St. Vincents Hall 
 O'Connor Sanitarium
 
 Pnmthplrr* 
 
 MR. ANNKSLKY FOUND IT WAS TIME TO GO. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 MOETON HOUSE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 
 THE AUTHOK OF "YALEKIE AYLMER." 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 72 FIFTH AVENUE. 
 1895.
 
 ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 St Viacom Kail 
 0'Conaor 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 1'AGB 
 
 I. OUT OF THE DTT8K ... 1 
 
 ii. MR. WARWICK'S GHOST . 7 
 
 III. PAULINE MORTON . . .11 
 
 IV. WHAT MRS. ANNE8LEY DID . 14 
 
 V. AFTER TWENTY YEARS . . 19 
 
 TI. WHAT MORTON SAID . . 26 
 
 Til. HOW A PALADIN STORMED A 
 
 OASTLE .... 30 
 
 VIII. THE ADELAIDE ... 37 
 
 IX. MR. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER 42 
 
 X. THE GORDON PLAID ... 49 
 
 XI. AT MORTON HOUSE . . 63 
 
 XII. THE TUG OF WAR ... 58 
 
 XIII. MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE 62 
 
 XIV. R. G. 69 
 
 XV. MERRY CHRISTMAS . . 74 
 
 XVI. ST. CECILIA .... 80 
 
 XVII. THE APPLE OF DISCORD . 85 
 
 XVIII. ST. JOHN .... 91 
 
 XIX. YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU 97 
 
 xx. MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT . 103 
 
 XXI. MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD 110 
 XXn. SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND- 
 SEEK 115 
 
 XXIII. A MORNING-CALL . 122 
 
 XXIV. OLD FOE8 .... 126 
 
 xxv. MORTON'S CHOICE . . 133 
 
 XXVI. MR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF 138 
 
 xxvn. MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION 142 
 
 XXVIII. ON GUARD .... 149 
 
 XXIX. THE SICK LADY . . 153 
 
 XXX. AN OLD FRIEND . . .161 
 
 XXXI. FATHER MARTIN . . 168 
 XXXII. LIFE AND DEATH . .173 
 
 xxxin. MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION 180 
 xxxiv. MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGA- 
 TION 184 
 
 XXXV. TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUE 191 
 
 XXXVI. CHECKMATED . . . 200 
 
 XXXVII. TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL . 206 
 
 XXXVIII. MEA CULPA .... 213 
 
 xxxix. MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY . 221 
 
 XL. GOOD SAMARITANS . . 227 
 
 XLI. THE LAST DEFIANCE . 234 
 
 XLII. ON THE THRESHOLD OF MOR- 
 TON HOUSE . . . 241 
 XLIII. THE VALLEY OF THE SHAD- 
 OW OF DEATH . . 247 
 XLIV. IN THE DAWN . . . 252 
 XLV. A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL 259 
 
 2047353
 
 MORTON HOUSE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OUT OF THE DUSK. 
 
 IT was drawing toward the close of a soft 
 November day, some thirty years ago, when the 
 Bound of children's merry laughter burst sud- 
 denly into the quiet garden of a quiet house, 
 situated on the outskirts of the moderately-sized 
 Tillage of Tallahoma, in the populous and wealthy 
 county of Lagrange. The sun had gone down, 
 leaving behind him broken masses of gorgeously- 
 tinted clouals, which were forming themselves into 
 fanciful shapes of mountains and castles, while 
 over the distant landscape the brooding haze of 
 the Indian summer began to melt into the deeper 
 purple of the gloaming; and the peculiar cool- 
 ness that betokens coming frost, to make itself 
 perceptibly felt in the pearly atmosphere. It 
 was only the first of the month, and as yet but 
 few of the trees had shed their leaves. The 
 russet of the oaks, the pale yellow of the elms, 
 the burning scarlet of the maples, and the vivid 
 gold of the chestnuts, were all in their glory, and 
 formed a bright autumnal background for the 
 sober house which overshadowed the blooming 
 garden, and the noisy groups that were scamper- 
 ing up and down its paths. 
 
 Very noisy groups they were ; and yet their 
 noise did not seem at all disturbing to a young 
 girl who had followed them o it, and stood lean- 
 ing over the low garden-gate, while they played 
 hide-and-seek among the rose-bushes. Perhaps 
 this noise had grown an accustomed thing to her 
 ears, as a great deal of it was her daily portion ; 
 or, perhaps, she liked children well enough to 
 like even this their most disagreeable attribute 
 
 a conclusion devoutly to be wished by all in- 
 terested in her welfare, since Fate had made of 
 her that much-tried being, a governess. At al\ 
 events she did not heed it in the least. The 
 worse than Mohawk yells of uproarious Dick, 
 the squabbling of Jack and Katy, the indignant 
 remonstrances of elder Sara, and even the lifting 
 up of baby Nelly's voice in injured weeping, 
 were all unnoticed by their young teacher, who 
 kept her eyes steadily fastened on the distant 
 horizon, where the line of dark woods melted 
 into the hazy atmosphere, and the pale-blue 
 smoke curled upward from several unseen chim- 
 neys. Not that Miss Tresham did not hear the 
 various disturbances. But, even in the school- 
 room, she ignored a great deal, for peace' sake , 
 and, once out of that durance vile, she left the 
 children much to themselves giving them, in 
 unimportant matters, that blessed freedom of 
 conduct and speech which no human creature 
 is too young or too ignorant to appreciate. 
 
 She was a stately creature, this Katharine 
 Tresham ; and one of the women who possess a 
 power of attraction quite apart from personal 
 gifts. Her face was not a beautiful one, by any 
 means ; yet few beautiful faces pleased either so 
 well or so long as this, notwithstanding its faults. 
 The gray eyes were very clear and honest in their 
 glance, but there was none of the sunny gleam 
 of violet orbs, or the dusky splendor which dwells 
 in dark ones ; the complexion was very fair and 
 pure, but rather pale, unless some quick emotion 
 or pleasurable excitement, sent a clear carmine 
 glow to the cheeks ; the nose was straight and 
 delicate, but not in the least classical ; and, if 
 the mouth was all that a mouth could or should 
 be, the unusual squareness of the chin gave a
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 finish to the face that was far from adding to its 
 symmetry. Still, no one could deny that Miss 
 Tresham was handsome handsome in a very 
 striking and aristocratic style that her hands 
 and feet were irreproachable in size and shape, 
 that her lithe, slender figure was so well devel- 
 oped that not even an artist could have wished 
 for it a pound of flesh either more or less ; and 
 that she carried herself with a very distinguished 
 manner. Most women, looking in their mirror 
 at a face so fair and a form so noble, would have 
 been tempted to murmur at the fate which had 
 dealt with them so hardly ; but this was the one 
 point wherein Katharine Tresham proved her- 
 self something more than mediocre. She did not 
 indulge any vain regrets, or still more vain aspi- 
 rations ; she did not mourn any withered hopes, 
 or bewail any blighted existence : but she took 
 life as she found it, and bore its burden with a 
 courage as cheerful as it was patient. Her em- 
 ployers were always kind and considerate, the 
 children were warmly attached to her, she was 
 beyond the reach of storms that had once beat 
 very roughly on her head ; and as her disposition 
 a disposition more to be prized than gold or 
 precious stones was eminently one of content, 
 she furled her sails, and rested quietly in the 
 pleasant haven into which she had drifted, where 
 the sea was smooth beneath, and the sky was 
 bright above her. No genius, the reader will 
 perceive ; no unsatisfied yearning being, full of 
 repressed passion and morbid longings ; only a 
 brave, bright young gentlewoman, who was 
 Christian enough to be satisfied that God knew 
 what was best for her ; who took the good He 
 gave, with grateful heart, and rarely murmured 
 at the ill. 
 
 She was leaning over the gate now, softly 
 singing to herself a verse of song, and gazing 
 over the scene before her, with eyes that took in 
 and enjoyed all its beauty. But, after a while, 
 the children began a game very near, and sent 
 their shouts ringing through the clear autumn 
 air, with such hearty good-will, that the young 
 governess was fain to put wider space between 
 herself and their merriment. So she turned 
 away, and began pacing up and down a shel- 
 tered walk a walk bounded on one side by the 
 garden-fence and a hedge of Cherokee rose, on 
 the other by tall gooseberry-bushes. A bright- 
 red glow of the flaming western sky fell over 
 her as she moved to and fro, lighting up her 
 rich brown hair, her clear, bright eyes, and her 
 tall, slender figure, and making a very attractive 
 picture of youth and grace, in the midst of the 
 
 lovely autumn scene. At length, she drew <\ 
 small volume from her pocket and began to read. 
 Thirty years ago. Tennyson's fame was yet young 
 not so young, however, but that, even in the 
 backwoods of America, men had heard his 
 name ; and the girl who paced up and down the 
 garden on that soft Indian summer evening, was 
 steeping her soul in the beauty and music of 
 those early poems which no after-efforts can 
 ever supplant in our hearts. Enthralled in the 
 sweeping rhythm, it was rather hard to be sud- 
 denly recalled to commonplace reality by a 
 child's eager, uplifted voice. 
 < " Miss Tresham, Miss Tresham ! " sounded the 
 cry, " Look, oh, look, what a pretty horse Mr. 
 Annesley's on ! May I please may I ask him 
 to give me a ride ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Miss Tresham, 
 speaking with great decision, but without look- 
 ing up from her book. " Katy, you know your 
 mother forbade your ever again asking Mr. 
 Annesley for a ride." 
 
 " But she did not forbid her taking a ride if 
 Mr. Annesley asked her, did she ? " said a gay 
 voice ; and the next moment there appeared al 
 the end of Katharine's walk, between the Chero- 
 kee hedge and the gooseberry-bushes, a slender, 
 handsome young cavalier, in riding-boots and 
 spurs, who stood with Katy mounted triumph- 
 antly on his shoulder, one tiny hand clutching 
 nervously at his coat-collar, and her blond ring- 
 lets falling in a golden shower upon his crisp 
 dark curls. 
 
 " No, I don't think she forbade that," Katha- 
 rine replied, looking up with a smile, whether 
 merely of recognition, or of welcome also, it was 
 hard to say. " But indeed you are spoiling that 
 child dreadfully, Mr. Annesley ! She never sees 
 you that she does not expect some marked atten- 
 tion, and almost breaks her heart when you do 
 not notice her." 
 
 " And do I ever fail to notice her when I 
 see her ? " asked he, swinging Katy to the 
 ground, and coming nearer to Katharine seem 
 ing, at the same time, to bring sunshine with 
 him in his hazel eyes and brilliant smile. "I. 
 am sure I am always very attentive am I not, 
 my little coquette ? " 
 
 The little .coquette said " Yes," very prompt, 
 ly ; but Miss Tresham shook her head. 
 
 " It seems I must refresh Katy's memory," 
 she said. " You^vould scarcely believe that the 
 other afternoon last week some time, I believe 
 it was she cried all the way home because you 
 passed her without notice, when you were accom-
 
 OUT OF THE DUSK. 
 
 panying two ladies down the village street. It 
 was vain to reason with her both her mother 
 and myself tried argument unavailingly and 
 she sobbed herself to sleep that night in pro- 
 found disdain of bread and milk, or even bread 
 and jam, for supper." 
 
 " I remember the afternoon," said the young 
 cavalier, a little confusedly. " I was riding with 
 my sister and a friend of hers. But Katy cannot 
 say that I did not speak to her." 
 
 " Ah, but you didn't ! " said Katy, eagerly, 
 forgetting her contrary assertion of the moment 
 before. " You spoke to Miss Tresham, but not 
 like you always do and you didn't notice me at 
 all." 
 
 " You shall have a ride this evening to pay 
 for it, then," said he ; " and I will be more 
 careful in future. Miss Vernon's horse was 
 rather unmanageable, and occupied all my atten- 
 tion. She does not know how to ride as well as 
 you will when you are grown." 
 
 " Is she 'fraid ? " asked Katy, with great in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Very much afraid," he answered. 
 
 Then he turned to Miss Tresham, and asked 
 if she would not come and look at his new horse. 
 
 " So you have another new horse ? " she said, 
 smiling. " Of course, I will come and look at 
 him. You know horses are my weakness, and 
 oh ! he is a beauty ! " 
 
 " Is he not ? " responded her companion, 
 pleased with her burst of enthusiasm. " I was 
 sure you would admire him. Soh ! Donald ! 
 Steady, boy ! " 
 
 They had approached the gate, and were 
 leaning over it together, while the horse, which 
 was fastened outside, began to move a little 
 restlessly at sight of his master. 
 
 " Look at him ! " said that master, eagerly. 
 " Did you ever see a more symmetrical form ? 
 And his head is it not superbly set on the 
 shoulders ? " 
 
 " He is a paragon," said Katharine, playfully. 
 " And he is not dangerous, is he, Mr. Annes- 
 ley ? I must go and speak to him." 
 
 " He is as gentle as a greyhound," said An- 
 nesley, opening the gate for her to pass out. " I 
 only wish " 
 
 But what he wished was left in doubt ; for 
 he paused abruptly, while Katharine went up to 
 the paragon, and patted his straight nose and his 
 glossy, satin neck, calling him many pet-names 
 in her clear, young voice. 
 
 ' What an intelligent eye he has ! " she cried, 
 suddenly. " I really believe he understands all 
 
 I am saying to him., Mr. Annesley, what is his 
 name ? " 
 
 " Donald is his name ; but I do not like it." 
 
 " Donald ? No ; it is not good at all ; it is 
 not suggestive in the least ; and it is not pretty 
 either. He deserves a beautiful name." 
 
 " Give him one, then," said Annesley, quick 
 ly. " He will be only too proud to own you as a 
 sponsor. I have no aptitude whatever for such 
 things, and my horses are usually ' the bay ' and 
 ' the sorrel ' to their dying-day." 
 
 " I thought you were more imaginative," said 
 Katharine, absently. " Is he fleet ? " she went 
 on, still looking at the horse. 
 
 " He is like the wind, or the lightning." 
 
 " Is he ? Then I will give you a name for 
 him at once. Call him Ilderim." 
 
 " Ilderim ? You mean " 
 
 " The sobriquet of Bajazet, of course. It 
 signifies ' The Lightning,' you know. Will it 
 do?" 
 
 " It is excellent," he answered, as, indeed, he 
 would have answered to any thing whatever of 
 her suggestion. " From this moment, Donald 
 dies, and Ilderim rises like a phoenix from his 
 ashes. Soh ! Steady, sir ! " 
 
 For, arching his handsome neck like a bow, 
 the new-made Ilderim began pawing the earth so 
 enei'getically with his fore-foot that he made Ka- 
 tharine beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 " What a racer he would make ! " she cried, 
 suddenly. " Is that what you intend him for ? " 
 
 " Why, no ; I had not thought of it," he re- 
 plied. "I was merely attracted by his beauty, 
 and thought myself lucky to get him." 
 
 " Lucky ! " she repeated, looking up at him 
 with a smile. " Most people are lucky when 
 Fortune has never said them nay in any one de- 
 sire of their hearts. I suppose you never wished 
 for any thing in your life without obtaining it." 
 
 Standing there in the soft, purple dusk, with 
 one arm thrown over his horse's arched neck, 
 with an unconscious grace in the careless atti- 
 tude, a suppressed eagerness in the handsome 
 face, and a chivalric deference in the uncovered 
 head, it was not hard to believe this not hard, 
 indeed, to tell that here was one of those to 
 whom had fallen the purple and fine linen of a 
 world which gives to others only serge ; one of 
 those to whom its wealth and fame, its love and 
 pleasure, came, as it were, by right divine, and 
 who now and then flash across the path of our 
 work-day lives, and make our twilight seem more 
 dun by contrast with their own radiant sunshine. 
 
 " Yes, I have been very fortunate all my life,'
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 he answered, more gravely than Katharine's gay 
 tone seemed to warrant; "but the future may 
 overbalance the past, and you may give me my 
 first lesson in denial this very afternoon. I mean 
 to ask a favor of you after a while." 
 
 " I hope it is one that I may be able to 
 grant," she said, quietly. " But you know my 
 opinion on that subject." 
 
 " That friendship is best kept free from fa- 
 vors ? yes. But I should like to convince you 
 how wrong that is. I should like to make you 
 believe that real friendship never hesitates either 
 to give or accept a favor." 
 
 " Don't try," she said, lightly ; " you might 
 fail, and that would not be pleasant to one who 
 has never known failure. I will grant you this 
 much, however that, where friendship exists be- 
 tween two people of equal position, they may 
 afford to meet each other half-way in the matter 
 of favors ; but, where one occupies the worldly 
 vantage-ground, it is not well for the other to 
 accept benefits which may assume the weight of 
 obligations." 
 
 She spoke very calmly ; but a hot, red flush 
 mounted swiftly to the brow of her listener. He 
 made one hasty step forward, and then fell back 
 again, irritating Hderim very much by the unin- 
 tentional jerk of his rein. 
 
 " Why do you say such things ? why do you 
 take such a tone about yourself? " he cried, with 
 a sharp accent of reproach in his voice. " You 
 of all women 1 It is grievously wrong to your- 
 self! It is even more grievously wrong to 
 me ! " 
 
 " And why should I not look truth in the 
 face ? " she asked, gravely. " To say that I am 
 not your social equal means nothing that either 
 you or I need blush to acknowledge. It is merely 
 a conventional accident, and does not even touch 
 the other ground, the personal ground on which 
 we meet meet, I am glad to think, as friends. 
 That you are Mr. Annesley of Annesdale, of gen- 
 tle blood and almost princely estate, is a mere 
 chance of fortune; and that I am Katharine 
 Tresham, governess, who teaches Mr. Marks's 
 children for six hundred dollars a year, is equally 
 a chance. I am of the Old World, you know. 
 Perhaps that is the reason why these things seem 
 to me at once a matter of course and a matter of 
 small moment." 
 
 The young republican by name, the young 
 aristocrat by race and nature, looked at her in 
 wistful silence for a moment. 
 
 " Yet you think of them far more than we 
 do," he said, at length. 
 
 " Because I have been trained to do so," she 
 answered, moving toward the half-open gate, 
 "and, perhaps I ought also to add, because I 
 am unfortunately very proud much ' too proud 
 to care whence I came.' You see I have not 
 forgotten that apprenticeship to the convention- 
 alities which I served when I spent a year as 
 governess in England a year I would not live 
 over again for untold wealth." 
 
 " But that was in England. You are in Amer 
 ica now, thank God ! " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, with an arch gleam in 
 her eyes, "I am in America now America, 
 where I am theoretically supposed to be the 
 equal in all points of any among your county 
 gentry we will say, for instance, that lovely 
 Miss Vernon. What would she think, do you 
 suppose, if you suggested that she should call 
 on Mrs. Marks's governess ? But poor little 
 Katy ! See how downcast she is looking ! She 
 evidently thinks you have forgotten all about 
 her ride." 
 
 " I have not, though," said Annesley, half 
 absently ; and, looking up, he beckoned Katy to 
 come to him. 
 
 The little girl gladly obeyed. She had left her 
 companions to their play, and had been leaning 
 wistfully against the gate, pushing back her 
 bright curls, so as to see what was going on 
 outside, and longing for the signal that was so 
 slow in coming. When, at last, it did come, she 
 bounded forward, and stood impatiently beside 
 the horse, while Annesley gathered up the reins 
 and sprang into the saddle. He bent down and 
 lifted her from the ground to a seat before him, 
 made her kiss her hand to the governess, and 
 they were off, the child's short dress fluttering 
 in the evening breeze as they cantered down the 
 road and out of sight. 
 
 Katharine watched them, with a strange sort 
 of yearning in her eyes. Perhaps she was think- 
 ing how pleasant it would be to ride down that 
 road, under its crimson and golden woods, in the 
 lovely autumn dusk, with a crescent moon faintly 
 gleaming above the still tinted west, and such 
 a stately and gallant escort by her side as he 
 who had just passed from her sight. Perhaps 
 she thought of those to whom such pleasure was 
 common, and even the best-disciplined of UB 
 will sometimes do such things contrasted her 
 own life with theirs. Perhaps she remembered 
 that scene of last Veek, to which she had allud- 
 ed the two elegant ladies in their sweeping 
 habits and waving plumes, the curvetting horses, 
 the flashing bits and jewelled whips, the young
 
 OUT OF THE DUSK. 
 
 cavalier, and the golden sunshine streaming ove 
 
 nil, while she plodded by in the dust and shadow 
 
 Perhaps she wondered if this dust and shadow 
 
 were henceforth to be her portion ; or perhap 
 
 she thought of a time when the sunshine ha 
 
 slept on her path too, when kind eyes and lovin 
 
 tones had followed her, when life had seemed fo 
 
 a short while the fair and pleasant thing whic 
 
 it never seems to any long, when a young gir 
 
 who bore her name had smiled and talked anc 
 
 jested beneath the waving palms of a distan 
 
 tropic island, and when but her thoughts wen 
 
 no further than this. It was only Mrs. Marks' 
 
 governess who turned abruptly from the gate 
 
 and, with a resolute compression of the lips 
 
 that brought lines too hard for so young a face 
 
 began the same pacing up and down the walk 
 
 that had been interrupted half an hour before 
 
 It was not long before she was interrupted again 
 
 for Mr. Annesley did not give Katy a very ex 
 
 tended ride. Ilderim was brought up before 
 
 the garden-gate once more, and Katy, flushed 
 
 smiling, yet regretful, lowered to the ground 
 
 Then Mr. Annesley sprang off also; but this 
 
 time he did not fasten his horse to the iron 
 
 staple so conveniently placed in a large elm-tree 
 
 near by. Probably something in Katharine's 
 
 face warned him not to do so he was very 
 
 quickly sensitive to any change in that face. 
 
 At all events, he kept the rein over his arm, 
 
 and, uncovering as he advanced, spoke, half 
 
 apologetically : 
 
 " I am going in a moment, Miss Tresham, 
 but you know I told you I had a favor to ask 
 of you. The evening is so lovely, I am sure you 
 will not mind a few minutes longer in the open 
 air." 
 
 " Yes, the evening is very lovely, but rather 
 cool," answered Katharine, in a tone which was 
 cool also ; " and I cannot promise to make it 
 more than a few minutes, Mr. Annesley, for Mrs. 
 Marks expects me to see that the children come 
 In before nightfall." 
 
 " I did not know that you were the chil- 
 dren's nurse as well as their governess," he 
 said, somewhat hastily. 
 
 " There you are right," she answered, quiet- 
 ly. " But they don't obey their nurse very well, 
 and they do obey me. So this duty has de- 
 volved upon me and it is not a very irksome 
 one. I wish I had none that pressed more hea- 
 vily." 
 
 The young man leaned forward over the 
 tlosed gate which divided them. 
 
 " And I wish to Heaven," he said, passionate- 
 
 ly, "that I could make your life what it should 
 be!" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders slightly. 
 " Now, that is very kind, but not very wise. 
 There is One who knows what is best for us ; 
 and you might spoil the whole aim and inten- 
 tion of my life, if you went to work to improve 
 it after your own device. Really, I am very 
 well content with it as it is. You must not let 
 that foolish speech make you think otherwise " 
 
 " Content ! How can you possibly be con- 
 tent with such occupation, such surroundings, 
 such compan " 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, quickly ; for several small 
 listeners had grown tired of their game, and drawn 
 near. "It is all very pleasant sometimes I 
 think too pleasant, to last long. But you said 
 you had something you wished to ask me." 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " I wish to ask you 
 well, for one thing, why you will never let me 
 do any thing to make your life more endura- 
 ble ? " 
 
 " You do a great deal," she replied, a sudden 
 cordial light springing into her eyes and making 
 them beautiful. " You do more than any one 
 has ever done before in oh, such a long time ! 
 Do you think I am ungrateful for the books and 
 papers, the flowers and music that brighten my 
 life so much ? Can you imagine I do not see 
 how much more generous you would be if I 
 could allow it ? Surely, Mr. Annesley, you do 
 not think that I have so many friends, or receive 
 so much kindness, but that I feel this in my 
 heart of hearts." 
 
 " Then grant me one favor," he said, im- 
 julsively. " Promise to give me one pleasure, 
 which will be the greatest I have ever known." 
 
 " I cannot promise in the dark. What is 
 t?" 
 
 " It is not much to you, that is. Only that 
 TOU honor Ilderim by riding him." 
 
 Katharine drew back a step in her surprise. 
 " Mr. Aunesley, you are surely jesting ! Ride 
 Ilderim ! " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, with a desperate attempt 
 at nonchalance ; " ride Ilderim why not ? You 
 annot say you would not like it ; and I only 
 lought him because I thought how well he would 
 uit you. And Miss Tresham, pray do not re- 
 use me this my first request ! " 
 
 Katharine was silent for a moment. Not 
 iat she had a thought of yielding to any thing 
 o inadmissible as what he asked ; but simply 
 ecause she was touched by the desire to give 
 er pleasure, which was so delicately veiled
 
 5 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " How kind he is ! " she thought, " and yet, poor 
 fellow, how foolish ! " Annesley, who had be- 
 gun to feel uncomfortable at i^er long silence 
 was certainly relieved, but yet more surprised 
 when she suddenly held out her hand to him. 
 
 " Thank you so much," she said. " You are 
 so good so kind ! But, then, you know it is 
 impossible." . 
 
 The action was only one of frank gratitude ; 
 but the next instant she was sorry for having 
 given way to it. Very sorry indeed, when, glan 
 cing up, she saw that a carriage had approached 
 unperceived by them, and was passing by, while 
 several pairs of eyes looked curiously from the 
 windows at this way-side scene. Katharine 
 drew back her hand hastily, and a shying move- 
 ment of Ilderim made Annesley turn at the same 
 moment. Thus they both looked full at the 
 equipage, which, truth to tell, was rather a 
 strange one for that road, at that hour. 
 
 Not that the equipage in itself was at all 
 remarkable only a dusty travelling-carriage, 
 with two worn-out horses, a cross-looking driver, 
 a large trunk behind, and numerous boxes on 
 the driver's seat and under his legs. But the 
 fact that it was leaving the village at such an 
 hour, that the road was a retired one, only lead- 
 ing to several country-houses, and to a town 
 distant some forty miles, and that the faces 
 which looked forth from it were totally unknown, 
 conspired to make its unexpected advent surpris- 
 ing. Strangers did not often come to Tallahoma ; 
 and when they did, it was generally in the stage- 
 coach, and they ordered supper at the " Tallaho- 
 ma Hotel," and went to bed like orderly and ordi- 
 nary mortals. These travellers plainly intended 
 to do neither ; and they certainly did not seem 
 very ordinary. The only outside passengers were 
 the driver, who, as before mentioned, looked very 
 cross, and a small spaniel, who looked very tired 
 and patient. But three faces were gazing from 
 the inside, when Katharine with haste drew back 
 her hand, and Annesley turned round. The first 
 that attracted their notice was one which would 
 have claimed attention anywhere, og from any- 
 body. A hollow, attenuated face, with features 
 BO finely marked that they stood out like pure 
 Greek chiselling, and eyes so large and dark that 
 they seemed shedding a flood of light over every 
 thing on which they rested, was partially revealed 
 under a black bonnet and heavy crape veil, and 
 showed itself for a minute only sinking back 
 out of sight immediately. The two others kept 
 their positions, and were hardly less remarkable 
 hardly less remarkable, that is, to Tailahoma 
 
 sight ; for one was a beautiful bold-eyed boy 
 who was staring with all his might, and hugging 
 closely a small monkey; the other a woman 
 whom Katharine at once recognized as a French 
 bonne, in the usual dress of her class. It was a 
 very brief gaze that the two parties interchanged 
 as the carriage moved by, and rumbled away in 
 the dusk. As it disappeared, the eager little 
 voices of the children standing around Katharine 
 found utterance. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, did you see the monkey? " 
 " Miss Tresham, did you see the little boy ? " 
 " Miss Tresham, wasn't that a pretty lady ? " 
 " Miss Tresham, how funny the little dog 
 looked ! " 
 
 " Dog ! you're crazy ! It was a monkey ! " 
 " It wasn't no such thing ! It was a dog ! 
 Didn't I see it ? " 
 
 " And didn't I see the monkey ? Silly ! " 
 " You're a silly yourself, sir ! Miss Tresham, 
 wasn't it a dog ? " 
 
 " Hush, children," said Miss Tresham, in her 
 governess tone. " There were a dog and mon- 
 key both." Then she turned to Annesley. 
 " Who can they possibly be ? " 
 
 He shook his head. "I have no idea. 
 Strangers, evidently ; but where they can be 
 coming from, or where going, at this hour, I 
 can't tell." 
 
 " And such strangers ! They would not be 
 extraordinary objects on a French or Italian high- 
 way ; but in this remote corner of the world, 
 they are rather astonishing. Don't you think 
 
 BO?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " rather astonishing." 
 
 But it was obvious that they had made but a 
 momentary impression on him, for he turned at 
 once to the subject that had been interrupted by 
 
 heir appearance. " Miss Tresham, seriously, is 
 there any reason why you should not give me 
 
 his great pleasure ? " 
 
 " There are many reasons, Mr. Annesley," an- 
 swered Miss Tresham, gravely. " But I have 
 only time to give you one at present, and with 
 
 ;hat you must be content by doing as you wish, 
 
 '. should make myself the object of countless 
 remarks ; and I might probably in the end lose 
 my situation. That would be paying rather 
 
 learly for a ride, even on Ilderim. Thank you 
 again, though ; and now, good-by." 
 
 The young man looked at her in the waning 
 
 ight with a passioo of resolve in his eyes. "You 
 will not think of this ? " he asked. " You will 
 ict even give me time to try and change youi 
 
 csolution ? "
 
 MR. WARWICK'S GHOST. 
 
 "* 1 ,m sorry to say that I can do neither," 
 she answered, a little coldly. " It is late, and I 
 must really go and so ought you, for that mat- 
 ter, since Annesdale is five miles off. Here ! let 
 me return your ' Tennyson.' I have enjoyed it 
 so much." 
 
 He received the volume, and thrust it care- 
 lessly into his pocket ; then, while drawing on 
 his gloves, he said : 
 
 " I have received a packet of new books to- 
 day ; may I bring you some, when I come again ? 
 There are one or two I am sure you will like." 
 
 " Then bring me one or two 'not more," she 
 said, laughing. " Poor Mrs. Marks must not be 
 frightened by another such imposing sight as 
 those dozen volumes you sent the other day. 
 Bring some poetry, please. Formerly I did not 
 care much for poetry ; now I like it I suppose 
 because my life is so very prosaic. Once more, 
 good-by." 
 
 " Good-by," he echoed. 
 
 He vaulted on Ilderim, rode away a few steps 
 wheeled suddenly, came back, and leaned out of 
 his saddle toward the gate where Katharine was 
 still standing. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to tell you," he said, " that 
 I am not at all discouraged. You may yet ride 
 Ilderim, and I may yet thank you for my first de- 
 nial." 
 
 With this, and before she could answer, he 
 was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 MR. WARWICK'S GHOST. 
 
 Miss TRESHAM remained standing in the place 
 where Mr. Annesley had left her, for a minute or 
 two, gazing with slightly-knitted brows after his 
 vanishing figure ; then she turned, and told the 
 children that it was time to go in. 
 
 " It is cold," she said, with a little shiver ; 
 " and I don't think there is any use in looking 
 for your father. Since he has not come already, 
 he is not likely to be here for an hour yet." 
 
 " We'll have to wait a long time for supper, 
 then," remarked one small murmurer ; but that 
 was all. 
 
 The legion knew better than to offer any 
 open signs of disobedience to their chief; and, 
 although discontent was rife among them, they 
 followed her to the house. 
 
 A flight of steps led from a side-piazza down 
 to the garden, and across this piazza a flood of 
 
 cheerful light was already streaming from two 
 windows and a glass door which opened upon it. 
 
 " Why, papa's here already ! " cried Katy, 
 who had bounded up the steps before any one 
 else and taken an observation through the win- 
 dow. "Papa's here already! Where did he 
 come from ? " 
 
 Then the door flew open with a sudden burst 
 and the merry little crowd rushed pell-mell into 
 the room. 
 
 A very pleasant room it was, with a spark- 
 ling, light-wood fire on the hearth, and a well- 
 set table in the middle of the floor a room 
 abounding in comfort but lacking in luxury, and 
 with little or no evidence of what are called re- 
 fined tastes. That is, there were few books visi- 
 ble, and they were chiefly of an unused kind. No 
 pictures excepting some ugly daubs supposed to 
 be family portraits, and not even a vase to hold 
 the royal flowers blooming by in such prodigal 
 profusion. The aspect of the place proclaimed 
 substantial ease, nothing more. There were 
 comfortable chairs, and one or two chintz- 
 cushioned couches ; there were various tables, 
 with carved legs and bright-red covers ; there 
 was a glowering mahogany sideboard, there 
 was a pretty little work-stand that stood in a 
 niche near the fireplace, and there was a clock 
 on the mantel that told the quarters with re- 
 morseless exactitude. But the proprietors of 
 the tpartment were plain people, of no fashion* 
 able pretension, and still less fashionable ambi- 
 tion people who were " in business," and were 
 not ashamed of the fact ; who were well-to-do in 
 the world now, but who had known a hard strug- 
 gle before becoming so ; who were of the best 
 morals, but of moderate culture ; and who, while 
 they were always glad of social advancement and 
 social recognition, never went out of their way 
 to seek either people, in short, who were types 
 of the best portion of the middle class the por- 
 tion that is neither hopelessly vulgar nor absurd- 
 ly aspiring and who, in consequence of sturdily 
 respecting their own dignity, were universally 
 respected by those above as by those below 
 them on Fortune's ladder. 
 
 The head of the household, Richard Marks, 
 had begun life as a very small tradesman, and 
 it may readily be conceived that the man who 
 sold coffee by the pound, and calico by the yard, 
 across a village counter, was scarcely able to 
 command, or even hope for, any very exalted 
 social elevation. Yet social elevation of a cer- 
 tain sort came with time as it comes to all men 
 who trust less to fortune than to their own en
 
 8 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 deavor. To his diligence and energy, and to the 
 scrupulous honesty which made all men recognize 
 his word to be as good as his bond, Richard 
 Marks owed at last an assured competency and 
 an honorable, even an enviable, position among 
 his fellow-townsmen. To these things he owed 
 it that the most aristocratic gentlemen of his 
 native county were proud to hold out the hand 
 of friendship, not patronage, to him ; and that, 
 after many years of hard labor, he was now rest- 
 ing on his oars as cashier and virtual controller 
 of the one bank which did all the monetary busi- 
 ness of Lagrange County. 
 
 His wife, although the daughter of a gentle- 
 man if a spendthrift insolvent deserves the 
 name had sunk so easily to the social level of 
 her husband that those among her friends and 
 acquaintances who still spoke of her as " Bessie 
 Warwick," were forced to explain the obvious 
 fact as best they could. 
 
 "She never had much sense," they would 
 say, " and certainly no great amount of refine- 
 ment though she was so pretty pretty in a 
 certain style, that is ; and then she inherited low 
 tastes, no doubt. Her mother was shockingly 
 common, if you remember. It was his marriage 
 that ruined Arnold Warwick at least his friends 
 always said so." 
 
 But, notwithstanding this unflattering opin- 
 ion, Mrs. Marks certainly proved that she had 
 found her right place in the world as helper of a 
 good man's upward career. The best of wives 
 and mothers yet, like most best of wives and 
 mothers, apt at times to become a little tire- 
 some, especially if she once began the circum- 
 stantial history of Dick's dreadful accident when 
 he fell and broke his collar-bone, or how little 
 Katy whooped through an entire summer with 
 whooping-cough. But a sensible and kind- 
 hearted woman with all that ; one of the large 
 class of women of whom the world knows little, 
 and hears nothing; who are not remarkable 
 either for beauty or mental capacity ; but who 
 fill their own position in the world better than 
 a Lady Blessington or a Madame de Stae'l could 
 do it for them; who live a life all pure and 
 blameless in the domestic relations, and who at 
 .ast go down to the grave leaving in the hearts 
 of their children a good example and a fragrant 
 memory. 
 
 In her own way, too, Mrs. Marks was a good 
 business-woman; and the only time in her life 
 that she had acted without due foresight and 
 deliberation was in the matter of engaging a 
 governess for her children. She had accom- 
 
 panied her husband on a short business-visit to 
 Charleston some two years previous to this 
 autumn evening, and while there met Katharine 
 Tresham. 
 
 The young foreigner, who had but lately land- 
 ed, was entirely alone in the strange city; and 
 something in her refined, ladylike appearance, 
 together with her deep-mourning dress, touched 
 the kind heart of the elder woman. They were 
 boarders in the same house, and, when she 
 heard that Katharine was anxious to procure a 
 situation as teacher ; that she could give good 
 English and West-Indian references, and that 
 she would much prefer the country to any city as 
 a residence, Mrs. Marks's mind was at once made 
 up. Shft did not even wait to consult her hus- 
 band ; she made her an offer on the spot, and it 
 was gratefully accepted. 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I could not help it ! " she 
 afterward humbly confided to her lord. " It 
 seemed so pitiful to see such a pretty young 
 thing entirely alone ; and then, you know, the 
 children learn nothing at all at school. You 
 said yourself that Mr. Watson was good for 
 nothing but to drink whiskey and pay attention 
 to Lucy Smith." 
 
 " I did say so," Mr. Marks replied, " but are 
 you sure, Bessie, that your new friend will be 
 worth much more ? I don't mean, of course, 
 that she will drink whiskey or pay attention to 
 Lucy Smith ; but, after all, there may be worse 
 things than that. What does she engage to 
 teach the children, and what are her terms ? " 
 
 "She engages to teach the children well, 
 every thing that is usually taught, I suppose," 
 answered Mrs. Marks, a little vaguely; "and, 
 as to her terms, she does not seem to know very 
 much about them herself. She taught one year 
 in England, and received forty pounds that is 
 all she knows." 
 
 " Why, that is a little less than two hundred 
 dollars," said Mr. Marks, opening his honest 
 eyes. " Teachers must be plenty over there at 
 that rate. Poor thing ! I'll tell you what we'll 
 do, Bessie. She is a nice-looking girl, and 
 there'll be no harm in trying her. We will 
 ofler her four hundred dollars, and take her for 
 one year." 
 
 So it was settled ; and so Katharine Tresham 
 came to Lagrange. 
 
 At the end of the year her employers re- 
 quested her to remain, and Mr. Marks voluntarily 
 raised her salary. The children had improved 
 so rapidly that Mr. Watson would not have 
 recognized his quondam pupils ; and the bright,
 
 MR. WARWICK'S GHOST. 
 
 9 
 
 even temper of the young governess made her 
 presence in the house a kind of moral sunshine. 
 Altogether, as Mrs. Marks was accustomed to 
 declare, she could not have been so exactly 
 suited by anybody else in the world ; and she 
 would have had no possible fault to find with 
 Miss Tresham if there is an if to every thing 
 earthly she had been an orthodox member of 
 that religious denomination to which Mrs. Marks 
 herself belonged. But, dreadful to relate, Miss 
 Tresham was that strange off-shoot of iniquity, 
 in the eyes of Tallahoma, a blind and bigoted 
 Papist. She had given Mrs. Marks fair warning 
 of that fact before their engagement was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 "There is one thing I must mention," she 
 said. "I am a Catholic. I know that most 
 Protestants are very much prejudiced against 
 the faith, and don't care to admit Catholics into 
 their households. If this is the case with your- 
 self, we will not say any thing more about the 
 proposed engagement." 
 
 But Mrs. Marks, although very much stag- 
 gered by the information, replied : 
 
 " My dear, I don't see that it makes any dif- 
 ference. You will be uncomfortable, I am afraid, 
 for there is no Romish church in Tallahoma; 
 but, as far as I am concerned, I I suppose we 
 are all Christians." 
 
 When the young governess followed her noisy 
 charges into the sitting-room, a pleasant-looking 
 woman glanced up and smiled from her seat by 
 the work-table, while a much older man, with 
 gray hair and frank blue eyes, gave her a hearty 
 greeting. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Tresham. How do you 
 and the little ones come on ? Well, Nelly, can 
 you spell ' ab,' yet ? " 
 
 " Spell it, Nelly, for your father," said Miss 
 Tresham, smiling. "She knew it to-day, sir; 
 but I am afraid that hanging head doesn't say 
 much for her recollection of it now." 
 
 " Speak up, little woman," said her father, 
 lifting the shame-faced scholar to a place on his 
 knee. " Speak up and I'll give you a six- 
 pence." 
 
 But bashfulness or ignorance continuing to 
 hold the little woman's tongue, Jack and Katy, 
 tempted by the promise of the sixpence, burst 
 out with the spelling of the word desired, and 
 were rewarded by being informed that the offer 
 was not intended for irregular claimants. 
 
 " I tell you what I will do, though," said the 
 indulgent father, seeing the disappointment legi- 
 ble on their faces. " Nelly must have her six- 
 
 pence but another shall be found for the first 
 one who brings me the mail from your Uncle 
 John's coat-pocket." 
 
 " Is this mail-day ? " asked Katharine, look' 
 ing up. " Then why did you not bring it your- 
 self, sir ? " 
 
 " Because I have been in the country on busi- 
 ness, and didn't come through town on my way 
 home," answered Mr. Marks, good-humoredly. 
 " I wish Warwick would come along ! I want my 
 papers and I e-xpect you want your letters, Miss 
 Kate." 
 
 " Letters ! " the governess repeated. " I 
 thought you knew that I never receive any let- 
 ters. There is nobody that I care to hear from. 
 Indeed, the worst luck that could befall me would 
 be a letter unless it came from Father Martin." 
 
 Father Martin was the priest of Saxford, a 
 somewhat larger town than Tallahoma, boasting 
 a small Catholic chapel, to which she went occa- 
 sionally for ghostly shriving and it was cer- 
 tainly true that his rare letters were the only 
 ones that had ever come to Katharine Tresham, 
 since she first set foot on the soil of America. 
 Nor did she ever write any that were not ad- 
 dressed to him. She seemed to have severed 
 every link that bound hr to her former life, 
 and, save in a few general particulars, her pres- 
 ent friends knew no more of that life than if 
 she had not broken their bread for the period of 
 two years. 
 
 " John is very late to-night," said Mrs. Marks, 
 glancing up at the clock, as if it was its fault that 
 the waffles were burning in the kitchen. "I 
 really think we need not wait for him any longer. 
 Some troublesome man has kept him, and he al- 
 ways begs me not to wait. Sara, go to the door 
 and tell Judy to send in supper." 
 
 Sara obeyed ; and, the next minute, two mu- 
 latto boys began bringing in plates of biscuit and 
 waffles. Then came some broiled partridges, the 
 tempting odor of which caused Mr. Marks to look 
 round with interest. 
 
 " By George ! that is delightful to a hungry 
 man ! Where did you get such fine birds, Bes- 
 sie?" 
 
 " They were brought this morning, with Mr. 
 Annesley's compliments," answered Mrs. Marks, 
 rising and going to the head of the table. " Sent 
 to me, the boy said you have forgotten the 
 cream, Tom but I expect Miss Katharine 
 knows more about them than I do." 
 
 Miss Katharine smiled slightly, but without 
 the least tincture of embarrassment. "How 
 could I possibly know about them ? " she
 
 10 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 asked. " I saw Mr. Annesley this afternoon 
 did I tell you that he gave Katy a ride ? but 
 I assure you he did not hint that even one of 
 the partridges was intended for me. You will 
 spare me one, though won't you, Mr. Marks ? " 
 
 In the clatter of plates and knives which fol- 
 lowed, a step crossing the piazza outside was un- 
 heard ; and when the door suddenly opened, Katy 
 was the first one to observe it. She sprang for- 
 ward with a cry of " Uncle John 1 " a cry the 
 eagerness of which was more for the letters in 
 Uncle John's pocket, and the promised sixpence 
 from her father, than for the every-day presence 
 of Uncle John himself. 
 
 The new-comer surrendered the letters to the 
 quick little fingers that dived at once into his 
 pocket, watched the payment of the sixpence, 
 with a smile, and then walked to the fireplace 
 and sat down, while Mrs. Marks sent out a requi- 
 sition for hot coffee. 
 
 " Never mind about that, Bessie," he said, in 
 rather a tired tone. " What is on the table will 
 do well enough. I only want to get a little warm 
 before moving again it is quite cool to-night." 
 
 " What on earth made you so late ? " asked 
 his sister. 
 
 " Business," answe^d Mr. Warwick, briefly. 
 Then he sank back into his chair, and into 
 silence. 
 
 It was not an ordinary face, by any means, 
 across which the fire-light played so fitfully no 
 more an ordinary face than John Warwick was 
 an ordinary man. There was little beauty in it ; 
 and that little was more the beauty of expression 
 than of feature ; not much grace of outline or 
 delicacy of coloring. But there was force of 
 will and power of thought ; there was a keen 
 habit of observation, and sometimes there was 
 an almost womanly gentleness the latter not 
 habitual nor often to be seen, but coming occa- 
 sionally to melt the eyes and soften the month, 
 around which some hard lines lay dormant. Take 
 it all in all, a face so full of moral and intellectual 
 strength that the wonder grew how this man could 
 possibly be brother to the pretty commonplace 
 woman who sat at the head of Richard Marks's 
 table. Yet her brother he undoubtedly was; 
 and, if Mrs. Marks loved her husband with all 
 her heart, she certainly reverenced her brother 
 with all her soul for in him all the gentleman- 
 hood of the father stood confessed, without the 
 father's weakness or the father's vice. He it 
 was who had raised their name from the mire 
 where it had fallen, and given it once more an 
 honorable rank. He it was who had claimed his 
 
 birthright of social position, and placed his foot, 
 when that foot was yet young, upon the place his 
 father had forfeited. Men already forgot the 
 poor drunkard who had ruined others as well as 
 himself, and only remembered that " Mr. War- 
 wick is decidedly our most rising lawyer." In- 
 deed, they had long since begun to be very proud 
 of him in Lagrange, to put him forward on all 
 public occasions, and prophesy great future ad- 
 vancement for him. 
 
 The hot coffee came, and Mrs. Marks an- 
 nounced its arrival to her brother ; but he did 
 not move. He seemed, indeed, so deeply sunk 
 in thought as not to hear her ; and it was Mr. 
 Marks's brisk tones that roused him at last. 
 
 " What's the matter, Warwick, that you sit 
 there staring in the fire, instead of coming to 
 supper ? I hope you haven't heard bad news of 
 any kind ? " 
 
 " Bad news ! " repeated Mr. Warwick, look- 
 ing up with a start. "Why, of course not. 
 Did you say the coffee was ready, Bessie ? I beg 
 your pardon, but I did not hear you." 
 
 He rose as he spoke and came to the table. 
 The light thus falling for the first time upon hia 
 face, some change there attracted the attention 
 even of the children. 
 
 " Unky, you've got a bad headache, haven't 
 you ? " inquired womanly little Sara, by whom he 
 sat down. 
 
 " Unky, Jack says you've seen a ghost ! " 
 cried Katy, with her mouth full, despite an 
 angry " You hush ! " and a push under the table 
 from Jack. 
 
 And Mrs. Marks herself said, " What is the 
 matter, John ? You look pale." 
 
 " Nothing is the matter, excepting that I have 
 had a hard day's work, and am tired," he an- 
 swered. Then, catching the gaze of a pair of 
 eyes opposite him, he added, " Do I look so 
 shockingly, Miss Tresbtam, as to merit all 
 this ? " 
 
 " You look as if your day's work had been 
 a very hard one," said Miss Tresham. " That is 
 all, I think." 
 
 " I don't know," said his sister, doubtfully. 
 " John, are you certain that is all ? " 
 
 "Not quite," he answered, with a flitting 
 smile. "Jack was right in his conjecture I 
 have seen a ghost." 
 
 " A ghost ! " 
 
 " A ghost, Bessie. As veritable a ghost as 
 ever came out of a church-yard." 
 
 " My dear John, please recollect that I don'l 
 like such things talked of before the children."
 
 PAULINE MORTON. 
 
 11 
 
 " Oh, there is no rawhead and bloody bones 
 b this," said Mr. Warwick, glancing round at the 
 various pairs of eyes that stared at him from over 
 various mugs of bread and milk. " The ghost 
 was not even dressed in white, Katy what do 
 you think of that ? " 
 
 " Oh, it wasn't a real ghost, then," said Katy, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " Yes it was, though. Come, Marks, put 
 down your paper, and guess whose ghost I saw 
 this afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Marks laid down his paper as requested ; 
 but confessed himself unable to imagine, unless 
 (with a sly glance at the children) it was that 
 of old Mrs. Packham, who was buried about a 
 fortnight before. 
 
 But Mr. Warwick shook his head. It was 
 not old Mrs. Packham, he said ; but somebody 
 who had gone away at least twenty years be- 
 fore ; somebody whom they all had known. 
 And then he told his sister to guess. Where- 
 upon, after much consideration, Mrs. Marks in- 
 quired if it could possibly have been that wild 
 son of old Joe Williams, who ran away ever so 
 many years ago, and had never been heard of 
 since. At which Mr. Warwick shook his head 
 yet more impatiently. 
 
 " Then tell us who it was," said she. 
 
 And Katharine was struck by a husky tone 
 in the lawyer's voice, as he answered 
 
 " I have seen Pauline Morton ! " 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PATTLINK MORTON. 
 
 IF Mr. Warwick had announced the entire 
 destruction of Tallahoma and all its inhabitants 
 by an earthquake, there scarcely could have en- 
 sued a more astonished pause than followed the 
 utterance of that name. For the full space of a 
 minute, an entire silence reigned around the 
 table a silence which Mrs. Marks was, of 
 course, the first to break. 
 
 " You have seen Pauline Morton, John ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered he, laconically. 
 
 " Is she in town ? " 
 
 " She was in town, or else I could not have 
 seen her." 
 
 "But, bless my soul!" cried Mr. Marks, 
 " where did she come from, Warwick ? when 
 did you see her ? " 
 
 " Of course she came from Europe. I saw her 
 
 as she passed through Tallahoma, this afternoon, 
 late." 
 
 " Well, tell us all about it," cried his sister, 
 a little impatient at these brief replies. " What 
 is the use of doling out news like this ? Tell us 
 how she.looked, and what she said, and where she 
 is going, and what she means by coming back 
 here ? " 
 
 " Did you happen to see a travelling-carriage 
 pass here about dusk, laden with trunks, dogs, 
 and monkeys ? " 
 
 At this question there rose a shout from 
 the children the eager little pitchers, whose 
 eyes and ears were open to all that was going 
 on. 
 
 " We did ! Uncle John, we did ! And a pret- 
 ty lady, and a little boy in it, too." 
 
 "Yes," said Uncle John, quietly. "That 
 was Pauline Morton, on her way to Morton 
 House." 
 
 " To Morton House ? " repeated Mr. Marks. 
 " Then Shields, at least, must have known that 
 she was coming." 
 
 Again Mr. Warwick shook his head. "No. 
 Shields was in my office this morning about that 
 business of a trespass on the land ; and I will 
 answer for it that he had as little idea of seeing 
 the owner of the land as you or I might have 
 had. Besides, she told me that she had not an- 
 nounced her coming to any one." 
 
 "And yet you say she went to Morton 
 House ? " 
 
 "Straight to Morton House. Heaven help 
 poor Shields's brain this night ! " 
 
 " Surely you must have mistaken," urged Mr. 
 Marks. " Surely she went to Annesdale her 
 own first cousin's, you know." 
 
 Mr. Warwick shrugged his shoulders. "I 
 should think you would remember how little 
 love there was between her and her first cousin, 
 of old." 
 
 " I remember," cried Mrs. Marks, " and I am 
 sxire that Pauline Morton would never go unin- 
 vited to Mrs. Annesley's house. But oh, John, 
 she could not have gone to Morton House to stay 
 to-night ! why, think of those beds that nobody 
 has slept in for twenty years ! " 
 
 " Twenty years or not, she meant to do it ; 
 and I don't think there's a doubt but that she 
 has done it. Twenty years ! Can it be really 
 twenty years since she went away, Bessie ? " 
 
 " Twenty years this past summer," said Mrs. 
 Marks, decidedly. " I remember the very day. 
 Did her brother come back, John ? and surely 
 her husband is with her?"
 
 12 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ** Iler orother, she tells me, is dead. She did 
 oot mention her husband; but I judge that she 
 is a widow." 
 
 "And she came alone?" 
 
 "With the exception of a child and a ser- 
 vant, quite alone." 
 
 " Her brother dead I " repeated Mr. Marks, 
 whose somewhat slow ears this last item had 
 just reached. "There must be some mistake 
 about that, John you must have misunderstood 
 her, or his death has happened very lately. It 
 is not more than a few weeks since Shields 
 showed me a letter he had just received from 
 him." 
 
 " I only know that she is in deep mourning," 
 Mr. Warwick answered; "and that, when I 
 glanced at her dress, she said or, if she didn't 
 say, she intimated that it was for her brother 
 she was wearing it." 
 
 " It is very strange," said Mr. Marks, reflect- 
 ively. " He must have dropped off like his Uncle 
 Paul ; for all the rest of the Mortons that ever 
 I heard of were very long-lived people. She did 
 not mention his complaint, did she ? " 
 
 "No. She said very little in fact, I saw 
 her for a few minutes only." 
 
 "But her looks, John!" cried Mrs. Marks, 
 with a woman's curiosity on this important sub- 
 ject. " Is she as handsome as ever ? " 
 
 " How do most women look, Bessie, when 
 a gap of twenty years separates them from 
 youth ? " 
 
 " Why, rather the worse for wear," answered 
 Mrs. Marks, with a glance toward her own face, 
 as reflected in the burnished coffee-pot. " But 
 I cannot imagine Pauline Morton any less beau- 
 tiful than when I saw her last." 
 
 " You had better not see her again, then." 
 
 " Has she changed so dreadfully ? " 
 
 " She is the wreck the ghost, as I told the 
 children of her former self." 
 
 "Dear, dear! to think of it! But she has 
 been married, has she not ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I told you she had a child with 
 her." 
 
 " And whom did she marry ? You know there 
 were all sorts of reports at the time people said 
 she had married a count, or some such person." 
 
 " Which was as true as reports generally are. 
 Pauline Morton has come back as Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 "Mrs. what?" 
 
 " Gordon. Did you ever hear the name be- 
 fore in connection with her, I mean ? " 
 
 " Never ! " cried Mrs. Marks, with a decision 
 arhich rather surprised the governess, sitting by 
 
 in profound ignorance of the subject umlet dis 
 cussion. " I heard that she had married some 
 nobleman, and that she lived in Europe in grand 
 style ; and and for her to come back like this, 
 to a place she always hated ! Oh, John, I don't 
 believe it ! " 
 
 "That's just as you please," Mr. Warwick 
 answered, rising and walking to the fire. " 1 
 assure you, I have the name on her own author- 
 ity ; and, as for those ridiculous stories of counts 
 and the like, of course no sensible person ever 
 credited them. I remember hearing that she 
 had married an officer in the English army ; and, 
 no doubt, this is, or was, the man. Miss Tresh- 
 am, did you see the carriage this afternoon ? " 
 
 "Yes; and the lady also," Katharine an- 
 swered. " I had only a glimpse of her face, but 
 it struck me very much. Does she belong to the 
 Morton House where the children and I go to 
 walk almost every evening ? " 
 
 "Morton House belongs to her," Mr. Marks 
 answered, dryly. " I am afraid, if she has come 
 back for good, your walks are at an end, Miss 
 Kate." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the children, in chorus. " Can't 
 we go to Morton House any more, and make 
 Pouto chase rabbits in the garden ? Oh, papa, 
 why not ? " 
 
 "Don't you hear why not?" asked Mrs. 
 Marks, a little sharply " don't you hear that 
 the person who owns Morton House has come 
 back to live in it ? Now hush or I will call Letty 
 and send you straight to bed ! John, dear, you 
 haven't told us yet where you met Mrs. Gor- 
 don." 
 
 "Haven't I?" said Mr. Warwick, a little 
 wearily he was evidently tired of the subject 
 that was still so absorbing to his sister. " Well, 
 it is not much to tell, Bessie. I left my office 
 at dusk, this evening, and was on my way to the 
 post-office to get the mail, when the carriage of 
 which I spoke came down the street. I glanced 
 at it a little curiously, wondering where it was 
 going at that time of day, when a face, that I 
 should have recognized among a thousand, looked 
 out, and made a sign to the driver to stop. Be- 
 fore I knew what I was about, I was shaking 
 hands with Pauline Morton." 
 
 He paused, with a half smile at the expression 
 of eager interest on his sister's face; but, not- 
 withstanding the smile, more than one of his 
 hearers notice4 that it cost him an effort to re- 
 sume. 
 
 " The first thing I remember was her saying, 
 ' How changed you are 1 And I looked at her,
 
 PAULINE MORTON. 
 
 13 
 
 nd answered, 'I am sure I cannot be more 
 thanged than you are.' " 
 
 " Why, John ! " cried Mrs. Marks, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " You think that was rather plain speaking ? 
 I thought so myself when it was too late to recall 
 the words. But she did not seem offended by my 
 candor. She only smiled a little, and said, ' Yes, 
 I am very much changed you will believe that 
 when I tell you that I have come back to Morton 
 to live.' I don't know what I said something 
 about my surprise, probably ; for I was sur- 
 prised, as you may well imagine but she re- 
 peate'd the statement, and then, noticing that I 
 looked at her black dress, she added : ' My poor 
 brother ! you see I am all alone in the world.' 
 ' Excepting,' said I, glancing at the child oppo- 
 site. ' Yes,' she answered, quietly, ' excepting 
 him.' Then she told him to shake hands with 
 one of his mother's old friends ; and the boy, who 
 is a splendid-looking little fellow, held out his 
 hand at once, and spoke to me no hanging of 
 the head, and putting the finger in the mouth, 
 Dick. After a few more words, his mother said 
 they must go on, as she wished to reach Morton 
 House before night. So she held out her hand, 
 saying she would be glad to see me ; and you will 
 be shocked to hear, Bessie, that, in responding 
 to the invitation, I called her Miss Morton." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " 
 
 " It was very thoughtless, and, of course, I 
 began a hasty apology, being more annoyed at 
 my awkward mistake from perceiving the effect 
 which it produced upon her. First she flushed, 
 and then she turned so pale that for a minute I 
 thought she was going to faint. But she only 
 gasped for breath a little, and cut short my apol- 
 ogy by saying : ' There is nothing to excuse. I 
 am very foolish ; but it has been a long time 
 since I heard that name, and it brought back 
 so many recollections just here. I am Mrs. 
 Gordon now.' Then she drove off. And now 
 that you have heard all that I know myself, 
 Bessie, I hope you have no objection to my going 
 out on the piazza to smoke a cigar." 
 
 Mrs. Marks would willingly have detained 
 him for the purpose of further questioning ; but 
 she had an instinct that it would be useless. So 
 she only watched him as he left the room, and 
 then turned to her husband. 
 
 " You laughed at me several years ago, Rich- 
 ard, when I said that I did not believe John 
 would ever forget Pauline Morton. Pray what 
 do you say now ? " 
 
 " Why, exactly what I said then," answered 
 2 
 
 Mr. Marks, looking up from the paper which he 
 thought he should never be left to read in peace. 
 '' I say that Warwick is much too sensible a man 
 to be hankering after a woman he was in love 
 with more than twenty years ago ; and that " 
 
 " Oh, my dear, hush a moment ! Miss Tresh- 
 am, will you touch the bell for Letty ? Now. 
 children, say good-night to your father, and go 
 to bed ; it is after eight o'clock." 
 
 The children were evidently well drilled. 
 They were dying to hear what was next to be 
 said ; but they went through the good-night cere- 
 mony, and filed off obediently, when a tall negro- 
 woman, in a bright red-and-yellow turban, ap- 
 peared at the door. It is true, there was a riot 
 in the nursery that night ; but no sound of it 
 reached the precincts from which the young in- 
 surgents had been banished, for Letty was quite 
 equal to the emergency herself, without invoking 
 aid from the higher powers. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Marks obstinately declined to 
 canvass any further either the arrival of Pauline 
 Morton or the state of Mr. Warwick's affections 
 at least until he had finished that article from 
 which he had several times been so ruthlessly 
 torn. 
 
 "Those subjects will keep for s>ome night 
 when I haven't got any papers, Bessie," he said, 
 to his wife's infinite indignation an indignation 
 which she forthwith manifested by taking herself 
 and her sewing over to Miss Tresham's side. 
 
 " You never heard much about the Mortons, 
 did you, my dear ? " she asked, after admiring 
 the pretty braiding that Katharine was putting 
 on an apron for Nelly. 
 
 " I never heard any thing," the young govern- 
 ess answered, " excepting that they owned Mor- 
 ton House and lived abroad." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Marks, with something of a 
 sigh ; " people don't talk much about things that 
 happened twenty years ago. But oh, my dear, if 
 you could only have seen Morton House when 
 the Mortons lived there, and when Pauline was 
 in her prime ! Such troops of servants as they 
 had ! such splendid horses ! such furniture and 
 such grounds ! Why, you can see for your- 
 self, even now, how magnificent the grounds 
 were ! " 
 
 " They must have been very beautiful when 
 they were kept up," said Katharine, " and they 
 are certainly very extensive." 
 
 " I should think so, indeed ! Why, there 
 used to be fifteen acres in gardens alone ! I re- 
 member, when I was a girl, going to a camp, 
 meeting once, where one of the preachers said
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 that the best idea of heaven he could give was 
 that it would be even more beautiful than the 
 grounds of Morton House." 
 
 " Why did its owners leave it ? " 
 
 " Ah, you may well ask ! But it was all Pau- 
 line's fault. She was so beautiful and so proud 
 that she scorned everybody and every thing here. 
 She was never satisfied unless the house was 
 full of strange company from the cities, and at 
 last she told her parents that she would rather 
 die than live in the backwoods. So her parents, 
 who would have tried to get the stars for her 
 if she had wanted them, left their beautiful home 
 and went to Europe never to come back, as it 
 turned out." 
 
 " Did none of them ever come back ? " asked 
 Katharine, becoming rather interested. 
 
 " None of them ever came back until to- 
 day. There was a young brother only one 
 who grew up in Europe ; and I have heard that 
 he laughed at the idea of returning to America 
 to live. He must have spent money at a dreadful 
 rate after his father's death ; for Mr. Shields told 
 John that the crops were always mortgaged be- 
 fore they went into market, and we heard, not 
 long ago, that the house itself was to be sold. 
 If that had been the case, I expect Mr. Annes- 
 ley would have bought it." 
 
 " Why ? Is he" 
 
 " A relation ? Oh, yes. His mother was a 
 Morton, and as handsome and proud as all the 
 rest of them. She was poor, though, for her 
 father squandered every cent he had. But her 
 uncle always treated her exactly as his own 
 daughter, and people say he settled a very good 
 aura on her when she married. She and Pauline 
 were raised together like sisters ; but they never 
 liked each other. I don't know which was in 
 fault; but they made no secret of the matter. 
 For my part, I rather took Pauline's side, though 
 most people were on Elinor's ; but Pauline was 
 very generous, with all her pride, and I don't 
 think she ever made her cousin feel her depend- 
 ence. They even say that Mr. Annesley was 
 Pauline's admirer, and only went over to Elinor 
 after he was rejected. Then there's John, 
 how jou startled me ! " 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Mr. Warwick, who 
 had come in upon them unawares ; " but I have 
 been waiting some time for a chance to speak, 
 and, as you seemed determined not to give me 
 one, I was obliged to take it. Miss Tresham, I 
 wonder if you will excuse me when I tell you 
 that I have just found a letter of yours in my 
 pocket, which was left there throagh the joint 
 
 carelessness of Katy and myself, and might have 
 been lost ? " 
 
 The girl looked up at him wonderingly. 
 
 " A letter for rue, Mr. Warwick ? You mus 
 be mistaken." 
 
 " How often am I to hear that to-night?" he 
 asked, smiling. " I think, if you will look at Una 
 address, you will acknowledge that, with all my 
 stupidity, I have hardly made a mistake." 
 
 He laid a letter down on the table before 
 Katharine, who either would not or could not 
 hold out her hand to receive it a letter written 
 on thin foreign paper, stamped with a foreign 
 post-mark, and bearing her own name in clear, 
 legible address. 
 
 Not so clear and legible, however, but that 
 it swam before her eyes as she bent over it ; and 
 John Warwick was startled by the pallor of the 
 face that raised itself, and by the anguish-stricken 
 tone of the voice that cried out, as if unconscious- 
 ly: 
 
 " Oh, if you had but lost it ! if you had but 
 lost it ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. 
 
 IT would be difficult to exaggerate the excite- 
 ment prevailing in Tallahoma Tallahoma, which 
 was very stagnant just at that time, for want of 
 something to talk about, and which was blessed 
 beyond its most sanguine expectations in the ar- 
 rival of Mrs. Gordon. The news of that arrival 
 spread rapidly through the village ; and, while 
 Mr. Warwick was telling his story at the Marks's 
 tea-table, it would be hard to say how many 
 other tea-tables were entertained by different 
 renditions of the same facts. True, there was 
 a very general and unsatisfactory haziness con- 
 cerning the why and wherefore that had brought 
 back the wanderer's steps, concerning her inten- 
 tions, or even her appearance. But, then, these 
 things promised an abundant harvest of gossip 
 for the future ; and all-absorbing for to-night 
 was the simple fact that Pauline Morton had re- 
 turned. 
 
 But on the morrow, after there was time for 
 reflection, after the news had spread through the 
 county, after the first shock of surprise was over, 
 and people looked' each other gravely in the face, 
 they began to ask, How had she returned ? 
 
 The answer was not long in coming. She 
 had gone away in the flush of her youth and
 
 WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. 
 
 15 
 
 beauty, guarded by her parents, and with all the 
 pomp of style and attendance which wealth could 
 secure. She returned alone and unattended, 
 with no husband to guard,no brother to pro- 
 tect, no friend to vouch for her no word of 
 warning, no single order of preparation ! She 
 came to her childhood's home and her child- 
 lood's friends with no pleasant stir and bustle 
 Df happy arrival, but silently and unexpectedly, 
 more like an outcast seeking shelter than a 
 daughter claiming her rightful heritage. Other 
 people besides Mrs. Marks remembered when the 
 Mortons had gone away, and, contrasting that 
 departure with this return, almost involuntarily 
 shook their heads. The first impulse of the 
 world is always to distrust mystery. " Some- 
 thing is wrong," they said ; and many of them 
 said it the more readily because Pauline Morton 
 had been one of those shining marks which 
 envy loves, and because in her proud youth she 
 had rather provoked than conciliated such a 
 feeling. 
 
 It is exceedingly doubtful whether any state 
 of society has ever existed since " Adam delved 
 and Eve span," when those who were subordi- 
 nate in the scale of worldly advantage have not 
 felt a sort of carping dislike, and at times a bit- 
 ter enmity, toward the few whom chance or for- 
 'une has elevated above them. We can, imagine 
 now the rabble of Athens spoke of Pericles and 
 Alcibiades ; we can conceive that hatred which 
 from first to last the Roman plebeians bore 
 their patrician masters ; we can guess how bit- 
 terly the serfs and retainers, the scorned burgh- 
 ers, and oppressed Jews, spoke in bated whis- 
 pers of the great feudal lords ; we can read how 
 often and how fiercely the great unknown have 
 lashed themselves into fury against some class, 
 some order, or some individual that birth, me- 
 rit, or circumstance, rendered illustrious ; and 
 we can well believe that the same envy which 
 we see manifested in a dozen petty instances 
 every day, the same envy which was tired of 
 nearing Aristides called the Just has been the 
 great moving spring of many of earth's revolu- 
 tions, and is equally the moving spring of half 
 the ill-nature and more than half the ill-speaking 
 of the world. To make a small application of a 
 wide truism, it was certainly the moving spring 
 of most of the ebullitions of spiteful spleen in 
 which for many years Lagrange had permitted 
 itself to indulge regarding the Mortons. People 
 more generous, more frank, or more hospitable, 
 than these Mortons, it -would be hard to find; 
 but they were of good blood, and very proud of 
 
 their descent ; they were immensely wealthy, and 
 spent their wealth liberally. These two facts 
 were amply sufficient to excite that alloy of 
 popular dislike which otherwise their many good 
 qualities qualities that even envy could not deny 
 might have disarmed. Not that they were un- 
 popular in the general sense of the term ; iiot 
 that men denied their genial uprightness of char- 
 acter, or failed to respect them as only the honor- 
 able are respected. But they were too prosper- 
 ous ! The world and the things of the world 
 went well with them ; Fortune favored them in 
 all their undertakings, while those who were 
 less lucky could only look on and wonder why 
 and how it was. They kept great state, and, 
 although some of the best blood of the country 
 was to be found in Lagrange, still there was 
 no family that quite ranked with the Mortons, 
 to whose wealth and enterprise Lagrange was 
 indebted for much of its prosperity. The old- 
 est and by far the most stately residence of the 
 county was the house which had been built by 
 the representative man of the line one Hugh 
 Morton of three generations back. The village 
 of Tallahoma had begun its existence merely as 
 the post-office of this house ; and the same 
 house had been for many years the centre of 
 such a lavish and refined hospitality that its 
 reputation spread far and wide throughout the 
 entire State. 
 
 Considering their social importance, then, it 
 was no wonder that all Lagrange was thrown 
 into a commotion when it was announced that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Morton were going to Europe, 
 ostensibly for their son's education, but really 
 to gratify their daughter's whim the daughter 
 who was accustomed to say that life in America 
 was worse than death, who panted for the rush 
 and fever of the Old World as ambitious men 
 pant for fame, and to whom it was solely due 
 that her indulgent parents went abroad, leaving 
 their noble home to pass into decay while they 
 dwelt in Parisian hotels and Neapolitan villas. 
 She had the more easily compassed her point be- 
 cause there was no one of sufficient moral force 
 to resist her. Some men most men, in fact 
 would have been utterly lost in the dilettante 
 existence thus forced upon them ; but her father 
 was just the exceptional man who enjoyed it. If 
 he had been born among the lower classes in 
 Spain or Italy, he would have spent his life on a 
 door-step basking in the sun ; and, as it was, he 
 spent it in morally doing the same thing. He 
 was frank and generous to a fault ; but he was 
 intensely indolent, pleasure-loving when the pur.
 
 16 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 suit of pleasure did not involve too much trouble, 
 and fond of ease and luxury to an almost wom- 
 anly degree. Mrs. Morton, for her part, was 
 bound up in her daughter's wishes and her daugh- 
 ter's triumphs, with a great sympathy for both, 
 and a great liking herself for the things that 
 were so attractive to Pauline. The or.ly son was 
 a mere child. So, with none to put an obstacle 
 in her path, Pauline's impetuous will carried the 
 day. The desire of her heart was granted her, 
 as the desires of our hearts are rarely granted 
 to us here on earth ; and, when she took her life 
 in her own hands and went her way, it was as 
 some gallant ship sails away from a familiar har- 
 bor to cruise in unknown seas, where happiness 
 and fortune may be attainable, but where ship- 
 wreck and disaster are much more likely to be 
 encountered. 
 
 For some time after the departure of the 
 voluntary exiles, fragmentary news came back 
 of their wanderings ; of their cordial recognition 
 by the English relatives they had partly gone to 
 seek ; of Pauline's fresh triumphs ; and of their 
 glittering life in foreign cities. But all this 
 was very vaguely told, and soon ceased alto- 
 gether fifty years ago the country-districts of 
 America were farther removed from such scenes 
 than is the interior of China to-day. Soon all 
 tidings of the Mortons ceased, and before long 
 the Mortons themselves might have been for- 
 gotten, had not the house which bore their name 
 and seemed gloomily mourning them, stood as a 
 perpetual reminder of their existence. Only at 
 long intervals certain items of intelligence still 
 gratified the gossips of Lagrange. First came 
 the tidings of Mr. Morton's death ; then news of 
 Pauline's marriage to some one, who was vari- 
 ously represented of every imaginable national- 
 ity and rank ; and, lastly, the announcement of 
 her mother's death. Then silence fell, silence 
 complete and unbroken, although the county 
 leader of fashion, handsome Mrs. Annesley, was 
 first cousin to the surviving brother and sister, 
 had been reared in their father's house, and 
 married from it. But everybody knew that Pau- 
 line had never liked her cousin, and that it was 
 a happy day for both when Edgar Annesley (who 
 was killed in a duel a few years later) took his 
 bride from the door of Morton House. 
 
 Remembering all these things, a thrill of in- 
 tense interest and surprise ran through the coun- 
 ty when Lagrange heard of Pauline Morton's 
 return. There was not a family of good rank 
 within its borders that did not own some con- 
 nection of blood or ancient friendship with Mor- 
 
 ton ; and not a family, therefore, which was n > 
 personally interested in this unexpected arrival 
 Still even these people paused and looked al 
 each other full of tioubt. If Pauline Morton 
 had come back among them with the state 
 which, to their imagination, was always asso- 
 ciated with the name ; if she had thrown open 
 the old hospitable doors, and lighted up once 
 more the old hospitable rooms ; if she had bid- 
 den her friends around her, and asked their wel- 
 come with the matchless grace they still remem- 
 bered they would have been the last people in 
 the world to question whence she came, or why 
 she chose to shroud her past life in mystery. 
 But the singularity of her course awakened in 
 them the first chill of suspicion. Why come 
 back in this way to her own house ? Why 
 write no letters ? Why give no warning to the 
 friends who had a right to know of her inten- 
 tion ? Why ask no aid from their support, she 
 coming back so strangely alone to claim her old 
 position ? Why offer no explanation of her mar- 
 riage and widowhood ? Why think that her old 
 acquaintances would take for granted the twenty 
 years passed away from them the twenty years 
 in which she might have climbed any height, or 
 plunged into any depth, unknown to them? 
 Truly it was no wonder that the elders among 
 them sheok their heads ; and truly it did not 
 look as if Pauline Morton had come back to win 
 any very warm welcome from her kinsfolk and 
 friends. 
 
 Yet among the former class was one person 
 at least to whom no neutral position was possi- 
 ble, one person on whom the burden of positive 
 action was incumbent, and from whom every 
 obligation of gratitude that the world counts 
 binding commanded a speedy and cordial wel- 
 come to the returned wanderer. This person 
 was Mrs. Annesley ; and yet her worst enemy 
 if, indeed, the handsome, charming lady owned 
 any enemies could not have contrived for her a 
 more disagreeable surprise than the news of her 
 cousin's arrival proved. When she heard the 
 particulars of this arrival, she turned very pale ; 
 and then went to bed with one of those bad 
 nervous attacks which alwa^fe stood her in such 
 good stead when an unpleasant exertion was 
 demanded, or an unpleasant duty was to be per- 
 formed. She deplored this necessity very pathet- 
 ically ; and assured the friends who came to see 
 her that she wa* especially sorry because she 
 could not go at once to meet and welcome " dear 
 Pauline." But these friends were by no means 
 obtuse ; they understood the matter perfectly,
 
 WHAT MRS. ANNESLEY DID. 
 
 17 
 
 and told each other when they went out that it 
 was evident Mrs. Annesley felt very awkwardly 
 about meeting her cousin, and that they did not 
 wonder at it. 
 
 " It is unfortunate that I should be ill just at 
 this time," Mrs. Annesley said to her daughter, 
 Mrs. French a pretty, fashionable-looking girl 
 two or three years younger than her brother 
 Morton, and lately married on the evening of 
 the day when these visits had been paid. " I 
 certainly ought to see Pauline at once, and it is 
 quite impossible for me to do so. Yet people 
 will be sure to think it very strange." 
 
 " Mrs. Raynor told me to-day that everybody 
 is waiting to see what you mean to do," Mrs. 
 French answered. " If I were you, mamma, I 
 would let them wait. A woman who comes 
 back like this does not deserve any considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " I am not thinking of her," said Mrs. 
 Annesley, truthfully enough. 
 
 It was a little before dark, and the mother 
 and daughter were quite alone in the chamber 
 of the former. With the outside world it was 
 still daylight, but here the shades of twilight 
 had already gathered, deepening in all the nooks 
 and corners of the room, and only dissipated by 
 the ruddy glow which a bright wood-fire cast 
 over the polished furniture and the softly-tinted 
 walls. On one side of the hearth sat Mrs. An- 
 nesley in a deep arm-chair. Her cashmere dress- 
 ing-gown, her dainty lace cap, and her velvet 
 slippers, were all perfect ; for she had made a 
 tasteful invalid toilet in expectation of those 
 compassionate visitors who had just departed. 
 Opposite, and if possible in a still more luxuri- 
 ous attitude, Mrs. French was sitting the fire- 
 light flickering over her silk dress, and glancing 
 back from her gold chatelaine. She had been 
 busy with some netting ; but the rose-colored 
 web had dropped in her lap, her hands were 
 loosely folded over it, and her eyes were roving 
 absently from the fire to her mother, and from 
 her mother to the heavily-draped windows that 
 commanded a view of the lawn before the house, 
 and the belt of dark shrubbery beyond. Finally, 
 she said, languidly : 
 
 " It is a good thing that Morton is away." 
 
 " It is a most fortunate thing," answered 
 Mrs. Annesley, with energy. " Morton is so 
 Quixotic in his ideas that there really is no 
 tounting on him, and he is so unfortunately 
 straightforward that he cannot understand the 
 dehcate management which some things require. 
 I am sure he would give me trouble if he were 
 
 here ; so I agree with you, Adela it is a good 
 thing that Mr. French wrote for him just now." 
 
 " It will be at least a fortnight before he can 
 get back," said Adela, who had been making 
 some calculation of time and distance while her 
 mother spoke. " Perhaps it may be longer, if 
 Frank decides to come with him, as I hope he 
 will. Then I shall keep him here until I am 
 ready to go back to Mobile." 
 
 u It is very provoking that you should need 
 to go back," said Mrs. Annesley, pettishly. " I 
 shall never be satisfied until you are settled in 
 Lagrange. If I could only carry out my plans ! 
 If you could only live here " 
 
 "Frank would never consent to it, mamma," 
 interrupted Adela, placidly. " He says, very 
 truly, that Morton will be marrying some day, 
 and, of course, bringing his wife here ; and, 
 then, the arrangement would never do." 
 
 " Of course, there could be no question of it 
 under those circumstances that is, if Morton 
 decided to make this place his home," said Mrs. 
 Annesley. " But that was not my plan, Adela, 
 as you very well know." 
 
 " I know you thought of Morton House for 
 him, and Annesdale for us. That would certain- 
 ly be very nice. But I suppose we must give up 
 all hope of it now." 
 
 " That remains to be seen," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, quickly. " It is almost beyond pa- 
 tience," she went on, "that this woman should 
 come back now to defeat all my plans. Every 
 thing was so well arranged. Alfred Morton was 
 perfectly willing to sell the house, and Morton 
 could well afford to give even the exorbitant 
 price he asked. It is true that for the same 
 amount he could have bought the finest planta- 
 tion in the State ; but then no other place could 
 be to him like that his great-grandfather's 
 house. Nobody knows how my heart has al- 
 ways been set on this. Ever since Morton was 
 a child, I have counted on seeing him owner of 
 Morton House. It seemed to me it would even 
 make amends for all I once endured in that 
 house, to know that my son was master there. 
 And now this kind cousin, who always hated 
 me, has come back simply to disappoint my 
 wishes." 
 
 " It would be very nice," said Adela, whose 
 mind was still bent on the arrangement, as it- 
 affected her own comfort. "Frank and I could 
 settle here, and I need not trouble myself any 
 more about his disagreeable relations in Mobile 
 Morton could marry Irene Vernon, and live in 
 that tumble-down old barn that you have such
 
 18 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 a fancy for- and you could have your rooms at 
 both places, and visit between us, just as you 
 liked. It is <i pity that one of your cousins took 
 it into his head to die, and the other one to come 
 back just now." 
 
 " Gordon ! " said Mrs. Annesley, slowly ; 
 " Gordon ! I am confident that I once heard 
 the name of the man Pauline Morton married ; 
 and, if I could recall it now, it might be worth 
 remembering. I am almost sure as sure as I 
 can be of any thing which did not dwell posi- 
 tively on my mind that it was not Gordon." 
 
 " Goodness, mamma ! Has she come back 
 under a false name ? " 
 
 " I am not certain, of course ; but my own 
 impression is that she has. Don't mention it, 
 though, Adela. People are talking enough 
 about her already, and we need not circulate a 
 fact which undoubtedly looks very badly." 
 
 " You may be sure, mamma, that nobody ever 
 acts as she is acting without some reason for 
 it." 
 
 " There is no doubt of that," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, with a sudden flash of something like 
 triumph in her eyes. " But it does not surprise 
 me in the least nothing that I could hear of 
 her would surprise me. Her pride and insolence 
 were so great that they paved a fall for them- 
 lelves. Times have changed, Adela ; you don't 
 know how strangely it makes me feel to realize 
 that twenty-five years ago Pauline Morton was 
 the queen of Lagrange, and to-day it is doubtful 
 whether there is a single person of good position 
 in the county who will move an inch to welcome 
 her." 
 
 " It all depends on you," said Adela, in her 
 languid way. " Mrs. Raynor told me that. She 
 says that everybody is in doubt what to do, and 
 they mean to wait and see how you will act." 
 
 " There, again, times have changed," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, gazing into the fire " Twenty- 
 five years ago I was the dependent cousin whom 
 Pauline Morton barely tolerated ; and to-day it 
 seems that here, in her own home, the question 
 of her social recognition depends on me." 
 
 " It depends on you how people will receive 
 her," said the matter-of-fact Adela. " If I were 
 you, mamma, 1 would let her see this, and then 
 you might perhaps make your own terms, and 
 get Morton House after all." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley gave her daughter a glance, 
 and laughed a little. 
 
 " You are tolerably quick-witted, Adela, and 
 would make a pretty good diplomatist. Certain- 
 ly, I don't owe Pauline much, in the way of a 
 
 good turn ; and certainly, also, the advantages 
 of the situation are on my side now^ If Morton 
 is not the owner of Morton House yet, you may 
 be sure that it will not be my fault. By-the-by, 
 did Mrs. Raynor tell you any thing of thosd 
 reports we heard about Pauline several yeara 
 
 " Nothing at all, mamma, for she did not 
 seem to know any thing. She said there had 
 been reports, but that they were very vague, 
 and she had never been able to make much out 
 of them. She said, also, that you would not 
 speak of them ; but she was sure you knew 
 more about the matter than anybody else." 
 
 " She is mistaken," said Mrs. Annesley ; " I * 
 know nothing about it. How or with whom the 
 reports originated, I cannot tell ; and, simply be- 
 cause I did not choose to contradict them, peo- 
 ple took it for granted that I believed them 
 and was well acquainted with all the particu- 
 lars." 
 
 " I expect you looked as if you believed them. 
 That is a way you have, mamma." 
 
 " I certainly could not look as if I did not be- 
 lieve them, when they were so entirely in keeping 
 with Pauline Morton's character," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, a little coldly. " She was always im- 
 prudent and reckless to the last degree. If she 
 has learned wisdom, it has been since she left 
 Lagrange. Will you ring the bell there, Adela ? 
 I must order some chocolate for my supper ; 
 coffee keeps me awake, and is bad for my 
 nerves." 
 
 The bell was rung ; the chocolate was or- 
 dered ; the servant who received the order deliv- 
 ered a message to Mrs. French about some house- 
 hold matter which demanded her presence down- 
 stairs ; and, with the regretful sigh of an indolent 
 person, the lady tore herself from her comforta- 
 ble lounging-place, and departed. The door had 
 scarcely closed on her, when Mrs. Annesley rose 
 and walked to the window. The dusk had fallen 
 by this time, and she could not do more than dis- 
 tinguish the outlines of the familiar objects be- 
 fore her the piazzas and wings of the house, 
 the graceful trees and well-trimmed shrubs that 
 were scattered over the gently-sloping lawn. 
 Every thing at Annesdale was in the most per- 
 fect taste ; but every thing was undisguisedly 
 new, and just now Mrs. Annesley's heart was 
 longing for something which was old. Her hus^ 
 band had begun, and she herself had completed, 
 the house in which she stood ; yet, charming as 
 it was in every appliance of luxury and com- 
 fort, her perverse fancy went back to the stateh
 
 AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 
 
 19 
 
 rooms, dark and mellow with age, where her 
 youth hud been passed. She looked steadfastly 
 out of the window, over the trees and shrubbery 
 which her own hand had planted, beyond the 
 dark woods and broad fields, until she saw in 
 imagination the noble oaks of Morton House, 
 and the tall chimneys, from which, for the first 
 time in twenty years, the smoke of household 
 fires was curling upward. Then her brows con- 
 tracted in a slight frown a frown not sufficiently 
 marked to darken the handsome face, or give a 
 severe aspect to its smooth lines. " Times are 
 changed," she said, once more, but this time 
 only half aloud. " Will she recognize that as 
 plainly as I do, I wonder ? Will she see that, 
 indeed, the advantage is with me now, and that 
 it is for me to decide whether Pauline Morton 
 the beauty, the heiress, the belle of Lagrange, 
 twenty-five years ago shall not be a social out- 
 law in Lagrange to-day? whether, six months 
 hence, Morton House shall not be in my Morton's 
 hands ? " 
 
 Before long, Mrs. French came back, and 
 found her mother sitting as quietly as ever be- 
 side the hearth, in the dim, fire-lighted apartment. 
 The two ladies spent the evening together, and, 
 when they separated for the night, the last thing 
 Mrs. Annesley told her daughter was that her in- 
 convenient illness would at least serve one good 
 purpose, in enabling her to see what other peo- 
 ple meant to do in the case of her cousin. 
 
