', I'd a 
 known what to do, but there wur nothing but my own in-
 
 484 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 Btinctorative feelin', an' that might a' been all a -stake o' 
 mine 1 an' the notion might o' been put into my head by 
 Sara an' for me to go an' cast a 'spicion on your brother, 
 Coral, and fetch a 'grace on your fam'ly, and break your 
 heart well as I loved you ! it seem like it wur onpossible 
 elsewise I had had more light 'an I had an' then a har- 
 berin' of the evil thought in my heart weighed down my 
 consciousness like blood-guiltiness, an' what long o' one 
 thing an' what long o' another an' what long o' havin' 
 nobody to 'spite in ca'se you 'ceive yourself ef I had let 
 on to anybody, they'd a' acted right on top of it, an' what 
 long o' your castin' me off an' 'spicionin' of me, I was 
 almos' druv crazy, an' a most wished I had been born a 
 Roman, so I might o' fessed to a priest who would o' 
 'vised me, an' been boun' not to tell. Oh ! I had a hun- 
 dred thousand milliont of thoughts that amost racked my 
 head an' heart to pieces, cause they wur so nnconsistin', for 
 sometimes I thought my 'spicion was all a wicked 'ception 
 o' the devil, an' sometime I thought there might be truffe 
 in it, but that long as he had never been heern tell of so 
 long an' was clean gone, an' couldn't be cotch, an' no one 
 was 'cused and in danger o' sufferin' for his 'fence if he 
 did 'fend it wa'n't no use to say nothin' 'bout my thoughts, 
 an' 'cuse your brother, an' 'grace your fam'ly, an' mistify 
 your feelin's for nothin'. Well, and then I thought, too, 
 hew he might be cotch an' might be innocen', and then all 
 along o' my wicked thoughts he might be hung upon 
 substantial inference, or whatever the law is called which 
 'demns men for not 'mitting the crime an' then I knew ef 
 that came to pass it would break your heart to have your 
 brother come to such an en', an' then I should jes a bought 
 my freedom an' cut my own throat !" 
 
 " Look a here, Prince ! he wasn't my brother, an' you'll 
 'fen' me if you say he was, agin ! there 1"
 
 COKAL AND PRINCE. 485 
 
 " Well, but ain't you satisfied now, Coral I" 
 
 " I don't know, Prince. I know I ought to be ! poor 
 fellow 1 you have suffered so much 1" 
 
 " You may say that ! I could not keep altogether silent, 
 neither for one day I axes Mr. Hawk what he thinks has 
 ever come of runaway Abram an' I 'clare to my Lord ef 
 he didn't give a sudden jump an' I seen that from that 
 day, he had his 'spicions 'roused. He questioned of me, 
 but I 'clared to. my Lord what was the truffe, that I had 
 never set eyes on Abram or hearn a single word of him 
 since the day an' hour he ran away ! an' that I stuck to ! 
 Come, Coral, ain't you satisfied now?" 
 
 " Oh, Prince ! poor fellow." 
 
 " Won't you make frien's long o' me for true, now, Coral ?" 
 
 " Oh, Prince, you know I suffered all along as much as 
 you did for see what a merry girl I used to was, an' what 
 a sad woman I have been ever since," 
 
 " Well, it isn't too late to be happy yet we'll make up 
 for loss time." 
 
 " Oh, a great deal of time, Prince ! twenty years. 
 Twenty years makes a very great deffunce in people's feel- 
 in's. I'm an old maid now I'm thirty-five years old I 
 was but fifteen when we were going to be married, an' 
 broke off" 
 
 " Never min'. Let's go to church Sunday." 
 
 " 'Taint worth while now. I'm an old maid now," re- 
 peated Coral, sadly. 
 
 " Well, s'posin' you is I ain't a been growin' younger 
 all this time, as I knows of. Come, Coral, now come ! just 
 'sent to this. Go to church 'long o' me, Sunday." 
 