 Several days elapsed. Then she found that 
 Mrs. Raynor was right, and that other people 
 hail made up their minds to the same masterly 
 po'.icy of inaction which she herself had been 
 practising. So, urged partly by this fact, and 
 partly by a growing fear of her son's return, she 
 became suddenly convalescent, thought a drive 
 might benefit her, and ordered the carriage. 
 
 " I won't ask you to accompany me, Adela," 
 ehe said to Mrs. French. " If I should go to 
 Morton House, the meeting would, of course, be 
 very painful on both sides, and had better be as 
 private as possible. Besides, I don't care to 
 draw you into a connection that may prove a 
 very awkward one. Frank might object to it." 
 
 " Frank is not of any importance," aid 
 Frank's wife, carelessly. " But I wouldn't think 
 of such a thing as going not for the world ! I 
 bate disagreeable people, and this Pauline Mor- 
 ton must be very disagreeable. Don't tell her I 
 im here, mamma I beg you, don't do that ! " 
 
 "I am not sure that I shall go to Morton 
 House," said Mrs. Annesley. " It depends on 
 how I feel," she added, gravely, as she went 
 
 down the piazza-steps and entered the carriage 
 which was drawn up before them. " Mrs. Tay- 
 lor's, John," she said to the coachman, who 
 stood waiting his orders. And, as the carriage 
 drove off, Adela, who was still on the piazza, 
 saw her lean back and put her vinaigrette to her 
 nostrils. 
 
 Her point of destination was not more than 
 two or three miles from Annesdale ; so she had 
 not time to feel her nerves in any unpleasant 
 degree before the mettled horses swept up to 
 a red-brick house, set in the midst of a bright- 
 green lawn, with a brilliant hedge on either side, 
 and an ornate fence in front. Here the languid 
 invalid was warmly welcomed by Mrs. Taylor and 
 some half-dozen daughters, whose ages ranged 
 from fifteen to thirty, and whose ugliness was 
 from comparative to superlative degree. Mrs. 
 Taylor was a widow ; her daughters were all un- 
 married ; and, since country-life is stagnant at 
 best, and a large household composed exclusive- 
 ly of women must certainly bestow its energies 
 upon some employment, the Taylors, mother and 
 daughters, were widely famed for devoting them- 
 selves, like the Athenians of old, to " telling and 
 hearing something new." Their house was the 
 headquarters of all news (reliable or otherwise) 
 which was afloat in Lagrange, and the mint where 
 all reports were stamped for current circulation. 
 If Mrs. Annesley had wished to put her finger on 
 the public pulse, and feel how strong or how 
 feeble were its beats on the Morton question, 
 she could not have chosen a better place for 
 the purpose. 
 
 Perhaps this had been her intention. At all 
 events, when she left the red-brick mansion be- 
 hind, and was on the high-road, she gave the 
 order, " Morton House." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 
 
 HALF an hour later, Mrs. Annesley's footman 
 was unfastening a large, rusty iron-gate, and 
 holding it open while the flashing carriage rolled 
 majestically through. Then he let the wings fall 
 together with a loud clang, and Mrs. Annesley 
 felt that she was within the domain of Morton 
 House. 
 
 It was rather a dreary-looking place into 
 which she had entered ; and none the less dreary 
 because showing evident signs of much by-gone 
 beauty and care dreary with a forsaken air
 
 MORTON EOTJSE. 
 
 of neglect under the soft November sky, and 
 with the mellow glory of the November sun- 
 shine streaming upon it. In all Indian-summer 
 weather, there is a pathos of intangible sadness 
 even on tbe bright road, and under its glorious 
 golden woods this was sensibly to be felt; but 
 here it deepened into something almost approach- 
 ing pain, something which even a nature as 
 wholly prosaic as Mrs. Annesley's could not but 
 feel. " One might believe it was a graveyard," 
 she thought to herself, as her eye swept over the 
 broad, park-like extent around her. A sudden 
 break in the closely-planted trees of the avenue 
 spread a fair picture before her eyes a picture 
 fair in its decay. True, the noble lawn was 
 thickly strewed with the fallen and mouldering 
 leaves of many autumns, and the once magnifi- 
 cent shrubbery, which on the south side stretched 
 away into far-reaching gardens, was now little 
 more than an overgrown wilderness. But there 
 was an almost regal air of space spread over all ; 
 and even neglect could not entirely destroy the 
 matchless landscape gardening that had once 
 been displayed here the artistic grouping of 
 trees and shrubs, the forest vistas, and the en- 
 chanting vicissitudes of light and shadow so skil- 
 fully blent and arranged. The avenue was at 
 least a mile in length, and led almost directly 
 to a broad, green terrace, which extended around 
 the house, and from which stone steps descended 
 to the drive below. The house itself was now in 
 Bight old, large, brown, and weather-beaten. 
 Yet, notwithstanding all the dreariness of fall- 
 ing shutters and rotting roof, there was some- 
 thing about it which made it not difficult to 
 believe that it had once been the gayest and 
 most hospitable dwelling in the county a some- 
 thing which had survived all the long twenty 
 years when no feet had crossed its threshold 
 gave those of the servants, who once every six 
 months opened the windows and let God's sun- 
 shine stream for a brief space into the darkened 
 chambers ! the twenty years when no house- 
 hold-fires had blazed on the cold hearths, when 
 no master's voice or mistress's laughter, or chil- 
 dren's merry tones, had sounded along its gal- 
 leries, or broken the silence of its deserted 
 rooms. 
 
 " There only need a few repairs to make it 
 again the most beautiful place in all the county," 
 Mrs. Annesley said to herself, as she leaned for- 
 ward for a better view of the house, which she 
 was now rapidly approaching the house that 
 had sheltered her childhood and youth, and from 
 which her husband had taken her a bride. And, 
 
 as she bent forward in the bright sunshine, and 
 looked at the dark old front, with its lofty stone 
 portico, a sudden vision seemed to rise before 
 her a vision of a royal-looking girl, with a face 
 that was brilliant as an oleander blossom, with 
 hair that seemed to have caught the sunshine OL 
 every thread, with eyes of matchless splendor, 
 with the profile of a Greek cameo, and the bear- 
 ing of a Greek goddess. She saw this lovely 
 vision standing where Pauline Morton so often 
 had stood, just within the shadow of the ai.jhed 
 door-way, wearing the fresh-flowing muslin that 
 Pauline Morton so often had worn, and turning 
 as if to greet her with the winning smile she had 
 seen so often on Pauline Morton's lip. It was 
 only a moment that this picture of the past stood 
 framed there ; but so vivid was it that Mrs. An- 
 nesley almost seemed to look through the open 
 doors behind, and see the sunshine of long ago 
 falling on the tessellated floor of the wide, cool 
 hall almost seemed to see the servants passing 
 up and down the broad staircase, the gay faces 
 at the drawing-room windows, and all the life, 
 the stir, the bustle, so long since fled forever. 
 It was only for one moment ; the next, the yel- 
 low sunshine slept as peacefully as before on the 
 closed door and vacant step. 
 
 But the past had not come back in vain even 
 to this woman's selfish heart, and, for a few min- 
 utes, she wavered in the purpose which had 
 brought her there. For a few minutes, she re- 
 membered how long that roof had sheltered her, 
 how constant had been the kindness, how lavish 
 the generosity she had received there ; she re- 
 membered the dead who had befriended her, and, 
 for once, the ingratitude she was meditating rose 
 up to reproach her. Then her son's handsome 
 face and gallant presence seemed also to appear 
 on that threshold where she had so long hoped 
 to see him master ; and the mother's heart 
 steeled itself again. " It is for him," she mur- 
 mured ; " and I should not hesitate at any thing. 
 however painful, to serve his interest. Besides, 
 it will depend upon herself that is the only 
 light in which to look at it. It will depend upon 
 herself; and any one else in my place would act 
 as I must do." 
 
 As if to give emphasis to her concluding 
 words, the carriage at that moment drew up 
 before the terrace-steps, and the footman was 
 on the ground lowering the steps, and ready to 
 guard his mistress's dress from any contact with 
 the dusty wheels.' It was too late to retreat, 
 even if Mrs. Annesley had felt inclined for anj 
 thing so recreant. But she alighted at once
 
 AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 
 
 21 
 
 ascended the steps and crossed the terrace, her 
 ample skirts sweeping grandly over the neglect- 
 ed walks ; entered the portico, and, finding the 
 door-bell gone, gave a summons with her para- 
 BO! on the panel. She was forced to repeat it 
 more than once before the door opened, creaking 
 a sullen protest on its rusty hinges, and a gray- 
 haired servant appeared. He looked a little 
 doubtfully at the lady standing before him, shad- 
 ing his eyes with one hand, for the sunlight 
 streamed full in his face; but she smiled at 
 once in cordial recognition. 
 
 " Why, Harrison, is it you ? " she said. 
 "And so you are back in the old place. How 
 are you ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's Miss Elinor ! I beg your pardon, 
 ma'am, but I didn't know you at first," the old 
 man answered, as he took the delicately-gloved 
 hand she extended, in the momentary clasp of 
 his horny black one. " Yes'm, I'm back. Miss 
 Pauline said as how she would rather see the old 
 faces about her than any new ones, Miss Eli- 
 nor." 
 
 Miss Elinor ! Yes, she was " Miss Elinor " 
 yet, to these old servants of her uncle's house- 
 hold ; and, although she often met them, and 
 heard the name, it had never brought back the 
 memory of her youth as it did now, when she 
 was standing at the door of Morton House, and 
 heard it from the lips that had repeated to her 
 the messages of friends and admirers in the days 
 gone by. 
 
 " And Pauline ? " she said, eagerly. " I have 
 been sick, Harrison, or I should have been to see 
 her before this. How is she ? " 
 
 Harrison shook his head. 
 
 " You'll see for yourself, Miss Elinor," he 
 answered ; " and I'm afraid you'll be shocked, 
 ina'am. But I'm glad you've come mebbe 
 you'll cheer her up a little." 
 
 " Does she need cheering ? Is she sick ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, not sick, but so changed 
 like. It was an awful shock to me, ma'am. I'd 
 never a-known Miss Pauline." 
 
 " I am changed too, Harrison. We all 
 change in twenty years." 
 
 Harrison shook his head again. " Not like 
 her," he said " not like her." 
 
 Then he led the way across the hall, threw 
 open the drawing-room door, with something of 
 his old formality; said, "Walk in, ma'am," quite 
 grandly, and, after Mrs. Annesley had walked in, 
 shut the door, and left her alone with the chill 
 and the darkness for it was both chill and 
 dark after the glowing softness of the outer air. 
 
 Standing where she had been left, the lady 
 looked round and shivered, as if with a sudden 
 ague. This was one of the suite of reception, 
 rooms, which she well remembered the first one 
 looking to the front but the curtains were looped 
 back from the arch that divided it from the ad- 
 joining apartment ; and, when her eyes grew ac- 
 customed to the dim light, she gazed straight into 
 the room where she had been married straight 
 at the very table near which she had stood, and 
 at the very pattern of the carpet which she had 
 traced with her downcast eyes while the cere- 
 mony proceeded. Nay, not more than a few 
 steps from her, was the sofa upon which she 
 sat when Edgar Annesley asked her to be hia 
 wife, and told her, in his frank, honorable way. 
 that, although he could never love her as he had 
 once loved her cousin, yet he would be to her a 
 true and tender husband. There was the piano 
 on which she had so often played duets with 
 Pauline there was her aunt's favorite chair ; 
 and there her uncle's whist-table. Turn where 
 she would, some memory of the past assailed 
 her ; and exclaiming impatiently, " It is worse 
 than meeting a procession of ghosts ! " she sud- 
 denly crossed the room, and threw open an end 
 window. The sunshine streamed in as if glad 
 of an entrance ; and then she perceived the rav- 
 ages of time the mildewed walls, the moth- 
 eaten furniture, the faded curtains. " Repairs 
 are needed worse than I thought," she said, half 
 aloud ; and, as she said it, she fell to thinking 
 how well these lofty rooms would look newly 
 fitted ; how admirably a rich deep green would 
 do for the one in which she stood ; and how well 
 green became the blond beauty of Irene Vernon 
 the girl of all others whom she most wished to 
 see her son's wife. She was so engrossed by 
 these fancies, that the opening of the door did 
 not rouse her, standing as she was with her 
 back to it ; neither did a quiet step which crossed 
 the apartment ; and it was not until a light touch 
 fell on her arm, that she started, turned, and 
 stood face to face with the cousin from whom 
 she had parted twenty years before. 
 
 They stood and looked at each other neither 
 speaking for a moment. They had lived together 
 in the past as intimately as sisters ; but neither 
 of them had ever entertained a sister's regard for 
 the other. Therefore, they felt no affectionate 
 impulse to rush into each other's arms ; and, 
 honest in the present as in the past, they did not 
 feign it. They did not break into any noisy 
 greetings, or take refuge in the commonplaces 
 of ordinary welcome ; they did not even shake
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 hands they only stood and looked at the faces 
 over which twenty years had passed. 
 
 A greater contrast than these two faces pre- 
 Bented it would be hard to imagine one so hand- 
 some and well preserved, so smooth of skin, so 
 clear of outline, so suave and smiling of aspect, 
 with not a silver thread in the shining black 
 hair, or even an incipient crow's-foot around 
 the cold black eyes ; the other so worn and hag- 
 gard, so deeply lined and darkened over, so be- 
 reft of all beauty save the mould of feature and 
 the magic of glance, so stamped with the dreary 
 stamp of suffering, so marked with the bitter 
 signet of anguish, so utterly lost to all the bright 
 bravery of the world, that, save for a proud no- 
 bility which still dwelt in, and redeemed it save 
 for the lovely pathos of the eyes, and the haughty 
 curve of the lips there was no depth of tragedy 
 in which it was not possible to fancy that this 
 woman might have played a part. 
 
 This, at least, was the first tangible idea which 
 came to Mrs. Annesley's mind, as she saw that 
 not even Harrison's dismal prophecy had pre- 
 pared her for the extent of the change, and as 
 she recognized how far below the surface that 
 change had struck. This her cousin ! This Pau- 
 line Morton ! Tliis the girl who had gone away 
 in the spring-tide splendor of her youth and 
 beauty ! " Good God ! I can believe any thing 
 of her now ! " she thought, as she gazed in mute 
 dismay on that world-worn face. 
 
 It was Mrs. Gordon who first broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " How little changed you are, Elinor ! " she 
 said, in a rich, sweet voice ; " and how it brings 
 back the old time to see you again here ! " 
 
 " But you ! " cried Mrs. Annesley, thrown for 
 once entirely beyond the range of her usual con- 
 ventionalities " you ! Pauline, for Heaven's 
 sake, what have you been doing to yourself that 
 you look like this ? " 
 
 " Am I so very much changed, then ? " asked 
 her cousin, with a smile oh, so different from 
 the smile that shadowy beauty had worn who 
 stood in the door-way and greeted Mrs. Annes- 
 ley half an hour before ! 
 
 " Changed ! " She stopped, abruptly ; but 
 the tone that said that much had said enough. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then the 
 other, taking her hand, leaned forward, and 
 lightly kissed her cheek. 
 
 " Yours is the first kindred face I have seen," 
 she said, gently, yet with a certain dignity. " Let 
 me bid you welcome to Morton House." 
 
 And in the tone, the action, there was that 
 
 which took the ground from beneath Mrs. Anne* 
 ley's feet. She had come, meaning to patronize 
 with all the grandiloquent patronage of her 
 changed position ; and one second seemed t- 
 place her back on the old level, to which Pau 
 line Morton had once bent with this same stately 
 grace, but never succeeded in making her cousin 
 forget that she did bend. For an instant, Mrs. 
 Annesley caught her breath ; for an instant, she 
 almost forgot that she was not again the penni- 
 less relation who was bidden welcome to a home 
 she might share, but never inherit. Then she 
 recovered herself, and returned her cousin's 
 caress with more effusion than that cousin's 
 manner seemed to warrant. 
 
 " My dear Pauline, those words are more mine 
 than yours. Welcome, indeed welcome to your 
 old home and your old friends ! " 
 
 " Thank you, Elinor," her cousin replied, 
 quietly. " Pray sit down." 
 
 " Of course, I should have come to you at 
 once, if I ha^ not been ill really ill. I am here 
 to-day in defiance of the doctor." 
 
 " Indeed ! I should not think you looking 
 badly. But it was one of your old nervous at- 
 tacks, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, one of my old nervous attacks," re- 
 plied Mrs. Aunesley, unblushingly. " They seem 
 to grow worse as I grow older." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that. You must be 
 tired by your drive. I will order some refresh- 
 ment." 
 
 She moved away a few steps to ring a bell, 
 and Mrs. Annesley had a good opportunity for 
 observing how straight and rigid was the dress 
 she wore, how hideous the cap that covered all 
 save a little of the hair so thickly sown with 
 gray, and how every harmless beautifier of the 
 toilet seemed sternly banished from the costume. 
 When she returned, the latter said, wonder- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Have you turned Romanist, Pauline, and 
 are you going to establish a nunnery, that you 
 dress in such a style as this ? You look like a 
 nun, I assure you." 
 
 " If you had ever seen a nun, Elinor, you 
 would not think so," the other answered, with a 
 faint smile. " A nun's face is always sweet and 
 serene not world-battered and world-worn, like 
 mine." 
 
 " Then, what do you mean by this ? " and the 
 gloved hand touched the black fabric near it. 
 
 " I only mean that I have renounced the 
 world as much as if I had gone into a clois- 
 ter."
 
 AFTER TWENTY TEARS. 
 
 " My dear Pauline ! " 
 
 " Does that surprise you, Elinor ? Ah ! you 
 have not drunk the dregs of life, as I have." 
 
 " Surprise me ? Of course, it surprises me. 
 But I don't understand." 
 
 " No, I don't suppose you do. I hope there 
 are not many people who would fully understand. 
 Do you know what I have come back here 
 for ? " 
 
 " How should I ? " 
 
 " True, how should you ! Well, I will tell 
 you ; for I want to make my intention clear to 
 all whom it may concern, and you are one of 
 those whom it does concern. I have come back 
 to bury myself." 
 
 " Pauline ! " 
 
 " Is there any thing strange in that ? " said 
 Mrs. Gordon, with another faint, flitting smile. 
 " Women have done such things before the 
 nuns of whom we spoke, for instance." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley did not answer. She gazed 
 at her cousin with blank amazement, and yet 
 nvore blank apprehension, which might in time 
 have found expression, if the door had not been 
 suddenly burst open, and a boy of eight or nine 
 years old a magnificent incarnation of blooming 
 health and beauty rushed into the room, ex- 
 claiming, " Mamma ! " and did not pause until 
 he stood by his mother's side, staring with un- 
 abashed eyes at the elegant stranger. 
 
 " Oh, what a handsome child ! " cried Mrs. 
 Annesley, surprised for once into an enthusiastic 
 truth. " Pauline, is this your boy ? How like 
 you he is ! and yet, how unlike ! " 
 
 " He is not like me at all," Mrs. Gordon an- 
 swered, in a hard voice. Then it softened sud- 
 denly, as she turned to the child. " Felix, go 
 and speak to that lady ; she is your cousin." 
 
 Felix did as he was told extending a hand 
 by no means very clean, but given with the grace 
 of a y, ung prince. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, my cousin," he said, 
 quite loftily. 
 
 And, while Mrs. Annesley surreptitiously 
 wiped her fingers on her handkerchief, she 
 turned again to her companion : 
 
 " What charming manners he has ! If he 
 does not resemble yourself and I can see now 
 that he does not I suppose he looks like his 
 father." 
 
 " Yes," was the brief reply. 
 
 " Poor child ! How young to be fatherless ! 
 I presume he cannot even remember Mr. Gor- 
 ion ? " 
 
 " Yes, he remembers him," said Mrs. Gordon, 
 
 quietly. "Felix, go and ask Harrison if he did 
 not hear the bell." 
 
 " He heard it, mamma," said Felix, prompt- 
 ly. " He's cutting the cake ; and 1 came to ask 
 you if I mayn't have some wine he won't give 
 me any." 
 
 " Certainly not. You can have cake not 
 wine." 
 
 " I don't care about cake, mamma." 
 
 "There is no necessity for you to eat it, 
 then, my dear. But we shall see if your resolu- 
 tion lasts when it comes and here it is." 
 
 As she spoke, Harrison made his appear- 
 ance, bearing a salver on wliich were set forth 
 the orthodox cake and wine of country hospital- 
 ity the former in rich silver baskets, and the 
 latter in slender, old-fashioned wine-glasses. 
 While Mrs. Annesley refreshed herself with a 
 glass of the golden sherry that had been mel- 
 lowing in the cellars of Morton House for forty 
 years, exchanging with her cousin a few matter- 
 of-course remarks about the weather, expatiat- 
 ing on the beauty of the child, who was still 
 present, and even upon the becoming costume 
 he wore, she was revolving in her mind the 
 altered aspect which the last few minutes had 
 given to the hopes she had so long and so san- 
 guinely entertained. 
 
 How easy it is to arrange mentally a supposi- 
 titious scene and conversation ! But when was 
 such scene or conversation ever enacted as ar- 
 ranged ? From the moment in which she heard 
 of her cousin's return, Mrs. Annesley's busy 
 fancy had been going over and over again a re- 
 hearsal of the present interview ; and each time 
 she had acquitted herself to her own entire satis- 
 faction. She had spoken suavely patronizing, 
 but uncompromising in her demands ; her cousin 
 had answered gratefully submissive. Not a 
 shade of doubt or distrust of her own powers 
 had crossed her mind ; she had believed herself 
 to be absolute mistress of the situation. And, 
 alas ! the very first tone of her cousin's voice, 
 and glance at her cousin's face changed so in- 
 conceivably though that face was showed her 
 the mistake she had made, the self-delusion with 
 which she had been pleasing herself. Memory 
 had played her false memory, and the vanity 
 that had been fostered by years of uncheckered 
 prosperity. At the first glance, she recognized 
 the fact that the Pauline with whom she had 
 been holding her imaginary conversations was 
 but a lay-figure, an automaton of her own crea- 
 tion, which had moved, breathed, trembled, yield- 
 ed, as her own inclination pulled the wires upon
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 which she had suspended it. The Pajline be- 
 fore her ah ! how could she have forgotten that 
 haughty nature so strangely as to dream of gain- 
 ing a moment's ascendency over it? She felt 
 that she was defeated even before she had struck I 
 one blow in furtherance of her " plan. 1 This 
 resolution of retirement from the world why, it 
 destroyed every vestige, even to the very founda- 
 tions, of the fabric she had so remorselessly 
 reared ! The old, bitter hate and envy the old, 
 still more rankling sense of impotence to harm, 
 even to move, this woman, who had always 
 seemed so unconscious, if not contemptuous, of 
 her enmity rushed" over her soul in a tide of 
 almost suffocating passion. Baffled defeated 
 now, as ever before ! She could have gnashed 
 her teeth in fury ! Baffled just when she 
 thought success certain ! And must she sub- 
 mit unresistingly ? Might she not sting, wound, 
 if she could not subdue, this proud nature ? She 
 would see. 
 
 " Felix, my dear, you make too much noise. 
 Go to Babette, now," said Mrs. Gordon, as the 
 boy began a romp with the little spaniel which 
 had followed him into the room. " Go ! " < 
 
 " Yes, mamma." And he obediently departed. 
 
 Mrs. Annesley cleared her throat nervously, 
 rose, and set down the wine-glass from which she 
 had been sipping, and, returning to her chair, 
 drew it a little nearer to her cousin's before she 
 again seated herself. Then, laying her hand on 
 the sleeve of the close black dress, she said, con- 
 fidentially : 
 
 " My dear Pauline, you quite took away my 
 breath by what you said just now. I am glad 
 you sent the child out, so that we can talk freely. 
 Surely, you do not mean that you intend re- 
 nouuciug society altogether ? " 
 
 " That is what I mean." 
 
 " Impossible 1 impossible ! " cried Mra. An- 
 nesley, assuming an expression of grave remon- 
 strance. " Why, what would the world say ? " 
 
 " The world of Lagrange, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes. Your own old friends, and those of 
 your parents." 
 
 " If the subject interests them sufficiently 
 for them to say any thing, I suppose it will be 
 Borne of the good-natured things which they 
 used to say of me in the old times. But what 
 does it matter ? " 
 
 " It matters every thing ! if you do not wish 
 to lose your reputation." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon regarded her cousin's face for an 
 instant in astonishment. Then her brows con- 
 tracted slightly, and a haughty light came into 
 
 her eyes. " My reputation ! " she repealed. 
 " And pray, Elinor, will you tell me what pos- 
 sible connection there is, or can be made, be- 
 tween my voluntary seclusion and the loss of my 
 reputation ? " 
 
 Mrs. Annesley paused a moment, partly be 
 cause she was a little doubtful as to what her next 
 words should be partly with an affectation of re- 
 luctance to speak. She looked down at the carpet, 
 thoughtfully then lifted her eyes to her cousin's 
 countenance, hoping to find there signs of alarm 
 and perturbation. She was disappointed. Mrs, 
 Gordon was waiting quietly for her to proceed. 
 
 " Your question places me in a very embar- 
 rassing, a very painful position, Pauline," she 
 began, with well-acted hesitation. "But I 
 think you will agree with me that plain speaking 
 is always best ; particularly in a case of this 
 kind, and between friends and relatives." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. Plain speaking is always 
 best between people who )iave a right to speak 
 plainly to each, other ; and friends and relatives 
 do possess this right," answered Mrs. Gordon, 
 with the dignified simplicity of manner which, 
 to her cousin's elaborate mannerism of dignity, 
 seemed, as it always had seemed, like virgin 
 gold to pinchbeck. 
 
 Mrs. Annesley cleared her throat again, and, 
 lifting the top of her vinaigrette, bent her head 
 and inhaled the salts before she replied, slowly: 
 
 " My dear Paufine, I do not know whether 
 you are aware that, to the eyes of the world, 
 your life is veiled in profound mystery ; that, 
 until your return, your friends -vere ignorant of 
 the very name of the man yv.i ..arried; that, 
 even now, the name itself is all that is known. 
 Under these circumstances, is it much to be 
 wondered at that some very unpleasant reports 
 have crept into circulation ? reports which you 
 would be shocked to hear, my dear, I assure 
 you ! And, if you take this strange s jp of 
 secluding yourself from the world, I cannot 
 answer for the consequences." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon had listened unmoved to her 
 cousin's words, until Mrs. Annesley came to the 
 last sentence. She smiled then not scornfully, 
 but with a sort of half-sad amusement. 
 
 " Human nature is the same all the world 
 over I " she said. " In the little stagnant pool, 
 as in the great ocean of life, impertinent curios- 
 ity and gratuitous ill-nature are the most marked 
 features of ' society.' But, my dear Elinor, I am 
 surprised that you should have forgotten all 
 about my character so entirely as to imagine 
 that the ' opinion of the world ' could move me.
 
 AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 
 
 25 
 
 or give me a moment's uneasiness. Don't you 
 remember how I used to shock you with my dis- 
 regard for the ideas and dicta of this narrow 
 world around us ? And do you think it likely 
 that a cosmopolitan life of twenty years has 
 taught me to rate its importance more highly ? " 
 
 " Good Heavens, Pauline ! You do not know, 
 you do not realize what you are disregarding! 
 what the reports are " began Mrs. Annesley, 
 with a consternation which was perfectly genu- 
 ine for more and more did she realize that her 
 anticipated power over her cousin had been a 
 chimera of self-flattery. But Mrs. Gordon inter- 
 posed, quietly : 
 
 " I have no more curiosity now than formerly 
 about Lagrange gossip. If it amuses people to 
 talk about me, I have no objection to their en- 
 joying that gratification." 
 
 " But, surely, you object to setting a stain on 
 your good name ! on the Morton honor ! " cried 
 Mrs. Annesley, driven beyond all self-control by 
 the careless indifference with which the other 
 spoke. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon's lip curled in a disdain so con- 
 temptuous that her cousin shrank abashed with 
 that consciousness of utter discomfiture in all 
 endeavor to annoy, which had been so familiar 
 and so galling to her in the old days, while the 
 former said, sternly : 
 
 " I have returned to my old home, soul-weary 
 and grief-stricken to seek the shelter of my 
 father's roof, as people sometimes quit the 
 world for a cloister. You tell me that the ' old 
 friends ' of my parents and myself are bandying 
 about ' reports ' concerning me ; that they ' know 
 nothing of my life,' and yet are slandering it ! 
 Well, I answer that their gossip and slander are 
 less to me than the hum of the insects around 
 him to the anchorite of the desert ; that, for the 
 people who disseminate or believe slanders so 
 false, so malicious, so unprovoked who dare to 
 suspect my father's daughter of any act unworthy 
 of his name and honor I entertain a contempt 
 too profound for it to be any thing but passive." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley was effectually silenced ; but 
 her countenance showed so plainly the dismay, 
 mortification, and chagrin, by which she was lit- 
 erally overwhelmed, that Mrs. Gordon, reading 
 the expression (though not, of course, its cause), 
 and attributing it to a fear of being personally 
 compromised, said gravely, but kindly : 
 
 " I know, my dear Elinor, that your ideas 
 and mine do not agree as to the value of the 
 world's opinion. And, if you fear that, you may 
 yourself incur the censure of this opinion " 
 
 r " Pauline, how can you wrong me by imagin- 
 ing that I am thinking of myself in the matter! 
 It was alarm for you which, ill as I felt this morn- 
 ing, urged me to the exertion of showing the 
 world at once my position toward you my esti- 
 mate of the reports that are in circulation by 
 coming to offer you the support and advice of a 
 kinswoman." 
 
 A smile of irrepressible amusement swept 
 over Mrs. Gordon's face, brightening it into a 
 stronger likeness to its former self than Mrs. 
 Annesley could have believed it possible it would 
 ever again wear. " And have these good people 
 of Lagrange really proceeded so far in their amia- 
 ble canvassing of my affairs, that you thought it 
 necessary to extend a hand to save me ? " she 
 said, with almost a laugh. " I am afraid they 
 would be disappointed, if they knew how much 
 unnecessary trouble they have given themselves. 
 My first order to Harrison, on my arrival, was, 
 that no one but yourself, your children, and one 
 or two of my oldest and dearest friends, were to 
 be admitted. To all others he was to say that, 
 being in deep mourning, and in deep grief " 
 her lip quivered with anguish as she spoke the 
 last words " I must decline society. You see, 
 therefore, that it was premature, to say the least, 
 in the social authorities of Lagrange, to decree 
 ostracism to one who, for reasons entirely apart 
 from any consideration of their existence, had no 
 intention of accepting, far less of asking, their 
 suffrage. It was kind of you, Elinor," she added, 
 with a perfect good faith that made Mrs. Annes- 
 ley wince, " to wish to throw yourself into the 
 breach in my defence." 
 
 " It was useless, I perceive," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, endeavoring to regain her usual man- 
 ner, " if you persist in this strange resolution you 
 have expressed. Nothing, which I could say 01 
 do would have any effect in righting the public 
 sentiment, so long as you maintain the mystery 
 which was the cause of these dreadful reports 
 If you would only authorize me to contradict 
 them to " 
 
 " Excuse me," interposed Mrs. Gordon, quiet 
 ly. "It is a matter of perfect indifference to 
 me." 
 
 " But for my sake ! " urged Mrs. Annesley, 
 who remembered well that she had many a time 
 gained concessions from Pauline's generosity, 
 which Pauline's pride would never have made 
 " for my sake, Pauline ! Think what an embar- 
 rassing position I am placed in. Pray, recon- 
 sider your resolution ! " 
 
 " My dear Elinor, I cannot do that," answered
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 her cousin. " I came here, as I told you, to seek 
 rest. I married very unhappily, and have suf- 
 fered muoh have suffered so terribly that, But 
 for the sake of my child, I think I could not have 
 lived through all I have endured. This explana- 
 tion I make to yourself not for the benefit of 
 the gossips who, it seems, are busying them- 
 selves with my name. Yourself, and the few old 
 friends who, I think, have a right to that con- 
 sideration from me, shall be always welcome 
 here, if " she smiled " you and they are not 
 afraid to brave public opinion by coming." 
 
 "You do me injustice by the doubt you im- 
 ply," said Mrs. Annesley, quickly. "But, for 
 thiit matter, you always did me injustice." 
 
 " Did I ? " said her cousin, with a softer light 
 coming into her eyes, and a softer tone into her 
 voice. " Perhaps I did ; for I was very prone to 
 rash judgment in those wilful early days. I 
 sometimes think that all I have endured since 
 has only been a just punishment for the faults I 
 cherished then. I am glad to believe I did you 
 injustice, and to beg your pardon for it. Forgive 
 me, Elinor and let us be friends." 
 
 She held out her hand, and Mrs. Annesley 
 could not decline to take it. But she hesitated 
 a moment before doing so, and paled slightly, 
 as she said: 
 
 " We won't talk of the past, Pauline, for I 
 dare say the fault of our misunderstandings was 
 as much mine as yours. Tell me about poor, 
 dear Alfred. 1 was so shocked to hear of his " 
 
 " Death," she would have said, had not the 
 sudden ghastly change that came over her cous- 
 in's face stopped the word. It was not the acute 
 grief which cannot bear any mention of its be- 
 reavement from careless lips, but the presence 
 of an unutterable horror, which blanched the 
 cheek, and gave so deep an agony to the eye, 
 that Mrs. Annesley saw she had made a great 
 mistake, and stammered hastily : 
 
 " Pardon me ; I did not mean " 
 
 Then Mrs. Gordon seemed to rally with an 
 almost convulsive effort ; and, after a minute, 
 spoke hoarsely : 
 
 " It does not matter. I I only have not 
 learned to bear the mention of his name. Yes, 
 he is dead. Be kind, Elinor do not ask me any 
 more." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley could not disregard such a re- 
 quest. She was silent for some time ; half from 
 astonishment, half from offended pride at her 
 cousin's reserve. Then she gathered her wrap- 
 pings round her, and rose with that motion 
 which indicates departure. 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot stay longer," she said, 
 " but I dare not risk over-fatiguing myself. 1 
 will come soon again, however." 
 
 "Pray do," said Mrs. Gordon, cordially. 
 " Give my love to Morton and Adela. Are they 
 not with you now ? " 
 
 " Morton lives with me, but he is not at home 
 just now. He has been absent for a week or 
 two. Adela is married, and lives in Mobile," 
 replied Mrs. Annesley, telling the truth but 
 not the whole truth. " Do you remember your 
 old admirer, Colonel French ? Well, one of his 
 sons died, and Adela married the other a very 
 good match indeed." 
 
 "Colonel French the wealthy widower, as 
 you used to call him? How strangely such 
 news makes me feel. To think that Adela 
 should be married and to one of those little 
 boys ! " 
 
 "I ought to feel old, ought I not? And 
 yet" 
 
 " And yet you feel young, looking at me. Is 
 it not so ? " 
 
 " I did not mean to say that, I assure you ; 
 but you do look shockingly. I hope you will 
 seem more like yourself when I see you again. 
 Good-by. I cannot tempt you even to Aunea 
 dale ? " 
 
 " Not even to Annesdale." 
 
 They shook hands, parted if any thing more 
 coldly than they had met and, ten minutes after- 
 ward, the Annesley carriage was rolling out of 
 the Morton gates. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHAT MORTON SAID. 
 
 "!T is a good thing that Morton is not at 
 home," Mrs. Annesley had again remarked to 
 her daughter, when she finally made up her 
 mind to action in the case of her cousin ; and 
 the event well justified that self-congratulation. 
 A fortnight after the visit in which she had been 
 so signally worsted, Morton returned, and, for 
 the first time in his life, asserted his right of 
 interference as head of the house. 
 
 " Mother," he said, when they were at break 
 fast on the morning after his arrival, and the ser 
 vants had lef|j the room " Mother, is it true, as 
 I hear, that our* cousin, Pauline Morton, has re- 
 turned among us ? " 
 
 There was something unusually grave and 
 formal in the tone of this inquiry, something
 
 WHAT MORTON SAID. 
 
 which made Adela French look up and open her 
 eyes ; but Mrs. Annesley answered with admira- 
 ble nonchalance 
 
 " Yes, my dear boy, she has really returned. 
 I forgot that we heard the news the very day you 
 left. How it must have astonished you ! It 
 was quite a shock to me; but my nerves are 
 BO easily affected I can stand very little. I sup- 
 pose you heard it in Tallahoma, as you came 
 through ? " 
 
 " Yes, I heard it in Tallahoma," the young 
 man answered, " and, mother, I also heard some- 
 thing else, which cannot be true." 
 
 " It is a very sad affair altogether, my dear 
 Morton," said Mrs. Annesley, quietly ; " but 
 there is nothing more likely than that you heard 
 some exaggeration of the matter. What was 
 it?" 
 
 She asked the question with honest indiffer- 
 ence, for, since her visit to Mrs. Gordon, she had 
 felt, so far as herself was concerned, upon safe 
 ground. She knew that she had always been to 
 Morton a sort of enthroned divinity, who could 
 do no wrong ; and it was evident that he hesi- 
 tated now before saying any thing which might 
 seem even the mildest censure on her conduct. 
 At last, however, he spoke. 
 
 " I heard in Tallahoma that our cousin " he 
 uttered the last two words with emphasis " has 
 come back to her old home, without having re- 
 ceived any welcome from her old friends ; and 
 that even you, mother, have failed to give her 
 one." 
 
 " I should think you would know by this time 
 how much reliance is to be placed in Tallahoma 
 gossip," said Mrs. Annesley. "As usual they 
 have told you something entirely without foun- 
 dation ; and " with gentle reproach " I cannot 
 help thinking it strange that you should credit 
 such a thing of me." 
 
 " I did not credit it ! " said the young man, 
 eagerly. " I was only afraid that it might be so, 
 because public opinion seems dealing so hardly 
 with this poor woman. And you have been to 
 see her, then ? " 
 
 " Of course I have," answered she, promptly. 
 " How could I possibly neglect such a duty ? 
 We were raised together as sisters, you remem- 
 ber." 
 
 "And has she been here? Mother, she 
 ought to be here now." 
 
 " Morton ! what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean," answered Morton, quickly, " that 
 when a woman is slandered is the time, of all 
 others, for her kindred to close around her ; and 
 
 that Pauline Morton's proper place now is under 
 this roof." 
 
 " But, good Heavens ! why ? " 
 
 " Why ? " he repeated in surprise. " Dear 
 mother, don't you know why ? Don't you know 
 that she is doubted, suspected, slandered, if you 
 will have a plain word ; and that it is only thus 
 we can pay the debt of gratitude we owe to those 
 whose roof once sheltered you ? " 
 
 He looked like a young paladin, with the 
 kindling fire on his handsome face, and the shin- 
 ing light in his dark eyes ; and even his mother's 
 heart was touched as he lowered his voice over 
 the last words. 
 
 " My son, you do not understand," she said, 
 in a grave, troubled voice for it was never her 
 policy to come to an issue with Morton, " you do 
 not understand and you should trust to me in 
 this matter." 
 
 " You know how much I trust to you," he 
 answered. " But in this matter " 
 
 " Why do you think it necessary to take up 
 your cousin's cause with so much zeal ? " said 
 Mrs. Annesley, as he hesitated in his sentence. 
 
 "I thought I had already explained what 
 really does not seem to require any explanation. 
 Seeing any woman in a position of social difficul 
 ty, I should not feel myself a gentleman if, be- 
 lieving her injured, I did not make at least an 
 effort in her defence. And when I see my own 
 kinswoman, one to whom I am bound both by 
 ties of blood and obligations of gratitude 
 mother, can you ask mo why I should take up 
 her cause with all the zeal of which I am capa- 
 ble ? " 
 
 " One word, Morton," said Mrs. Annesley, who 
 had been watching him during the last speech, 
 and knew to a nicety how far it was prudent to 
 carry open opposition " one word, if you please. 
 Has it never occurred to you that Pauline Mor- 
 ton may not be the injured victim you seem to 
 consider her ? " 
 
 If she had sent a rifle-shot into her son's 
 plate, she could not have taken him more com- 
 pletely by surprise. He looked for one moment 
 in mute amazement at her face, then a crimson 
 flood shot over his brow, and was visible even 
 beneath the black curls that rested on it. 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 " Don't misunderstand me," said Mrs. Annes- 
 ley, quietly. " Don't think that I mean any thing 
 moie than I say. I only repeat my question 
 has it never occurred to you that Pauline Mor- 
 ton may not be that injured victim which you 
 seem to consider her ? "
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "No, 1 (.nswered he. "Is she not a Mor- 
 ton?" 
 
 " She Is, indeed. But, in short, as I told you 
 before, you had better trust to me in this mat- 
 ter." 
 
 " And, as I told you before, that is impossi- 
 bly" he replied. " Tell me what you meant by 
 such a question. 1 ' 
 
 But, what Mrs. Annesley meant, it was very 
 hard indeed, impossible for her to explain in 
 Morton's straightforward fashion; for her only 
 red meaning had been to impress him with a 
 belief that the matter was too delicate for his 
 management. She hesitated before answering; 
 and then said more than she had perhaps in- 
 tended to say. 
 
 " I only meant, Morton, that I am sure you 
 would not like to force me into giving counte- 
 nance to a woman who may not deserve it." 
 
 " God 'forbid ! " said Morton, hastily. " But, 
 mother, surely you consider what you are say- 
 mg?" 
 
 " Is it likely I would not consider ? " asked 
 Mrs. Annesley, dreadfully conscious that the exi- 
 gence of the occasion was forcing her into doing 
 just the opposite. But then it was so necessary 
 to quiet Morton by saying something. " Is it 
 likely I would not consider? Ah, you don't 
 know how I have suffered about this, or you 
 would never reproach me for not doing more." 
 
 " Reproach you ! My dear mother, I must 
 hare expressed myself very badly if you think I 
 meant to reproach you. Pray forgive me, if I 
 hare been h.isty or disrespectful but I feel this 
 matter so deeply." 
 
 " You cannot feel it more deeply than I do," 
 aid Mr*. Annesley, putting her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. " My poor aunt, and my dear uncle, 
 what a blessed thing it is that they did not live 
 to see this day ! You may think me unfeeling, 
 Morton, but Adcla there could tell you that I 
 hare been really ill, and about nothing else but 
 this affair." 
 
 " I could as soon suspect a saint of being un- 
 feeling," said Morton, much concerned, but smil- 
 ing a little. 
 
 " Selfish, then, when I had only your welfare 
 at heart.** 
 
 " You could not be felfish if you tried. But 
 I really don't see what my welfare had to do 
 with the matter." 
 
 No, he did not see In the least, and, what was 
 more, Mrs. Annesley dared not enlighten him. 
 She knew how much he desired to own Morton 
 House, but she also knew that Morton House 
 
 would be worse than valueless to him if he once 
 suspected that it had been won by such means 
 as those she had not scrupled to propose to her- 
 self. 
 
 " I only mean," she hastily corrected, " that 
 neither you nor I can help a woman who is so 
 utterly reckless that she will not help herself." 
 
 " And Pauline Morton ? " 
 
 " Pauline Morton refuses absolutely to accept 
 any aid that we can give her." 
 
 " Refuses ! How ? Pray be more explicit, if 
 only in consideration of my stupidity." 
 
 " I don't see how I can be more explicit, Mor 
 ton. She distinctly declines to give any explana- 
 tion of her singular appearance among us, of the 
 death of her brother, or of the absence of hei 
 husband indeed, whether he is alive or dead, 
 nobody knows. She looks as if she might have 
 walked through a furnace of fire, or been buried 
 alive and dug up again, or lived in garrets on 
 crusts of bread, or or done any thing ! And 
 she will neither receive her friends nor accept 
 any hospitality they offer." 
 
 Morton, who had risen from the table, was 
 now standing with one hand on the back of his 
 chair, and he did not speak for several minutes. 
 Then he said, slowly : 
 
 " Well, all this only proves that she has suf- 
 fered, nothing more. Surely we may respect this 
 suffering sufficiently to refrain from prying into 
 it. Can the gossips say nothing more of her 
 than this ? " 
 
 " You can best answer that question," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, stiffly. " I am not likely to hear 
 what gossips say of my own cousin. But I think 
 it is more than ought to be said of any woman." 
 
 " Mother, that does not sound like you," 
 said her son, gently. "Remember how often 
 you have agreed with me tliat misfortune should 
 never be confounded with fault. We have no 
 right to suspect more than misfortune here." 
 
 " Not if Pauline had come back as her posi- 
 tion demanded she should come with some guar- 
 antee for her past, and some regard for appear- 
 ances in the present. Not if she " 
 
 "In one word, if she had not needed your 
 friendship. Oh, mother, that I should hear such 
 social cant from your lips ! Her old associates, 
 then, would have been willing to extend their 
 hands to her, if *he had not needed them ; as 
 she does need them, they consider that a suf- 
 ficient reason for holding aloof. What a pitiful 
 world it is ! " said the young man, with a sudden 
 scorn flashing into his face ; " and how much it 
 is alike in every place and condition of life '
 
 WHAT MORTON SAID. 
 
 29 
 
 Mother, one more question, and I have done. 
 I am sure I need not beg you to answer me 
 frankly. Do you, or do you not, believe that 
 Pauline Morton deserves the suspicion that 
 seems to have fallen upon her ? " 
 
 Was ever diplomacy placed in a more trying 
 position than this ? Reply in the affirmative 
 Mrs. Annesley could not, without a more daring 
 violation of truth than even her conscience 
 would allow ; and, to answer in the negative, 
 would be to undo all her previous work. Clear- 
 ly, then, the only resource left was that of eva- 
 sion, and this she employed with commendable 
 quickness. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Morton ! How can you ask 
 me to decide such a question, and about my own 
 cousin, too ? You should be more considerate 
 of my my feelings ! " 
 
 " I am asking you to be considerate of the 
 honor of your name, mother," said Morton, half- 
 sternly. " Do you know what people will say if 
 you do not face that question and answer it bold- 
 ly?" 
 
 " I must consult my own conscience, and not 
 what people will say," answered she, with dig- 
 nity. 
 
 Morton took his hand from the chair, and 
 made a quick turn up and down the room before 
 he spoke again. He stopped abruptly then, and 
 fastened his eyes on her face : 
 
 " Then, mother, you, too, doubt this poor 
 woman ? " 
 
 " Doubt her ? " She hesitated a moment, but 
 saw her way to no other answer than the truth. 
 " No, Morton, I do not." 
 
 " In that case, you consider her unjustly sus- 
 pected do you, mother ? " 
 
 There was something truth-compelling in the 
 direct question, in the earnest eyes, and still more 
 earnest voice. Before Mrs. Annesley knew what 
 she was about, she had uttered a reluctant 
 " Yes." 
 
 But, even after this, she was not prepared for 
 what followed. She was astonished when Mor- 
 ton crossed the floor, rang the bell, and said to 
 the servant who answered it : 
 
 " The carriage." 
 
 The door had hardly closed before Mrs. An- 
 nesley cried : 
 
 " Morton, what does this mean ? " 
 
 " It means," said Morton, " that I am going 
 to see our cousin, and that I hope you will ac- 
 company me to urge her return with us to An- 
 nesdale." 
 
 His mother looked at him in silent exaspera- 
 
 tion. If she had given way to her first impulse, 
 it would certainly have been one of fierce re- 
 proach, since anger was burning hotly enough in 
 her heart against this ungrateful return for all 
 her exertion. But one thing which she had 
 learned in life was the folly of passion. So she 
 curbed herself with the steady curb which long 
 habit had rendered easy, and answered quietly: 
 
 " I am afraid you must excuse me. Dr. Rey- 
 nolds expressly forbade my leaving the house 
 until he saw me again. Besides, Morton, since 
 you absolutely refuse to be guided by me in this 
 matter, I cannot think that I am called upon to 
 expose myself to another repulse for your sake." 
 
 " Another repulse ? " 
 
 " Yes, another repulse. I thought I told you 
 that Pauline has already declined the visit which 
 you wish me to urge on her a second time." 
 
 " Did you really urge it the first time, moth- 
 er?" 
 
 " Did you ever know me lacking in hospital- 
 ity ? But, since you distrust me, go your own 
 way, and find who is right." 
 
 She spoke gravely, but without any touch of 
 pettishness ; and Morton hesitated. Perhaps, 
 after all, she was right perhaps, after all, he 
 was wrong. Who was so likely to be wrong at 
 himself, thought the young man, with the humil- 
 ity which was his most prominent characteristic. 
 Surely his mother was better able to judge of her 
 cousin than he who had never seen that cousin. 
 In trying to act up to the standard of his chivalric 
 creed, he began to fear that he had not only been 
 very obstinate, but also very foolish. So, after a 
 pause, he spoke quite humbly : 
 
 " I have never done such a thing as distrust 
 you in all my life, mother ; and I am sure I have 
 no desire to go my own way simply because it is 
 my own way. If you think the invitation had 
 better not be given just at present, I am perfect- 
 ly willing to defer it. But that is no reason for 
 deferring my visit. Since you cannot accompany 
 me, I am sure Adela will." 
 
 He looked at his sister as he spoke; and 
 Mrs. French shrugged her shoulders, as she an- 
 swered carelessly : 
 
 " Indeed, I would not advise you to b? too 
 sure, Morton, for I have not an idea of doing any 
 thing of the kind." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Simply because I don't choose to." 
 
 "Adela!" This was Mrs. Annesley who 
 broke in with a tone half-warning, half-reproach 
 ful. 
 
 " Well, mamma," was the saucy reply, " you
 
 30 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 surely don't think I am going to let Morton tyr- 
 annize over me as he does over you ? When one 
 doesn't mind one's husband, one isn't likely to 
 mind one's brother do you think so ? He must 
 get him a wife, if he wants somebody to go with 
 him whenever he takes a fancy to visit super- 
 annuated beauties." 
 
 " I did not ask you to go as a favor to my- 
 self, Adela," said her brother, a little haughtily. 
 
 " So much the better," answered she. And, 
 at that moment, a servant opened the door and 
 announced the carriage. 
 
 " I was wrong," said Morton, turning to her. 
 " I do ask it as a favor to myself. Will you 
 go?" 
 
 " Not on any account," said the young lady, 
 with emphasis. "Nothing would induce me to 
 go. I hate disagreeable people besides, the 
 Raynors and Irene Vernon will be here to din- 
 ner to-day, and I would not tire myself out for 
 the world. If you will go, that is no reason why 
 I should be so silly." 
 
 " Have the carriage taken back, and my horse 
 brought out," said Mr. Annesley to the servant. 
 
 After this, there was ten minutes' rather un- 
 comfortable silence in the room. It was broken 
 at last by Adela, who had sauntered to the win- 
 dow, and, with admirable nonchalance, announced 
 the appearance of the horse adding the gratui- 
 tous information that he did not look quite as 
 well groomed as usual. 
 
 " Probably not ; those scamps grow careless 
 if I am away from home a week," said her broth- 
 er. He turned to leave the room, saying to his 
 mother, " I shall not be back until dinner." 
 
 " But you must be back in time for dinner 
 don't forget that, Morton," she said, anxiously. 
 
 " I shall not forget it," he answered. 
 
 When the door closed on him, Mrs. Annesley 
 drew a deep breath of relief, and looked at her 
 daughter, who was still standing by the window. 
 Their eyes met, and Mrs. French laughed. 
 
 " Poor Morton, how simple he is 1 " she said. 
 " I wondered you had patience to fence with him 
 BO long, mamma. Do you think he means to 
 spend the morning at Morton House ? " 
 
 Mrs. Annesley shook her head. "I wish he 
 did," she answered. " He means to spend it in 
 Tallahoma. 
 
 " Mamma," said Mrs. French, setting her teeth 
 sharply, " I would make an end of that business, 
 If I were yon." 
 
 " Suppose you could not, Adela ? " 
 
 " As if you could not always do any thing you 
 want to." 
 
 " Morton is terribly obstinate." 
 
 " Morton is like wax in your hands." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then, Lot 
 very relevantly, as it seemed, Mrs. Annesley said, 
 " When does Irene Vernon leave ? " 
 
 " Not before New Year. You know she is en- 
 gaged to spend Christmas here." 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 They said nothing further but, after another 
 minute or two, Mrs. French kissed her hand, and 
 gayly waved it to some one outside the window. 
 
 " It is only Morton," she said, as her mothet 
 came forward and looked over her shoulder. " I 
 am wishing him good luck." 
 
 They both watched the graceful rider out of 
 sight; and Mrs. Annesley, as she turned away 
 from the window, said, with a low and somewhat 
 bitter laugh, "Let him go. He will not be ad- 
 mitted farther than the door of Morton House." 
 
 CHAPTER VI r . 
 
 HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 
 
 IN all the sweet South there never was a softer 
 or more beautiful morning robed in gorgeous 
 autumnal dress, and glorying in a lavish affluence 
 of balmy air, and golden sunshine, and draping 
 haze than that on which the young owner of 
 Annesdale rode forth to try his fortune at Morton 
 House. 
 
 Shortly after leaving his own gates, he over- 
 took an open carriage full of ladies, who were 
 chattering gayly, and who burst into a chorus of 
 welcome when Ilderim's handsome head appeared 
 beside them. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley ! What a surprise ! " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Annesley, where did you come 
 from?" 
 
 " When did you come back, and how are 
 you?" 
 
 Only one of the fair bevy the fairest among 
 them said nothing; but she smiled and held 
 out her hand ; and neither the smile nor the 
 action left any thing to be desired. 
 
 Mr. Annesley answered all the inquiries, and 
 exchanged all the civilities of the occasion; and 
 then rode along by the side of the carriage, rest- 
 ing one hand lightly on the door, while with the 
 other he restrained Ilderim's eager impatience ; 
 and the stream of conversation flowed on in easy 
 and lively current. 
 
 " You have been to Mobile, Mr. Annesley ? " 
 isked the gay young chaperon of the party
 
 A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 
 
 31 
 
 pretty Mrs. George Raynor, who had been a Miss 
 Vernon and a Mobile belle before she married, 
 and came to dazzle Lagrange with her beauty and 
 her fashion. " Oh, do tell us something about it, 
 for we are almost dying Irene and I for news 
 of all our friends." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Morton, smiling ; 
 " but where shall I begin ? I was only in Mobile 
 for a few days, and I scarcely saw any thing of 
 the people you would care to hear about." 
 
 "Ah, I care to hear about anybody," cried 
 she, with fervor. " And, if you did not see any- 
 body, just tell me what they are talking about in 
 the city. I wish I had known you were going, 
 I would have asked you to take a package to 
 Aunt Lucy and, perhaps to bring me a bon- 
 net back." 
 
 "You are glad she did not know, are you 
 not, Mr. Annesley ? " said Miss Vernon, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 Morton smiled only, in reply to the last ques- 
 tion, preferring, it seemed, to answer Mrs. Ray- 
 nor's remark. " If I had not left home so hur- 
 riedly, you should have known," he said. " But 
 I did manage to see your aunt, and she charged 
 me with a great many messages to yourself and 
 Miss Vernon the chief of which," he added, 
 turning to the latter, " I feel tempted not to 
 deliver." 
 
 " Is it so very disagreeable, then ? " asked 
 she. 
 
 " It will not be at all disagreeable to you, I 
 am afraid ; but she urges your speedy return to 
 Mobile, and that will be very disagreeable to 
 Lagrange." 
 
 " Lagrange will have to support the desola- 
 tion as best it can, and I have no doubt will be 
 able to endure it," said Miss Vernon, a little 
 coolly thinking, no doubt, that the compliment 
 would have gained point and strength by a more 
 personal application. 
 
 Then a cry broke from the other two young 
 ladies, who were both Misses Raynor, plain in 
 looks, plain in manners, and therefore blindly 
 admiring the Vernon beauty, and emulous of the 
 Vernon style. 
 
 " Oh, Irene, you surely will not think of leav- 
 ing us ! " 
 
 " Irene, that is very mean of your aunt, for 
 she knows you promised to stay until after 
 Christmas." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Raynor. " Irene 
 knows she is not going until I am ready to go 
 with her ; and only George can say when that 
 will be he is so provoking! Mr. Annesley, I 
 
 do hope that when you are married, you will 
 treat your wife with some consideration." 
 
 " I shall endeavor to do so, Mrs. Raynor," 
 answered Morton, with mock-gravity for all 
 Lagrange knew that George Raynor was the 
 most thoroughly hen-pecked husband in the 
 county " I shall come to you for instructions 
 how to act. But you have not told me what has 
 been going on here since I left." 
 
 " Nothing has been going on in any way," 
 said Mrs. Raynor. " Irene, what have we been 
 doing ? any thing at all ? " 
 
 "Vegetating and yawning, I believe," an- 
 swered Miss Vernon. " But these principal 
 occupations have been varied by much gossip, 
 and a little scandal, lately." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " burst in Mrs. Raynor, with the 
 greatest animation. " Lagrange has been in a 
 perfect ferment of gossip for the last three 
 weeks, Mr. Annesley, about that curious Miss 
 Morton, or Mrs. Gordon, or whatever her name 
 may be, who has come back like a ghost, and 
 set everybody talking themselves hoarse. Of 
 course you have heard of her ? " (She did not 
 give him time to reply.) " For my part, I be- 
 lieve that she murdered both her husband and 
 her brother, and that she has come here to bury 
 her remorse, and give Lagrange a standing topic 
 of conversation. I am sure Good gracious, 
 Louisa, what is the matter ? Is there a cater- 
 pillar on my bonnet? " 
 
 The inquiry was not entirely without reason, 
 for the elder Miss Raynor had been making 
 signals of silence and distress for the last five 
 seconds, without being able to attract her heed- 
 less sister-in-Jaw's attention. 
 
 " No, indeed, Flora," she said, blushing with 
 that ever-ready and not always becoming blush 
 of eighteen. " But you surely forget Mr. An- 
 nesley is related to " 
 
 " To my murderess ? " cried Mrs. Raynor, ex- 
 tricating herself from the difficulty with the mer- 
 riest laugh in the world. " A thousand pardons, 
 Mr. Annesley ! But you know how heedless I 
 am ! I am sure I need not apologize for mere 
 jesting." 
 
 Mr. Annesley's face had taken an expression 
 which few people had ever seen upon it before. 
 A stern coldness transformed it so entirely that 
 the ladies exchanged glances of surprise and dis- 
 may. He bowed quite haughtily, as he said, with 
 gravity : 
 
 " Personally, I could not of course be of- 
 fended by what was not meant to touch my- 
 self. But I must confess that my ideas of
 
 32 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 'jesting' do not agree with those of Mrs. Ray- 
 nor." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry," cried that lady, 
 eagerly, coloring a little, and slightly discon- 
 certed by his manner and words. " You must 
 really forgive me, Mr. Annesley ! I did not re- 
 member at the moment your connection with 
 Mrs. Gordon. Indeed, it never occurred to me 
 that you would care. Adela talks just as every- 
 body else does." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said Mr. Annesley, 
 in the same tone as before. 
 
 "And, really," continued Mrs. Raynor, rally- 
 ing from her momentary embarrassment, and re- 
 covering her usual nonchalant gayety "really, 
 Mr. Annesley, you are very unreasonable. I 
 only repeated what everybody is saying. Pray 
 don't hold me accountable for the reports ! " 
 
 Mr. Annesley's face relaxed into a smile 
 rather grave, it is true as he answered : " You 
 are right, Mrs. Raynor. It was unreasonable, 
 nay, it was folly in me to resent what is in it- 
 self so trifling a matter as these reports. Gos- 
 sips must have something to talk about, of course. 
 It is I who must beg your pardon for having for- 
 gotten this." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Annesley, I don't know you ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Raynor, astonished, annoyed, and 
 amused, all at once. " I always thought you a 
 model of amiability ; bufyou are not amiable at 
 present, I assure you. I did not know that you 
 had laid lance in rest, in Mrs. Gordon's defence, 
 or I should not have said a word. And, by-the- 
 way, don't flatter yourself that you are her only 
 champion. Irene has been doing battle in her 
 defence from the first." 
 
 "Have you?" said Morton, turning quickly 
 to Miss Veraon. " I hope you will let me ad- 
 mire and thank you for it." 
 
 " Pray don't," answered she. " I only heard 
 a woman assailed, and felt for her that was 
 11." 
 
 Before the gentleman could reply, Mrs. Ray- 
 nor's light tones broke in again : 
 
 " I positively victimized myself by going to 
 church last Sunday in order to catch a glimpse 
 of this ghostly lady ; and would you believe it, 
 Mr. Annesley, she did not come ! I wonder if 
 she never means to come ? But somebody said 
 that a splendid-looking child, who sat in a pew 
 next the pulpit, was here." 
 
 "Oh, yes," chorussed the Misses Raynor, 
 " and such a woman with him ! If you could 
 have seen her bonnet ! And, what do you think, 
 Mr Annesley she actually sat up and s&id her 
 
 beads all the time Mr. Norwood was preaching 
 and that under his very eyes ! " 
 
 " She is evidently a Frenchwoman," said Miss 
 Vernon, *and of course a Catholic. No doubt 
 she took that means to avoid joining in what she 
 considered heretical worship. Are you going, 
 Mr. Annesley ? " 
 
 " I am reluctantly compelled to do so," said 
 Mr. Annesley, who had drawn Ilderim from the 
 carriage-door, and himself from that soft contact 
 of silk and lace ; that near neighborhood of a 
 slender, well-gloved hand ; that faint, dainty fra- 
 grance of fresh millinery ; that capricious parasol 
 fringe which was never still, and which would 
 persist in sweeping his face, and that subtile, in- 
 tangible charm which, like an aroma, seems con- 
 stantly exhaling from a lovely and well-dressed 
 woman " I am compelled to do so for here is 
 Morton House, and to it I am bound. You dine 
 at Annesdale to-day ? Then you may expect a 
 full account of the wonders and mysteries within 
 these gates. Good-morning." 
 
 He lifted his hat the ladies bent their heads 
 with a general flutter of plumes and ribbons 
 the carriage swept on in a yellow cloud of dust, 
 and the young man found himself alone before 
 the gates of Morton House. 
 
 Like his mother, he too felt, when those gates 
 closed behind him, as if he had entered an en- 
 chanted domain a domain over the neglected 
 beauty of which there rested a mournful still- 
 ness, deeper and more pathetic than mere soli- 
 tude; where brooded a solemn air of repose, 
 and a subtile power of awaking thought and as- 
 sociation which we have most of us observed in 
 those places where life once ran riot, and from 
 which it has long since departed forever. 
 
 The young man involuntarily bared his head 
 as he rode slowly along beneath the drooping 
 trees ; and patches of golden sunshine, flicker- 
 ing softly down, fell on the rich black curls and 
 the face that was subdued almost to mournful- 
 ness. There was to him an indescribable pathos 
 in the stately quiet around him. He thought of 
 the by-gone voices that had once sounded along 
 this avenue, of the gay hearts that had gone 
 their way brimful of life and joy, and the sad 
 hearts that had found even the beauty of Nature 
 a weariness and a mockery well, they were all 
 equally at rest <iow. He thought of the bright 
 children who had played beneath those trees ; 
 and of the fair ladies who had dreamed sweet 
 fancies under their shade, or who knows ? 
 dropped bitter tears upon their mossy roots. 
 The sod lay heavily enough over those lovely
 
 HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 
 
 33 
 
 faces now ; and it mattered little whether they 
 had known most of the smiles or of the tears. 
 Then he thought how often his father had passed 
 here, with all manhood's brightest hopes stirring 
 at his heart, and all manhood's proudest resolve 
 in his breast yet how little either the hope or 
 the resolve had availed to change his fate. Mor- 
 ton felt a bitter pang at the recollection of that 
 father who had gone so early out of his life, but 
 whose memory had ever remained with him as a 
 vision of all that was most noble in simple chiv- 
 alry a lesson which had done more to mould the 
 boy's character than all the precepts of living 
 teachers. And he was going now to see the 
 woman whose fatal beauty had wrecked the hap- 
 piness of that, father's life ! He knew every- 
 body knew that Edgar Annesley had poured 
 out his love like water at Pauline Morton's feet, 
 and that she had scorned him as she scorned all 
 others in that proud heyday of her youth and 
 power. And now there seemed a retribution in 
 the fact that Edgar Annesley's son came forward 
 as her sole defender against the fickle world that 
 had once fawned at her feet. " It is the only 
 revenge he would have wished," thought the son, 
 placing, as he always did, the father in his posi- 
 tion. " But he would never, for one moment, 
 have considered it revenge. He would have re- 
 garded it as a duty, and thought himself happy 
 in performing it. Ah, I shall never master the 
 whole essence of his knightly creed and practice 
 he who was a very Bayard, and yet thought 
 that he only fulfilled the common duties of a 
 gentleman." And here, after all, had been the 
 great secret of that resolution which so much 
 surprised Mrs. Annesley. The young man had 
 set out in life feeling himself his father's repre- 
 sentative, and he had never felt this more than 
 when slander set its mark on the woman his 
 father had loved. He had spoken to his mother 
 as a Morton ; but his warmest interest in Mrs. 
 Gordon's cause rose from the fact that he was 
 an Annesley. There, indeed, rose his true ani- 
 mating impulse ; and there was an anchor to hold 
 him steadfast through any opposition. 
 
 Suddenly, when he was about half-way to the 
 house, a sound broke on the stillness a shrill, 
 childish voice that caused Ilderim to start and 
 prick up his satin ears with ominous haste. 
 When he had been brought to order, Annesley 
 was able to comprehend that words of alternate 
 entreaty and command were apparently being 
 addressed to himself by some unseen person. 
 
 " Hola ! Monsieur 1 monsieur, come here ! " 
 cried the voice, in a strange mixture of French 
 
 and English. " Pardonnez-moi, but that nastf 
 Babette " 
 
 The rest was lost in consequence of a sudden 
 movement on Ilderim's part, which demanded all 
 his rider's attention. When this exigence was 
 passed, Morton stared about him in utter bewil- 
 derment, for " the silence was unbroken, and the 
 stillness gave no token " of any human presence 
 beside his own. 
 
 " Who is there ? " he demanded at last 
 sending his own voice in the direction from 
 which the other had proceeded. " Holloa ! 
 who is there ? " 
 
 Then the same childish tones replied, impa- 
 tiently : 
 
 " It is me Felix Gordon. I wish you would 
 make haste, monsieur, for my arm is very tired." 
 
 Guided by the voice, Annesley now saw in 
 the grove on his right a small figure clinging 
 half to the trunk and half to the lower limb of a 
 large tree, and thus suspended fully fifteen feet 
 above the ground. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " he cried. Then, spring- 
 ing from his horse, one or two quick bounds car- 
 ried him at once to the foot of the tree, where 
 he perceived the peril of the child's position 
 more clearly. The limb had evidently broken 
 under him, and left him clinging with one hand 
 to a fragment of it while he braced his feet 
 against a gnarled knot of the tree, and thus par- 
 tially relieved himself of his own weight. But it 
 was only partially ; and relief from the preca- 
 rious position was impossible without the aid 
 which had so opportunely and so accidentally 
 arrived. 
 
 Morton did not waste any time in words. He 
 saw that the face which looked down upon him 
 was very self-possessed ; but he also saw that it 
 was very pale, and marked the painful rigidity 
 of the attitude. He threw his gloves near a 
 small velvet cap that lay on the grass, and the 
 next moment was climbing the tree with the agil- 
 ity of a school-boy. 
 
 But when he began to approach the child, 
 he saw that caution was necessary, or he would 
 dislodge the boy's foot and send him crashing to 
 the ground, for he could do little more than steady 
 himself by his hand. Therefore, the rescuer crept 
 carefully on the opposite side of the trunk, hardly 
 allowing himself more than the merest clasp of 
 it, and, when he was once safe among the boughs, 
 ascended to a considerable height before he 
 paused. Then, with extreme care, he descended 
 from limb to limb until he reached the one im- 
 mediately above the boy. There he seated him-
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 elf, and finding it secure spoke for the first 
 time. 
 
 " Now I am going to draw you up to me. 
 When I take hold of your collar, you must let 
 go the clasp both of your feet and your hand. 
 Don't be afraid ; for I shall not let you fall." 
 
 " Ma foi ! I am not likely to be afraid," said 
 the boy, half-scornfully. " But, if you are going 
 to do it, you had better make haste." 
 
 Bending over, Annesley took a firm grasp of 
 the clothing that encircled the soft young neck, 
 and with one vigorous lift placed the child be- 
 fore him. 
 
 His eyes were closed, and he was white to 
 the lips, so that at first Annesley thought he 
 bad fainted. But the next instant the fringed 
 lids lifted, and a smile of triumph came over the 
 pale face. 
 
 " Babette said I could not do it ; but I have 
 done it," he cried. " It was not my fault that 
 the limb broke." 
 
 " It was not your fault," said Morton, kindly ; 
 " but it was an accident which is likely to happen 
 at any time, and you must not risk your neck in 
 this way again. I may not be within call next 
 time." 
 
 " No," said the boy. He glanced rapidly and 
 louiewhat wonderingly over the face and form of 
 his deliverer. " I am very much obliged to you, 
 monsieur," he added, with the grand manner which 
 had impressed even Mrs. Annesley. " But, je ne 
 vous connais pas that is, I do not know you." 
 
 41 1 am your cousin," answered Morton, smil- 
 ing ; " and my name is Annesley." 
 
 *' Ah ! " said the boy ; and as he strove to 
 steady himself by altering his position, he gave a 
 faint cry of pain. " It is nothing," he said, quick- 
 ly, in answer to his companion's look of inquiry, 
 " only my arm I hurt it." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " When the limb broke. Ah, I should have 
 got down if I could have used it but I couldn't, 
 you know." 
 
 " Let me see if it is much hurt," said Annes- 
 ley ; and, after the child had unflinchingly borne 
 an examination, he pronounced it only sprained. 
 " The bone is all right," he said ; " but you were 
 a brave fellow to hold on with one arm when the 
 other was in this condition." 
 
 " I'd have hurt both, if I had fallen," said his 
 new acquaintance, with a half-comic grimace 
 adding quickly, "but, monsieur, let us go 
 down." 
 
 " I have been thinking how we shall manage 
 that, and I don't see very clearly yet. This is 
 
 the first thing to be done." He drew a small 
 flask from his pocket, and held it to his com- 
 panion's lips. " Drink, my boy it will burn 
 your throat, but never mind that you need 
 it." 
 
 The boy drank eagerly far too eagerly, An- 
 nesley thought ; for he soon drew the flask 
 away. 
 
 " That is enough I don't want to unsteady 
 your head for the descent." 
 
 " Bah ! " said the child, in the scornful tone 
 which came so strangely from his childish lips. 
 " Bah, monsieur ! Do you think I could not 
 drink twice that much, and be steady yet ? " 
 
 " I should be sorry if you could," said An- 
 nesley, gravely. 
 
 The dark eyes flashed upon him suddenly 
 " Pourquoi, monsieur ? " 
 
 "Because it would show that you must have 
 had very bad training," said Morton, quietly. 
 " No child of your age ought to know the taste 
 of brandy much less, drink it as you did just 
 now. Who gives it to you ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no one now," answered the boy, with 
 candid regret. " Papa gave it to me sometimes 
 but that was only to worry mamma^and St. 
 John gave it to me very often." 
 
 " But surely your mother does not like it to 
 be given to you ? " 
 
 The small shoulders achieved a Gallic shrug 
 which was simply perfect. " I should t'aink not, 
 indeed, monsieur ! Mamma will not ev n let me 
 drink a glass of wine and Babette, nas y thing ! 
 always tells her if I do." 
 
 " Then, if I had been in your place," laid Mor- 
 ton, impressively, "I would not have ta -en that 
 brandy, unless your mother had given i to you 
 herself." 
 
 The boy gazed at him wcnderingly " Mon- 
 sieur, why not ? " 
 
 " Because I should have felt b( und by her 
 wishes, especially as she was absent," said Mor- 
 ton, as gravely as befitted the character of Men- 
 tor, with which the occasion had invested him. 
 " A trust, my boy, is a thing which cannot be 
 held too sacred. Come, I see you are very sen- 
 sible, and I need not talk to you as I would to 
 most children I can speak to you almost as if 
 you were a man. You mean to be a gentleman, 
 do you not ? " 
 
 " I am a gentleman," was the quick reply. 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so. But dc 
 you know what is the chief thing that makes a 
 gentleman ? Not blood, not birth they are good 
 in their way, but they won't do by themselves
 
 HOW A PALADIN STORMED A CASTLE. 
 
 35 
 
 not any one thing so much as the capability of 
 being trusted." 
 
 " Mamma says so but she is a woman." 
 
 " Well, I am a man, and I tell you the same 
 thing. What is more, I tell you that nobody who 
 bore the Morton name was ever lacking in this 
 capability. Look round ! do you see all this, 
 which will be yours some day these noble trees, 
 and those broad fields yonder ? Well, the men 
 who owned all this before you were men who, if 
 a trust had been given them, would have held it 
 till they died held it as you held that limb a 
 little while ago. You are a Morton in courage, 
 why not be a Morton in honor as well ? " 
 
 The sudden question took his listener en- 
 tirely by surprise. He looked up still with 
 wonder into the earnest face which bent over 
 him, as he said, slowly, " I am a Gordon, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 " I know. But you are a Morton also ; and, 
 whatever the Gordons were, the Mortons, at 
 least, have always been brave and loyal gentle- 
 men. I could tell you many a story about the 
 men of your name and then, perhaps, you would 
 think that such a name was worth bearing." 
 
 " Tell me," said the boy, eagerly. " St. John 
 used to tell me about the Gordons ; and I liked 
 to he;ir how they killed men and ran away with 
 women, and drank wine and brandy." 
 
 " Then I am afraid you would not like my 
 stori(p," said Morton, " for I have nothing of the 
 sort to tell you. The men of whom I speak never 
 did any of those things. They were simple, hon- 
 orable gentlemen, who lived quiet lives, but who 
 knew how to be true to their friends, to honor 
 their God, and to serve their country ; but not 
 one of them would have put that flask of brandy 
 to his lips ! " 
 
 Felix's large eyes opened widely. " Mon- 
 sieur ! Did none of them drink brandy ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Morton, " I suppose all of 
 taem drank brandy, and sometimes more than 
 was good for them. But none of them would 
 have done so if they had been put on their honor 
 not to do it by somebody who had a right to 
 exact such a promise." 
 
 Felix looked thoughtful. It was evident that 
 a new light had dawned on his mind a light 
 ?ery different, when presented by this handsome 
 young cavalier, to that which had been urged by 
 his mother. At last, as he did not speak, Annes- 
 ley broke the silence. 
 
 <; Now, we must get down, or your mother will 
 be uneasy about you. Were you alone when you 
 climbed up here?" 
 
 " No ; Babette was with me. She said I 
 should not do it, and I said I would and I did I 
 She tried to hold me; but she isn't strong, 
 though her arms are so big ; and, when I kicked 
 her, she had to let me go." 
 
 " Who is Babette ? " 
 
 " My bonne," answered the boy, with a gri- 
 mace. " St. John says I am too old I shouldn't 
 have a bonne." 
 
 " But, as you have got one, you ought to treat 
 her properly. I am sorry to hear of your having 
 acted as you did. Horses kick not gentlemen." 
 
 " St. John says I ought to torment the life out 
 of her, and then she will go away." 
 
 " And then your mother would get another, 
 perhaps a worse one. Who is this St. John? 
 He seems to have given you very bad advice." 
 
 " He was papa's secretary, and I liked him ; 
 but mamma hated him." 
 
 " Then you certainly ought not to obey him 
 so well. Now let us move forward. How does 
 your arm feel ? well enough to bear a weight ? " 
 
 " N o," said Felix, regretfully. " What do 
 you want me to do ? " 
 
 " I wanted you to clasp your arms round my 
 neck, while I go down the tree. But we must 
 compromise with your feet. Do you think you 
 can hold on with them ? " 
 
 The boy laughed. " It will be funny," he 
 said, " but I think I can." 
 
 " This way let me lift you to my shoulder. 
 Are you firmly seated ? Now, hold tight take a 
 grasp of my collar." 
 
 " I'll do it." 
 
 And he did do it, with a vigor which threat- 
 ened strangulation unless their descent was very 
 speedy. 
 
 " Here we go ! " said Morton, gayly. " Pity 
 we haven't got an audience for this feat in gym- 
 nastics." And, lightly swinging loose from the 
 bough on which they had been perched, he clam- 
 bered down the trunk, without in the least seem- 
 ing to feel his burdened condition. 
 
 In less than a minute they were standing on 
 the ground laughing together in friendly good- 
 fellowship. Ilderim had taken his departure 
 some time before, so the sylvan solitude was all 
 their own. 
 
 " Now for this arm of yours," said Morton. 
 " It must be attended to at once ; and your 
 clothes are considerably the worse for your mis- 
 hap. What will your mother say ? " 
 
 The boy shrugged his shoulders. " She will 
 think of this," he said, touching his arm. " Ba- 
 bette will scold about the clothes."
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say you can hold your own 
 against Babette. Is the avenue the shortest 
 way to the house ? " 
 
 " No ; I'll take you a shorter one." 
 
 They set forward amicably, talking as they 
 went And, as they talked, it would be hard to 
 say which of them conceived the most cordial 
 liking for the other. On Morton's side it was 
 more than half pity, for he perceived the moral 
 perversion of the child's nature, and read plainly 
 his reckless rebellion against the curb held over 
 him by feminine hands. But he saw the elements 
 of much nobility, together with the proofs of much 
 bravery, and the latter in itself delighted him. 
 The boy's face kindled when he spoke of heroism, 
 and, if it did not kindle when he spoke of chiv- 
 alry, it was because the principles of chivalry 
 were foreign teachings to his mind not be- 
 cause the nature was incapable of holding them. 
 Some sinister influence had plainly been at work 
 with him some influence like that which has 
 marred many another gallant nature and had 
 indissolubly associated valor with evil, and weak- 
 ness with good, in the boy's apprehension. Pride 
 of a certain sort had been duly instilled, but it 
 was very far from being pride of a right sort if, 
 indeed, there be a right sort. Annesley was 
 puzzled by the strange contradictions that un- 
 folded themselves before him. But he was more 
 interested than repelled, and he could not help 
 thinking how pleasant it would be to draw these 
 warped conceptions straight. Perhaps he was 
 something of a Quixote in those early days too 
 prone to amateur philanthropy. But there was 
 that about him which caused most people to for- 
 give the failing ; and, considering how soon such 
 impulsive generosity is cooled and cured by later 
 years, they could well afford to do so. His heart 
 yearned now over this fatherless boy this boy 
 who was his own kinsman and even while he 
 talked to him of sports, and dogs, and horses, 
 and on all the topics most dear to a boy's fancy, 
 he was mentally considering how he could gain a 
 sort of right of tutelage over him. It all depended 
 on that unknown woman whom he was going to 
 ect that woman whose sworn defender he had 
 already constituted himself; and he began to 
 feel more anxiety about her reception of him, 
 than he had suffered himself to entertain before. 
 
 This anxiety was soon set at rest ; for, as they 
 came in sight of the house, Felix uttered an excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " There is mamma now, and Babette, too the 
 horrid thing ! They are coming after me." 
 
 " Go and speak to them, then," said Morton, 
 
 quickly. " They do not see you yet. Go at 
 once." 
 
 The boy hesitated a minute ; but, at the sec- 
 ond bidding, he went speeding like an arrow 
 straight to the terrace-steps, which his mother 
 was hastily descending, accompanied by Babette 
 the latter talking eagerly, with many gesticu- 
 lations while a group of servants followed be- 
 hind. 
 
 Annesley advanced deliberately, an amused 
 spectator of the scene which ensued of Babette's 
 stormy outcries and reproaches, of the mother's 
 passionate caresses, of the half-defiant, half- 
 triumphant story of Felix, of the interested ser- 
 vants who brought their dusky faces near and 
 nearer and of the final moment when all eyes 
 turned toward himself. 
 
 Then he came forward more quickly, very 
 gallant and handsome in presence, very easy and 
 graceful in bearing, yet with a slight tincture of 
 embarrassment at the semi-heroism of his posi- 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon met him with outstretched hand, 
 and so warm a light in her eyes that he marked 
 none of the ravages of time, but only saw that 
 they had spoken truly who called Pauline Mor- 
 ton's beauty without peer. " Oh, thank you, 
 thank you ! " she cried in that soft and melo- 
 dious voice which had never yet failed to fasci- 
 nate any one who listened to it. " I owe my dar- 
 ling's safety to you! How can I than^you 
 enough ! " 
 
 " You must not thank me at all," said An- 
 nesley, bending to kiss the fragile-looking hands 
 that had grasped his own and there was some- 
 thing very courtly in tlie action, though it was 
 one of unstudied impulse "or you will make 
 me fear that you forget I have a kinsman's right 
 to serve you and yours." 
 
 She read his face all over with one glance of 
 her eyes, then spoke impulsively : " Ah, my kins- 
 man, indeed for I see you are Edgar Annes- 
 ley's son." 
 
 There was something in the tone which pro- 
 nounced his father's name that touched Morton's 
 heart to the quick won it, indeed, for thia 
 woman who had wrecked that father's happi- 
 ness. It seemed to him that in her voice there 
 was an echo of the admiring reverence, the re- 
 gretful tenderness, which always thrilled his own 
 soul when he thought of that brief life and pre- 
 mature death an echo he had never before heard 
 on any lip not even his mother's. He felt that 
 one other beside himself appreciated the spirit 
 which had passed from earth without its due
 
 THE ADELAIDE. 
 
 37 
 
 meed of lasting honor ; and an emotion of almost 
 passionate gratitude sprung up within him. Per- 
 haps Mrs. Gordon read the meaning of the swift 
 change that came over the frank young face ; for 
 she smiled kindly, and, laying her hand on his 
 arm, said 
 
 " Come. Let me welcome my kinsman to 
 Morton House." 
 
 And then Annesley found himself led forward 
 into the castle which had been declared impregna- 
 ble a paladin, invested for the time being with a 
 sort of chivalric triumph, and quite the master 
 of the situation. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE ADELAIDE. 
 
 " Now, Katy," said Miss Tresham, in a tone 
 of authority, " you must say this lesson, my dear 
 and you must not mumble the words so that 
 I cannot hear them, either. Take your finger 
 out of your mouth, and hold up your head. Now 
 begin ' A verb ' " 
 
 "'A verb,'" drawled Katy, '"is a word 
 which signifies to be, to do, or' to do or or 
 is that all a verb signifies, Miss Tresham ? " 
 
 " ' To suffer,' " prompted Jack, in a loud 
 whisper, with his eyes fastened on the pages of 
 his arithmetic. 
 
 " Jack," said the governess, severely, " take 
 your book and go and stand up in the corner, at 
 the other end of the room. In a few minutes I 
 shall see if you know your own lesson well 
 enough to be prompting Katy with hers. You 
 will have to learn a French verb after school, 
 for breaking rules. Now, Katy, I will give you 
 one more trial. ' A verb is a word which signi- 
 fies to be, to do, or to suffer.' What next ? " 
 
 " 'As, lam, lie runs, she loves.'' " 
 
 " Very well. Go on." For Katy, having de- 
 livered this much in a very loud voice, came to 
 a sudden, dead stop. 
 
 " ' Verbs are are of two kinds ' ain't they 
 of two kinds, Miss Tresham ? " 
 
 " Go on, my dear," said Miss Tresham, with 
 severe patience. 
 