 " It ain't no use, Prince, now ; 'sides, all the neighbors 
 would langh at us, an' call ns two old fools." 
 
 "Well, let 'em laugh ! This is a very sighin' worl', an' 
 any body a? raises a Inng-h 'forms a 'ligious duty that's ray 
 30
 
 486 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 belief 'sides which, they won't laugh at us forty or fifty 
 years on the stretch, I reckon, an' that's the length o' time 
 I 'spects to 'joy my life 'long o' you, Coral. Come, Coral, 
 answer me." 
 
 " I shall have to answer yon, ef it's only to get you off to 
 see after master's comforts agin he comes.'' 
 
 "Well, why don't you do it." 
 
 " Well, then, Prince, I'll speak to Miss Ginnie when she 
 comes, an' do you talk 'long o' master, an' ef they two don't 
 see any thing foolish or unproper in our gettin' married at our 
 time o' life, why, 'haps min', I say 'haps I'll 'sider of it." 
 
 " Thanky, Coral ! thanky. I knew you would listen to 
 reason at las' " 
 
 "There! Go along, Prince ! don't be a fool. There! 
 I do believe that's them now," said Coral, as the sound of 
 wheels rolling up the carriage drive was heard. 
 
 " So it is, I 'clare !" said Prince, hurrying out to open 
 the front door. 
 
 The whole party, consisting of Judge Washington, Vir- 
 ginia, Joseph Carey, Lord Cliffe, Magdalene, and Theodore 
 Hervey, entered the house, and were received by Coral in 
 her capacity of housekeeper, who, with one of the maids, 
 stood in readiness to attend the ladies to their chambers to 
 change their traveling habits. Prince rendered the same 
 service to the gentlemen. 
 
 In an hour after they were all assembled around the sup- 
 per-table. 
 
 Their day's journey had been a short one, so that they 
 were not constrained to retire early upon account of fatigue, 
 and the long evening was passed very pleasantly in the sa- 
 loon. 
 
 It was not until the next morning, after breakfast, that 
 Judge Washington, as he sat in his library, asked for 
 Adam Hawk, and wsis told that he had departed in haste
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 487 
 
 to St. Leonard's the day before. While still inquiring into 
 the object of his errand, he was interrupted by a 'ow knock 
 at the. door, and in compliance with his verbal permission 
 to " come in," Adaiu Hawk entered. At a sign from his 
 overseer, Judge Washington dismissed his attendant, and 
 locked the door. Judge Washington and Adam Hawk re- 
 mained in close confidential conversation for the space of 
 an hour. At the end of that t!me, without dismissing his 
 overseer, he rang for a servant, and sent and requested the 
 immediate presence of Lord Cliffe, Mr. Carey, and Mr. Har- 
 vey. When these gentlemen came in he begged them to be 
 seated, and taking from the table by his side a written 
 ind folded paper, he said, 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have desired your presence here, this 
 norning, for the purpose of making known to you a grave 
 and important event which has relieved us all of a heavy 
 and most painful responsibility. Gentlemen, the prisoner, 
 Abram Pepper, committed upon Mr. Carey's testimony to 
 answer the charge of assault and battery, with intent to 
 kill Lord Cliffe, and suspected also of other and more hein- 
 ous crimes of longer standing date has been to-day ar- 
 raigned before a higher tribunal. He departed this life at 
 four o'clock this morning in the county jail at St. Leon- 
 ard's, having previously made a full confession of all the 
 crimes laid to his charge. I hold an attested copy of that 
 confession in my hand, and painful as the perusal must be 
 to us all, you will permit me to read it aloud." 
 
 This confession was a narrative of all the circumstances 
 with which the reader has been recently made acquainted. 
 While this scene was transpiring in the library, Coral was 
 literally sitting at the feet of her young mistress, telling the 
 story of her troubles, perplexities, and scruples, omitting 
 every thing, however, that could give Virginia pain, and 
 speaking only of long misapprehension long estrangement
 
 4:88 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 and recent reconciliation, and asking Miss Ginnie's advic* 
 about the propriety of being married at their " time of life." 
 
 " Yes, Coral, marry him," was Ginnie's good-natured 
 verdict. 
 
 That morning Theodore Hervey intended to set out for 
 the Old Forest Parsonage, for the purpose of seeing and 
 spending some time with his parent, and sister. After he 
 had bidden adieu to each member ol the family, with the 
 exception of Joseph Carey, he turned to shake hands with 
 him but Joseph, arising from his seat, said, 
 
 "No, Theodore, I will ride with you," and with a bow 
 around, he left the room in company with his friend. 
 
 They mounted at the stables, and as they trotted side by 
 side up the road, leading around by the back of the house, 
 and through the forest toward the parsonage, Theodore said, 
 
 " Well, Joseph, have you considered my proposal ?" 
 
 " I must answer your question by another have you 
 maturely deliberated upon your proposal ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And what is your present state of feeling upon the sub- 
 ject ?" 
 
 " More anxious in favor of it than ever ! My heart is 
 set upon going, Joseph I / must, I must set myself to 
 some high and holy task throw myself into some soul- 
 absorbing work, or I shall madden !" 
 
 "Pardon me for so many close questions, dear Theodore, 
 but where inclination would bias me so strongly, I must be 
 guarded at all points, lest to secure a happiness for myself 
 I trample upon the rights and the feelings of others this 
 is what I am about to ask have you consulted your 
 parents upon this proposed movement of yours? I know 
 that you are ' of age,' indeed, but I know of no age that 
 exonerates you from consulting your parents' happiness in 
 any step of yours."
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 489 
 
 " My father and mother are in the prime of life they 
 are fondly attached to each other ; they do not need me at 
 all if they did, I would remain with them at any cost of 
 suffering to myself but it is not so ! And I, on my part, 
 need, as a lifegiver, change of scene and action absorb- 
 ing duty 1 Do you only consent, Joseph, and they will." 
 
 " You must remember that our plan I say our, now, 
 Theodore requires the assent of the Board of Foreign 
 Missions." 
 
 "Your influence can command that." 
 
 " I think that they will agree to any thing I propose 
 and I think that for the next few years I can, with the help 
 of the Lord, be most useful to the cause by remaining in 
 America, and trying to arouse and keep alive in the Chris- 
 tian community an interest in Foreign Missions. I think 
 so unless inclination strongly biases my judgment, which 
 I trust in God it is not permitted to do." 
 
 Joseph Carey spoke in all sincerity and simplicity, and 
 Theodore said 
 
 " Well ! your final determination, dear Joseph I am so 
 anxious to be set at rest." 
 
 "As far as I am concerned, then, you may consider the 
 arrangement concluded, and that you are to go out to India 
 in my stead. Don't clasp and press my hand, Theodore. 
 I feel already like your executioner !" 
 
 " Oh, not so ! I am too glad to go !" 
 
 After a little further conversation, Joseph Carey pro- 
 mised to write to the Board of Foreign Missions, expressing 
 his wish to resign his post for the present in favor of the 
 Rev. Theodore Hervey, and strongly recommending the 
 latter to the high consideration and respect of the Board. 
 Soon after this they reached the door of the Parsonage. 
 Joseph Carey turned to bid adieu to his friend, with the 
 intention of riding back to Prospect Hall but at Theo-
 
 90 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 dore's invitation and earnest entreaty, he dismounted, entered 
 the house, and spent the evening with the family. 
 
 A fortnight from this time, Joseph Carey received a favor- 
 able reply from the Secretary of the Board of Foreign Mis- 
 sions, and hastened with the letter to the parsonage. And 
 now, for the first time, Theodore Hervey broached the subject 
 to his family. His parents were not in the least surprised at 
 the news nor did they, in the slightest degree, disapprove of 
 the proposed measure ; they said that, of late years, they 
 had marked out between themselves just such a career for 
 Theodore and Helen for that Helen must wish to go with 
 her brother ; and that, considering the brother and sister 
 singularly adapted to the work, they could not object. 
 