 " ' Verbs are of two kinds,' " repeated Katy, 
 dubiously, as if the statement was, in her own 
 opinion, a very doubtful one ; and there she 
 paused, and fell to twisting the corner of her 
 apron. 
 
 " Hold your hands still, and go on, Katy," 
 said the much-tried governess. 
 
 " ' Verbs are of two kinds,' " repeated Katy, 
 once more, and apparently in a state of despair. 
 " ' Verbs are of two kinds positive, compara- 
 tive, and super ' " 
 
 Here an audible titter from the other scholars 
 was silenced by a look from the teacher, and a 
 well-thumbed grammar was held out to its owner. 
 " Take your book, my dear, and put it aside. 
 After school, you will have to learn this lesson. 
 Now, children, get your slates and let me see 
 your sums." 
 
 A slamming of desks and shuffling of books 
 ensued, followed by the appearance of various 
 slates, more or less covered with cipherings, all 
 of which were submitted to Miss Tresham. She 
 took the one nearest her, and began casting up 
 the column of figures. 
 
 There was a temporary silence in the school- 
 room, for all eyes were anxiously following the 
 movements of the governess's pencil, and the 
 only sounds were her strokes on the slate, as 
 she made her firm, round numerals, and the 
 swaying to and fro of some boughs before the 
 open window boughs that were faintly stirred 
 by a soft, southern breeze, and between which 
 the golden sunshine streamed across the school- 
 room floor, across Katharine's dark-blue dress 
 and bright brown head, across Jack's darned 
 jacket, and Sara's neat check apron, and smooth 
 little tails of plaited hair. Unfortunately, how- 
 ever, this window was directly over the front- 
 door ; and when a quick tread was heard advan- 
 cing up the walk, and into the piazza, followed by 
 a knock which echoed through the house, there 
 was an instantaneous end both of silence and at- 
 tention. 
 
 " Hallo ! who can that be ? " cried Jack. " I 
 bet it's Tom Ford, come after his gun, Dick ! I 
 told you you'd no business " 
 
 "Hush, Jack!" said Miss Tresham. "Here, 
 Sara here is the mistake in your sum. When 
 you added up this line of figures, you forgot to 
 carry there " 
 
 " Miss Tresham, if it's Tom, mayn't I go and 
 give him his gun ? " asked Dick, anxiously. He 
 had been listening with all his ears to the muffled 
 sounds below, but had failed to distinguish any 
 thing to set his mind at rest. 
 
 " I'll go and look over the banisters, and see 
 who it is," said Jack, briskly, and he made a 
 dart toward the door, but was promptly arrested 
 by the governess. 
 
 " Come back this instant to your seat, Jack 1 
 It docs not concern you to know who is down- 
 stairs. Dick, if it is Tom Ford, your mother car
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 have the gun given to him. Now, be quiet and 
 attend to me. Five into thirty-eight goes how 
 often ? I am asking you, Dick." 
 
 " Five into thirty-eight," repeated Dick, re- 
 moving his eyes hastily from the door, upon 
 which they were fixed. "Five into thirty-eight 
 goes " 
 
 " It's Mr. Annesley," announced Katy, in a 
 loud voice. 
 
 " How do you know ? " demanded Jack, ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 " I heard him," she answered joyfully ; and 
 she jumped down from her seat, and ran to the 
 window. " Yes, it's Mr. Annesley I see his 
 horse ! Oh, Miss Tresham, please let me go 
 down ! " 
 
 " Take your seat," said Miss Tresham, briefly, 
 " and don't let me hear another word." 
 
 "But he will go!" cried the child, turning 
 first red and then pale, "and I won't get to see 
 him at all. Miss Tresham, please let me" 
 
 " Katy, did you hear me tell you to take your 
 seat?" 
 
 " But he will go ! " repeated she, half-pas- 
 sionately, half-entreatingly. 
 
 " Ba a ! Now, cry like a baby about it," 
 Baid Jack. 
 
 " I'll cry if I want to ! " was the angry re- 
 tort. 
 
 " I don't think you will," said Miss Tresham, 
 quietly. " If you don't come this instant to your 
 seat, I will lock you up in the closet." 
 
 Katy gave a great gulp ; but she knew the 
 battle was an unequal one. She remembered 
 how often she had got the worst of similar en- 
 counters, and she moved slowly and sullenly tow- 
 ard her chair. When she was fairly seated, Miss 
 Tresham turned again to the arithmetic. 
 
 " Dick, you have not yet told me how often 
 fire goes into thirty-eight." 
 
 " Seven times, and three over," responded 
 Dick, who had, meanwhile, been ascertaining the 
 fact by the aid of his fingers. 
 
 " And how often does " 
 
 "Tap, tap, tap," at the door which was 
 promptly thrown open by Jack, before Miss 
 Tresham could utter a word. A servant stood 
 outside. " Mr. Annesley's down-stairs, ma'am," 
 he said, addressing Katharine. 
 
 She looked up and frowned a little. 
 
 "Whom did he ask for ?" 
 
 " For you and mistis both, ma'am." 
 
 " Tell him he must excuse me. I never see 
 ny one in the morning. You know this, Tom. 
 Why didn't you tell him so at once ? " 
 
 " I did 'm. But mistis come out, and asked 
 him to walk in, and told me to come up and tell 
 you he was here anyhow." 
 
 " He must excuse me. I never see any one 
 in the morning," Katharine said again, and re- 
 turned to the lesson she was engaged with. 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 The servant disappeared, and blank dismay, 
 seasoned with discontent, settled over the chil- 
 dren. They had been unusually trying during 
 the whole morning, and this interruption left 
 them almost unmanageable. They felt that Miss 
 Tresham's refusal to see Mr. Annesley was an 
 outrage on themselves ; and the perversity and 
 stupidity with which they revenged themselves 
 would have exhausted any patience less long- 
 suffering than hers. Perhaps it exhausted even 
 hers ; but, if so, she did not afford them the 
 gratification of seeing it. On the contrary, she 
 sat, a model of quiet authority, and held them 
 unflinchingly to the task in hand ; but it was of 
 so little effect that, when at last the welcome 
 stroke of twelve told their release from the 
 school-room, only Sara was able to close her 
 books and take her departure. 
 
 " The rest of you are kept in," said Miss 
 Tresham, looking at her watch, " and it will 
 depend on yourselves whether you get through 
 in time for dinner. If not, I shall leave you 
 here, and send some bread-and-water up to you. 
 Jack, take Levi/ac there, and study ' moudre ' 
 for recitation ; Katy, go to your grammar ; now, 
 Dick, let me see if you are still unable to cipher 
 out this sum." 
 
 The threat of bread-and-water was not with- 
 out effect on Dick's hitherto obtuse brain, giving 
 to it a sudden insight into multiplication and 
 division which it had lacked before. With little 
 further trouble the sum was worked out to Miss 
 Tresham's satisfaction ; and, when he had seized 
 his cap and scampered off, she was able to turn 
 her attention to the other delinquents, who still 
 sulked in different corners over their respective 
 grammars. 
 
 They found the struggle which they had pro- 
 voked a very hard one ; for the young governess 
 stood steadfastly at her post, and never flagged 
 in word or sign all through the weary hour which 
 followed. A very weary hour it was, and, when 
 the dinner-bell pealed through the house, she was 
 looking pale and exhausted, though the battle 
 was fought and won. The two valiant cham- 
 pions had just finished their recitations, and 
 were looking quite crestfallen ns they put away 
 their books and closed their desks. Katharine
 
 THE ADELAIDE. 
 
 39 
 
 did not even have time to smooth her hair, or 
 add a single adorning touch to her plain morning- 
 costume. Mrs. Marks was very punctual herself, 
 and liked punctuality in other people, especially 
 with regard to meals ; so, with one deprecating 
 glance at the little school-room mirror, Miss 
 Tresham ran down-stairs. 
 
 As she saw Ilderim still standing beside the 
 front gate, she did not need the sound of a cer- 
 tain ringing laugh, which came through the open 
 door, to tell her that Ilderim's master was in the 
 dining-room. The next minute she was shaking 
 hands with him. 
 
 " See how forgiving I am," he said, with a 
 Bmile. " You refused to see me, and I not only 
 wait your pleasure, but I encroach on Mrs. 
 Marks's hospitality without the least remorse. 
 Have you been victimizing those poor children 
 for the last hour on my account ? " 
 
 '' The matter lies just the other way," she 
 answered. " It is they who have been victimiz- 
 ing me on your account, until I wished that you 
 had timed your visit better. I make no apolo- 
 gies for not seeing you. I believe you know my 
 school-hours." 
 
 " I do know them ; but I thought you 
 might relax your rule for once, since I have 
 been away so long. However, Mrs. Marks 
 was kind enough to see me, and has enter- 
 tained me so well that I did not find the time 
 long." 
 
 " Indeed, then, Mr. Annesley, you must be 
 fond of hearing about children and chickens," 
 said Mrs. Marks, with a good-humored laugh ; 
 " for I don't remember talking about any thing 
 else. I felt sorry for you, but I knew there was 
 no use in going after Miss Katharine. She never 
 will come down in her school-hours." 
 
 " And you're quite right, Miss Kate," said 
 Mr. Marks. " Work is work, and play is play, 
 and, in my opinion, the two should never be 
 mixed up together. Mr. Annesley, let me help 
 you to a piece of this duck. Bessie, what is 
 that you have before you ? " 
 
 " Some beef of my own corning," answered 
 Mrs. Marks, with all a housekeeper's pride. 
 " Mr. Annesley, you must take some, and tell me 
 what you think of it." 
 
 Mr. Annesley accepted a mammoth slice, and, 
 with commendable industry, ate a considerable 
 portion of it, praising it the while highly ; it is to 
 be hoped, sincerely. 
 
 Then the conversation turned upon the dif- 
 ferent methods of corning beef, and a grave dis- 
 cussion ensued, in which Morton acquitted him- 
 
 self with credit, and much pleased his host and 
 hostess. 
 
 These good people, though even to their own 
 hearts they would not have acknowledged such a 
 thing, were not a little flattered by the attention 
 which it had lately pleased the young owner of 
 Annesdale to show them attentions the source 
 of which they were shrewd enough to suspect, 
 but which in themselves were no slight tokens 
 of distinction, as distinction was reckoned by 
 the Tallahoma world. Already more than one 
 envious friend had said to Mrs. Marks : 
 
 " How often Mr. Annesley comes to seo 
 you ! " 
 
 To which Mrs. Marks replied, quite indiffer- 
 ently : 
 
 " Yes, he is so fond of the children, and 
 Richard likes him very much." 
 
 Therefore, although she sometimes had seri- 
 ous doubts concerning what was to be the end 
 of his evident fancy for Miss Tresham, she could 
 not find it in her heart to discourage his visits. 
 
 " He is such a gentleman there can be no 
 harm in it," she once said to her husband, when 
 she felt an unusual qualm on the subject ; where- 
 upon honest Mr. Marks answered in his way : 
 
 " Harm, indeed ! What harm could there 
 be ? I'll warrant him for a gentleman Edgar 
 Annesley's son couldn't well be any thing else 
 but, even if he wasn't, I should think Miss Tres- 
 ham was old enough, and had sense enough, to 
 take care of herself." 
 
 On the understanding, therefore, that Miss 
 Tresham was old enough, and had sense enough, 
 to take care of herself, Mr. Annesley's visits had 
 not been discouraged. Indeed, he was so bright 
 a visitor that it would have been hard for any, 
 either gentle or simple, to close their doors to 
 him. 
 
 As he sat at the table now, it was wonderful 
 how he managed to adapt himself to the tone 
 of his entertainers. Often gay, always pleasant, 
 and invariably courteous, he talked household 
 economy to Mrs. Marks, politics to her husband, 
 and nonsense to the children, with an ease that 
 amused Katharine. There was none of that 
 offensive air of " You see I put myself on your 
 level," which some people assume when they at- 
 tempt this kind of thing ; but, on the contrary, 
 such a frank charm, such an art, or rather such 
 a gift of throwing, not a pretence, but a reality 
 of interest into every thing he touched, and such 
 a happy power of enlivening the dullest subjects^ 
 that the most sensitive person could not have 
 found a shade of patronage to resent. H? proved
 
 10 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 o entertaining that even Mr. Marks lingered over 
 the meal, which was usually a very business-like 
 ceremony ; and, when at last he rose to go, apol- 
 ogized for Ids departure. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I must be going," he 
 remarked, with genuine regret. " But I leave 
 you to the ladies, Mr. Annesley, and I don't ex- 
 pect you'll miss me much." 
 
 He knew perfectly well that his young guest 
 had not come to see him ; but he could not rid 
 himself of an idea that it was " impolite " to 
 leave him in this way. 
 
 But Morton replied that, though he was sorry 
 to lose Mr. Marks's company, he had no doubt 
 the .adies would manage to take care of him. 
 And, as the bank was in need of its cashier, 
 Mr. Marks said good-day, and departed. 
 
 Immediately thereupon Annesley turned and 
 looked at Katharine, who was still seated at 
 table, showing Nelly how to eat rice-pudding 
 without sharing it between her dress and the 
 table-cloth : 
 
 " What do you say ? " he asked, with a smile. 
 ' Will you accept the responsibility ? " 
 
 " Is it a very heavy one ? " she inquired. " I 
 expect ah, Nelly, see how you have spilled that 
 spoonful ! I expect to be equal to it, Mr. Annes- 
 ley, if you won't ask too much in the way of en- 
 tertainment." 
 
 "I will only ask one thing," said he for 
 they and Nelly had all that end of the table to 
 themselves, as Mrs. Marks was at the moment 
 giving some order to one of the servants at the 
 other, while Jack and Dick squabbled over a 
 custard in the middle. 
 
 " Well, and what is it ? " 
 
 " That you will let this child alone, and come 
 and sing something for me. I have not heard 
 any good music in such a long tune. Not 
 since ' 
 
 " Since when ? " she asked, as he paused. 
 
 " Since I heard you last," he. answered, with 
 grave sincerity. 
 
 Katharine laughed, and made him a little 
 bow. 
 
 " After such a compliment, I should be very 
 ungrateful if I could refuse. Mrs. Marks, will 
 you come with us to the parlor ? " 
 
 " After a while, my dear," said Mrs. Marks. 
 " But don't wait for me. You, Jack 1 you, 
 Dick ! Tom, take that custard from both of 
 them." 
 
 A stormy scene ensued, in the midst of which 
 Annesley and Katharine made an escape, shrug- 
 ging their shoulders in sympathj as they crossed 
 
 the passage and entered that gloomy solitude 
 known in the Marks household as '' the par- 
 lor." 
 
 A very gloomy solitude it was, for tlie chil- 
 dren were strictly forbidden to enter it, and, 
 being used only on state occasions, it had none 
 of that air of comfort which pervaded the rest 
 of the house. The stiff horse-hair chairs were 
 ranged with regular uniformity against the walls, 
 while a long sofa, with hard back and harder 
 seat, occupied a position on one side of the fire- 
 place, where a brass fender, polished to the ex- 
 treme of brightness, enshrined two equally bright 
 andirons and a paper screen of wonderful device. 
 Over the mantel there was a bouquet of flowers, 
 which bloomed all the year round (under a glass 
 shade), a pair of silver candlesticks, a pair of 
 empty vases, and various similar articles, ar- 
 ranged with due attention to mathematical pre- 
 cision. A round table occupied the centre of 
 the floor ; and on this reposed various books in 
 gorgeous bindings chiefly standard devotional 
 works. In a corner stood the piano, and near it 
 a stand on which lay a music portfolio bearing 
 Katharine's name. 
 
 The owner of this name gave a slight shiver 
 as she entered the sacred apartment, and, in- 
 stead of proceeding directly to the piano, she 
 walked across the floor, and opened one of the 
 closed windows. " No, no ; not that one," she 
 said, as Annesley moved toward another, with 
 the manifest intention of following her example. 
 "If you open that, it will let in the sunshine ; and 
 Mrs. Marks will not allow such a thing, for fear 
 of fading the carpet. Though, I am sure," added 
 she, with a comical glance at the vivid hues 
 spread under her feet, " I think the carpet 
 would be much improved by a little fading. 
 However, that is all a matter of taste. Now, 
 what shall I sing ? " 
 
 " My old favorite," said Morton, lifting the lid 
 of the piano. " You know what that is." 
 
 She smiled, sat down to the instrument, and, 
 softly touching the keys, began to sing the " Ade- 
 laide " of Beethoven that most pure, most ten- 
 der, most spirit-like strain that ever breathed in 
 immortal tones the common story of our com- 
 mon human love ! And as she sang it as the 
 glorious notes of the great master soared aloft in 
 her rich young woice, as all the sordid things of 
 life seemed to fade away, and all earth to grow 
 more lovely in the divine glory of that tide of 
 sound it was not strange that the passion which 
 is ever fed by such strains as these deepened OD 
 the mobile face beside her until one glance would
 
 THE ADELAIDE. 
 
 have told her the story of his heart, without 
 any need of words. 
 
 But she did not give that glance. When 
 the song ceased, when her voice fell into silence, 
 and the last vibration of those mournfully pas- 
 sionate cadences had died away, she made an 
 effort to speak lightly ; and, without taking her 
 eyes from the keyboard, said, " Will you please 
 look in that portfolio and find me the Ave verum ? 
 I will sing it for you to-day, though I could not 
 do so the last time you asked me." 
 
 Half-mechanically, he obeyed glad of a mo- 
 ment's time in which to collect himself before 
 the words were uttered that he now felt impelled 
 to speak. Temptation had gone so far, that he 
 could resist no longer. Whatever might be the 
 result, he must lay his heart at this woman's 
 feet, and tell her that it was hers to accept or 
 reject. That magic song had stolen away all his 
 most steadfast resolves ; for he had never intend- 
 ed to declare himself thus prematurely. He al- 
 ways had meant to make a formal demand for 
 his mother's consent, and then to woo the girl 
 he loved as if she had been the one whom Fortune 
 placed so far above the other. It was always the 
 way of the gallant gentlemen who had borne his 
 name if poor and humble the maiden whom 
 they loved, they sought her with more state than 
 if She had been the highest in the land. So, 
 Morton had meant to come, when he offered his 
 hand to Mr. Marks's governess ; but the sudden 
 force of passion was too strong for him. Words 
 suddenly rushed to his lips, and in another mo- 
 ment Annesdale and all its belongings would 
 have lain at Katharine Tresham's feet, if Fate 
 had not intervened. 
 
 But, turning over, with absent mind and 
 careless hand, the sheets of music, he came to 
 a copy of the song he had just heard, the song 
 which had stirred every fibre of his heart the 
 sad, passionate, beautiful " Adelaide." As he 
 took it up, there fell from between the leaves an 
 open letter. He caught it, as it was fluttering 
 to the floor, and almost unconsciously his eyes 
 fell on the first lines. They were written in a 
 man's hand, and stood out black and clear on 
 the white paper. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATHARINE : I am terribly un- 
 certain whether this letter will reach you, but at 
 
 least" 
 
 This much Morton could not avoid seeing 
 more than this, he did not read. Indeed, the 
 hot, sharp pang which shot through his heart 
 
 sent a mist to his eyes which would have pre- 
 vented his doing so, if he had felt such a thing 
 possible. Then he strove to steady himself. 
 Might not Katharine, for aught he knew, have 
 brothers, uncles, cousins, a dozen relations, from 
 whom such an address might naturally be per- 
 mitted ? What a jealous fool he was ! He 
 would speak to her immediately, and her first 
 look would show him his folly. So he did speak 
 with just a slight quiver in his voice to betray 
 his anxiety. 
 
 " Miss Tresham." 
 
 Katharine turned quickly, and, as her glance 
 fell from his face to the open letter in his hand, 
 Morton's heart gave a great bound then sud- 
 denly stood still. 
 
 For she did not smile in recognition of a 
 friend's epistle, nor blush that rosy red which 
 greets a lover's missive; she did not hold out 
 her hand or utter one word she only turned 
 ashen pale, and shivered from head to foot as if 
 with a sudden chill. There was an instant's 
 pause : then Morton spoke hastily, as if eager 
 to relieve a possible fear. 
 
 " I found this a moment ago, Miss Tresham. 
 Do you leave your letters where any one might 
 find and read them ? " 
 
 She did not answer only held out her hand 
 toward him. 
 
 " It may not be of importance," he went on ; 
 " but still" 
 
 " It is of importance," she broke in, passion- 
 ately. " To think that I should have left it here ! 
 I must have been mad ! " 
 
 She took the letter, and, walking to the fire- 
 place, struck a match, set it on fire, and watched 
 it burn until the last fragment was ashes. Then 
 she shivered once more from head to foot. " I 
 must have been mad ! " she repeated. 
 
 And there was something in the tone and 
 action which settled like ice upon the man who 
 loved her the man who, a moment before, had 
 wellnigh asked her to be his wife. He could 
 sooner have put his hand into the fire she had 
 kindled than ask that question now. Not that 
 any suspicion of any kind had entered his mind 
 against her, but simply that he felt chilled to the 
 very heart. The women who had always made 
 his ideals of the sex were women into whose 
 stainless lives there entered no pages that all 
 the world might not read ; and not a worldling 
 of the world held more firmly than this chivalric 
 but most fastidious gentleman the great maxim 
 of the world, " Distrust secrecy." 
 
 So, when Mrs. Marks bustled in a few rain-
 
 r.' 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 utes later, her advent was a relief to him as well 
 as to Katharine, and, for the half-hour which en- 
 aued, that good woman had all the burden of con- 
 versation on her own shoulders. 
 
 Then Mr. Annesley found it was time to go ; 
 BO he made his adieux and took his departure 
 riding very slowly from the gate where Ilderim 
 had stood so long, and unmindful of the wistful 
 glances sent after him by poor little Katy, whose 
 heart had been set upon a ride. 
 
 When Katharine was left alone in the parlor, 
 her first act was to go and toss over the little 
 feathery heap of ashes on the hearth, to see that 
 no end of paper remained. Then she raised her 
 face with a weary sigh, half of relief, half of 
 pain. 
 
 "All gone!" she said, aloud. "But God 
 only knows when that may come to me which I 
 can never, never cast from me, as I now cast 
 these ashes ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HE. WARWICK MAKES AN OFKEK. 
 
 AFTER that day, the Marks household saw no 
 more of Mr. Annesley for some time. Even in 
 the walks which Katharine regularly took with 
 the children, they ceased to meet him, as often 
 before ; and they might have thought him absent 
 from home, if they had not seen him occasionally 
 nde past on his way to and from the village. 
 Katy mourned this sudden desertion faithfully ; 
 but even for Katy's heart there proved at last to 
 be a balm in Gilead, and it came in this way. 
 
 Between the well-cultivated fields which Mr. 
 Marks called his own, and the stately Morton 
 woods that stretched to meet them, and bore the 
 Morton name for many a long mile, there lay a 
 strip of land belonging to the latter, which, hav- 
 ing been " thrown out " for years, had made that 
 place dear to every child's heart an old field 
 where broom-straw and young pines disputed 
 possession with blackberry-bushes and wild fruit- 
 trees ; where strawberries by bushels were to be 
 found in spring, and sweet, delicate wild-flowers 
 bloomed in profusion ; where the boys of Talla- 
 noma came when they wanted to arrange strictly 
 private racing or shooting matches ; where there 
 was always a ring ready for amateur circus per- 
 formers ; where there was a " bianch " in which 
 minnows and crawfish abounded (not to speak 
 of the best possible mud for mud-pies), and 
 where the Marks children spent as much time, 
 
 the whole year round, as was left at their own 
 disposal. 
 
 One day they came home from this favorite 
 resort full of momentous intelligence they had 
 made a new acquaintance. When the name of 
 this new acquaintance was heard, the interest of 
 the elders was scarcely inferior to that of the 
 children ; for it was Felix Gordon the little 
 prince, as people began to call him, on account 
 of his proud young beauty and grand young man- 
 ners. 
 
 " And he's downright jolly, mamma," cried 
 Jack, in his vociferous way. " I thought he was 
 a baby, you know having a great big nurse 
 following him about all the time ; but he isn't 
 a bit of a one. And he says he hates her ; and 
 he says she ain't going to mind him any more." 
 
 " But he's got a boy that follows him now," 
 said Dick ; " and he orders him about just as tf 
 he was a man." 
 
 " But I thought his mother kept him so 
 close, he was never allowed to see anybody ? " 
 said Mrs. Marks. " He must have been there 
 without her knowledge." 
 
 " He says he can go anywhere he please 
 now, provided this boy goes along with him, 1 
 answered Jack, whose volubility made him spokes- 
 man for the party, whether the others would or 
 no. " He says Mr. Annesley talked his mother 
 into 'lowing it ; and he says he's going to have 
 a pony soon as ever Mr. Annesley can find one 
 for his mother to buy." 
 
 " And he says I may ride it ! " broke in Katy, 
 determined to have an utterance on this point at 
 least. 
 
 " My daughter ! " said her mother, reproving- 
 ly. " I hope you were not such a forward little 
 girl as to ask him." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma ; he promised me his own 
 self." 
 
 " Oh, did he ? " cried Jack, sarcastically. 
 " Well, I reckon he did after you'd been hint- 
 ing like forty ! She told him she liked riding, 
 mamma, and she kep' a-telling him so, till he 
 was 'bliged to ask her. Yes, missy, you know 
 that's so ! " 
 
 " I don't," retorted the little lady, angrily. 
 " 'Tain't so, either, mamma ; he asked me bis 
 own self." 
 
 " Why didji't he ask Sara, too, then ? " in- 
 quired provoking Jack. " She's a great deal 
 prettier than you are you stuck-up, forward 
 thing ! " 
 
 " He did ask me," said Sara's quiet little 
 voice. " He turned round and asked me iust
 
 MR. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER. 
 
 43 
 
 after tie asked Katy, mamma ; and just like he 
 was a grown-up gentleman. But I told him no, 
 I was much obliged to him, but I was afraid of 
 horses." 
 
 " And that was what Katy ought to have 
 told him," said Jack, looking severe reproof at 
 Katy. 
 
 " But I ain't afraid of horses," cried she, 
 indignantly ; " and I oughtn't to have told a 
 story. Mamma, he is so nice. Mayn't we 
 please go to see him ? he asked us." 
 
 " Yes, mamma, he asked us mayn't we ? " 
 chorussed all the rest. 
 
 But of this, Mrs. Marks would not hear. 
 " You may go to see him, if he comes to see 
 you," she said ; " but otherwise certainly not." 
 
 With this condition, the children were obliged 
 to be content trusting to their new acquaint- 
 ance for its fulfilment. But their new acquaint- 
 ance either would not or could not fulfil it. He 
 met the little Markses every day in their favorite 
 place of resort ; and every day they brought 
 home more wonderful accounts of Felix's say- 
 ings and doings ; but Felix himself never ap- 
 peared. 
 
 And so the Indian summer came gradually 
 to an end; the soft, blue haze faded from the 
 landscape ; a few fierce storms tore all the 
 bright leaves from the trees ; and Winter at 
 least as much of winter as the fair South ever 
 knows was seated on his throne. His first act 
 of power was a nipping frost, accompanied by 
 such a " freeze " as had not been known in that 
 region of country for a fabulous number of years 
 a freeze which, to the amazement of every- 
 body, spread a sheet of ice over a small mill-pond 
 near the town, and put all the boys of Tallahoma 
 figuratively on their heads, and literally on their 
 backs. 
 
 In the new field of amusement thus opened, 
 neither Jack nor Dick were behindhand ; and one 
 day they joined in begging Miss Tresham to 
 come and witness their prowess. " Sara and 
 Katy want to see some skating," said the boys, 
 who were not bad brothers as boys go ; " and 
 mamma says they can't come out to the pond, 
 'less you'll come too, Miss Tresham. Please, 
 do ; it's such good fun." 
 
 " Is it ? " said Miss Tresham. " But it is 
 cold fun, too, for people who don't skate. Have 
 you got a fire out there ? " 
 
 " Oh, the biggest sort," cried both boys, in a 
 breath. " And we'll make it up splendid, if 
 you'll come, Miss Tresham." 
 
 Miss Tresham looked doubtfully out of the 
 
 window. It was certainly cold ; but the boys 
 were anxious ; Katy and Sara looked unutterable 
 things ; she herself felt that she needed exer- 
 cise ; and, then the wind was not blowing ! 
 That is such a great point in a climate where 
 still cold can never be very dreadful. 
 
 " Do you want to go very badly ? " she asked, 
 with a smile, of the two little girls. 
 
 And they who knew by that smile how 
 their cause was won answered, eagerly : " Oh, 
 yes'm ; oh, Miss Tresham, indeed we do ! " 
 
 " Very well, then ; we will walk out after 
 dinner. And as for you " she shook her finger 
 at the two young skaters " if you deceive me 
 about the fire, I will never trust either of you 
 again." 
 
 They made the most effusive promises, the 
 two young scamps, who were secretly burning 
 to be off. " Never mind, Miss Tresham, /'ll 
 see about it," said Jack, grandly. " I'll make 
 them bring heaps of pine-knots, and they shall 
 all be put on when you come. But, I say, Dick, 
 look sharp it's time we were off." 
 
 "Off!" echoed the governess. "Are you 
 not going to wait for dinner ?*" 
 
 " We can't," said both in a breath. " But 
 Mom Judy promised to have us a basket ready 
 and we'll eat it on the road." (They did not 
 mean the basket, but its contents.) " Don't 
 change your mind, Miss Tresham we'll look 
 for you." 
 
 " You shall see me," answered she. " I hope 
 you will enjoy yourselves." 
 
 They had the grace to thank her ; and then 
 were off, running down the passage, leaping down 
 the staircase, as if the fate of a nation depended 
 on their speed ; and filling the house with that 
 stir and clatter, that healthful noise and pervad- 
 ing sense of vitality, which only the presence of 
 boys can diffuse. 
 
 After they were gone, Miss Tresham and her 
 two young charges drew near the school-room 
 fire, and waited for the sound of the dinner-bell. 
 It came at last, breaking in upon the oft-told 
 story of the " Fair One with the Golden Locks ; " 
 and they went down together, the children claim- 
 ing each a hand of their young teacher, and mak- 
 ing quite a pretty picture when they entered the 
 dining-room. 
 
 At least, so a gentleman thought who was 
 standing before the fire with a paper in his hand 
 and at sight of whom Katy burst into an excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " Why, unky ! I thought you never came to 
 dinner."
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " I have come to-day, at any rate," said he. 
 M Do you mean to say you are not glad to see 
 
 me?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, so glad ain't we, Sara ? But, 
 unity " Here a sudden pause, and a tiptoe 
 peeping into " unky's " coat-pocket. 
 
 " Well ? " said he, apparently unconscious 
 of this fact. 
 
 But Katy was too busy for speech. She had 
 detected a brown-paper parcel in that receptacle, 
 and she was now intent on an abstraction of the 
 same a design very well favored by Mr. War- 
 wick's deep interest in politics. Then came a 
 shout, 
 
 " Oh, fjara, look ! Mamma Miss Tresham 
 look!" 
 
 " French candy, I declare ! " said Mrs. Marks. 
 "John, you really ought not to be so extrava- 
 gant. You ruin these children." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, it's so nice ! " said Katy, with 
 a crystallized fig in one hand, and a rose-flavored 
 triumph of confectionery in the other. 
 
 " So nice, is it ? " said her mother, severely. 
 " And pray, wher are your manners ? Have 
 you offered Miss Tresham any? or even your 
 uncle ? No ; you need not do it now " (as Katy 
 penitently gathered up the paper in her two little 
 hands), " I hear your father's step on the piazza, 
 and dinner is ready. Tom, put that candy on the 
 mantel-piece." 
 
 . " May I have it as soon as dinner's over, 
 mamma ? " asked Katy, watching, with regretful 
 eyes, the elevation of the candy. 
 
 " Yes, you may have it ; and I hope you will 
 offer the rest of us some," said Mrs. Marks, tak- 
 ing her seat at the head of the table. " I am 
 fond of candy myself. Well, my dear, it is cold 
 out is it not ? " 
 
 This was addressed to Mr. Marks, who, com- 
 ing in from the outer world with the state of the 
 thermometer written legibly on his nose, made 
 straight for the fireplace. 
 
 " Cold ! I should think so, indeed," he an- 
 swered. " Almost cold enough to nip a man's 
 ears. I never saw such a spell of weather but 
 once before in my life." 
 
 " And that was not in December, I am sure," 
 said Mr. Warwick, surrendering possession of the 
 hearth-rug. 
 
 " No ; I never saw any thing like it in Decem- 
 ber before," answered Mr. Marks, standing with 
 hfs back to the fire, and critically scanning the 
 table over his wife's head. " Our mild weather 
 always lasts until after New-Year." 
 
 " Last Christmas we had garden roses on the 
 
 dinner-table," said Katharine ; " but the poor 
 bushes are melancholy sights now. Did you 
 notice them as you came through the garden, Mr. 
 Warwick ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Mr. Warwick. " Youi 
 cloth-of-gold buds, especially. The frost did 
 not spare you even one." 
 
 " Mr. Annesley'll send her some prettier flow- 
 ers," remarked Katy. " He always does ; and I 
 like them better than ours." 
 
 " No doubt of that, you true daughter of 
 Eve ! " said Mr. Warwick, who had sufficient dis- 
 cretion to remove his eyes from Katharine's face, 
 and transfer them to the saucy little speaker 
 " It would be all the same, too, if we had the 
 japonicas, and Mr. Annesley sent the roses.- 
 What is it, Bessie ? " 
 
 "Do come to dinner," said Mrs. Marks, who 
 had finished piling the ham before her with 
 well-cut slices, and was at leisure to observe 
 that the leg of mutton, at the other end of the 
 table, had ceased to steam. " Richard, you are 
 surely warm by this time ? " 
 
 " Moderately," said Mr. Marks, as he left the 
 fire with a regretful sigh and went round to his 
 seat, which had two comfortable sluices of air 
 blowing upon it from two ill-fitting windows. 
 After his short grace was finished, and he be- 
 gan to carve the leg of mutton, he observed the 
 absence of Jack and Dick. 
 
 " So those young scamps are off to the pond 
 again ! " he said. " I wonder they don't kill 
 themselves. Everybody seems pond-crazy ! All 
 Tallahoma has gone out on a general jollifica- 
 tion." 
 
 " We are going, too, papa," cried Katy, eag- 
 erly. " Miss Tresham is going to take us this 
 evening." 
 
 " Is she ? Well, I'm sorry for Miss Tresham, 
 then. I know you little ones have tormented her 
 into it." 
 
 " No," said Miss Tresham, speaking for her- 
 self, "I shall really enjoy the walk. How far is 
 it to the pond ? " 
 
 "A good two miles," said Mr. Warwick 
 " Rough miles, too ; so I would advise thick 
 shoes and warm wrappings." 
 
 Dinner went off in short order ; and, wnen 
 it was over, the children ran for their cloaks and 
 hoods without demanding the candy, which Mrs. 
 Marks suggested should be taken along and 
 feasted on beside the pond. 
 
 " Wrap up your best," said Mr. Warwick, 
 with a smile, as the young governess rose to 
 follow. " I shall stay here to see and admire."
 
 MR. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER. 
 
 45 
 
 he added, when the door had closed on her. 
 " What a pretty creature she is, Bessie ! " 
 
 " And as good as she is pretty," said Mrs. 
 Marks, enthusiastically. " The children love the 
 very ground she walks on ; and, if ever I had 
 a lucky day in my life, it was the day I met 
 Katharine Tresham." 
 
 The table was cleared off, draped with its 
 bright-crimson cover, and wheeled into its ac- 
 customed corner; the last plate and goblet 
 whisked away to the pantry, the fire replen- 
 ished, the hearth swept, the cheery dining-room 
 looking the cheeriest, when Katharine came in 
 again. 
 
 She found Mr. Warwick the only occupant 
 of the room Mr. Marks having gone into town, 
 and Mrs. Marks into the kitchen. It was that 
 important era in housekeeping known as " hog- 
 killing time," and the lard and the sausages ab- 
 sorbed Mrs. Marks almost as much as the pig- 
 tails and the roasting thereof distracted the chil- 
 dren. Katharine was not surprised to find her 
 gone, but she was surprised to see Mr. Warwick, 
 who looked up from his newspaper as she en- 
 tered. 
 
 " Ready ? " said he. " I gave you thirty min- 
 utes, and you have only taken fifteen. Well " 
 with an amused glance from her bonnet to her 
 shoes " I think you can safely defy the weath- 
 er." 
 
 " I think I am ridiculously wrapped up," an- 
 swered she ; " but panics are infectious. You 
 have all been talking about the cold till I de- 
 luded myself into a belief that it must be Sibe- 
 ria ; while the truth is, that I opened my window 
 just before I came down, and it is absolutely 
 pleasant." 
 
 "So much the better for your walk, then. 
 But I think you'll change your mind when you 
 are once out-of-doors." 
 
 Just here there was a rush in the passage 
 outside, and the two little girls flashed into the 
 room in their warm cloaks and bright-crimson 
 hoods. Then came an outcry. 
 
 " Why, Miss Tresham's all ready, and we 
 don't have to wait how nice ! " 
 
 " Katy, don't forget about the candy." 
 
 " TJnky, please hand me down the candy." 
 
 " Do it up tight." 
 
 " Miss Tresham, please tie this knot. I can't 
 get my gloves off." 
 
 " You little torment ! " said Miss Tresham. 
 
 " How can I do it when I have my own gloves 
 in ? Ask Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " Unky, please." 
 4 
 
 " I suspect Miss Tresham could do it better 
 with gloves than I can without," said " unky." 
 
 But he tied the knot very deftly, neverthe- 
 less ; and then slipped the package into his 
 pocket, much to the astonishment of Katy and 
 Sara, who raised a frightened cry of expostula- 
 tion. 
 
 " Unky ! " 
 
 " Oh, that's Indian-gift ! " 
 
 But the Indian-giver turned quietly to the 
 governess. 
 
 " May I go along, if I promise to show you 
 the best road, and not to promote any disturb- 
 ances ? " 
 
 Katharine looked surprised. 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Mr. Warwick ? " 
 
 " To be sure I am in earnest," said Mr. War- 
 wick. " I came home for the purpose of taking 
 these little ones out ; but they will enjoy your 
 company more than mine. Only, as I don't like 
 to break up my day for nothing, may I go 
 too ? " 
 
 " Of course, you may. Children, do you 
 hear ? Your uncle is going with us." 
 
 The afternoon was dazzlingly bright when 
 they went out into it; and Mr. Warwick was 
 soon forced to acknowledge that Katharine's 
 judgment of the temperature was better than 
 his own. Being bright and still, the atmosphere 
 had softened very much, and seemed to them 
 almost mild as they walked in the full glow of 
 the winter sun. 
 
 " This will be the last day of skating," said 
 Mr. Warwick. " Indeed, I doubt if the ice ia 
 safe now. I think I shall stop Jack and Dick 
 as soon as we get there." 
 
 " Even if the ice broke, is the water deep 
 enough to drown anybody ? " asked Katharine, 
 to whom a mill-pond did not suggest any thing 
 much to be feared. 
 
 " It is not less than twelve or fifteen feet in 
 depth," said her companion. " I used to swim 
 in it when I was a boy, and I know it well be- 
 sides, the waters are very full just now. On the 
 whole, I think those young gentlemen had better 
 rest on their laurels." 
 
 " If there is any danger, yes, indeed. But 
 we can't stop them now ; so please don't let ua 
 talk about it and make ourselves uncomforta- 
 ble." 
 
 They did not. On the contrary, they talked 
 of other things much more agreeable. Mr. War- 
 wick could not help feeling that many a man 
 might have envied him his position, and that 
 there had seldom been a lighter form or a
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 brighter face than the one now walking beside 
 and smiling upon him ; while Katharine, for her 
 part, had never been one of the girls who can 
 find little or nothing to say to a man who is not 
 young enough or foolish enough to be converted 
 into an admirer. Indeed, these two had been 
 friends in a certain reserved but sincere fashion 
 ever since the young governess entered the Marks 
 household. She was often more nearly approach- 
 ing the confidential with him than with any one 
 else ; and they fell into something of a personal 
 strain now as they walked along the rough foot- 
 path, and troubled themselves no more about 
 the children than just to keep their crimson 
 hoods in sight. 
 
 " Y6s, I pity you," Mr. Warwick was saying, 
 " and all the more because you don't seem to 
 pity yourself. If you were discontented, prob- 
 ably I should not trouble myself to sympathize 
 with you. But, as it is, I think very often that 
 you have a hard lot for such a young person." 
 
 " Many people younger than I am have a 
 much harder one," said Katharine, quietly. 
 " Does that never occur to you ? It always does 
 to me." 
 
 " But not people who seem so essentially born 
 and fitted for other things." 
 
 " What sort of things do you mean ? " 
 
 "I think you know. Wealth, luxury, the 
 appliances of refinement, the power of being 
 generous for I think you would be generous 
 if you had the power and of putting your tal- 
 ents to some better use than their present one." 
 
 A flush came over the girl's face as he spoke, 
 but died away before he finished. 
 
 " That is the way my own vanity speaks to 
 me sometimes," she said ; " but I never listen to 
 such suggestions. I go and get Dick's sum, or 
 Sara's exercise, and drum away the phantom with 
 the rule of three or the vocative case." 
 
 " But it comes back? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes. Then there is nothing to 
 be done but to face it boldly, and ask myself if I 
 am really so weak and vain as to think myself 
 better than the millions who have toiled to their 
 lives' ends, more humble and more unknown 
 than I am ; if better talents than any of mine 
 have not gone down into the dust soundless ; 
 and if" her voice sauk slightly here "I am 
 wiser than He who orders our lives for us from 
 their beginning even to their end." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " And then I think that I cannot be suf- 
 ficiently grateful for all the blessings my life has 
 known ; and I try to crush down the vanity and 
 
 self-love which let us disguise it as we may, is, 
 after all, the root of most of our discontent. We 
 think too highly of ourselves and our own deserts. 
 If we would only try to recognize ourselves as we 
 really are, we should feel so ashamed of our re- 
 pining tliat I think we would be content ever 
 afterward to take whatever God is good enough 
 to give us, and leave the choice of good or bad 
 fortune to Him." 
 
 " Do you speak from experience ? " 
 
 She smiled a little. 
 
 " Can't you tell that ? One reads such things 
 in books, but one only learns them in one's own 
 heart. It seems to me it is always easy to tell 
 whether it has been read or learned." 
 
 Mr. Warwick did not reply ; and they walked 
 on silently for some time, no sound breaking the 
 stillness save the echo of their own tread and the 
 children's merry tones floating back through the 
 clear air. Just here their road was through a 
 pine-f rest ; the tall, straight trunks rose on 
 every side ; the deep, sombre green stretched 
 away far as the eye could view ; the golden sun- 
 shine streamed with a mellow brightness through 
 the stately arcades ; and, although there was 
 only a slight breeze stirring the tree-tops, the 
 sound above their heads was like the distant 
 murmur of the sea. It put Katharine strangely 
 in mind of the ocean; and, together with the 
 soft carpet of pine-straw under their feet, and 
 the aromatic fragrance of the forest around, 
 came back to her afterward recalling that after- 
 noon, and giving its events a picture-like distinct- 
 ness in her memory. At last Mr. Warwick said, 
 thoughtfully : 
 
 " It is not even as if you had been born to 
 this sort of thing." 
 
 " But I was born to it," she answered, quickly. 
 " All my life I knew that some day I must earn 
 my own bread. That was the reason why my 
 aunt my dear, kind aunt was so careful to 
 educate me thoroughly. She could give me noth- 
 ing besides an education." 
 
 Almost before he had time to consider the 
 incivility of the question, Mr. Warwick had 
 asked " Why ? " 
 
 " Because she was an officer's widow, and her 
 pension ended with her life," Katharine answered. 
 " But, while she lived, I had a very happy time 
 and, after Jhat, it did not matter." 
 
 Her voice choked, as she uttered the last 
 words ; and her companion did not need to 
 glance at her, to know why she drew down her 
 veil so hastily. lie gave her time to recovei 
 herself, and then said, kindly :
 
 MR. WARWICK MAKES AN OFFER. 
 
 47 
 
 " Courage. Remember how young you are. 
 Happiness may come to you yet, in the form you 
 like best." 
 
 " And what is that form ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as he had 
 a habit of doing over any knotty point of legal 
 evidence. 
 
 " I may be mistaken, but it seems to me you 
 would like best the happiness that could give 
 you all those things of which you have so keen 
 an appreciation pictures, music, amusement, 
 and the admiration which all women value so 
 highly." 
 
 " I certainly like all those things," said Kath- 
 arine, with a little sigh ; " but I assure you, I 
 can live without them and be happy too. No, 
 Mr. Warwick, you have not hit upon the one great 
 gift which Happiness must bring in her hand 
 when she comes to me or else not be happiness 
 at all." 
 
 Mr. Warwick looked at her intently. Did 
 she mean Morton Anncsley's love, he wondered. 
 If so, why did she speak of it thus frankly to 
 him ? It was not like Katharine Tresham to 
 do so. " Tell me what it is ? " he asked. 
 
 The clear, gray eyes pure and truthful as 
 God's noonday met his own, as she answered, 
 quietly : " It is the gift of peace." 
 
 After that, nothing was said for several min- 
 utes. Katy came dancing back with a spray of 
 holly which was duly admired, and which, at 
 her request, Katharine fastened in her brooch. 
 Then, after she ran forward again, Mr. Warwick 
 spoke : 
 
 u Miss Tresham, I am going to say some- 
 thing which may seem impertinent, but which, I 
 trust, you will take as it is meant in simple 
 kindness. I have noticed, for some time past, 
 that you have not been quite yourself, that you 
 have grown thin, that your spirits are less even 
 than heretofore, and that some trouble is evi- 
 dently preying upon you. Is not this so ? " 
 
 Katharine caught her breath, paling percep- 
 tibly. " I hoped no one had noticed it," she 
 said. 
 
 "I am sure I may safely say that no one but 
 myself has done so," he answered. " I am a 
 very close observer Nature gave me the habit, 
 and my profession has taught me its importance 
 but you are a very good dissembler. The trifles 
 in which you have betrayed yourself were light. 
 as air ; but the driftwood shows the direction of 
 the current, you know. I did not need to hear 
 what you said a moment ago, to convince me 
 that something is wrong with you. If it is any 
 
 thing ideal, I can do nothing for you ; but if U 
 is any practical trouble, such as comes to us all 
 sooner or later, why, I trust you believe me to 
 be your friend." 
 
 " Yes," she said, simply ; " I am glad to be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 "And I am glad to hear you say so; for 
 I have watched you closely, ever since you 
 entered my sister's house, and I have never yet 
 known you to trifle with truth. That, first, made 
 me like you, I think for, of all virtues, it is at 
 once the greatest and the rarest. If you believe 
 me to be your friend, there is not much more to 
 add. A woman even a woman as brave as you 
 are is such a helpless creature in the world, that 
 she is often made to suffer acutely through her 
 weakness and her ignorance. In any emergency, 
 therefore, I hope you will remember that my ser- 
 vices are at your command." 
 
 " Thank you," said Katharine, lifting her face 
 toward him, with a grateful light shining over 
 it. " You are very kind, and there is no one to 
 whom I would as soon go. But " she paused a 
 moment, and added, slowly " I must bear my 
 burden alone." 
 
 He turned and looked at her. The light had 
 faded, and the young face seemed to have hard- 
 ened into a self-contained power of endurance. 
 The mouth was set, the eyes were resolute, and, 
 as she met his glance, she repeated her words in 
 the same tone : 
 
 " I must bear my burden alone." 
 
 " I cannot help you ? " 
 
 " No. You are very good ; but only He who 
 laid it on me can take it away." 
 
 Again they walked on silently ; and the law- 
 yer felt half inclined to indulge in his quiet, 
 cynical shrug. " It is Annesley, after all," he 
 thought. " What a fool I was to suppose it could 
 be any thing else and a still greater fool to 
 make such an offer ! The very pine-trees might 
 afford to laugh at the idea of my playing confidant 
 and consoler in a love-affair ! " 
 
 Then he glanced at the face beside him, and 
 felt again a sudden conviction that it was not An- 
 nesley not any cross in love, or ordinary heart- 
 disaster which brought such a look of suffering 
 and resolve to those earnest eyes. An impulse 
 hardly to be accounted for, and not at all to be 
 analyzed, made him suddenly extend his hand, 
 and place it on Katharine's arm. 
 
 " One word more," he said. " You are en- 
 tirely unprotected by any friend or relative ; this 
 fact must excuse the request I am about to make. 
 Will you promise to come to me if you ever stand
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 In greater need than you do at present of service 
 or advice ? " 
 
 Katharine paused and looked at him wist- 
 fully. " Mr. Warwick," she said at last, " I can- 
 not promise what I am never likely to per- 
 form." 
 
 " You mean ?" 
 
 " I mean what I said before that I can only 
 carry my burden to God, and He only can release 
 me from it." 
 
 The keen lawyer-glance regarded her earn- 
 estly searching, perhaps, for some shadow of 
 shame or fear but it only found a steady dig- 
 nity op the pale face, and an open candor in the 
 eyes that looked brave enough to face death it- 
 self unflinchingly. 
 
 " You are strong for a woman," he said, 
 after a while ; " but your hour of weakness may 
 come. I hope you will remember, then, that my 
 offer still holds good." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, quietly, " I will remem- 
 ber it with gratitude." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said. They 
 resumed their walk, and, after a minute, fell into 
 other topics talking until they caught a glimpse 
 of frozen water shining through the trees, and 
 Katy called out, joyfully : 
 
 " Here we are ! here's the pond ! " 
 
 " Here is the pond, certainly ; but here are 
 not the skaters," said Mr. Warwick, glancing 
 over the sheet of water which lay all silent and 
 glittering before them. " They must be lower 
 down ah ! yes, I see them now. This way, Miss 
 Tresham." 
 
 He led the way around a small headland, for 
 the outline of the pond was very irregular, and 
 a picturesque scene burst suddenly upon them 
 a scene vivid with color, and bright with animated 
 motion, set in the midst of the winter landscape. 
 This portion of the pond was alive with skaters 
 in every stage of proficiency and non-proficiency. 
 One or two seemed at home on their skates, a 
 few managed to keep their feet and move with a 
 tolerable degree of ease ; but the vast majority 
 were hopelessly sliding about, and ignominiouslv 
 falling down every other minute, to their own dis- 
 comfiture and the immense amusement of the 
 spectators on the shore. These spectators were 
 not by any means contemptible in point of num- 
 bers, for three large fires were blazing as only 
 lightwood can blaze, and grouped around and 
 about each were knots of young people, chil- 
 dren, and servants. In the background stood 
 several empty carriages, and quite a goodly array 
 af horses. Camp-stools and baskets abounded, 
 
 bright shawls were laid over the roots of trees 
 to form impromptu easy-chairs, gay scarfs and 
 hoods dangled from the boughs, the golden sun 
 shine streamed over all with a glory and beaut) 
 entirely its own, and the majestic forest stretched 
 around in its solemn grandeur. 
 
 Katy and Sara darted forward, while Miss 
 Tresham and Mr. Warwick followed more slowly 
 toward the nearest fire. As they npproached, 
 two ladies and two gentlemen, who were stand- 
 ing directly in front of it, drew back, and Ka- 
 tharine found herself facing Mrs. French, Miss 
 Vernon, Mr. Annesley, and a stranger whom she 
 had never seen. Neither of the fcidies noticed 
 her, excepting by a stare well-bred on Miss 
 Vernon's part, ill-bred on Mrs. French's but 
 Morton bowed as if to a grande dame, and the 
 other gentleman gave a glance of the most un- 
 disguised admiration. 
 
 " What a pretty woman, Annesley ! " Katha- 
 rine heard him say, after she had passed. " It 
 can't possibly be one of the Tallahoma belles." 
 
 Annesley's reply was inaudible ; but its tenor 
 was easily to be surmised, from the long 
 " Whew ! " which was his companion's com- 
 ment, and which, evidently, would not have 
 been the only one if Mrs. French had not 
 broken in. 
 
 " Quite a nice person, too, I have heard 
 that is, for her position. She has something of 
 good style about her, don't you think so, Irene? 
 I wonder where she got that pelisse the cut of 
 it is excellent. But look at the fur on it real 
 sable, my dear, as sure as you live. What very 
 bad taste for her ! " 
 
 "Why for her, Adela?" asked the bluff, 
 frank tones that were certainly not Morton's. 
 " Why shouldn't she wear a pretty thing as 
 well as other women ? I suspect she needs all 
 the consolation that pelisses and furs can givo 
 her." 
 
 " Don't talk so loud, Frank, and don't be so 
 silly," was the unceremonious reply. " People 
 ought to dress according to their rank 5n life, or 
 else what's the good of there being ranks in 
 life? For my part, when I see anybody dressed 
 so absurdly, I feel as if I never wanted to put 
 on a handsome thing again." 
 
 "I wish you would stay of that mind," 
 laughed the gentleman. And Katharine felt 
 certain that he was the legal possessor of all 
 Mrs. French's pretty toilets, and all Mrs. French's 
 long bills ! 
 
 " Shall we go over to the next fire ? " asked 
 Mr. Warwick, whose face looked amused and
 
 THE GORDON PLAID. 
 
 49 
 
 jontemptuous both at once. " I think it is bet- 
 ter than this." 
 
 Katharine assented, and they moved away, 
 just as Miss Vernon's clear tones sounded with 
 quite a bell-like distinctness. 
 
 " I think a pretty woman has a right to 
 adorn her beauty to the utmost of her power, 
 wherever she may be placed. That is one right 
 of the sex for which I shall always be an advo- 
 cate, Adela." 
 
 " But the working-classes, Irene " 
 
 " We are not speaking of the working- 
 classes," interrupted the other, with a very cool 
 disdain in her voice. " We are speaking of a 
 member of a liberal profession, I thought. I 
 hear that Miss Tresham is very charming, and 
 for a long time I have had a fancy to know her. 
 Mr. Annesley, you are a friend of hers ; will 
 you introduce me ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, Miss Vernon," said Morton, 
 coloring quickly. "I shall be very glad to do 
 so, if you are in earnest." 
 
 " Of course I am in earnest. Adela, won't 
 you come also ? " 
 
 " I ? " Mrs. French drew back in astonish- 
 ment. " Irene, you are surely jesting you are 
 surely not going to be introduced to Mrs. 
 Marks's governess ? " 
 
 " You will see," said Irene, with a slight 
 nod and a merry laugh. " Carry her to the car- 
 riage if she faints, Frank. Mr. Annesley, may 
 I take your arm ? " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE GORDON PLAID. 
 
 THE latter part of this conversation Katharine 
 had not heard. She had moved away to the 
 other fire, and was talking to Mr. Warwick about 
 Jack's skating. So her surprise was entirely un- 
 affected when Annesley's voice spoke her name, 
 and, turning, she saw him standing close beside 
 her, with a beautiful, golden-haired vision lean- 
 ing on his arm. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," he said, hurriedly, " allow 
 me to present Miss Vernon. She is anxious to 
 make your acquaintance, and " 
 
 " Hopes you do not object to having it 
 taken by storm," interrupted Miss Vernon, offer- 
 ing her hand. " You must excuse me, if this 
 fa an unceremonious proceeding, Miss Tresham ; 
 but I am very anxious to know you, and I hope 
 you do not object to knowing me." 
 
 It would have been hard to do so under the 
 influence of that gracious smile for Irene Ver- 
 non could be very gracious when she chose and 
 Katharine answered, with her usual simplicity 
 of word and tone : 
 
 " You do me too much honor, Miss Vernon. 
 I am very glad to know you." 
 
 "Are you?" asked Miss Vernon. "Is not 
 that speech a mere effort of courtesy ? " 
 
 " It may be an effort of courtesy," answered 
 Katharine, smiling ; " but it is true, also." 
 
 " Then I may congratulate myself upon mak- 
 ing a favorable impression for once in my life," 
 said the young lady. " People don't usually like 
 me when they first know me ; in fact, some of 
 them don't ever like me at all." 
 
 " Don't they ? " said Katharine, amused at 
 this frank confession. " That is strange ; for I 
 should think you would always be liked." 
 
 " Are you always liked ? " 
 
 Well really, I don't know. But I think I 
 am rather popular at least with these." And 
 she laid her hand on Katy's curly head. 
 
 " Their good-will is not worth much," said 
 Miss Vernon, carelessly. " It is so cheap a few 
 sugar-plums will buy it." 
 
 "And won't different sugar-plums buy the 
 good-will of older people just as easily ? " asked 
 Morton, abruptly. 
 
 " So you have turned cynic ! " said Miss Ver- 
 non, glancing round at him. " I thought you 
 left that to me." 
 
 " Don't slander my favorite objects of trust, 
 then," answered he, laughing. " I must be- 
 lieve in children, or in nobody. Katy, don't 
 you mean to come and kiss me ? " 
 
 While Katy, nowise loath, went to bestow this 
 favor, Miss Vernon turned with a shrug to her 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 " I wonder if he thinks that child would like 
 him if he were poor and ugly ? " 
 
 " She likes me," said Katharine, smiling, 
 " and I am neither rich nor beautiful." 
 
 " You are lovable, though, and that is bet- 
 ter than either," said Miss Vernon, with a slight 
 sigh. 
 
 Katharine looked up in surprise ; but, be- 
 fore she could answer this unexpected compli- 
 ment, the young lady had turned to Mr. War- 
 wick, and was asking him if he meant to skate. 
 
 " I ? " he said, laughing. " What have I 
 done. Miss Vernon, that you should suspect me 
 of such an indiscretion ? " 
 
 " You have worn a pair of skates, Mr. War- 
 wick ; for I heard Mrs. Raynor say this morning
 
 50 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 that John Warwick isn't your name John? 
 was the only person she ever saw who seemed at 
 home on the ice." 
 
 44 Twenty-five years ago, the compliment may 
 have been merited ; but I hardly think I need 
 blush for it now." 
 
 44 Have you forgotten how to skate ? " 
 
 44 1 don't know. I have not attempted it 
 since I was a boy." 
 
 44 Ah, pray try ! " said the young lady, with 
 the air of one who was not accustomed to ask 
 favors in vain. "I never saw skating before, 
 and I am so anxious to see at least one good 
 skater ! " 
 
 44 You would see a very poor one, if I were so 
 foolish as to expose my awkwardness," said Mr. 
 Warwick, smiling. 
 
 41 Who can skate, then ? None of those peo- 
 ple out yonder can, unless skating is a very ugly 
 thing." 
 
 44 Annesley ought to," said Mr. Warwick, 
 glancing at that gentleman, who had drawn 
 near and was talking to Katharine. " He spent 
 four years at a German university, and they 
 learn skating as well as metaphysics there." 
 
 Miss Vernon turned to Morton, as if intend- 
 ing to speak, and then as hastily turned back 
 again. 
 
 44 He would not thank us for disturbing him 
 now," she said. " Look at those people out yon- 
 der, and tell me who you think gives most prom- 
 ise of learning to skate." 
 
 Her companion looked as she directed, and at 
 once singled out a child with floating, blond 
 curls and a plaid scarf, the fringed ends of which 
 fluttered in the wind as he skimmed along the 
 ice. 
 
 44 1 cannot tell from here who it is, but there 
 is no one else to compare with him," answered 
 Mr. Warwick. " He skates as if he had been 
 born in Russia." 
 
 14 And don't you know who he is ? " cried his 
 companion, eagerly. "Why, I thought every- 
 body knew him 1 That is the little Gordon 
 don't you see ? He looks as if he might have 
 been born in the purple." 
 
 Mr. Warwick said, " Indeed ! " And then 
 they both watched the elfm skater, who only a 
 few minutes before had made his appearance on 
 the ice. He was, indeed, without peer ; the very 
 spirit of grace seemed to animate his motions, 
 and his skating was such as is never seen out 
 of a northern latitude, and of which the inhabit- 
 ants of southern latitudes can form, at best, but 
 a faint conception. The lithe young figure was 
 
 so slenderly fashioned, and every movement of 
 every limb was so harmonious with the spirit 
 of the whole, that, aided by the floating curls 
 and waving scarf, it almost looked as if the 
 wind wafted him over the ice. He soon be- 
 came fully aware of his own skill, and began to 
 indulge in vagaries quite impossible to the novice 
 in this slippery amusement. He made wide cir 
 cles, then swooped suddenly upon some knot of 
 inexperienced amateurs, scattering them to the 
 right and left out of his path, and generally 
 leaving two or three prostrate behind him ; he 
 seized the hand of some unlucky trembler, and 
 carried him forward at a rate which soon left him 
 breathless in a waste of ice, with no hope of re- 
 turn, his malicious guide having takeri flight to 
 another quarter ; he snatched some half-dozen 
 hats, and made for the centre of the pond, scat- 
 tering them broadcast on his way ; he indulged 
 in solitary waltzes and ballet-like pirouettes ; he 
 played a thousand antics for his own amusement 
 and that of the many eyes watching him ; and 
 then he suddenly darted away down the pond. 
 
 " Oh, I hope he is not going out of sight ! " 
 said Miss Vernon, with a very genuine tone of 
 regret. " I never saw any thing more beautiful. 
 Do, somebody, make him come back. Mr. An 
 nesley, I believe he is under your charge pleas* 
 speak to him." 
 
 " Speak to whom ? " askad Mr. Annesltj-, 
 turning. " I beg your pardon. M'ss Vemon, but 
 I did not hear has Felix b'.en doing any 
 thing?" 
 
 Miss Vernon replied by po'cting to the slen- 
 der figure and floating scarf v'uich were already 
 vanishing round the headl^ud. "You are tho 
 only person whom he has n . been entertaining," 
 she said. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" en <1 Annesley, " and I 
 promised his mother that ie should not venture 
 on the ice ! How could I nave been so careless ; 
 Felix, come back ! Felix ! don't you hear ? " 
 
 Felix paused a moment, as the clear voice 
 came ringing over the ice ; showed that he heard, 
 by waving his hand with a gesture of gay de- 
 fiance, and then showed that he did not mean to 
 heed, by coolly continuing his onward course. 
 In another moment he had vanished Irom sight 
 around the jutting point of land. 
 
 Miss Vernon laughed she evidently sym- 
 pathized with the bravery of this open rebellion 
 while Mrs. French, who was standing by, 
 shrugged her shoulders significantly. 
 
 " People can't manage to conduct a flirtation 
 and take care of a child at the same time," she
 
 THE GORDON PLAID. 
 
 51 
 
 said to her husband, in a tone sufficiently audible 
 for Morton to hear. 
 
 But Morton took no notice of the remark. 
 He only turned round to the by-standers, and 
 asked if anybody could lend him a pair of 
 skates. 
 
 Unfortunately, nobody was able to do so. 
 Skates were very scarce articles, and whoever 
 was so fortunate as to own a pair, lent them to 
 his friends by turns an arrangement which re- 
 sulted in the temporary possessor being worried 
 out of all his enjoyment by two or three impa- 
 tient candidates who wanted to know " if he 
 meant to keep agoing all day, or if he didn't 
 mean to give anybody else a chance to do some 
 skating ? " Therefore, all shook their heads 
 when Morton made his request, and several 
 voices replied that Tom Jones had a pair of 
 skates, but that Frank Smith was using them. 
 
 " What do you want to do, Mr. Annesley ? " 
 Katharine asked. 
 
 " I want to go after the little scamp," Annes- 
 ley replied. " I ought to have paid more atten- 
 tion to him ; but how could I think of his play- 
 ing me such a trick, when he knew, too, that 
 only my persuasion induced his mother to let 
 him come ? " 
 
 " This is very ungrateful conduct, then." 
 
 " Is it not ? Katy, run yonder to that knoll, 
 and see if he is coming back." 
 
 Katy obeyed, bounding up on the rising 
 ground at the headland, where a stately group 
 of young pines stood like sentinels ; and, in a 
 few minutes, returned with the intelligence that 
 he was coming back. 
 
 " You will not need to go, after all," said 
 Miss Vernon to Annesley. 
 
 " That remains to be seen," he answered. 
 " I don't much think he will come to shore of 
 his own accord. Thank you, Price." This to 
 a young man who handed him a pair of skates 
 over two or three intervening shoulders. Then, 
 while he sat down to buckle them on, Felix came 
 bearing back into sight a more beautiful pic- 
 ture than ever, all alone in his childish grace on 
 the glittering expanse of ice. 
 
 " Oh, the little darling ! " cried several enthu- 
 siastic young ladies ; while the boys of all ages 
 stared in open-mouthed, admiring wonder of his 
 skill. 
 
 " Is he coming to shore ? " asked Morton, who 
 could not see, partly because he was sitting on the 
 ground, and partly because several people were 
 standing before him. Two or three voices an- 
 swered the quostiou not very satisfactorily. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " No, he isn't." 
 
 " There he goes he's off again." 
 
 " That's splendid ! That is skating ! " 
 
 " He's bound up the pond this time." 
 
 " Yes," said Katharine, to whom Morton 
 looked inquiringly. " He certainly has no inten- 
 tion of coming to the shore. He is going up 
 the pond at a rapid rate." 
 
 " It's a pity somebody can't make him come 
 back," said a man's voice near. " All skating is 
 something of a risk to-day ; but the ice is very 
 unsafe in that direction." 
 
 " Are you sure of that, Mr. Mills ? " asked 
 Morton, starting to his feet. 
 
 "Very sure, sir," answered Mr. Mills, grave- 
 ly. " My wagon was hauling ice from there this 
 morning, and I don't think it would have borne 
 the weight of a man then." 
 
 Morton made no answer, but Katharine saw 
 that he changed color, and immediately swung 
 himself down the bank, which happened to be 
 quite high just there. The next minute he was 
 gliding over the ice with a swift, steady ease of 
 movement which proved his own proficiency 
 quite equal to that of Felix. A chorus of ad- 
 miration followed him ; but the young man evi- 
 dently heard none of it. He was bending every 
 nerve in pursuit of the gay little will-o'-the-wisp 
 who fleeted forward all the faster when he per- 
 ceived that a chase had been instituted. Away 
 went the two figures up the pond, the pursuer 
 steadily gaining on the pursued, and both near- 
 ing fast the dangerous ice of which Mr. Mills had 
 spoken. Once Annesley paused and uttered 
 something half-warning, half-command ; but the 
 young insurgent paid no attention to it, and the 
 only result was that it lost Morton several yards 
 of distance. When he started again, however, 
 he seemed scarcely to touch the ice, and the in- 
 terest of the spectators had reached a very ex- 
 citing point when a cry of mingled dismay and 
 triumph rose from a knot of boys on the water's 
 edge. 
 
 " He's got him ! " 
 
 " No, he hasn't ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! He's slipped away ! " 
 
 " Well done, little one ! " 
 
 And Katharine looked in time to see Felix 
 dart out of the grasp Morton laid on him, and, 
 shooting under the outstretched arm, skate away 
 faster than ever, leaving only his scarf as trophy 
 in the disappointed captor's hands. 
 
 " Well done, indeed ! " cried Miss Vernon, 
 with a ringing laugh of enjoyment. " I am so
 
 MORTON HOUSE 
 
 glad he got away. I should be so sorry if it 
 coded. It is better than horse-racing, and I 
 adore that ! Who will make a bet ? Adela, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mrs. French, severe- 
 ly. " I think it is disgusting. Morton ought to 
 have more dignity than to make such an exhibi- 
 tion of himself. I really think " 
 
 But Miss Vernon was already speaking to 
 Katharine. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, will you ? As many pairs of 
 gloves as you please on the Gordon plaid." 
 
 " Do you mean Mr. Annesley ? " asked Katha- 
 rine, laughing. " He has the Gordon plaid at 
 present." 
 
 " No, indeed ; I mean on the rightful owner 
 of the Gordon plaid. Bless his brave little 
 heart ! Where is he now ? " 
 
 " Yonder he is," said Mr. Warwick, who was 
 standing by, a quiet and much-interested specta- 
 tor. " But Annesley is gaining very fast upon 
 him; so perhaps you had better not register 
 your bet just at present. See ! he almost laid 
 hold of him. There, now he has doubled again. 
 After all, you may my God ! " 
 
 A sudden wild cry from Mrs. French a mur- 
 mur of horror from the crowd and out on the ice, 
 where there had been two figures a moment be- 
 fore, only one. 
 
 This was a terror-stricken child, while, where 
 the ice had broken through, there still floated 
 one fringed end of the Gordon plaid. On the 
 nhore, a rush, a commotion, a sound of many 
 voices, and a lady in violent hysterics. 
 
 Katharine never knew much of what ensued. 
 She heard Mr. Warwick's tones take the lead, 
 and bring some quiet out of the uproar; she 
 saw a confused mass of men and boys dash 
 across the ice with a reckless disregard of dan- 
 ger, and she sat down sick and shuddering to 
 await the result. 
 
 Miss Vernon sat down by her. Neither said 
 any thing, yet there is no doubt that each was 
 conscious of the presence of the other. Mr. 
 French, meanwhile, had left his wife to get out 
 of her hysterics as best she could, and had gone 
 to the rescue with the rest ; so, finding nobody 
 to take any notice of her, she somewhat sub- 
 sided, and stood sobbing and asking questions 
 which it was impossible for any one to answer 
 yet. 
 
 To those watchers on the shore it seemed 
 hours, but it was in reality only a short time be- 
 fore the many strong arms which broke up the 
 ice and buffeted the water so bravely, gained 
 
 their reward before they raised to the surface 
 and bore shoreward, with a rush of triumph, 
 that which seemed so awfully still and white 
 when they laid it down at Katharine Trcsham's 
 feet. 
 
 They said it was not Death, but she could 
 scarcely believe it was Life, when she looked at 
 the pale face with the wet hair clinging round 
 it, and at those rigid hands which still grasped 
 the silken scarf. 
 
 But, even while she looked, there came a 
 long, gurgling sigh through the half-parted lips 
 the lids slowly lifted the dark eyes gazed up 
 at her pitying countenance as if in a bewildered 
 dream and her name was spoken with that ten- 
 der, yearning accent which would make any name 
 of earth beautiful. 
 
 " Katharine ! " 
 
 Then, before she could utter one word, they 
 closed again, and Mr. Warwick said : 
 
 " He has fainted ! " 
 
 A little while later, after Mr. Annesley was 
 sufficiently recovered to thank his rescuers, 
 to answer all the inquiries of his friends, to 
 enter his carriage, and be driven home, Mr. 
 Warwick came up to Katharine, and asked 
 her if she felt inclined to perform a deed of 
 charity. 
 
 " It depends a good deal upon the amount of 
 exertion required," she answered, with a smile. 
 " I am a little tired. But let me hear what it 
 is." 
 
 He pointed to Felix, who stood at a little dis- 
 tance the centre of an admiring group, and quite 
 as nonchalant as ever. 
 
 " I promised Morton to take that young gen- 
 tleman home, and to give as mild a rendering of 
 his exploit as is at all consistent with truth. But 
 I begin to doubt my diplomatic ability. I think 
 you could do him more service than I ; and, in 
 short, I want you to take the matter off my 
 hands. Will you ? " 
 
 Katharine looked slightly aghast. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, I would be glad to oblige you, 
 but but I am a mere stranger and Morton 
 House 1 " 
 
 " That is the very reason why I ask you," 
 said Mr. Warwick, coolly. " Considering all 
 things, I think a mere stranger might be more 
 welcome in Morton House than an old acquaint- 
 ance like myself. Will you go ? " 
 
 She hesitated a minute longer. Then, re- 
 membering what might be his reason for wishing 
 to avoid Mrs. Gordon, answered quickly :
 
 AT MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 53 
 
 " Yes, if you think I can do any good, I will 
 go." 
 
 " If you cannot, I am sure it will be for the 
 first time," he answered, smiling. " Yonder 
 comes the carriage which Annesley promised to 
 send back, so you see you have no time to 
 change your mind. Let me put you in, and see 
 you off. Then I will take the children home." 
 
 He put her in, called Felix and presented 
 him, closed the door, watched them drive away, 
 and never thought, until long afterward, that he 
 was the direct means of first bringing Katharine 
 Tresharn under the roof of Morton House. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AT MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 THE whole of that afternoon, which looked so 
 bright to the gay loiterers beside the pond, Mrs. 
 Gordon had spent in the silence and shadow of 
 the Morton-House library, deep in dusty and 
 tedious accounts which had been submitted to 
 her inspection by Mr. Shields, the agent of the 
 Morton estate. It waa not a pleasant occupa- 
 tion, but it was one to which she had courageous- 
 ly set herself immediately on her arrival, and in 
 which she had not flagged even when the terri- 
 bly-involved condition of affairs had been brought 
 plainly to her perception. Debt, difficulty, mort- 
 gage, ruinous sacrifice ! That was the sum-total 
 of the heritage to which she had returned ; and, 
 what the old agent unhesitatingly called " the 
 most tangled business in the country," was what 
 she took in her woman's hands to attempt to 
 make straight again. She succeeded better than 
 might have been expected succeeded sufficiently 
 to rouse Mr. Shields's honest admiration, and 
 make him tell Lawyer Worruck that he had never 
 seen such business capacity in any woman be- 
 fore. But it was weary work at all times, and 
 never more weary than on this afternoon. So 
 weary that, when she came to the end of a long 
 column of figures, she dropped her pen with a 
 tired sigh, and, leaning her head against the 
 back of her chair, sat motionless for some 
 time. 
 
 On this repose, however, Babette broke in 
 suddenly and unceremoniously, just as the last 
 rays of the setting sun flashed a gleam of vivid 
 light across the pale, tired face. 
 
 " Madame, pardonnez-moi," she began, hur- 
 riedly, as her mistress's eyes opened wide in some- 
 what haughty astonishment. " But madame al- 
 
 ways said that if any thing happened to M'sieur 
 Felix, she must be disturbed, and I dared not " 
 
 " Felix ! " cried the mother, with a sudden 
 start of alarm. " Felix ! Is any thing the mat- 
 ter with him ? " 
 
 " Indeed, madame, it was not my fault ; but 
 that stupid " 
 
 " Babette ! Is any thing the matter ? " 
 
 " Non, madame, non," cried the maid, startled 
 by the tone of her mistress's voice. " M'sieur 
 Felix is all safe but that stupid Harrison has let 
 in a lady." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon gave a deep sigh of relief. 
 
 " You frightened me very much," she said, 
 rebukingly. " You should not talk so much at 
 random. What has Felix to do with a lady ? 
 He is at the pond with Mr. Annesley." 
 
 "But, madame, the lady has brought him 
 home." 
 
 " The lady ! You must be mistaken." 
 
 " Indeed, no, madame. I saw them ; and 
 that stupid " 
 
 " Then it is Mrs. Annesley ? " 
 
 Babette shook her head. " C'est une demoi- 
 selle," she said decidedly. " I saw her myself, 
 madame ; and M'sieur Felix " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " cried a shrill, indig- 
 nant voice at the door. And the next moment, 
 " M'sieur Felix " himself had rushed into the 
 room, and thrown his arms round his mother. 
 
 " Mamma, don't listen to her ! I'll tell you 
 all about it but promise first you won't be 
 angry." 
 
 " That depends on whether there is good 
 cause for being angry," said his mother, push- 
 ing back the bright curls from the glowing face, 
 and looking anxiously into it. " But I can 
 promise not to be very much displeased if you 
 will tell me the exact truth." 
 
 " That's what I mean to do, mamma. But 
 kiss me first, and go away ! " he added, with a 
 sudden stamp at Babette. 
 
 The Frenchwoman looked unutterable things 
 at him, tossed her head, and held her ground 
 firmly, until Mrs. Gordon herself bade her go. 
 
 " But the lady, madame ? " 
 
 " I will see her in a minute you need not 
 wait." 
 
 Babette gave another glance at Felix, and then 
 retired, with offended dignity rustling in every 
 garment. Her only solace was to go and rate 
 Harrison, and this she immediately proceeded to 
 do. 
 
 Katharine, meanwhile, left alone in the large 
 empty drawing-room, began to revolve the awk-
 
 54 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 wardness of her position. She was sorry now 
 that she had acceded V> Mr. Warwick's request. 
 It seemed so much like forcing an entrance into 
 Morton House. As for mediation or explanation 
 Felix's impetuosity had spared her all ques- 
 tion of that. Was nobody ever coming ? Would 
 it be very wrong to go away without having 
 seen the lady of the house ? Perhaps, after all, 
 that might be best. She would wait ten min- 
 utes longer, and, if by that time Mrs. Gordon 
 had not made her appearance, why she would 
 go. She had hardly arrived at this determina- 
 tion, when the door opened, and a pale, stately 
 woman stood on the threshold. 
 
 Katharine rose, but before she could utter 
 one of the words of apology trembling on her 
 tongue, Mrs. Gordon crossed the floor, and ex- 
 tended her hand with a warm and cordial ges- 
 ture. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, I owe you many thanks. It 
 was kind of you to take charge of my wilful boy. 
 Pray forgive me that I have kept you waiting ; 
 but he has been giving me an account of his ad- 
 venture." 
 
 This, or something like it, was what she said ; 
 but no words can embody the gracious and ex- 
 quisite charm of manner which at once set Kath- 
 arine at ease at once made her feel that, instead 
 of being an intruder, she was a welcome guest. 
 A few words told why the duty had devolved 
 upon herself a few more gave the leading facts 
 of the matter ; after which, she rose to take her 
 departure. But this Mrs. Gordon would not per- 
 mit. 
 
 " You are cold, and you must be tired," she 
 said. " It is a point of honor with Morton House 
 that no guest has ever left its door in either of 
 those conditions. This room is my aversion, it 
 is BO cheerless. Let me take you to my sitting- 
 room." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Katharine, over- 
 come with wonder ; " but the carriage is waiting 
 for me, and " 
 
 " If you will allow me, I will have it dis- 
 missed, and take the responsibility of sending 
 you home." 
 
 " I am afraid Mrs. Marks will be uneasy." 
 
 " I am sure she will be able to spare you," 
 said the lady, with a slight smile. "Come, Miss 
 Tresham, I am not accustomed to pressing hos- 
 pitality ; but in this instance I really cannot con- 
 sent to let you go. Shall I put my request on 
 another ground? Shall I tell you that I am 
 lonely this evening, and that a strange face is a 
 great relief to me? I have not felt this desire 
 
 for companionship before in many a long day 
 Will you have the heart to disappoint it now ? " 
 
 " No," said Katharine, with her frank, bright 
 smile. " If my society can gratify your desire, J 
 shall be very glad to stay. But " 
 
 " But I regard the matter as settled," said 
 Mrs. Gordon. Then, after ringing the bell, and 
 sending an order of dismissal to the waiting car- 
 riage, she led the way across a large, cold hall, 
 into one of the most thoroughly-charming rooms, 
 Katharine thought, she had ever seen. 
 
 A first glance only gave the impression of rich 
 color and luxurious comfort. It was some time 
 before the eye recognized the different elements 
 that went to make up such an attractive whole 
 the heavy curtains, the velvet carpet, the deep, 
 inviting chairs and couches, the many appoint- 
 ments where taste of the most rare and judicious 
 kind had presided. When Katharine entered, it 
 was empty, but a faint fragrance of flowers came 
 over her as the door opened, and a soft moonlight 
 seemed to fill the room the glow of two large 
 lamps being toned by tinted shades. Dusk had 
 fallen by this time ; and the lamp-light and ruddy 
 firelight made a pleasant contrast to the cold, 
 frosty night gathering outside the open hall- 
 door, and melting into indistinctness the out- 
 lines of the rolling hills. 
 
 " Oh, what a beautiful room ! " cried Kath- 
 arine, so involuntarily that Mrs. Gordon smiled. 
 
 "I am glad you like it," she said. "It in 
 the only room I have refurnished ; but I cannot 
 endure the stiff old-fashioned furniture which 
 reigns paramount in the rest of the house. Ex- 
 cepting my cousin, Mr. Annesley, you are the only 
 person who has been admitted here." 
 
 " It is beautiful ! " Katharine repeated, aa 
 she sat down by the glowing fire, sunning her- 
 self like a tropical flower in its heat. " I have 
 never seen any thing more luxurious and I love 
 luxury." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon smiled again, perhaps at this 
 candid confession, perhaps at the undisguised 
 enjoyment which prompted it. Then she drew 
 forward a large chair, and seating herself leaned 
 back in its soft depths. The firelight played 
 quiveringly over her face, and Katharine had 
 time to mark every furrow which maried its 
 beauty before Mrs. Gordon spoke again. At last 
 she turned to Iqpk at the young girl, and said, 
 rfitber abruptly : ' 
 
 " Miss Tresham, my desire to keep you was 
 not entirely without reason. I have heard Mor- 
 ton Annesley speak of you very often, and I was 
 sure of one thing either that I must like you,
 
 AT MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 55 
 
 or that he exaggerated as even a lover has no 
 right to exaggerate." 
 
 Katharine started. This was plain speaking, 
 indeed. She started, and, if she also blushed, it 
 might have been surprise as much as any thing 
 else that caused the emotion. 
 
 " Excuse me," said Mrs. Gordon, who noticed 
 both the start and the blush. " Perhaps I have 
 not paid sufficient regard to the proprieties of 
 expression ; but when one grows a little old, 
 they seem so useless. Why should we hesitate 
 to call a thing by its right name ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed," answered Katharine, quick- 
 ly, "if it be a right name ? " 
 
 " We won't argue that point," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, with a slight laugh. " 1 don't think a 
 lover's tale is worth telling, excepting by him- 
 self. And here comes tea." 
 
 The door opened as she spoke, and Harri- 
 son brought in a tray. No other servant ap- 
 peared ; but in a few minutes without even so 
 much noise as the rattling of a plate a small 
 round table stood between the two ladies, bear- 
 ing a glittering equipage. 
 
 " Are you still English enough to prefer tea, 
 Miss Tresham, or will you let Harrison give you 
 a cup of coffee ? " asked Mrs. Gordon, as she 
 poured out a cup of the first, which was strong 
 enough and black enough to have satisfied even 
 De Quincey. " For my part, I always take this. 
 Will you join me ? " 
 
 " Not since you have given me my choice," 
 said Katharine, with a smile. " I have never 
 yet learned to endure tea though I have tried 
 heroically, in compliment to other people's 
 taste." 
 
 " Not people here, surely ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Everybody here drinks coffee. I 
 meant the people in England." 
 
 " And yet you are an Englishwoman ? " 
 
 " No ; I am a West-Indian and very proud 
 of it. I love my dear island, with its brilliant 
 skies and tropical palms, as much as I hate the 
 mists and fogs of England." 
 
 " You have been in England, then ? " 
 
 Katharine shrugged her shoulders ruefully. 
 
 " To my cost, yes." 
 
 " In what part ? I ask because I am very 
 familiar with it, and perhaps you saw the coun- 
 try to disadvantage." 
 
 " I was in the north, near the Scottish border. 
 I saw the Scottish shore from my window every 
 time the fog lifted, and did not enjoy it nearly as 
 much as I should have done if I could have 
 stopped shivering even for one day." 
 
 " But was there no summer while you wera 
 there ? " 
 
 " There was a time they called summer a 
 time when the trees had leaves, and the sun 
 shone with tolerable brightness. But our winter- 
 days in Porto Rico are much more balmy." 
 
 " Porto Rico ! But I thought that is " 
 
 " You thought I was a British West-Indian. 
 Well, so I am. I was born in Jamaica ; but I 
 scarcely remember it at all. When I was very 
 young, my aunt moved to Porto Rico, and took 
 me with her. We lived there entirely, and I 
 never was in England until I went to an old 
 friend of hers, who obtained a situation as gov- 
 erness at Donthorne Place for me. It was a 
 very " 
 
 She stopped uncontrollable surprise forcing 
 her to do so. Mrs. Gordon had suddenly turned 
 so pale that even the dim light failed to conceal 
 it, and her hand shook until she was obliged to 
 put down untasted a cup of tea which she had 
 been in the act of raising to her lips. There 
 was a moment's silence; then she looked up, 
 white as a sheet, but forcing herself into a sort 
 of rigid calm. 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Tresham ; and pray don't 
 look so much alarmed. It is only an old pain 
 that came back to me just then. My nerves are 
 shattered, and I show it that is all. Harrison, 
 you will find my case on the side-table there. 
 Give me two spoonfuls of the bottle on the right 
 as you open it." 
 
 Harrison obeyed. Mrs. Gordon drank eager- 
 ly the dark liquid which he brought her in a 
 slender wineglass ; and a faint, subtile odor 
 rushed over Katharine, which told her at once 
 what the draught had been. After that she 
 needed one explanation the less for the lines 
 on her hostess's face. 
 
 It was the latter who, after a short silence, 
 spoke first quietly, but with a certain sup- 
 pressed anxiety which Katharine's ear was quick 
 to detect. 
 
 " You surprised me very much by the men- 
 tion of Donthorne Place, Miss Tresham. I was 
 once in the neighborhood, and I remember it 
 quite well. How long were you there ? " 
 
 " A year," answered Katharine, concisely, 
 having her own reasons for reticence on the 
 subject ; " a year one of the most disagreeable 
 of my life, and one that I would not live over 
 again to win a crown. I cannot bear to talk of 
 it, and, of course, it does not inteiest you." 
 
 " On the contrary, if you will pardon me, it 
 interests me very much. Do you" she leaned
 
 56 
 
 MORTUJS HOUSE. 
 
 forward with an eagerness which startled Katha- 
 rine " do you ever hear from them the Don- 
 thornes ? " 
 
 " Never. To judge by their unconsciousness 
 of my existence when I lived in tneir house, I 
 should say that they would not even remember 
 my name now." 
 
 *' From no friends no one that you left in 
 Ihe neighborhood ? " 
 
 Katharine drew back. She was not only sur- 
 prised ; but she looked even her preoccupied 
 questioner noticed that as if awakened to some 
 sudden fear. 
 
 " No," she said, slowly ; " I have no friends 
 there or elsewhere. I had not even an ac- 
 quaintance in the neighborhood. No one ever 
 writes to me. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 "I might truly answer, because I am very 
 uncivil," replied Mrs. Gordon. "Solitude fos- 
 ters many bad habits, and I must beg you to 
 excuse me on that score. I will not offend in 
 the same way again. Indeed, there is nothing I 
 so much detest as curiosity. Harrison, you may 
 take the tray ; we have finished." 
 
 Harrison and the tray made an exit as noise- 
 less as their entrance, and, after the door had 
 closed, Mrs. Gordon was again the first to speak 
 very pleasantly and graciously. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, I see that coincidences have 
 left us no option but to think that we are meant 
 to be friends ; and one must never gainsay Fate, 
 you know. Do you think you have Christian 
 charity enough to come to see me sometimes, 
 without exacting the ceremony of visits in re- 
 turn ? I am such a recluse that I cannot think 
 of leaving my cell to encounter daylight." 
 
 Katharine looked up with an astonishment 
 which showed itself in every line of he/ face. 
 She could scarcely believe that these cordial 
 words of invitation were addressed to herself 
 by the same lips that had declined the visits of 
 all the old hereditary friends who had a right to 
 enter Morton House. The cordiality was in Mrs. 
 Gordon's eyes as well as in Mrs. Gordon's tones, 
 however. So, after a short pause, she answered, 
 with the frank grace that all her life had won 
 for her so much liking : 
 
 " Indeed, you are very kind, and I shall be 
 very glad to come. I have few acquaintances 
 none who consider my society of any import- 
 ance ; so it would be strange if I were not 
 flattered by your invitation. It will be a great 
 pleasure to me to see you again when I can. 
 But my time is not my own, you know." 
 
 "I cannot help forgetting that," said Mrs. 
 
 Gordon, smiling "you seem so little tike a gov- 
 erness. What a disagreeable life you must find 
 it, especially in your present situation ! " 
 
 "No; very much the reverse," said Katha- 
 rine, quickly. " Mr. and Mrs. Marks are both 
 kind to me ; and I shall never forget how gen- 
 erously they took me into their service when I 
 was an entire stranger to them." 
 
 'It was like Bessie Warwick," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, quietly. " I remember her in the old 
 time as very warm-hearted and very impulsive, 
 but rather silly. She was pretty, but so decided- 
 ly underbred that nobody wondered when she 
 married much beneath her." 
 
 " She seems to have found her right place ir 
 the world, however." 
 
 " Most women do, or else have sufficient sense 
 to seem as if they do. It is seldom you find one 
 weak enough, or strong enough, to beat against 
 the bars. Then, what are we most inclined to 
 do pity or scorn her ? Either, God knows, is 
 hard enough to bear." She paused a moment, 
 then changed the subject abruptly. " Do you 
 see much of John Warwick ? Is he often at his 
 sister's house ? " 
 
 " He lives there," Katharine answered : " and 
 yet I cannot say that I see much of him. He is 
 absorbed in his profession, and seems to take 
 very little pleasure in society." 
 
 " But you like him do you not ? " 
 
 "I like him extremely. He is very quiet; 
 but no one could live under the same roof with 
 him and fail to see that he is one of the most 
 thorough gentlemen, as well as one of the kind- 
 est of men. I have heard that he can be very 
 hard sometimes ; but I can scarcely believe it, 
 when I remember how gentle he is to his sister 
 and the children." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon looked at her with a smila 
 " You are his friend, I perceive," she said. 
 
 "I ought to be," the girl answered, quickly, 
 with the remembrance of what he had said to her 
 that afternoon stirring warmly at her heart. " In- 
 gratitude has never been one of my many faults." 
 
 " I hoped he would have married long before 
 this," said the other, with a wistful light in her 
 eyes, that Katharine was not slow to interpret. 
 " I do not know any one whom I should better 
 like to see happy any one whom I would sooner 
 exert myself to, help along the road to happi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Mr. Warwick is not unhappy, I am sure," 
 said Katharine, almost resentfully. " He is not 
 one of the men who have no life if they have no 
 fireside. I think a wife would decidedly bort
 
 AT MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 57 
 
 him. He has his clients and his law-books 
 that is all he wants. No one need pity him for 
 imaginary loneliness." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon unclosed her lips, as if to reply ; 
 but, before she could do so, the door opened, 
 and Harrison startled them by the announce- 
 ment that Mr. Warwick had come for Miss Tresh- 
 am. 
 
 Katharine started up at once, full of self- 
 reproach. 
 
 " How very inconsiderate of me to have 
 stayed ! " she cried, eagerly. " I might have 
 known they would be uneasy; and it is such 
 a long walk to have given Mr. Warwick ! How 
 very, very inconsiderate of me ! " 
 
 She repeated the last expression several 
 times, for her vexation was not least in the 
 thought that she had forced upon Mr. Warwick 
 the very thing he wished to avoid, and brought 
 him to the very house he least desired to enter. 
 
 " Don't look so distressed and penitent," said 
 Mrs. Gordon. " It was my fault, not yours ; and 
 I am sure he will not mind the walk, especially 
 as he need not repeat it. Harrison, order the 
 carriage, and show Mr. Warwick in here." 
 
 " No ! no ! " cried Katharine, hastily. " He 
 has had so much trouble about me, pray let me 
 go to him at once, and and not keep him wait- 
 ing. I shall not mind the walk at all." 
 
 She was drawing her wrappings around her 
 as she spoke, and evidently meant to go at once, 
 if Mrs. Gordon had not interfered very decidedly. 
 
 " I will not hear of such a thing," she said. 
 " You must wait for the carriage, and I must 
 send for Mr. Warwick. Harrison, show him in 
 at once." 
 
 Evidently, Mrs. Gordon had been accustomed 
 to the habit of command. Her quiet tones had 
 so much authority in them that Katharine found 
 herself yielding without a word. She sank into 
 her seat, and the next minute Mr. Warwick en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Whatever he felt, he certainly showed nothing 
 beyond gentlemanly self-possession, as he came 
 forward, meeting Mrs. Gordon's cordially-extend- 
 ed hand with his own, and answering her words 
 of welcome so easily that Katharine felt relieved. 
 What she expected, she could not have told ; but 
 certainly something unlike this. Not any falter- 
 ing, or trembling, or turning pale she knew the 
 grave, reserved lawyer too well to fear that but 
 at least some token that his pulses were beating 
 as fast as they surely must beat in presence of 
 the woman who, for twenty-five years (if his 
 sister spoke truth), had stood between him and 
 
 all thought of other women some token differ- 
 ent from the quiet presence of every day, from 
 the cool glance that saw so much, and the terse 
 speech that said so little yet they were all 
 there, and as much unchanged as if Pauline 
 Morton's eyes were not looking into his face 
 from the grave of the past. 
 
 Presently he crossed over to Katharine and 
 stopped at once the words of penitence with 
 which she was prepared to greet him. 
 
 " No," he said, " you must not think any 
 thing of the kind. I came because I wanted to 
 and a little because Bessie has been uneasy. 
 You know how highly developed her nervous 
 system is. Well, she has been arranging the 
 programme of a very tragic entertainment Mr. 
 Annesley's horses running away, and leaving you 
 senseless and bleeding in some wayside ditch." 
 
 " I am very sorry,* said Katharine, too much 
 disturbed to laugh. "It is very kind of Mrs. 
 Marks to take the trouble to be uneasy about 
 me I am very sorry. I ought to have thought, 
 Mr. Warwick ; and then you need not have had 
 all this trouble." 
 
 " I told you a minute ago that it was no trou- 
 ble," he said, a little shortly. And, as Mrs. Gor 
 don advanced, he turned and began speaking 
 about Felix. 
 
 " He is quite the hero of the hour," he said. 
 " In fact, he has taken Tallahoma so entirely by 
 storm, that I hope, for the sake of example, you 
 will not let him enter the town to-morrow he 
 would certainly receive a popular ovation." 
 
 " He is not likely to leave tha grounds of the 
 House for some time to come," answered his 
 mother, gravely. " I have had a lesson by which 
 I shall profit. Felix's management has been a 
 point at issue between Morton and myself, and 
 the occurrence of this afternoon has showed me 
 that I am right and he is wrong." 
 
 " May I not intercede on the side of mercy ? " 
 said Mr. Warwick, half jestingly, half in earnest. 
 " You will not think me presumptuous, I am sure, 
 when I tell you that nothing so much shames, 
 or so soon cures untrustworthiness even the 
 slight, childish form of it which Felix showed 
 this afternoon as the sense of being trusted." 
 
 She looked up at him, with a deep flush on 
 her pale cheeks, and a sudden light in her eyes, 
 that startled both Katharine and himself. 
 
 " You speak of what you know," she said, in 
 a low voice. " You speak of those in whom the 
 sense of honor, and the power of being shamed, 
 is bom. But you don't speak of, you don't 
 know, the blood that child has in his veins. I
 
 58 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 know and, believe me, I can best deal with 
 it" 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, hastily. " I did not 
 mean " 
 
 She interrupted him. " Any thing but kind- 
 ness, I know only you don't understand. Now 
 tell me if you have heard from Morton. I sent 
 to inquire, and the answer was very satisfactory 
 but I fear he may have sent it merely to quiet 
 my uneasiness." 
 
 " Hardly. No doubt he is well by this time, 
 and probably will make his appearance to answer 
 for himself to-morrow. Miss Tresham, I am at 
 your service whenever you feel inclined for the 
 walk before us." 
 
 " The carriage " began Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 But, at that moment, Harrison once more 
 opened the door, and announced that the car- 
 riage was waiting. 
 
 " You will come to see me, will you not ? " 
 asked the lady, as Katharine bade her good- 
 night. " I don't like to see you go, without an 
 assurance that you will return." 
 
 " I will certainly come," said Katharine, with 
 a smile even more bright than usual. 
 
 After a few words they took leave, and Miss 
 Tresham found herself rolling rapidly along the 
 road to Tallahoma, and assuring Mr. Warwick 
 that she felt much less tired than excited by her 
 unusual adventures. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE TUG OF WAR. 
 
 THE morning after his escape from drown- 
 ing, Morton Annesley woke with that uncom- 
 fortable weight on his mind that sense of some- 
 thing disagreeable, either past or impending 
 with which every one is familiar who has ever 
 sought sleep rather as a refuge from tormenting 
 thought, than as that "sweet restorer" which 
 Nature intended it should be. 
 
 For the space of several minutes he could not 
 think what had occurred ; then suddenly a throng 
 of recollections rushed over him ; he recalled 
 every thing that had happened. He remembered 
 the adventure at the pond, and the scene that 
 followed his rescue; he remembered the looks 
 and tones of the people who had addressed him ; 
 and, above all, he remembered the expression of 
 Katharine Tresham's eyes, when, for one brief 
 second, he glanced up into them ! With a sharp, 
 impatient exclamation, he sprang up and began 
 
 to dress. Some reminiscences prick worse than 
 needles, and to him there could scarcely have 
 been a more disagreeable reminiscence than this. 
 Not even Katharine's eyes could take the sting 
 out of it ! There was such a mock heroism about 
 the whole affair, that he fairly ground his teeth 
 over it. Some people would have enjoyed the 
 eclat thus conferred upon them, while others, 
 recognizing the ludicrous aspect of the adven- 
 ture, would have laughed it off with that genial 
 good-nature which it is the best policy in the 
 world to affect, if it be not really possessed. But 
 Morton, poor fellow, did not possess, and could 
 not affect it. Which aspect of the matter the 
 heroic or the ridiculous was most distasteful to 
 him, it would be hard to say, or against which he 
 chafed most impatiently. It provoked him to 
 think how Lagrange had gossipped and would 
 yet gossip over the occurrence ; and it is to be 
 feared that, in his irritation, he was not so lenient 
 in his feelings toward Felix, as Felix's quixotic 
 protector ought to have been. But there was a 
 good deal of disappointment mingled with this 
 irritation. He had taken so much interest in the 
 boy, he had striven so hard to make him compre- 
 hend the moral obligation of a trust, and the 
 chivalric standard of honor, that he was chilled 
 and disappointed by his failure ; and felt, if the 
 truth must be told, not a little out of patience 
 with the ungrateful wilfulness which had placed 
 him in his present position. What this position 
 was with regard to Miss Tresham, he had only a 
 faint idea. He knew that he had said something 
 that he had committed himself in some way 
 out there beside the pond, before all those peo- 
 ple (in his own mind, he was ungrateful enough 
 to call them those confounded people) ; but what 
 it was he did not know, and certainly had no in- 
 tention of inquiring. Only it made one thing 
 certain he could not hesitate any longer. The 
 tug of war did any misgiving of his heart tell 
 him what a tug it would be ? must come with 
 his mother, and, one way or another, his fate 
 must be decided as only Katharine could decide 
 it. 
 
 With his mind full of these thoughts he went 
 down-stairs, across the hall, and out of the open 
 front-door. The morning was very bright, for the 
 atmosphere had capriciously changed ; the ther. 
 mometer had risen from its unwonted depression 
 of the few preceding days, and the air that greet- 
 ed him was soft, as if the dead Indian summer 
 had returned, or the spring was about to burst. 
 The sunshine was pouring in a dazzling flood 
 over the lawn and piazzas ; the gravelled sweep
 
 THE TUG OF WAR. 
 
 59 
 
 before the house sparkled as if its stones had all 
 been precious gems ; the evergreens, dotted about 
 m every direction, seemed to have put on a bright- 
 er emerald hue ; and a bird that was perched on 
 a magnolia near by, was pouring forth its whole 
 heart in glad rejoicing that the cold was over and 
 gone ; that the blue skies, and the soft air, and 
 the golden sunshine, had returned. We are all 
 more or less susceptible to such influences as 
 these; and Annesley, as it chanced, was keenly 
 alive to them. At the first sight of the bright 
 outer world, and the first note of that trilling 
 lay, his depression suddenly vanished, and his 
 spirits rose like mercury. Almost unconsciously 
 he caught up the notes of the little feathered 
 songster, and, as he went down the steps and 
 turned toward the stables, he was whistling to 
 himself almost gayly. 
 
 He found Mr. French talking to the head 
 groom, while one or two subordinate stablemen 
 were rubbing down a large, black horse, that 
 stood patiently undergoing the operation. 
 
 " Good-morning, Frank," said Annesley, com- 
 ing up. " What brings you out so early ? Noth- 
 ing the matter with the Captain, I hope ? " 
 
 " I am sorry to say there is something the 
 matter with his shoulder," said Mr. French, look- 
 ing round. " He fell lame while I was riding 
 home, yesterday afternoon. By-the-way, how do 
 you feel after your ducking ? " 
 
 " I am well, of course," said Morton, a little 
 ungraciously, resuming his usual manner as he 
 went on : "I am concerned about the Captain. 
 Lead him out there, Jim, and let me see how he 
 walks." 
 
 The Captain was led out, and the Captain 
 walked very badly. Some accident had plainly 
 befallen his right shoulder ; and the two gentle- 
 men were soon in deep discussion and examina- 
 tion, aided by Isaac the groom, and John the 
 coachman. Various remedies were suggested, 
 and one or two were tried. It was some time 
 before the poor Captain was remanded to his 
 stall, and the two gentlemen bethought them- 
 selves of breakfast. " You can take him to the 
 stable, Isaac," said Mr. French, at last. " I'll 
 be out again after breakfast and look at him. 
 Morton, are you coming ? " 
 
 Morton said "Yes," rather carelessly; and 
 they turned into a broad walk which led to the 
 house. With the Captain dismissed from his 
 mind, Mr. French remembered something he 
 wished or, rather, had promised to say to his 
 brother-in-law. " A man's opinion always has 
 BO much weight with a man," his wife had re- 
 
 marked to him. " You must be sure and tell 
 Morton what you think of this nonsense." Mr. 
 French had promised that he would ; but now he 
 began to wish that he had not been so rash. Sup 
 pose Morton were to be offended ? " Hang it !" 
 thought the other, candidly, " I should be of- 
 fended myself if anybody were to meddle in my 
 private affairs. I wish I had not promised Adela. 
 It is none of my business if he chooses to make a 
 fool of himself." Then he cleared his throat and 
 looked at the abstracted face beside him. 
 
 " Are you sure you don't feel any the worse 
 for your exploit yesterday ? " he asked, by way 
 of introduction to wh;it he meant to say. "I 
 should think you would, Morton." 
 
 " Why the deuce should I ? " asked Morton, 
 pettishly. " I'm neither a child nor a woman. 
 Confound the exploit, Frank ! can't you let it 
 alone ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Mr. French, a little 
 surprised. "I didn't know you were sensitive 
 about it. I'm sure it made you rather a hero 
 at least in the eyes of the ladies. Some of them 
 were exceedingly interested, I cau tell you." 
 Then, after a pause " Morton, I suppose you 
 know what you're about, but don't you think 
 you may be going a little too far with with one 
 of them ? " 
 
 " With one of them ! " repeated Morton, giv- 
 ing a start. " Whom do you mean ? " he asked, 
 more quietly than his companion had expected. 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " I mean that Miss Tresham who lives in 
 Tallahoma, and is a teacher, or something of the 
 sort," answered Mr. French, who, as he had once 
 begun, was determined to blunder through. " Of 
 course, you know your own affairs best, and I 
 hope you won't think me interfering ; but I 
 thought I would give you a hint. Young women's 
 heads are so easily turned, and old women's 
 tongues are so confoundedly long, that one is 
 obliged to be careful." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you," said Annesley, 
 in a tone which contradicted the words, for he 
 was more angry than he would have liked to con- 
 fess ; " but I believe I can manage my own af- 
 fairs and I prefer to do so." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr. French, begin- 
 ning to be a little offended in turn. " I didn't 
 mean to be impertinent. I'm' an older man than 
 you are, and I thought I would give you a little 
 friendly advice. It's a devilish disagreeable 
 thing to be talked about as people wiU talk 
 in these country places ; and of course I never 
 supposed you were in earnest about the girl.
 
 60 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 I'm confident, I need not tell jou, Morton, that 
 such a thing would nearly kill your mother." 
 
 " You must allow me to be the best judge of 
 that," said Morton, stiffly. And there the con- 
 versation ended. 
 
 Mr. French shrugged his shoulders, and 
 thought to himself that he had known how it 
 would be, but that at least he could tell Adela 
 he had done hi3 best ; while Morton walked on, 
 with his breast fairly in a flame. So he had 
 made such a fool of himself as that ! He had 
 betrayed every thing so plainly that his brother- 
 in-law felt obliged to come and force his advice 
 upon him ! Indeed, it was time that he spoke, 
 if only for Katharine's sake, since he had com- 
 mitted himself, and involved her to such an ex- 
 tent as this. Poor Morton ! In his single- 
 minded sincerity, it never occurred to him that 
 Mr. French had been prompted to the unusual 
 character which he had assumed. He took it 
 simply as the consequence of his own unguarded 
 conduct ; and it confirmed rather than shook his 
 resolution. It would have gone hard with Adela 
 if she could have known the result of her hus- 
 band's interference. 
 
 * Breakfast passed off quietly, but rather silent- 
 ly. Adela did not make her appearance, and, 
 although the three others talked at intervals, 
 there was a sense of constraint hanging over 
 them, and they did not remain very long at table. 
 Mr. French was the first person to leave the 
 room, taking out his cigar-case as he did so. 
 Then Morton rose and walked round to his 
 mother. 
 
 " Will you come to the library ? " he asked. 
 " I have something to say to you." 
 
 She looked up at him, and, in a moment divin- 
 ing his purpose, her heart sank. But she had 
 sufficient presence of mind to smile into the 
 grave, earnest eyes regarding her. 
 
 " Certainly I will come," she answered, " but 
 I must first see Adela, and give orders about din- 
 ner that is, if you are not in a hurry." 
 
 "I am not at all in a hurry," he replied. 
 " If you will come when you are at leisure, that 
 will do. You will find me in the library," he 
 added, as he took up a pnper and left the room. 
 
 He went to the library, but he soon found 
 that he could not read. It is one thing to hold 
 a paper open before the eyes, and quite another 
 to pay intelligent heed to its contents. Morton 
 did the first diligently ; but, with all his efforts, 
 he could not achieve the second. He dreaded 
 the interview with his mother so much that he 
 eagerly desired it to be over; and he caught 
 
 himself listening to every footstep in the hall 
 outside the door, hoping it might be hers. At 
 last he threw down the paper, and, rising, walked 
 restlessly across the floor. 
 
 There was not a pleasanter room at Anncs- 
 dale than this library, nor one that he liked bet- 
 ter; but to-day it might have been an irksome 
 cage, to judge by his impatient movements to 
 and fro. From the fireplace to the windows, and 
 from the windows to the fireplace, he paced, until 
 finally he paused before the latter, and, leaning 
 one arm on the mantel, gazed steadily at an en- 
 graving which hung above it a " St. Cecilia " 
 he had brought from Dresden. Something in 
 the outline of the uplifted face reminded him 
 of Katharine. It was not so much a resem- 
 blance as the suggestion of a resemblance. But 
 it had struck him often before, and now it 
 brought her face vividly to his mind. By some 
 strange perversity of association, it also brought 
 to his recollection that day when she sang the 
 " Adelaide " for him, when he had chanced upon 
 the open letter, and when her strange conduct 
 had so chilled and repulsed him. 
 
 He was still thinking of these things, and his 
 face looked unusually grave and troubled, when 
 the door opened and his mother entered. She 
 crossed the room, and, as he did not turn, she 
 laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 " You wished to speak to me, Morton ? " she 
 said. " Here I am." 
 
 " My dear mother, thank you," he answered, 
 turning quickly. " I did not hear you come in 
 how quiet you are ! " 
 
 " I was afraid you would be tired of wait- 
 ing for me," she said, sitting down in a deep 
 arm-chair. " Adela is quite unwell, and I stayed 
 with her some time. I thought that, if you 
 wanted to see me about any thing of importance, 
 you would have told me so." 
 
 " I wanted to see you about my own affairs," 
 said Morton, plunging headlong into the subject 
 he now felt tempted to avoid. " I want to ask 
 your advice about a very important matter 
 to me at least," he went on, faintly smiling 
 " Mother, I have lately thought of marrying." 
 
 The room suddenly went round and grew 
 black before Mrs. Annesley's eyes. She extend- 
 ed her hand almost unconsciously, and clutched 
 the corner of & ts^ble near by to steady herself. 
 Her worst fears were realized ; but she had suf- 
 ficient self-control to look up quietly, and say 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well," he answered, knowing that the worst 
 could not be too quickly told, " I fear that I am
 
 THE TUG OF WAR. 
 
 Gl 
 
 ;oing to disappoint you. I fear that the woman 
 I love, the woman I wish to marry, is not the 
 woman whom you would have chosen for me. 
 But in this matter, no human being, not even 
 the nearest and dearest, can judge for us," he 
 said, gently taking the hand which she had laid 
 on the table. " We can only judge for ourselves, 
 and abide by our choice through good or through 
 ill. Mother, will you not give your sanction to 
 my choice ? " 
 
 She suffered her hand to remain in his ; but 
 \ier eyes looked cold, and her voice sounded hard 
 v\\en she asked 
 
 '' What is her name ? " 
 
 " Her name," he answered, " is Katharine 
 Tresham. My dear mother," he continued, 
 eagerly, " don't judge her by her surroundings, 
 don't think of the position in which Fortune 
 has placed ber. Only judge, only think of her 
 as you will set and love her for herself, as you 
 will" 
 
 He was stopped by a gesture from his moth- 
 er, as she drew baok her hand. 
 
 " Go ! " she said, bitterly. " I have heard 
 enough. If you had the heart to come and stab 
 me like this, you will not heed any thing I can 
 say to you. Go ! Only remember that, if you 
 do degrade yourself in this way, you will cut 
 yourself off from me forever. I will never re- 
 ceive that woman as my daughter ; I will never, 
 as long as I live, suffer her to cross the threshold 
 of this house ! " 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 It was a cry of astonished, grieved reproach, 
 which at any other time would have gone to her 
 heart ; but she had now so entirely lost command 
 of herself, and of the emotion which seemed suf- 
 focating her, that it rather provoked than allayed 
 her anger. She had feared and in a measure an- 
 ticipated this for a long time ; but it did not make 
 the disappointment any less poignant when it 
 came it did not teach her any better how to 
 bear it. 
 
 " Mother," said Morton, gravely, " you can- 
 not be yourself you cannot be in earnest when 
 you utter such words as these." 
 
 " Go ! " she repeated, once more, in a voice 
 choked with tears. 
 
 And, as there was nothing else to be done, 
 he walked sadly across the floor, and stood silent- 
 ly at one of the windows, waiting for what would 
 come next waiting to see whether his mother 
 would recall him, or whether she would leave the 
 room with only those last bitter words. 
 
 A long time passed an hour it seemed to 
 5 
 
 the young man, and it was in reality many min- 
 utes before any sound broke the stillness of 
 the room. Then Mrs. Annesley said : 
 
 " Morton ! " 
 
 He came to her side. 
 
 " I am here," he answered, gravely but gent- 
 
 iy- 
 
 She lifted a face that was white even to tho 
 lips, and held out her hand. 
 
 " My son," she said, " forgive me. I did not 
 mean to pain you ; but the shock was so sudden, 
 and very hard to bear." 
 
 " My mother, my dearest mother ! " he said. 
 
 It was all that he did say, but he bent down 
 and kissed the hand she gave him, and peace 
 or at least a semblance of it was once more 
 established. After a while it was Mrs. Annesley 
 who spoke first. 
 
 " Morton," she said, " have you considered 
 tnis well 1 " 
 
 " I have considered it well," he answered. 
 
 " Your mind is made up ? " 
 
 " My mind is entirely made up." 
 
 " You are determined to inflict this distress 
 upon me, and to ruin your own life by such a 
 misalliance ? " 
 
 " I am determined to ask Miss Tresham to 
 be my wife," said the young man, looking pale 
 but unshaken. " I would have asked her long 
 ago if it had not been that I hesitated on your 
 account. But now it is not possible for me to 
 hesitate longer." 
 
 " Do you mean that you have committed 
 yourself? " she asked, hastily. 
 
 " In absolute words no. Dear mother, don't 
 pain me by combating my resolution," he said, 
 with his eyes full of appeal. " Only tell me that, 
 if she consents to marry me, you will welcome 
 and try to love her." 
 
 " Tell me one thing, Morton," said Mrs. An- 
 nesley " what do you know of this woman 
 whom you ask me to receive as your wife? 
 When a man marries he should know all the 
 previous history and all the connections of the 
 woman he chooses. Tell me, my son, what do 
 you know of hers ? " 
 
 She touched his cause in its weakest point, 
 and he knew it. The thoughts he had been 
 revolving when she entered the room the 
 thoughts that had sealed his lips ever since the 
 day he saw Katharine last rushed upon him 
 suddenly with overwhelming force, and for sev- 
 eral minutes he could not reply. Then the truth 
 came in one word 
 
 " Nothing."
 
 R2 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Nothing ! " his mother echoed, in a tone 
 of grieved astonishment " Nothing, Morton ? 
 And yet you ask me to welcome her as a daugh- 
 ter ? My son, my dear son, what can you be 
 thinking of ? Where is your sense of what is 
 due to yourself and to your name ? " 
 
 " I know nothing about her," he said, " but I 
 can trust her. She is too pure and noble ever to 
 have done any thing that she need blush for." 
 
 " But, good Heavens ! her relations, her 
 friends what may they not be ? " 
 
 " I do not think she has any. I have never 
 heard her speak of them." 
 
 " And you think that a good sign ? Oh, Mor- 
 ton, Morton ! " 
 
 " It is not a bad sign, mother," said Morton, 
 beginning to look a little less patient. " Many 
 a girl is friendless, many a girl is obliged to earn 
 her bread as Miss Tresham is doing. It would 
 be cruel to doubt her because Fate has dealt 
 hardly with her. It is true that she has never 
 mentioned her past history or her family cir- 
 cumstances to me ; but I have never been in a 
 position to receive such a confidence." 
 
 " And you will ask her to marry you without 
 knowing more than this ? " 
 
 " I should be a cur, not a gentleman, if I in- 
 quired into her affairs before asking her." 
 
 " Oh, my son, what madness ! " 
 
 " Mother dear, be patient with me," he said, 
 gently. " Don't you see can't you tell how hard 
 I am trying to do right ? If I had only myself 
 to consider," he went on, walking again from 
 the fireplace-to the window, and from the window 
 to the fireplace, " I would sacrifice my wishes to 
 yours. But but I am afraid it is too late as far 
 as she is concerned." 
 
 " You put her before me, then ? " 
 
 " I put my honor before every thing." 
 
 " Your honor should lead you just the other 
 way," she said, lapsing from self-restraint into 
 anger again. " A gentleman's first duty is to his 
 name. What will you be doing with yours when 
 you marry thus ? " 
 
 " I will not be degrading it," answered he, 
 firmly. " Mother, you do not know Katharine 
 Tresham. If you did know her if you would 
 know her you could never speak ot her in this 
 manner." 
 
 " She has taken you from me, Morton. She 
 has steeled your heart against all my entreaties ; 
 Bhe has made you forget what is due to yourself 
 how can I do other than hate her ? How can 
 I stand by silently and see you marry an adven- 
 turess ? " 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 The exclamation was so stern that for a mo- 
 ment Mrs. Annesley shrank. But, before she 
 could speak, Morton gave a great gulp, and hur- 
 ried on : 
 
 " Forgive me, but this had better end. There 
 is no good in prolonging a useless discussion, 
 and I see now that this is useless. I only pro- 
 voke you, and am pained myself. So I will go. 
 Don't forget that I am very sorry to^ have 
 grieved you, and, if possible, still more sorry 
 to act against your wishes for the first time in 
 my life." 
 
 She let him go as far as the door ; but, when 
 his hand was on the knob, her voice called him 
 back. He returned at once, and, rising, she met 
 liim half-way. 
 
 " My son, forgive me," she said. " You have 
 never in your life before grieved or disappointed 
 me ; you have often given up your will to mine ; 
 you have never once failed in respect or duty to 
 me. It is only just, therefore, that my turn for 
 sacrifice should come. I never thought it would 
 be so hard ; I never thought you would desire to 
 throw away your happiness in this way. But, as 
 you will do it why, take my consent, and God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 The young man caught her in his arms with 
 something that was almost a sob. 
 
 " Mother, my dear, kind mother ! " he said. 
 " You don't know how much I longed to hear 
 those words. Thank God, they have come at 
 last ! " 
 
 He thought the tug of war was over ; but, as 
 he clasped his mother in his arms, it would have 
 been strange if he could have known if he 
 could even faintly have imagined how com 
 pletely she had out-witted him, and how the 
 worst struggle was yet to come ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. 
 
 Two weeks went by very quietly, and brought 
 Miss Tresham's happy scholars to the beginning 
 of their Christmas-holidays. 
 
 " Do your lessons well to-day, children," she 
 said, as she entered the school-room on a certain 
 Friday morning, and found them gathering about 
 the blazing fire. " This is the last of school 
 until after New-Year." 
 
 They all looked up delighted. 
 
 "To-da?! And Christmas not till Thura
 
 MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. 
 
 63 
 
 Jay? On, Miss Tresham, that's so good of 
 you ! " 
 
 " Why, we'll have two long weeks ! Thank 
 you, ma'am, so much." 
 
 ' " Don't thank me," said the governess, with 
 a smile. " I should have kept you hard at work 
 till Christmas-Eve. Your mother told me to dis- 
 miss school to-day, and that it will not be re- 
 sumed till the Monday after New- Year. So, you 
 see, you have two good weeks." 
 
 " Oh, haven't we ! " 
 
 " Well, show your gratitude by giving me no 
 trouble to-day. I will hear the geography first." 
 
 For the next fifteen minutes they were all 
 busy locating capitals, settling boundaries, and 
 describing countries. The children were so ani- 
 mated by the holiday prospect before them that 
 they did remarkably well ; and the class was 
 about to be dismissed, when the door opened 
 without any preparatory knock, and, instead of a 
 servant, Mrs. Marks entered, with every sign of 
 surprise and discomposure in her manner. 
 
 " Good Gracious, Miss Katharine, what's to be 
 done ! To think of such a thing just now of all 
 times, and me deep in the mince-meat ! " 
 
 Katharine looked up in astonishment. It was 
 not often that Mrs. Marks used such a tone of 
 supreme vexation, or appeared so red and wor- 
 ried not often that she gave a glance so full 
 of chagrin at her befloured dress and large do- 
 mestic apron. 
 
 " What on earth is to be done ? " she re- 
 peated, as Katharine's eyes met her own. " I 
 never was so taken by surprise in all my life ! 
 To think of her " 
 
 " What is the matter ? Who is it ? " asked 
 the young governess. " I don't understand." 
 
 She understood the next moment, when Mrs. 
 Marks pushed two cards across the table toward 
 her two cards exactly alike in appearance, and 
 both bearing the same name : 
 
 Katharine -was too well bred to show exactly 
 how much surprise she really felt. So, after one 
 irrepressible exclamation, she hurried off at once 
 into sympathy. 
 
 "Indeed, dear Mrs. Marks, this is very in- 
 
 convenient! I hardly wonder you are vexed. 
 Wouldn't it be possible to excuse yourself ? " 
 
 " Excuse myself to Mrs. Annesley ! " Evi- 
 dently that was not to be thought of. 
 
 " Well," said Katharine, with quite a prac- 
 tical inquiry, " why don't you go and dress ? 
 It will not take you many minutes to smooth 
 your hair and put on your black silk. Shall I 
 help you ? " 
 
 " You ! Why, I came to tell you that you 
 must go down at once." 
 
 Was Mrs. Marks distracted ? Katharine cer- 
 tainly thought so, as she drew back and gazed 
 at her in sheer amazement. 
 
 "I go down to see Mrs. Annesley! Mrs. 
 Marks, what can you be thinking of? " 
 
 " How are you going to help yourself? " de- 
 manded Mrs. Marks, impatiently. " She came 
 to see you just as much as she did to see me 
 indeed a great deal more, I expect, if the truth 
 was known. Tom said that she gave him one of 
 those cards for Miss Tresham." 
 
 " He must have been mistaken." 
 
 " How could he be ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Katharine ; " but 
 he must have been." 
 
 " My dear," cried Mrs. Marks, almost angrily, 
 " what is the use of this ? If you don't believe 
 Tom, I can tell you that I listened through a 
 crack of the pantry door, and that I heard Mrs. 
 Annesley ask for you. Of course she came to 
 see you ; and of course you must go down as 
 soon as you have dressed. Come quick ! " 
 
 She laid her hand on Katharine's arm and 
 strove to lead her forward ; but the girl drew 
 back with a decided motion. 
 
 " No," she said. " If I go down at all if 
 you are sure she asked for me I will go down 
 exactly as I am." 
 
 Mrs. Marks looked aghast. 
 
 " In that old dress ! Oh, my dear, consider 
 how important it is that you should make a good 
 impression. Mrs. Annesley is so elegant you 
 have no idea ! What would Mr. " 
 
 A glance from Katharine stopped her short. 
 
 " I am breaking my usual rule in leaving the 
 school-room to go down at all," she said ; and 
 since I do it principally to give you time to 
 change your dress, I certainly shall not make 
 any alteration in my own. Children, look over 
 your sums; I will be back soon to attend to 
 them." 
 
 Before Mrs. Marks could utter another word 
 of expostulation, she left the room and was de- 
 scending the staircase.
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 She would scarcely have been a woman, how- 
 ever, if she had not stopped a moment outside 
 the parlor door, partly to be sure of her self- 
 possession, and partly to glance over her dress 
 the same dark-blue merino which she had 
 worn the last day Morton was there. 
 
 When she opened the door, the room looked 
 as rigid and cold as ever perhaps a little more 
 so, considering that the day was gloomy but 
 on the stiff, black sofa sat a figure, the grace 
 and elegance of which would have brightened 
 even a duller scene, and which rising, with a 
 soft rustle of silk and velvet, met Katharine in 
 the middle of the floor. 
 
 If Mrs. Annesley had expected some timid, 
 blushing girl whom she could awe or patronize 
 into reverence, she must have been greatly sur- 
 prised at sight of the calm, stately young lady 
 unmistakably a young lady who met her with 
 such quiet ease. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, I presume ? " she said, in- 
 quiringly for despite all that Morton had told 
 her, she could not believe that this was Mrs. 
 Marks's governess. 
 
 And Katharine answered with Katharine's 
 own straightforward dignity : 
 
 " Yes, I am Miss Tresham. Pray sit down, 
 madam. Mrs. Marks will be here in a minute. 
 She desired me to apologize for her delay, and 
 say that she was very much occupied when you 
 came." 
 
 " I am sorry to have disturbed her," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, hardly conscious of what she did 
 say, and only noting with a sharp pang every 
 separate charm of this girl's appearance and 
 manner. Then they sat down, and when the 
 lady spoke again it was with a perceptible effort. 
 
 " I have heard a great deal about you Miss 
 Tresham " she did not say from whom "and 
 it has been a regret to me that I have not been 
 able to pay this visit sooner ; but I am a very 
 great invalid so much of an invalid, that my 
 friends are kind enough to excuse a great deal 
 of social neglect from me." 
 
 Katharine thought there were very few traces 
 of illness apparent in the smooth, handsome face 
 before her ; but she had enough of the habitude 
 of society to accept the apology, and answer it 
 with a few words of conventional sympathy 
 wondering the while, why it had been at all 
 necessary to offer it. 
 
 " Thanks you are very kind," said Mrs. An- 
 nesley, in acknowledgment of her condolence. 
 " Yes, sickness is a dreadful thing more be- 
 cause it 's ant to make one neglect one's duties, 
 
 than for any other reason, I think. Some peo- 
 ple don't allow it to interfere, I know ; but I 
 have never been strong-minded. If I feel badly 
 I am sure to lie on my sofa, even with the cor 
 sciousness of something that ought to be done.' 1 
 
 " We are all of us prone to do that, I think," 
 said Katharine ; " and I, for one, really cannot 
 admire the people who treat their bodies as cruel 
 drivers treat their horses, and goad them into 
 exertion whether they feel like it or not." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley smiled faintly. " You are very 
 good to say so, when I see plainly that you have 
 no personal knowledge no personal experience, 
 that is of the malady to which I allude. Do 
 you sing much, Miss Tresham ? I see the piano 
 open, and surely your pupils have not yet ad- 
 vanced as far as Mozart." 
 
 The conversation rather flagged during the 
 " minute," which unaccountably lengthened into 
 ten or fifteen, before Mrs. Marks entered ; Katha- 
 rine began to grow a little impatient, and to won- 
 der what could possibly be the motive of this 
 visit. Had Mrs. Annesley merely come to gratify 
 her curiosity, or what other meaning was hidden 
 under her cold civility, her languid common- 
 places, her keen though not ill-bred scrutiny ? 
 The young governess felt that she was under- 
 going a sort of examination ; that she was on 
 trial, as it were, before this fine lady ; and, feeling 
 it, almost unconsciously she resented it. She 
 who was usually so frank and cordial in her 
 manner, was now reserved, almost haughty ; 
 while Mrs. Annesley made matters worse by a 
 shade of patronage half unconscious, half, it is 
 to be feared, intended which did not please the 
 girl who had once told Morton that she was "un- 
 fortunately very proud." It was a relief to both 
 of them when the door at last opened, and Mrs. 
 Marks came bustling in, looking as if she had 
 been hastily squeezed into her black silk, and 
 had not yet recovered from the process. 
 
 Katharine watched the greeting between the 
 two ladies Mrs. Marks's hearty cordiality, a little 
 tempered by awkwardness on the one side, and 
 Mrs. Annesley's condescending suavity on the 
 other with quiet amusement. Then she kept 
 her seat for a few minutes longer, thinking that, 
 after they were fairly launched into conversation, 
 she would go back to her waiting pupils ; but, as 
 it chanced, this jntention was frustrated. Just 
 as she had decided on leaving the room, Mrs. An- 
 nesley turned to her. 
 
 " I waited until Mrs. Marks was here, Miss 
 Tresham, before I made a request which is 
 partly the reason of my visit this morim g. A
 
 MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. 
 
 65 
 
 few young people are coming next week to spend 
 Christmas at Annesrlale, and if you will be kind 
 enough to waive ceremony, I should be very glad 
 for you to make one of the party. Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 With all her self-possession and it was even 
 more than people gave her credit for Katharine 
 started. Was it possible that it was Mrs. Annes- 
 ley who gave this gracious invitation ? who 
 asked her to meet a party of young people 
 (which was a modest way of saying the elite of 
 Lagrange) at Annesdale, which was the head- 
 quarters of gay hospitality? For a second she 
 could not answer from absolute surprise ; but 
 she suddenly caught a glimpse of the ludicrous 
 astonishment on Mrs. Mnrks's face, and it piqued 
 her into an immediate reply. 
 
 " You are very kind," she said, looking, with 
 her clear gray eyes, into the languid, handsome 
 face ; "I do not think much of ceremony, as a 
 general rule, and I should be glad to accept your 
 invitation, if it were possible. But it is not pos- 
 sible. I never leave home." 
 
 " You never have left home, perhaps," said 
 the lady, smiling a little. " But, if you will par- 
 don me, that is no reason why you should not 
 begin to do so. Are you fond of gayety? I 
 think Aunesdale might tempt you a little in that 
 way. Adela and Morton always manage to get 
 up something amusing at Christmas. But I will 
 not urge you I will leave the matter to Mrs. 
 Marks, and let her say whether or not you shall 
 go." 
 
 She looked at Mrs. Marks, and Mrs. Marks, 
 who had recovered her powers of speech by this 
 time, was ready in a moment to take her cue. 
 
 " Indeed, I am sure Miss Katharine knows 
 how glad I would be to see her go," she said. 
 " It's very kind of you, Mrs. Annesley, to ask 
 her. She has a very dull time, shut up here 
 with Richard, and me, and the children ; and I 
 hope she won't let any of us stand in the way of 
 her taking a little pleasure when there is such a 
 good chance for it as this." 
 
 " I take charge of the children out of school, 
 as well as in," said Katharine to Mra. Annesley. 
 " Mrs. Marks is anxious to give me pleasure, 
 but my going would cause her a great deal of in- 
 convenience ; so I hope you will excuse me for 
 declining your invitation." 
 
 " As for taking care of the children," said 
 Mrs. Marks, before Mrs. Annesley could speak, 
 " that's Letty's business, my dear, and not yours, 
 as you know. You've spoiled her to death by 
 .ooking after them yourself, and the sooner she 
 
 learns to do it again, the better. I hope you 
 don't think we work her to death," said the good 
 woman, turning her attention to Mrs. Annesley, 
 with startling rapidity. " She took it all on her- 
 self, and I begged her again and again not to 
 worry about them, though it's true they're so 
 much improved especially in their manners 
 that you'd hardly know them for the same chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " Surely their manners would not suffer if you 
 left them for the short space of a fortnight," said 
 Mrs. Annesley to Katharine. 
 
 " For the matter of that," said Mrs. Marks, " I 
 promised their Aunt Lucy that Katy and Sara 
 should pay her a visit this Christmas ; and you 
 know, my dear, you don't have much to do with 
 the boys." 
 
 " Mrs. Marks is evidently determined to get 
 rid of me," said Katharine, with a smile, to Mrs. 
 Annesley ; " but I flatter myself she would miss 
 me after I was gone. And so I think I shall 
 abide by my resolution and remain." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Marks, solemnly, " if 
 you take my advice, you'll go." 
 
 " Take her advice by all means, Miss Tresh- 
 am," said Mrs. Annesley, " or else give me one 
 good reason for your refusal." 
 
 But one good reason, as society reckons good 
 reasons, Katharine could not give. In our arti- 
 ficial condition of life, it is not considered a valid 
 or even a courteous excuse to say that you have 
 no desire to perform a certain action, or to go to 
 a certain place. It is hard to imagine what could 
 be a better reason for ordinary social refusals 
 than the simple statement of disinclination ; but, 
 according to the rules of a certain arbitrary but 
 very ill-defined code, it will not answer at all. If 
 a man asks you to his house, you must not say 
 that you don't want to come, but that you " have 
 pressing business," or " a previous engagement," 
 or a sick wife, or a dead uncle, or any other lie 
 that may be convenient. If he finds you out, he 
 will not be offended, he will take the pious fraud 
 as it was intended. But if you had simply told 
 the truth, and said that you felt unwilling to 
 come, he would have had good right to be in- 
 sulted. Knowing this as well as Mrs. Annesley, 
 Katharine hesitated. She did not want to go to 
 Annesdale, and she did not mean to go if she 
 could help it ; but still, social usages had a cer- 
 tain power over her, and, hemmed in by Mrs. 
 Marks on one side, and her visitor on the other, 
 she hardly knew what to say. Mrs. Annesley saw 
 her embarrassment, and came to her relief. 
 
 " 1 am sure you think me very rude to press
 
 66 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ou in this way, Miss Tresham ; but I am really 
 very anxious that you should make one of our 
 Christmas party, and that anxiety must plead 
 my excuse. I see that you are half persuaded ; 
 and I am sure that, when you think the matter 
 over, you will find there is no reason why you 
 should not oblige us. My son you know already, 
 and my daughter will be very glad to meet you. 
 If I give you until to-morrow to consider, will you 
 promise to say ' yes ' then ? " 
 
 " I am sure it is quite impossible," Katharine 
 began. 
 
 But the lady had already risen, and was hold- 
 ing out her hand in parting salute. 
 
 " I shall either come or send for your answer 
 to-morrow," she said ; " and I beg you most 
 sincerely to let it be favorable. Mrs. Marks, I 
 leave the cause in your hands. Promise me 
 that you will make her come ! " 
 
 " I'll do my best," said Mrs. Marks, dubious- 
 ly ; " but Miss Katharine's very hard-headed, and 
 I'm afraid she'll go her own way." 
 
 " So much the better, if that way lies toward 
 Annesdale," said the mistress of Annesdale, gra- 
 ciously. Then she shook hands with both of 
 them, gave Mrs. Marks an invitation to Annes- 
 dale in that vague, general way which means 
 " good-morning," told Katharine she was sure 
 she would not disappoint her, and finally swept 
 out, leaving behind her a faint fragrance and 
 a vivid impression of affable smiles and soft 
 speeches, and shining silk and rich velvet. 
 
 " Bless my soul, how she was dressed ! " said 
 Mrs. Marks, as soon as she was safely out of ear- 
 shot. " Did you notice the quality of that silk ? 
 I never saw any thing half as heavy in my life. 
 It must have cost three dollars a yard, if it cost 
 a cent ; and what an elegant bonnet ! Well ! " 
 with a long breath " I am sure I never was 
 more surprised in my life ! I thought she would 
 have been just the other way. But there's no 
 telling what people will do for their children ; 
 and, after all, she mayn't be as proud as people 
 say. Nobody could have been more polite than 
 ehe was this morning. I was astonished you did 
 not agree to go," she went on, addressing Katha- 
 rine, with mild expostulation. " Of course you 
 know your own affairs best ; and I don't mean 
 to intrude my advice upon you for advice is a 
 thing that everybody's anxious to give, and no- 
 body's thankful to get but you know what she 
 came for, my dear, and I can tell you that she has 
 done a great deal for her ; and, if you want my 
 opinion, you'll be a great foo simpleton, if you 
 don't go to Annesdale." 
 
 " Then you will certainly consider me a great 
 simpleton," said Katharine, coolly, " for I don't 
 mean to go to Annesdale." 
 
 With this ultimatum, she walked off to th 
 waiting arithmeticians, and left Mrs. Marks ti 
 return to her mince-meat with what degree of 
 interest she could muster. 
 
 Dinner was over, and the short winter after- 
 noon was more than half gone when Katharine 
 opened Mrs. Marks's door, and, showing herself 
 in her bonnet and cloak, asked if the former had 
 any objection to her taking the children to Mor- 
 ton House. " They are anxious to return Felix's 
 visit," she said (Felix had, a fortnight before, 
 made his long-promised call), " and Mrs. Gordon 
 was kind enough to ask me to come to see her ; 
 so, if you have no objection, we will walk out 
 there." 
 
 "I haven't the least objection," said Mrs. 
 Marks, looking up from her work, and wonder- 
 ing not a little at the grand acquaintances her 
 governess was making. " I am glad you are 
 going to take the children yourself, Miss Kath- 
 arine, for you can see that they don't behave 
 badly, or make themselves troublesome to Mrs. 
 Gordon. Isn't it rather a long walk, though ? " 
 
 " Not for me," said Katharine, and shut the 
 door. 
 
 The day had been overcast from its dawn, and 
 the afternoon was very gray and gloomy when 
 the governess and her merry troop went out into 
 it. Every thing looked sombre and tintless, the 
 bare trees stood out against a dull, leaden sky, 
 the distant hills seemed desolate and brown, the 
 broad fields were perhaps the most cheerless ele- 
 ment of the scene, with their dun-colored hedges, 
 their wide expanse of sere plants, and their frag- 
 ments of unpicked cotton hanging in melancholy 
 shreds from the withered stalks. All around the 
 horizon was a broad band of pale-yellow light, 
 and this, together with the singular softness of 
 the atmosphere, made Katharine sure that there 
 would soon be a change in the weather. "It will 
 rain to-morrow," said Jack, looking up at the 
 sky. " Miss Tresham, don't you feel the wind ? 
 Papa says that when it blows this way, it always 
 brings rain. There, Ponto ! there goes a rabbit, 
 sir!" 
 
 Ponto, who was a large Newfoundland dog, 
 had been brought^along for the purpose of chas- 
 ing rabbits, and was not at all averse to the 
 amusement. In fact, he saw the poor, little 
 furry wanderer before Jack did, and was off at 
 a mad gallop, followed headlong by all the chil- 
 dren. A turn in the road soon hid them from
 
 MISS TRESHAM ASKS ADVICE. 
 
 67 
 
 the sight of the governess, and she. gave a sigh 
 of relief. She liked them, and their bright ani- 
 mal spirits never jarred on her as the spirits of 
 grown people sometimes did ; but just now she 
 was glad to have the sombre winter scene all to 
 herself, and much obliged to Ponto and the rab- 
 bit who had secured this solitude. To her, as to 
 a great many other people, there was a singular 
 charm in the leaden sky, the bare woods, and 
 blown hills, the dun neutral tints which went to 
 make up the scene. Afar off, between some 
 fields, there was a clump of trees, and a small 
 "louse from which a column of blue smoke rose 
 against the sky. Katharine looked at it wist- 
 fully. " I wonder if the people who live there 
 are happy ? " she thought. " I wonder if they 
 look for any thing, expect any thing, dread any 
 thing ! Oh, me ! I am sorry for them if they 
 do ! " As she went her way, between the zigzag 
 rail fences and sear hedges, this train of not very 
 cheerful thought colored the whole scene. She 
 thought that she liked it because it agreed with 
 her mood ; but, in truth, if her mood had been 
 different, every thing would have borne a different 
 seeming to her eyes. So it is with us. If our 
 hearts are heavy, the most beautiful landscape 
 that ever smiled grows dark and dreary ; while, 
 if they are light, the sunshine from them over- 
 flows and colors with its own tints all the world 
 around us. Katharine's world was made up of 
 dull neutral hues just now, leaden grays, and cold 
 browns, and dun, dark purples. We have no 
 right to put the earth in mourning for our own 
 troubles, but many of us do it nevertheless. 
 
 Morton House was farther off than she had 
 remembered, and the afternoon was very nearly 
 spent when she and her noisy charges walked 
 up the avenue, and came in sight of the circular 
 terrace and the brown old house set in the midst 
 of it. This was Katharine's first fulfilment of the 
 promise she had given Mrs. Gordon, and she could 
 not help feeling a little nervous with regard to 
 what her reception might be. Would the lady 
 be kind and gracious, as she had been before ? or 
 would she think that, for a stranger, Miss Tresh- 
 am was presuming too speedily on her invita- 
 tion ? " She is said to be very eccentric," Kath- 
 arine thought to herself, with a slight feeling of 
 dismay " one of the people who can be charm- 
 ing one day, and freezing the next, Mrs. Marks 
 says. Will she be charming or freezing to-day, 
 I wonder? I almost wish I had not come." It 
 was too late for retreat, however. At that mo- 
 ment, from some quarter or other, Felix espied 
 them, and bore down with a shout of pleasure. 
 
 Five minutes later, they were entering the 
 hall. 
 
 Felix left them in the drawing-room, while 
 he went to announce their arrival to his mother, 
 and in a moment returned, accompanied by Har- 
 rison. " Mrs. Gordon's compliments ; would the 
 children please go with Mass Felix to the nursery ; 
 and she would be glad to see Miss Tresham in her 
 own room." This was the substance of the mes- 
 sage delivered by th$ servant ; and, while Felix 
 led off his visitors, with eager assurances that 
 the place where he was going to take them was 
 not a nursery at all, but a good, big room, where 
 his playthings were kept, Miss Tresham followed 
 Harrison across the hall, and was ushered into the 
 pleasant sitting-room where she had been intro- 
 duced before. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was lying on a couch by the fire, 
 and looked very ill, her visitor thought. She 
 raised herself, however, and, extending her hand, 
 smiled with pleasant cordiality. 
 
 " So you are really as good as your word, 
 Miss Tresham, and have come to see me. I need 
 not say you are heartily welcome. Sit down. Is 
 it not very cold and gloomy out-of-doors ? " 
 
 Evidently, if Mrs. Gordon was " eccentric," 
 and had different moods for different days, this 
 was one of her most gracious moods, and one 
 of her brightest days. At least, so Katharine 
 thought, as she felt that her instinct about the 
 visit had not misled her, and as, obeying the 
 motion of her hostess's hand, she sat down by 
 the fire. She did not know whether to allude to 
 the traces of suffering so plainly marked on her 
 companion's face ; but the latter relieved her 
 uncertainty on this point at once. 
 
 " I have been quite ill," she said, " and I 
 am sure you think that I am still, in looks at 
 least, the worse for it. At my age, one shows 
 so plainly things which pass unnoticed in youth. 
 If you had come a day or two ago, I could not 
 have seen you ; but to-day I am grateful for the 
 presence of such a bright face." 
 
 The bright face smiled and blushed a little at 
 this, but soon recovered its usual composure. 
 
 " I am glad I came, then," said Katharine. 
 " I was a little doubtful, thinking I might troubla 
 you. But I always mean what I say myself^ 
 and I gave you credit for meaning what you 
 said when you asked me to come." 
 
 " You were quite right," said Mrs. Gordon, 
 smiling ; " I meant exactly what I said, and per- 
 haps a little more. I have lived a long time in 
 the hottest fever of the world," she went on, 
 " and this stagnant life is almost too much for
 
 68 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 me. lu a measure, it was pure selfishness wbich 
 made me press you to return. I cannot ask the 
 people of Lagrange to come here. I have gone 
 out of their life and their world forever. But 
 you are different. The first moment I saw you, I 
 knew that you were different ; and I knew, or 
 thought I knew, that you would be a person 
 vorth knowing, and a companion worth having." 
 
 " You flatter me," said Katharine, with her 
 breath a little taken away. 
 
 " I never flatter anybody," answered Mrs. 
 Gordon, coolly. "You know as well as I do 
 that, although you are not particularly pretty, 
 and, for aught I know, may not be particularly 
 slever, you are particularly attractive. I don't 
 wonder " she paused, with a smile ; then added, 
 " Won't you take off your bonnet, and spend the 
 evening with me ? " 
 
 " I should be very glad to do so ; but I have 
 the children under my care, and I must take 
 them home before dark." 
 
 " Can't they go home by themselves ? can't 
 Babette take them? Well" as Katharine 
 shook her head in reply to both propositions 
 " I won't press you. But leave the children at 
 home another day, and come prepared to spend 
 the evening. Surely, your holidays begin very 
 soon now ? " 
 
 " They have begun already. To-day was my 
 last of school." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that. I can hope, then, 
 to see you often in the course of the next two 
 weeks ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Katharine, doubt- 
 fully. The moment afterward she caught a look 
 >{ surprise on Mrs. Gordon's face, and went on, 
 nastily : " I mean that I may not be at Mrs. 
 Marks's during the holidays. I received a 
 Christmas invitation to-day, and I have been 
 doubting whether or not I should accept it. 
 Would " a pause " would you think me very 
 impertinent, Mrs. Gordon, if I asked your advice 
 about doing so ? " 
 
 " I should not think you impertinent at all, 
 Miss Treslmm ; and I should be very glad to ad- 
 vise you to the best of my ability, leaving selfish- 
 ness out of the question." 
 
 Katharine sat still and looked in the fire for 
 i minute, puckering her brow into a slight frown 
 as she did so. Then she turned round and 
 smiled at her hostess. 
 
 " Don't think me very vacillating and irreso- 
 lute," she said ; " but the fact is, I declined the 
 Invitation this morning, and I told Mrs. Marks at 
 dinner that I positively would not accept it ; yet 
 
 such is the perversity of human nature that I am 
 half inclined to retract my own words now, and 
 go. If one or two doubts could be solved for 
 me, I think I should." 
 
 " And can I solve those doubts ? " 
 
 " If you choose, I am sure you can. Of 
 course, you know enough of your cousin to 
 tell" 
 
 She stopped short, for Mrs. Gordon raised up 
 and looked at her with astonished eyes. 
 
 " My cousin ? " she repeated. " You surel 
 don't mean Mrs. Annesley ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Katharine, laughing a lit- 
 tie. " You can't be more surprised than I was. 
 I had never seen Mrs. Annesley before ; and this 
 morning she called on me, and absolutely asked 
 me to spend Christmas at Annesdale more than 
 that, she would not accept a refusal ; but, when 
 I declined the invitation, said that she would 
 give me until to-morrow to consider, and would 
 send for my final answer then. Now, if I am 
 not impertinent, pray tell me what she means by 
 it, and what I ought to do." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon sank back on her cushions, and 
 smiled. Instead of answering Katharine's ques- 
 tion, she asked another : 
 
 " You say that you would like to go ? " . 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, frankly. " I like pleas- 
 ure very much more than is right, I am afraid 
 and I should like very much to go. It has 
 been four years since I danced the last time," 
 said she, looking at Mrs. Gordon gravely; "and 
 I should like to go to another ball. There is al- 
 ways a Christmas ball at Annesdale, Mrs. Marks 
 says. If I knew why Mrs. Annesley asked me, 
 and if I could be sure that she really wants me, 
 I should certainly take the goods the gods pro- 
 vide, and go." 
 
 " Go, then," said Mrs. Gordon. " Take the 
 goods the gods provide, and enjoy them while 
 you can. I am able to set your mind at rest on 
 both those points. I think I know why Mrs. 
 Annesley asked you ; and, as she asked you, I 
 am sure she wants you to go." 
 
 " This is your advice ? " 
 
 " This is certainly my advice." 
 
 " Not given because I was foolish enough to 
 say that I liked pleasure, but honestly and sin- 
 cerely ? " 
 
 " Honestly and sincerely," answered Mrs. 
 Gordon, smiling. '"You don't suppose I would 
 think you worth much if you had not youth 
 enough in you to like pleasure ? The love of it 
 is born in us, and is the strongest cord that 
 i draws us heavenward, as well as the heaviest
 
 R. G. 
 
 GO 
 
 fetter that binds us to the earth. Dou't grudge 
 your youth its natural impulses and pleasures. 
 Believe me, the apathy and the distaste of later 
 ..tfe will come on you soon enough." 
 
 " But Annesdale " said Katharine. 
 
 " Go to Annesdale, by all means. I don't 
 simply advise ; I am bold enough to urge you to 
 do so. Shall I tell you why ? You are not a 
 simpering, foolish young lady ; so I think I may. 
 It is evident that Mrs. Annesley, from personal 
 reasons don't blush, my dear, for I don't mean 
 to be as plain-spoken as I was before is anxious 
 to see and know you. She has taken a better 
 way of doing this than I should have given her 
 credit for a more delicate way, that is. Don't 
 deny yourself a pleasure, and repulse her at the 
 same time. If you have any liking, any cordial 
 friendship, for Morton, meet his mother's ad- 
 vances frankly, and go to Annesdale." 
 
 " But," said Katharine, blushing deeply, de- 
 spite her companion's admonition to the con- 
 trary, " that is exactly why I hesitate. Mr. 
 Annesley has been very kind to me if we 
 were on the same social level, I might almost 
 say very attentive and I don't know what con- 
 struction might be placed upon this visit." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Gordon quietly, " society 
 is a state of hollow but very useful forms. We 
 all know that they are hollow, but still, we all 
 observe them. Mrs. Annesley has asked you to 
 spend Christmas at Annesdale, and you are not 
 supposed to know any thing of the motive for 
 this invitation. If any motive is concealed 
 beneath it, what difference does that make ? If 
 she asks you for one reason, and you go for 
 another, what matter of that? Have you not 
 lived long enough in the world to know that life 
 this outside, social life is merely a game of 
 chance and skill ? This visit will bind you to 
 nothing. The day after you come away, or the 
 day before, for that matter, you will be at per- 
 fect liberty to reject Morton if he asks you to 
 marry him. I hope you won't do any thing half 
 so foolish, though," she added, with a smile. " I 
 knew his father well ; and Morton is Edgar An- 
 nesley over again. No girl could ever do bet- 
 ter than to accept him." 
 
 " I am sure of that," said Katharine, kindly 
 and cordially. But she did not say it as if she 
 bad any personal interest in the question of 
 accepting or rejecting the young owner of An- 
 nesdale. She spoke with her eyes fastened 
 thoughtfully on the fire ; and when she looked 
 up, she added suddenly, " Then, once for all, you 
 advise me to go ? " 
 
 " Once for all, I do. Will you prove an ex- 
 ception to most ad vice -asking people, and take 
 my advice ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will," said the girl, rising and stand- 
 ing before the fire, with the ruddy light flicker- 
 ing over her bright face and graceful figure. I 
 am very much obliged to you for giving it," she 
 went on ; " and I should be very ungrateful if I 
 did not take it after you have been so frank with 
 me. I shall write to Mrs. Annesley to-morrow, 
 and tell her that I accept her invitation. May I 
 come to see you when I return, and tell you how 
 much I have enjoyed myself? " 
 
 " Come to see me certainly, and tell me all 
 about it. I shall be very glad to hear every 
 thing. But must you go now ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is growing late, and we have a long 
 walk from here home. Neither the children nor 
 myself mind it, though," she added, as the word 
 " carriage " formed on Mrs. Gordon's lips. '' I 
 must bid you good-evening, and I hope you will 
 be well when I come again." 
 
 With a sudden impulse which, if she had 
 stopped a minute to consider, would certainly 
 have been repressed, she bent down and laid 
 her lips on Mrs. Gordon's cheek. It was a very 
 light caress, but the latter felt it and started. 
 Then she looked up with a smile. 
 
 " You are certainly very charming," she said. 
 " I don't wonder that others, besides myself, have 
 found it out." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Annesley reached home, she found 
 that the whole family of Taylors, mother and 
 daughters, had arrived at Annesdale during her 
 absence, and were established to " spend the 
 day," according to the irksome custom which 
 then prevailed, and for that matter still prevails, 
 in country districts. Their bonnets were laid 
 aside, their work was brought out, and the draw- 
 ing-room was full of the sound of their chatter 
 and laughter, when the lady of the house entered. 
 Poor Adela was on duty, and gave a glance com- 
 pounded ludicrously of resignation and disgust 
 to her mother. Mrs. Annesley telegraphed a 
 reply in much the same spirit, then swept for- 
 ward and greeted her guests with effusion. 
 " Dear Mrs. Taylor, what a pleasant surprise I 
 How kind of you to come ! " etc., etc. " Maria, 
 how well you are looking ! Funny, has your
 
 70 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 neuralgia quite gone ? Augusta, I need not ask 
 how you are I never saw you more blooming. 
 Of course you have come to spend the day. I 
 cannot think of letting you off," etc. 
 
 They all spent the day with religious exacti- 
 tude. It was nightfall before the last item of 
 news was discussed, the knitting-needles and 
 worsted-work put away, the bonnets resumed, 
 and the carriage ordered. Mrs. Annesley gave 
 a heart-felt sigh as she stood at the window and 
 watched them drive away. "What a relief!" 
 she said. " It is dreadful to think what bores 
 those people are ! " 
 
 " The night is going to be dark, and the roads 
 are very heavy," said Adela. " I shouldn't be 
 surprised if they had a bad time getting home 
 and serve them right, too, for staying so late ! 
 Now, mamma, what news ? I have been dying 
 to hear, ever since you came ; and I thought they 
 never were going." 
 
 " Nothing very satisfactory," her mother an- 
 swered, without turning round. " She declines 
 to come, Adela." 
 
 " What ! " said Adela ; and, even in the soft 
 mingling of firelight and twilight, it was evident 
 that her face fell. "It can't be possible that 
 she declines to come, mamma ! " 
 
 " She does, though. She refused the invita- 
 tion absolutely and not very courteously." 
 
 " Then what will you do ? " 
 
 " What I will do is yet to be decided what I 
 did do was to decline to accept her refusal. I in- 
 sisted on her taking a day to consider the mat- 
 ter, and said I would send for her answer to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " That is more than I should have done," 
 said Adela, flushing. "She will think she has 
 gained every thing." 
 
 " She is welcome to think so," was the quiet 
 response. 
 
 " It is nothing but insolence ! " cried Mrs. 
 French. " I wish I had her in my power, I'd 
 I'd strangle her ! Mamma, I don't see how you 
 ever submitted to it ! " 
 
 " We must submit to a great deal, Adela, if 
 we want to carry our points." 
 
 " And do you think you will carry this one ? " 
 
 " I think she will come." 
 
 "But if she don't?" 
 
 " Then I shall be disappointed, but not seri- 
 ously so. All I need is time ; and time, I think, 
 I can induce Morton to grant me. Since I have 
 given a conditional consent, he fias promised that 
 he will not speak until 1 have seen and judged 
 ofof this governess." 
 
 " I should make that a long process/' 
 
 "No; for I hope it will not be long before 1 
 have proofs concerning her which not even Mor- 
 ton can disregard." 
 
 " And meanwhile ? " 
 
 " And meanwhile, she cannot fail to suffer by 
 close contrast with Irene Vernon. She is not 
 pretty, Adela." 
 
 "N o, mamma, not pretty, perhaps but 
 handsome in a certain style that men like. If 
 you could have seen her talking to Morton at 
 the pond that day ! It was all her fault that he 
 lost sight of that hateful child, and had such a 
 frightful accident. Of course, Irene is a beauty 
 but I wouldn't trust to this girl's not being 
 pretty, if I were you." 
 
 " Trust to it ! You don't suppose I have 
 lived to my age, without learning that there are 
 many things besides a pretty face that make a 
 fool of a man. It certainly is not this girl's face 
 which has turned that poor boy's head. Let me 
 see what is the day of the month ? " 
 
 " The nineteenth," answered Adela, wonder- 
 ing a little at the question. 
 
 Mrs. Annesley walked to the fire, making 
 some calculation as she went. Mrs. French, who 
 had meanwhile taken a seat, watched her with 
 languid interest. She did not pretend to under, 
 stand all her mother's schemes ; but her reliance 
 was, in a different way, quite as complete as 
 Morton's. She had the most profound admira- 
 tion for her mother's diplomatic abilities ; and 
 did not honestly believe that any cause was hope- 
 less as long as she retained the management of it. 
 
 " Well, mamma," she said, at last, " what are 
 you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I am thinking," answered Mrs. Annesley, 
 absently, " how long it takes a letter to go to 
 London, and an answer to return." 
 
 "A letter? to go? " Adela sat up and 
 stared at her mother. " A letter to go to Lon- 
 don 1 Mamma, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean," said Mrs. Annesley, glancing 
 round at the closed door, as if to make sure 
 that nobody was within hearing " I mean that 
 I have no idea that my son shall marry an adven- 
 turess ; and that I have been making inquiries 
 about Miss Tresham for some time." 
 
 Mrs. French gave a little scream, half of 
 excitement, half of slightly comic alarm. " Good 
 gracious, you don't say so ! Why, this is becom- 
 ing quite interesting. Wouldn't Morton be vexed 
 if he knew ? Tell me all about it, mamma how 
 long ago did you begin, and what have you found 
 out ? "
 
 B. G. 
 
 71 
 
 " I can't talk about it here," said Mrs. Amies- 
 fey, a little nervously. " Morton might come in 
 any minute ; and I would not let him know for 
 the world. When I have found out what I want 
 to know, I shall lay the matter before him ; but, 
 until then, he would not listen to any thing I 
 could urge. His scruples on the subject are ab- 
 surd." 
 
 " Most of his ideas are," said Mrs. French, 
 coolly. " Dear me, there is his step in the hall ! 
 May I come to your room to-night, mamma, and 
 hear all about it ? Say yes, please." 
 
 " I suppose you may, though I am half-afraid 
 to trust you." 
 
 " Never fear about trusting me. I'm not like 
 some foolish women, who tell every thing to their 
 husbands. Frank is a good fellow, and tells me 
 all his secrets ; but he doesn't hear any of mine. 
 Do you, Frank ? " 
 
 " Do I what, Adela ? " asked Frank, who en- 
 tered at the moment in a very splashed and dis- 
 reputable condition. " I don't mean to stop a 
 minute," he said, hastily, as he was transfixed 
 by his wife's glance. " I only came in to tell 
 you what splendid luck we've had. I never saw 
 the pond so flush of ducks before. Morton's a 
 better shot than I am, and he bagged no less 
 than" 
 
 " Frank, if you don't go up-stairs this minute 
 and take off that abominable corduroy, I will 
 never speak to you again ! " cried Mrs. French, 
 in a high-treble key. " It smells horribly ! Who 
 cares about your miserable ducks ? I don't ! " 
 
 " You'll care about eating them, I expect," 
 said the good-natured Frank, as he left the room 
 rather crestfallen, and went to change the objec- 
 tionable corduroy, which, being thoroughly wet, 
 had, in fact, a very far from agreeable odor. 
 
 A few minutes afterward Morton entered, and, 
 having had the discretion to change his dress, 
 was welcomed more cordially than his fellow- 
 sportsman had been. 
 
 In answer to his mother's inquiries, he said 
 that they had had a very good day's sport ; that 
 the ducks were plenty, and by no means hard to 
 approach ; and that their game-bag was full. 
 
 " Frank enjoyed it extremely," he said, in a 
 tone that was rather tired. " For my part, I am 
 not as fond of sport as I used to be." 
 
 " I suppose it takes a fox-chase to rouse 
 you," said Mrs. Annesley. " By-the-way, there 
 will be some fox-hunting next week, will there 
 not ? " 
 
 '' To be sure," answered Morton. " French 
 was talking about it to-day. Langdon, and Tal- 
 
 cott, and half a dozen more, will be here, who 
 care for little besides fox-hunting. I wrote to 
 Godfrey Seymour and told him to bring hia 
 hounds with him when he came." 
 
 " Isn't your own pack a good one? " 
 
 " The more the merrier, you know ; and no 
 hounds are like Seymour's. He has the best- 
 trained pack in the country." 
 
 " I hope he will come." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed, for his own sake as well 
 as on account of his dogs. There isn't a better 
 fellow living than Godfrey. Is your party quite 
 made up, mother ? " he went on. " If there is 
 anybody else to be invited, you know you ought 
 to be attending to it. Almost everybody has 
 made engagements for Christmas by this time." 
 
 " There is nobody else to be invited," said 
 Mrs. Annesley. She paused a moment, then 
 added, quietly : " I gave the last invitation in 
 Tallahoma to-day." 
 
 " In Tallahoma ! " echoed her son. " Whom 
 did you ask in Tallahoma ? John Warwick ? " 
 
 " No, quite a different person. Miss Tresh- 
 am." 
 
 The young man started. That name was the 
 last he had expected to hear, and looked at his 
 mother for a moment in surprise. Then he went 
 round to the back of her chair, and, bending 
 down, kissed her brow just where the hair was 
 parted. 
 
 " My dear mother, thank you," he said, sim- 
 ply. 
 
 " Don't thank me," said Mrs. Annesley, in 
 rather a hard voice. " I need not tell you that it 
 cost me a struggle, Morton. But I promised you 
 to see and know her, and I thought this oppor- 
 tunity the best for the purpose. People will 
 wonder, no doubt ; but we must submit to that." 
 
 " Let them wonder," said he, a little haught- 
 ily ; but his tone softened, as he added : " You 
 were quite right ; this will be the best opportu- 
 nity for seeing and knowing her. Is there noth- 
 ing that I can do for you, mother ? " he went on. 
 " Is there nothing you could ask of me ? I 
 should like to show you in some way how much 
 I appreciate the sacrifice you have made." 
 
 " Yes, there is one thing," said Mrs. Annes- 
 ley, perceiving her advantage, and seizing it 
 without an instant's hesitation. " You can cer- 
 tainly do one thing for me, Morton. I have 
 asked this girl here for your sake. For my 
 sake promise me that while she is here you will 
 refrain from paying her any marked attention, 
 that you will not give people any opportunity to 
 couple your name and hers together."
 
 MORTON HOI SK 
 
 Morton's brow contracted a little. He 
 thought his mother had taken an unfair advan- 
 tage of his offer, but he did not say so ; indeed, 
 after a moment, he saw that he had no alterna- 
 tive but to consent. He had rashly laid himself 
 open to this, and he must abide by his own 
 words. 
 
 " I promise," he said, a little coldly, " but I 
 did not think you would have asked such a thing 
 of me." 
 
 His mother rose and laid her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Why, my dear son ? Why should I not 
 ask it of you ? You know where all my hopes 
 for you are fixed. Can you wonder that I do not 
 wish you to put an impassable barrier between 
 yourself and their fulfilment ? " 
 
 He knew what she meant he knew she was 
 thinking of Irene Vernon so he did not answer. 
 He had very sensitive ideas of his own, and he 
 showed them in nothing more than in the reti- 
 cence he always observed with regard to topics 
 like these. Nothing would have induced him to 
 mention Miss Vernon's name in a connection of 
 this sort. After a while, he sighed a little, and 
 put his arm round his mother. 
 
 " You must bear with me," he said. " Moth- 
 er, dear, it is hard that at this late day I should 
 begin to be a trouble to you ; but be patient, be 
 hopeful, and perhaps in time we may live it 
 down." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley went to her own room early 
 that night. She was tired, she said ; her drive 
 to town and the Taylors together had quite ex- 
 hausted her, and her only chance of being mod- 
 erately well the next day was to retire at an hour 
 that Adcla was fond of calling uncivilized Ade- 
 la's pet idea of civilization being to go to bed 
 at one o'clock and rise at twelve. To-night, 
 however, Mrs. French made no demur at the 
 move. s She yawned and said the Taylors had 
 done for her, too ; then bade her brother good- 
 night, and followed her mother up-stairs. 
 
 " You are going to smoke? " she said to her 
 
 husband, who muttered something of the sort in 
 
 the hall below. " Oh, very well ; take your time 
 
 .bout it; I am going to mamma's room for a 
 
 while." 
 
 Her face vanished from over the balustrade, 
 and the minute afterward the two gentlemen 
 heard her dress rustling along the upper pas- 
 sage, and the opening and closing of Mrs. An- 
 nesley's door. 
 
 " They are good for a two-hours' gossip at 
 lefest," said Mr. French, on hearing this. " That's 
 
 their notion of ' going to bed early and getting a 
 long rest ! ' Come, Morton, we'll have a smoke. 
 Do you know where the papers are that came 
 this morning ? " 
 
 In Mrs. Annesley's chamber a large fire was 
 blazing brightly and making the whole room 
 radiant with that beautiful glow which a judi- 
 cious mixture of pine, and oak, and hickory, can 
 alone diffuse, when Adela entered. It rendered 
 any other light almost unnecessary ; but a lamp 
 burned with quiet, steady lustre on the table at 
 Mrs. Annesley's side, and, scattered around its 
 base, were several letters and a newspaper. 
 She looked up from the pages of one of the 
 former when the door opened and she saw her 
 daughter. 
 
 " I thought your curiosity would not let you 
 remain down-stairs long," she said. " Come in, 
 but.be sure and close the door securely." 
 
 "Well, mamma, I'm all impatience," said 
 Adela, after she had waited some time, and her 
 mother took no further notice of her, but went 
 on reading the letter she held. 
 
 u Look at that, then," said her mother, push- 
 ing the newspaper across the table and pointing 
 with her finger to a particular paragraph. 
 
 Adela took it up wonderingly. The sheet 
 was mammoth, and proved to be a copy of the 
 London Times, in date five or six months old. 
 Following the direction of the finger, her eye fell 
 at once on the following advertisement : 
 
 " If the friends or relations of Katharine 
 Tresham, formerly of the British West Indies, 
 and lately of Cumberland, England, are desirous 
 of knowing her present whereabouts and ad- 
 dress, they can obtain this information by ad- 
 dressing R. G., box 1084, Mobile, Alabama." 
 
 Adela first stared, then caught her breath, 
 and looked up at her mother. 
 
 "Is it possible you wrote this, mamma? " 
 
 " Yes, 1 wrote it," Mrs. Annesley answered. 
 " I could not let matters go on as they had been 
 doing for months past. I felt, and I still feel 
 sure there is something wrong about the girl. 
 Being confident of this, and seeing Morton's 
 growing infatuation, I knew that to lift the cur- 
 tain from her life was the only hope of saving 
 him. If I have done her harm, she has only 
 herself and her ambitious schemes to thank for 
 it. Any parent would hold me more than justi- 
 fied in the means I have used." 
 
 " Oh, as for that," said Adela, " I think the 
 means are excellent. But I wonder how you
 
 R. G 
 
 73 
 
 ever thought of them, and how did you get this 
 'nserted ? " 
 
 " I sent it to Mr. Russell when he was in 
 England last summer. He is thoroughly trust- 
 worthy, and will neither mention the fact nor 
 ask any questions. It was inserted in the Times 
 for a month, and he sent me this copy." 
 
 " Did any thing come of it ? " 
 
 " Something came of it sooner than I had 
 ventured to hope. Before the advertisement 
 had appeared a week, a letter was written, and 
 reached me in due time." 
 
 She handed a letter across the table, and 
 Adela received it eagerly. Her curiosity was 
 fairly in a flame, and, although she tore open 
 the folded sheet very hastily, she had still time 
 enough to observe that the paper, writing, and 
 whole style of the missive, were unexceptionable. 
 It was evidently written by a man, and was quite 
 terse : 
 
 " If R. G. can give any accurate information 
 concerning the present whereabouts and address 
 of Katharine Tresham, formerly of Porto Rico, in 
 the West Indies, and lately of Dornthorne Place, 
 Cumberland, England, he will be entitled to the 
 thanks of her friends, and can obtain a liberal 
 reward by addressing Messrs. Rich & Little, 
 Lincoln's Inn, London." 
 
 After Adela read the last words twice over, 
 she looked up at her mother, and shrugged 
 her shoulders. " I don't think the reply gives 
 much more information than the advertisement," 
 she said. 
 
 " When that came," answered Mrs. Annesley, 
 " I saw in a moment that I had gone to work 
 frrong that instead of offering to give informa- 
 tion, I should have asked for it. I saw there 
 was a secret to keep ; and this friend who offers 
 me a liberal reward, and refers me to a couple 
 of lawyers, was as much interested as the girl 
 herself in keeping it. I felt sure, however, that 
 he did not know her whereabouts, that he was 
 honestly anxious to be enlightened. In that 
 case, I thought I saw my way, and this is what 
 I wrote. 
 
 Again she pushed a letter across the table, 
 and again Adela took it up and read : 
 
 " If the gentleman who referred R. G. to 
 Messrs. Rich & Little will communicate his own 
 address to box 1084, Mobile, Alabama, he can 
 obtain the information he desires, and be spared 
 the payment of a reward." 
 
 " Well ! and what was the answer to 
 this ? " 
 
 " The answer to this came very shortly, and 
 puzzled me not a little. Here it is." 
 
 The second missive, in the same writing, and 
 on the same paper as the first, was in turn handed 
 across the table and read : 
 
 " Mr. St. John has received R. G.'s letter. If 
 R. G. possesses any real knowledge of Miss Tresh- 
 am's place of abode, and objects to communicat- 
 ing that knowledge through Mr. St. John's law- 
 yers, he can address directly 
 
 " HENRY ST. JOHN, ESQ., 
 
 " Poste Restante, 
 
 "fiaden." 
 
 " Mr. St. John ! Mr. St. John's lawyers ! " re- 
 peated Adela. " Well, Miss Tresham certainly 
 seems to have a grand sort of person interested 
 in her ! Dear me, mamma, suppose she has run 
 away from her friends, and is really a lady, after 
 all ? " 
 
 " She is much more likely to be an adventur- 
 ess," said Mrs. Annesley, bitterly. " That high, 
 sounding name did not deceive me for a minute. 
 By return mail, I forwarded her address to Mr. 
 Henry St. John, and requested some information 
 concerning her, for personal and family reasons. 
 No answer whatever came to that letter. After 
 waiting some time, and finding that none was 
 likely to come, and that evidently nothing had 
 occurred to call Miss Tresham away from La- 
 grange, I wrote to the lawyer in Mobile, through 
 whom I received these letters, and requested him 
 to make inquiries in London about this Mr. St. 
 John. He did so at once, and I am now waiting 
 to hear the result. It may be some time before 
 I obtain the facts I want, but every thing is pos- 
 sible to patience and money, and I shall obtain 
 them in the end. If it takes my whole fortune," 
 she went on, passionately, " I will obtain them, 
 sooner than let my son wreck his life by marry- 
 ing this woman." 
 
 " I am inclined to think that Mr. St. John is 
 a nice person," said Adela, gravely regarding the 
 two letters that lay open on the table before 
 her. 
 
 "I am sure he is a sharper," her mother re- 
 torted, "and probably in league with Miss Tresh- 
 am. Why he should have noticed my advertise- 
 ment at all, puzzles me." 
 
 " Perhaps because he was afraid somebody 
 else would," said Adela, too lazy to do battle for 
 her own " nice-person " theory. " Well, mam-
 
 74 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ma, when do you expect to hear something 
 definite about him ? " 
 
 " I wrote to Mr. Burns the other day, making 
 the inquiry," her mother answered. " I was 
 looking over his reply when you came in. 
 There it is you can see it if you choose." 
 
 " Of course I choose," said Adela ; and 
 suiting the action to the word, she took the 
 indicated letter and opened it. Mr. Burns was 
 the Mobile lawyer of whom Mrs. Annesley had 
 spoken, and this was what he said : 
 
 " DEAR MADAM : Your favor of the 3d ultimo 
 came safely to hand. In reply to your inquiries, 
 I am able to say that I hope soon to hear from 
 rov agent in London, with regard to the infor- 
 mation you aee anxious to receive. I anticipate 
 little difficulty in obtaining this information, if 
 the addresses which you have furnished me are 
 at all correct The solicitors at Lincoln's Inn 
 will certainly be able to satisfy you concerning 
 the real character and .stand ing of Mr. St. John. 
 If we should meet with any difficulty there, it 
 will be a little more troublesome, but quite as 
 practicable to make these inquiries through 
 other channels. In either case, you may be 
 sure of receiving reliable information in a com- 
 paratively short time. I have also forwarded to 
 my agent your copy of Mr. St. John's letter, giv- 
 ing the name of the place where Miss Tresham 
 resided in Cumberland. By prosecuting his in- 
 quiries there, he may be able to learn something 
 of this lady. I hope to receive a letter by the 
 middle of the month, and will forward it to you 
 immediately. 
 