 "Yes, Theodore," said Helen, passing her arm around 
 his neck, " yes, Theodore ! You shall not go alone ! I 
 will accompany you, my dear brother !" 
 
 " But our mother and father, Helen, how can you think 
 of leaving them ?" asked Theodore, when the first effect of 
 the astonishment that had stricken him silent was at an 
 end. 
 
 " Our mother and father are all in all to each other, 
 Theodore. They do not need me to make them happy. 
 If I were married they would lose me all the same, and to 
 a stranger ! Besides, they love you so well, dear Theodore, 
 that they would much prefer to have me go with you." 
 
 "Yes, Theodore," interposed the mother, "we should be 
 much happier to know that Helen was with you, assisting, 
 comforting, and cheering you, than even to have her at 
 home !" 
 
 " But to lose both of your children, my dear mother !" 
 
 " I have their father, child." 
 
 " And she will have you also, by-and-by. You will both 
 return to us in happier times," said the father. 
 
 There was much more conversation but finally it was
 
 CORAL AND PRINCE. 491 
 
 agroed on all hands, that the brother and sister should go 
 >nt to India in company. 
 
 This plan met Joseph Carey's highest approval. 
 
 It was now spring, and the missionaries to India were 
 to sail early in the summer. It was now, therefore, ar- 
 ranged that the marriage of Joseph Carey and Virginia 
 Washington should take place at an early day, as Joseph 
 was anxious that his friend, Mr. Hervey, should not only 
 be present at his marriage, but perform the ceremony, and 
 as Theodore was equally desirous of officiating. 
 
 Lord and Lady Cliffe yielded to the solicitations of their 
 friends, and consented to remain at Prospect Hall until 
 after the wedding. 
 
 It was on the first of May, in the presence of a small but 
 select company, that Joseph Carey and Virginia Wash- 
 ington were united in marriage by the Rev. Theodore 
 Hervey. 
 
 On the seventh of the next month, Theodore and Helen 
 Hervey sailed for India. 
 
 And upon the fifteenth, Lord and Lady Cliffe, bidding 
 adieu to their friends, set out for Norfolk, whence they 
 embarked for England.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 "Of the present much is bright, 
 
 And in the coming years I see, 
 A brilliant and a cheering light, 
 
 Which burns before you constantly." W. D. Gallayner. 
 
 I 
 
 " CATASTROPHES, denouements, et cetera, are violent or 
 extraordinary events, occurring but once in a book or a 
 lifetime : give us an after-glimpse of the family," said a dear 
 friend to me, the other day ; and as her request was sec- 
 onded and enforced by several other voices, and as no one 
 filtered a demurrer, I comply by giving a short account 
 of the last time I had the happiness of meeting the people 
 in whose "fortunes, good or bad," I have been trying to 
 interest yon. 
 
 It was the first of September, and the season at Shan- 
 nondale Springs where we had been spending the sum- 
 mer was just over. Being very unwilling to return to 
 the dust and heat of Washington city in the hottest and 
 dryest month of the year, we were casting about for a 
 healthy, retired, and comfortable country-house in which to 
 board during September, when our eyes were attracted to 
 a notice of a great Agricultural Fair, then being held at 
 the village of Heathville, near the sea-coast. And as we 
 had never had the benefit of seeing such a festival, we de- 
 cided to go to Heathville, where we could first receive the 
 pleasure and instruction to be derived from witnessing such 
 an exhibition, and afterward, for a month, the comfort, 
 (492)
 
 CONCLUSION. 498 
 
 8'. elusion, and repose we required. Our arrangements were 
 all soon completed, and we set out. 
 