 " Assuring you of my continued secrecy, and 
 acknowledging your desire that I will not spare 
 expense, I remain, 
 
 " Very respectfully, 
 " WILLIAM F. BURNS." 
 
 Adcla philosophically folded up the letter, 
 nd returned it to her mother. 
 
 " I gee now why you gave your consent," she 
 aaid. " You wanted to make Morton defer mat- 
 tern, and so gain time." 
 
 " It was my only hope," said her mother. 
 14 1 knew that if once Morton spoke to the girl, 
 he would hold fast to his word through every 
 thing. Now I may stave off a declaration, until 
 I can show him who and what she is." 
 
 "If that is your hope, I should think you 
 were very unwise to ask her to spend a week in 
 the same house with him." 
 
 " And you don't know that by this very thing 
 
 I took the surest means of binding him to his 
 promise. He would do any thing sooner than 
 break it now, that I have, as he thinks, made 
 such a sacrifice for him. But that was not rny 
 only reason for asking her. I wanted her here 
 in my power, under my hand. When the let- 
 ter from London comes, I want to give her a 
 choice between open exposure, or leaving La- 
 grange. Then I do not believe that, once con- 
 trasted with Irene Vernon, she could continue to 
 attract Morton." 
 
 Adela shook her head. 
 
 "That's your mistake, mamma," she said. 
 "Morton has known Irene Vernon as long or 
 longer than he has known this girl, and do you 
 suppose he never contrasted them in his mind ? 
 I am as anxious as you can be that he should 
 fall in love with her ; but I don't think it is like- 
 ly just now." 
 
 " We shall see." 
 
 "Yes, we shall see. But, for my part, I 
 don't believe Miss Tresham will come. I am 
 sure she has sense enough to distrust an invita- 
 tion to Annesdale." 
 
 " That may be ; but, nevertheless, I think 
 she will accept it." 
 
 The event fully justified this belief. The next 
 day was cloudy and stormy in the extreme, but 
 Mrs. Annesley dispatched a messenger to Talla- 
 homa, and waited anxiously for his return. In 
 an hour or two, a damp note, woefully limp, and 
 odorous of wet linsey, was brought to her. She 
 opened it with two fingers, read the few lines 
 which it contained, and looked up at her daugh- 
 ter with a smile. 
 
 " It is all right, Adela," she said. " She will 
 come." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 MEERT CHRISTMAS! 
 
 WEDNESDAY was Christmas eve ; and on Wed- 
 nesday the Annesley equipage rolled majestically 
 up to Mr. Marks's gate, and the children rushed 
 pantingly in with the intelligence that the" car- 
 riage had come for Miss Tresham, and the driver 
 said would sh^e please be as quick as possible, for 
 his horses were impatient, and didn't like to 
 stand. 
 
 Miss Tresham did not keep the impatient 
 horses, or their more impatient driver, waiting 
 very long. Her trunk was packed, and her bon
 
 net had been on for an hour at least ; so there 
 was nothing to do but say good-by which, how- 
 ever, was very far from being a short ceremony. 
 There was Mrs. Marks and Mr. Marks, and Mr. 
 Warwick (it was immediately after dinner, which 
 accounted for the presence at home of these two 
 gentlemen) and all the children, and most of the 
 servants, to exchange farewells and good wishes 
 with. Mrs. Marks kissed the young governess as 
 if she had been her own daughter, and bade her 
 take care of herself and look her prettiest, and 
 enjoy herself her best ; Mr. Marks shook hands 
 heartily, and hoped she would have a very merry 
 Christmas, and they would all miss her, and keep 
 her Christmas-gifts till she came back, and the 
 children pressed round tumultuously, and list- 
 ened distractedly, while she told Mrs. Marks 
 that if she would look in the top drawer of her 
 bureau the ne^tt morning, she would perhaps find 
 that St. Nicholas had visited it ; and the servants 
 bobbed up and down in the background, and 
 thrust forward their ebony hands with many 
 " Christmas gift, missis ! Wish you merry 
 Christmas, ma'am ! " while Mr. Warwick stood 
 by, and looked with his quiet smile at the whole 
 of it. 
 
 " I'll take you to the carriage, and bid you 
 good-by there," he said, when Katharine at last 
 turned and extended her hand to him. " You'll 
 never get off, at this rate. Has the trunk gone 
 out ? " 
 
 " Done strapped on, sir," said Tom, appearing 
 at the open door, and speaking over Judy's yellow 
 turban. " Done strapped on, sir ; and John says 
 the horses " 
 
 " Tell John to hold his tongue about the 
 horses. Miss Tresham, when you are ready, I 
 am at your service." 
 
 " I am ready now, Mr. Warwick," said Katha- 
 rine ; and with a last bright glance around, and a 
 last " Good-by all ! " she went out of the open 
 door, across the piazza, and down the front walk, 
 attended by Mr. Warwick, and followed by all the 
 children and servants. Mr. and Mrs. Marks went 
 no farther than the piazza, but they stood there 
 and watched the departuVe. " If ever I thought 
 that such a thing would be ! " said the good wom- 
 an to her husband, as she saw Katharine enter 
 the carriage, and bend forward over the closed 
 door to shake hands with Mr. Warwick and give 
 Nelly a last kiss. Then a touch was given the im- 
 patient horses, the carriage disappeared, like a 
 glittering vision, round a turn of the road, and 
 the group at the gate returned slowly to the 
 house all excepting Mr. Warwick, who went 
 
 on to town, and, although it was Christmas Eve, 
 and high and low, and rich and poor, were all 
 alike rejoicing and taking a holiday, sat himself 
 down to his grim law-books, and seemed to find 
 the same interest in them that he found there 
 every day. 
 
 Meanwhile, Katharine was driving at a rapid 
 and easy pace over the country road that led past 
 the gates of Morton House on to Annesdale. The 
 short December afternoon was more than half 
 gone, the shadows were long, and the yellow sun- 
 shine streamed with bright but sad pathos over 
 the distant hills and leafless woods, as the car- 
 riage swept along ; the driver and footman talked 
 on the box, and the girl inside, leaning back on 
 the soft cushions and watching the fields and 
 clumps of trees fly past, asked herself if she was 
 awake or dreaming, if she would really arrive at 
 Annesdale after a while, or if she would rouse 
 up in her own room in Mr. Marks's house. 
 
 On the whole, she came to the conclusion that 
 she was awake, when the Annesdale gates flew 
 open at the approach of the carriage, and, sweep- 
 ing round the carefully-kept circle, Katharine 
 found herself before a handsome house of soft 
 gray color, built in the Italian style, and spread- 
 ing over a great deal of space, with large wing 
 and many piazzas. The doors of the hall were 
 wide open, and three or four gentlemen were 
 standing in the front portico. One of them 
 came forward when the carriage stopped, and, 
 putting aside the footman, began opening the 
 door himself. He was a frank, pleasant-looking 
 person, whom Katharine recognized as Mr. 
 French. " I hope you have not found it cold, 
 Miss Tresham," he said, as, after fumbling at the 
 handle for some time, he at last wrenched open 
 the door. " They ought to have put the win- 
 dows up to protect you better. Let me bid you 
 welcome to Annesdale. I hope you will have a 
 merry Christmas with us. Did you ever spend 
 Christmas in the country before ? " 
 
 His voice and his smile were both very genial. 
 Katharine felt glad that her first welcome had 
 been from him, instead of from her formal host 
 ess. It seemed somehow to promise better, to be 
 a better omen of that merry Christmas which 
 everybody just then was wishing everybody else. 
 She answered him, as they went up the steps to- 
 gether, and, when they entered the door, the first 
 thing that met her eye was the greeting 
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS! 
 in enormous letters of evergreen fronting the en-
 
 76 
 
 MORTON EOUSE. 
 
 trance, and running along the gallery that was 
 part of the noble winding staircase which swept 
 round the large octagon hall. On every side of 
 this hall swung heavy garlands in which the deep 
 glossy green of a dozen different perennials con- 
 trasted with the crimson berries of the holly and 
 the glistening pearls of the mistletoe. Every 
 picture gazed from a frame elaborately decked ; 
 and the large chandelier that swung in mid-space 
 looked like a massive hanging basket, with its 
 many wreaths and long drooping sprays of ivy. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " said Katharine, standing 
 still to admire. " How very beautiful ! " 
 
 " Yes, it's pretty," said Mr. French, smiling. 
 " But wait until you see the drawing-rooms. The 
 hall was rather slighted this year, and Ah, 
 here's Mrs. Annesley." 
 
 He broke off thus, as a door on one side 
 opened, and two ladies came out One was a 
 young and tolerably pretty girl, who ran forward 
 and button-holed Mr. French without ceremony, 
 while Mrs. Annesley welcomed Katharine with 
 more cordiality than the latter had expected. 
 
 " Have you seen Spitfire ? Oh, Mr. French, 
 do tell me if you have seen Spitfire ? " cried the 
 first, in a tone of deep distress. 
 
 " My dear Miss Tresham, I am very glad to 
 welcome you to Annesdale," said Mrs. Annesley, 
 with pleasant courtesy. 
 
 " I am sure that some of your horrid hounds 
 have got hold of him ! " cried the anxious in- 
 quirer. 
 
 " I am afraid you were detained, and must 
 have found it cold,-' said Mrs. Annesley. 
 
 Katharine was rather confused between the 
 two ; but she managed to leave the Spitfire re- 
 plies to Mr. French, and assure Mrs. Annesley 
 that she had not been detained, that she was not 
 cold, and, that she hoped she had arrived in time 
 for dinner it having been understood that she 
 should dine at Annesdale on Christmas Eve. 
 
 u In very good time-," answered Mrs. Annes- 
 ley. " It has not been ten minutes since the 
 ladies went up-stairs to dress. These holiday 
 times the servants are entirely upset," she added, 
 " and, with all my efforts, I cannot get dinner be- 
 fore five o'clock. It is not so much fashion as 
 necessity which decides my hours. Will you go 
 to your room now ? Maggie, I suppose you will 
 come when yon find your dogt 1 * 
 
 " I am just going with Mr. French to look for 
 him," answered the young lady, to whom this 
 last question had been addressed. " I don't trust 
 a word these miserable servants say, Mrs. Annes- 
 ley Tbey all have a spite against Spitfire, and I 
 
 believe they would be glad to see those hateful 
 hounds worry him to death. I'll be up-stairs 
 when I find him, but not before." 
 
 She walked out of the front door, followed by 
 Mr. French, while Mrs. Annesley drew Katharine 
 toward the staircase. " This way, my dear," she 
 said, quietly. "That is Miss Lester," she went 
 on, as they mounted the steps together. " She is 
 a nice girl, but rather spoiled, and quite eccen- 
 tric. We can hardly wonder, though, for she is a 
 great heiress, and an only child, so here this 
 is your room." 
 
 It was a charming apartment, large and airy, 
 with deep, broad windows looking to the south, 
 two canopied and curtained beds, and richly- 
 carved rosewood furniture. A bright fire was 
 burning on the hearth, the toilet-table was glit- 
 tering with crystal essence-bottles and the like, 
 while two maids stood before it, one engaged in 
 holding and the other in plaiting a long braid of 
 rich, red hair. " This is Miss Tresham, Becky," 
 said Mrs. Annesley, addressing the former, who 
 at once dropped a deep courtesy. "Is every 
 thing in order ? " 
 
 " Yes'm," said Becky, staring with all her 
 might at the new-comer. 
 
 " Then, Miss Tresham, I trust you will be 
 comfortable, and I will leave you to your toilet. 
 I hope, by-the-way, you don't object to sharing 
 your room. The house is so crowded, that I am 
 obliged to quarter Miss Lester and yourself to- 
 gether, as you perceive. You don't mind it ? I 
 am so glad ; for many persons do, and in that 
 case a hostess is rather embarrassed. Dinner 
 at five. Becky, be sure you attend to Miss 
 Tresham well." 
 
 " Won't you take a seat, ma'am ? " said 
 Becky, wheeling a chair to the fire, after her 
 mistress had left the room. And, as Katharine 
 took the seat, she knelt down on the hearth-rug 
 and began unlacing her shoes. 
 
 " Never mind that," said Miss Tresham, smil- 
 ing. " Don't let me take you from your work." 
 
 " Mistiss told me I was to wait on you," said 
 Becky, looking up from the shoes. " That's my 
 business, ma'tim, as long as you stays here." 
 
 " Indeed ! I hope we shall get on well to- 
 gether, then. And does that girl wait on Miss 
 Lester ? " 
 
 " I belongsito Miss Lester," said the girl in- 
 dicated. " 1'se waited on her all my life. 
 Becky, where'd you put the curling-tongs?" 
 
 " You'll find 'em behind the looking-glass," 
 said Becky. Then she glanced up at Katharine, 
 and added, with a negro's honest admiration.
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS! 
 
 77 
 
 " You're the prettiest lady I've seen yet, 
 ma am." 
 
 "Hush!" said the pretty lady, laughing. 
 " You must not flatter me, or we shall not get 
 on at all. If you want to begin your duties, you 
 may take these keys and open my trunk. I must 
 dress as soon as I get warm." 
 
 Before the process of getting warm was fin- 
 ished, or the process of dressing had begun, the 
 door opened, and the young lady whom Katha- 
 rine had seen below entered the room, followed 
 by a shaggy little Scotch terrier, who inconti- 
 nently rushed at Miss Tresham, with a vicious 
 snarl. 
 
 " Spitfire, Spitfire ! behave yourself, sir ! " 
 cried his mistress, with a stamp of the foot, which 
 Spitfire minded about as much as if she had bade 
 him go on. " Don't be afraid of him," she said 
 to Katharine, as Spitfire danced round and 
 round, barking vehemently. " He is the best 
 fellow you ever saw, and he wouldn't bite you 
 for the world." 
 
 " I don't trust him, ma'am ! " cried Becky, 
 who had retreated into a corner and was valiant- 
 ly defending herself with Katharine's shoes, 
 while Spitfire, who had deserted Miss Tresham, 
 devoted his energies entirely to her. " Oh, 
 ma'am, please call him away ! Oh, Lord, he's 
 sure to bite me ! Get off, sir ! get off ! " 
 
 " Hush, you silly thing ! " cried Miss Lester, 
 with another stamp of her foot, which Becky 
 obeyed better than Spitfire had done. " Come 
 here to me, pet come here. Cynthy, catch him 
 and make him stop." 
 
 Cynthy put down the curling-tongs and made 
 a lunge at Spitfire, who rewarded her exertions 
 by turning his snapping and snarling against 
 her. Katharine fully expected to see the maid 
 badly bitten ; but it seemed that Spitfire's fury 
 was, after all, mere sound. He submitted to be 
 captured, and, with a last futile bark at Becky, 
 lay down on the hearth-rug and growled to him- 
 self. 
 
 " There, now ! are you not ashamed of your- 
 self?" said his mistress, addressing him in an 
 expostulating tone. " Don't you ever be foolish 
 enough to threaten him with any thing again," 
 added she, turning severely to Becky. " If you 
 do, he certainly will bite you ; for nothing makes 
 him so angry as to be threatened. Miss Tresh- 
 am, since we ar to be room-mates, we might as 
 well make friends. What do you think of Spit- 
 fire ? " 
 
 " I think he is very well named," said Kath- 
 uine, who had shared the panic. 
 
 
 " Cousin Tom named him," said the young 
 lady. " He thought it was an appropriate name, 
 and I kept it because it was unusual. In fact, 
 Spitfire is a very unusual dog." 
 
 " In ill-nature, do you mean ? " 
 
 " No, in sense. Look how intelligent his eyea 
 are I really believe he could talk if he chosa. 
 Then I IHce him all the better for his temper it 
 is such a contrast to those insipid poodles that 
 most girls fancy. I have a bull-dog at home 
 a great, splendid fellow, named Bulger but papa 
 would not let me bring him along." 
 
 Katharine mentally applauded " papa's " wis- 
 dom as she looked at Spitfire triumphantly estab- 
 lished on the hearth-rug, and thought that it 
 might have been her unlucky chance to have 
 been also domiciled with a great, splendid fellow 
 of a bull-dog. She soon found that her new ac- 
 quaintance was very pleasant and very easy to 
 get on with a little spoiled, perhaps, as Mrs. 
 Annesley had said, and decidedly a little eccen- 
 tric, but exceedingly unaffected and good-natured. 
 Contrasting her with many common specimens 
 of the genus, young lady, Katharine concluded 
 that she was fortunate in her companion ; and 
 she listened with amusement while Miss Lester's 
 tongue ran glibly on, now to the maid, now to 
 herself. 
 
 " Get out my purple silk, Cynthy, and the 
 ribbons to match. Did you quill the point lace 
 in the neck, as I told you ? A pair of satin 
 boots, while you are in the trunk. Miss Tresh- 
 am, did you ever spend Christmas at Annesdale 
 before ? No ? Then I am sure you will be de- 
 lighted every thing is so charming. For my 
 part, I am always glad to get away from home 
 at Christmas. The servants have holiday, you 
 know ; and there is so much trouble about get- 
 ting any thing done. They spend their whole 
 time dancing in the cabins ; and if you want the 
 fire made up, even, you have to ring half a dozen 
 times before anybody comes. I always go away 
 from home Christmas ; and, if I can, I always 
 come to Annesdale. Adela and I went to school 
 together. Don't you like her very much ? " 
 
 She stopped after this question, and Katharine 
 replied that she had not the pleasure of knowing 
 Mrs. French, at which Miss Lester's face ex- 
 pressed the liveliest surprise. 
 
 " Why, I thought she stayed in Lagrange ft 
 great deal. I don't live in Lagrange, you see. I 
 live in Apalatka. But you know Morton, don't 
 you ? and oh, isn't he nice ? " 
 
 " I know Mr. Annesley, and I think hin> very 
 pleasant."
 
 78 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "He'i delightful, that's what he is," said 
 HIM Lester, a little indignantly. " Cousin Tom 
 LangJon, and Godfrey Seymour, and Frank 
 French, and a dozen more, are 'pleasant,' but 
 Morton is simply delightful I could fall in love 
 with him," said the young lady, with startling 
 candor. 
 
 " Then, why don't you ? " asked Katharine, 
 who began to think that her new acquaintance 
 was more eccentric than she had at first sup- 
 posed. 
 
 " Because there would be no use in it," an- 
 swered the other, with a sigh of frank regret. 
 " Everybody has settled that he's to marry 
 Irene Vernon, and no doubt he will, after a 
 while. She's pretty enough, as far as that goes ; 
 but, dear me, looks are not every thing are they, 
 Spitfire ? Cynthy, come here and take down my 
 hair. I positively won't be dressed for dinner at 
 this rate." 
 
 With the efficient aid of Becky, Katharine's 
 toilet was soon completed, and, when the last 
 touches were given, fully deserved the enthu- 
 siastic compliments of the maid. . " You looks 
 as pretty as a picture, ma'am," said Becky, 
 smoothing down the dress of some soft, blue 
 fabric, that was cut in a style which really made 
 the girl resemble an old picture. 
 
 " If you only had your hair rolled up and 
 powdered, you'd look for all the world like my 
 great grandmother ! " cried Miss Lester, turning 
 round and much inconveniencing Cynthy, who 
 was busy fastening the body of the purple silk. 
 " Is that the first dinner-bell ? Good gracious, 
 Cynthy, make haste! Here, Becky, come and 
 help her. Miss Tresham, would you mind look- 
 Ing in the tray of that trunk and handing me my 
 jewelry-box f " 
 
 In the midst of the commotion which ensued, 
 t knock at the door passed quite unnoticed, and, 
 fler one or two vain repetitions, they all started 
 when it opened and Mrs. French appeared. 
 
 " Oh, Adda, you are just in time 1 " cried 
 Miss Lester, lifting up her hands. " I'm only 
 half dressed, and hurried almost to death. Do, 
 there's a dear 1 come and help Miss Tresham put 
 these ornaments in my hair." 
 
 " Indeed, I have not time, Maggie," said A de- 
 la, very coolly. " On the contrary, I have come 
 to carry off Miss Tresham. I knew that of 
 course you would not be ready, so I thought I 
 would pilot her down-stairs. I am Mrs. French. 
 You'll let me introduce myself, won't you ? " 
 she said, turning and offering her hand to Katha- 
 rine. 
 
 This was very pleasant; and in five minutes 
 Miss Lester was left to the tender mercies of 
 Cynthy and Becky, and Katharine was going 
 down-stairs in amicable companionship with 
 Mrs. French. She had time now to see the 
 grand scale on which Annesdale was built ; to 
 admire the hall paved in black and white maible, 
 and the staircase that swept round and round 
 until it ended in an observatory on the roof. 
 " It is very handsome," the governess thought to 
 herself; but she was of the Old World, and had 
 seen too many noble residences to be impressed 
 by the splendors of Annesdale. " On the whole, 
 I think I like Morton House better. It is not so 
 new." 
 
 " Our party is not very large," Mrs. French 
 was saying. " Not more than thirty people in 
 all, and more gentlemen than ladies. I always 
 like for them to be in the majority. This way, 
 Miss Tresham this is the drawing-room." 
 
 She opened the door, Katharine entered, and 
 for a minute was quite dazzled. It had been a 
 long time since she had mingled in society, and 
 even under ordinary circumstances this large, 
 richly-hued room, all ablaze with wax-lights and 
 full of well-dressed people, would have made a 
 startling contrast to the gray twilight that filled 
 the hall. Then, no amount of social usage can 
 make it a pleasant ordeal to face a number of 
 absolute strangers just at the time when they 
 have nothing to do and little to talk of, and so 
 are at leisure for criticisms and remarks more 
 agreeable to themselves than to the object there- 
 of. Katharine's courage sank down to zero, but 
 nobody would have imagined it. On the con- 
 trary, she looked so stately and self-possessed 
 so full of that rare, graceful ease which only the 
 highest social culture can give as she followed 
 Mrs. French across the room, that everybody 
 was immediately afflicted with an inordinate 
 curiosity to learn who she was. All of the 
 Lagrange people knew her by sight ; but most 
 of the present company were strangers in La- 
 grange ; and a sort of thrill of inquiry ran round 
 the room. " What a splendid-looking woman ! " 
 said the gentlemen. " Dear me, what an elegant 
 girl I " cried the ladies. " Who is she ? " both 
 parties demanded in a breath. 
 
 When it was known who she was, the inter- 
 est decidedly subsided. A governess who lived 
 in the family of Mr. Marks at Tallahoma, was by 
 no means a very important person in Lagrange 
 estimation, and after a short time the only feel- 
 ing that remained was one of curiosity to know 
 why she should have been invited to join the
 
 HE STOOD QUITE SILENT, WATCHING THE GRACEFUL FIGURE AND FAIR FACE. 
 
 CHAP. XV.
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS! 
 
 79 
 
 party. Thanks to Katharine's own prudence, 
 there had never been much gossip about Mr. An- 
 nesley's attentions ; and although some few peo- 
 ple shrugged their shoulders significantly, and 
 said that it would be as well to be civil, since 
 no one could tell how soon Mr. Marks's governess 
 might be transformed into the mistress of An- 
 nesdale, the majority passed the matter over as 
 a whim of their hostess, and thought no more of 
 it. 
 
 The young host was standing by the fire- 
 place, talking to Mrs. George Raynor, when a 
 gentleman near him said, " Who is that hand- 
 some girl who has just come in with your sister, 
 Annesley ? " And, turning quickly, he saw 
 Katharine. She did not see him, for to her 
 eyes the scene was one confused mingling of 
 light, and color, and strange faces. But she had 
 not been sitting down more than a minute when 
 a well-known voice said : 
 
 " Won't you speak to me, Miss Tresham, and 
 xet me tell you how glad I am to see you here ? " 
 
 She glanced quickly round, and the bright, 
 handsome face she knew so well was looking 
 down at her. With a smile, her hand went out 
 to meet his. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Annesley," she said. "Of 
 course, I know to whom I am indebted for being 
 here. You must believe that I am very much 
 obliged for the pleasure." 
 
 " You are mistaken," he answered. " You 
 need not think that I have any share in the 
 matter. I need not tell you that I am delighted, 
 that I am happy to see you at Annesdale, but 
 the pleasure became twice a pleasure when my 
 mother asked you, without the slightest knowl- 
 edge on my part." 
 
 Katharine opened her eyes a little ; and, if 
 it had been anybody but Annesley who spoke, 
 would certainly have doubted the assertion. 
 But, before she had time to reply, Mrs. French 
 broke in Mrs. French, whose ears were good, 
 and who had no such implicit reliance on Mor- 
 ton's promise as that which her mother had ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, is Morton asking you to help 
 us in our Christmas-Eve arrangements? He 
 said he thought perhaps you would." 
 
 " I said I was sure you would," said Mor- 
 ton. " Adela has arranged some tableaux and 
 music for the edification of our friends ; and I 
 felt sure you would aid, if need be." 
 
 "Morton describes very badly," said Mrs. 
 French. " Some tableaux and music are very in- 
 definite. In the first place, it is no tableaux at 
 
 all, but only a little scenic effect ; and, in the 
 second place, we have arranged the musical pro- 
 gramme, with the exception of one part. We 
 want a Christmas anthem solo. Will you sing 
 one for us ? " 
 
 " What sort of an anthem ? " 
 
 " Any that you can or will sing." 
 
 "Would the 'Gloria' from Mozart's Twelfth 
 Mass answer ? " 
 
 "It would be charming! Will you sing 
 that ? " 
 
 " With pleasure but no. I cannot. My 
 music is not here." 
 
 " I will send for it," said Morton, before his 
 sister could speak. " A messenger shall go in- 
 stantly." 
 
 He started up, and was about to leave the 
 room, when Katharine called him back. "I 
 must send a message to Mrs. Marks," she said. 
 " She would not know where to find the music 
 else. Please tell the servant to ask her to 
 look" 
 
 " Had you not better come to the library 
 and write a note ? It would be much more cer- 
 tain." 
 
 " Don't carry Miss Tresham off, Morton," said 
 his sister. " Dinner will be ready in a minute." 
 
 " I won't keep her a minute," he answered ; 
 and, without giving Katharine any option in the 
 matter, he drew her hand within his arm, and led 
 her from the room. The chandelier was lighted 
 by this time, and the hall looked brilliant in all 
 its guise of holly and mistletoe. To Katharine, 
 it suggested a large mystic temple ; and Miss 
 Lester, who was just then descending the stair- 
 ca.-e, might have passed for its priestess, in her 
 rich purple silk and pearl ornaments. She stared 
 a little, but Morton gave her no time to speak ; 
 he led his companion hastily forward, and opened 
 the library-door. 
 
 " You will find pen, ink, and paper, on that 
 table," he said. " I will go to find a messenger, 
 and be back for your note in a second." 
 
 Almost in a second he was back, and, closing 
 the door behind him, came and stood by the 
 table, while Katharine dashed off a few lines to 
 Mrs. Marks. 
 
 " Tell her to send all your music," he said. 
 That was the only suggestion he made. 
 
 He stood quite silent, watching the graceful 
 figure and fair face that made such a pretty pic- 
 ture, seated by the table with its shaded lamp, 
 and the dark book-lined walls behind. It looked 
 so home-like to see her there there under his 
 own roof, in his owe especial room that the
 
 MORTOX IIOUSK. 
 
 young man had hard work to keep his lips sealed. 
 But in that Tery spot he had promised his mother 
 not to speak without giving her warning, and he 
 would hold fast to that promise through any 
 temptation. When Katharine looked up, he was 
 gazing, not at her, but at the St. Cecilia over the 
 mantel-piece, and, when she extended her note, 
 he took it and put it into his pocket " I will de- 
 liver it to the messenger as soon as I have seen 
 you to the drawing-room," he said. " I had bet- 
 ter take you back at once, or Adela will be impa- 
 tient." 
 
 Katharine felt sure of this, and rose to go ; 
 but at the door he stopped stopped as if he 
 must say something, however little, before letting 
 her go. 
 
 " One word, Miss Tresham," he said, hurried- 
 ly. " Yon don't know how very, very happy it 
 makes me to see you here." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ST. CECILIA. 
 
 AFTER dinner, Miss Tresham was sitting alone 
 in a corner of the drawing-room. But let no one 
 suppose from this statement that she was feeling 
 snubbed or neglected, and, consequently, misan- 
 thropical or cynical, in even the least degree. 
 She had been taken in to dinner by Mr. Langdon 
 the "cousin Tom " of whom Miss Lester made 
 frequent mention and she had found him ex- 
 ceedingly pleasant, while he, for his part, had 
 been decidedly charmed. Nevertheless, after 
 dinner he drifted away ; but there were others 
 ready to fill his place, and if, instead of being 
 entertained, Miss Tresham was sitting alone, it 
 was as much a voluntary withdrawal on her part, 
 as any thing else. 
 
 In fact, the young governess soon found that 
 she was among, but not of, these people, who 
 laughed and talked in Mrs. Annesley's drawing- 
 room. They were all of the best school of breed- 
 ing, and, meeting her on neutral ground, they 
 never dreamed of showing that, under other cir- 
 cumstances, they would not have considered 
 her an equal. Vulgar incivility, and more vul- 
 gar patronage, were simply impossible to them ; 
 and when they accosted her there was no shade 
 of manner to show that it was a condescension 
 on their parts, and an honor on hers. But they 
 had their world, and *he had hers. They knew 
 each other, and each other's friends and affairs, 
 and bad a hundred topics in common ; while she 
 
 might have dropped from a cloud, or been trans. 
 ported from the Sandwich Islands, for all she 
 knew of these matters. One or two ladies had 
 tried to talk to her, but somehow there was not 
 much to be said on either side. Did she like 
 Lagrange ? had she lived there long ? did she 
 not think Annesdale a beautiful place? were 
 not the rooms prettily decorated ? Adela French 
 had exquisite taste, and had cut out all the let- 
 ters herself. Did Miss Tresham like German 
 text? 
 
 After some disjointed efforts of this descrip- 
 tion, it amused Katharine to hear the same per- 
 son turn to a group of her friends and launch 
 into conversation of the most animated kind. 
 She would grow eloquent on Laurie Singleton's 
 marriage, and who his wife was, and what her 
 grandfather's name had been, and in what de- 
 gree they were related to the Churchills, and how 
 Judge Churchill had sent the bride a diamond 
 necklace, and how elegant were the dresses, that 
 had been ordered direct from Paris. " After all, 
 it is no wonder that these people find it difficult 
 to talk to me," thought Katharine to herself. Aa 
 is generally the case, she got on better with the 
 gentlemen. Even the ordinary man inhabits a 
 less narrow and conventional world than the ordi- 
 nary woman, his very position as man giving him 
 a wider field of knowledge and a freer scope of 
 thought. Then, few men are not stirred into 
 conversational effort by a fair face and a pair of 
 bright eyes ; and, where two strangers of the 
 same sex would sit and stare at each other, two 
 strangers of different sexes will soon find topics 
 on which to grow sociable. " The governess is 
 really charming," Mr. Langdon had told his 
 friends ; and few of them felt disposed to doubt 
 the assertion. But still, they were engrossed with 
 pretty girls, whom they knew very well, and to 
 whom it was no effort to talk, and the charm- 
 ing governess, by degrees, wandered away into 
 the corner already mentioned. 
 
 There she sat, like the historic little Jack 
 Horner, with whom we are all acquainted ; but 
 lacking the Christmas pie with which that hero 
 solaced bis retreat. Instead, she opened a book 
 of engravings, and tried to appear interested in 
 its contents. A ripple of talk was sounding all 
 round her, a pretty dark-eyed girl was singing at 
 the piano, a glorious fire roared on the hearth, 
 the wax-lights burned with that steady lustre 
 which no brilliancy of gas will ever rival, the 
 pictures gazed, the mirrors gleamed ont of green. 
 wreathed frames, people came and went continu- 
 ally, and the whole bright scene was, to Katha-
 
 ST. CECILIA. 
 
 81 
 
 rtne, like a play a picture something scenic 
 and unreal, but yet very attractive. She liked it 
 better than her book, which was full of portraits 
 of dead-and-gone beauties as if the earth was 
 not as rich in loveliness now as ever, or as if any 
 one in his senses would give one face where life 
 still brightens the eye and colors the tints, for 
 all the cold silent beauty that ever mocked decay 
 on canvas. " There is no one here half as pretty 
 is Miss Vernon," thought Katharine; and, as 
 she thought it, Miss Vernon crossed the room, 
 and came up to her. 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts, Miss Tresham," 
 she said, smiling. " I have been watching you 
 for some time, and I am sure you were thinking 
 how foolish and frivolous we all are." 
 
 " On the contrary, I was thinking how pretty 
 you all look," answered Katharine, smiling in 
 turn. " Why should I think you foolish or friv- 
 olous ? It is only people of very superior wis- 
 dom who can afford to do that sort of thing, and, 
 for my part, I must confess I always rather 
 doubt their sincerity. You may be sure Dioge- 
 nes would never have been able to make a suc- 
 cess in society, or else he would not have taken 
 up his residence in a tub, or gone about with a 
 lantern searching for what he could easily have 
 found by God's own day-light." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so, for indeed I 
 think there is more good in the world even in 
 the fashionable world than cynics give it credit 
 for. We look too much at codes, and not enough 
 at individuals that is all." 
 
 " And we are too prone to judge hastily from 
 the outside, to decide from mere appearances," 
 said Katharine, making a personal application 
 of her truism, and thinking how little she had 
 expected to find this young beauty so full of the 
 frank, sweet grace of true womanhood. 
 
 " Adela tells me that you are going to sing a 
 Christmas anthem for us," said Miss Vernon, 
 changing the subject. " I am so glad, for I want 
 to hear your voice." 
 
 " I am afraid you will not hear very much." 
 
 " Will I not ? Then Mr. Annesley has cer- 
 tainly lost all sense of truth. If you will excuse 
 me, however, I will take the evidence of his 
 word until I have that of my own ear. When 
 will your music come ? " 
 
 ' Mr. Annesley sent for it before dinner, and 
 it ought to be here now." 
 
 " Surely yes since it is eight o'clock. But, 
 no doubt, the messenger went on into town, and 
 guns, and fire-crackers, and every description of 
 noise, reign there to-night. No creature is BO 
 
 young or so old, so careless or so indh/erent. as 
 not to remember and rejoice that this is Christ- 
 mas Eve." 
 
 " I know what it was last year," said Katha- 
 rine, with a slight shrug. " I never saw people 
 throw themselves with such abandon into rejoi- 
 cing. I like to see it ; yet I cannot help won- 
 dering how many have any remembrance of the 
 cause which draws it forth." 
 
 " If you mean devout remembrance thought 
 of Who came to-night, and why He came I am 
 afraid there are but few. But still, at least they 
 do not forget Him, and is it not better that Christ- 
 mas should be celebrated thus, than passed over 
 in cold silence ? " 
 
 " Oh, a thousand times better ! Don't mis- 
 take me enough to suppose that I think other- 
 wise. But I wish the two could be united." 
 
 " Yes, so do I," said Miss Vernon, slightly 
 sighing. 
 
 It was just at this moment that a servant en- 
 tered the room with a large parcel, which he took 
 to Mrs. French. She was talking eagerly, and 
 opened it without thinking whereupon a music- 
 portfolio tumbled out. 
 
 " Oh, it is Miss Tresham's music ! " cried 
 she ; and, while the gentlemen picked up the 
 scattered sheets that strewed the carpet, she 
 carried the half-emptied portfolio over to its 
 owner. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, your music is come," she 
 said, with a smile. " And you must really ex- 
 cuse me for opening it. I was not thinking, 
 and Guy handed it to me without saying a 
 word. Here is a note I have not opened that, 
 too. Do look and see if the ' Gloria ' is all 
 right." 
 
 While Katharine was looking for the " Glo- 
 ria," and failing to find it, Mr. Langdon came up 
 with several pieces of music in his hand, from 
 one of which he was humming a few bars. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, do you sing this ? " he cried. 
 " It is a lovely thing, and I have never found 
 any young lady who knew it. I heard Malibran 
 sing it when I was in Europe. Won't you sing 
 it for me now ? " 
 
 " Not if you heard Malibran sing it last, 
 Mr. Langdon. Mrs. French, the ' Gloria ' is not 
 here. It must " 
 
 " Here is some more music, Mrs. French," 
 said a gentleman, coming up. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Talcott. Miss Tresham, 
 here is the ' Gloria ' now. Miss Tresham, Mr. 
 Talcott. I introduce this gentleman partly be- 
 cause he is worth knowing, and partly because I
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ee from his face that he has something he wants 
 you to sing." 
 
 Mr. Talcott, who was young and rather dif- 
 fident, bowed and blushed. 
 
 " If Miss Tresham would not mind," he said. 
 "I see a song here a little ballad that my 
 mother used to sing, and that I would like to 
 hear." 
 
 "Your mother is not half so terrifying as 
 Malibran," said Miss Vernon, laughing. " I am 
 ure Miss Tresham won't refuse." 
 
 But Miss Tresham did refuse, or rather Mrs. 
 French refused for her. 
 
 " I won't hear of such a thing," said the lat- 
 ter. " Miss Tresham can sing for you all to- 
 morrow ; but to-night I don't want anybody to 
 hear her voice until he hears it at twelve o'clock. 
 Irene, will you come with me a minute. I 
 want to consult you about " 
 
 AY hat was not audible. 
 
 The two ladies walked away talking, while 
 the two gentlemen lingered to look over Miss 
 Tresham's music, and show her what they wanted 
 her to sing the next day. 
 
 Katharine had the rare art of being able to 
 make herself agreeable to several people at once ; 
 so neither of them felt de trap, and both of them 
 were so well entertained that they felt no incli- 
 nation to change their quarters.- In fact, they 
 remained so long, that a lady on the other side 
 of the room gave it as her decided opinion that 
 Miss Tresham was a flirt. 
 
 " Look how she keeps both those men pinned 
 to her side 1 " said this astute observer. " I 
 never saw a girl who wasn't a flirt succeed in 
 doing that. Of course, there's nothing in keep- 
 ing one man, for the poor creature may be in 
 such a position that he simply can't get away. 
 But, when there are two, either one of them can 
 go at any time, and, if they stay, it is certainly 
 because they are well entertained." 
 
 Hour after hour the night slipped away gay 
 talk, laughter, and music, made it speed fast, and 
 few of these heedless people remembered that, 
 while they jested, the minutes rolled on to the 
 verge of the great Feast of the Nativity. Katha- 
 rine alone thought of the mystical sacrifice which 
 all through this night circles the world, as, wher- 
 ever the ancient Church has planted her stand- 
 ard, the midnight-mass is offered, the altar blazes 
 with starry lights, the fragrant incense rises, the 
 glad voices break forth, and with their triumph- 
 ant strains echo those who sung, eighteen hun- 
 dred years ago, to the shepherds on the plains 
 9f Judea. She alone thought of the crowded 
 
 sanctuaries, and yearned to make one of th 
 happy multitudes who, like the Magi of old, bent 
 before their hidden Lord. But something whis- 
 pered " Peace ! " She stepped to one of the 
 windows, and drew back the curtains. The 
 night was clear starlight, and the great dome 
 of heaven seemed fairly quivering with radiance 
 fairly ablaze with the splendor of myriad con- 
 stellations set on a field of deepest steel-blue. In 
 the east, one great planet glowed like a lesser 
 moon. All the frosty night lay sparkling and 
 still before her, but she knew that, over yonder, 
 Tallahoma was ringing with merry uproar, and 
 that, beyond Tallahoma, towns, and cities, and 
 villages, echoed the same mirth. 
 
 As she turned her gaze to a hill on her left, 
 a broad red glow met her eyes the light from 
 the negro-cabins, in which was seen the shifting 
 of many forms, and from which, if the window 
 had been lifted, she could have heard the well- 
 loved sound of the fiddle and the banjo, and the 
 sound of dancing feet. And it was all because 
 of Bethlehem that for a short space the world 
 forgot its feverish strife, and lapsed into these 
 childlike pleasures 1 Christian heart, rejoice 
 and take hope ! Better to honor ignorantly than 
 not to honor at all, and, while you gaze forth sigh- 
 ing, wider and wider spreads the light of that star 
 which once shone above the Child of Nazareth. 
 
 While she was still at the window, and Mr. 
 Taleott still talked unheeded commonplaces, there 
 was a stir in the room which attracted her atten- 
 tion. The door opened, and a servant entered 
 carrying an enormous silver bowl filled with egg- 
 nog, made after a receipt which was the secret of 
 certain Southern households under the old regime. 
 Another followed with a salver, bearing glittering 
 goblets and baskets heaped with cake of every 
 order and degree. These refreshments were the 
 regulation " Christmas cheer," and thirty, twen- 
 ty, nay, ten years ago, Christmas Eve would 
 scarcely have seemed Christmas Eve if they had 
 been lacking. After the bowl was deposited in 
 state on the centre-table, the bearer turned and 
 addressed his young master, who was standing 
 by. 
 
 " The Kris-Kingles is out here, Mas'r Mor- 
 ton, and they heard as how some of the ladies 
 said they would like to see 'em." 
 
 "/said sot" cried Miss Lester, starting from 
 a sofa, where she had been tete-d-tete with an irre- 
 sistible-looking gentleman 'that is, a gentleman 
 who thought himself irresistible " /said so, Mr. 
 Annesley. Do let them come in ! I am so fond 
 of Kris-Kingles ! "
 
 ST. CECILIA. 
 
 " Certainly, Miss Maggie," said Morton, laugh- 
 ing. Then to the servant : " Tell them they may 
 come in, Victor." 
 
 Victor said " Yes, sir," and, apparently much 
 gratified, retired with his grinning associate. 
 
 After a short interval, which the company in 
 the drawing-room devoted to the egg-nog, there 
 was a shuffling of many feet outside the door, a 
 subdued tittering, a touch or two of the strings 
 of a banjo, then a chorus of voices broke into 
 the wild refrain of some negro-ditty, and, when 
 the door was thrown open, the redoubtable Kris- 
 Kingles the mingled terror and fascination of 
 every Southern child appeared drawn up in the 
 hall. 
 
 To Katharine alone it was a novel sight, the 
 fantastically-dressed and masked group in the 
 foreground, and the dusky faces, beaming with 
 pride and delight, that made a semicircle round 
 the wall, and peered in at the open door. 
 
 " What are they for ? what do they do ? " she 
 asked of Miss Lester, who chanced to be stand- 
 ing by her. 
 
 " Oh, don't you know about Kris-Kingles ? " 
 cried that young lady, with surprise. " Why, on 
 Christmas Eve some of the negroes always dress 
 up in this way, and go round to all the cabins, 
 and sometimes scare the others nearly to death. 
 I can remember when I was a child I used to be 
 awfully afraid of them. When they come in the 
 house this way, it is for Christmas-gifts. I wish 
 they could dance for you you would like to see 
 that. Mr. Annesley, would it hurt the floor very 
 much if they danced one dance for us ? Miss 
 Tresham never saw any Kris-Kingles before." 
 
 " It would not hurt it at all," said Morton. 
 " Boys, give us a dance before you go." 
 
 The " Kris-Kingles " were not at all bashful, 
 and needed no second invitation. In a minute, 
 the measure of the music changed, and, still ac- 
 companying it with their voices, they broke into 
 a wild, uncouth dance, impossible to imagine, 
 and equally impossible to describe. 
 
 " I don't wonder children are afraid of them," 
 thought Katharine, as she watched the hideous 
 pasteboard masks bending backward and for- 
 ward, the agile feet that kept such well-marked 
 time, and the fantastic figures threading in and 
 out of what seemed inextricable mazes. Some 
 of the steps were most remarkable, and various 
 double-shuffles and pigeon-wings elicited the 
 liveliest applause from the audience. But the 
 performance was soon over. 
 
 " Dat's 'nuff, boys," said the leader, coming 
 to a pause. " Don't let the white folks git tired 
 
 of you. Make your bes' bow now, and tell de 
 ladies and gentlemen you wishes 'em a merry 
 Christmas and a happy New-Year." 
 
 " Merry Christmas and happy New- Year to 
 you all ! " echoed the ladies and gentlemen afore- 
 said ; and most of them went out into the hall 
 to bestow that Christmas-gift which the Kris- 
 Kingles had delicately refrained from asking. 
 After this, the gay pageant filed out, and went 
 its way over the hill to the quarters, the united 
 voices swelling into fuller song as they receded, 
 and waking all the echoes of the silent night. 
 
 " It is eleven o'clock," said Mrs. French, as 
 she went back into the drawing-room, where Mrs. 
 Annesley and a few elderly ladies had the fire all 
 to themselves. " It is time to arrange our tableaux, 
 as Morton calls them. Irene, Maggie, Flora all 
 of you come ! " 
 
 Most of the young ladies rose at this sum- 
 mons, and left the room. The gentlemen fell 
 into knots, and talked principally to each other, 
 during the half-hour which followed. Morton 
 snatched a few minutes with Katharine ; but his 
 mother soon managed to call him away. At the 
 end of the half-hour, a messenger came from 
 Mrs. French for Miss Tresham. At a quarter to 
 twelve, a servant entered, and put out all the 
 lights. The hush of the next fifteen minutes was 
 very impressive. Such an idea had never entered 
 Adela French's head ; but to more than one pres- 
 ent unconsciously solemn thoughts came, and 
 this darkness seemed to typify the shadow which 
 rested over the world before the blessed light of 
 Christmas dawned. In the midst of profound 
 silence, the clocks began to strike twelve. At 
 the first stroke, the folding-doors which divided 
 the two drawing-rooms, and which had been 
 rigidly closed all evening, moved noiselessly 
 apart ; into the darkness flashed a dazzling 
 flood of light, a scene so brilliant that it almost 
 blinded the vision, and a chorus of silvery voices, 
 breaking into the " glad tidings of great joy." 
 
 Not being very well used to scenic effects, the 
 spectators held their breath in astonished admi- 
 ration. The room into which they gazed was 
 wreathed with garlands, and blazing with lights 
 until it lost its semblance of a room, and looked 
 rather like some enchanted palace. At the far- 
 ther end, an arch of green was thrown, and 
 above, in illuminated letters, ran the inscrip- 
 tion, "Unto you is born this day a Saviour." 
 Under the centre of this arch stood the Christ- 
 mas-tree, glittering from the lowest limb to the 
 highest summit with countless tapers and colored 
 lights. Behind was a stage, arranged in careful
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 perspective. Oa/.ing from the darkened room, 
 the lull glory of the abounding radiunce seemed 
 to centre here, giving au effect beyond descrip- 
 tion to the figures upon it. In the foreground 
 was an Oriental group the Judean shepherds, 
 as they watched their flocks while beyond and 
 around were slender forms clad in pure white, 
 whose Toices rose in one united chorus as they 
 ang an anthem exultant enough to tell the 
 world Who had entered it on that December 
 night. 
 
 As the chorus died away, the tones of a cabi- 
 net-organ fell on the car, and in the midst of a 
 hush, so deep that it could almost be felt, one 
 pure, liquid voice rose and soared aloft in the 
 eublime "Gloria" of Mozart. In all the great 
 world of tones, there is hardly a strain which, 
 for triumphant majesty and noble worship, can 
 equal this. There is scarcely more than an alloy 
 of earth and earth's supplication in it. We for- 
 get that we are still " poor banished children of 
 Eve," that we are yet " weeping and mourning in 
 this valley of tears ; " we catch the spirit of the 
 angelic hosts, and our hearts are borne upward 
 by the tones in which the master's genius and 
 devotion live forever. " Gloria in excelsis Deo ! " 
 sang the ineffable sweetness of that silver voice, 
 and few were so cold or so careless as not to 
 echo the cry. In the breathless silence, every 
 word of the grand old Latin was audible, and 
 every word stirred those listening hearts. How 
 full of glorious triumph rang the voice in the 
 44 Domine Deus ! Agnus Dei ! Filius Patris ! " 
 IIow it seemed smote with a sudden remem- 
 brance of humanity, a sudden yearning sense of 
 need in the " Qui tollis peccata mundi ! mise- 
 rere nobis ! " How grandly it rose again to 
 the very gates of heaven in the "Quoniam tu 
 solus Sanctus ! " and, after one great burst of 
 inspired praise, sunk at last into silence. 
 
 When the solo ended, people remembered 
 where they were, and, turning, stared at each 
 other. Who was it ? What voice had carried 
 them so far out of themselves, and out of the 
 world in which they lived the smooth, conven- 
 tional, easy world, in which Christmas was only 
 a pleasant occasion of friendly meeting and con- 
 vivial sport ? All these lights and wreaths, this 
 tableau arrangement, and chorus of pretty girls, 
 were a very agreeable entertainment to the eye ; 
 but here here was something which seized 
 them unawares, and, wrenching them out of 
 their ordinary life, made them realize what it 
 was they had net to celebrate, forcing upon 
 thoughts which to the common worldly 
 
 mind are any thing but agreeable. It was the 
 greatest proof of Katharine's triumph that her 
 earnestness had so far communicated itself to 
 them that they thought of her and her voice 
 only as a secondary consideration. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " they cried, when it was 
 over ; but they waited until it was over to do so 
 There was no time to say much, for the chorus 
 broke into the noble strains of Milton's " Hymn 
 on the Nativity," and the last verse was still 
 echoing when the folding-doors closed on the 
 scene. 
 
 The company found that, while they were en- 
 grossed, servants had entered and relighted the 
 candles ; so the drawing-room looked quite like 
 itself when they turned round only very, very 
 commonplace, after that glowing world of sight 
 and sound. Mrs. Annesley was immediately 
 overwhelmed with congratulations, and soon, to 
 her great annoyance, beset with inquiries, con- 
 cerning the singer of the " Gloria." Good Heav- 
 ens ! what a beautiful voice ! Was it really that 
 girl who is said to be a governess in Tallahoma ? 
 Where could she possibly have learned to sing 
 so divinely ? 
 
 " For all we know, she may have been an 
 opera-singer before she came to Laprange," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, striving hard to conceal her vexa- 
 tion, and to speak in a careless tone. " Adela 
 was very anxious to secure her voice, which is, 
 as you say, really beautiful ; so I asked her here. 
 But I should not like for any one to think that 
 she is a friend of ours." 
 
 " By George ! who would have thought the 
 pretty governess could sing like that ? " said Mr. 
 Langdon to Morton Annesley 
 
 To which Morton replied, stiffly enough, that 
 he always knew Miss Tresham had an exquisite 
 voice, for he had often heard her sing. 
 
 "It did not astonish me at all," he said. 
 " The pretty governess ! " he repeated to him- 
 self, as he walked ofl'. " And that is the way 
 they talk of her! I wonder how I shall ever 
 contrive to hold my tongue during this week 
 which is to come? " 
 
 When the folding - doors were once more 
 opened, and the company were bidden to ad- 
 mire and inspect the Christmas-tree, wbich was 
 loaded with gifts, Annesley went up to Katha- 
 rine and held otat his hand, without in the least 
 regarding the people standing near. 
 
 " Let me thank you for a pleasure which I 
 shall always remember," he said. " You have 
 given me my best Christmas-gift. I shall nevei 
 again think of St. Cecilia without thinking o/
 
 THE APPLE OF DISCORD. 
 
 85 
 
 yov. Don't Catholics always have a patron- 
 eaint ? She ought to be yours." 
 
 It was verging close upon two o'clock when 
 the party finally separated, and Katharine went 
 up to her chamber. On opening the door, she 
 found that Miss Lester had preceded her, and 
 was sitting on the hearth-rug, engaged in petting 
 and soothing Spitfire. 
 
 " Cynthy left him up here by himself all the 
 evening," said the young lady, indignantly, when 
 Miss Tresham appeared. " I can't imagine what 
 she meant by it. Of course, she knew that she 
 ought to have brought him down to the drawing- 
 room to me. The poor fellow can't bear to be 
 left alone. Miss Tresham, wasn't it all charm- 
 ing ? There's no place like Annesdale, I think. 
 The Christmas-tree was beautiful, and all the 
 presents so elegant ! Oh, dear ! " with a tre- 
 mendous yawn " I am terribly sleepy. I am 
 sure I shall not get up till dinner to-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE APPLE OF DISCORD. 
 
 Miss LESTER fulfilled her own prophecy, and 
 remained in bed the better part of the next 
 morning ; but Katharine rose at a reasonable 
 hour, and went below. As she paused at the 
 foot of the stairs, debating in her own mind 
 which one of the numerous doors around was 
 likely to lead into the breakfast-room, a step 
 sounded behind her, and a pleasant voice said : 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Tresham. Merry Christ- 
 mas to you ! " 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Vernon," answered 
 Katharine, turning to face the speaker, who 
 had come down the staircase in her rear, and 
 was close at hand. " Merry Christmas to you ! 
 Is it not a beautiful day ? " 
 
 " Delightful ! " said Miss Vernon. " Let us 
 go to the front door, and look at it." 
 
 To the front door they went, accordingly, and 
 met the full brilliance of the sparkling winter 
 morning the floods of dazzling sunshine, the 
 refraction of light from the gravel sweep, and 
 the frost-gemmed trees and shrubs that stood 
 out clearly in the transparent atmosphere. 
 
 " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth 
 peace to men of good will ! " sang Miss Vernon, 
 softly, as she stood and looked out, shading her 
 eyes with one hand, while the sunbeams turned 
 her hair to shining gold. 
 
 "I like your translation better than ours, 
 
 Miss Tresham ; and, oh, I wish you would teach 
 me to sing the Latin as you sang it last night ! 
 It seemed to me I never heard a language half so 
 beautiful. You don't pronounce it as our uni- 
 versity men do." 
 
 " No, indeed, I do not," said Katharine, 
 smiling. " I call their pronunciation barbar- 
 ous, and so does anybody who has ever heard 
 the other. I'll teach you the 'Gloria' with 
 pleasure, Miss Vernon." 
 
 " Thank you ; I shall remember the promise. 
 Do you know that, like Lord Byron, you have 
 waked up this morning and found yourself 
 famous as far as it is in the power of Annes- 
 dale to bestow fame ? " 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " Well, it is true, nevertheless. Everybody 
 is talking about your voice. Here come two of 
 your audience now. Ask them if it is not so." 
 
 Katharine, whom the sunlight was nearly 
 blinding, looked in the direction indicated, and 
 perceived two gentlemen advancing along a side- 
 path to the house. As they came near her, she 
 saw that one of them was Morton Annesley, and 
 the other a tall, stalwart, sunburnt person, who 
 had been presented to her on the preceding even- 
 ing as Mr. Seymour. Before she could answer 
 her companion, they came up the steps, and, all 
 smiling and slightly purple from the cold, were 
 making their Christmas greetings. They had 
 been to the stable to look at their horses ; had 
 found the morning charming, but rather cool ; 
 and were on their way back for breakfast had 
 the ladies been to breakfast ? 
 
 " Not yet," said Miss Vernon. " We will take 
 you in and give you some hot coffee as a reward 
 for your exertions. What can there be so inter- 
 esting in horses, I wonder, that men should go 
 out and stand in the cold for the pleasure of look- 
 ing at them ? Mr. Seymour, I heard those hounds 
 of yours making a terrible noise this morning. 
 When are you going on a fox-hunt ? " 
 
 " To-morrow morning at three o'clock, ac- 
 cording to our present arrangement," said Mr. 
 Seymour, smiling ; and to Katharine, standing 
 by, it was evident that this stout Nimrod was 
 like wax in Irene Vernon's dainty hands, and 
 before the glance of her sunny violet eyes. 
 
 " And may I go too ? Miss Tresham, did 
 you ever go fox-hunting ? It is the most delight- 
 ful thing in the world. Mr. Seymour, may I go 
 too ? " 
 
 " I am afraid it is impossible, Miss Irene." 
 
 " But why ? Don't I often go, when I'm 
 down in Apalatka ? "
 
 86 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Certainly you do. But it is different here. 
 This ia a rougher country, and we may have to 
 ride eight or ten miles before we start a fox at 
 least, Annesley says so." 
 
 " I think there is very little doubt of it," 
 aid Annesley. " Miss Irene, I am afraid there 
 is no hope of your going; but I am sure Sey- 
 mour will bring you the brush of the first fox 
 that dies, and you can hang it at the side of 
 your bridle. By-the-way," he added, turning 
 suddenly to Miss Tresham, "won't you try 
 Ilderim, now that you are here ? I should like 
 it very much, and, if you would like it too, there 
 is no possible reason to be urged against it." 
 
 " Mr. Annesley, I " here she broke down, 
 and laughed " I really think you ought not to 
 tempt me so. If I would like one thing more 
 than another, it would be to ride Ilderim." 
 
 " Then, for Heaven's sake, why do you hesi- 
 tate to do it ? " 
 
 " Don't be profane, and I will tell you after 
 a while. Now, we must go in to breakfast." 
 
 They went in, and found the breakfast-room 
 bright and cheery, and full of the sound of clat- 
 tering dishes and pleasant voices. It was on the 
 east side of the house, and the bright sunlight 
 was pouring across it in long lines of level light. 
 Half a dozen round tables took the place of one 
 long, solemn board, and at five, out of the six, 
 sociable groups were drinking their coffee and 
 eating their steak with healthy appetites. The 
 four who came in now took their seats at the 
 unoccupied table, and smiled and nodded in 
 answer to the greetings given from all sides. 
 Miss Vernon, in particular, came in for a large 
 hare of these. 
 
 " Irene, here are some oysters ! " cried one 
 young lady. " Do you know they came from 
 Mobile packed in ice, and Mr. French says they 
 were brought specially for you ? Take some ; 
 they are very good." 
 
 " You are very good," said Irene, looking at 
 Mr. French. " Is it possible they are fresh ? " 
 
 " Taste them, and see," said Morton, setting 
 a dish before her. " The cold weather stood 
 our friend. Miss Tresham, do you like oys- 
 ters?" 
 
 " Who does not like oysters, Mr. Annes- 
 ley r" 
 
 "A great many people here in the back- 
 woods, I assure you. Ask Mrs. Dargan over 
 there what she thinks of them." 
 
 " I think they are abominable, and not fit for 
 a Christian to look at," said Mrs. Dargan, with a 
 shudder. " I would just as soon eat frogs." 
 
 "There ia nothing better than a good fricas- 
 see of frogs," said Mr. Langdon, who prided 
 himself on being cosmopolitan in tastes and 
 .deas. " You are right, too, Mrs. Dargan 
 there ia something in the flavor not unlike oys- 
 ters." 
 
 " I said nothing about the flavor ! " cried 
 Mrs. Dargan. " Goodness, Mr. Langdon 1 you 
 don't suppose I ever tasted one of the things ? " 
 
 " If you went to France, my dear madam" 
 began Mr. Langdon. 
 
 " I should be afraid to open my mouth after 
 I got in the country, for fear I might be made to 
 eat some of their dreadful concoctions without 
 knowing it," interrupted the lady. 
 
 " Then let me advise you not to go to the 
 country, for a fasting-tour would be any thing 
 but pleasant. Annesley, my good fellow, what 
 is the best way to eat an oyster ? " 
 
 " Each to his taste," answered Annesley, with 
 a smite. 
 
 " Not by any means," said Mr. Langdon. 
 " The best way, in fact, the only civilized way, 
 is raw. In that case, they only need a little 
 pepper and salt." 
 
 In this vein the conversation flowed back 
 and forth trivial, but very easy and unre- 
 strained, and occasionally sparkling with a 
 touch of humor or pleasantry. Katharine liked 
 it, as she liked soft fabrics, and rich rooms, and 
 delicate perfumes ; for, alas ! Mr. Warwick was 
 right, and she was by nature cursed with that 
 sensitive appreciation of refinement and the ap- 
 pliances of refinement which makes life in the 
 lower grades of society nothing more nor less 
 than a positive torture. After a while, Mrs. An- 
 nesley came over and sat down by her. 
 
 "I suppose I must not include you, Miss 
 Tresham, in the parties made up for church this 
 morning ? " she said, by way of excuse for her 
 advent. 
 
 "No, I shall not go," answered Katharine, 
 who thought the question quite unnecessary. 
 
 " Fortunately should one say fortunately 
 about such a thing ? gentlemen are not very de- 
 vout," said the lady. " If they were, I hardly 
 know how all these good people would be con- 
 veyed to hear Mr. Norwood preach. Irene, I be- 
 lieve I heard you promise Morton that he should 
 drive you ? " * 
 
 " You heard me promise Mr. Seymour," said 
 Irene, who saw Mrs. Annesley's schemes fot 
 throwing Morton and herself together, and al- 
 ways quietly managed to defeat them. " He 
 asked me or, no, I believe I asked him ; but^
 
 THE APPLE OF DISCORD. 
 
 87 
 
 whichever it was, I am to have the pleasure of 
 going behind those beautiful grays of his." 
 
 " Miss Irene, you are utterly faithless," said 
 Morton, laughing. " I shall ask Mrs. Raynor to 
 console me for your desertion." 
 
 " She will tell you that George is afraid to 
 trust her with your horses." 
 
 " I shall not ask George auy thing about it. 
 Yonder she is now." 
 
 He rose hastily, and went up to Mrs. Raynor, 
 who entered the room at the moment. Mrs. An- 
 nesley watched him with a smile, then quietly 
 took the vacant seat by Katharine. She waa 
 very gracious, and talked so pleasantly that the 
 girl was half beguiled out of her unconscious 
 distrust and dislike. But she noticed even a 
 duller woman would have noticed how cleverly 
 her hostess contrived that, in leaving the break- 
 fast-room, she should be separated from Morton. 
 It was only what Katharine herself had intend- 
 ed ; but, notwithstanding this intention, she could 
 not help resenting Mrs. Annesley's interference. 
 However conscious we may be of our social draw- 
 backs, it is not pleasant to have the perception 
 of them thrust remorselessly upon us. More 
 annoyed than she would have thought possible 
 by such a trifling evidence of what she already 
 knew very well, Katharine went up-stairs ; and 
 while she was assisting at Miss Lester's toilet, 
 and cultivating Spitfire's acquaintance, her name, 
 if she had only known it, was the topic of con- 
 versation with two different groups below-stairs. 
 
 Most of the young ladies were engaged in 
 putting on their wrappings for the drive to 
 church ; but in the drawing-room a council of 
 elderly ladies was convened around the fire, and 
 Mrs. Annesley found herself courteously but de- 
 cidedly on trial. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Annesley, I can understand 
 why you wished to gratify Adela in bringing her 
 here," said one of the vigilance-committee; " but, 
 if I had been in your place, I really would have 
 thought twice about it. She is a dangerous girl 
 I can see that and with all these young 
 men " 
 
 " The young men can take care of them- 
 selves, I suppose," said Mrs. Annesley, smiling, 
 but in her heart feeling any thing but amused. 
 
 " Indeed, I think they are twice as foolish as 
 girls," said the first speaker, hastily. " You 
 hardly ever hear of girls acting as many of 
 them do. There was poor Harry Anderson he 
 married a governess, and she was so extravagant 
 that she nearly ruined him. He did not know 
 any thing about her family, either ; and I hear 
 
 that she had a whole set of disreputable rela- 
 tions who came and lived with him." 
 
 " A drunken father," said Mrs. Dargan, sol- 
 emnly. " Poor Harry at last had to order him 
 out of the house. Do you know any thing 
 about Miss Tresham's family, Mrs. Annesley ? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Dargau, how should I ? " 
 asked Mrs. Aunesley, becoming less and less 
 amused. " I don't vouch for Miss Tresham in 
 any way. I am civil to her because she is 
 under my own roof ; but she is here in well, I 
 may almost say in a professional capacity." 
 
 "We know that," said another lady the 
 mother of the Mr. Talcott who had been atten- 
 tive to Katharine the evening before. " But, 
 then, is it right to throw temptation in the way 
 of the young ? It seems to me that that is the 
 light in which to look at it. The girl is certain- 
 ly pretty, and, what with her looks and her sing- 
 ing, she might easily turn the heads of of some 
 of these young men. I am not thinking of my 
 own son," said the poor woman, who was think- 
 ing of nobody else ; " but there are plenty others 
 here, and and I can see that they find her very 
 attractive." 
 
 " She is an atrocious flirt, that is very clear," 
 said Mrs. Dargan, sharply. " I read her at once, 
 like a book ; and I really wonder, Mrs. Annesley, 
 that you did not see what efforts she has made 
 to attract your son." 
 
 " Morton paid her some attention at my re- 
 quest," said Mrs. Annesley, with her heart sink- 
 ing lower every minute. She carried it off very 
 bravely ; but really a terrible distrust seized upon 
 her. Had she really done mischief, after all ? In 
 the effort to bring Katharine fairly within the 
 scope of her power, had she thrown a firebrand 
 into her party, and made Morton's infatuation 
 the subject of the observation which it had hith- 
 erto escaped ? Almost all who deal in schemes 
 and stratagems, must sometimes know the dread 
 of having overreached their own end and, hav- 
 ing once known it, they must be aware that few 
 dreads are more terrible. " Good Heavens ! 
 what do they find in her so attractive ? " she 
 said at last, almost impatiently. " She seems 
 commonplace enough to me." 
 
 " Well, do you know, I think she is very 
 pleasant," said a mild voice from the sofa, where 
 the senior Mrs. Raynor sat a gentle, pensive 
 lady, all bundled up in a cashmere shawl. 
 " She is a pretty creature, and her manners aw 
 so nice. She talked to me for some time last 
 night, and I took quite a fancy to her. She told 
 me a great deal about the West Indies, and I
 
 88 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 think the climate would certainly suit me. If 
 George la able to leave home, I shall try it next 
 winter." 
 
 The other ladies exchanged significant glan- 
 oea. Mrs. Raynor could afford to take a fancy 
 to this girl, for both of Mrs. Raynor's sons were 
 afely tied in the bonds of matrimony, and there- 
 fore not in a position to make fools of them- 
 selves. While, as for them there was hardly 
 one of them who had not some young man, 
 some son, or nephew, or prospective son-in-law, 
 for whose safety of head and heart she was at 
 that moment quaking. 
 
 Meanwhile, the objects of all this solicitude, 
 the young men aforesaid, were smoking their 
 cigars in and around the front piazza, and, in 
 their free-and-easy fashion, canvassing the gov- 
 erness, who, to them, simply stood on her merits 
 as ft woman. It may be as well to state that 
 Morton was absent, for, if he had been present, 
 the conversation would certainly have received a 
 summary check. 
 
 " I believe I will send up and ask Miss Tresh- 
 am to go to church with me," said Mr. Langdon, 
 watching meditatively the elegant equipages 
 which, one after another, swept up before the 
 door. " My horses are not quite as fine as Sey- 
 mour's, and my buggy isn't half as new as An- 
 nesley's ; but, still, I think I'll ask her. Here, 
 Sam go up to Miss Tresham's room, and give 
 her my compliments Mr. Langdon's compli- 
 ments and say " 
 
 " You may spare yourself that trouble, Tom," 
 said Talcott, who was standing near. " Miss 
 Treaham isn't going to church." 
 
 " Did she tell you so ? " 
 
 "No; I didn't ask her but she told Mrs. 
 Annesley so. I'd have asked her myself, if it 
 hadn't been for that. But, then, I remembered 
 he is a Romanist, you know." 
 
 " How the deuce should I know ? " 
 
 " You might have heard her say so as I did. 
 t asked her something about that song last night, 
 nd she told me she was a Catholic. I suppose 
 that's how she came to know Latin. She must be 
 unazingly clever." 
 
 " She is certainly amazingly pretty," said Sey. 
 roour, laughing, while Langdon gravely smoked 
 his pipe, and regarded the horses. " My test 
 of beauty is, whether a woman will make any 
 showing by the side of Irene Vernon. I saw 
 Ihem both together this morning, and Miss 
 Treaham not only made a showing, but a *ery 
 good one. Who is she ? Where does she come 
 from, anyhow ? " 
 
 " You know Marks the man who is cashier 
 of the bank in Tallahoma ? " said George Ray- 
 nor. " Well, this girl is a teacher in his family. 
 He picked her up somewhere, and they do say " 
 here the speaker looked significantly myste- 
 rious " that one of our friends, not a thousand 
 miles away, is seriously smitten." 
 
 " Who ? Talcott ? " asked Langdon, looking 
 round. 
 
 " I smitten ! " cried Talcott, reddening up in 
 a minute. " Why, good Heavens ! I never 
 thought of such a thing. She's very nice ; and 
 I got on very well with her last night but I 
 don't see how you could say such a thing as 
 that, Raynor." 
 
 " There's something in a guilty conscience, 
 Fred," said Raynor, laughing. " I was not even 
 thinking of you. I was thinking of well, it 
 don't matter who. She it a pretty girl, there's 
 no doubt of that," added he, candidly. " Flora 
 tells me that Irene has taken quite a fancy to 
 her, and that is remarkable, for Irene doesn't 
 often take fancies especially to women." 
 
 " She is too nice for a governess," said an- 
 other smoker. " Talcott, you'd better go in for 
 the prize. She wouldn't cost you much trouble, 
 and that's a consideration." 
 
 " Stop that, Hal," said Seymour, gravely. " I 
 can't bear to hear a woman talked of in such a 
 strain. Governess or no governess, Miss Tresh- 
 am is a lady, and should be treated as one. Now, 
 I would sooner insult her to her face than behind 
 her back." 
 
 " Who thought about insulting her ! " de- 
 manded the other, flushing, and looking offended. 
 
 " You didn't, I suppose ; but it is a bad habit 
 to talk in th:it way, and, if I were you, I would 
 break myself of it." 
 
 What the recipient of this frank advice would 
 have replied, was a matter open to conjecture. 
 He frowned, and his answer would probably not 
 have been very amiable, if a group of brightly- 
 dressed girls had not at that moment come down 
 the staircase, and crossed the hall into the piazza. 
 
 Immediately all the bustle of departure be- 
 gan, and, before long, carriage after carriage 
 rolled out of the open gates, and down the 
 bright, sunlit road. Mrs. Annesley's was the 
 last to leave, and, when her foot was on the 
 step, she turned suddenly to one of the servants 
 standing near. 
 
 " To-day is mail-day," she said. " Has any- 
 body been to the post-office, Joe ? " 
 
 It was at once evident from Joe's face a 
 good deal blank, and a little foolish that such
 
 THE APPLE OF DISCORD 
 
 89 
 
 an idea as mail-day or post-office had never 
 entered his Christmas-beset mind. Holding his 
 cap between two fingers, he scratched his head 
 with the others, as he replied : " I don't b'lieve 
 anybody have thought about it, mistiss." 
 
 " Take a horse and go at once, then," said 
 his mistress. " Don't forget U now for I shall 
 expect to find the mail when I get back." 
 
 " I sha'n't forget it, ma'am." 
 
 And. as Mrs. Annesley drove off, she had the 
 satisfaction of seeing him take his way to the 
 stable with laudable haste. 
 
 An hour later Katharine was crossing the 
 hall, when a servant entered with a large and 
 well-filled mail-bag slung across his shoulder. 
 " Letters, ma'am ? " he said, touching his cap, as 
 if the announcement must necessarily interest 
 the young lady. But she shook her head with 
 a. smile. " I am not expecting any thing," she 
 said ; and with that was passing on, when, 
 through the open drawing-room door, Miss Les- 
 ter's voice sounded. 
 
 " Did I hear something about letters, Miss 
 Tresham ? Oh, yes, there they are. Would you 
 mind looking over them, and getting mine for 
 me ? I know mamma must have written, and 
 I hate to move Spitfire is so comfortable, that 
 I can't bear to disturb him." 
 
 To prevent Spitfire's being obliged to relin- 
 quish his position on his mistress's dress, Kath- 
 arine made the messenger empty the mail-bag 
 on a table near at hand, and began looking over 
 the different letters. There were some for al- 
 most everybody, and she soon found Miss Les- 
 ter's. As she was turning away with them, she 
 noticed that one missive had dropped to the 
 floor, where it lay face downward. Stooping to 
 pick it up, she saw that, although it was a large, 
 heavy letter, the address was to Mrs. Annesley 
 and, seeing this, she could not help looking at 
 it a little curiously. There could be no mistake 
 in the character, it was " business " all over, 
 from the seal to the very post-mark, and did 
 " not seem like Christmas," Katharine said to 
 herself. Such a letter should not be opened 
 until the great festival was over, she thought ; 
 but still she laid it on top of the pile, and, leav- 
 ing it with its great broad face upward, went 
 jnto the drawing-room to Miss Lester. 
 
 When the party came back from church, and 
 filled the house with the gay sound of their 
 voices, Morton chanced to be the first person 
 to go up to the hall table and examine the mail. 
 The large, double letter seemed to puzzle him 
 too. He took it up and looked at it, much as 
 
 Katharine had done, then laid it on one side as 
 if for further examination, and tossed over the 
 others. 
 
 "Here, Seymour Langdon Talcott," he 
 cried, " here are letters for all of you, and for 
 the ladies, too. Where have they all vanished 
 to? Miss Irene, don't you want to hear from 
 home ? Here are two letters with the Mobile 
 post-mark on them. Miss Alice, here is one for 
 you. Yes, Miss Mary, I am sure I saw your 
 name a minute ago." 
 
 He was soon surrounded by an eager group, 
 for it is surprising how everybody excepting, 
 perhaps, a jaded business man is excited by the 
 prospect of letters, how fond everybody is of re- 
 ceiving them, and how shamefully remiss about; 
 answering them. Those who had got letters, wer* 
 sitting on the chairs nearest around, reading 
 them, and those who had not, were standing 
 about, looking very discontented, when Mrs. An- 
 nesley entered and walked up to her son, who 
 was opening his own. 
 
 " Any thing for me, Morton ? " she asked, 
 as carelessly as possible. 
 
 Her son looked up with a start, and held the 
 large missive toward her. 
 
 " A letter from Burns," he said. " I wonder 
 what he is writing to you about ? He ought to 
 know that I don't like you to be troubled with 
 business matters." 
 
 " I wrote to him, and this is merely a reply," 
 Mrs. Annesley answered. " It is about my own 
 business, Morton you need not be afraid that I 
 will meddle in yours," she added, a little bit- 
 terly ; and before he could reply, she had taken 
 the letter and passed on up-stairs. 
 
 As soon as she was safely within her own 
 room, she tore open the sheet of paper that in 
 those days did duty for an envelope, and, with- 
 out glancing at the lawyer's letter, drew forth 
 the enclosure which it contained. She spread it 
 on the table before her, but her excitement was 
 so great that for a moment she could scarcely 
 see then a mist seemed suddenly to clear away, 
 and, though she still trembled with eagerness, 
 she was able to read the lines on which depended 
 so much. The letter was addressed to Mr. 
 Burns, by his agent in London, and ran thus : 
 
 " WM. F. BURNS, ESQ. 
 
 " DEAR SIR : In reply to your favor, I am en- 
 abled to say that I have called on Messrs. Rich 
 & Little, and found them quite ready to afford 
 me any information regarding U:. Henry St. 
 John. He is known to them as the friend and
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 secretary of one of their clients a wealthy 
 Scotch gentleman ; and, although they have 
 never done business on his own account, they 
 peak highly of him from personal acquaintance. 
 With regard to the lady, however, they were de- 
 cidedly reticent When I pressed my inquiries 
 on this score, I was checked very shortly, and 
 reminded that a matter of private business could 
 cot be discussed with any but the person or per- 
 sons immediately concerned, and that, if I wished 
 information about Miss Tresham, I had better 
 apply to Mr. St. John. I took the hint, and Mr. 
 St. John's address, and went to Scotland to see 
 him. When I reached the house to which I had 
 been directed, I found it closed and deserted. 
 The servants informed me that both the pro- 
 prietor and his secretary were absent, and, it 
 was supposed, had left the country. Being near 
 Cumberland, I then went to Donthorne Place, 
 and made my inquiries. Here I met with more 
 success. The lady whom I saw answered my 
 questions without any hesitation. Miss Tresham 
 had been in her family for a year, and had given 
 entire satisfaction. She had not been discharged, 
 but had resigned the situation of her own free- 
 will, and against the wishes of her employers. 
 The lady knew nothing of Miss Tresham's ante- 
 cedents, except that she was a West Indian, and 
 had come to her very well recommended. She 
 seemed much surprised when I asked her if she 
 knew any thing of her after her departure from 
 Cumberland, and replied at once in the negative. 
 From none of the servants or hangers-on about 
 the place could I obtain any more definite infor- 
 mation. Miss Tresham seems to have been very 
 well liked while she was in Cumberland, and to 
 have left a good name behind her when she went 
 away, but nobody considered her of sufficient 
 importance to inquire about or take interest in 
 after she passed out of their lives. 
 
 " 1 am very sorry that this information is so 
 meagre, and that I have not been able to give 
 you more satisfaction, but I have been stopped 
 at every turn first by the solicitors, then by 
 Mr. St. John's absence, and finally by the com- 
 plete manner in which all trace of Miss Tresham 
 had vanished from Donthorne Place. If you 
 wish any further inquiries prosecuted, let me 
 bear from you without loss of time. 
 " Respectfully, etc., 
 
 "T. W. WARD." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley read the letter to its end her 
 lips parted, and her breath coming more quickly, 
 with every minute, "When she finished she 
 
 stopped a second in blink astonishment, as it 
 were then let her face drop on her hands, while 
 something like a dry sob rose in her throat. 
 This was all ! She had steadily worked herself 
 into the belief that some terrible disclosure was 
 to reward her exertions, some disclosure that 
 would at once open Morton's eyes, and place 
 Katharine in her power; and now this cruel let- 
 ter came, and, after all the hope, all the expec 
 tation, left the mystery as complete as ever ! 
 Surely it was bitter ! Surely it was hard 1 She 
 paid no heed to the lawyer's letter lying unread 
 before her. She knew so well what he said, 
 that the mere thought of reading the curt, busi- 
 ness-like sentences filled her with disgust. For 
 a time she felt as if her whole plan, and, with 
 her plan, the whole tissue of her life, had suddenly 
 come to an end. If she could show him nothing 
 worse than this, Morton would marry the girl 
 and ther. 
 
 But she was not a woman to remain long in 
 such a mood as this". Soon she came to herself, 
 and the first proof which she gave of it was to 
 take up the lawyer's letter and read it. " I will 
 see what he has to say," she muttered. This was 
 what Mr. Burns had to say : 
 
 " DEAR MADAM : Herewith you will find en- 
 closed the letter from London of which I spoke 
 in my last. I am sorry to say that my agent has 
 not justified my opinion of him. The informa- 
 tion which he sends, any child, who had been 
 told to make the inquiries, could easily have ac- 
 quired. He tells us no more than we knew be- 
 fore, and does not throw a single ray of light on 
 Mr. St. John or Miss Tresham. I am very sorry, 
 and a little ashamed to think that at my age i 
 should have employed a man who could do no 
 better than this. 
 
 " You ask for my opinion of the matter. I 
 know too little yet to form or express an opinion, 
 but if you decide to prosecute your inquiries, 1 
 would advise you to do so through certain chan- 
 nels of secret inquiry which are now established 
 in all large cities, and employ agents so well 
 trained in the work, that for a consideration 
 and, generally, it must be confessed, a very large 
 consideration it is possible to learn any thing 
 about anybody. This mode would be expensive 
 but secure ; and if you wish to track the secret 
 down, in the shortest possible time, I would 
 counsel you to let Miss Tresham alone, and fol- 
 low Mr. St. John and his employer. It 'e evident 
 to me that there is some close connection be- 
 tween them, and what you desire to know. Ma>
 
 ST. JOHN. 
 
 91 
 
 not Mr. St. John be acting for his employer in 
 the matter ? I merely throw out the suggestion. 
 Trusting that you will let me hear from you on 
 the subject, I am, 
 
 " Yery respectfully, 
 
 " WM, F. BURNS." 
 
 "When Mrs. Annesley put down this letter, 
 she felt that her face was burning. It was the 
 cool proposition of the lawyer, the cool words, 
 " certain channels of secret inquiry," which had 
 suddenly showed her where she was standing, 
 and what she was doing. She said " Good 
 Heavens ! " all at once, as if she had received 
 an unexpected blow ; and then she was silent, 
 and tried to look the situation in the face. 
 
 She was a selfish woman, and a woman whose 
 whole heart was bound up in her children and 
 their interests bound up, no't with the tender 
 devotion that would make some women martyrs, 
 but with a steady force that would have sacri- 
 ficed all the rest of the world to them but she 
 was not at all the scheming intrigante of ro- 
 mance. If she proved merciless in the case of 
 her cousin, it was not so much from that desire 
 for Morton House which long indulgence had fos- 
 tered, as from the rankling dislike born of early 
 envy. With regard to these inquiries about Kath- 
 arine, she had begun them, and from the first 
 looked upon them as the purest matter of 
 duty. As she told Adela, she had made up 
 her mind that the girl was an unprincipled 
 adventuress, and she would have thought it 
 wrong to hesitate at any means which would 
 remove her from Morton's life. To-day, for the 
 first time, a feeling of dismay came over her. 
 What was she doing ? Was this indeed a thing 
 which no man or woman of even the merest 
 worldly honor should be guilty of ? She was 
 coolly advised to prosecute secret inquiries into 
 the private life of people she had never seen, 
 and the advice struck her with a sudden sense 
 of shame and humiliation. " It is for him for 
 Morton," she said, as she had often said before; 
 but somehow the words did not bring their usual 
 reassurance and consolation. 
 
 This, however, was not the time for consider- 
 ations like these. She remembered with a feeling 
 of impatience that it was Christmas Day, that 
 her house was full of guests, and that her own 
 place was down-stairs. She put the letters into 
 her secretary, and rang sharply for her maid. 
 But while she changed her dress, she was think- 
 ing of the great solemn dinner before her the 
 Christmas dinner par excellence, like which there 
 
 was no other throughout the entire year think 
 ing of Katharine, thinking of the expostulating 
 remarks she had heard that morning, thinking 
 also of the letters she had read, thinking of -the 
 entire failure of her scheme, and wishing that 
 she had not so uselessly thrown this apple of 
 discord into the midst of her well-ordered party, 
 but had left it in peace in Mr. Marks's garden. 
 
 " What on earth will come of it all ? " she 
 said to herself, as she slowly went down-stairs, 
 and the sound of Katharine's voice rose from the 
 back drawing-room, mingled with the rich, deep 
 tones of the organ. Mrs. Annesley knew what 
 sort of faces the ladies in the front drawing- 
 room were wearing, and she actually felt cow- 
 ardly about going down to meet them. It would 
 have been strange, and consoling, too, perhaps, 
 if she had only known that, when she laid down 
 her weapons, Fate took them up, and from that 
 time forth ceased not to fight for her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 As time went on, matters, from the ladies' 
 point of view, grew decidedly worse instead of 
 better. Perversely enough, the gentlemen per- 
 sisted in paying attention- to Miss Tresham, in 
 stoutly maintaining that she was pretty, and in 
 finding her very entertaining. No girl of the 
 party could gather a larger circle of admirers 
 round her, or keep them amused for a longer 
 space of time not even Irene Vernon, with all 
 her beauty. How Miss Tresham managed it, 
 nobody was able to explain ; but that she did 
 manage it was, to say the least, amply proved. 
 " She must necessarily suffer by a comparison 
 with Irene Vernon," Mrs. Annesley had said, 
 with profound confidence in her own assertion. 
 What words, then, can describe her dismay when 
 she found that there were others besides Morton 
 who had sufficiently bad taste to find a charm in 
 those gray eyes and that pretty mouth, which 
 Irene Vernon's regular features lacked ? 
 
 " There is no use denying the fact," Miss Les- 
 ter said, with a little play of the eyebrows, pecu- 
 liar to herself, " Miss Tresham throws us all in 
 the shade ; and for my part I should like to know 
 how she does it." 
 
 Mrs. French, to whom this speech was made, 
 shrugged her shoulders with considerable impa- 
 tience. 
 
 " She dees it simply on the strength of being
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 something new," she answered. " Men are such 
 fools about a new face They talk of the fickle- 
 ness of women, when the fact is, that they would 
 grow tired of Venus herself." 
 
 \\~heiher or not this was a correct solution 
 of the mutter, it was at least certain that Miss 
 Tresham made a sensation a sensation not to 
 be doubted, and which took herself as much by 
 surprise as it could possibly have taken anybody 
 else. She enjoyed it, and entered into it with 
 great zest. As she had told Mrs. Gordon she 
 was fond of pleasure, and here was pleasure of 
 the best kind, mingled with that elixir of ad- 
 miration which is the sweetest draught that can 
 be put to the lips of youth. Mrs. Marks would 
 hardly have recognized her quiet governess in 
 the bright, handsome girl who laughed, and 
 talked, and sang at Annesdale, and who, all of 
 a sudden, developed a power of attraction that 
 quite carried the young men out of their senses. 
 The young ladies were piqued and puzzled, but 
 they managed to console themselves with their 
 own sworn admirers ; while the elders looked 
 on in amazement and indignation, too deep for 
 words. Poor Katharine ! If they had only 
 known it, they need not have grudged her this 
 short holiday of natural, youthful enjoyment. 
 Even while her heart was lightest and her spir- 
 its at their best, a sudden dark cloud arose, and 
 the sunshine went out of her sky for many a 
 long day. 
 
 Rapidly and pleasantly the time flew by. 
 Anybody who has ever been in a country-house 
 of this description, knows how rapidly and how 
 pleasantly time can fly on such occasions, yet 
 how impossible it is to give any exact descrip- 
 tion of the enjoyment that helps its flight. Peo- 
 ple, as it seems, are doing a dozen things at 
 once, and they all go to muke up an harmonious 
 whole. There are flirting couples behind the 
 curtains of the bay-windows, in the shady re- 
 eesses of the library, in the hall, on the piazzas, 
 walking over the grounds in fact, flirting is the 
 chief amusement and grand order of the day. 
 Then, there are groups around the piano, and 
 small card-tables, and billiard-players, and peo- 
 ple continually driving up in carriages, and riding 
 off on horseback ; and servants coming and go- 
 ing, and dogs everywhere, and a perfect tide of 
 life flowing here and there, and centring every 
 day around the dinner-table. Usually in the 
 morning, about three or four o'clock, there was 
 an uproar of hounds, and horns, and horses, 
 that roused every sleeper in the house, when all 
 tbe gentlemen, with the exception of one or two 
 
 who were considered hopeless sybarites, went 
 fox-hunting dropping in again, about mid-day, 
 either flushed with success or dispirited by fail- 
 ure, but in either case quite ready to take up 
 their respective flirtations just at the point 
 where they had been left off. 
 
 On such a morning as this a morning when 
 the hunters were out and had not yet returned, 
 and the ladies were wandering about aimlessly 
 or yawning in each other's faces Katharine sat 
 by one of the drawing-room windows trifling 
 over some needlework, when Irene Vernon came 
 up to her. 
 
 " Are you busy ? " asked the young lady, ab- 
 ruptly. " If you don't mind leaving that work, 
 suppose we take a walk ? It is a lovely 
 day." 
 
 Katharine did not mind leaving the work at 
 all ; so she put it down, got her bonnet and 
 shawl, and in a few minutes was walking by Miss 
 Vernon's side out of the front door. They went 
 down the piazza steps together and turned into a 
 path to the right, that, winding down among the 
 shrubbery, soon led them out of sight of the 
 house. Irene gave a sigh of relief when the last 
 glimpse of the chimneys was shut out, and they 
 had a wall of green on one side, and a fair out- 
 look of rolling country on the other. 
 
 " I am so glad, to get away," she said, frank- 
 ly. " I lose all patience with those girls ; they 
 don't seem to have an idea what to do with them- 
 selves when the gentlemen are absent. They 
 mope about, and are ennuyees and stupid to the 
 last degree, and all because they are thrown on 
 their own resources for a few hours. It is disgust- 
 ing ! " said the young lady, with an expression 
 of face that quite suited her words. " It is 
 really enough to make one ashamed of being a 
 woman ! " 
 
 " It is natural, I suppose," said Katharine. 
 
 " Why should it be natural ? " retorted Miss 
 Vernon, indignantly. " It is not natural at all 
 it is the way they are taught and trained. Men 
 are not so," she went on, with an impatience 
 that amused her listener. " You never hear of 
 their pining and moping because there are no 
 women about. They like each other's society a 
 great deal the best ; and they always take it 
 when they can get it. It is only women who are 
 so absurdly artd disgustingly dependent who 
 can find no zest or amusement whatever in the 
 society of other women. Heaven only knows 
 why ! I am sure I would rather be talking to 
 you than to any man of all the party." 
 
 " Thank you," eaid Katharine, smiling. Then
 
 ST. JOHN. 
 
 93 
 
 lie added, archly, " Won't you even make an 
 exception in favor of Mr. Seymour ? " 
 
 " Why should I ? " asked the young lady, 
 carelessly. " He is a good fellow dear, old 
 Godfrey ! and I have known him all my life ; 
 but, excepting for that, he is no more to me than 
 any other man. Is there anybody you would 
 prefer as a companion ? " 
 
 " Nobody at all," answered Katharine, still 
 smiling. " Indeed, I should be at a loss to think 
 of anybody, unless I chose Mr. Langdon, or Mr. 
 Talcott, or that very singular Mr. Hallam, who 
 makes me afraid he is going to snap my head off 
 every time he begins to talk." 
 
 " Or Morton Annesley," said her companion. 
 
 Katharine started, and gave a keen glance at 
 the face beside her, but failed to read atoy thing 
 there. Miss Vernon was walking along tearing 
 a geranium-leaf to pieces, and did not even raise 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I don't know why I should make an excep- 
 tion of Mr. Annesley," said Miss Tresham, a little 
 distantly. 
 
 " I thought he was a friend of yours," an- 
 swered Miss Vernon. " If I had a friend, I 
 would not speak of him in such a tone as that." 
 
 " If you had a friend ! " repeated Katharine, 
 a little surprised. " Have you no friend, then ? " 
 
 " Of my own making, independently of family 
 liking and hereditary connection, and all that 
 sort of thing ? Not one. All my life I have 
 wished that I might stand on my own merits and 
 see if I could gain a friend who would like me 
 for myself. But I have never done so, and, in- 
 deed, it would be quite useless, for, if I cannot 
 attract people with so many aids to win their re- 
 gard, what would I do without these aids ? I 
 should be simply hated that is all." 
 
 " You are one of the last persons in the 
 world I could possibly have expected to hear 
 talk in this way." 
 
 " Because I am pretty and rich ? Neither 
 of those facts make me less unamiable or less 
 unpopular. Not that I care for the unpopular- 
 ity, but I should like to have one or two friends, 
 and I have none." 
 
 She made the statement in a quiet, decided 
 tone, and Katharine was astonished, and puzzled, 
 and sorry all at once. 
 
 " Miss Vernon," she said, " I am sure you do 
 many people great injustice." 
 
 " Of course I am not talking of my own fam- 
 ily," said Miss Vernon, " They are fond of me, 
 as one will be fond of one's own flesh and blood, 
 'et it be ever so disagreeable. And I am very 
 7 
 
 disagreeable," she added, looking the young gov- 
 erness straight in the face. 
 
 " I have really been considering you very 
 charming," said the other, trying to preserve an 
 appearance of gravity. 
 
 " Then you are the first woman who ever did 
 so," answered her companion. " The most of 
 them think me detestable, and, indeed, I don : t 
 wonder my temper is so easily upset, and my 
 tongue is so sharp. I try to keep it under con- 
 trol, but somehow I can't. I don't ever hear you 
 make ill-natured remarks, Miss Tresham ; and 
 yet you are not silly either. How do you man- 
 age it ? " 
 
 " I don't know that I often feel inclined to 
 make ill-natured remarks ; but, when I do, 1 
 don't give way to the inclination." 
 
 " And I always give way. Then, people 
 think, ' How hateful she is ! ' and, honestly 
 speaking, I don't blame them. As for my ad- 
 mirers, some of them like me for my face, and 
 some for my fortune ; but, if I were to try for- 
 ever, I could not secure half as much genuine 
 admiration as you have obtained, without trying, 
 during the last few days." 
 
 " Miss Vernon, you do yourself as much in- 
 justice as you do other people. You are clever, 
 and frank, and unaffected what more could a 
 woman wish to be ? " 
 
 " I am sharp, and haughty, and ill-natured," 
 said Miss Vernon, summing up her bad qualities 
 with an utter disregard of this attempt at con- 
 solation. " If you knew me long enough, you 
 would be repelled like everybody else. I really 
 believe Godfrey Seymour is the only person who 
 knows all my faults and likes me in spite of 
 them ; while I like him poor, dear fellow ! as 
 if as if he was a great Newfoundland dog." 
 
 " No better ? " 
 
 " Not a bit better." 
 
 She spoke decidedly, and Miss Tresham could 
 not help feeling a little sorry for the gentleman 
 who was liked in this canine fashion. " He de- 
 serves something better," she thought ; but it 
 was none of her business to say so, and they 
 walked on silently, the bright winter day lying in 
 still beauty all around them, birds singing over 
 their heads, and a faint, purple mist softening 
 the distant hills like a harbinger of spring. 
 Again it was Miss Vernon who spoke first, and 
 spoke abruptly : 
 
 " Miss Tresham, do you know it is a plan of 
 our respective relations to marry Morton Annes- 
 ley and myself to each other ? " 
 
 " I " Katharine was quite taken aback bj
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 this unexpected question. " Yes, I have beard 
 something of the kind." 
 
 " A nice idea, isn't it ? " said the young lady, 
 with a smile that was rather too bright to be 
 natural. " I don't think I ever heard any thing 
 more absurd. Frank French is my cousin, you 
 know, and so Adela and Flora took it into their 
 wise heads that Morton and I would make a good 
 match, without any regard to the trifling fact that 
 neither of us ever had any fancy any special 
 fancy, that is for the other. Of course, he 
 was repelled by my temper, as everybody is, 
 while I well, I never thought of him at all. I 
 should have been a fool if I had, considering 
 that he never was more than civil to me. He is 
 a charming gentleman, though," she said, look- 
 ing at Katharine, " and any woman whom he 
 loved would do well to marry him." 
 
 They were almost the same words that Mrs. 
 Gordon had spoken, little more than a week be- 
 fore, nnd, hearing them thus the second time, 
 they filled Katharine with a sudden sense of sur- 
 prise and amusement, which it is impossible to 
 describe. She understood perfectly what assur- 
 ance it was that Miss Vernon wished to convey 
 to her, and the humor of the situation overpow- 
 ered for the moment every other consideration. 
 It was strange enough that his own cousin, a 
 woman steeped to the lips in the traditions 
 of her class and the pride of blood, should have 
 advised her to marry Morton ; but for this young 
 beauty, this girl, who, according to the vulgar 
 melodramatic idea, should have been her " ri- 
 val," to echo such advice ! A comic vision of 
 Mr*. Anncsley's horror rose before Katharine, 
 and almost made her laugh. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," she answered, as 
 quietly as she had answered Mrs. Gordon. " The 
 woman whom he loved, and who loved him, 
 would do well to marry Mr. Annesley. But how 
 b this ? We have come round to the gates." 
 
 " By a longer route than the carriage-drive, 
 bnt one just as sure," said Miss Vernon, smiling. 
 " See 1 there is some one coming in. Shall we 
 turn and go back the way we came ? " 
 
 Before Katharine could reply, Spitfire, who 
 had lately taken quite a fancy to her, and had 
 condescended yto follow her out, made a wild 
 rush at the figure just entering the gate, barking 
 with a degree of fury almost incomprehensible, 
 considering the size of the body from which the 
 ound proceeded. Notwithstanding his insigni- 
 Bcant appearance, he quite startled and over- 
 powered the new-comer. This person a tall, 
 lender, well-dressed man backed against the 
 
 gate, and began kicking at his assailant with 
 one foot, which proceeding, of course, irritated 
 Spitfire to the extreme of canine wrath. 
 
 "Call him off! call him off!" cried Miss 
 Vernon to Katharine. " He will bite the man, 
 or the man will hurt him, and that would make 
 Maggie furious, you know. Do call him off ! " 
 
 Katharine called and called again ; but Spit- 
 fire, who did not obey his mistress, was certainly 
 not likely to obey her. He danced round the 
 stranger like a dog that was possessed, and gave 
 no sign of heeding. So Katharine went forward 
 and addressed the other combatant, who kicked 
 quite as furiously as Spitfire barked. 
 
 " Pray don't do that ! " she cried. " He 
 won't bite, I assure you, and " 
 
 She stopped short. Miss Vernon, standing 
 at a little distance, looking on, saw her suddenly 
 put her hands to her face, and utter a low cry. 
 The kicker dropped his foot, and, disregarding 
 Spitfire, made a quick step forward. 
 
 " Katharine ! " he said, eagerly " my dear 
 Katharine ! " 
 
 But at the sound of his voice the girl raised 
 her face, all white and drawn, and held out her 
 hands, not to welcome, but to keep him back. 
 
 "You ! " she said, hoarsely ; " you ! " 
 
 " Yes, I," he said, so much the more self- 
 possessed of the two that it was evident this 
 meeting was not entirely unexpected on his part. 
 " I thought you would not be unprepared. I 
 wrote to you not long ago. Did you not receive 
 my letter ? " 
 
 She made an effort to speak before she suc- 
 ceeded ; then, with a sort of dry gasp, the words 
 were articulated 
 
 " Yes, I received it ; but I thought I hoped 
 that is, I was fool enough to think to hope 
 that you might care for me sufficiently to leave 
 me alone.'' 
 
 " To leave you alone, my dear Katharine ? " 
 His face expressed the liveliest surprise. " Am 
 I not your natural protector, your " 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, so fiercely that he abso- 
 lutely started back. " Let me hear none of that 
 cant ! What do you want with me, now that you 
 have come ? " 
 
 " I must see and speak to yon," he said, a 
 little sulkily. "Will you take me to the 
 house ? " 
 
 " To the house ? to be asked who and what 
 you are ? My God, no ! Wait here a moment ; 
 I will speak " 
 
 She left him, and hastily followed Miss Ver- 
 who, with well-bred consideration, had
 
 ST. JOHN. 
 
 95 
 
 walked out of ear-shot of the conversation. 
 Hearing Katharine's step behind her, she paused 
 and turned. 
 
 " So you found an acquaintance, Miss Tresh- 
 am ? " she began, with a smile, when the terri- 
 ble pallor of the girl's face startled her. " Good 
 Heavens ! what is the matter ? " she cried, in 
 sudden alarm. 
 
 " Nothing nothing," answered Katharine* 
 striving to force a smile that only made her look 
 more ghastly ; " only I I am obliged to ask you 
 to return to the house without me. This gentle- 
 man is an an acquaintance of mine, and I must 
 stop to speak to him. You will excuse me, I 
 am sure." 
 
 " Certainly I will excuse you," said Miss Ver- 
 non, trying hard to keep her surprise out of her 
 voice. " But, if you will pardon me, had you 
 not better take your friend to the house ? I am 
 sure Mrs. Annesley " 
 
 " I cannot do that," said Katharine, nervous- 
 ly. " I could not think of taking such a lib- 
 erty. Then, no privacy is possible in the house, 
 and I must see this gentleman privately. My 
 dear Miss Vernon, if you will only be kind 
 enough not to say any thing " 
 
 " Of course, I shall not say any thing," inter- 
 rupted Miss Vernon, hastily. 
 
 Then she called Spitfire, and, without a sin- 
 gle backward glance, disappeared down the 
 path. 
 
 When the last flutter of her dress vanished 
 from sight, Katharine turned and beckoned to 
 the man, who was still standing where she had 
 left him. He obeyed the signal with alacrity ; 
 and, as he walked quickly forward, she moved 
 on in front of him, and did not pause until she 
 had reached the most secluded part of the 
 grounds a deep, bosky dell, where a little 
 brook ran, and where they were entirely safe 
 from observation. There she turned and faced 
 him white, but by this time composed and 
 rigidly braced, as it seemed, for any thing. 
 
 " Well," she said, with icy coldness, " what 
 is it ? " 
 
 " By Jove ! my dear Katharine, your Amer- 
 ican sojourn seems to have improved the warmth 
 of your affections," said her companion, with 
 a smile. " Is this the only greeting you have 
 for me me, who have come so far to see 
 you ? " 
 
 " St. John," she cried, passionately, " let me 
 hear no more of this ! I cannot, will not, bear 
 it ! You have already worked me all the harm 
 ihat it is in the power of one person to inflict 
 
 upon another, ^ou are here now, in defiance of 
 your most solemn obligations, to injure me fur- 
 ther , and yet and yet you dare to talk like 
 this ! For Heaven-s sake, let me Lear no more 
 of it ! " 
 
 " That is just as you please," said he, with 
 a relapse into suikmess. 
 
 Nothing was said after this for several rnin 
 utes. The two figures stood silently facing each 
 other the leafless trees and dark evergreeus all 
 around them, and the limpid stream flowing at 
 their feet. Katharine's bright winter costume 
 made a beautiful " bit " of color on the some- 
 what somore landscape her companion being, 
 in appearance at least, less interesting. Yet he 
 was not an ill-looking man ; on the contrary, 
 many people would have called him handsome, 
 and been justified in doing so. He was, in age, 
 somewnere between twenty-five and thirty cer- 
 tainly not younger than the one or older than 
 the otner he had a slender, elegant figure, 
 and a ciark, well-modelled face a face with a 
 good complexion, dark eyes, thin lips, and a 
 paintmly-narrow forehead. The man was not a 
 sensualist no man with that mouth could have 
 been but a physiognomist, looking at him, 
 would have said that he was selfish and unscru- 
 pulous, and in so saying would not have gone 
 very far wide of the truth. It was Katharine 
 who spoke first. 
 
 " You asked me if I received your letter. 
 Did you get my reply ? " 
 
 " It was impossible for me to have done so," 
 he answered. " I left England immediately after 
 writing that letter. Was there any thing of im- 
 portance in yours ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she answered, drearily. " I asked 
 you to let me alone that was all, I might have 
 known how useless that was I might have 
 known that you never did, nor ever will consider 
 any one but yourself. How did you find out 
 where I was ? " she added, turning upon him 
 suddenly. "You gave me no explanation of 
 that, and I don't understand how it was." 
 
 " There are a great many things you don't 
 understand, my dear Katharine," said he, in a 
 patronizing tone. " This must remain one of 
 them. I found out where you were just as I 
 should find it out if you were foolish enough to 
 go and bury yourself and all your fine talents in 
 the South Sea Islands. I have ways and means 
 believe me it is useless to attempt to hide 
 from me. I thought I should never reach this 
 place," he went on, with a shrug of the shoul- 
 ders, " and when I at last arrived, and thought
 
 96 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 all my difficulties were over, I went to the wom- 
 an with whom you live, and she told me " 
 
 " What ! " cried Katharine, starting. " You 
 hare seen Mrs. Marks ? " 
 
 "Certainly I have," answered he, coolly, 
 " and a dozen or so children, besides. It was 
 he who told me you were here. Did you think 
 I found it out by instinct ? " 
 
 " And what did you tell her to account for 
 your inquiries?" asked Katharine, almost wring- 
 ing her hands. " Oh, St. John, you surely have 
 not told her" 
 
 " Nothing at all," said he, roughly. " Don't 
 make a fool of yourself I Am I the devil, or do 
 I look like him, that you should be so afraid of 
 claiming connection with me ? I told the woman 
 she looks like a respectable cook, by-the-way 
 that I was a friend of yours, from England. 
 She was evidently very curious, but I thought 
 that was enough for her." 
 
 " And what am I to tell her when I go back, 
 and she speaks of you, as she is sure to do ? " 
 
 " Tell her that I am your brother." 
 
 " I will not," cried she, indignantly. 
 
 " Well, whatever lie may be convenient, then. 
 I am ready to play any part. We might com- 
 promise on uncle, since you object to brother, 
 for I am afraid I am rather young to attempt the 
 rtie of father." 
 
 " St. John, be serious," she cried, with some- 
 thing like a sob in her throat. " Don't you see 
 that I cannot bear such wretched trifling. Oh ! 
 if you had ever cared for me in the least degree, 
 you would never embitter my life like this ! " 
 
 " If you had a grain of common-sense, you 
 would not make such a fuss over nothing," said 
 he, impatiently. " Have I not a right to see you 
 when and where I choose ? I will go up yonder 
 among your new associates and assert it, if you 
 say BO." 
 
 " If yon dare ! " said she, blazing out upon 
 him, wilh sudden indignation. "Yes, if you 
 dare ! Yon have tracked me down, and I am 
 willing to buy my peace of life at any price you 
 choose to ask short of this. St. John," she 
 aid, sitting down on a rustic seat near by, 
 " this is too much for me. Tell me at once 
 what you want and and let me go." 
 
 He walked away from her for a short dis- 
 tance, biting his under lip almost savagely ; then 
 he turned abruptly, and came back. 
 
 " You know what I want," he said. " It is 
 always the same thing the cursed need of 
 money. Can you let me have any ? " 
 
 " I can let you have the most of my two 
 
 years' salary, which is in Mr. Marks's hands, if 
 you will go away then, and leave me in peace." 
 
 " So you only care to buy my absence," he 
 said, with a dark cloud coming over his face. 
 
 " Ask yourself how I can care for any thing 
 else," she answered, sadly. " But such as the 
 money is, you are welcome to it. I saved it for 
 you, and meant to send it to you so you are 
 welcome to it." 
 
 He moved away, and took another turn 
 came back again and caught her arm. 
 
 " I would not touch a penny of it, if ruin was 
 not staring me in the face," he said. " But, as 
 it is, I see no other chance not one." 
 
 "Has that man that Fraser thrown you 
 off, then ? " 
 
 " Curse him, yes completely ! " 
 
 " And you have only me ? " 
 
 " I have only you, or you may be sure that I 
 would not have come for any such greeting as 
 this has been." 
 
 She rose suddenly and held out her hands to 
 him. 
 
 " Forgive me, St. John," she cried, with a 
 sudden pathos in her voice. " I did not under- 
 stand. I thought you had come merely to dis- 
 turb and make me wretched. I will do any 
 thing in the world for you that I can you know 
 that. If you say so, I will go away with you, 
 and we will try to live together, and to begin a 
 new life, in some new place." 
 
 " And drag each other down, like a couple 
 of millstones. That would be wise, indeed ! 
 No, I will only be cur enough to rob you of all 
 your savings, and then I will go away and leave 
 you in the peace you talk so much about. When 
 can you let me have the money ? " 
 
 " To-morrow I cannot see Mr. Marks to-day. 
 I will meet you in Tallahoma, or else you can 
 come back here. I will show you a private wny 
 to enter the grounds, and this is a very retired 
 place. I shall have to write a note. I suppose 
 you are at the hotel ? " 
 
 " Yes registered as Mr. Johns. Don't for- 
 get that." 
 
 Katharine flushed. She had an instinctive 
 horror of an alias, and this one seemed to her so 
 unnecessary. " Who would have known the 
 other name here ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nobody, probably ; but I believe in precau- 
 tionary measures, always. Well, I shall look for 
 a note to-morrow, appointing a place where I can 
 see yon again. I can tell you, by-the-way, that 
 you are putting yourself in a very bad position by 
 this assignation business. It would be much bet-
 
 YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU? 
 
 97 
 
 ter, and much safer, to take me to the house 
 yonder, and present me as a foreign friend." 
 
 " I cannot I will not ! " she cried. " It 
 might be better, perhaps, but I would rather 
 run more risk, and meet you where nobody has 
 a right to question who and what you are." 
 
 " Just as you please. It is your own affair," 
 8aid he, carelessly. " Are you coming to show 
 me the private entrance you spoke of? I am 
 sure to meet somebody about those large gates." 
 
 She went and showed it to him quaking as 
 she did so, lest some one should meet them ; and 
 when he was once safely beyond the boundary 
 of the grounds, she gave a deep sigh of relief, 
 and sped like an arrow toward the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU ? 
 
 WHEN Katharine entered the hall, the sounds 
 which proceeded from the drawing-room assured 
 her at once that the vigil of the ladies was over, 
 and the fox-hunters had returned. On the stair- 
 case the first person she met was Annesley, who 
 was descending as she went up. He stopped 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Tresham," he said, 
 with a smile. " We are back again in a most 
 dispirited and luckless condition dogs and all 
 fairly outwitted by a fox. Won't you come and 
 take a game of billiards, and help me to forget 
 it?" 
 
 " Not just now," said Katharine, hardly 
 knowing what she was saying. "I I am just 
 going to my room." 
 
 He started a little, and still holding her hand, 
 gazed earnestly into her face. 
 
 " Something is the matter," he said, quickly. 
 " I never saw you so pale before. Katharine 
 Miss Tresham, has anybody done any thing to 
 annoy you ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she answered, eagerly. " Why 
 should you think so? Everybody is very kind. 
 There ! please let me pass. I am not well." 
 
 " Something is the matter," repeated he, still 
 oblivious of courtesy, and keeping his place be- 
 fore her. " If you would only tell me if it is 
 any thing I could set straight " 
 
 " It is not any thing you could set straight," 
 interrupted Katharine, almost wild to get away. 
 ** Mr. Annesley, will you will you please let me 
 pass ? I have told you I am not well." 
 
 He moved aside, and, disregarding the pained 
 
 look on his face, she flew by, and the next mo- 
 ment he heard her chamber door open and shut. 
 
 The young man stood for a minute where 
 she had left him pain gradually giving way to 
 surprise on his face. Then he went down, and, 
 as he crossed the hall, his mother came out of 
 the library and joined him. 
 
 " Are you going out, Morton ? " she said. 
 " I will walk with you a little way. I have some- 
 thing to say to you." 
 
 " I was not going out," he answered ; " but I 
 can go, if you wish to speak to me." 
 
 Without any further words, they passed out, 
 and took the same path which Katharine and 
 Miss Vernon had taken an hour or two before. 
 After they had gone a short distance, Mrs. An- 
 nesley was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " Was that Miss Tresham you met on the 
 staircase, Morton ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was Miss Tresham," he answered, 
 and in a moment it flashed across his mind that 
 somebody had been guilty of slighting or annoy- 
 ing Katharine, and that his mother knew of it. 
 " Something was the matter with her," he said. 
 " I never saw her look so before. She did not 
 seem like herself at all. Somebody must have 
 offended her," continued the young man, with 
 suppressed anger in his voice. " Mother, if you 
 know who it is, if any " 
 
 " Stop a moment, Morton," said Mrs. Annes- 
 ley, with dignity. " You forget that you are 
 speaking of your own guests of ladies and gen- 
 tlemen who are incapable of being rude to any 
 one. Nobody inside the doors of Annesdale has 
 done any thing to wound or annoy Miss Tresham ; 
 but what has occurred outside of them," she 
 added, significantly, " it is quite beyond my 
 power to say." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Morton, to 
 whom this distinction was quite unintelligible. 
 
 " I mean that something has happened which 
 I think you ought to know. I was in the obser- 
 vatory an hour or two ago, showing the view to 
 Mrs. Dancey, when I happened to have my atten- 
 tion directed toward the entrance gates. I saw 
 two figures which I easily identified as Miss 
 Tresham and Irene Vernon emerge from the 
 shrubbery just as a man was entering the gates 
 Of course, at such a distance the action was 
 rather confused to my sight, but I could distin- 
 guish very plainly that a recognition took place 
 between the man and Miss Tresham, and that, 
 after Irene Vernon had first gone on alone, he 
 and she entered the shrubbery together. I 
 thought it singular, but nothing more, until I
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 vent dowu-atairs, and, after a while, Irene came 
 in still alone. I asked her what had become 
 of Miss Tresham, and she evaded the question. 
 It was only when I told her wnat I had seen, 
 that she acknowledged she had left Miss Tresh- 
 am in the grounds with this stranger. She had 
 evidently been requested to keep the matter 
 secret, for she begged me not to mention it, and, 
 of course, I shall not do so excepting to your- 
 self, who certainly have a right to know. When 
 you met Miss Tresham, she was just coming in ; 
 and all this happened I should be afraid to say 
 how long before." 
 
 " Did Miss Irene know the man ? " said Mor- 
 ton, speaking very grimly. 
 
 " No, she had never seen him before. He 
 was a stranger, she said and young and hand- 
 some." 
 
 "And what explanation did Miss Tresham 
 give to her ? " 
 
 " She did not tell me. She was very reticent, 
 and evidently disliked to mention the matter at 
 all. I asked her why she had not urged Miss 
 Tresham to bring her friend to the house. She 
 replied she had done so ; but that she Miss 
 Tresham had declined." 
 
 " And there is no doubt of this ? " said Mor- 
 ton at last, after a pause. 
 
 "There is not the least doubt of it," answered 
 his mother. Then, after a minute : " Morton, is 
 it not all as I told you ? Can such a woman as 
 this be trusted ? " 
 
 " What has this to do with the question of 
 her being trusted ? " he asked. " Do you think 
 I will doubt the woman who is every thing to 
 me, because some man some friend or relation, 
 perhaps, of whom we know nothing comes to 
 see her, and she, meeting him in the open air, 
 keeps him there, instead of taking him into a 
 house full of people like that yonder?" 
 
 " But why should she ask Irene Vernon to 
 keep the matter secret, if it was only some friend 
 or some relation, as you say ? " 
 
 " Did Miss Vernon say that she had asked 
 her?" 
 
 " No ; but I saw very plainly " 
 
 " Yon are determined to see every thing 
 against and nothing for her, mother," he said, 
 a little wearily. " Can't you put the matter as 
 If it concerned somebody else ? can't you see 
 that if it did concern somebody else, you would 
 aot think it of any importance ? " 
 
 "I see that you are wilfully blind, and wil- 
 fally determined to go your own way," she an- 
 swered. " Well, I have done my duty I have 
 
 warned you. Since you will not heed the warn- 
 ing, you must pay the penalty of your obstinacy 
 and folly, but my heart sinks when I consider 
 what a penalty it will be. We had better go 
 back to the house now I have a great deal to 
 do." 
 
 They went back to the house, and did not 
 speak of the subject again ; but, though Morton 
 had so summarily silenced his mother, he could 
 not silence the thoughts of his own mind, or the 
 throbs of his own heart. " What did it mean ? " 
 he asked himself again and again, with the same 
 feeling which had overpowered him when that 
 letter, which had been the direct consequence of 
 his mother's act, had dropped from the pages of 
 the " Adelaide." His perplexity was not ended, 
 nor his anxiety stilled, by the fact that Miss 
 Tresham did not appear again that day. She 
 was lying down she had a headache, he was 
 told, when he inquired about her ; and, with this 
 most unsatisfactory information, he was obliged 
 to be content, and make, or try to make, himself 
 agreeable to a score or more of people. It was 
 fine social training, no doubt, but very unpleas- 
 ant in the process. Any thing that teaches you 
 to conceal your feelings, and smile in the face 
 of the world when your heart is breaking if 
 hearts ever do break ! is considered a benefit ; 
 and, certainly, Morton made great strides in this 
 branch of social art that day. He had to hear a 
 great many remarks from other people, too ; for 
 Langdon, Talcott and Co., were quite concerned 
 for Miss Tresham's indisposition, and kept say- 
 ing how very unlucky it was, and the ball that 
 night, too ! " There is no danger but that she 
 will be well enough for the ball," said Miss Les- 
 ter, who heard some remark of this description. 
 " What ! any girl in her souses stay away from 
 the ball and such a ball, too ! I'll believe it 
 when I see it, and if you care to wager, Cousin 
 Tom, I'll bet you a new collar for Spitfire, that 
 she comes down ! " 
 
 " I'll wager, certainly, Maggie," said Cousin 
 Tom. " A new collar for Spitfire, is it ? against 
 what ? " 
 
 " Oh, any thing you choose. Shall we say a 
 purse? I wouldn't, if I was not sure that I 
 shall not have the trouble of making it." 
 
 " A purse, then," said he, taking out his 
 note-book, anH entering an imposing register 
 of the wager. 
 
 Dinner was early that day, for the hall was to 
 come off in the evening, and it was necessary 
 that the whole force of the establishment should 
 be employed in preparation. This was the ball
 
 YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU? 
 
 99 
 
 of which Katharine had spoken to Mrs. Gordon, 
 of which she had thought as the first and great- 
 est item in her Christmas enjoyment ; and now 
 it was with a sick heart and a throbbing head 
 that she faced the prospect of it, and the neces- 
 sity of rising to dress. As she lay on her bed 
 with the room darkened, the fire burning with a 
 soft, crackling content, a wet handkerchief over 
 her aching eyes, and a bottle of cologne-water 
 in her hand, some despairing thoughts on the 
 perversity of human circumstances occurred to 
 her. She had come to Annesdale meaning to 
 leave her weight of anxiety behind, and to en- 
 joy herself for a short time with the natural en- 
 joyment of youth ; and all of a sudden every 
 thing was dashed with bitterness ! Poor Katha- 
 rine ! Very stern troubles were staring her in 
 the face, but still she had time to give a sigh to 
 her murdered pleasure. " If it had only been 
 the day after the ball ! " she thought to herself 
 and it is to be hoped that she will not be ac- 
 counted utterly frivolous for doing so ! 
 
 She had at last risen languidly, and was look- 
 ing with critical attention in the mirror, regard- 
 ing her pale cheeks, her red eyes, and her swollen 
 nose, wondering if it would be possible to bring 
 all these features into order, or if she had not 
 better make a virtue of necessity, and resign the 
 ball, when the door opened and Miss Lester en- 
 tered. 
 
 " So you are up ! " cried this young lady, in 
 her liveliest tone. " I am glad of that glad 
 because you are better, and because I have a 
 wager on your going to the ball. You are going, 
 are you not ? " 
 
 " I was just considering about it," said 
 Katharine, doubtfully, " Come and tell me 
 what you think. I am looking frightfully, you 
 see." 
 
 "I don't see any thing of the kind," said 
 Miss Lester, whose opinion was rather biassed 
 by personal interest. " Your eyes are red and 
 your nose a little. But that is because 
 you have been crying. If you don't cry any 
 more, by the time you are dressed they will be 
 all right. Then you are pale ; but a little rouge 
 do you ever use rouge ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " You don't think it a sin, do you ? " 
 
 " I don't think any thing about it. As a 
 matter of personal taste, I don't like, and don't 
 use it that is all. I confess, however, that the 
 sight of it affects me very much in the same 
 way that a coarse perfume does. The two things 
 fclways seem to me to go together." 
 
 " I don't use it myself," said Miss Lester, 
 philosophically, " but a great many girls do. I 
 have a cousin who paints dreadfully. However, 
 paleness is becoming to you you are generally 
 pale and I think you might go down. Dancing 
 will soon give you a color. If any personal ar- 
 guments are needed, Cousin Tom is half crazy to 
 see you, and Spitfire will get a new collar if you 
 go." 
 
 Katharine thought of the unwelcome visitor 
 whom Spitfire had forced upon her notice that 
 morning, and felt very little of the grateful 
 esteem which would have made her anxious to 
 secure a new collar for him. But still she suf- 
 fered herself to be persuaded especially as she 
 did not need very much persuasion and, after 
 a short gossip in the fading twilight, the serious 
 business of the toilet began. 
 
 The ballroom at Annesdale formed a wing 
 of the main building, and had been built by 
 Morton since affairs came into his hands. It 
 was a large, and (for a ballroom), decidedly 
 tasteful apartment ornamented sufficiently to 
 avoid the look of disagreeable bareness, yet not 
 overloaded by any means, and with every facility 
 for light and warmth. It was a beautiful apart- 
 ment, Katharine thought, as she entered it for 
 the first time that evening, and saw the lofty 
 ceiling painted in brilliant fresco, the double line 
 of columns down the sides, the heavy green gar- 
 lands that swung in festoons from one to another, 
 and the lights glittering in every direction, shin- 
 ing on the scarlet holly-berries, and reflected 
 back from the smoothly-waxed floor. On a 
 raised stand at the upper end of the room the 
 band was pealing forth a march, and the guests, 
 who had been lingering in the drawing-rooms, in 
 the green-house, in the library, in every place 
 that was thrown open to the public, began to 
 pour in. A few couples were promenading in 
 time to those strains, but with the majority there 
 was an exciting rush to make engagements, and 
 secure a desirable position in certain desirable 
 ball-books. " Are you engaged for the third set, 
 Miss Josephine ? " " May I have the fifth on 
 your list, Miss Annie ? " " Stand back, Tom, I 
 have a word or two to say Miss Mary, mayn't I 
 have the second ? " " Bella, I wish you would 
 remember that mamma don't like you to waltz." 
 " Certainly, Mr. Ford, you can have the pleas- 
 ure of the tenth set, did you say ? " " Dancey, 
 who is your partner for the first cotillon '{ Get 
 one, man, in a hurry, and be our vis-d-vis Misa 
 Nelly's and mine." " Stop there, George, stop 
 come here and help us to make up a set."
 
 100 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 w A polka, did you say, Mr. Anderson ? I never 
 iauce the round dances." 
 
 AH this was sounding at once in Katharine's 
 ears, as she stood near a large pillar, looking 
 Tory pale and pretty in her white dress, wreathed 
 with blue convolvulus, when Annesley came up 
 to her. 
 
 44 I have been looking for you everywhere," 
 he said, hastily, " and I have only time for a 
 word. Will you give me the second set, and 
 save two or three more for me ? " 
 
 " I cannot give you the second set," she an- 
 swered. " It is Mr. Talcott's." 
 
 " The third, then ? " 
 
 " That belongs to Mr. Hallam." 
 
 " The fourth fifth sixth any thing ! Per- 
 mit me " he suddenly leaned forward, and, 
 taking the little ivory toy that hung at her 
 waist, ran his eye rapidly over the list of en- 
 gagements, scribbled his initials in two or three 
 vacant places, then, with a smile and a " Thank 
 you," was gone. A moment later, Mr. Langdon 
 left the side of a young lady with whom he was 
 negotiating for a waltz, and claimed Katharine's 
 band for the dance about to commence. The 
 measure of the music changed, the confused mass 
 of figures formed into magical squares, the wall- 
 flowers of both sexes fell back and clustered 
 around or beyond the columns, and the amuse- 
 ment of the evening began in earnest. To Kath- 
 arine it would have been like enchantment, at 
 another time ; but now, above the sound of the 
 music, the tread of dancing feet, the shifting 
 to-and-fro of brightly-clad forms, she saw one 
 face and heard one voice that banished all gayety 
 from her heart, and took all lightness from her 
 tep. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she 
 seemed so unlike herself that her appearance 
 struck a gentleman standing near the set in 
 which she was dancing, a gentleman whose tall 
 head towered somewhat above the throng of 
 lookers-on for all La Grange was in force there 
 that night, the county people thinking nothing 
 of a ten-miles' drive to Mrs. Annesley's Christ- 
 mas ball. His intent gaze caught Katharine's 
 attention at last. In the course of chatgeing 
 back and forth, she looked up, saw him, and 
 smiled. " Oh, Mr. Warwick 1 " she said, in a 
 Vone that surprised her partner. 
 
 " Mr. who f " he asked, looking round. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," answered Katharine, still 
 nailing, and nodding to Mr. Warwick across the 
 *t " I am so glad to ce him," she went on. 
 " It is like a home-face in the midst of strangers. 
 I must speak to him as soon as the cotillon is 
 
 over. I want to ask about Mrs. Marks, and th 
 children, and all of them. I feel " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and her face changed 
 so much that her companion absolutely stared. 
 A sharp recollection came to her of the differ- 
 ence that these few days had made in her life, of 
 the man who had seen Mrs. Marks, and the in- 
 quiries which would meet her when she returned 
 to the familiar house in Tallahoma. Of course 
 Mr. Langdon understood none of this, and, seeing 
 her hesitate and turn pale, he at once conceived 
 a suspicion of Mr. Warwick, and glanced across 
 the room at that gentleman. Being somewhat 
 reassured by his sedate, middle-aged appearance, 
 he took up Katharine's sentence. 
 
 44 You feel what ? Not home-sick, I trust ? " 
 
 44 I feel as if it had been such a long time 
 since I left home," she answered, absently. 
 " That is always the case, you know, when on* 
 has been among new scenes and new people.- 
 First gentleman and lady, did they say ? Yoi 
 are the first gentleman, Mr. Langdon." 
 
 Meanwhile, Morton was dancing with Miss 
 Vernon, in quite another set, at the upper end 
 of the room. lie thought, and so did a great 
 many other people, that Irene had never looked 
 more lovely than on that night. Fashions 
 change very much in thirty years, and to de- 
 scribe her costume would probably be to bring 
 a dreadful picture before the eyes of to-day ; but 
 everybody said how charmingly she was dressed, 
 and certainly the shining pink silk that she 
 wore, with rich point lace falling from her shoul- 
 ders, was as becoming as possible. Then her 
 cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright, 
 and her hair looked like spun gold, as it 
 gleamed about her graceful head. Morton, who 
 had never thought very much about her beauty, 
 suddenly opened his eyes, and admired it with 
 quite a fervor of enthusiasm. " I never saw you 
 look so well," he could not help telling her more 
 than once though the remark strictly inter- 
 preted was any thing but a compliment. 
 
 " Perhaps you never looked at me before," 
 she said, though she hated herself for saying it. 
 " Nobody else seems to think that I am looking 
 unusually well to-night." 
 
 41 Shall we take a vote on the question, for I 
 don't fancy the imputation of being a mole or a 
 bat?" , 
 
 44 No, thank you. I'll take the fact of my 
 unusual good looks or your unusual good-nature, 
 for granted, in preference to that. A propos of 
 appearance, don't you think Miss Tresham is 
 looking very well ? "
 
 YOU CANNOT LET ME HELP YOU ? 
 
 101 
 
 "Very pretty, but not very well. She is too 
 pale." 
 
 " Yes, but she is one of the few people to 
 whom pallor is becoming. And those morning- 
 glories are they not beautiful ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Morton, catching a glimpse of 
 the morning-glories in question, as their wearer 
 moved forward in the dance. Then he saw his 
 way to a sudden inquiry, and made it without 
 loss of time. 
 
 " I met Miss Tresham on the staircase this 
 morning, just after my return, and she seemed 
 very much distressed and agitated. I hope 
 nothing unpleasant occurred while you and she 
 were in the grounds ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered Miss Vernon, with a 
 reticence that did not escape his observation. 
 " How did you know that I was in the grounds 
 with her ? " she added, with a keen glance at him. 
 
 " My mother told me," he answered. " Don't 
 think that I was busying myself with matters 
 which did not concern me," he added, with a 
 quick flush coming over his face ; " but when 
 I met Miss Tresham, I saw at once that some- 
 thing had annoyed her, and I thought it might 
 be something I could remedy, so I went to my 
 mother" at the moment, Morton really forgot 
 that his mother had gone to him " and she told 
 me that you had been with Miss Tresham, and 
 mentioned that she met some one " 
 
 " I did not mention it at all," interrupted 
 Miss Vernon, bluntly. " Miss Tresham asked 
 me that is, I thought it likely she would not 
 care for me to speak of the matter, so I was 
 sorry Mrs. Annesley had seen the the person 
 come in the gate. I answered her questions, 
 that was all. I shall not answer yours, Mr. An- 
 nesley, so I beg you won't ask any." 
 
 " I am not going to ask any," said Morton, a 
 little amused. " I would not think of such a 
 thing as meddling with Miss Tresham's affairs. 
 But she seemed so much agitated " 
 
 " Things agitate at one time, that would have 
 no effect at another," said Miss Vernon, coolly. 
 " I should probably be agitated if I was living 
 in Russia and you suddenly appeared before me 
 though there is nothing at all agitating in see- 
 ing you here, you know." 
 
 " I understand. But Miss Tresham I am sure 
 can have no reason for concealing " 
 
 Miss Vernon interrupted him again, remorse- 
 
 " Miss Tresham did not ask me to conceal any 
 thing, Mr. Annesley ; but I have learned by expe- 
 rience that silence is golden, and speech is silver 
 
 or base copper, rather, when it takes the form 
 of silly tattling. I do as I would be done by. 
 There are many reasons which might make me 
 wish to conceal that's a hateful word ! the 
 visit of some embarrassing friend or relation, 
 from people who had no right of espionage 
 over my conduct, and so I am not quick to 
 suspect other people for doing the same thing." 
 
 " Thank you," said Morton, before he knew 
 what he was about. Then he added, with a 
 blush : " You don't know how much I admire 
 and respect such sentiments. There are not 
 many women like you, Miss Vernon." 
 
 " There are thousands much better," said 
 Miss Vernon, with a sharpness that quite took 
 him by surprise. 
 
 While this conversation was going on, the 
 cotillon ended, the last bows were made, and, 
 as Mr. Langdon was leading Katharine away, 
 Mr. Warwick came up to her. 
 
 " Shall we go into the drawing-room and get 
 an ice ? " the obliging Cousin Tom was saying, 
 when he found himself summarily put aside. 
 " Mr. Warwick ! I am so glad to see you," 
 Katharine cried ; and Mr. Warwick looked at 
 her companion, as he said : " I have a great 
 many messages for you, from Bessie and the 
 children. Do you care about hearing them ? " 
 
 " Of course I do," answered she, warmly ; and 
 upon this, she withdrew her hand from Mr. Lang- 
 don's arm, and took instead the one Mr. Warwick 
 offered. 
 
 " I will see you again, when the fourth set 
 comes round," she said, with a smile, to the 
 former gentleman, and in this way he found 
 himself deserted, just as he had flattered him- 
 self with the expectation of a pleasantly unin- 
 terrupted tete-d-tete. 
 
 "So Annesdale and all its gayety has not 
 made you forget Tallahoma and the school- 
 room ? " said Mr. Warwick, as they walked 
 away. " I could hardly realize that you were 
 yourself, when I saw you dancing a little while 
 ago." 
 
 " ' If I am I, as I do think I be,' " said Kath. 
 arine, with a laugh, " I have certainly not for- 
 gotten the school-room, or anybody connected 
 with it, Mr. Warwick. How is Mrs. Marks, and 
 how are the children ? did Sara and Katy go 
 to see their aunt ? and has Nelly's cough given 
 any more trouble ? " 
 
 " Bessie and all the children are well, and 
 sent you more love than I could carry Katy 
 and Sara did not go to their aunt's, and Nelly's 
 cough is quite well, I believe."
 
 102 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 M Has nothing happened since I went away ? 
 I feel as if a great deal ought to have happened." 
 
 " I think every thing has gone on exactly as 
 nsu.il, excepting that it may compliment you to 
 hear that you have been very much missed by 
 everybody. When Dick cut his hand the other 
 day, he disgraced his manhood by crying because 
 you were not there to bandage it up." 
 
 44 Has Dick cut his hand ? I am so sorry. 
 How did he do it?" 
 
 " I was foolish enough to give him a box of 
 tools as a Christmas-gift, and the result was 
 three accidents in the course of as many days. 
 Katy was very anxious to come with me to- 
 night." 
 
 " I wish you could have brought her," said 
 Katharine, sincerely. 
 
 They had left the ballroom by this time, and 
 were in the drawing-room, which was thronged 
 with people laughing, talking, eating ices, mak- 
 ing picture-like groups everywhere. 
 
 " Is there a quiet spot to be found any- 
 where?" asked Mr. Warwick, looking round. 
 " Twenty years ago, I might have liked this 
 kind of thing ; but now I find that I am very 
 much out of my element. You know those mes- 
 sages I told you about. Is there a quiet place in 
 which I could deliver them ? " 
 
 "Suppose we try the library," said Kath- 
 arine. 
 
 They crossed the hall to the library, and 
 found only one or two whist-parties in posses- 
 sion of it. At the farther end, a sofa was fitted 
 into a sort of alcove between two bookcases, 
 and to this Katharine led the way. She sat 
 down first, nnd looked up at her companion out 
 of the soft gloom her white dress and the 
 blue flowers in her hair showing in bright re- 
 lief against the dark background. 
 
 " Will not this do ? " said she, smiling ; and 
 somehow the little scene came back to John 
 Warwick long afterward, touching him again as 
 it touched him then. 
 
 " Yes, it will do very well," he said, sitting 
 down by her. Then he added, suddenly, " You 
 are looking very badly. Have you been sick ? " 
 
 " Not at all," answered she, growing a little 
 paler. " I have been quite well, and enjoying 
 myself very much. Do you know that you have 
 terribly keen eyes ? " she added, trying to laugh, 
 and not succeeding very well. 
 
 "I hope I have serviceable eyes," he an- 
 w?red; "but it would not require very keen i 
 ones to soe that something is the matter with \ 
 you. If you have not been sick, you have been i 
 
 worried and that is worse. I may be blunder 
 ing in speaking of it," he went on, " and, if so, 
 you must forgive me, but I was struck by the 
 change in your appearance when I saw you 
 dancing." 
 
 " I have been sick all day," said Katharine, 
 forgetting her contrary assertion of a moment 
 back. " That is, I have had a headache and 
 been in bed with it. One does not look very 
 well after a thing of that kind." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Warwick, regarding her with 
 a pair of eyes which, for the first time, she found 
 uncomfortably penetrating. " If you have been 
 in bed all day," he added, " I suppose you did 
 not see a visitor, who called at Bessie's this 
 morning, and whom she directed here ? " 
 
 Dim as the light was, he noticed he could 
 not avoid noticing the crimson tide which in a 
 moment spread over her face and neck. 
 
 " Yes, I saw him," she answered ; and, as 
 she spoke, she gave a piteous, imploring glance, 
 that reminded him of the look sometimes seen 
 in an animal's eyes before the knife of the 
 butcher descends and strikes home to the heart. 
 Its unconscious pathos touched him ; but the 
 lawyer in his composition enabled him to perse- 
 vere. 
 
 " Bessie's curiosity was quite excited," he 
 said. " You know it takes very little to excite 
 her, and it seems that the gentleman whom she 
 described as young and handsome asked many 
 questions about you. That was enough to form 
 the groundwork of a romance, which she has 
 been building ever since. Her only fear is, that 
 you may be induced to leave her, and that, she 
 says, would break her heart." 
 
 " Mrs. Marks is very good," said Katharine, 
 forcing a smile. " But she need not fear. I am 
 not likely to go away. The gentleman who 
 called to see me was " a pause, and a great 
 gulp of rage and self-contempt "was a person 
 whom I knew in England." 
 
 " So he said," remarked Mr. Warwick, rather 
 dryly. 
 
 " I hope he did not annoy Mrs Marks in any 
 way?" said Katharine, catching the intonation 
 of his voice. " I I do not think she is likely 
 to see him again. He will leave Tallahoma in a 
 few days to-morrow, perhaps." 
 
 " He did no* annoy her at all," Mr. Warwick 
 answered. " I hope I have not said any thing to 
 make you think so." 
 
 There was a pause after this. Katharine 
 felt faint and sick, but she kept her scut what- 
 ever he should say next, she must be ready to
 
 MK. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 
 
 103 
 
 answer. Mr. Warwick, meanwhile, said nothing 
 his face looked somewhat severe, as he gazed 
 past her ; but that was its usual expression when 
 at rest. In this lull, the voices of the whist- 
 players sounded. 
 
 " Three by cards, and two by honors, sets us 
 five, and four before, is nine." 
 
 " You should have returned my lead of 
 spades, Mr. Barry, and we might have " 
 
 " If you had led out trumps, as you ought to 
 have done," cried an excited voice from the other 
 table, " they could not have made a trick. I 
 held every high diamond, sir, and every one of 
 them trumped ! " 
 
 " We threw away the game by that play of 
 hearts, Mrs. Dargan. It gave them the lead, and 
 then " 
 
 This was the kind of talk which came in and 
 bridged over Katharine's suspense. It is aston- 
 ishing how oddly conscious people are of such 
 things at such times. When the last great 
 struggle comes, and the soul is about to go 
 forth, shall we, even then, hear and notice the 
 bird that sings at our window, and the child 
 who laughs in the street below ? 
 
 " Miss Trcsham," said Mr. Warwick, turning 
 round abruptly, " do you remember the day we 
 walked out to the pond, and I told you that some- 
 thing was preying on your health and spirits ? " 
 
 " Yes," Katharine answered, " I remember 
 it." 
 
 " And do you also remember that I asked 
 you if I could do any thing to relieve you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Warwick, I remember that also 
 very gratefully." 
 
 " Well, I don't wish to force your confidence, 
 but one glance at your face to-night told me that 
 the anxiety which I saw then had made greater 
 strides had, in fact, been realized. As I told 
 you before, if it is any thing relating to ideal 
 troubles, I can do nothing for you ; but if it is 
 real if it is practical Miss Tresham, remember 
 that I am both a man and a lawyer, and that, 
 m either character, I am ready to serve you." 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, you are very good you are 
 more than good," said Katharine, almost ready 
 to give way to the childish relief of tears. 
 " Don't please don't think me ungrateful. I 
 feel your kindness in my very heart, and and 
 thank you for it. But I cannot do any thing 
 eise." 
 
 " You cannot let me help you ? " 
 
 " No I cannot." 
 
 That ended the matter. After a minute, Mr. 
 Warwick rose ana offered his arm. " Your part- 
 
 ners will be looking for you," he said. " I must 
 not monopolize you so long. Have you any 
 message for Bessie ? " 
 
 " My best love, and tell her I will see her to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " What, are you coming back to Tallaho- 
 ma?" 
 
 " Not to stay I promised to remain here 
 until after New- Year but on business. There 
 is Mr. Talcott coming for me now." 
 
 '"I have been looking for you everywhere, 
 Miss Tresham," said Mr. Talcott, quite breath- 
 less. " The dancing began some time ago, and 
 I am afraid we shall not get a place unless we 
 make haste." 
 
 " Don't let me detain you," said Mr. War. 
 wick. " Good-night." 
 
 " Shall I not see you again ? " 
 
 " No, I only looked in to be able to tell Bessie 
 how you are getting on. I am going back to 
 town now." 
 
 He was as good as his word, and Katharine 
 had no further glimpse of him that night ; but 
 amid all the music and dancing, the gay voices 
 and bright smiles, his voice sounded, and she 
 heard again and again the words, " You cannot 
 let me help you ? " Her heart gave back an an- 
 swer, for every now and then she caught herself 
 murmuring, " If I only could ! ah, if I only 
 could ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 MK. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 
 
 ABOUT the time that Katharine threw herself 
 down on the bed, and was foolish enough to cry 
 until she made her head ache, Babette was tramp- 
 ing along the road which led from Tallahoma to 
 Morton House. She had been sent on an errand 
 by her mistress, and was returning with two or 
 three large parcels under her arm, disdainfully 
 regardless of the fact that she was the object of 
 much attention and remark on the part of sev- 
 eral small boys in her rear. They knew better 
 than to come within reach of her hand, of which 
 more than one of them had felt the weight ; but, 
 taking care to keep at a respectful distance, they 
 followed her beyond the corporate limits. In- 
 deed, Babette was a sufficiently remarkable figure 
 to excite attention in a place much more used to 
 remarkable figures than quiet Tallahoma. Be- 
 sides her usual foreign costume, she had, in con- 
 sideration of the muddy state of the roads.
 
 104 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 mounted a pair of sabots, and in them she went 
 boldly clattering along, with ter dress tucked 
 up even shorter than the walking-skirt of a 
 fashionable girl of the present day. " Good 
 gracious, aunty, where'd you get your shoes ? " 
 more than one audacious boy inquired ; but 
 aunty's short nose only went a little higher in 
 the air, and her keen black eyes only gave a lit- 
 tle quicker gleam by way of reply. Her fierce 
 appearance quite awed the good folk of the vil- 
 lage. They had an idea that she was a sort of 
 dragoness, whom Mrs. Gordon had imported for 
 special guard and defence. Poor Babette, whose 
 temper was irascible, but who was really of an 
 excellent disposition, and whose appearance only 
 was against her, had no idea that when she 
 walked into a shop, with her large gold ear-rings 
 bobbing on each side of her swarthy, stern-look- 
 ing face, the clerks fairly quaked, and would 
 have given any thing to avoid the perilous duty 
 of serving her. 
 
 She was well served, however ; and she had 
 made her purchases and was finally on her way 
 home tramping along the narrow foot-path that 
 ran by the side of the muddy road, close under 
 the zigzag rail-fences, humming to herself in 
 French a sort of jingling refrain, and now and 
 then casting looks of defiance behind to see if 
 any of her troublesome train were in sight. 
 They had given up the pursuit, she found at 
 last, and the gates of Morton House were al- 
 most in sight when a man's figure appeared, 
 advancing with quick strides along the foot-path 
 toward her. Babette hardly noticed him, her 
 head being full of other things, for she was mak- 
 ing a rough calculation mentally of the money 
 he Lad spent, and deciding that she had been 
 cheated beyond that point where forbearance is 
 aid to be a virtue. It was all her mistress's 
 fault, however. She had bidden her buy the 
 things, and never mind about the price. " Eh 
 bien, if people will be extravagant 1 " Babette 
 said to herself with a shrug. Meanwhile, the 
 gentleman was thinking just as little of this 
 Btrangely-clad figure clattering along the road to 
 meet him. In fact, he did not notice her at all. 
 He was thinking of other things, too, and gnaw- 
 ing his under lip as he had gnawed it in speaking 
 of the money a little while before. It would be 
 hard to tell which of them was thrilled with the 
 strangest shock of surprise when they came sud- 
 lenly face to face, and, looking up, recognized 
 each other. 
 
 " Mon Dieu I " gasped Babette, and the par- 
 eli absolutely rolled out of her aims into the 
 
 mud, as she stood helpless and aghast before 
 him. 
 
 " What ! Babette ! " cried the other, in as- 
 tonishment evidently as great and uncontrollable 
 aa her own. He put out his hand and grasped 
 her arm, as if to make sure of the fact of her 
 bodily presence. But Babette rudely pushed 
 him away. Evidently she had no more desire 
 than Katharine had manifested to salute him 
 cordially. 
 
 " Keep your hands to yourself, Monsieur St. 
 Jean," she exclaimed, sharply. " Mon Dieu ! 
 what are you doing here ? as if madame, poor 
 lady, has not suffered enough for you to leave 
 her in peace ! " 
 
 " So your mistress is here ! " said he, quick- 
 ly. " Good Heavens ! how near I was to going 
 away without knowing it ! Where where is 
 she, Babette ? " 
 
 But the very question betrayed him. Ba- 
 bette saw that this encounter had been acci- 
 dental, and that whatever reason had brought 
 him here, the presence of Mrs. Gordon had no 
 share in it. " How near I was to going away 
 without knowing it ! " he had unwittingly said, 
 and Babette's ears were quick. So were her wits 
 for that matter, and in a moment her reply was 
 ready. She had no time for cunning subterfuge 
 or evasion. The plain road to mislead him was 
 in downright falsehood, and in downright false- 
 hood she unhesitatingly took refuge. 
 
 " Madame is not where you are likely to find 
 her, M'sieu St. Jean," she said, with ill-simulated 
 triumph. " Thanks to le bon Dieu, she is far 
 enough away, and it is not I who is going to tell 
 you where she is. Ma foi ! I would tell the devil 
 sooner ! " she added, bitterly. 
 
 " You are telling a lie," said the gentleman, 
 coolly, " and that is not what I expected of a 
 good Catholic like you, Babette. I wonder what 
 the priest will say to this when you go to confes- 
 sion." 
 
 Babette's face fell for an instant ; but she 
 remembered what was at stake, plucked up 
 courage, and answered boldly and volubly : " It 
 is not for a scoffing heretic like you, M'sieu St. 
 Jean, to tell Christian people that they are liars. 
 I say that madame is not here, nor anywhere 
 , that you are likely to find her. And I'll thank 
 you," she went* on, raising her voice, " to stand 
 out of the path and let me go on " 
 
 " Where have you been, ana where are you 
 going, and with whom do you live, if your mis- 
 tress is not here ? " asked St. John, coolly keep- 
 ing his position in front of her.
 
 MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 
 
 105 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! what business is it of yours ? " 
 demanded she, bursting into one of the sudden 
 furies to which the servants of Morton House 
 were well accustomed. " I shall tell you nothing," 
 she continued, trembling with passion. " Madame 
 is not here. I am staying with une amie I have 
 been to town to make purchases. If you will not 
 let me pass, I shall go round you." 
 
 " Pass, by all means," said he, moving aside 
 with a peculiar smile. 
 
 She carefully gathered her parcels out of the 
 mud, and, hugging them close in her arms, 
 marched stolidly by him grateful for, yet half 
 incredulous of, this welcome release. She had 
 not gone five paces before she heard his step be- 
 hind, and knew that he was following her. In- 
 stantly she faced round upon him, her black eyes 
 gleaming, and her swarthy face all aglow. 
 
 " Comment, M'sieu St. Jean ! " she cried, in- 
 dignantly. " You say I may pass, and, after I 
 pass, you follow you dog me ! Call you this 
 
 I conduct of a gentleman ? " 
 " If you won't give me any information, Ba- 
 bette, I must simply find it out," said he, laugh- 
 ing at her anger. " You needn't excite yourself. 
 I am only going with you to your friend's. 
 There is no harm in that, I am sure." 
 
 . " My friend does not wish to see you," said 
 Babette, almost out of her senses, with indigna- 
 tion. " She would sprinkle holy water if you 
 came in sight of the door." 
 
 " I have no doubt of that," said he, still smil- 
 ing so provokingly that she felt inclined to throw 
 her muddy parcels in his face ; " but still, I must 
 accompany you." 
 
 " Eh bien ! then I shall not go," said she ; 
 and, to his great surprise, she wrapped her 
 shawl around her more comfortably, and sat 
 down deliberately on a large stone that lay in 
 the fence corner. Once seated, she looked up at 
 him triumphantly. " I can stay here as long as 
 you can, M'sieu St. Jean," she said, " and per- 
 haps a little longer." 
 
 For the first time she had the best of the 
 situation, and, for the first time also, St. John 
 lost his temper. 
 
 " Confound you ! " he said, savagely. " Do 
 you suppose I am such a fool as not to know 
 that your mistress is near at hand somewhere, 
 and that you are lying like the father of lies him- 
 self? Do you suppose I can't find out without 
 any help from you ? I have only to walk into 
 the village yonder, and ask a few questions, to 
 learn all that I want to know. I shall ask them, 
 too ; and you may tell your mistress, with my 
 
 compliments, that I shall do myself the honor 
 of calling on her before the day is over." 
 
 With this, he turned on his heel, and walked 
 off toward the town. Babette eagerly watched 
 him out of sight; she even followed him to a 
 bend of the road, and saw his figure vanish in 
 the distance, before she could believe that he was 
 really gone, and that he might not return and dog 
 her steps. Then, as fast as the sabots would al- 
 low, she hurried to the house, making no pause 
 until she had burst in upon Mrs. Gordon with 
 the news which she knew would be to her the 
 most unwelcome that could be told. 
 
 " Madame ! " she cried, as the startled lady 
 looked up from her cushions in astonishment ; 
 " madame ! Ah ! what a misfortune ! It is ter- 
 rible ! it is enough to break one's heart," said 
 the excitable Frenchwoman, almost sobbing; 
 " but, as I was coming back from town, madame, 
 I met out here in the road Monsieur St. 
 Jean ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gordon, who had not done more than 
 languidly cross the room for weeks, gave one 
 convulsive bound from the sofa, and stood erect 
 on the floor. 
 
 " Babette ! " she gasped. More than that she 
 could not say. 
 
 " Monsieur St. Jean ! " repeated Babette, lift- 
 ing her arm with a tragic gesture, as if she 
 called upon Heaven to witness the truth of the 
 fact she asserted. " I met him in the road, ma- 
 dame, not farther from the gate than you could 
 throw a stone ; and ah, mon Dieu ! " said she, 
 shaking her head, " what shall I have to suffer 
 for all the lies I told ! " 
 
 " St. John ! " said Mrs. Gordon ; and she had 
 hardly said it when she grew white as a sheet, 
 and sat down suddenly. " Yonder ! that phial 
 on the table," she panted, brokenly, as Babette 
 hurried to her. Well used as she was to these 
 attacks, the maid was frightened she had never 
 before seen her mistress look like this ; she had 
 never known her face so ghastly, or her breath so 
 painfully short. The severity of the paroxysm 
 did not last more than a minute ; but, when it 
 was over, Mrs. Gordon sank back on the sofa ut- 
 terly exhausted. "Wait wait a little," she 
 said, when Babette began to speak, and the lat- 
 ter had discretion enough to hold her tongue. 
 She bathed her mistress's face for some time in 
 silence, and it was not until Mrs. Gordon opened 
 her eyes, and said, " Well, Babette ? " that she 
 broke into a voluble history of her encounter, 
 and of all that had been said on both sides. By 
 the time she finished, she had worked herself into
 
 10G 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 such a state of emotion, that she was fairly weep- 
 ing and wringing her hands. 
 
 " Madame, let us go ! " she exclaimed. " Let 
 as not stay here. lie will come. M'sieu will 
 come and he will take you and make you 
 wretched. Madame, let us go ! Mon Dieu ! let 
 us go ! " 
 
 " Soyez tranquille ! " said Mrs. Gordon, faint- 
 ly. " We must bear what we must bear, my poor 
 Babette. But you need not fear he will not take 
 oa again. Go and order the carriage." 
 
 " To leave here, madame ? " 
 
 No only to drive me into town. Don't 
 waste time, Babette go ! " 
 
 Babette went, and, when she returned, she 
 found her mistress dressing with trembling haste. 
 "My bonnet, Babette," she said; and, as Ba- 
 bette ran to seek the bonnet, which had not 
 been use.l since her mistress entered Morton 
 House, two months before, she could not help 
 wondering vaguely what this sudden movement 
 meant Whatever it was, Mrs. Gordon certainly 
 looked more like herself than she had done in 
 many a long day before. Her eyes were bright, 
 her cheeks were flushed, and, as she tied the 
 strings of her bonnet, and drew the long crape 
 veil over her face, she felt with a strange, wild 
 thrill, that stagnation was over, and the breath 
 of life and combat bad come to her again. It 
 made another woman of her. It gave her 
 strength, and will, and purpose, that no one 
 would have dreamed of her possessing as she lay 
 languidly on her sofa, and watched one dull day 
 after another go by. Before she entered the 
 carriage, she had all the windows put up, and 
 all the curtains put down. Then she bade the 
 coachman drive to Mr. Warwick's office in Talla- 
 
 To Mr. Warwick's office in Tallahoma the 
 lumbering old carriage accordingly proceeded, 
 rousing a good deal of interest in the quiet 
 streets of the little village, and startling a group 
 of loungers who were smoking their pipes in the 
 bright sunshine outside Mr. Warwick's door. 
 The lawyer himself was not of the number. A 
 man had called on business, and he had taken 
 him into the office about ten minutes before the 
 carriage appeared. His astonishment, therefore, 
 was great when two or three men came tumbling 
 Into his door without any warning, and all at 
 once. " Warwick, here's the Morton carriage 1 " 
 they cried, excitedly. " What the deuce does it 
 mean ? Can Mrs. Mrs. Gordon be coming here 
 to see you T " 
 
 "The Morton carriage!" repeated Mr. War- 
 
 wick, startled, despite himself. " I don't know 
 I have no idea what it means," he added. 
 " Are you sure it is coming here ? " 
 
 Before the others could reply, the carriage 
 drew up before the curb-stone; and, the next 
 moment, a half-grown negro boy appeared at the 
 office door, cap in hand. 
 
 " Mr. Warruck, mistiss says she would like fur 
 to see you on pa'tic'lar business, sir, if you is at 
 leisure. If you ain't, she say she will come back 
 when you is." 
 
 " Where is your mistress ? " asked Mr. War- 
 wick. 
 
 " In the carriage, sir." 
 
 " Tell her I will be there in a minute." He 
 turned to his client, who was listening with open 
 eyes and mouth. " Mr. Sloan, I am sure you will 
 excuse me for deferring this business at present. 
 Mrs. Gordon has come in from the country, and I 
 can't put her off. Just leave the deed, and I will 
 look over it, and you can call to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Sloan was burning with curiosity, but the 
 lawyer's quiet manner left him no room for ap- 
 peal. He put down the deed, and made his exit, 
 followed by the smokers. " Warwick won't want 
 us, either," they said, and filed off without wait- 
 ing for a hint to that effect. No sooner was the 
 coast clear, than Mr. Warwick, who certainly 
 would not have hesitated to say that he did not 
 want them, went out to the carriage and opened 
 the door. 
 
 " How are you, Mrs. Gordon ? " he said, cour- 
 teously, shaking hands with the black-draped and 
 closely-veiled figure inside. " I am quite at leis- 
 ure to attend to your commands. Will you come 
 into my office, and let me hear what I can do for 
 you ? " 
 
 "Are they all gone?" inquired Mrs. Gordon, 
 who had taken an observation through the car- 
 riage-window. " I wish to see you alone." 
 
 " They are all gone," he answered, extend- 
 ing his hand again, to assist her from the car- 
 riage. 
 
 She descended rather feebly, as he observed, 
 and, feeling the worse for her unusual exertion, 
 leaned heavily on his arm as they crossed the 
 pavement. When he caught a glimpse of her 
 face, as she put her veil partially aside on enter- 
 ing the office, it looked so pale, that he was 
 afraid she migtft be about to faint. He placed 
 her in a chair beside the fire, closed the door, 
 and went hastily to a side-table, where he poured 
 out a glass of water, and brought it to her 
 " Will you let me suggest that you are too much 
 muffled up about the face?" he said. "Permit
 
 MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 
 
 St. Vincents Hall 
 O'Connor Sanitaria) 
 
 me '' and he drew the masses of crape back, as 
 she put the water to her lips for a moment. 
 Seeing her countenance thus more distinctly, he 
 was shocked by its appearance, and confirmed 
 in his dread of a fainting-fit. He pulled a small 
 table that was close by, to her elbow, and set the 
 glass of water, which she now gave back to him, 
 upon it. Then he crossed the room to one of sev- 
 eral walnut bookcases that were ranged around 
 the walls, opened a door that revealed to sight 
 three shelves full of respectable-looking volumes 
 bound in calf, while the fourth, and lowest, 
 seemed to be doing duty as a sideboard. From 
 among two or three decanters he selected one, 
 also a wineglass, and returned to Mrs. Gordon's 
 side. 
 
 " You look very pale, very ill, I may say," he 
 remarked ; " drink this wine. It will do you 
 more good than water." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, taking the wineglass 
 which he had just filled. " You are very kind. 
 Yes, I believe I need it." 
 
 She drank part of the wine, put the glass on 
 the table, and turned to him. " Sit down," she 
 said, with a slight motion of her hand toward 
 a seat opposite. " I shall not faint, and I have a 
 great deal to say to you." 
 
 It was some time before she spoke. Whether 
 it was the memory of the past of the different 
 manner in which they two had once known each 
 other or whether it was merely the all-absorbing 
 thought of the threatening present, something 
 overpowered her, and it was some time before 
 she could collect herself sufficiently to break 
 the silence. At last, with an effort, the first 
 words came. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, for a reason that I will tell 
 you presently, I stand in need of the advice of a 
 lawyer. I have come to apply to you for that 
 advice. But, even more than I need a lawyer, I 
 need a friend, and the service that only a friend 
 can render me. I venture, therefore you may 
 think without any claim to ask if you remem- 
 ber the old time sufficiently to care to render me 
 this service ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon must surely have forgotten 
 that she was once Pauline Morton, before she 
 could ask rue such a question," said the lawyer, 
 flushing slightly. " There are hereditary claims 
 of friendship between us," he went on, hastily, 
 as he saw an answering flush rise to the pale face 
 opposite him, " and there is, moreover, a particu- 
 lar claim. When I was a struggling boy, your 
 father aided me in a manner I can never forget. 
 What I am to-day, I owe to his generous kind- 
 
 ness. I will gladly do any thing in my power to 
 serve his daughter." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon understood, as not many peo 
 pie would have done, the delicacy which made 
 him speak thus which made him allude not 
 to herself, but to her father. Understanding it, 
 she appreciated what she had only felt before, 
 that this man could indeed be trusted, and that 
 he spoke truly when he said that he would do 
 " any thing " to serve her. Instinctively she 
 held out her hand. 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " I felt sure that I 
 might rely on you ; but I am glad to hear you 
 say that you will help me. Ah, it is a terrible 
 thing to be a woman," said she, looking at him 
 with pathetic eyes. " If I were like you, I should 
 not need help." 
 
 " We all need it in some form or other," an- 
 swered he. "None of us are so strong as to 
 stand quite alone." 
 
 " But it is only a woman who is entirely at 
 the mercy of another ; who may be crushed in a 
 hundred different ways each more cruel, more 
 bitter than death. Mr. Warwick, tell me what 
 power, short of murder, does not the law give a 
 man over his wife ? " 
 
 " It gives him a great deal," said Mr. War. 
 wick, regarding her keenly, and reading the ex- 
 citement written on her face. " But what inter- 
 est has this subject to you ? A widow " 
 
 He was stopped by a gesture from her. Sud- 
 denly she extended her hand, and taking up the 
 wine, drank it off. Then she put down the glass 
 with a ringing sound, and, leaning forward, looked 
 steadily into his eyes. 
 
 " God forgive me ! " she said " God forgive 
 me that I am forced to say it, but He has not 
 been kind enough to set me free. The first thing 
 I have to tell you is that I am no widow. My 
 husband " the word nearly choked her " is liv- 
 ing." 
 
 Mr. Warwick started, but the surprise was 
 not nearly so much of a surprise as might per- 
 haps be imagined. He had suspected some- 
 thing like this before. It is hard to tell what 
 slight circumstances first sowed the seeds of sus 
 picion in his mind, but he had long felt an in 
 stinct that Mrs. Gordon's seclusion and impene- 
 trable reticence were not characteristic of a 
 widow, but of a woman who had still some- 
 thing to fear, something to hide from. Then, 
 no one knew the business of the Morton estate 
 as he did, and he had not failed to make his own 
 comments on the fact that, in taking possession 
 of this estate, Mrs. Gordon had absolutely re-
 
 108 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 fused to go through any of the usual legal forms. 
 There was no one to contest her claim, she said, 
 and so she quietly assumed her right of control 
 without any sanction from the law. Over this 
 obstinacy, Mr. Shields shrugged his shoulders. 
 " It's a woman's notion of doing business, Mr. 
 Warwick," he said. But Mr. Warwick himself 
 was of a different mind. He suspected how it 
 was ; though the suspicion scarcely took definite 
 form in his brain. He had other and more im- 
 portant things than Mrs. Gordon's private affairs 
 to consider ; and notwithstanding the boyish 
 sentiment for which his sister still gave him 
 credit, Mrs. Gordon herself was no more to him 
 than any old friend, liked sincerely liked with a 
 certain tenderness, perhaps, on account of the 
 past but making no part of his daily life. And 
 so it was, that he felt very little surprise when 
 she told him that she was not a widow that 
 her husband was living. 
 
 " Do not blame me more than you can help," 
 she went on, as he did not speak. " Do you re- 
 member how proud I used to be in the old 
 time ? Well, that pride has not quite been 
 crushed out of me. I could not bear to come 
 back here and tell these people what bitter ship- 
 wreck had overtaken me ! I could not bear to 
 spread before them the history of of such a life 
 as mine !" 
 
 " Why did you come back at all ? " said he, 
 hardly knowing what else to say. 
 
 " Because it was a place of refuge and I 
 had no other. Because it was the one place in 
 the world where he was least likely to come 
 least likely to think of searching for me. When 
 the last awful blow fell," said she, growing fear- 
 fully white, " I looked round despairingly and 
 wondered where I could go. Then, like a relief 
 from Heaven came the thought of my father's 
 house. Here I could be safe, here I would be 
 untroubled, here I might live and die unmolested 
 by him. But I have only been at peace a little 
 while. To-day Babettc met an agent whom he 
 has sent in search of me/' 
 
 " An agent ? " 
 
 " An unscrupulous tool, whom he retains for 
 uses of this kind, named St. John. As soon as 
 he conveys the information of my whereabouts, 
 that man my husband will come here. It if 
 not me he wants, it is Felix but if he takes the 
 child, he must take me too. What I wish to 
 ask you is this " she rose, and stood before 
 him, with an eager yearning in her eyes "can 
 he take him from me ? Does the Jaw give him 
 that power here?" 
 
 The lawyer's heart was touched with pity for 
 her ; but truth was uncompromising, and must 
 be told. " If he can prove that he is his father, 
 it gives him that power anywhere." 
 
 The woman the helpless creature to whom 
 the law gave no power sank down again into 
 her chair, and covered her face with her hands. 
 When she looked up at last, that face was tense 
 and bloodless. 
 
 " Then I must ask that service of which I 
 spoke a short time ago," she said. u Will you 
 take my poor boy, and put him somewhere 
 away from me where he will be in safety, and 
 and cannot be found ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick started, and. for a moment, 
 looked more than surprised in fact, he looked 
 almost aghast. Here was a proposition indeed ! 
 that a lawyer who respected the law as the most 
 sacred of earthly obligations, should be instru- 
 mental in evading it ! that a man who was full 
 of the dominative opinions of his sex, should 
 lend his aid to a scheme that removed a child 
 from the just control of its father ! Pauline 
 Morton certainly stretched the cord of ancient 
 friendship to its utmost tension, when she made 
 such a demand of him. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon," he said, gravely, " I would 
 do any tiling to serve you any thing that was 
 right ; but I am not sure this would be right. A 
 father always has a paramount claim to his child." 
 
 Instantly all the woman in her blazed out upon 
 him. 
 
 " A paramount claim, given by whom ? " she 
 demanded. " It is you men that make the laws 
 that grind poor women to the earth not God, 
 not religion, not any thing that should be re- 
 spected ! It is you who tear the very hearts out 
 of our breasts, and then talk of right and power 
 to do so. Yes, you have a right the right of 
 the strong to trample the weak ! You have a 
 power the power of the master over the slave ! 
 God knows there is no other. But I might have 
 been sure a man would never help me against 
 a man. Therefore, I shall do what must be 
 done, myself and only ask you not to betray 
 me." 
 
 " Stop, Mrs. Gordon," he said, as she rose 
 and moved toward the door. " Stop a moment," 
 he added, following her. " You must not leave 
 me like this. uRemember that I have not re- 
 fused to help you. I stated a general fact when 
 I said that a father has a paramount claim to 
 his child. It is certainly true, as a general fact : 
 but in particular cases, that claim is sometimes 
 i forfeited. If I am to serve you, I must do
 
 MR. WARWICK'S NEW CLIENT. 
 
 109 
 
 with my eyes open I must know whether the 
 claim has been forfeited in this instance." 
 
 " I think I can convince you of that," said 
 she, faintly, as she sat down again. " I am not 
 strong enough for such violent emotion," she 
 went on, panting slightly. " Wait wait a lit- 
 tle, and I will tell you all." 
 
 " Take your time," he said, kindly. 
 
 " If I do that, I should never speak at all," 
 Bhe answered, hurriedly. " I must do it at once. 
 You heard of my marriage some fifteen years 
 ago, did you not ? " 
 
 " We heard of it vaguely. You kept up no 
 communication with Lagrange, you know." 
 
 " I married a Captain Eraser, an English 
 officer," she went on, apparently unheeding his 
 reply. " I was very much in love with him," 
 she said, with a trembling, scornful smile ; " and 
 he well, he seemed to be in love with me. I was 
 beautiful then, you know, and I had been very 
 much admired. He was highly connected, and 
 he was very handsome I honestly believe that 
 those were the only reasons I had for liking 
 him. I thought myself able to judge of char- 
 acter, and rank and good looks dazzled me, as 
 they might have dazzled any village school-girl. 
 Well, I married him, and I cannot tell you of the 
 life I led afterward. Look at my face. Every 
 hour of it is written there ! Captain Fraser left 
 the army, and we lived on the Continent there 
 is not a city of Europe that is not full of bitter 
 memories to me. After my mother died, the life 
 grew worse. My husband was dissipated, and 
 recklessly extravagant. My poor brother " her 
 voice almost choked her " helped me as much 
 as he could. It was my demands that went to 
 impoverish the estate, and and I hear that he 
 has all the blame of it. As time went on, and 
 matters grew worse, I would have separated from 
 my husband, if it had not been for Felix. He, 
 who was my youngest child, alone lived, and I 
 could not leave him. It would have been bet- 
 ter, perhaps, if I had done so, for " she stopped 
 here, and something like a ghastly horror came 
 over her face " for as matters grew no better, 
 as ill-usage increased, my brother at last lost 
 patience. He met us at Baden, where Fraser 
 was at his worst, and and there was a violent 
 quarrel. I don't know how it was I have 
 never heard any particulars but he my broth- 
 er was killed by that man whom the law calls 
 my husband ! " 
 
 Almost unconsciously, Mr. Warwick uttered 
 an exclamation of horror, but white as was her 
 face, parched as were her lips, she hurried on : 
 
 " The next day I was half mad, and I did not 
 know where to turn ; but on one thing I was de- 
 termined that was, never to see him again. He 
 and this St. John had been obliged to leave Ba- 
 den, but he sent me word to go to Scotland, 
 where we had been living for some two or three 
 years I forgot to say that an uncle had died, 
 and left him a large estate, with the condition 
 that he assumed the name of Gordon. Instead 
 of going to Scotland, I came to America. He 
 knows how I always hated the country, and I 
 was sure he would never look for me here be- 
 sides he had hardly more than the vaguest idea 
 of where Morton House was situated. I relied on 
 all this, and I thought I might live here, and 
 and train Felix to be a gentleman. But you see 
 how it has ended ! I might have known I could 
 not defy the cunning of these two. It is Felix 
 they want not me ! If they take him, it will be 
 to make him what they are themselves. And 
 sooner than see him that," she cried out, pas- 
 sionately, " I could find the strength to kill him 
 with my own hands ! " 
 
 Without a word, Warwick rose from his 
 seat, and took two or three turns up and down 
 the room then suddenly came back and stood 
 before her, looking at her worn, haggard face. 
 " My God ! " he said, " what you must have en 
 dured ! And you went away from us for this ? " 
 
 " Yes, for this. Don't don't speak of the 
 old time. I cannot bear it now," she cried out, 
 suddenly. 
 
 " No, I will not speak of it," he answered, 
 kindly. " I was only thinking it seems hard 
 that mistakes should sometimes be punished 
 as bitterly as sins. Well, you were right. I 
 will help you to the very utmost of my power 
 As long as I can prevent it, the man of whom 
 you speak shall never obtain possession of your 
 son." 
 
 " But the law 
 
 " Such a man as the one you describe is not 
 likely to have recourse to the law, in the first 
 place especially in a foreign land. But, if he 
 did, the law could only assign the child to him ; 
 it could not find him for him. Get Felix ready 
 for a journey, and I will arrange my plans, mean- 
 while, and will communicate with you to-morrow 
 at latest. Do not be surprised or unprepared if 
 I call for the child at a very early hour in the 
 morning. That is, if there is need of haste in 
 the matter." 
 
 " Yes, yes there is great need of haste im- 
 mediate haste. I do not know how near my hue 
 band may be. Probably he is in America."
 
 110 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ' This St John cannot himself molest you ? " 
 
 " Not unless he were to entice Felix away. 
 The child was always very fond of him he might 
 do that," said she, suddenly rising, with terror in 
 her eyes. "I must return at once to Morton 
 House. He told Babette that he was coming 
 there. Good Heavens! I don't know what 
 may happen while I am away." 
 
 Mr. Warwick did not attempt to detain her. 
 He saw that it would be cruel to do so. Her 
 fears were causeless, for Babette was fully alive 
 to the danger, and St. John could sooner have 
 snatched Felix from the den of a lion than from 
 Morton House, guarded by her, and garrisoned 
 by a troop of servants ; but all the same it would 
 have been useless to reason with, and still more 
 useless to detain, a woman whose nerves were 
 strung to the pitch which Mrs. Gordon's now 
 were. He saw this, and opened the office-door. 
 " I will see you to-morrow," he said, and, as he 
 said it, she uttered a sudden, half-stifled cry, and 
 caught his arm 
 
 " There ! there ! " she gasped, shrinking 
 back into the room, and pointing eagerly across 
 the street. 
 
 His eyes followed the motion of her hand, and 
 be saw a slender, well-dressed man sauntering 
 long. " That is the man ? " he asked, though 
 the question was almost unnecessary. 
 
 " It is St. John ! " cried his companion, with 
 t wild burst of tears. " It is the wretch whom I 
 have not seen since since " 
 
 He put her gently into a chair, and said in a 
 qniet voice, the very tones of which were reassur- 
 ing, " Trust to me, and try and compose your- 
 elf. If you allow yourself to become unnerved 
 in this manner, you will put yourself entirely at 
 the mercy of this man, if, by any accident, he 
 succeeds in gaming admittance to your presence. 
 And the child you must think of him. For 
 his sake, endeavor to control yourself." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, he turned and 
 walked to the window, and followed Mr. St. 
 John's retreating figure with his eyes, as far 
 is it could be seen. It was a good thing that 
 Mr. St John was thinking deeply ; or that keen 
 glance might have made itself felt not com- 
 fortably. Few men like to be scrutinized in 
 that searching fashion ; and this man especially 
 had good reason for avoiding it. When he 
 finally turned a corner, and was out of sight, 
 Mr. Warwick went back to his companion. 
 