 It was late on Friday night when we arrived at the hotel 
 at Heathville, which we found crowded with company from 
 all parts of the State not a fashionable company, such as 
 annually throngs to the watering places but one composed 
 of substantial farmers, gentlemen planters, thrifty house- 
 keepers, and industrious girls, all emulous of distinction iu 
 their different but kindred spheres of farming, grazing, 
 stock-breeding, home manufactures, and domestic economy. 
 We heard that the next day, Saturday, was the last day of 
 the Fair. The next morning was gorgeously bright, the 
 village presented a most cheerful and animated appear- 
 ance, the streets were filled with people in their gay holiday 
 attire, and the green around the Tillage was " lit up" with 
 dazzling white tents. At a greater distance were enclos- 
 ures, occupied by very fine-looking show cattle. We were 
 informed that farmers and planters within twelve miles or 
 so, came with their families every morning, and departed 
 every night. Those only who came from greater distances 
 put up in the village some boarding at the hotel, some 
 living in tents. 
 
 After an early breakfast we walked to the temporary 
 building in which the Fair was held. 
 
 It was an open shed in the form of the letter M, having 
 a middle principal entrance, and one each side. The roof, 
 instead of being covered with boards, was thatched with 
 cedar, pine, and lignum vitce; the posts supporting the roof 
 were wound around and completely hidden by the same 
 brilliant evergreens ; the whole erection presented the ap- 
 pearance of a vast, beautiful temple, covered entirely with 
 foliage. Over the arch of the main entrance was the 
 motto "LIBERTY AND UNION;" over the right-hand en- 
 trance were the words " Friendship, Truth, Love ;" over
 
 49-i THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 the left "Labor, Hope, Patience." The mottoes, all in 
 letters formed of silver stars, flashed brightly out from the 
 dark surrounding foliage. 
 
 All in, and out, and around about this Temple of Ceres, 
 were crowds of gayly-dressed men, women, and children. 
 It was indeed a joyous and inspiring scene ; and if the 
 temple was, of its kind, grand and beautiful without, what 
 was it, with all its appointments, within ? In truth, it passes 
 description. 
 
 Here were stalls gayly decked with flowers and ever- 
 greens, or with festoons of 'cloths and flags, and here was 
 the perfection of every variety of fruit and flowers the 
 climate and soil could be made to produce, and the master- 
 pieces of every description of home manufacture, for which 
 the housekeepers of Virginia are distinguished not in 
 confusion, but all arranged in systematic and beautiful 
 order. 
 
 We were rambling on through the Fair, dazzled and 
 bewildered by the exuberant abundance, and admiring the 
 master-pieces of skill and industry, when our attention was 
 attracted and riveted by one stall, pre-eminent for the taste 
 and elegance of its arrangements, as well as for the wealth 
 of its industrial display. 
 
 This stall was divided into three compartments. On the 
 centre was arranged specimens of domestic cookery a 
 premium ham, a medal loaf of bread, butter, cakes, sweet- 
 meats, etc. On the right hand were exhibited fruits and 
 flowers. On the left hand, specimens of home manufacture, 
 webs of cotton, woolen and linen cloth, quilts, hosiery, etc. 
 But the crowning glory of this compartment, and, indeed, of 
 the whole stall, and perhaps of the whole Fair, was an 
 elegant white-knotted counterpane, with a deep, rich fringe, 
 that was displayed to great advantage by being hung in 
 graceful fesioons behind the stall. This stall was at present
 