 " He is gone," he said, gently. " Let me put 
 yon into the carriage now, Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 She extended her hand silently, and he con- 
 
 ducted her out. After she was in the carriage, 
 and the door had been closed, she leaned forward 
 and spoke. " God bless you 1 " she said. That 
 was all ; but the words, and the sound of ths 
 rich, sweet voice that had spoken them, lingered 
 with him long after he went back into his office, 
 and sat down to Mr. Sloan's deed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MIS8 TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD. 
 
 THE morning after the ball at Annesdale, 
 Katharine was one of the few people who came 
 down-stairs at the usual hour. Most of the 
 ladies kept their chambers, and the gentlemen 
 dropped into the breakfast-room at irregular in- 
 tervals, looking the worse for their night's 
 amusement. Miss Tresham received many com 
 pliments on her matutinal habits all of which 
 she answered by a faint smile. " I don't de- 
 serve any credit for my energy," she said. " I 
 should have liked very much to sleep longer, and 
 probably would have done so, if I had not been 
 obliged to go to Tallahoma this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley was sitting at another table 
 and talking to quite another set of people ; but 
 she caught the last words and turned round. 
 
 " Did I hear you say something about Talla- 
 homa, Miss Tresham ? I hope you are not in- 
 tending to desert us ? " 
 
 " Not unless you prohibit my return," an- 
 swered Katharine, smiling. " I was only talking 
 of going into town for a while this morning on 
 business," she added, as she saw a slight expres- 
 sion of surprise on Mrs. Annesley's face. 
 
 " Hear ! hear ! " cried Mr. Langdon, laughing 
 " ' On business ' that is, to buy six yards of rib- 
 bon, or a pair of gloves. How grandly you ladies 
 talk!" 
 
 " To buy something much more important 
 than many yards of ribbon, or many pairs of 
 gloves," answered Miss Tresham, gravely. Then 
 she turned to Mrs. Annesley, and asked if she 
 could send her into town. 
 
 " Certainly. The carriage is at your service," 
 her hostess replied. " At what hour shall I order 
 it?" 
 
 "Immediately after breakfast, if you please," 
 Katharine answered. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, Miss Tresham 
 went up-stairs, and put on her bonnet and cloak. 
 When she came down, the carriage was standing 
 before the door, and, while she was congratulat
 
 MISS TRESHAM KEEPS HER WORD. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ing herstlf on her escape from companionship 
 and questioning, lo ! from the drawing-room, 
 sallied forth Mrs. French arrayed in full out-door 
 costume. 
 
 "You don't object to taking me along, do 
 you, Miss Tresham ? " she asked, with a smile 
 that Katharine could not help thinking had the 
 least possible tinge of malicious enjoyment in it. 
 " Mamma wants me to go to the Andersons, and 
 they live on the other side of Tallahoma. I can 
 drop you in the village, and call for you as I re- 
 turn, if you say so." 
 
 Katharine said so with the best grace she 
 could summon, and in this way found herself 
 fairly booked to make the best or worst of 
 Mrs. French during a five-miles' drive. For a 
 while, the latter spared her any conversational 
 exertion being full of the important subject of 
 the ball, on which her tongue ran as glibly as 
 possible. 
 
 "Was it pleasant, Miss Tresham? did you 
 really enjoy yourself ?" she asked. "Did other 
 people seem to be enjoying themselves ? Of 
 course everybody told me that it was delightful ; 
 but I have said such things dozens of times, 
 when in fact I had been nearly bored to death. 
 After one has told stories of that kind one's self, 
 one isn't apt to believe other people, you know, 
 1 am so glad you think every thing went off 
 nicely. Our ball has become quite the Christ- 
 mas event in Lagrange, and I always like it to 
 be nice. It often strikes me that it is a very 
 daring thing to bring a hundred or so people to- 
 gether, and leave them to amuse themselves for 
 that is what a ball really comes to, you know." 
 
 " Indeed I don't know," said Katharine, 
 smiling. " On the contrary, I think it is on 
 the hostess that the success or failure of a ball 
 principally rests. You must not try to shirk 
 the success of yours, Mrs. French." 
 
 " Oh, it was mamma who played hostess," 
 said Mrs. French, with a shrug. " I took no 
 more responsibility of that sort than any of the 
 guests. When I come home, I tried to forget 
 that I am married ; and I generally succeed in 
 enjoying myself quite as much as if I was a girl 
 with a dozen or so of admirers. By-the-by, we 
 were talking over the ball this morning, and 
 there was quite a discussion going on as to 
 who was the belle of it. Tell me who you think 
 is best entitled to that distinction." 
 
 " That is hard to say," answered Katharine, 
 trying to keep her wandering thoughts to the 
 subject in question. " Everybody has a different 
 opinion as to who was the belle of the ball. I 
 
 think Miss Vernon was the mos', beautiful woman 
 present ; but whether other people thought so, 
 or whether that constitutes bellehood, I really 
 don't know." 
 
 " I should say that the woman who was 
 most sought and admired was the belle," said 
 Mrs. French, decidedly. " You were very much 
 admired, Miss Tresham," she went on, with sur- 
 prising candor. " Any number of people asked 
 me who you were, and said you danced so grace- 
 fully. I suppose you learned to dance in Europe 
 in Paris, perhaps." 
 
 " Indeed, no," said Katharine, smiling and 
 sighing both at once. " I never was in Paris. 
 I learned to dance at home in the West Indies 
 where everybody loves it so." 
 
 " But you are English." 
 
 " I am West Indian," said Katharine, flush- 
 ing a little. " Please don't call me English, for 
 I am no more English than you are. Your 
 grandparents, or great-grandparents, probably 
 came from England, and so did mine that is 
 all." 
 
 In this strain, the con 'ersation went on until 
 Tallahoma was in sight, and Katharine, instead 
 of being fresh and ready for what was before 
 her, felt already wearied and downcast. 
 
 " Where shall I tell John to stop, Miss Tresh- 
 am ? " asked Mrs. French, with her hand on the 
 check-string, as they entered the town. 
 
 " At " Katharine stopped a moment. She 
 was about to say " Mrs. Marks," but a timely 
 recollection of the lateness of the hour, and of 
 the many detentions that would await her there, 
 came over her. It was imperative that she 
 should see Mr. Marks at once, and that the 
 business which brought her to Tallahoma should 
 be transacted without loss of time ; so she fin- 
 ished her sentence by saying " the bank." 
 
 "The bank, John," said Mrs. French, with 
 a little arch of her eyebrows. Then she added, 
 laughingly, "I must tell Mr. Langdon that your 
 business in Tallahoma really was business. One 
 doesn't go to a bank to buy ribbons and gloves." 
 
 " I am going to see Mr. Marks about my sal- 
 ary," said Katharine, more annoyed by this re- 
 mark than was strictly reasonable, and thinking 
 she would put an end to any and all conjectures 
 concerning her business. 
 
 " My dear Miss Tresham," said Mrs. French, 
 a little shocked, " I hope you don't think that I 
 meant any thing that I was so impertinent as 
 to be curious about your affairs. I really beg 
 your pardon, if I said any thing to make you 
 think so."
 
 112 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 44 You did not say any thing," answered Kath- 
 arine. " I ought to beg your pardon for mention- 
 ing them only one certainly does not go to a 
 bank to buy ribbons and gloves." 
 
 " This is the place now," said Mrs. French, 
 looking out " Shall I call for you here, Miss 
 Tresham f " 
 
 " At Mrs. Marks's, if you please," said Kath- 
 arine, as the footman opened the door, and she 
 descended to the sidewalk. "I shall be back 
 in about two hours," was the last thing she 
 heard Mrs. French say, as the carriage drove 
 off. 
 
 Watching it out of sight, the girl said: 
 M Thank Heaven ! " with fervor, then turned, 
 and, opening a gate just before her, went up a 
 short walk bordered with green box, to the door 
 of a somewhat gloomy-looking brick house. She 
 knew the place well, for, during her first year of 
 residence with the Marks family, they had lived 
 here ; and it was only because the children were 
 growing large, and the house, with the bank 
 apartments deducted, was uncomfortably small, 
 that they had removed to the outskirts of the 
 village. Nobody was more glad of the change 
 than Katharine ; but still, her local attachments 
 were strong, and she gave a kind smile round 
 the yard, with every nook and corner of which 
 she had been familiar. She even stopped a mo- 
 ment to examine a rose-bush, that was clambering 
 over the porch, before she went in. The passage 
 which she entered looked dark and cheerless, but, 
 on a door to the right, the word " Bank " was con- 
 spicuously lettered ; and, as this door was ajar, 
 large, well-lighted room, with a counter run- 
 nlng across it, was visible. Here all was well- 
 known ground ; so Katharine walked in without 
 any hesitation. Two gentlemen were standing 
 at a fireplace behind the counter, and they both 
 turned as she entered. One was Mr. Marks, the 
 other Mr. Warwick. A young man was busy 
 with accounts at the other end of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why, Miss Kate, is it possible ! " said the 
 cashier, meeting her in his hearty way. He 
 hook hands, and seemed so glad to see her, 
 that Katharine, who was thoroughly unnerved, 
 felt half-Inclined to cry. It is astonishing how 
 every emotion with a woman takes the form of 
 that inclination. " Yes, it is I, Mr. Marks," she 
 aid ; and, while she was making inquiries about 
 Mrs. Marks and the children, Mr. Warwick, after 
 peaking to her, took his departure. "I'll be 
 back in the course of an hour," he said to Mr. 
 Marks; and then he went out looking, Kath- 
 
 arine thought, a little more grave than was 
 usual with him. 
 
 Her own business was soon transacted. If 
 Mr. Marks felt any surprise at the demand she 
 came to make, he had discretion enough not to 
 show it. " The whole amount, Miss Kate ? " was 
 all that he said. " The whole amount, if you 
 please, Mr. Marks," she answered. So, after 
 due examination of accounts, and due adding 
 up of interest, Katharine found no less a sum 
 than one thousand dollars in crisp bank-notes, 
 paid to her across the counter. Her heart 'gavo 
 a great leap. She had been so little accus- 
 tomed to the command of money in her life, 
 that this seemed to her a large amount quite 
 a moderate fortune, in fact. " Surely it will buy 
 my freedom," she thought to herself, with a 
 strange pang at her heart ; and then, while she 
 signed a receipt for the payment, a sudden 
 thought occurred to her,. and she startled Mr. 
 Marks by dropping the pen, and looking up at 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. Marks, I am sorry," she said, hastily, 
 "but could you let me have the amount in 
 gold ? " 
 
 "In gold!" echoed Mr. Marks, so much as- 
 tonished that he could not help showing it. " In 
 gold, Miss Kate ? " 
 
 " Yes if it will not inconvenience you 
 if" 
 
 " If it will not inconvenience you, my dear 
 young lady," interrupted the cashier, laughing a 
 little. " You'll find it rather troublesome, I 
 think ; but of course the bank is always ready 
 to pay specie when demanded on its notes. Do 
 you want all that money in gold ? " 
 
 " All, if you please." 
 
 " I must go down into the vault for it, then. 
 We don't keep specie up here," he added, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 As Katharine stood waiting for him to re- 
 turn, she hurriedly reviewed the situation in her 
 mind. Regarded in any light, it was a rather em- 
 barrassing one. To conceal a thousand dollars 
 in gold about her person was simply impossible ; 
 to carry it in her hand through the streets, with- 
 out exciting much observation, and incurring 
 much fatigue, was equally impossible. Yet 
 what was to be done? If she paid the bank- 
 notes to St. John, he would certainly convert 
 them immediately into specie ; and, as the notes 
 might readily be identified, this would subject 
 her to a great deal of unpleasant conjecture 
 and possible inquiry. The only way to avoid it 
 was to draw the gold at once ; and yet, in that
 
 MISS TRESHAM KEEPS lifclR WORD. 
 
 113 
 
 case, the problem still remained how was she to 
 take the amount either to Mrs. Marks, or to An- 
 uesdale, being unfortunately unprovided with any 
 convenient pocket or satchel ? Necessity, how- 
 ever, is the best spur, not only to invention, but 
 to fertile expedient. As Mr. Marks reentered 
 the apartment, a solution for her difficulty flashed 
 through Katharine's brain. She thanked him, 
 after he had counted the last one of the ringing 
 yellow pieces down before her ; and, while he 
 was methodically tying them up in a canvas bag, 
 she asked, quickly : 
 
 " Mr. Marks, would you object to my seeing 
 a friend in the parlor yonder, across the pas- 
 sage ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, Miss Katharine," answered 
 Mr. Marks, speaking without the least hesitation. 
 " By all means, see a half-dozen friends there, if 
 vou desire." 
 
 " One will do," said Katharine, acknowledg- 
 ing this pleasantry by a faint smile. " Now one 
 thing more will you give me a pen and some 
 paper ? " 
 
 Pen and paper were obligingly placed before 
 her ; and she wrote a few lines, folded, sealed, 
 and addressed the note to Mr. Henry Johns. 
 As she was about to leave the room in search 
 of a messenger, Mr. Marks spoke : 
 
 " If it's a note you want taken anywhere, 
 Miss Kate, Hugh can go for you. He'll not be 
 sorry for a walk," he said, nodding toward the 
 clerk. 
 
 "If Mr. Ellis won't mind," said Katharine, 
 looking at him with a smile. 
 
 The young man put down his pen, and came 
 forward with an air which plainly showed that 
 he did not mind. In shy, boyish fashion, he was 
 quite an admirer of Miss Tresham, and she knew 
 it. 
 
 11 You arc always ready to oblige me," she 
 said, giving him the note, with a smile that al- 
 most turned his head. Then she followed him 
 into the passage. " See the gentleman yourself, 
 please," she said ; and Hugh promised that he 
 would. 
 
 After he was gone, she went into the un- 
 furnished parlor, and walked up and down the 
 floor, chinking the bag of gold which she kept 
 whispering to herself would buy her freedom 
 at least, for the present. After a while, how- 
 ever, she found it heavy, and put it down on the 
 window-sill, for tables or chairs there were none. 
 Then, as she stood waiting, the forlorn aspect of 
 every thing around began to strike her. Few 
 things are more forlorn than an empty room a 
 
 room of bare floor, naked walls, uncurtained win- 
 dows and when, together with these things, the 
 day is cloudy, and the prospect without not a 
 whit more enlivening than the prospect within, it 
 would take a very strong mind indeed to with- 
 stand the effect of time and place. Some people 
 are peculiarly susceptible to influences like these, 
 and Katharine was one of them. Those who 
 knew her well thought she deserved a great deal 
 of credit for being as quiet and full of practical 
 common-sense as she generally proved herself; 
 for she possessed in unfortunate degree that 
 sensitiveness to outside events, that capability 
 of being deeply affected by outside things, which 
 sober, phlegmatic folk are fond of calling " non- 
 sense." Engrossed as she now was by thoughts 
 of the coming interview, she was not so en- 
 grossed but that she noticed at the time, and 
 remembered afterward, every separate detail that 
 went to make up the scene around her every 
 grotesque figure on the sickly green wall-paper, 
 every cobweb across the dusty, fly-specked win- 
 dows, every tree and shrub in the yard outside. 
 She was looking at her watch, and thinking how 
 fast time was going, when the click of the gate- 
 latch make her start, and, looking up, she saw 
 Hugh Ellis ushering in St. John. 
 
 As they entered the passage, she opened the 
 parlor door, and motioned the latter to enter. 
 When he obeyed, she closed it again, and, with- 
 out speaking, walked to the window where the 
 bag of money lay. Taking it in her hand, she 
 turned and held it out as he approached. 
 
 " Here it is, St. John," she said. " I wish it 
 was more, but, such as it is, you are welcome to 
 it. Don't think that I grudge you one shilling 
 when I say will you go now and leave me in 
 peace? " 
 
 " You think of nothing but yourself," said 
 he, without touching the money. "From first 
 to last, you have thought of nothing but your- 
 self, and of being ' left in peace.' Yet, there are 
 people who call women unselfish." 
 
 " If I think of myself, who forced me to do 
 so?" said she. "St. John, don't let us recrimi- 
 nate now. Here is the money. Take it believe 
 me, you are welcome to it." 
 
 " As a price to get rid of me." 
 
 " No as a relief freely given." 
 
 " It's a devilish mean thing to take it," said 
 he. But still he did take it opening his eyes a 
 little at the amount. 
 
 " You must have been hoarding, Katharine," 
 he said. " Or else they pay like princes here." 
 
 " They pay very well," she answered, " and I
 
 114 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 bare not spent much. I have had no need to do 
 o." 
 
 " What is the amount ? " 
 
 " A thousand dollars. I took gold, because 
 I thought you would prefer it to bank-notes." 
 
 "This is better," said he, a little absently. 
 He weighed the bag in his hand, with an expert 
 gesture. "Two hundred pounds sterling," said 
 be. " Katharine, is it worth while to say that I 
 am much obliged to you ? " 
 
 " No it is not worth while." 
 
 " Very well," said he, coolly. 
 
 He opened the bag, took out some of the 
 coin and looked at it, put it back, and tied up 
 the mouth again. Something slightly nervous in 
 the action, struck Katharine ; but, as he did not 
 speak, she spoke herself. 
 
 " You will leave Tallahoma to-day, St. 
 John ? " 
 
 " No," said he, sharply. " Why should you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " I don't see what should detain you," she 
 answered. " I this is all I can do for you." 
 
 " I am not considering you," he said, coldly. 
 
 He turned and walked up and down the 
 room, looking absently at the doors and win- 
 dows as he passed. 
 
 "Is this rickety old place a bank?" he 
 asked, after a while. 
 
 " Yes, it is a bank that is, the bank is in 
 the other room." 
 
 " Humph ! They must offer a premium for 
 feats of burglary." 
 
 "It is secure enough," Katharine answered 
 adding, suddenly, " St. John, don't waste time 
 'ike this. Tell me what you mean by saying 
 that you will not leave here." 
 
 " I mean that I have found work to do," he 
 answered, coming back, and pausing before her. 
 " I mean, Katharine, that I have found the thing 
 I most need, and least hoped for a claim on 
 Fraser." 
 
 " A claim 1 here I St. John, are you mad ? " 
 
 "If I am, it is the luckiest fit of madness 
 that ever came to anybody," he replied, with a 
 short laugh. " No, I am quite sane, and I tell 
 you " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Katharine, catching his arm 
 with a force that surprised him. " Hush ! what 
 Is that ? " 
 
 They both stood quite silent, and listened 
 Bt John full of astonishment, Katharine full of 
 suspense. Through the closed door, there came 
 the sound of a rustling dress and a woman's voice . 
 in the passage beyond. As soon as Miss Tresham 
 
 heard this, she turned and glanced out of the win- 
 dow near by. To her dismay, the Annesley car- 
 riage stood before the gate. 
 
 " I must go," she said, hastily. " It is Mrs. 
 French. St. John, don't keep me I must go." 
 
 " Who is Mrs. French ? " he asked, impa- 
 tiently. " I want to see you I want to speak 
 to you about this business." 
 
 " I cannot stay now," she said ; and, as she 
 spoke, she moved rapidly across the room, and 
 unclosed the door, just as there came a knock on 
 the other side. Opening it suddenly, she faced 
 Mrs. French, who was standing with her hand 
 uplifted, ready to knock again. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Tresham," said she, rather taken 
 aback. " I beg pardon I nope I did not dis 
 turb you ? The Andersons were not at home, 
 so, thinking you might still be here, I called on 
 my way to Mrs. Marks. Mr. Marks told me that 
 you were in this room, and I merely wanted to 
 let you know that I had come I hope I did not 
 disturb you." 
 
 " Not at all," said Katharine, perfectly con 
 scious that, despite the obstacle of her figure, 
 Mrs. French's eyes had fully explored the room, 
 and fully scrutinized St. John, who was still 
 standing near one of the windows, and imme- 
 diately within her range of vision. " I am 
 ready to go," she added. " Don't let me detain 
 you." 
 
 " My time is quite at your service," said 
 Mrs. French, with most obliging sweetness. 
 " I can wait in the bank until you have finished 
 your business." 
 
 " I have entirely finished it," answered Kath- 
 arine. 
 
 In consequence of this reply, Mrs. French 
 had no alternative but to turn from the door, 
 and allow Miss Tresham an exit. As she walked 
 down the passage, Katharine paused a moment, 
 and motioned St. John to approach. 
 
 " If you are anxious to see me, you can come 
 out to Annesdale," she said. " If what you have 
 to say is important, you can meet me to-morrow 
 in the place that I showed you before." 
 
 " At what hour ? " he asked. 
 
 " I will try to be there by twelve," she an- 
 swered, after which she closed the door, and fol- 
 lowed Mrs. French. 
 
 " Shall I tell John to stop at Mrs. Marks's ? " 
 asked this lady, as she moved aside to let Kath- 
 arine enter the carriage. 
 
 " I believe not," Miss Tresham answered. 
 " I won't detain you. It does not matter, since 
 , I shall see Mrs. Marks in two or three days."
 
 SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. 
 
 115 
 
 " Home, John," said Mrs. French, gathering 
 her silk dress in both hands and stepping into 
 the carriage. 
 
 Ten minutes after the equipage rolled out 
 of sight, Mr. Warwick came down the street 
 toward the bank. As he entered the gate, he 
 met St. John, who was just going out. A glance 
 only passed between the two men ; but some- 
 times a glance can be very significant. The 
 remembrance of the lawyer's keen eyes gave 
 the adventurer an uncomfortable feeling as he 
 walked along, with Katharine's thousand dollars 
 safely stowed in his pockets, while Mr. Warwick 
 went straight into the bank and asked Mr. Marks 
 what " that man " had wanted there. 
 
 " That man ! whom do you mean ? " in- 
 quired the cashier, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " That St. John, or Johns, as I believe he 
 calls himself what did he come here for ? " 
 
 " St. John ! Johns ! There has been nobody 
 here of that name," said Mr. Marks, looking puz- 
 zled. " In fact, there has been nobody here at 
 all since you left, excepting Mrs. French, who 
 called for Miss Tresham." 
 
 " The gentleman Mr. Warwick means is the 
 one Miss Tresham sent for," said Hugh Ellis, 
 looking up. " I saw him as he went out of the 
 gate." 
 
 " Miss Tresham sent for him ? " repeated Mr. 
 Warwick. 
 
 He said nothing more, but walked to one 
 of the windows, and stood there for a minute 
 gazing out. Then he turned and came back 
 to his brother-in-law. 
 
 " Don't think I am meddling," he said, " but 
 if it is not confidential, I should like to know 
 what Miss Tresham's business was. Did she 
 say any thing to you about that man ? " 
 
 " She said nothing about any man," replied 
 Mr. Marks. " She came to draw her money." 
 
 " Her money ! " 
 
 " The whole of her two-years' salary," said 
 the cashier. " A very pretty little sum it was, 
 too," he added, approvingly. " A thousand dol- 
 lars down in gold." 
 
 " Why did you pay it in gold ? " 
 
 " Because she requested it from a foreign- 
 er's distrust of our paper, I suppose. I did not 
 think of it before," he went on, " but it looks a 
 little as if she meant to go away. If she did, 
 I should be very sorry, for I don't know where 
 I could find another teacher who would suit us 
 11 as she does. As for the man, I don't know 
 any thing about him. She wrote a note, and 
 Bent it by Hugh ; but he hadn't been here 
 
 more than ten minutes before Mrs. French 
 came." 
 
 " Did Miss Tresham go away then ? " 
 
 " Yes, she went away then." 
 
 Mr. Marks paused a moment, looked at his 
 brother-in-law, and added, hastily : 
 
 " I hope there's nothing wrong about the 
 man, Warwick ? It did not occur to me to 
 think any thing somehow I always feel as if 
 Miss Tresham could be trusted as we don't trust 
 every woman of her age." 
 
 " I am sure Miss Tresham can be trusted," 
 said Mr. Warwick, quickly. " You don't sup- 
 pose I was thinking of her ? Whatever the 
 man may be, there's one thing certain she can 
 be trusted." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," responded 
 Mr. Marks, looking relieved. 
 
 " Surely you did not need to hear me say 
 so ? Now, about my business. Mrs. Gordon 
 asked me to get this check cashed for her. She 
 wants the money at once." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. 
 
 "MAMMA," said Mrs. French, entering the 
 drawing-room where her mother was sitting 
 with half a dozen ladies, " have you any idea 
 where Miss Tresham is ? We want to rehearse 
 the tableaux for to-morrow evening, and she is 
 not to be found." 
 
 " I saw her go to walk a little while ago," 
 said Mrs. Annesley, looking up from her em- 
 broidery. " She went out toward the shrub- 
 bery, Adela. You had better send for her if you 
 need her." 
 
 "Send Mr. Langdon," said Mrs. Raynor, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I wouldn't advise you to do any thing of 
 the kind, if you want to see either of them soo 
 again," remarked Mrs. Dargan. " That young 
 man is really absurd ! " she added, with consid- 
 erable asperity. 
 
 " Send Maggie Lester and Morton," said 
 Mrs. Annesley. " Spitfire will soon find her 
 for them." 
 
 " That is a good idea ! " cried Mrs. French, 
 and, by way of putting it into execution, she im- 
 mediately returned to the library where the prin- 
 cipal portion of the party were assembled. A 
 lively examination of engravings, and discussion 
 of costumes, was going on here, and a great deal
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 if interest and excitement was afloat ; for, thirty 
 years ago, tableaux were by no means the very 
 common and very boring amusement which they 
 are at present. In those days they were quite 
 novel, especially in country districts and, in 
 consequence of the novelty, were considered 
 very fascinating. Not long before this, Mrs. 
 French had assisted at an exhibition of the 
 kind in Mobile, and she was anxious to intro- 
 duce the new amusement into Lagrange. Hav- 
 ing abundant material at hand, in the matter of 
 pretty girls, obliging gentlemen, and an unlimited 
 command of costume, she determined on giving 
 a New-Year entertainment of this character. 
 All the company received the idea with enthu- 
 siasm, and the only danger was that their zeal 
 might outrun their discretion, inasmuch as they 
 seemed anxious to prolong the entertainment in- 
 definitely by representing every conceivable scene, 
 and personating every imaginable character with- 
 in the range of history or fiction. At length, 
 however, this vaulting ambition was somewhat 
 curbed, and the programme, after much weeding, 
 was finally made out. Of course, the usual trou- 
 ble about the distribution of parts the trouble 
 which is the bane of private theatricals, and all 
 affairs of the kind ensued. But, by judicious 
 management, the stormy waters were allayed, 
 and, after many compromises, peace was at length 
 secured. But only peace in partial form. Char- 
 acters being settled, dress yet remained an open 
 question ; and, when Mrs. French entered the 
 library, a warm discussion was in progress. 
 
 " I tell you it ought to be black velvet and 
 pearls," Miss Lester was saying, decidedly, as 
 her friend walked up and touched her on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Let the black velvet alone just now, Mag- 
 gie," she said. " I want you to go out into the 
 grounds and look for Miss Tresham. Mamma 
 saya she went to walk. I wouldn't ask you, only 
 you are so fond of exercise; and, if you take 
 Spitfire, he will soon show you where she is. We 
 must have her to settle about the dress of Queen 
 Mary. Please take Morton with you, and see if 
 you can't find her." 
 
 "Do you hear that, Mr. Annesley?" asked 
 Miss Lester, who was ready at once for the part 
 assigned her. " The morning is charming, and 
 I should like nothing better than a walk. Spit- 
 fire will like a game of hide-and-seek, too. He 
 will find Miss Tresham for you in no time, Adcla. 
 Meanwhile "this to the lady to whom she had 
 been talking before " remember that I say black 
 velvet and pearls." 
 
 Spitfire was quite willing for a walk and a 
 game of hide-and-seek, while Morton, for hia 
 part, was heartily tired of talk about doublets, 
 and ruffs, and colored lights, and gauze screens. 
 
 "Oh, we can't let Mr. Annesley go we 
 haven't settled on the costume of the Master of 
 llavenswood yet ! " cried one or two ladies, as he 
 rose with alacrity to follow Miss Lester from the 
 room. 
 
 " He won't be long," said Adela, philosophi- 
 cally. " What do you think Lucy Ashton ought 
 to wear ? a bridal dress, of course ; but in what 
 shape ? " 
 
 " Which way shall we go, Miss Lester ? " 
 asked Morton, as they descended the front stepa 
 together. 
 
 " We will ask Spitfire that," the young lady 
 answered. " Here, Spitfire ! seek, sir, seek ! 
 Find Miss Tresham Oh, I forgot," as Spitfire 
 stood looking very confused and irresolute. " I 
 must have something of Miss Tresham's to show 
 him. Mr. Annesley, run into the hall and see if 
 you can't find me something." 
 
 Mr. Annesley did as he was bid that is, he 
 walked into the hall, and returned after a minute 
 or two with a long crimson scarf. " I think 
 this is Miss Tresham's," he said. " I have seen 
 her wear it several times." 
 
 " Here, Spitfire, here ! " said his mistress, 
 shaking the scarf at him, as,if she was a mata- 
 dore and Spitfire was the bull she wished to en- 
 rage. " Here, pet ! and now go and seek Misa 
 Tresham." 
 
 Thanks to the instructions of " Cousin Tom," 
 Spitfire was tolerably well trained. He sniffed at 
 the scarf, then trotted about a little, sniffed at the 
 ground in much the same disdainful fashion, and 
 finally set off toward the shrubbery. 
 
 " Come on," said Miss Lester, beginning to 
 walk very fast; and Morton came on, as request- 
 ed. Fast walking is not the most graceful thing 
 in the world, as we who live in this day have 
 ample opportunity for observing; but, on the 
 31st of December, when the sun is clouded over, 
 and the air decidedly sharp, it is at least a com- 
 fortable thing. Miss Lester's cheeks had bright 
 roses in them when at last she came to a halt. 
 " Where has Spitfire gone ? " she cried, laughing. 
 " I am afraid we shall have to look for him, with- 
 out the advantage, which he has, of a nose as a 
 guide." 
 
 " This way, I think," said Morton, and he 
 turned down a path that led into the wildest and 
 prettiest part of the grounds. The woods, which 
 had been enclosed here, were left almost eDt.irelj
 
 SPITFIRE PLAYS AT IIIDE-AND-SEEK. 
 
 117 
 
 s Nature arranged them, excepting that the en- i 
 lumbering undergrowth of the forest had been 
 cleared away, and now and then a rustic seat was 
 placed in some shady nook. In spring, summer, 
 or autumn, a lovelier spot was not to be found 
 within the borders of Lagrange ; but it looked 
 cheerless enough on this bleak December day, 
 with the leafless trees standing out like fine pen- 
 cil tracery against a dull, gray sky, and the brown 
 earth covered only with dry, fallen leaves. 
 
 "I don't think Spitfire came this way," said 
 Miss Lester, a little pettishly, for she did not 
 fancy walking down a steep hill with the as- 
 sured certainty that she would have to walk up 
 again. 
 
 " Fam sure he did," said Annesley ; " but, if 
 you are tired, we won't go on. No doubt he will 
 bring Miss Tresham to us after a while. Here is 
 a seat pray sit down." 
 
 " No, we might as well go on. There ! is 
 not that Spitfire that I hear ? " 
 
 It was Spitfire, undoubtedly. From no other 
 canine throat could such a volume of shrill sound 
 have issued a vehement barking, of the most in- 
 dignant kind, that was borne with singular dis- 
 tinctness through the still air. 
 
 " He can't be attacking Miss Tresham in that 
 way," said Morton, quickly. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Spitfire's mistress, with the 
 coolness which characterizes the owners of bad 
 dogs, when those dogs are annoying or terrifying 
 other people within an inch of their lives. " He 
 he has met somebody else somebody that he 
 don't know. Let us walk faster," she went on, 
 more eagerly, " or he may be hurt." 
 
 " The somebody may be hurt, do you mean ? " 
 asked Annesley, as he quickened his pace in ac- 
 cordance with her own. " Surely Spitfire will not 
 really bite ? " 
 
 "The somebody!" echoed the young lady, 
 with an indignation that startled him. "You 
 don't suppose I am thinking of the somebody 
 I mean that Spitfire himself may be hurt." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the gentleman, thus enlightened 
 then he added, with a smile, " perhaps he may. 
 I would not answer for what I might do under 
 such provocation as that." 
 
 " That " was the furious sounds of rage to 
 which Spitfire was giving utterance as they ap- 
 proached. Other sounds were also audible now 
 Katharine's voice calling him off, and a man's 
 voice angrily bidding him be gone. 
 
 'Some one is with Miss Tresham," said Mor- 
 ton, stopping with an instinctive hesitation an 
 'nstinctive remembrance of that other meeting 
 
 of which his mother had spoken two days be- 
 fore. 
 
 But he stopped too late. Urged by a fear for 
 Spitfire's safety, Miss Lester rushed eagerly for- 
 ward, and he could not decline to follow. A few 
 more steps brought them into the little dell, of 
 which mention has before been made, and there 
 the combat was raging hotly Spitfire barking 
 fiercely, and making frantic dashes at the feet 
 and legs of St. John, the latter defending himself 
 with considerable bravery, and Katharine trying, 
 by alternate persuasion and command, to draw 
 off the assailant. 
 
 Upon this scene Miss Lester rushed, just as 
 St. John lost patience, and, stooping, took up a 
 stone. Before he could throw it, his arm was 
 peremptorily caught. 
 
 " How dare you ! " cried the indignant and 
 breathless owner of Spitfire. " How dare " a 
 long pant " dare you throw stones at my dog ? 
 I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself a 
 great big man like you to be afraid of a little dog 
 like that ! " 
 
 " Excuse me," stammered he, turning round 
 in astonishment, and finding himself in the grasp 
 of a young and pretty woman. " I did not mean 
 to hurt him but he attacked me without provoca- 
 tion, and " he added, with a sudden effort to re- 
 cover the self-possession that had escaped him 
 " ' though he be but little, he is fierce.' You 
 must confess that." 
 
 " How could you let him do it ? " said Miss 
 Lester, turning to Katharine, " and when Spitfire 
 poor, dear fellow came out to look for you, 
 too ! But what is the matter ? are you not 
 well ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am well," said Katharine, trying to 
 smile a piteous attempt which touched Annes- 
 ley "but first Spitfire, and then you, startled 
 me a little. I was not expecting any one." 
 
 " Adela sent us to look for you," said Miss 
 Lester, turning her back on the gentleman, al 
 the more determinedly because she was dying of 
 curiosity to look at him. In her own fashion, 
 she was a girl of very high-minded ideas, though ; 
 and she kept her eyes steadily fastened on Kath- 
 arine's face. " Adela sent us for you. She 
 wants to rehearse the tableaux, and you forget 
 that you are Queen Mary and Joan of Arc." 
 
 " I did forget it entirely," said Katharine. 
 " I will go back with you at once. Mr." she 
 paused a moment " Mr. Johns, perhaps Mr. 
 Annesley will be kind enough to show you the 
 way out of the grounds." 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Annesley, with a grave
 
 118 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 bi w, " unless you will permit me to suggest the 
 amendment that you introduce me to your friend, 
 and that he will do me the honor to return with 
 us to the house." 
 
 Katharine cast a quick look of mingled appre- 
 hension and entreaty at St. John before going 
 through the form of introduction, in a voice that 
 was not quite steady. She might have spared 
 herself the apprehension she entertained. St. 
 John was equal to the occasion. lie bowed 
 with easy grace, and regretted that he could 
 not accept Mr. Annesley's courteous invitation ; 
 then bowed again to the ladies, as Katharine 
 said to Miss Lester, " Shall we return now ? " 
 
 " With all my heart," the young lady an- 
 swered. " Here, Spitfire ! here pet ! I am 
 afraid to leave him there," she went on, as 
 Katharine and herself mounted the hill. " He 
 has evidently taken a great dislike to that gen- 
 tleman, and, when Spitfire takes a dislike to any- 
 body, he never gets over it. He your friend 
 was about to hurt him when I came up." 
 
 " I think not," said Katharine. Then she 
 added, suddenly : " Don't call him my friend. I 
 know him, and he chanced to be here and meet 
 me that is all." 
 
 " You know him ! " repeated Miss Lester, 
 looking at her. " Excuse me, but you say that 
 as if you did not like him." 
 
 " 1 don't like him." 
 
 " Then, if I were you," said the other, with 
 sudden frankness, " I would not meet him in this 
 sort of way. I wouldn't do it for a man I liked, 
 and I am sure I would see a man I didn't like 
 shot ten times over first. Don't think me imper- 
 tinent, Miss Tresham," she went on, " but I like 
 y>u, and I thought I would tell you how people 
 consider such things here. You are a stranger, 
 and perhaps don't know our customs. Of course, 
 I shall not gossip about the matter, and, as for 
 Morton Annesley, he is true as steel ; but still, 
 if I were you, I wouldn't do it. Are you offend- 
 ed with me?" 
 
 " Not in the least," said Katharine, smiling 
 faintly. " You mean kindly, and, therefore, I 
 could not be offended. You simply don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 The last words were uttered so quietly, and 
 with so much unconscious dignity, that they had 
 their effect upon Miss Lester. She hesitated a 
 minute before answering. 
 
 " No, I don't understand, of course, and I 
 don't mean to judge either. But I can see how 
 tilings look, Miss Tresham, and it was of looks 
 that T was speaking." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Katharine, absently. 
 
 Meanwhile Morton and the companion who 
 had been presented to him were crossing the 
 grounds to the side-gate through which St. John 
 had entered. A few commonplace remarks about 
 the weather were interchanged as they proceed- 
 ed ; but, when they reached the gate, instead of 
 opening it, Annesley stopped and faced the other. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Johns," he said, gravely, 
 " if I ask leave to speak a few words before we 
 part. Of course, I do not know why you pre- 
 ferred to see Miss Tresham in the grounds, but 
 permit me to remind you that the house is only 
 a short distance from the place where I met you, 
 and that any one of Miss Tresham's friends is 
 cordially welcome there." 
 
 " It was by Miss Tresham's own request that 
 I met her where I did," answered St. John, 
 coldly. " I will bid you good-morning, with the 
 assurance that I shall not invade your domain 
 again." 
 
 " I hope you understand that it was on Miss 
 Tresham's account that I spoke," said Morton, 
 flushing a little. 
 
 The other lifted his hat with a courtesy so 
 ceremonious that it had not a little of mockery 
 in it. 
 
 " In Miss Tresham's name, allow me to thank 
 you," he answered. " The only thing that puz. 
 zles me is the cause of this kind solicitude." 
 
 " Miss Tresham is one of my mother's guests," 
 said Annesley, with a good deal of unconscious 
 hauteur. He opened the gate, and raised his 
 own hat, as St. John passed through. Nothing 
 more was said on either side. They parted with 
 a couple of stiff bows that would have become 
 a pair of duellists ; and, as St. John strode 
 away in the direction of Tallahoma, Annesley 
 went back to the house. 
 
 When he entered the hall he was at once 
 waylaid by Mr. Langdon, and marched nolens 
 volcns into the back drawing-room, where a re- 
 hearsal was going on. 
 
 " No mutiny, young man," said the latter, as 
 Morton tried to get away on a pretext of busi- 
 ness. " I was sent in search of you, and it is as 
 much as my life is worth to go back without you. 
 Queen Adela is regnant just now, and she would 
 think nothing of ordering my head to be taken 
 off for disobedience of orders. In with you ! " 
 
 He gave his captive no time for expostula- 
 tion, but ushered him straight into the room 
 where the stage of Christmas Eve was again 
 erected. Strangely enough the two women 
 i whom Morton had last seen together in the
 
 SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. 
 
 119 
 
 grounds were the first on whom his eye fell 
 as he entered. 
 
 They were now confronting each other in 
 tragic attitude Miss Lester as Queen Elizabeth, 
 Katharine as Queen Mary, in the famous scene 
 from Schiller's " Marie Stuart." 
 
 In these days all the world knows that scene, 
 for all the world has seen Ristori act it. But 
 then it was something new, and something for 
 which the world of Lagrange was indebted to 
 Morton Annesley. He, knowing and admiring 
 Schiller with all the enthusiasm of a German 
 student, had suggested the picture, and given 
 his opinion concerning a proper selection of the 
 characters. 
 
 " Maggie Lester would do for an immensely- 
 flattered Queen Elizabeth," he said, laughing. 
 " She can't deny that her hair is red. And, if 
 you were to put a Marie-Stuart coif and curls on 
 Miss Tresham, I am sure she would look like the 
 Queen of Scots. The color of her hair and the 
 cast of her features are not unlike the portraits 
 of the royal beauty." 
 
 When he came in just now poor Queen Mary 
 was thinking of any thing else but her cowering 
 rival or her deadly wrongs. She saw him enter, 
 and, though she could not turn her head, she 
 shot a wistful glance out of the corners of her 
 eyes which Mrs. French caught as well as himself. 
 
 This astute lady had made nothing of Maggie 
 Lester's reserve and self-possession. But a look 
 at her brother's face told her all that she wanted 
 to know. 
 
 " He has seen him ! " she thought ; and the 
 knowledge acted on her like a stimulant, enliven- 
 ing her spirits as if by magic. 
 
 After that the tableaux went on bravely, for 
 everybody was held well in hand by their fair 
 ruler, and nobody ventured on any open signs 
 of weariness or dissatisfaction. 
 
 It was not until the rehearsal ended, and 
 most of the company had dispersed to dress for 
 dinner, that Katharine found an opportunity of 
 speaking to Morton. He was standing near the 
 stage, directing the servants, who were arranging 
 some of the decorations, when she walked up to 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley," she said, hurriedly, " I 
 should like to speak to you. I have something 
 to say to you. May I say it now ? " 
 
 " Certainly," he answered, turning at the first 
 sound of her voice. " Shall we go into the libra- 
 ry ?" 
 
 " No, it is only a few words. If you will 
 come here " 
 
 She walked away, and he followed her. Every 
 one, excepting the servants, had now left the 
 room. On one side was a bay-window, and into 
 this Katharine went. 
 
 " It is only a few words," she repeated, aa 
 Annesley followed her ; " but I should not like 
 for any one to hear them." 
 
 " There is no danger of any one's doing so 
 here," he answered. 
 
 Then he was silent, waiting for her to speak. 
 After a minute she began, with a nervous haste 
 of manner that had grown habitual with her of 
 late. 
 
 " It is not about myself, Mr. Annesley. It ia 
 about Mrs. Gordon. I know that you are much 
 attached to her, and and I thought I would 
 tell you, so that perhaps you might be of service 
 to her. She is threatened, if not with danger, at 
 least with serious annoyance." 
 
 Now, this was the last sort of communication 
 which Morton could possibly have expected to 
 hear, and the surprise which he naturally felt 
 showed itself at once in his face and manner. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon threatened with serious an- 
 noyance ! " he repeated, with a start. " Pardon 
 me, but you must be mistaken. There is no one 
 who would dare " , 
 
 " There is some one who has the right to 
 dare," she interposed, hastily. " Believe me, I 
 know what I am saying. She is certainly threat, 
 ened with very serious annoyance and distress." 
 
 A sudden dark flush rose over his face, and 
 he frowned as Katharine had never seen him 
 frown before. She recognized then what many 
 other people had recognized before, that to 
 touch Mrs. Gordon was to assail him in one of 
 his most sensitive points. 
 
 " By whom, and hi what way ? " he asked. 
 
 " I cannot tell you that. I would if it were 
 my secret ; but it is not mine it is Mrs. Gor- 
 don's. It came to my knowledge accidentally, 
 and I cannot repeat it. Go to her, and, if she 
 wishes you to serve her, she will tell you herself. 
 I I am very sorry for her," said the girl, with 
 tears coming into her eyes. "She has a hard 
 lot. I wish I could help her. Perhaps you can, 
 Mr. Annesley you are a man." 
 
 " I will try, at least," he said. " Shall I 
 would you advise me to go at once ? " 
 
 " At once." 
 
 He moved away a few steps, turned abruptly, 
 and came back. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," he said, quickly, " is there 
 nothing I can do for yourself?" 
 
 She knew what he meant. She knew that ha
 
 120 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 would not ask her confidence, or seem to request 
 an explanation of the events of that morning. 
 But she also knew that he gave her an opportu- 
 nity perhaps a last one to right herself in his 
 eyes. Some instinct told her that much hung 
 on her reply, and she gave a slight gasp over_ 
 it 
 
 " Nothing, Mr. Annesley." 
 " I am sorry for that," he said. 
 Then, as if afraid to trust himself to speak 
 another word, he walked away. 
 In the hall he met his mother. 
 " Where are you going, Morton ? " she asked, 
 ns she saw him take his gloves and riding-whip 
 from the stand. " Don't you know that dinner 
 is nearly ready ? " 
 
 " I shall not be back to dinner," he answered. 
 " Make my apologies, if you please, mother, and 
 say that important business called me away." 
 " Why, where are you going ? " 
 " I will tell you when I come back. I have 
 not tune to talk now." 
 " But, Morton" 
 
 She spoke in vain. Morton was gone. When 
 she followed him to the door he was walking 
 rapidly in the direction of the stables, and, not 
 long afterward, she saw him, from her chamber 
 window, canter away in the direction of Talla- 
 horna. 
 
 It was not to Tallaboma that he was bound, 
 however. The last sun of the Old Year had 
 given a lew golden gleams, and was sinking to 
 rest in a bed of soft, violet cloud, when he dis- 
 mounted from Ilderim before the door of Morton 
 House. Rapidly as he had ridden, he noticed 
 along the avenue the fresh track of carriage- 
 wheels, and the fact puzzled him a little. Mrs. 
 Gordon never left home, and nobody ever came 
 to the house. At an ordinary time he might 
 merely have thought that one of these rules had 
 been broken ; but now, with the remembrance 
 of Katharine's vague warning in his mind, he 
 felt an uncomfortable foreboding of ill. This 
 foreboding was increased as he approached the 
 terrace and saw a group of negroes loitering with 
 sorrowful faces around the steps. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked, as one of 
 them came forward and took his horse. " Has 
 any thing happened that you all look as if you 
 bad been to a funeral ? " 
 
 " Mass Felix is gone, sir," answered the boy 
 addressed, in a tone which indicated tkat he 
 thought this a sufficient reason for any length 
 af visage. 
 
 "Felix! gone!" Annesley repeated A 
 
 sudden fear, common enough iu that country 
 and at that time, startled him. " Do you mean 
 that he is lost ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, sir," answered the boy, quickly. 
 " Mr. Warwick came and took him away in a 
 carriage. They hadn't left more'n a few minutes 
 before you got here, sir." 
 
 " Did his mother did your mistress go 
 too ? " 
 
 " No, sir she's in the house." 
 
 " Very well. Keep my horse here. I shall 
 be back directly." . 
 
 He walked hastily to the house, and on the 
 portico met Harrison, who was wearing a most 
 lugubrious face. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this, Harrison ? " 
 Morton asked, quickly. " Where has Felix gone ? 
 and why has he been sent away ? " 
 
 " The Lord only knows, Mass Morton," said 
 the old man, dolefully. " Miss Pauline and Mr. 
 Warwick done it. I don't think they asked any- 
 body's advice, sir they just packed up Mass 
 Felix's clothes, and took him right away. It 
 was hard on the poor child, sir, for he didn't 
 want to go ; and if you could a-heard him a-cry- 
 ing, sir, it would almost a-broke your heart." 
 
 " I am glad I didn't hear him then," said 
 Morton, who saw plainly that the whole feeling 
 of the household was ranged on Felix's side. 
 " But his mother must have had some good rea- 
 son for sending him away. Where is she ? " 
 
 " In her own room, Mass Morton," answered 
 Harrison, following the young man into the 
 house. " You better go into the drawing-room, 
 sir, and I'll ask if Miss Pauline can see you. I 
 don't mean to blame Miss Pauline," he added, 
 with an air of severe justice. " To be sure she 
 must a had her reasons onbeknownst to the rest 
 of us. But it was hard on Mass Felix and hire 
 so young." 
 
 " A great many things are hard," said Mor- 
 ton, " but they must be done. Send Babette to 
 ask my cousin if she will see me." 
 
 In a few minutes, Babette entered the room, 
 and said that Mrs. Gordon would see him. The 
 Frenchwoman's eyes were red with weeping, and 
 her face was sadly swollen from the same caase. 
 Morton felt sorry for her, and said so at which 
 she startled him by a fresh burst of tears. 
 
 " Ah, madarrte poor madame ! " cried she. 
 " M'sieur, comfort her, if you can. She ia 
 heart-broken she will die of grief, if she is not 
 comforted." 
 
 " I will do my best," said he ; " but if Felix 
 is gone, I fear that will not be much. Cheei
 
 SPITFIRE PLAYS AT HIDE-AND-SEEK. 
 
 121 
 
 up, Babette ! Surely he will be back before 
 long." 
 
 " Le bon Dieu only knows," answered Ba- 
 bette. And, as he crossed the hall, he heard her 
 sobbing behind him. 
 
 Poor Morton ! There is no exaggeration in 
 saying that he would sooner have faced any dan- 
 ger which could possibly be imagined, than the 
 scene which fancy painted as awaiting him in 
 Mrs. Gordon's room. The sobs, the tears Ba- 
 bette's noisy grief was, of course, only a faint 
 shadow of what the bereaved mother must feel. 
 He set his teeth, as he laid his hand on the door- 
 knob then turned it, and entered. 
 
 All was quiet within. On the hearth the fire 
 burned ; outside the windows, a soft, sad requiem 
 of the dying year was moaning through the tall 
 trees ; but no human sob or sigh was borne to 
 Annesley's ear. A figure clad in black sat on 
 one side of the fireplace, and held out her hand 
 as he advanced. 
 
 " Come in," said Mrs. Gordon, quietly. " You 
 are very welcome. Is it not cold ? Draw nearer 
 the fire. Well " with a faint, mournful smile 
 " have you heard the news ? I am desolate." 
 
 " I have heard it," he answered. 
 
 He could say no more ; for, although he ought, 
 to have been relieved, he was, in truth, more 
 deeply affected by her quietude than he could 
 have been by any vehement outbreak whatever. 
 The hopeless accent of the last words went 
 straight to his heart, and touched it more than 
 tears could have done. He said nothing ; but 
 he kept her hand tightly clasped in his for sev- 
 eral minutes. 
 
 " I see you feel for me," she said " you do 
 not think it is foolish to mind it so." 
 
 " No words can say how much I feel for you," 
 he answered. 
 
 " It might be foolish, perhaps," she went 
 on, " if he was not my all. But he is, you 
 know literally every thing that I have on 
 earth." 
 
 " But surely you have not sent him far surely 
 he will not be gone long ? " said Morton, unable 
 to contain his surprise. 
 
 " I do not know where he has gone," she 
 answered, in the same quiet, hopeless tone ; 
 " and I do not know when I shall see him again 
 perhaps never." 
 
 Annesley said, " Good Heavens ! " and then 
 he stopped. A sudden remembrance of Kath- 
 arine's words and looks came to him. " It is 
 Mrs. Gordon's secret," she had said. " If she 
 wishes you to serve her, she will tell it to you." 
 
 Here was the secret staring him in the face; 
 and evidently it had been told not to him, but 
 to John Warwick. For a moment, he felt 
 wounded more deeply wounded than it is pos- 
 sible to describe ; but, almost immediately, cooler 
 reason and better feeling triumphed. 
 
 : Whatever you have done, I am sure you 
 have done well," he said, in his kind, loyal voice. 
 " Whatever is to be borne, I am sure you will 
 bear well. This is no time for reproaches, but I 
 cannot help asking you why you forgot that I am 
 your kinsman, and ready to do any service for 
 you." 
 
 " I did not forget it," said she, holding out 
 again the hand he had relinquished. " Morton, 
 don't reproach me for that is reproach. After 
 Felix, there is no one so near my heart as you 
 are both for your own and your father's sake. 
 If I did not ask this service of you, it was only 
 because you were not in a position to render it. 
 Circumstances made it necessary that Felix 
 should be taken away far away, where even I 
 might not know where he is and you had not 
 the requisite time for this." 
 
 " I would have taken the time." 
 
 " I don't doubt that but I could not ask it, 
 Besides, I went to John Warwick, as a lawyer, 
 and he advised me as a lawyer, before he served 
 me as a friend." 
 
 " I could not have advised you, perhaps ; but 
 I would have served you against any thing or 
 anybody." 
 
 " There are some things one can only fight 
 with cunning, not with force," said she adding, 
 after a moment, " I will tell you every thing if 
 you will remember that I tell it only to you not 
 to Lagrange, or to anybody in Lagrange. Yet 
 that is a foolish remnant of the old pride, for 
 everybody will know it soon." 
 
 " Consult your own feelings, not mine," said 
 he. " If it is painful to you to speak, don't do 
 it. I will serve you ignorantly as readily as 
 with knowledge. Don't don't distress your- 
 self." 
 
 " You deserve confidence from me," said she, 
 " and you shall have it." 
 
 Then, as if it were a relief and, indeed, after 
 a fashion, it was a relief she began and poured 
 forth her pitiful story, going far more into detail 
 than she had done in speaking to John Warwick, 
 and eliciting far more of warm, outspoken sym- 
 pathy. What the lawyer felt he had shown in 
 deeds, not words ; what Morton felt burst forth 
 in eager language, though it would have been 
 equally ready to prove itself by acts. The dif-
 
 122 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ference waa less in the different natures of the 
 two men than in their different ages. 
 
 As Mrs. Gordon went on, Morton's interest 
 grew warmer, until suddenly there came a cold 
 chill. It would be hard to say what the young 
 man felt when she first spoke of St John, and 
 an instinct a sharp convulsion at his heart 
 told him that this St. John was one and the 
 same with the " Mr. Johns " whom Katharine 
 Trcsham had that morning asked him to show 
 out of the grounds of Annesdnle. Then, the 
 warning she had given him, the knowledge which 
 she possessed of this carefully-guarded secret 
 he grew suddenly faint and sick, and turned so 
 pale that Mrs. Gordon noticed it. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she asked. " You 
 are thinking of something besides me." 
 
 " I am thinking of this St. John," he an- 
 swered. " Don't you think that he may have 
 come here accidentally not in search of you, 
 after all " 
 
 " Babette thinks so ; but I cannot believe it. 
 However much he may pretend otherwise, I am 
 sure he came here in search of me." 
 
 " But how did he know that you were 
 here ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell that." 
 
 Morton said no more. He would have cut 
 out his tongue sooner than mention Katharine's 
 name in the matter; and, although he did not 
 know it, Mr. Warwick had been equally dis- 
 creet. Mrs. Gordon had not a suspicion that St. 
 John was connected with any one in Lagrange 
 besides herself. Different as the two men were, 
 they had something in common, which they 
 proved by this reticence. Morton was right 
 when he once told Felix that the grand test of a 
 gentleman is the capability of being trusted ; 
 and he might have added that it is not only the 
 capability of being loynl to a trust which has 
 been solemnly and explicitly given, but it is also 
 to be found in that fine sense of honor which can 
 appreciate tacit confidence, and respect the secret 
 for which no secrecy has been asked. 
 
 When Annesley rode away from Morton 
 House, the last day of the Old Year had died the 
 death common to all things mortal. The last 
 gleam of light had faded in the west ; the night 
 hung over all things with its sombre mantle ; the 
 tars gleamed with an uncertain fitfulness through 
 a curtain of misty cloud ; and even the lights 
 from the wayside houses looked, to the young 
 man's fancy, more dull and red than cheery and 
 bright As he rode forward, his heart was 
 strangely heavy, his mind strangely disturbed, 
 
 and, in a sort of accompaniment to the thoughts 
 that tormented him, a certain verse of a poem he 
 had seen shortly before kept running through his 
 brain. Almost unconsciously, as he looked at 
 the great hosts of Night that were marching 
 steadily forward to the death-bed of the Old 
 Year, he caught himself repeating : 
 
 " He Heth still ; he doth not move ; 
 He will not see the dawn of day. 
 He hath no other life above. 
 He gave me a friend and a true true-love, 
 And the New Year will take them away." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A MORNING-CALL. 
 
 GREAT was the rejoicing of the Marks chil- 
 dren when, on the day after New-Year, the same 
 carriage that had conveyed Miss Tresham awny 
 drove up to the gate, and Miss Tresham de- 
 scended, smiling in acknowledgment of their 
 eager welcome, but looking decidedly pale and 
 worn, as Mrs. Marks at once perceived. 
 
 " Dissipation don't agree with you, Miss Kath 
 arine," she said, after the first bustle of greeting 
 was over. " I never saw you look so badly. You 
 must have danced all last night." 
 
 "I did," said Katharine, smiling. "After the 
 tableaux we had a sort of fancy ball that is, all 
 those who had taken part in the tableaux were 
 in costume and day was breaking when I went 
 to bed. I wish you had come to the tableaux, 
 Mrs. Marks they were so pretty ! " 
 
 " I thought about it," said Mrs. Marks, re- 
 gretfully. " I should have liked to have gone ; 
 but it was a long drive, and Nelly had a cough 
 that sounded a little like croup, so I was afraid 
 to leave her." 
 
 "But you might have sent feara and Katy; 
 they would have enjoyed it so much ! " 
 
 " They, were crazy to go, and I might have 
 sent them if there had been anybody to take 
 them. But Richard was tired, and John isn't 
 here, you know." 
 
 " Indeed, I don't know," said Katharine, 
 with a start. " Where has Mr. Warwick 
 gone ? " , 
 
 " Gone to take Felix Gordon to school," an- 
 swered Mrs. Marks, sending her scissors with a 
 sharp snip through the cloth from which she was 
 cutting a jacket for one of the boys. " YOB 
 can't be more surprised than I was, Miss Kath'
 
 A MORNING-CALL. 
 
 123 
 
 arine ; for John started off without giving any- 
 body a word of warning. It was a queer thing 
 for Mrs. Gordon to send the child away so fond 
 of him as they say she is and it was queer of 
 John to take him ; but, then, dear me ! what 
 isn't queer in this world? I told Richard last 
 night that I shouldn't be surprised if every 
 thing came right at last. You know what I 
 mean ; I don't like to mention names before the 
 children." 
 
 " Yes, I know what you mean. But is it 
 likely, do you think ? " 
 
 " If this don't look as if it is likely, I won- 
 der what would look so ? Other people besides 
 me think the same thing. I saw Mrs. Sloan 
 yesterday, and she was telling me that Mrs. 
 Gordon Katy, don't stand there drinking in 
 every word I say ; go up-stairs and see if Miss 
 Tresham's room is all ftady that Mrs. Gordon 
 has been going to see John at his office of late, 
 and, when a widow does that way, you know it 
 is apt to mean something. There are a great 
 many reports going about; but I know how 
 people talk, and I didn't pay much attention to 
 them till this about Felix came on me like a 
 thunder-clap. Then I couldn't help believing. 
 I am sure I never expected that matters would 
 come to pass so that John could marry Pauline 
 Morton but this is a strange world ! " 
 
 " When will Mr. Warwick be back? " asked 
 Katharine. 
 
 " Indeed, that's more than I can tell. He 
 said nothing about it ; and, since I don't know 
 where he went, I can't even calculate when he's 
 likely to be back. He left a note for you, which 
 I was about to forget. Let me see where did 
 I put it ? " 
 
 After considerable reflection, Mrs. Marks re- 
 membered that she had put the note in her 
 work-box, and drew it forth from among the 
 spools and tape which filled that receptacle. 
 Katharine, who restrained her impatience as 
 well as she could, took it and opened it. This 
 was what Mr. Warwick said : 
 
 " DEAR Miss TRKSHAM : I find that I am un- 
 expectedly obliged to leave home with Felix Gor- 
 don. I shall endeavor to return within a fort- 
 night. Will you go to see Mrs. Gordon and try 
 to cheer her? She is suffering very much. 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " JOHN WARWICK." 
 
 " Does he say any thing about when he's 
 likely to be back ? " asked Mrs. Marks, who was 
 
 watching the governess's face attentively, and 
 secretly burning with curiosity to know what 
 her brother had written about. 
 
 " He says he may return within a fortnight," 
 answered Katharine, with her eyes still fastened 
 on the note. Then she held it out. " There 
 it is," she added ; " you can see for yourself 
 what he says. It is not much. I will go and 
 take off my things." 
 
 While Mrs. Marks eagerly read the note, 
 Katharine left the room and went up-stairs. 
 She found her chamber carefully arranged for 
 her. Every thing looked fresh and bright, the 
 fire was burning, and on the table her Christmas 
 presents were laid out in order. It seemed like 
 a pleasant coming home, and gave her a sense 
 of rest and relief after the gay dissipations of 
 Annesdale. At another time she might have 
 thought a little regretfully of all that was going 
 on at the latter place ; of how Mr. Langdon was 
 just then throwing a great deal of sentimental 
 expression into his voice and eyes as he talked 
 to some young lady who sat in the bay-window 
 where she had herself sat yesterday ; of how 
 Miss Lester was playing billiards with Mr. Tal- 
 cott ; how Mrs. French was entertaining a lively 
 group with disquisitions on private theatricals ; 
 and how the same people were loitering in the 
 same places and saying the same things as on 
 every day while she had been there. The habits 
 of society are much the same on a small or on a 
 large scale all the world over. Let a man drop 
 out of his circle in Paris, and, even if he has 
 been the brightest star in that circle, who misses 
 him ? So it is in every circle of every city, vil- 
 lage, or hamlet, throughout the world. Remain, 
 and you are liked exactly according to your de- 
 serts ; go, and, whatever those deserts may have 
 been, you are forgotten as speedily and as natur- 
 ally as the events of yesterday yield in interest 
 to the events of to-day. Until a cloud came 
 over her brightness, Katharine had achieved 
 quite a social success at Aunesdale ; but she 
 had sufficient worldly experience to know that 
 already she had sunk beneath the horizon, that 
 others had taken her place, and that to-morrow 
 people would even cease to say, " Miss Tresham 
 did this," or " Miss Tresham did not do that." 
 At a different moment such a reflection might 
 have cost her a pang ; but now she was too full 
 of other subjects. Instead of thinking of the 
 farewells of Messrs. Langdon and Talcott, she 
 thought of Mr. Warwick nnd the note he had 
 left behind. "What did he mean? " she asked 
 herself, and, receiving no satisfactory reply, wad
 
 124 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 still asking, when the door opened and Katy 
 rushed in. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, there's a gentleman down- 
 stairs, and mamma says will you please come 
 down, he wants to see you." 
 
 Poor Katharine! She had expected this, 
 but not quite so soon not quite so unexpect- 
 edly. 
 
 "Katy," she said, with a start, "who is it? 
 What is his name ? " 
 
 " He's a strange gentleman," answered Katy, 
 decidedly. " I don't know what his name is, and 
 mamma didn't tell me. He came here once 
 before, though." 
 " To see me ? " 
 
 " Yes'm, while you was away." 
 " Amen," said Katharine, under her breath. 
 She mechanically took off her bonnet and shawl, 
 smoothed her hair, and went down-stairs. 
 
 In the passage she met Mrs. Marks, evidently 
 much fluttered and excited. 
 
 41 A gentleman in the dining-room to see you, 
 Miss Katharine," she said. " I asked him there 
 because there was no fire in the parlor. You 
 needn't be uneasy on my account," she added, 
 with a good-natured smile, " I am going into the 
 kitchen anyhow. They are trying out lard again 
 to-day, and I have to see about it. He's very 
 good-looking," she said, with a significant nod, 
 as she went out of the back-door. 
 
 Katharine did not even smile. The conclu- 
 sion to which Mrs. Marks had leaped was absurd 
 ' enough ; but she was not in the humor for the 
 absurdity to strike her in a humorous light. On 
 the contrary, she felt annoyed when there was no 
 reasonable ground for annoyance. These sig- 
 nificant looks and smiles jarred on her. 
 
 " What fools people are ! " she thought, with 
 an Impatience very unusual to her, as she went 
 on and opened the dining-room door. 
 
 St. John was standing with his back to the 
 fire, looking moodily down at. the hearth-rug 
 when she entered. She saw at once that some- 
 thing was wrong with him, and, unfortunately, 
 was in no doubt concerning the nature of that 
 something. He looked up when she entered, 
 but did not move forward. 
 
 " Well," he said, " have you heard the news? 
 Do you know that she has sent off the child, and 
 given me the slip ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know it," she answered, sitting down 
 hi the first chair she came to. " But what can I 
 do ? Why do you come and annoy me ? " 
 
 " That is always the cry ! always, why do I 
 come and annoy you ! I come because I chooac 
 
 to do so," said he, angrily ; " and because you 
 may be able to help me in this business." 
 " In what business ?" 
 
 " In finding out where Felix has been taken." 
 
 " What is the use of such talk as this," said 
 
 she, coldly. " Do you suppose I know any thing 
 
 about it ? or, if I did, do you suppose I would 
 
 tell you ? " 
 
 " I suppose you can find out, if you choose, 
 for the man who took him away lives, I am told, 
 in this very house and, I suppose that, if you 
 don't choose, you may repent it," answered he 
 " I don't want to hear any nonsense, Katharine. 
 This is a matter of life and death to me, and T 
 will not be thwarted. You can find out where 
 the child has been taken, and you shall do so." 
 
 " I might show you whether or not I would, 
 if there were any question of finding out," she 
 answered. " But there* is not. Even his own 
 sister does not know where Mr. Warwick has 
 gone." 
 
 " She may say she does not " 
 " She says the truth. Don't think that every 
 body tells falsehoods, St. John." 
 
 " Everybody tells them when it suits his con- 
 venience," said St. John, coolly. " Do you sup 
 pose I don't know the world ? " 
 " Your own world perhaps so." 
 " The world is the same everywhere. If this 
 woman does not know, her husband does." 
 " No he does not." 
 
 " Then wait until the man comes back, and 
 get the secret from him. What's the good of 
 being a woman, and a pretty one," he added, 
 with a sneer, " if you can't do such a thing ? " 
 
 " You don't know any thing about Mr. War- 
 wick," she cried, indignantly. " If you did, you 
 would know that no woman in the world could 
 make him tell a thing that he wished to keep 
 secret. And I would do any thing sooner than 
 ask it of him. St. John, you are cruel !" 
 
 " You are a fool !" retorted St. John, short- 
 ly. " I think there must be something between 
 you and this lawyer," he went on, looking keenly 
 at her. " If that is the case " 
 
 " I won't hear another word ! " cried Kath- 
 arine, losing temper, and somewhat dismaying 
 him by the angry light that came into her eyes. 
 " You are insulting me and I will not listen to 
 you. If I knew where Felix Gordon was this 
 minute, I would die sooner than tell you !" she 
 said, passionately. " You may be sure of that." 
 " I think I could make you sorry for it." 
 " I have no doubt you could but I would 
 not do it ! "
 
 A MORNING-CALL. 
 
 125 
 
 There was silence in the room after this. 
 St. John had not expected such a defiance, and 
 it quite astonished him. He drummed on his 
 hat for some time, and knitted his brows, as 
 he scowled at the girl, who sat before him look- 
 ing pale and resolute. 
 
 " Upon my word, I had not expected this," 
 said he, at last. " A charmingly affectionate per- 
 son you are, Katharine, I must say ! You'd die 
 before you would obtain for me a certain item 
 of information about a person who cannot con- 
 cern you in the least ! Will you tell me what is 
 the meaning of this sudden interest in Felix Gor- 
 don ? " 
 
 " I have no interest. But I will not play the 
 spy at your bidding. I owe a debt of gratitude 
 to this place, and these people ; and I do not 
 choose to repay it in such a form." 
 
 " A debt of gratitude for allowing you to 
 come and slave among them ? Humph ! your 
 ideas of a cause for gratitude are singular, to 
 say the least. You do owe somebody among 
 them a certain sort of gratitude, though," he 
 went on, with a peculiar smile. " Pray, what 
 do you consider the most unfortunate thing 
 that has befallen you lately ? " 
 
 " Your coming," she answered, unhesitating- 
 
 iy. 
 
 " I thought so," said he, coolly. " "Well, you 
 asked me, when we first met, how I discovered 
 your place of residence. I did not answer the 
 question then, because it was irrelevant. It is 
 relevant now, and I shall answer it with pleasure. 
 First, however, do you know any one in a place 
 called Mobile ? " 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " Have you ever been there ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Well, your address was forwarded to me 
 but stop ! I will tell the story in order. There 
 is nothing like method. Read that." 
 
 He took out a pocket-book, opened it, and 
 drew forth a slip of paper which he put into her 
 hand. It was the Times advertisement that Mrs. 
 Annesley had shown to Adela French. 
 
 " Have you any idea who inserted that ? " he 
 asked, watching her face, as she read it. 
 
 Her eyes dilated with astonishment, her face 
 paled until the very lips were white, and he was 
 forced to repeat his question, before she looked 
 up and answered. 
 
 " Idea ! no. How should I have ? I did not 
 think there was any one in the world who would 
 have done such a thing." 
 
 " Do you think it was some one here ? " 
 
 " It must have been. I have never been 
 anywhere else in America, and no one who waa 
 not of Lagrange could have known any thing 
 about the West Indies or Cumberland." 
 
 " Those allusions prove that it is some one 
 who knows you ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is some one who knows me." 
 
 " See if these will enable you to tell who it 
 is." 
 
 Forth from the pocket-book came two let- 
 ters, and were placed in Katharine's hand. She 
 took them, as she had taken the advertisement, 
 and glanced over them with compressed lips. 
 When she finished, she laid them down on the 
 table beside her, and looked at St. John. 
 
 " I do not know who has written these," she 
 said. " God forgive whoever it was God grant 
 that they may never have to endure such suffer- 
 ing as they have brought on me ! " 
 
 " That is cant," said he. " Of course, you 
 don't forgive them ; and, of course, you can 
 tell who the writer was. What, in a small cir- 
 cle like this, not be able to place your finger at 
 once upon the person ! Tell me whom you 
 know, and I will tell you who did it." 
 
 " I do not know anybody who would have 
 done it." 
 
 " That only proves your ignorance of the 
 world. Do you suspect me of forging those let- 
 ters ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then they were certainly written by some- 
 body who knows you, and whom you know. 
 Common-sense might show you this. Toll me 
 whom you least suapect, and I will tell you who 
 did it." 
 
 " I cannot tell you. I St. John, let me 
 alone ! " she cried, suddenly, but with an accent 
 of almost heart-rending pathos. " I don't un- 
 derstand any thing ! I am heart-sick and weary. 
 Don't don't torment me ! " 
 
 " You know who wrote those letters," said 
 St. John, watching her with unchanging scrutiny. 
 " If you don't choose to tell me, well and good 
 I can find out for myself. You will be sorry for 
 this want of confidence though, Katharine. I 
 am your best friend." 
 
 " May God give me my worst, then ! " cried the 
 girl, who was driven beyond all power of self-con- 
 trol. 
 
 " I have heard some rumors about you," pur- 
 sued the immovable St. John. " It is quite use- 
 less to try to deceive me I should think you 
 would have discovered that long before this time. 
 Who was the gentleman that was kind enough to
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 show me out of the grounds of the house where 
 you were staying the other day ? " 
 
 " I am going," said Katharine, rising and 
 walking toward the door. "If you have only 
 come to torment me as you used to do, I will 
 not stay to afford you amusement I am sick 
 and weary I am going." 
 
 " I shall remain here until you come back, 
 then." 
 
 "St John," cried she, facing round upon 
 him, " what is the meaning of this ? You prom- 
 ised me that, after I gave you some money, you 
 would go ; and you are here yet, to make life a 
 burden to me." 
 
 " I made no promises," said St. John, " and 
 I will make none. But I tell you that I will 
 come here every day until you find out as you 
 can, if you choose where that boy has been 
 taken to. I have written to Gordon, and he 
 will come, expecting to find the child here. If 
 he is not here if I cannot put my hand upon 
 him it will be worse than useless to have sum- 
 moned him." 
 
 " Write and tell him so." 
 
 " No letter would reach him now." 
 
 Katharine sank back into her chair, and 
 gazed out of the window at the desolate garden 
 which had been so fair and smiling on that No- 
 Tember evening when she first saw Mrs. Gor- 
 don's face. She could have cried Out upon the 
 cruelty of all this, but where was the use ? All 
 the tears of Niobe could not have moved the 
 man before her one hair's-breadth from his pur- 
 pose. The nether millstone is not half so hard 
 as the selfish resolution of a selfish nature. 
 While she was still sitting in hopeless silence, 
 and St. John was still standing on the hearth- 
 rug waiting her reply, there came a stir in the 
 passage outside, a movement of feet, a sound of 
 Toices, Miss Tresham's name audibly pronounced, 
 and, before Katharine could move forward, the 
 door opened, and Mrs. Gordon stood on the 
 threshold ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OLD FOE8. 
 
 IT had been a relief to Mrs. Gordon to tell 
 her story to Annesley, and the exhaustion con- 
 sequent upon long and painful emotion had made 
 her sleep heavily during that night the first 
 night after Felix had been parted from her. But 
 Lo can paint the waking the next day the 
 
 long watches of the next night ? As hour after 
 hour rolled by, she endured them in much the 
 same passive fashion as that which had so much 
 surprised Morton. But, on the third day, thia 
 endurance began to give way to restlessness. 
 Babette, who went in and out on various pre- 
 texts, and watched her anxiously, immediately 
 perceived this. She had shortly before been to 
 town on an errand, and she now bethought her- 
 self of an expedient to interest her mistress. 
 
 " Madame is not well," she said, planting her- 
 self on the hearth-rug, with an air of determina- 
 tion. " Madame is lonely she should have 
 company. As I was coming home, I met made- 
 moiselle the young lady who comes here with 
 the children. Why should not madame send 
 for her ? She would cheer her up." 
 
 "Nobody can cheer me up, Babette," said 
 Mrs. Gordon, smiling faintly. " I am used to 
 trouble, and I can bear it ; but, as for cheer 
 that is a different matter. Don't talk of it." 
 
 " Madame will be ill, if she is not cheered," 
 said Babette, obstinately. " If madame would 
 only send for the young lady " 
 
 " Is it Miss Tresham you are talking about ? " 
 asked Mrs. Gordon, languidly. " Did you say 
 that you met her going into town ? " 
 
 "A short time ago, madame." 
 
 " Well, you may send or stay no, I will go 
 myself. Order the carriage." 
 
 " Madame ! " 
 
 " The carriage," repeated Mrs. Gordon, impa- 
 tiently. " Don't you see that I must get out of 
 this house or go crazy ? I will go into Tallaho- 
 ma, and bring Miss Tresham back to stay with 
 me. You are right. She will do me good if 
 anybody can." 
 
 " But Monsieur St. Jean ! " cried Babette, who 
 was aghast. " If madame goes into town, she 
 may meet him." 
 
 " He cannot harm me," said madame, haugh- 
 tily, for she could aiford to be brave now that 
 Felix was safely out of reach. " Go and order 
 the carriage." 
 
 Babette went at once ; but, owing to the fact 
 that the horses were out on the plantation, and 
 had to be sent for, it was some time before the 
 carriage came round. Mrs. Gordon's fit of rest- 
 lessness had by that time partly subsided, and 
 she was half inclined to give up her intention, and 
 merely send Babette with a note to bring Katha- 
 rine. But Babette was of the opinion that it 
 would be beneficial for madame to go herself, that 
 a breath of the outer air would revive her, and 
 , the sight of the outer world be good for lier. In
 
 OLD FOEft. 
 
 127 
 
 cases where the min.1 fra^ too long preyed on it- 
 self, there is, indeed, no better prescription than 
 this simple as it seems. He must be very far 
 gone in morbid gloom whom God's air, and God's 
 sunshine, and the bright, rejoicing beauty of 
 God's fair earth, cannot comfort, cannot help, 
 cannot draw a little out of himself. Beguiled by 
 the persuasions of her faithful attendant, Mrs. 
 Gordon at last consented to go. The French- 
 woman put her into the carriage, and saw her 
 drive off, with great self-congratulation. It is 
 possible that this self-congratulation might have 
 been slightly changed if she had only known who 
 it was that her mistress had gone to meet. 
 
 On her way to Tallahoma, Mrs. Gordon was a 
 little diverted from the subject of her own trou- 
 bles, by thinking of the pleasure of bringing 
 Katharine back to Morton House with her. She 
 felt certain that Mrs. Marks would not object, for 
 Mr. Warwick's last wordsiiad advised something 
 like this, and she thought it probable that he 
 might have spoken to his sister on the subject. 
 She liked the girl liked her bright face, her 
 frank bearing, her sunny smile and she felt 
 that it would be a great relief to see her moving 
 about Morton House, and lighting up the gloom 
 with her graceful youth, instead of poor Babette's 
 long face and ready tears. As she was drawing 
 this half-unconscious picture, Katharine was go- 
 ing down to meet St. John, with a very pale face, 
 and a very heavy heart, making quite a contrast 
 to the girl whom Mrs. Gordon had seen last 
 the girl who even then was pictured in Mrs. Gor- 
 don's mind. 
 
 When the carriage drew up before the Marks 
 house, two or three children were playing in the 
 yard. They all stopped, and stared open-mouthed, 
 as Mrs. Gordon descended. When it was evi- 
 dent that she intended to enter the gate, they 
 immediately took flight, and ran full tilt to the 
 kitchen rushing headlong through the door, and 
 very nearly tumbling into a pot of boiling lard. 
 
 " Mamma, here's a carriage, and a lady com- 
 ing in ! " cried Katy, who was first. 
 
 " Mamma, it's a lady in black I think it's 
 Felix's mother," panted Sara, who was second. 
 
 " Mamma lady tummin," said Nelly, who 
 was last. 
 
 " A lady in black ! Felix's mother ! Good 
 gracious ! " cried Mrs. Mark's. " Run, Letty, and 
 ask her in in the parlor, mind. I'll be there 
 in a minute. Get away, children, and let me take 
 off this apron. Good gracious ! who was to 
 think" 
 
 While Mrs. Marks was hastily untying her 
 
 apron, and Letty was running lull speed to the 
 house, Mrs. Gordon walked up to the front door, 
 and was about to knock, when Jack came rush- 
 ing down-stairs. He had been to the school- 
 room to get some string for his kite, and was 
 on his way back to the place where he had left 
 that valuable article of property, when he was 
 thus unexpectedly brought face to face with a 
 strange lady. Fortunately, he was not at all 
 troubled with diffidence; so he went forward, 
 and, when Mrs. Gordon asked if Miss Tresham 
 was at home, at once responded in the prompt- 
 est manner imaginable : 
 
 " Yes'm, Miss Tresham's at home she got 
 home a little while ago. She's in the dining- 
 room, I b'lieve." 
 
 " Can I see her ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes'm walk in. This way, please." 
 
 His hand was on the lock of the dining- 
 room door, when, enter Letty on the scene 
 panting and almost breathless. 
 
 " Not that way, Mass Jack," cried she, eager- 
 ly. " Ask the lady in the parlor. This way, 
 ma'am." 
 
 She hurried forward to the parlor-door, and 
 Mrs. Gordon half turned to follow her, when 
 Jack, who was always at feud with Letty, asserted 
 his superior knowledge. 
 
 " The lady wants to see Miss Tresham," said 
 he, in a loud voice, " and Miss Tresham ain't in 
 the parlor, she's in here. There she is, now," he 
 added, triumphantly, as he threw open the door, 
 and revealed Katharine, who was sitting almost 
 immediately in front of it. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon saw her, and at once advanced 
 into the room. She did not see St. John, who 
 was out of her range of vision, so she began 
 speaking, as she crossed the floor. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, I hope you will excuse me " 
 
 Here she stopped suddenly. Something in 
 Katharine's face startled her, and made her look 
 round. Then she saw her companion. 
 
 To describe the change that passed over her 
 would be impossible. If she had expected to see 
 him, if she had thought there was even the least 
 reason to fear a meeting with him, she would 
 have prepared for it being a proud woman, and 
 one who would suffer any thing sooner than let 
 an enemy read her weakness. But, as it was, she 
 had no time for preparation. When she turned 
 and saw that so well-remembered, that so bitter- 
 ly-hated face, it was as if a sudden, brutal blow 
 had been dealt to her. She gave a sharp cry, 
 and covered her own face with her hands. 
 
 The door was still open, and Jack and Letty
 
 128 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 were holding an altercation in the passage, which 
 Blled up, strangely enough, tbe interval that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 "Never mind, Mass Jack I'll tell mistis. 
 Puttin' yourself forrard when she told me to ask 
 tbe lady in the parlor ! " 
 
 " You mind your own business I'll tell mam- 
 ma myself. The lady asked for Miss Tresham, 
 and I wasn't a-going to show her in the parlor. 
 There ain't any fire in there, either." 
 
 This was what came into the room, while 
 Mrs. Gordon clasped her hands over her face, St. 
 John stood undecided what to do or say, and 
 Katharine felt a despair which bordered closely 
 upon recklessness. She could have laughed, or 
 she could have cried ; but, instead of doing 
 either of the two, she heard, with the odd dou- 
 ble consciousness that came to her in moments 
 of excitement, the recrimination in the passage, 
 and even caught the angry whisk of Letty's dress 
 as she departed. 
 
 Nevertheless, Katharine was the first who 
 recovered self-possession. Seeing that St. John 
 was about to speak, she silenced him by a 
 glance, and walked up to Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 " Will you let me take you into the other 
 room ? " she said, gently. " I am very sorry 
 for for this." 
 
 The sound of her voice seemed at once to 
 restore Mrs. Gordon to herself. She looked up 
 with a start. Then her whole face changed 
 petrified, as it were and she drew back, so that 
 not even her dress might touch the girl drew 
 back as she might have drawn back from a scor- 
 pion. 
 
 " So it was you ! " she said. And her voice 
 was so cold and hard, so changed in timbre, that 
 it made Katharine shrink. 
 
 " What was me ? " she asked, as the other 
 paused and said no more. " I do not under- 
 stand. What was me ? " 
 
 " It was you who gave the clew to my place 
 of refuge," answered Mrs. Gordon, with the same 
 repellent coldness of voice and manner. " I 
 see it all now. I was foolish enough to like you 
 to welcome you into my house to encournge 
 my cousin in his love for you and you gave me 
 this return ! Thank you, Miss Tresham thank 
 you for proving to me once more that the wisest 
 person in the world is the person who neither 
 gives nor hopes to receive regard." 
 
 "St. John," said Katharine, turning round, 
 " do you hear this ? Do you stand by and say 
 not one word to exonerate me from such an ac- 
 euiation ? " 
 
 "What can I say?" asked St. John, care- 
 lessly. " Mrs. Gordon ought to know that she 
 is talking nonsense that, if you had told me a 
 dozen times over where she was, she had no claim 
 upon you to make such an act any thing but 
 natural. But Miss Tresham did not tell me," he 
 added, turning to Mrs. Gordon. " I came here 
 in total ignorance of your having chosen this 
 as a place of residence. After I discovered the 
 fact, it was my duty to inform your husband ; and 
 that duty I fulfilled." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Gordon, 
 addressing Katharine with her utmost stateli- 
 ness of tone and bearing. " I had no right to 
 speak to you as I did a moment ago. I am not 
 by nature a patient woman, and trouble has 
 tried me severely. I hope you will let this 
 plead my excuse. As Mr. St. John said, it is 
 certainly true that I have no claim upon you 
 no right to hope that you would respect my 
 unfortunate position sufficiently to refrain from 
 betraying me to to " 
 
 She stopped, gasped slightly, as if threatened 
 with suffocation, and her hand went up to her 
 throat. Before Katharine could speak, however, 
 she went on : 
 
 " I ought to apologize for this intrusion. 
 When I entered the room, I thought you were 
 alone. I came to see you, to ask you to return 
 to Morton House with me, to beg you to cheer 
 the solitude which Felix's absence has made so 
 dreary. After this meeting, I shall not press that 
 request. I shall only bid you good-morning." 
 
 She bowed slightly, drew her veil over her 
 face, and turned to leave the room a " grand 
 lady," unmistakably, and, so far, commanding 
 much the best of the situation. 
 
 But at this point Katharine spoke, her clear, 
 quiet tones seizing Mrs. Gordon's attention, and, 
 almost perforce, arresting Mrs. Gordon's steps. 
 