 CONCLUSION. 495 
 
 attended by a genteel-looking mulatto servant, with two 
 assistants. The back of the former happened to be turned 
 toward us, yet still we thought that there was something 
 familiar in her general appearance and air. She turned 
 around, and we recognized Coral Pepper, now a buxom, 
 middle-aged, motherly-looking matron. As she looked up, 
 and our eyes met, and we both smiled, and we had just 
 spoken to her, when our attention was suddenly attracted, 
 and our interest strongly excited in another direction. 
 " That is very beautiful ! I do so much admire to see a 
 mother, still so young and beautiful as Mrs. Carey, escorted 
 by her son," said a voice at my elbow, and J turned to see 
 a truly lovely and lovable pair, slowly, but smilingly, mak- 
 ing their way through the crowd toward us. It was Vir- 
 ginia Carey and her eldest son ; there was, indeed, no mis- 
 taking that beautiful face, with its clear eyes serenely shin- 
 ing with the light of love and quiet joy. Time had been, 
 as every one else felt constrained to see, very good to Vir- 
 ginia he had taken nothing, but given every thing. Her 
 graceful form had acquired the very contour that it had 
 wanted ; her once intensely-brilliant complexion was of a 
 more delicate, roseate shade, but then her cheek was rounder, 
 and her golden-red hair, that still hung in superb masses of 
 ringlets down each side her face, was now of a richer and 
 darker hue, approaching a warm, brilliant auburn. She was 
 tastefully dressed for the occasion, in a mazarine-blue cash- 
 mere habit, and a drawn-silk bonnet, of the same color and 
 shade. In less time than I have taken to describe her, she 
 had reached the stall, and warmly grasped the hand I had 
 held out to greet her. 
 
 " Is Mr Carey here ?" I inquired. 
 
 " No, he is particularly engaged at home with some of 
 bis friends. Indeed, I myself should not have left them 
 to-day, except for my stall ; but here is his representative,
 
 49(5 THE TWO SISTERS. 
 
 who, though but twelve years old, is so well grown as to 
 be as tall as his mother. My eldest son, Washington 
 Carey," she added, playfully presenting the lad. " Come 
 home with me this evening, and I will show you his three 
 brothers and his sister, all strangers to you, but then I will 
 also introduce you to some old acquaintances, who are now 
 on a visit to us." 
 
 Of course, reader, you know I went. 
 
 We set out early, and reached Prospect Plains in good 
 season. After changing our traveling habits, we entered 
 the drawing-room, which was cheerfully lighted up. and 
 then occupied by three ladies only, in two of whom I 
 respectively recognized Lady Cliffe and Helen Hervey. 
 The third was a stranger. Lady Cliffe was the same 
 magnificent and imposing woman we had formerly known 
 her to be. Helen Hervey looked so healthful and beautiful, 
 that I should scarcely have recognized her, but for the 
 peculiar individuality of countenance, the midnight eyes, 
 eyebro-v? an <j hair. I was surprised and delighted when 
 Helen was introduced to me as " Mrs. Shields," and my 
 surprise and delight were complete, when the strange lady, 
 a lovely, intellectual, and devout-looking girl was presented 
 as " Mrs. Theodore Hervey." 
 
 Soon after these mutual introductions were over, the 
 gentlemen of the party, consisting of Lord Cliffe, Mr. 
 Hervey, Mr. Carey, and Judge Washington, now a very 
 white-headed but hale old gentleman, entered from the 
 dining-room, and then conversation became general. 
 
 As soon as every one was engaged, and I found myself 
 in a distant corner with Mrs. Carey, she gave me these 
 particulars : That Theodore and Helen Hervey, after many 
 years' absence, had returned to visit their native country 
 and their parents. That at Richmond, Theodore had 
 renewed an acquaintance with a young lady, the daughter
 
 CONCLUSION. 497 
 
 of Major Lincoln, which acquaintance had ripened into a 
 mutual, deep, and lasting esteem and affection ; and that 
 they had been recently married, and were to go out to 
 India in the spring. That Helen, having attained robust 
 health, and being superseded in her office of consoler to 
 her brother, had at last rewarded the lohg and faithful 
 attachment of Broke Shields. They lived with the old 
 parents at the parsonage. They were present at the hall 
 to meet Lord and Lady Cliffe, who had just arrived from 
 England on a visit. That Lord and Lady Cliffe would 
 spend the autumn, winter, and spring, at Prospect Plains. 
 That in the early part of the summer, they would sail for 
 England. 
 
 " And," added Ginnie, in conclusion, "we are all going 
 with them, to be present at the World's Fair, with the 
 Lord's blessing." 
 
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