 " If you will allow me, madam, I have a few 
 words to say in my defence. It seems that you 
 disbelieve Mr. St. John's assertion. Will you 
 disbelieve mine when I tell you that I did not 
 bring him here, and that I knew nothing of his 
 acquaintance with you until he himself informed 
 me of it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gordon turned, and raised her veil 
 again. The two women faced each other for a 
 minute before tfce elder spoke spoke with a 
 certain quiet contempt in her voice. 
 
 " I confess that your question seems to me 
 unnecessary, Miss Tresham. Having granted 
 your right to inform Mr. St. John of my place 
 of abode, I can see no reason for uselessly pro
 
 )LD FOES. 
 
 129 
 
 >onging this discussion. Why should it natter 
 to you whether or not I believe you to have 
 done so ? " 
 
 Katharine flushed at the tone ; but she con- 
 trolled herself, and held to her point with steady 
 dignity. 
 
 '' Unnecessary or not, will you be kind enough 
 to answer my question ? " 
 
 " If you force me to speak, I must answer, 
 then, that I do believe it." 
 
 " In the face of my assertion to the con- 
 trary ? " 
 
 " In the face of any assertion given by any 
 friend of Mr. St. John's." 
 
 Hot words leaped to Katharine's lips ; but 
 she held them back. Even at this moment she 
 had sufficient strength of will to restrain herself 
 to remember that he who loses temper loses 
 many things besides, and that angry rejoinder 
 never yet helped a cause. She had a hard fight 
 for self-control ; but she fought it bravely, and 
 after a minute she was able to command her voice 
 sufficiently to reply. 
 
 " I am your debtor, Mrs. Gordon, for the first 
 direct insult that was ever offered to me in my 
 life. I asked your attention before as a cour- 
 tesy ; I demand it now as a right. You have 
 seen fit to charge me with falsehood with regard 
 to a matter in which, according to your own ad- 
 mission, I should have no reason to deny the 
 truth. I will now prove to you that you have 
 done so without a shadow of just cause." 
 
 She walked across the floor, and took the 
 Times advertisement from the table where she 
 had laid it. 
 
 " Will you read this ? " she said, coming back 
 and offering it to Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "I cannot imagine " began the latter, 
 haughtily. 
 
 " Read it," said Katharine, interrupting her 
 with grave resolution. 
 
 So constrained, Mrs. Gordon took the slip of 
 paper and read : 
 
 "If the friends or relations of Katharine 
 Tresham, formerly of the British West Indies, 
 and lately of Cumberland, England, are desirous 
 of knowing her present whereabouts and address, 
 they can obtain this information by addressing 
 R. G., Box 1,084, Mobile, Alabama." 
 
 Having read it, she looked up. 
 " I confess that I do not understand this," 
 she said. 
 
 "Perhaps these will enable you to do so," 
 
 answered Katharine, offering the letters in 
 turn. 
 
 The first one which Mrs. Gordon opened the 
 one which chanced to be the last, and in which 
 the writer gave Miss Tresham's address, and 
 asked information concerning her for " person- 
 al and family " reasons startled her no little. 
 Her eyes had scarcely fallen on the writing be- 
 fore she changed color. As she read on, her 
 face assumed an expression which puzzled Kath- 
 arine. It did not puzzle St. John, however. 
 Still master of himself, and quietly biding his 
 time, he coolly watched Mrs. Gordon, and coolly 
 arrived at a conclusion. 
 
 " She either knows or strongly suspects who 
 is the writer," he said to himself. " I shall re- 
 member that." 
 
 After Mrs. Gordon finished reading the letter, 
 she stood for some time with it in her hand, 
 apparently deep in thought. Then she roused 
 herself, and opened the other. She merely 
 glanced over this, folded it up, and turned to 
 Katharine. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," she said, with formal courte- 
 sy, " I apologize. I see that you were not the 
 person who brought Mr. St. John to Lagrange, 
 and I retract my assertion to that effect. Are 
 you satisfied ? " 
 
 " I am satisfied, madam," answered Katha- 
 rine, as coldly as herself. 
 
 " Will you allow me, then, to inquire if you 
 have any idea who inserted this advertisement 
 and wrote these letters ? " 
 
 " I have not the least idea." 
 
 Here St. John made a step forward, and was 
 about to speak, when Mrs. Marks appeared at the 
 still open door, in her best company dress and 
 with her best company smile. 
 
 " I heard that Mrs. Gordon was here," said 
 she, advancing into the room, "and I could 
 not help coming to " Here the good woman 
 stopped, awed, amazed, by the face that looked 
 at her, overpowered by a sudden rush of feeling 
 which swept away all thought of conventional 
 greeting or conventional compliments. " Miss 
 Pauline ! It can't be Miss Pauline ! " she cried, 
 with an almost pitiful astonishment in her voice. 
 " I I Mrs. Gordon ! excuse me, but such a 
 change " 
 
 " You, at least, are not changed," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, extending her hand. " The same Bessie 
 Warwick that I knew once the same Bessie 
 Warwick, with the same honest face. Will you 
 take me somewhere anywhere so that I can 
 speak to you alone ? " she went on, much to Mrs
 
 130 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 Marks'g surprise. " I am glad to see you ; for 
 I have something that I should like to say to 
 you." 
 
 I certainly if you don't object, I will 
 take you to my own room," said Mrs. Marks, 
 .coking in bewildered surprise from Katharine 
 to St. John, and from St. John to Mrs. Gordon. 
 " I told Lelty to make a fire in the parlor; but I 
 don't expect it is burning yet, and I couldn't ask 
 you to go into the cold. My room is in great 
 confusion, for the children make such a litter ; 
 but if you wouldn't mind " 
 
 " Anywhere," said Mrs. Gordon, faintly. Al- 
 ready her excitement was ebbing, her strength 
 was failing, and the room was growing black be- 
 fore her eyes. " I am ready," she added. 
 
 She took Mrs. Marks's arm as a support, and 
 turned to leave the room, but before she had 
 made three steps, St. John stood before her 
 barring the only mode of egress. 
 
 " It is quite useless for you to think that you 
 can carry off matters in this way with me, Mrs. 
 Gordon," he said, in a tone of contemptuous 
 amusement. " I understand, from various ru- 
 mors, that you have sent Felix away, and that 
 you intend to conceal his place of residence, as 
 you have already concealed your own, from his 
 father. Individually, I have no right to inter- 
 fere with your plans ; but I think it well to in- 
 form you that your husband" she shrank at the 
 word " will be here in a short time, and that he 
 will use every means to discover the child, and to 
 punish, with the utmost rigor of the law, those 
 who have aided you in concealing him." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried poor Mrs. Marks, and turned a 
 glance on Mrs. Gordon, as if to say, " Can this 
 be true ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Gordon did not heed the glance. 
 St. John's tones and words had waked all the 
 fire of combat within her all the haughty spirit 
 of resistance which years of tyranny had failed 
 to subdue. 
 
 " Tell the man for whom you are acting," she 
 aid, with all languor gone from her face, and all 
 weakness from her voice, " that if he is wise, 
 he will spare himself the trouble of coming here ; 
 for no human power shall ever make me see him 
 again. Tell him that Felix is safe from him ; and 
 that those who have the child in charge, are 
 neither so poor nor so weak as to be frightened 
 Dy threats of any penalty which it is in his power 
 to inflict. Tell him, also," she added, with a 
 radden flash in her eyes that absolutely made 
 St John recoil a step, " that he had better think 
 twice before he cornea to seek the sister of Alfred 
 
 Morton in her own home, and among hei own kin- 
 dred. I have only to speak, and there are men 
 here who would ask nothing better than to take 
 the matter of vengeance into their own hands." 
 
 " You know your husband, madam," said St. 
 John, quietly. " You know whether such threats 
 as that are likely to influence him." 
 
 " As for you," she went on, with passion so 
 intense that it made her whole frame quiver, 
 and her voice rise to that infinite height of 
 tragic emotion which only the greatest actors 
 have ever been able to imitate, " if I have 
 spared you, it has been because I recognized the 
 fact th&t you are simply a tool, and, consequent- 
 ly, that you are below any thing save contempt. 
 But if you trouble me again, I say to you, as I 
 said of him, that there are men who would ask 
 nothing better than to rid me of you summarily. 
 You will do well to remember this ! " 
 
 " If your friends will be kind enough to call 
 on me, madam," said St. John, with superb cool- 
 ness, " I shall be happy to receive them. I can 
 make them accountable for the words you have 
 just addressed to me, because I have endeavored, 
 as your husband's friend, to serve his interests." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Gordon, let let me take you 
 to my room," said Mrs. Marks, breaking in here 
 with a half-bewildered tone of expostulation. " I 
 had no idea of any thing like this, or I should 
 not have come in. If this gentleman will move 
 aside " 
 
 The gentleman moved aside in acknowledg- 
 ment of this request ; but Mrs. Gordon stood 
 still the glow was yet on her face, and it was 
 evident that she had yet something to say. This 
 time she addressed herself to Mrs. Marks : 
 
 " I wished to speak to you in private," she 
 said ; " but it is not worth while. The warning 
 which I desired to give you which it is my 
 duty to give you had better be spoken in the 
 presence of the person against whom it is 
 directed. I find Mr. St. John apparently at 
 home in your house. I do not know how long 
 this has been the case, nor how long it is likely 
 to continue ; but I warn you that, if you were 
 aware of his real character, he would not remain 
 within your doors five minutes. I speak of this 
 character, because I know it to my cost. He 
 is the unprincipled instrument of another man 
 whom it is my misfortune to call my husband. 
 Miss Tresham has sufficiently shown that she has 
 some close connection with him. What that 
 connection is, it does not concern me to inquire. 
 Whether or not it concerns you, is a mattei 
 which I leave for yourself to decide."
 
 OLD FOES. 
 
 131 
 
 " Miss Katharine ! " cried Mrs. Marks, with 
 one great culminating gasp of astonishment. 
 She turned and looked at her governess with an 
 air of appeal. Plainly she meant to say, " An- 
 swer for yourself." 
 
 But, as it chanced, Mrs. Gordon's last words 
 had tried Katharine's patience to its utmost limit. 
 She had, so far, curbed herself steadily wonder- 
 fully, in fact, considering how much she had 
 borne before Mrs. Gordon's entrance, and how 
 much she had been called upon to endure since 
 then but the last tones of scorn roused her as 
 she had not been roused before. She answered 
 Mrs. Marks's looks, therefore, by a few haughty 
 words. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon is perfectly right," she said. 
 "My connection with Mr. St. John does not con- 
 cern her in the least. I decline to explain it in 
 her presence." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon showed her appreciation of this 
 reply with admirable temper and dignity. 
 
 " Miss Tresham reminds me that I have not 
 yet. said good-morning," she remarked. " Will 
 you allow me to say it at once, and to add that 
 I shall be glad to see you at Morton House ? " 
 
 She shook hands cordially with Mrs. Marks, 
 bowed distantly to Katharine, and left the room. 
 Mrs. Marks followed her, and, during the few 
 minutes which ensued, St. John was able to 
 say : 
 
 " Was there ever any thing as unlucky as 
 that she should have found me here ? If you 
 had gone with her, you could have discovered 
 every thing." 
 
 " You have only yourself to thank that she 
 found you liere," Katharine answered. " But, so 
 far as I am concerned, it does not matter I 
 should not have gone with her." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " You know why not, St. John. I should 
 only have laid myself open to the imputation of 
 doing what you wish me to do, of being what 
 you wish me to be that is, a spy." 
 
 At this point, Mrs. Marks came back through 
 the passage having parted with Mrs. Gordon on 
 the front piazza. She saw the dining-room door 
 still open, and hesitated a moment. Evidently 
 curiosity said, " Enter ; " evidently, also, discre- 
 tion said, " Pass on ; " and, between the two, 
 she stood irresolute. Seeing her irresolution, 
 St. John astonished Katharine by stepping for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Will you come in, madam ? " he asked. 
 " In my own defence, and that of Miss Tresham, 
 I should like to say a few words to you." 
 
 I Mrs. Marks came in nowise loath but Kath- 
 arine hardly saw her. It was now her turn to feel 
 faint and sick for the room to go round in a 
 sort of black mist. Through this mist, she heard 
 St. John speak as if he had been a great way 
 off. 
 
 " Since you know Mrs. Gordon, madam, you 
 must be aware that she is of a very excitable 
 and impulsive disposition. This fact will ac- 
 count lor her unprovoked attack on Miss Tresh- 
 am and on myself. I came to this place in igno- 
 rance of her being here ; but, as a friend of her 
 husband, I could not conceal from him that the 
 wife for whom he has been searching all over 
 Europe is in America. One does not expect 
 reason from an angry woman ; but you heard 
 how unjustly she assailed me, on account of 
 this act of disinterested friendship. As for Miss 
 Tresham, I will not insult her by offering to" 
 
 " But is it really true t " asked Mrs. Marks, 
 mercilessly interrupting this flow of language. 
 " Is there really no doubt that Mrs, Gordon has 
 a husband living ? I that is, we thought her a 
 widow." 
 
 " There is no doubt, madam, that her hus- 
 band is living, and that she left hioi in the 
 most " 
 
 Here Katharine rose and came forward. 
 
 " St. John, that is enough," she said. " Mrs. 
 Gordon's domestic troubles cannot interest Mrs. 
 Marks. Will you go now? I do not think I 
 can stand this any longer." 
 
 She spoke quietly, but with a certain deter- 
 mination which, almost against his will, St. John 
 obeyed. He started, looked at her face, and, see- 
 ing the resolution of the eyes that met his own, 
 went to the mantel-piece for the hat he had left 
 there. 
 
 " I will go, certainly," he said ; " but I must 
 see you again. When can that be ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she answered, wearily. " I 
 shall begin teaching on Monday, and " 
 
 " I should like to see you before Monday." 
 
 " Come when you choose, then that is, if 
 Mrs. Marks does not object." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mrs. Marks. " I am 
 always glad for any of Miss Katharine's friends 
 to come to see her, and if Mr." she stopped 
 and looked at Katharine. 
 
 " Mr. St. John," said Katharine, in reply to 
 the look. 
 
 " If Mr. St. John will come to tea this even- 
 ing, we shall be very glad to see him." 
 
 " Thank you, madam," said Mr. St. John, 
 speaking for himself. " I am very grateful foi
 
 132 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 your kind invitation, but I regret to say that I am 
 unable to accept it. I have business-letters of 
 Importance to write to-day, and I do not think 
 I shall be able to finish them in time to do my- 
 self the pleasure of coming." 
 
 " To-morrow evening " began hospitable 
 Mrs. Marks; but St. John had already turned 
 away, and was speaking to Katharine in a tone 
 too low for her to hear his words. As Miss 
 Tresham replied, the coldness of her manner 
 struck Mrs. Marks so much that she stopped 
 short in her second invitation. She had sup- 
 posed that this handsome gentleman must be a 
 favored suitor, but now she began to change her 
 mind. He was a lover. Oh, dear ! evidently a 
 lover, or he would never have spoken in that 
 voice, and with that manner put a rejected, 
 perhaps a hopeless lover, poor fellow ! His 
 devotion touched her, but she was too close an 
 observer not to see at once that his cause was 
 doomed to failure. Men are sometimes deceived 
 by the coldness of a woman, are sometimes un- 
 able to tell whether this coldness is that which 
 betrays dislike, or that which conceals love ; but 
 you never find another woman who is so blind. 
 Mrs. Marks saw at once that there was no hope 
 for Mr. St. John ; and, although she felt sorry for 
 him, although she would have liked to do some- 
 thing to console him, still she had sufficient dis- 
 cretion to feel that the invitation to tea had bet- 
 ter not be pressed. When he took leave, she 
 threw a good deal of respectful sympathy into her 
 manner ; and, after he was gone, she would have 
 opened fire at once on Katharine, if Katharine 
 had not anticipated any address on her part, by 
 coming and putting her arms around her. 
 
 " You are very good to me," she said, sim- 
 ply. " I am very glad you did not let Mrs. Gor- 
 don prejudice you against me. But do not ask 
 Mr. St. John here again, Mrs. Marks. I do not 
 think Mr. Warwick would like it." 
 
 " I hope I'm mistress in my own house, my 
 dear," said Mrs. Marks, a little stiffly. Then she 
 softened, and kissed the girl. "I won't, of 
 course, if you say not it was only because he 
 waa a friend of yours that I asked him. I can 
 see that he cares a great deal for you, and that 
 he hasn't much in the way of hope to thank you 
 for. But I don't see what John has to do with 
 It" 
 
 " Mr. Warwick is Mrs. Gordon's friend, and, 
 naturally, he will take her side, and look on her 
 cause as as she does. I don't mean to defend 
 Mr. St John,' V she went on, hurriedly. " I don't 
 mean that they may not be right ; but still, I 
 
 should like to see him sometimes, as long as he 
 stays here, if you don't object." 
 
 " My dear, I don't object in the least," said 
 the elder woman, kindly. " Don't be afraid of 
 my being prejudiced by Pauline Morton. I 
 know how quick and fiery she always used to be. 
 As for you, I would trust you with with a mint 
 of money, if I had it." 
 
 " You have trusted me with the children, and 
 they are worth ten mints of money,'' said Katha- 
 rine, smiling faintly. Then she disengaged her- 
 self, and went up-stairs. 
 
 An hour or two afterward, Mrs. Marks was 
 in the dining-room, where Tom was busy setting 
 the table, when she was startled by the appear- 
 ance of Miss Tresham, who entered all cloaked 
 and bonneted as if for a journey, and with a 
 small travelling-bag on her arm. 
 
 " Mrs. Marks," she said, " will you lend me 
 a little money ? ten dollars will do. I find I 
 have none in my purse, and I want to catch the 
 coach, and go over to Saxford. I cannot be 
 back until Monday evening, and that will prevent 
 my beginning school until Tuesday ; but I hope 
 you won't mind it." 
 
 "No I won't mind it," said Mrs. Marks, a 
 little taken aback. She thought Miss Tresham 
 was growing very eccentric, for she had been to 
 Saxford only the week before Chrisimas, and now 
 to go again so soon, was quite unprecedented 
 and singular, to say the least. She did not 
 think of refusing her consent, however ; but, on 
 the contrary, searched diligently for her purse in 
 the depths of a capacious pocket. 
 
 " It's late to be thinking of going, Miss 
 Katharine," she said. "The stage !s due for 
 dinner, you know ; and I'm afraid you'll hardly 
 catch it now. Give Tom your bag, and he can 
 put some ham and biscuit in it, for you won't be 
 able to stay for dinner. Will two five-dollar 
 notes do ? I haven't a ten." 
 
 " Two five-dollar notes will do very well," said 
 Katharine. " Thank you, and good-by. Kiss the 
 children for me I really have not time to see 
 them. That will do, Tom give me my bag 
 now." 
 
 She took the bag, kissed Mrs. Marks, and wa3 
 out of the door before that astonished woman 
 had time to collect her senses. When she did, 
 her first exclamation was : 
 
 " What will Richard sav ? "
 
 MORTON'S CHOICE. 
 
 133 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MORTON'S C'HOICE. 
 
 THE morning on which Miss Tresham left 
 Aunesdale was wearing into noon, when a note 
 from Mrs. Gordon was brought to Mr. Annesley. 
 It was written after her return from Tallahoma, 
 and was brief, to the extreme of epistolary brev- 
 ity. 
 
 "MOKTON HOUSE, Friday morning. 
 " DEAR MORTON : Come to me as soon as pos- 
 sible at once, if that be possible. I have some- 
 thing of importance to say to you. Yours, 
 "PAULINE GORDON." 
 
 Morton chanced to be standing near Irene 
 Vernon when he read this, and his change of 
 color at once struck that young lady, who was a 
 very close observer. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter, I hope, Mr. Annes- 
 ley ? " she said, as he looked up and met her 
 eye. 
 
 " N o," answered he, a little hesitatingly. 
 Then he glanced down at the note again, and 
 went on : " Nothing is the matter, I hope ; but I 
 must go at once to Morton House. My cousin 
 has sent for me." 
 
 " Oh, how provoking ! What will become of 
 our ride this afternoon ? " 
 
 " I am obliged to ask you to defer it. You 
 won't care, will you ? I am very sorry, but " 
 
 " But, if it must be done, that is an end of the 
 matter. The weather may be as delightful to- 
 morrow as it is to-day. At all events, don't 
 consider me, if your cousin has sent for you." 
 
 "You are the embodiment of obliging good- 
 ness," said Morton, gratefully. Then, to the ser- 
 vant still standing by, " My horse." 
 
 While the horse was being brought out, the 
 young man curbed his impatience as well as he 
 could ; and, to enable him to do so, took Miss 
 Vernon partially into his confidence. He did 
 not tell her all of Mrs. Gordon's story, but he 
 told her enough to account for his abrupt depart- 
 ure, and to enlist her sympathy. After a while 
 they wandered from this immediate subject to 
 certain side issues. 
 
 "There is one thing that might console your 
 eousin a little," said Miss Vernon, as they 
 walked up and down the piazza, with the soft 
 air and the bright sunshine all around them. 
 "She has gratified the wishes and fulfilled the 
 desires of her heart. It is not given to every- 
 
 body to do that, you know. She must have tasted 
 some sweets before the bitter came ought not 
 that to help her to resignation ? " 
 
 " Would it help you, do you think ? " 
 
 "I don't know but it seems to me it would. 
 Any thing is better than dull, even stagnation. 
 A still day of leaden cloud is the dreariest thing 
 in the world don't you think so? Ah, how 
 bright and beautiful it is to-day ! If I knew 
 that to-morrow would bring a blinding storm, I 
 should still take the sunshine, and enjoy it while 
 it lasted." 
 
 "You surprise me," said Morton, smiling. 
 " I had no idea that you were such an epi- 
 curean. But," he added, more gravely, "you 
 are mistaken. If you had ever known Mrs. 
 Gordon, you would see that the lesson of her 
 life is directly opposed to the sentiment you are 
 advocating a sentiment which has found its 
 best expression in the words, ' Let us eat and 
 drink, for to-morrow we die.' The lesson of 
 Mrs. Gordon's life teaches with unusual force a 
 thing which has almost grown trite in our ears 
 this is, that the gratification of our own wish- 
 es, and the fulfilment of our own desires, never 
 brings happiness. Of course, we all think it 
 would do so; and, since there are few of us 
 who are free enough to test the matter, we go 
 on to our lives' ends thinking so. But, in truth, 
 when we see those who possessed the freedom 
 which we lacked, and who marched forward to 
 the goal of their own hopes, what is the result? 
 Mrs. Gordon was one of those people, Miss Ver- 
 non ; and, if you could see her, your own eyea 
 would assure you that, for her, not only the end, 
 but the very hour of fruition if, indeed, there 
 ever is an hour of fruition was disappointment 
 and bitterness." 
 
 " But, at all events, she has not merely exist- 
 ed she has lived." 
 
 "You must give me your definition of life 
 before I can grant you even that," he said, with 
 a slight, grave smile. " Does life consist in a 
 certain amount of sight-seeing, a certain number 
 of vicissitudes to be endured, a certain depth of 
 emotion to be sounded ? I know that the idea 
 of the day runs somewhat thus, and that discon- 
 tent is rife in many places, because some people 
 declare that life is only worthy of the name when 
 it has known these things. But it seems to me 
 that minds which think thus, must reason very 
 shallowly else they could hardly fail to perceive 
 that, by such a standard, they exalt the worst 
 class of the world above the best. In their 
 sense, who has lived most thoroughly, the saini
 
 134 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 in his cloister, the philosopher in his study, the 
 great minds and hearts that solitude has nurtured 
 in all ages, or the reckless adventurer, the wander- 
 ing sybarite, the men who sound every scale of 
 human life, and, dying, pass from human memory 
 like the brutes that perish ? Miss Vernon, will 
 you tell me what you meant by saying that Mrs. 
 Gordon had lived ? " 
 
 " I meant exactly what you have condemned, 
 Mr. Annesley. I meant that her existence has 
 not been tame and stagnant, and cast in one 
 groove ; but that it has been like a varied drama, 
 filled with many scenes and many emotions. In 
 short well, I express myself badly, but I think 
 you know what I mean." 
 
 " Yes, I think I do. You mean that, to you, 
 her life seems like a picture, where the shades 
 only heighten the effect ; or, like a story, which 
 would lose half its interest if it had no tragic 
 incidents, or pathetic close. But the tragedy 
 and the pathos are not poetical, but very bitter, 
 when they come home to us in our own lives. 
 If you will allow me to make a. personal applica- 
 tion of my meaning, I should judge from what 
 you have said just now, and from many things 
 which have gone before, that you find your life 
 dull and tame it may be, even weary. But does 
 it never occur to you that this very life seems to 
 others like one long sunny idyl of brightness 
 and peace ? Believe me, the chief secret of hap- 
 piness the only one, in fact is content with 
 that life, and mode of life, which has fallen to 
 our portion. I don't mean that we can obtain 
 this content by merely wishing for it," said the 
 young man, with a wistful look on his face ; 
 " but we can gain it by fighting for it, and it is 
 worth a battle. Forgive me, if I seem to be 
 preaching to you," added he, with a smile. " I 
 have very imperfectly expressed the thoughts 
 your words suggested to me, but perhaps you 
 can seize the idea through the rude garb in which 
 I have clothed it. It has only come to me dimly 
 and feebly, but there is a thrill about it which 
 tells me that I am on the threshold of a great 
 truth. Yonder is my horse, at last. Now my 
 prosing is at an end. Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by," echoed Miss Vernon, giving her 
 hand, unconsciously, to the one he extended. 
 " I did not know you thought this way," she 
 went on, abruptly. " Your creed seems to me 
 simple, and yet I fear I am very morbid," she 
 laid, quickly. " You have done something to 
 make me ashamed of it." 
 
 " You are a little morbid," said Morton, smil- 
 ing. " You must forgive me if I tell you so, and 
 
 you must also forgwe me if I suggest the remedy 
 May I ? " 
 
 " Of course you may." 
 
 " Forget yourself, then. I don't mean that 
 you think of yourself a great deal," he went on, 
 as he saw her flush ; " but we are all prone to 
 self-consciousness, and, in some natures, it fos- 
 ters vanity ; in others, a morbid habit of intro- 
 spection which pshaw ! I am drifting into meta- 
 physics, and I know you hate the stuff as much 
 as I do. Once more, good-by. I am off for 
 good, this time." 
 
 Miss Vernon stood on the piazza and watched 
 him as he rode away. He looked very gallant 
 and handsome ; for, like most of his country- 
 men, he rode to perfection, and never appeared 
 so well as on horseback. When he was out of 
 sight, she smiled, to herself, with a mixture of 
 archness and sadness. Seen just now, her face 
 wore its very softest and sweetest expression. 
 
 " It is not hard to tell where he obtains his 
 philosophy," she thought. "No doubt he is 
 perfectly sincere in it, but it is amazingly easy 
 to be resigned to success, and to be content 
 when every desire of one's heart is gratified. 
 The test will be when disappointment and failure 
 come. If his philosophy helps him to bear 
 that, it will be genuine, and worth practising. 
 Will it help him to bear it, though ? Who can 
 tell?" 
 
 Regarded as an abstract question, who, in- 
 deed ? Yot the time was fast approaching when 
 the abstract question would assume practical 
 shape, and when Miss Vernon's question would 
 be answered in a way which Miss Vernon could 
 not, at that moment, possibly have foreseen or 
 imagined. 
 
 She was still standing on the piazza, still 
 looking absently out on the bright landscape, 
 still thinking of Morton's philosophy, and of the 
 chances for and against his practising it, when 
 Mrs. Annesley appeared at the open hall-door, 
 and walked up to her. 
 
 " All alone, my dear ? " she said, with a 
 smile, in which the kindness for once was real. 
 " I thought I saw Morton with you a few min- 
 utes ago ? " 
 
 "You did see him with me a few minutes 
 ago," Irene answered ; " but he is gone now. 
 Didn't you heafthe tramp of his horse ? " 
 
 " I heard the tramp of somebody's horse, but 
 I had no idea that it was his. Where has he 
 gone ? " 
 
 " To Morton House, I believe." 
 
 " To Morton House ! " The extreme of sur
 
 MORTON'S CHOICE. 
 
 135 
 
 prise appeared in Mrs. Annesley's face. " Why, 
 what has taken him there ? And so suddenly 
 without a word to me ! " 
 
 " A note from Mrs. Gordon was the cause of 
 his going," said Miss Vernon, carelessly. " He 
 showed it to me, because he had an engagement 
 to ride with me, which, in consequence of this, he 
 was obliged to break." 
 
 " And what was in the note ? " 
 
 " Only a few lines, begging him to come to 
 her at once, on a matter of importance." 
 
 " Nothing more ? " 
 
 " Nothing more at all." 
 
 "How very strange!" said Mrs. Annesley, 
 with her color rising. " A matter of impor- 
 tance, and not one word to me either from 
 Pauline or Morton. My dear, excuse me, and 
 don't think it is curiosity I feel I am surprised, 
 and, I confess, a little wounded, that I should be 
 openly excluded from the confidence of my son." 
 
 "I don't think Mr. Annesley knew what Mrs. 
 Gordon wants with him," said Miss Vernon, see- 
 ing the mischief she had unwittingly done, and 
 being anxious to smooth the lady's ruffled plumes. 
 " He seemed very much surprised, and, I am sure, 
 he never thought " 
 
 " That is just it," said Mrs. Annesley, a little 
 bitterly. " Of course, he never thought or per- 
 haps he receives Pauline's confidence with the 
 stipulation that it is to be kept from me. But 
 we mothers must make up our minds to bear 
 this," said she, recovering her usual manner by 
 an effort. " As our children grow older, others 
 supplant us in their hearts and minds, and we 
 must endeavor to abdicate with a good grace. 
 If we could only choose our successors, it would 
 not be hard to do so," she added, drawing the 
 girl's hand within her arm, with a smile. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Annesley, you do your son great 
 injustice," said Irene, speaking quickly. "No 
 one will ever supplant you in his heart. I don't 
 think you know how much he loves and admires 
 you. It often makes me admire Mm to see it." 
 
 " You reconcile me to abdication, my dear," 
 said the lady, smiling the same gracious smile. 
 *'Ah! if I can only choose my successor" she 
 broke off, as Irene colored and drew back a lit- 
 tle. " Forgive me I only meant to say that I 
 am very happy if I am one link to draw you 
 nearer to us. Shall we go in now ? I am afraid 
 you find it cold out here." 
 
 They went in ; and no sooner was Mrs. An- 
 nesley able to make a retreat, than she retired 
 to her own room, and rang for her maid. 
 
 " Get my wrappings, Julia," she said, " and 
 
 order the carriage. Tell Sarah to have dinner 
 an hour or two later than usual, for I am going 
 to Morton House, and shall not be back at the 
 ordinary time." 
 
 While his mother, at Annesdale, was prepar- 
 ing for her drive, Morton felt as if the ground 
 had absolutely yielded beneath his feet, when 
 Mrs. Gordon, who was in a state of strangely- 
 passionate excitement, told her story at Morton 
 House. After it was ended, she gave the reason 
 that had made her send for him. 
 
 "I have been foolish enough to encourage 
 you in your fancy for this girl," she said. " It 
 was my duty, therefore, not to let you rest an 
 hour in ignorance of her true character not to 
 fail to tell you at once that I consider her an 
 adventuress of the most decided stamp. Mor- 
 ton, for Heaven's sake for the sake of your 
 name, your honor, and your friends do not give 
 another thought to her ! " 
 
 " One moment," said Morton, who was pale, 
 but reticent evidently he meant to hear every 
 thing, and say nothing that would commit him 
 to any positive line of action " you have not 
 told me yet why you think this." 
 
 " Could I think it on better ground than 
 that of her association with St. John ? You 
 don't know you can hardly imagine what he 
 is!" 
 
 " But is it just to judge her by him ? " 
 
 " What could be more just, when there is 
 evidently some link of familiar connection be- 
 tween them ? Morton, put the case as if it re- 
 garded somebody else. What would you think 
 of a woman who was on terms of well, we will 
 say intimate friendship, with a man than whom 
 the lowest sharper is not more destitute of honor 
 with a man whose record is one that exiles 
 him forever from the companionship of honest 
 people ? " 
 
 " She may not know this." 
 
 " Ask her if she does not! I am willing to 
 risk every thing on her reply, for I think that 
 circumstances have made it impossible for her 
 to speak falsely. Ask her if she does not know 
 who and what St. John is." 
 
 " You are right," he said, rising. " I will 
 ask her. That is the straightforward and hon- 
 est thing to do, after all. Don't think that I 
 doubt you," he went on, looking at his cousin 
 " Don't think that I am ungenerous enough to 
 blame you for what you have said. On the con- 
 trary, I thank you. I should certainly hear all 
 that is said if only that I may be able to an- 
 swer it. You must forgive me that I cannol
 
 136 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 take any mere circumstantial evidence against 
 her. It seems to me that I should be a very con- 
 temptible fellow, if I did." 
 
 " And you are going to her ? " said Mrs. Gor- 
 don, bitterly. "Well perhaps it may be best; 
 but oh, Morton, don't be rash ! Don't say any 
 thing that you may hereafter regret. Give me 
 that much credence, at least." 
 
 He bent down, and kissed her cheek smiling 
 with an attempt at cheerfulness which went to 
 her heart more surely than any pathos could 
 have done. He was mad and foolish, she 
 thought; he was about to risk the happiness 
 of his whole life in the blind determination to 
 trust to the last ; yet, even while she felt impa- 
 tient, she could not but be touched by his sim- 
 ple, steadfast fidelity. It had all the elements 
 of the highest chivalry in it, though nobody 
 could have known this as little as Morton him- 
 self. It was Mrs. Gordon who recognized it, and 
 who, in the midst of her anxiety and irritation, 
 felt suddenly thrilled by admiration. Still she 
 could not but make one last effort. 
 
 " Morton," she said, catching his hand as he 
 bent over her, " listen to me. I am much older 
 than yourself, and, although I am a woman, my 
 knowledge of the world is much greater. Be- 
 sides, I am your cousin the only Morton left, 
 the only one of the name which hereafter you 
 will have to represent. To see you what you are 
 to know you brave, and true, and loyal has 
 given more sunshine to my life than you would 
 readily believe. If he lives, Felix's duties will 
 be elsewhere some day, therefore, this house 
 must be yours. This has been my only comfort. 
 Morton remember that it was through my fault 
 my father left here ; it was my fault my brother 
 never took his place. It is a horrible thing to 
 see, when it is too late, a direct sequence of 
 events to know that one's own hand has set 
 in motion a tide which ends by sweeping away 
 every thing that life holds dear. This has been 
 my lot. Don't add one more disappointment to 
 it one more bitter memory. Don't ruin your 
 life, and tarnish your name, by marrying this 
 woman." 
 
 The earnestness, the passion of her appeal, 
 touched Morton deeply. He saw plainly enough 
 that the question of his happiness was with her 
 entirely subordinate to the question of family 
 pride; but he sympathized with this sentiment 
 sufficiently to feel its supremacy no hardship. 
 In these times, the thought that any thing is of 
 more importance than the gratification of a sen- 
 timental fancy is quite obsolete; but, in that 
 
 day, a few people (and Morton was one of thes 
 people) clung to the old-fashioned idea that there 
 were certain claims to be considered in such a 
 case, certain higher duties than the duty of mar- 
 rying and giving in marriage, certain principles 
 to be observed, and, if any or all of these things 
 clashed with love, then love must give way. We 
 of the present period know better than that. 
 Having the grand advantage of modern enlight- 
 enment, we know that the first duty of every 
 reasonable human being is a duty to self. And 
 as selfishness generally culminates its strength 
 in love not divine love, which takes us out of 
 ourselves into something higher, but that passion 
 bearing its name, which is of the earth earthy 
 so love must needs be taught to override all the 
 grand old watchwords of Faith, and Honor, and 
 Duty. But, as we have said, Morton was not of 
 this day. The jargon of the new school of mor- 
 alists would have been a foreign language to his 
 ears. The conception of sacrifice the concep- 
 tion which is the key-note of every nature which 
 deserves to be called noble had always been 
 familiar to him, had grown with his growth, and 
 strengthened with his strength. As far as he 
 was concerned, he was ready to put his own 
 wishes down under his feet for the sake of any 
 thing that had a right to demand the offering; 
 and, reared as he had been, the name that he 
 bore was one of these things. No sacrifice could 
 be counted too costly that would help to keep it 
 pure and untarnished. 
 
 Regarded from this point of view, his course 
 seemed clear but then there was another side 
 to the question, or else all this explanation need 
 not have been written. To Morton, life had al- 
 ways seemed a very simple thing, and he had 
 never had much sympathy with those who pro- 
 fessed to find it otherwise. " The path of duty is 
 always clear and straight," he said, "and, if we 
 follow it, we can't possibly go wrong. The peo- 
 ple who are involved in moral difficulties, gener- 
 ally make them for themselves." Now the time 
 had come for him to learn as everybody who 
 deals in such fluent generalities sooner or later 
 must learn that life is, after all, a very com- 
 plex tissue, and that, without being addicted to 
 the dangerous pastime of splitting hairs, we may 
 find ourselves on the horns of a moral dilemma, 
 and be honestly and seriously puzzled thereby. 
 Two duties were clashing with him now, and 
 the young man felt sorely uncertain as to which 
 had the strongest claim to his respect. On the 
 one side was the name to which a gentleman owes 
 his first duty. On the other, that principle of
 
 MORTON'S CHOICE. 
 
 137 
 
 teadfast fidelity which every tradition of his 
 creed, and instinct of his nature, made a solemn 
 obligation. Moved as he had been by Mrs. 
 Gordon's passionate appeal, he was not yet 
 ready to set this aside as naught not yet ready 
 to believe that the higher duty conflicted with 
 it. 
 
 He walked away to the window, and stood 
 there looking out. Before him lay the broad 
 Morton fields, and the distant shadowy Morton 
 woods. Above him was the roof which he had 
 just heard Mrs. Gordon declare might some day 
 be his own at a little distance from him sat the 
 woman rendered so sadly desolate by her own 
 folly, the woman who had appealed to him in the 
 name of family honor, who had bared her heart 
 to him, and prayed him to spare her another 
 cruel blow. Here it would have seemed as if 
 every influence weighed heavily in one scale as 
 if here the side which all these things represented 
 surely must prevail. Yet here his heart spoke to 
 him as it had never spoken before. Here Katha- 
 rine Tresham's face rose before him witn a pathos 
 and a beauty which the face itself had never 
 owned. Suddenly the passion which he had 
 heretofore so steadily curbed, so sternly kept 
 obedient to his will, rose up in revolt, and swept 
 over him in a great wave that fairly startled him. 
 A voice seemed to speak in his ear, and to say : 
 " If you give her up in this way, you are a das- 
 tard ! " It was in obedience to this voice that 
 he turned at last to answer Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 " Until I have seen Miss Tresham, I cannot 
 tell what I will do," he said. " I can only say 
 that I will try to act as seems to me right. Many 
 things have conspired to perplex me of late; 
 and, at this moment, I am only certain of one 
 thing that I will not give her up ! I will trust 
 her until she herself proves or disproves your 
 opinion of her; and I should not deserve the 
 name of gentleman if I did not do so." 
 
 " This is your decision ? " asked Mrs. Gor- 
 don. 
 
 " This is my decision," he answered. 
 
 Something like a faint smile of pity came to 
 the lips of the woman who had gone her way, and 
 who now looked back on the results of it. 
 
 " We are all alike," she said. " Indeed, all 
 of us must needs run our own course of folly, 
 and wreck our lives according to our own fancy. 
 I suppose it is useless to reason with you ; and I, 
 of all people, have no right save the right of 
 ad experience to bid you stop and consider. 
 Yet" she paused a moment "yet I fancied 
 jrou would be different. I fancied you would 
 
 rate the duty you owe to your name above your 
 passion for a woman's face." 
 
 "And I thought you would understand me 
 better," he answered, quickly. " I thought you 
 would believe that I do rate it above every thing 
 excepting my duty to God, and that if my love 
 for Katharine Tresham clashed with it, I would 
 sacrifice that love without an instant's hesita- 
 tion." 
 
 " If it clashed with it ? " 
 
 " Yes, if it clashed with it. You must par- 
 don me that I say 'if but your opinion is only 
 your opinion, you know ; and, in a matter which 
 concerns the happiness of my whole life, I can- 
 not accept any thing but positive evidence." 
 
 " One word more," said Mrs. Gordon, as he 
 extended his hand to bid her good-by. She did 
 not take the hand, but rose to her feet, holding 
 her own tightly pressed against her heart. 
 " You will not misunderstand what I am going 
 to say, I am sure ; you will not think that I mean 
 to influence you by any thing so foolish, and 
 (from me) so impertinent as a threat," she went 
 on. " But I think it right to place before you 
 the consequences of the step you seem deter- 
 mined to take. Morton, that woman is allied in 
 some way to the man who helped to ruin my 
 life and to murder my brother. If you make 
 her your wife, you can never be master in thi 
 house." 
 
 She spoke quietly, but in a moment she saw 
 that she had spoken unwisely. Her warning 
 certainly had much of the nature of a threat in 
 it, and the man must be cold-blooded, indeed, 
 who, in a matter of this kind, submits to be 
 threatened. 
 
 " You might have spared me this," said 
 Morton, with more hauteur than he intended. 
 " My resolution with regard to Miss Tresham 
 did not need a spur; and your own experience 
 might tell you whether my sense of family obli- 
 gation is likely to be increased or diminished by 
 the knowledge of such a penalty. I see that I 
 had better go," he added, after a short pause. 
 " You have wounded me, and I may pain you, if 
 I remain any longer. Forgive me if I have 
 seemed abrupt or ungracious. I this has been 
 a harder struggle than you think." 
 
 She let him go in silence. But after the last 
 echo of his step had died away, the reason of 
 this became evident. She sat down, and a rush 
 of tears came through the thin, white fingers 
 which covered her face. 
 
 Half an hour later, Babette opened the door 
 and brought In a card.
 
 138 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " The lady is in the drawing-room, and insists 
 on seeing madame," she said. 
 
 "I can sex nobody," answered Mrs. Gordon, 
 languidly. Still she extended her hand, and 
 took the bit of pasteboard. She started when 
 she read Mrs. Annesley's name. 
 
 CHAPTER XX FI. 
 
 KR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF. 
 
 MRS. MARKS'S doubt of what " Richard " 
 would have to say on the subject of Miss Tresh- 
 am's flitting, proved to be well founded. When 
 the cashier came home to dinner, and heard his 
 wife's eager recital of the events of the morning, 
 he looked decidedly grave. The mention of Mr. 
 St. John recalled Mr. Warwick's opinion of that 
 gentleman, and for Mr. Warwick's opinion no- 
 body entertained a greater respect than his 
 brother-in-law. Then Mrs. Gordon's warning 
 seemed to Mr. Marks a much more important 
 matter than it had seemed to his wife. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon would never have spoken in 
 that way without some cause," he said, when 
 Mrs. Marks told her story. After this, came 
 the news of Miss Tresham's sudden departure 
 at which Mr. Marks startled his wife by the 
 astonishment of his face. 
 
 " Gone ! " he said. " Gone, just at the close 
 of the holidays, and before she had been in the 
 house more than a few hours! What is the 
 meaning of it ? what did she say was the mean- 
 ing of it ? " 
 
 " I really, I believe she only said she was 
 go*ng to Saxford," answered Mrs. Marks, de- 
 cidedly taken aback. " She asked me if I had 
 auy objection, and I told her no. I thought a 
 day or two would not matter about the children, 
 and it never occurred to me that you would mind 
 it." 
 
 "I mind it, because I don't understand it," 
 said Mr. Marks, with the same unusual gravity. 
 " It don't look well for Miss Tresham to be neg- 
 lecting her duties in this way ; but, as you 
 say, a day or two wouldn't matter if a day or 
 two's loss of time was all. What does matter, 
 is some explanation of this strange conduct. 
 Think, Bessie ! Did she tell you nothing about 
 ichy she was going to Saxford ? " 
 
 "She did not tell me a word," said Mrs. 
 Marks, looking and feeling a little crestfallen. 
 " She came in here in a great hurry, just as 
 Tom was setting the table, and asked me to lend 
 
 her some money, ns she had none, and wanted- 
 Why, Richard, what on earth is the matter? " 
 
 There was reason enough for asking the ques- 
 tion. Mr. Marks's eyes opened wide on his star- 
 tled wife, and the expression of his face fully 
 warranted her surprise. When she broke off 
 in this way, his lips had already formed an excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " She asked you for money ! " he repeate< 
 hastily. " Bessie, there must be some mistake 
 Are you sure she asked you for money ? " 
 
 " Of course I am sure ! How could I be mis- 
 taken ? " 
 
 " And did you lend her any ? " 
 
 u Of course I did I lent her ten dollars." 
 
 " Ten dollars ! " 
 
 The cashier's astonishment seemed to have 
 reached the utmost extreme possible to that 
 emotion. He walked up and down the floor, 
 then came back and stood before the fire, look- 
 ing down into the glowing coals. 
 
 " This is the strangest thing I ever heard 
 of!" he said, at last. "I confess I don't under- 
 stand it." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " demanded Mrs. 
 Marks, who was, in her turn, excited by curios- 
 ity. "What is strange? what is it you don't 
 understand ? Why shouldn't Miss Tresham aik 
 me to lend her some money ? " 
 
 Her husband turned and looked at her. 
 
 " The simple reason why Miss Tresham should 
 not have asked you to lend her some money is, 
 that I paid Miss Tresham no less sum than a 
 thousand dollars no longer ago than last Tues- 
 day." 
 
 " Richard ! " 
 
 " Her receipt is at the bank to show for i* 
 said Mr. Marks ; " and now on Friday sh* 
 comes to you to borrow ten dollars ! It is very 
 strange conduct, to say the least of it." 
 
 " A thousand dollars ! Good gracious ! 
 What do you think she could have done with 
 it?" cried Mrs. Marks, all in a flutter. "She 
 certainly said she didn't have any money, and 
 she certainly took two five-dollar notes from 
 me. Richard, what on earth could she have 
 done with it ? " 
 
 " That is more than I can pretend to say," 
 answered her husband. " But one thing is cer- 
 tain I don't, like the look of matters. When 
 Miss Tresham drew that money, she was very 
 particular about requiring gold. Then she wrote 
 a note in the bank, and had a meeting in the 
 parlor across the passage, with this St. John. 
 After that she went away, and Warwick cam
 
 MR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF. 
 
 139 
 
 ha. The first thing he told me was that the 
 man St. John, I mean was an unprincipled 
 scoundrel ; and, though he did not give me his 
 reasons for saying so, he spoke in a manner 
 which showed very plainly that he had reasons, 
 and good ones, for the opinion. I confess that, 
 at the time, I didn't pay much attention to the 
 matter ; but, looking back now, it seems to me 
 more serious. After what has happened to-day, 
 I feel uneasy I feel certain that something is 
 wrong." 
 
 " Not with Miss Tresham, Richard I'm sure 
 there's nothing wrong with Miss Tresham." 
 
 " What do you know about Miss Tresham, 
 Bessie ? You may forget, but I don't, that we 
 engaged her when she was an entire stranger to 
 us, and that, after living with us two years, she 
 is, as far as her own affairs are concerned, as 
 much a stranger as ever." 
 
 " But you know how nice she is ! " said Mrs. 
 Marks, indignantly. " You know all that she has 
 done for the children, and and all that she has 
 done for me. You liked her yourself, Richard 
 you know you did ! " 
 
 " I like her now,'' said Mr. Marks, with that 
 stolid masculine coolness which some men pos- 
 sess in superlative degree, and which is, to the 
 feminine mind, the most exasperating thing in 
 the world. " But what has that got to do with 
 the matter ? I'm not talking about liking her. 
 I'm talking about her drawing that money, and 
 borrowing ten dollars from you three days later 
 I am talking about her acquaintance with this 
 St. John, and what Mrs. Gordon said of it and 
 I'm talking of her going away without a word 
 of explanation, just as the holidays are at an 
 end." 
 
 Mrs. Marks sat dumb. She was a good par- 
 tisan ; but even the best of partisans must have 
 something besides mere opinion with which to op- 
 pose stated facts. On any one of these grounds, 
 she was unable to say any thing for Miss Tresh- 
 am. After a minute's silence, Mr. Marks re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " One of two things must happen. Either 
 Miss Tresham has gone away for good than 
 which, I confess I think nothing more likely 
 or else she will come back at the stated time. 
 If she does come back, there must be an expla- 
 nation required from her. I must know who 
 Mr. St. John is, an<l on what footing he comes 
 here. Otherwise, I may be sorry to part with 
 her, but my duty is plain she must go. I can- 
 not keep a governess who acts as Miss Tresham 
 has been acting lately." 
 
 So spoke the head of the household in his 
 official capacity ; and much as his wife's sym- 
 pathy ranged on the side of the governess, she 
 could not deny that he spoke with reason. Misa 
 Tresham's conduct certainly justified all that he 
 said of it. Yet the unreasoning faith of Miss 
 Tresham's advocate was not shaken for an in- 
 stant. wonderful instinct of woman ! There 
 is nothing like it in the world ; and where it has 
 taken one woman wrong, it has led a hundred 
 thousand right. Yet there are people who would 
 like to educate and " develop " it into a " reason- 
 ing faculty ! " Why does not somebody come 
 forward to paint the lilies of the field, and furnish 
 us with patent improved sunlight, warranted to 
 shine on every occasion ? 
 
 Oblivious, for once, of his business duties in 
 town, Mr. Marks was still standing before the 
 fire, considering the perplexing subject which was 
 on the domestic tapis, when there came a knock 
 at the front door. 
 
 " There, now ! " said Mrs. Marks, starting. 
 "Of course it's somebody to see me Mrs. 
 Sloan, I expect and what a sight I am ! Go, 
 Richard, please, and ask her into the par- 
 lor." 
 
 Mr. Marks obeyed, and, as he carelessly left 
 the door open behind him, his wife heard him 
 exchange a cordial greeting with the visitor; 
 and then, without any warning, he came back, 
 and ushered Morton Annesley into the dining- 
 room, where the uncleared dinner-table stood in 
 the centre of the floor Mrs. Marks having been 
 in such a fever of impatience to tell her story, 
 that she had not allowed Tom to finish his 
 duties. 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " she cried, in a tone of expos- 
 tulation. But it was too late. Morton who 
 would have been none the wiser if there had 
 been an elephant, instead of a dinner-table, in 
 the middle of the floor walked forward and 
 shook hands with her. 
 
 " Pray don't speak of it," he said, when she 
 began apologizing. " I hope you don't consider 
 me a stranger. Mr. Marks, at least, was more 
 complimentary, for he asked me in at once. I 
 hope you are well. I have not seen you for a 
 long time not since before Christmas, I be- 
 lieve. May I wish you a. happy New Year, 
 since we did not have an opportunity to ex- 
 change Christmas greetings ? Yes, Mr. Marks 
 the roads are quite heavy. That rain yesterday 
 has made them muddy. My boots show it 
 don't they ? " 
 
 People less clear-sighted than Mr. Marks and
 
 140 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 his wife might have perceived that the young 
 man made these disjointed remarks very absent- 
 ly, that his h)?s turned unconsciously toward the 
 door, and that he started at every noise in the 
 passage outside. They glanced at each other 
 significantly, but were kind enough to take no 
 further notice, and talked of indifferent things, 
 until Morton himself came directly to the point, 
 in his frank, somewhat boyish fashion. Mrs. 
 Marks spoke of Miss Tresham's enjoyment at 
 Annesdale, and Morton instantly caught at her 
 name. 
 
 "I hope she did enjoy herself," he said. 
 Then he added, quickly : " Is Miss Tresham dis- 
 engaged just now ? I should like to see her, if 
 she is. I am obliged to return to Annesdale 
 very soon, and I am particularly anxious " 
 
 He stopped short. The expression of Mrs. 
 Marks's face warned him that something was 
 wrong. He looked hastily from herself to 
 her husband, and read the same expression 
 still more strongly stamped on the masculine 
 face. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he asked, impetu- 
 ously. " Miss Tresham " 
 
 Here Mrs. Marks interrupted : 
 
 " I am sorry to say, Mr. Annesley, that Miss 
 Tresham is not at home. She left to-day for Sax- 
 ford." 
 
 "Left!" 
 
 Morton was astounded. In a moment his 
 mind ran over a terrible possibility the possi- 
 bility that there had been some misunderstand- 
 ing between Miss Tresham and her employers, 
 which had resulted in her leaving Tallahoma per- 
 manently. 
 
 "Left for Saxford!" he repeated. "Mrs. 
 Marks, what is the meaning of that ? " 
 
 "Don't ask me, Mr. Annesley," said Mrs. 
 Marks. " If my life depended on it, I could not 
 tell you a thing more than just that she has 
 gone to Saxford. I am sure it didn't strike me 
 as strange ; but here's Richard has been talking 
 about it, and " 
 
 " It is very strange," said Richard, speak- 
 ing for himself. " I don't pretend to under- 
 stand it. I don't wonder you are astonished, 
 Mr. Annesley. I was astonished myself when I 
 came home and heard that Miss Tresham was 
 gone." 
 
 "When will she be back?" asked Morton, 
 catching at the first idea which presented itself 
 to him. 
 
 "On Monday," answered Mrs. Marks, to 
 whom the question was addressed. " She said 
 
 she would be back on Monday, Mr. Annesley, 
 and I am sure she will come. Miss Katharine 
 never breaks her word." 
 
 " But why did she go away ? " asked Morton, 
 impatiently. " Did she not tell you why she 
 went ? " 
 
 Mrs. Marks looked at her husband, and Mr. 
 Marks looked at his wife. This time Annesley 
 perceived the glance, and saw plainly that there 
 was something in reserve which he was not to 
 hear. Determined to know if any thing had 
 happened after Mrs. Gordon left the house, he 
 boldly broke the ice at once. 
 
 "I have been to Morton House and seen 
 my cousin," he said. " I am aware of the un- 
 fortunate" he stopped a moment, as if search- 
 ing for a word " the unfortunate discussion 
 which took place this morning. Will you allow 
 me to inquire if that discussion, or any thing 
 resulting from it, was the cause of Miss Tresh- 
 am's leaving Tallahoma ? " 
 
 On this point Mrs. Marks professed utter 
 ignorance, and she was going on to state every 
 thing which she had already told to her hus 
 band, when Mr. Marks broke in : 
 
 " Since you have seen Mrs. Gordon, Mr. An- 
 nesley, I need not hesitate to say to you that I 
 am seriously perplexed and uneasy about thia 
 affair of Miss Tresham. As I was telling my 
 wife, just before you came in, there are more 
 reasons than the reason of Mrs. Gordon's warn- 
 ing for distrusting Mr. St. John, and Miss Tresh- 
 am's connection with him. You know her quite 
 well, I believe : will you tell me if she has ever 
 mentioned the man or any thing about him to 
 you?" 
 
 Morton flushed. He remembered the eve of 
 New Year, and the manner in which Miss Tresh- 
 am had repulsed his first and last attempt to win 
 her confidence. Oh, if she had only been frank 
 with him, the young man thought, if she had 
 only trusted him, and given him a right to speak 
 for her! But she had not done this, and there 
 was nothing for it but to answer Mr. Marks's 
 question by the truth. 
 
 " She has never mentioned Mr. St. John's 
 name to me," said he. " But I have never been 
 in a position to receive her confidence." 
 
 "Hum!" said the cashier, significantly- 
 looking the while at his wife, and smoothing 
 with one hand his well-shaven chin. " I cannot 
 find," he said, after a moment, " that Miss Tresh- 
 am has ever mentioned Mr. St. John's name to 
 any one; and, even after Mrs. Gordon's visit, she 
 gave my wife no explanation of his purpose in
 
 MR. MARKS ASSERTS HIMSELF. 
 
 141 
 
 coming here, or of her acquaintance with him. 
 My own impression," added he, "is, that she 
 has left Tallahoma simply to avoid giving this 
 explanation." 
 
 " But when she returns on Monday ? ' 
 
 " When she returns on Monday or, to speak 
 more correctly, if she returns on Monday I shall 
 certainly endeavor to obtain this explanation. If 
 I cannot obtain it, Mr. Annesley, my mind is 
 made up Miss Tresham must leave my house." 
 
 An indignant reply rose to Anuesley's lips, 
 but he had sense enough to restrain it sense 
 enough to see that he would do harm, instead of 
 good, by uttering it. What business, after all, 
 was it of his ? what right had he to interfere in 
 Mr. Marks's domestic affairs? Angry as he was, 
 he asked himself this question, and accepted the 
 obvious reply. During the minute which fol- 
 lowed Mr. Marks's speech, nothing was said. 
 Then Annesley rose, and began drawing on his 
 gloves. 
 
 " If you will allow me, I will call again on 
 Monday to see Miss Tresham," he said, with un- 
 usual formality. " I am sorry very sorry that 
 she has left Tallahoma. But, if you will excuse 
 me, Mr. Marks, I would advise you to suspend 
 judgment upon the matter until she returns." 
 
 Before Mr. Marks could reply to this advice, 
 there came an interruption. The door opened, 
 and Letty appeared. She addressed herself to 
 her mistress. 
 
 " There's a gentleman out here to see Miss 
 Tresham, ma'am, and he wants to know if you 
 can tell him when she will be back." 
 
 " Miss Tresham will be back on Monday," 
 answered Mrs. Marks. " Tell the gentleman 
 or, no, stop. My dear " (to Mr. Marks), " per- 
 haps you had better see who it is, and speak to 
 him yourself." 
 
 Mr. Marks went out, and Morton, after shak- 
 ing hands with Mrs. Marks, followed him. At 
 the front door they met St. John, whom Morton 
 had seen once before, and the cashier never at 
 all. 
 
 A glance was sufficient to show them that 
 Mr. St. John was very decidedly out of temper. 
 The face, which on occasions could be so bland 
 and smiling, was now set and lowering in sin- 
 gularly marked degree. It did not even lighten 
 when he saw the two men who advanced toward 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. Marks, I presume," he said, raising his 
 hat as Mr. Marks came down the passnge. Then, 
 glancing at Annesley, he started, and bowed with- 
 out any sign of recognition. For some reason, he 
 10 
 
 evidently chose to ignore their previous meeting, 
 and addressed himself solely to the master of 
 the house. 
 
 " I have called to see Miss Tresham," he 
 said, " and I am surprised to hear from your 
 servant that she has left Tallahoma. Will you 
 allow me to inquire if this is true ? " 
 
 " It is true, sir," answered Mr. Marks, witb 
 business-like brevity. 
 
 " May I ask where she has gone, and when 
 she will return ? " 
 
 " She has gone to Saxford, and will probably 
 return on Monday at least she told my wife to 
 expect her on that day." 
 
 A dead pause. An expression on Mr. Marks's 
 face, and in Mr. Marks's attitude, which said : 
 " Your questions are answered. Take leave." 
 An expression on St. John's face of perplexed 
 astonishment, and half-absent thought, which 
 Annesley, watching him closely, felt sure was 
 not assumed. He looked silently at his boots 
 for a second, then glanced up again at the 
 cashier. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, " but this news is 
 very unexpected and surprising. When I was 
 here this morning, Miss Tresham gave no inti- 
 mation of any such intention as this. Shall I 
 trespass too much on your kindness if I ask you 
 to inquire whether she left any message or note 
 for me that is, for Mr. St. John ? " 
 
 " I can inquire, sir, but I do not think it is 
 likely," said Mr. Marks, with the same forbidding 
 civility. 
 
 He walked down the passage, and, without 
 entering the dining-room, held an audible con- 
 versation with his wife. 
 
 " Bessie, did Miss Tresham leave any note or 
 message for Mr. St. John ? " 
 
 Reply of Mrs. Marks from behind the scenes : 
 " Not a word, or a line, with me, Richard." 
 
 " You are sure of this ? " 
 
 " I am perfectly sure. She never mentioned 
 him." 
 
 " Miss Tresham has left nothing for you, sir," 
 said Mr. Marks, returning to Mr. St. John. " I 
 regret that I am not able to give you any further 
 information about the reason of her departure." 
 
 " You can give me one item of further infor- 
 mation," said St. John, manifestly proof against 
 the plainest of hints. " Is Miss Tresham in the 
 habit of going to Saxford ? " 
 
 " She is in the habit of going there once a 
 mouth or so." 
 
 " May I ask if she has any acquaintances 
 there ? "
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " She goes, I believe, to see a Catholic priest," 
 answered Mr. Marks. Then he lost patience, 
 and showed it in a way very unusual with him. 
 " You must excuse me, sir, if I decline to answer 
 any more questions. Miss Tresham's private 
 H flairs are her private affairs ; and, since she has 
 been living in my family, I have never interfered 
 with or inquired into them." 
 
 " Allow me to admire your discretion," said 
 Mr. St. John, with the same bow which had once 
 irritated Morton by its covert mockery. " I re- 
 gret to have trespassed so long on your time and 
 civility, and I have the honor to wish you good- 
 day." 
 
 In another bow he included Annesley, and 
 then went his way, leaving Mr. Marks with an 
 angry sense of having had the worst of it. 
 
 " An insolent scoundrel ! " said he, as soon as 
 St. John was out of hearing. " What do you 
 Bay, Mr. Annesley ? " he went on, turning to 
 Morton. " Don't you think that ' rascal ' is 
 written legibly on his face ? " 
 
 " I don't especially fancy his face," said 
 Morton ; " but I should not like to say that any 
 thing particular is written on it. One thing 
 is certain," he went on, more slowly; "Miss 
 Tresham's departure has taken him by sur- 
 prise." 
 
 " That is to say, he looked as if it had," 
 naid Mr. Marks, who, what with Mr. Warwick's 
 opinion, Mrs. Gordon's opinion, and his own 
 discomfiture, was ready to believe the very 
 worst of Mr. St. John. " Candidly, however, 
 Mr. Annesley, I don't trust any thing about 
 him." 
 
 " You think" 
 
 " I think that I will follow your advice of a 
 little while ago, and wait and see. Miss Tresh- 
 am may come back on Monday. If she does, 
 we can clear up matters speedily, and it is not 
 worth while to trouble ourselves with conjec- 
 tures." 
 
 " Meanwhile, however, you distrust Mr. St. 
 John ? " 
 
 " Meanwhile, I do most decidedly distrust Mr. 
 St. John," 
 
 With this interchange of sentiment, the con- 
 versation ended. The two men walked to the 
 gate together, and there separated Mr. Marks 
 going into town, and Annesley riding off in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Gordon read her cousin's nam 
 on the card, she hesitated a moment. Then she 
 surprised Babette by lifting her face with an air 
 of decision. 
 
 " I will see Mrs. Annesley," she said. " Ask 
 her in here." 
 
 Babette left the room to obey the direction, 
 and a minute or two of silence followed. To 
 Mrs. Gordon the interval seemed much longer 
 than it really was, and she had extended her 
 hand to ring the bell and ask the cause of the 
 delay, when there came the sound of foot-steps, 
 and the rustle of silk, crossing the passage. 
 Through the closed door she heard Mr?. Annes- 
 ley's voice : 
 
 " Just left, you say ? not more than half 
 an hour ago ? It is strange I did not meet 
 him. Do you know where he was going ? " 
 
 " No, madame," said Babette, in reply. 
 
 Catching both the question and the reply, 
 Mrs. Gordon dropped the bell-rope with a smile. 
 " I might have known what detained her," she 
 thought and, as she thought it, the door 
 opened. 
 
 The two ladies met in the centre of the 
 floor, and greeted each other with a moderate 
 show of warmth. They called each other "my 
 dear Elinor," and " my dear Pauline," but, be- 
 yond this, there was not much of effusion on 
 either side. They shook hands, kissed lightly, 
 spoke of the weather, and sat down opposite each 
 other, like two ordinary acquaintances. Mrs. 
 Annesley looked at ease, but in fact she was 
 very far from that enviable state of mind. She 
 remembered her former discomfiture in thnt 
 house ; and something in her cousin's face 
 seemed to warn her that it might possibly be 
 repeated. 
 
 Nevertheless, she plunged boldly into con- 
 versation, and began deploring the many social 
 duties that had kept her so long from Morton 
 House. " I am sure you believe that I would 
 have come if I could," said she, looking at her 
 cousin. " Oh, my dear Pauline, how wise you 
 were in declining to reenter society 1 I so 
 often think of you, and envy you so retired, 
 so quiet, so surrounded by repose. As for 
 poor me I might as well be a galley-slave, 
 for all the liberty I have ! If it were not for 
 the sake of my children, I really think I should 
 give up society entirely. It tries my health so
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 143 
 
 geverely, and is so unsuited to my taste. A 
 quiet day with you, now, would have been 
 much more agreeable to me than all the gay 
 times we have had at Annesdale." 
 
 " I should have been glad to see you, if you 
 had come," said Mrs. Gordon ; " but pray, Eli- 
 nor, don't trouble yourself to make excuses for 
 not having done so. I understood your position 
 quite well. It is hard for any one in the full 
 tide of social life to be able to see much of an- 
 other person who is entirely apart from that 
 life." 
 
 " My only consolation," said Mrs. Annesley, 
 " has been that Morton sees so much of you. 
 Riding continually about the country, he is able 
 to come here more often than I possibly could ; 
 and I have been so glad of it. I did not feel as 
 if I were completely neglecting you, while he was 
 my representative." 
 
 " There was no cause for you to feel so," 
 said Mrs. Gordon, a little coldly. 
 
 She was growing weary of these prolonged 
 excuses, and did not, see the point of them. Mrs. 
 Annesley saw it, however, and timed her advance 
 to it with careful exactitude. 
 
 " In fact, Morton often unconsciously shames 
 me," she said. " He does not let any thing 
 stand in the way of his visits to you. I don't 
 know when I have felt as much ashamed of my- 
 self and my own neglect, as I did this morning. 
 I saw him on the piazza with Irene Vernon 
 have you ever heard him speak of Irene Ver- 
 non ? Ah, she is such a charming girl, and so 
 lovely ! Well, he had been there for some time, 
 when suddenly I missed him. I went to see 
 what had become of him, and I found Miss Ver- 
 non alone. Morton, she said, had received a 
 note from you, and left instantly to obey your 
 summons he even broke an engagement to ride 
 with her, which he had made for this afternoon. 
 My dear Pauline, when I heard this, I felt abso- 
 lutely rebuked. Although my house is full of 
 company, I at once ordered my carriage. I was 
 determined not to let the hateful thing which we 
 call society keep me any longer from coming to 
 see you. I thought I would follow Morton, and 
 meet the dear boy here, and that, after we had 
 both enjoyed a visit to you, we could go home 
 together. But your maid tells me that he has 
 been here, and is already gone." 
 
 " Yes, he has gone," said Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 She saw the object of Mrs. Annesley's visit 
 clearly enough now saw it so clearly that all 
 this careful fencing amused her not a little. 
 She could have closed with her, and brought 
 
 ' matters to an issue, very speedily, if she had 
 chosen to do so ; but she contented herself with 
 this non-committal reply, and left her visitor to 
 ahow her hand by force of necessity. 
 
 " It is strange I did not meet him," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, in the same words she had al- 
 ready used in speaking to Babette. " lie could 
 not surely have returned to Annesdale ? " 
 
 An accent of interrogation made this a direct 
 question, and, as such, Mrs. Gordon answered it. 
 
 " He went to Tallahoma, I believe." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 A pause after this. Within the bounds of 
 civility, how could Mrs. Annesley ask the ques- 
 tion which was next trembling on her tongue ; 
 and yet, how was it possible for her to forbear 
 asking it ? Who of us can account for certain 
 instincts which at various times of our lives in- 
 fluence our actions in greater or less degree ? 
 Such an instinct had caused her to follow Mor- 
 ton from Annesdale, and such an instinct now 
 that she was on the threshold of the mattei 
 which had brought him to Mrs. Gordon made 
 her resolute to press forward, and in the face 
 of civility (or of any thing else) learn what it 
 was. After a short hesitation, she asked the 
 question : 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Pauline, if I appear 
 curious, but was it on your business that he went 
 to Tallahoma ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Mrs. Gordon. " I 
 have no business in Tallahoma." 
 
 " Then you do not know why he went? " 
 
 " Yes, I chance to know why he went." 
 
 " And I am not to know, I suppose ? " said 
 Mrs. Annesley, Hushing. 
 
 Her cousin looked at her gravely and silently 
 for a minute, before she replied. 
 
 " I might answer that it is Morton's affair 
 not mine, Elinor," she said. " But since it is 
 in part mine, and since I have a question con- 
 cerning it to ask you, I shall not violate Mor- 
 ton's confidence in telling you. He has gone to 
 see Miss Tresham." 
 
 Involuntarily, Mrs. Annesley started to her 
 feet, and made a step toward the door. 
 
 " I knew it ! " she cried, passionately, " I 
 knew it! Something warned me that he had 
 gone to see that " Here she stopped sudden- 
 ly, and sat down again. "I am a fool," she 
 said, bitterly. " What could I do, if I followed 
 him ? He has gone his own way, without any 
 regard to my wishes. How could I prevent 
 him, if I tried, from doing so ? " 
 
 Her cousin came over to her, and, strangely
 
 144 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 enough, sat down by her, laying one hand on 
 her arm. 
 
 " I will tell you what you can do if you 
 care to hear," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Aunesley drew back. The instinct of 
 distrust between these two women was so strong 
 that circumstances could hardly be imagined in 
 which it would not have betrayed itself. 
 
 " I do not understand," she said. '' I thought 
 you liked this this girl ! " 
 
 " You are right," said Mrs. Gordon, quietly. 
 " I did like her. But that was when I knew very 
 little about her. Since I have learned more, she 
 is, so far as herself is concerned, an object of 
 indifference to me. So far as Morton is con- 
 cerned, however, she is an object of distrust, 
 and, as such, to be dealt with as summarily as 
 possible. Elinor, do you wish Morton to marry 
 her?" 
 
 " Can you ask me such a question ? " 
 
 "Well, I have tested his infatuation thor- 
 oughly, this morning; and it has been proof 
 against the strongest plea that I could urge. 
 Yet I forced him to concede that he would give 
 her up, if it could be proved that she was un- 
 worthy of him. If you wish to prevent his 
 marrying her, your only hope is to prove this." 
 
 " I know it," said Mrs. Annesley, " but I 
 have tried " She paused suddenly here, 
 caught her breath, and was silent. 
 
 " You have tried to prove it," said Mrs. Gor- 
 don, quietly. " Well, I know that. What I 
 don't know, and what I would like to hear is, 
 how you succeeded." 
 
 "I did not succeed at all," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, coldly. " What do you mean when 
 you say that you know of my effort ? You can- 
 not possibly know any thing." 
 
 " I fancy I know every thing, or almost every 
 thing," replied the other, with the same compo- 
 sure as before. " Pray tell me, Elinor, did you 
 eyer hear of a Mr. Henry St. John ? " 
 
 The shock of startled surprise caused by the 
 question was unmistakable. But Mrs. Annesley 
 never surrendered without a struggle. 
 
 " I do not understand you," she said. 
 
 " Don't you ? " said Mrs. Gordon, smiling 
 slightly. " Perhaps I can assist your memory 
 by asking another question, then. Do you re- 
 member an anonymous letter which, by way of 
 jest, you once wrote to Edgar Annesley ? " 
 
 " I think I do." 
 
 " I am sure you must, for the events which 
 followed it were too marked to be readily forgot- 
 ten Well, you may remember, also, that I read 
 
 that letter, and admired the ease with which you 
 wrote a hand entirely unlike your own. It ia 
 twenty-four years since I saw that writing, but 
 the consequences arising from the letter stamped 
 the recollection of it on my memory ; and when 
 a letter when two letters were shown to me 
 this morning, I recognized the hand at once. 
 Now will you tell me whether you ever heard 
 of Mr. St. John ? " 
 
 Mrs. Annesley saw that all attempt at further 
 concealment was useless. However much or 
 however little Mrs. Gordon knew, it was at least 
 certain that she knew too much to make denial 
 safe. In an instant she remembered the man 
 who had met Miss Tresham in the grounds of 
 Annesdale, and what had been before merely a 
 suspicion resolved itself at once into a certainty. 
 
 " I have heard of him," she said and then 
 she added, " He is here ! " 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Gordon, " he is here. 
 I have no right to blame you for the means you 
 took to obtain information concerning Miss 
 Tresham ; but it may surprise you to hear that 
 by those means you have brought upon me the 
 curse of my life the worst enemy I have ever 
 had, or can ever expect to have ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried Mrs. Annesley, in 
 amazement. " How could I imagine whom do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 The answer came in four bitter words : 
 
 " I mean my husband." 
 
 " Your husband ! " 
 
 " I see that Morton has not told you my 
 story." 
 
 " Not one word," cried Mrs. Annesley, eager- 
 ly, forgetting for the moment every thing else, 
 and with the extreme of curiosity painted on 
 her face, and quivering in her voice. " My dear 
 Pauline," she went on, " you can surely trust me 
 you can surely confide in me ! " 
 
 " It is a matter of necessity to tell you some- 
 thing of my life, Elinor," said her cousin, coldly. 
 " Otherwise, I have learned that it is wise to 
 ' confide ' in nobody. You know that I was mar- 
 ried. What I endured in my married life it is 
 not worth while to tell you. I did endure it as 
 long as endurance was possible. When it be- 
 came impossible, I fled from my tyrant and came 
 here, hoping to find rest and shelter under my 
 father's roof. *How long I might have remained 
 undiscovered I do not know. Not long, I sus- 
 pect. But, however that may be. it was your 
 act which brought discovery upon me. The 
 advertisement, which you inserted in the Lon- 
 don T\mes before I came here, has borne bittei
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 145 
 
 fruit. I have been tracked to my place of 
 refuge, and my child has been taken from me 
 perhaps forever ! " 
 
 " Taken from you ! By whom ? " 
 
 " By my own will. I have sent him away, 
 that his father may not be able to find or claim 
 him." 
 
 " But I do not understand," said Mrs. Annes- 
 ley, in a state of perplexity which, all things 
 considered, was very natural. " Is it this Mr. 
 St. John who is your husband ? " 
 
 " St. John ! Are you mad ? Have you ever 
 seen him ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " He is a hanger-on of my husband's his 
 secretary, he was called a sort of instrument 
 for unprincipled purposes. Of character or 
 position he has not even the shadow. Where 
 he comes from, who he is, or what he is, it is 
 impossible to say. I only know him in the 
 position of which I have spoken. I am sure 
 he has never had a better one." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley looked horror-stricken. 
 
 " And it was this man who wrote to me as 
 the friend or relation of Miss Tresham ! it is 
 this man who is here now to see her ! " 
 
 " It is this man." 
 
 " And you you let Morton go without telling 
 him ? " 
 
 " I told him much more than I have told you, 
 and it had no effect upon him. Stop, Elinor " 
 as Mrs. Annesley, in uncontrollable agitation, 
 rose to her feet " you can say nothing to Mor- 
 ton that I have not already said. We have no 
 proof of any thing beyond mere acquaintance 
 between Miss Tresharn and St. John. Think a 
 moment. Did his reply to your letter contain 
 nothing more ? " 
 
 " I don't need to think," answered Mrs. 
 Annesley, impatiently. " It contained not one 
 word. Do you suppose I should have permitted 
 matters to go on as long as they have in this 
 way, if I had been able to produce a word of 
 proof against her ? My God ! to think how help- 
 less I am ! " said she, striking her hand heavily 
 on the end of the sofa near which she sat. " To 
 think that this artful creature may make Mor- 
 ton marry her any day, and then discovery 
 would come too late." 
 
 " Have more faith in Morton," said her com- 
 panion, gravely. " Believe, as I believe, that he 
 will not take any extreme step, without giving 
 you fair warning. In the mean time, you must 
 endeavor to find out something about Miss Tresh- 
 
 " But how ? " 
 
 " Do I need to tell you how ? Is not St 
 John here, and have I not described his charac- 
 ter ? You need feel no delicacy about approach- 
 ing him." 
 
 " But this is more difficult than you think," 
 said Mrs. Annesley, hesitatingly. " Morton 
 would never forgive me if he knew of such a 
 thing, and how am I to see the man without his 
 knowing it ? " 
 
 " I have simply pointed out the way," said 
 Mrs. Gordon. " The means I leave to yourself." 
 
 " But you you know this St. John. Could 
 not you " 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Gordon, with forbidding 
 coldness. " Nothing would induce me to see or 
 hold any communication with him." 
 
 " Not even for Morton's sake ? " 
 
 " Not even for Morton's sake." 
 
 There was no appeal possible from that de- 
 cided tone. Mrs. Annesley saw that, whether 
 for success or failure, she must act for herself. 
 After a minute's consideration, she said : 
 
 " Can you tell me where I shall find Mr. St. 
 John ? " 
 
 " It is probable that Babette can," said Mrs, 
 Gordon, ringing the bell. 
 
 Babette appeared, and proved at once the 
 accuracy of her mistress's judgment. She was 
 able to gratify Mrs. Annesley with every possi- 
 ble particular concerning Mr. St. John ; and, 
 after that lady had heard all that could be of 
 service to her, she dismissed her informant, and 
 turned to Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 " I don't see my way at all clearly, Pauline," 
 she said. " But I hope you will remember that 
 I am acting according to your advice." 
 
 " According to my suggestion," amended 
 Mrs. Gordon. " I never give advice, Elinor." 
 
 " If Morton discovers it, he will never forgive 
 me." 
 
 " If you are so much afraid of Morton, you 
 had better let him go his own way without inter- 
 ference." 
 
 In reply to this, Mrs. Annesley rose from her 
 seat. 
 
 " One word, Pauline," she said, as her cousin 
 rose also. " Have you told Morton about those 
 letters ? " 
 
 " No ; why should I ? " 
 
 " You will not do so ? " 
 
 " I have not the least intention of doing 
 so." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Annesley, impulsive- 
 ly. Then she added, with more of her usual
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 manner: "My dear Pauline, no words can say 
 how sorry I am that my act should have brought 
 BO much annoyance upon you. Can you possibly 
 forgive me for it ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive,'' answered 
 Mrs. Gordon. " When you wrote that advertise- 
 ment last summer, was it not ? you could not 
 possibly have thought or known of me. Are you 
 going?" 
 
 " I must. It is getting late, and I fear I 
 shall not be back at Annesdale in time for din- 
 ner. I will come to see you soon again. Would 
 you advise that is, would you suggest, that I 
 should offer money to this St. John ? " 
 
 " I can only say there is no reason why you 
 should hesitate to do so." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley repeated her thanks, and took 
 leave. Once in the carriage, she looked at her 
 watch and made a calculation of time, with refer- 
 ence to dinner. Having made it, she pulled the 
 check - string and said : " Tallahoma Mrs. 
 Marks's." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Marks had not recovered from 
 the combined effects of Morton's visit, and her 
 husband's unusual assertion of himself, when 
 this new astonishment was prepared for her. 
 Having seen the table finally cleared off, and 
 having rid herself of the children by dispatch- 
 ing them in a body to the " old field," of which 
 mention has before been made, she sat down 
 with a very heavy heart, to darn various small 
 stockings full of various large holes. As she 
 darned, she sighed; and, in fact, sighs were 
 more frequent than stitches with her. The 
 kind soul was lamenting her husband's reso- 
 lution, and grieving much over the loss of her 
 favorite, " Miss Katharine." She even shed a 
 few tears, and wiped them away with the leg of 
 Jack's sock. Impatient thoughts on the per- 
 versity of human circumstances came to her, as 
 they had come to Katharine at Annesdale, as 
 they come to all of us when people and events 
 prove " contrary." Oh, why cannot things go 
 right ? Why cannot people act as they ought 
 to ? Why cannot circumstances cease to fret, 
 or goad, or restrain us ? What is the reason 
 that every thing has its dash of bitterness, and 
 that life seems to vibrate, like the pendulum of 
 a clock, continually, between the painful and the 
 disagreeable ? This is the strain of thought that 
 is going up to heaven on the wings of every 
 minute, like the oroken cry of an imprisoned 
 spirit, panting, ah ! how vair..y, to be free. 
 What is the good of it all? Ah! granted 
 
 what, indeed, is the good of it all ? But then, 
 friends, dwellers upon the earth, co-heirs of the 
 curse laid on Adam, the question is, not what is 
 the good of it, but how are we to help it ? There 
 is but one way known to men the way of child- 
 like faith and few of us are great enough, 01 
 strong enough, to follow that. 
 
 Mrs. Marks was still darning, still heaving 
 sighs, and still dropping a tear or two occasion- 
 ally, when she was startled by the sound of a 
 knock at the door. The dining-room was in the 
 back part of the house, and so it chanced that 
 she had neither seen nor heard the arrival of the 
 Annesley carriage ; so it chanced, also, that, with 
 her work in her hand, she went out to answer the 
 knock, and found herself face to face with no less 
 a person than Mrs. Annesley. 
 
 Her consternation was almost as great as her 
 surprise. The fear of something additionally 
 disagreeable a fear vaguely inspired by Mrs. 
 Annesley's face instantly seized her. Somehow 
 or other, the greeting was accomplished, and 
 Mrs. Annesley was ushered into the dining- 
 room. When she had been installed in the 
 most comfortable chair, and Mrs. Marks was sit- 
 ting opposite, with her darning mechanically re- 
 tained in her hand, a tew remarks were exchanged, 
 and then the visitor opened the serious business 
 of the occasion. 
 
 " No doubt, you are surprised to see me, 
 Mrs. Marks," she said, graciously. " In fact, I 
 ought to apologize for such a startling visit. 
 But, being in Tallahoma, I thought I would stop 
 for a few minutes ; and I also thought that I 
 might find Morton here. I am anxious to see 
 him on a matter of business before he returns to 
 Annesdale." 
 
 " I am very sorry that you have come a little 
 too late," said Mrs. Marks, with the utmost sin- 
 cerity. " Mr. Annesley was here, but he left a 
 short while ago ; and I think he said he was go- 
 ing back to Annesdale." 
 
 " He was here, and left only a short while 
 ago ! Oh, how provoking ! " said Mrs. Annesley. 
 " What an instance of my bad luck ! But 
 pray, Mrs. Marks, what does a ' short while ' 
 mean ? Do you think, for instance, that I could 
 overtake him before he gets home ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. I am sure you couldn't," said 
 Mrs. Marks, with decision. " It's been a good 
 hour since he left, and he must have reached An- 
 nesdale by this time or, indeed, before this. He 
 didn't stay long," she went on, telling of her own 
 accord the very thing Mrs. Annesley was anxious 
 i to hear. " He called to see Miss Tresham, and.
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUGGESTION. 
 
 14? 
 
 Miss Trcsham not being at home, he left very 
 Boon." 
 
 " I thought Miss Tresham was at home," 
 said Mrs. Annesley, -a little stiffly. "She left 
 Annesdale this morning." 
 
 " She came here this morning," said Mrs. 
 Marks, in an aggrieved tone, " but she is gone 
 now." 
 
 " Gone ! " Mrs. Annesley simply opened her 
 eyes. It could not be possible that exposure had 
 come so soon, and come of itself? " Gone ! Ex- 
 cuse me, but you surprise me very much. I 
 thought she came back to recommence teach- 
 ing." 
 
 " She went to Saxford to-day," answered Mrs. 
 Marks, unconsciously lifting the stocking, which 
 she still held, to her eyes, from which one or two 
 tears were drawn forth by that oft-repeated state- 
 ment. She stood extremely in awe of the ele- 
 gant mistress of Annesdale, but the latter was a 
 woman, after all, and she had dropped in to pay 
 a sociable visit, and Mrs. Marks's heart was sorely 
 in need of a confidante, and so she began to open 
 the floodgates of her feelings, and to express in 
 words what she had heretofore only expressed in 
 sighs. 
 
 " She went to Saxford," she repeated very 
 much as she might have said, " She went to be 
 buried ! " " It is hard on me, Mrs. Annesley it 
 is certainly hard on me ! I never meddled with 
 Miss Tresham's affairs in my life I never said a 
 word, either to her or to anybody else, about 
 them and yet you'd hardly believe all the trou- 
 ble and worry that's been in this house this day 
 all on account of Miss Tresham's affairs, and Miss 
 Tresham's visitors, and because Miss Tresham 
 has taken it into her head to go to Saxford ! " 
 
 " But why has she gone ? " asked Mrs. An- 
 nesley, with a very uncivil disregard of Mrs. 
 Marks's personal grievances. 
 
 " Everybody asks me that," answered Mrs. 
 Marks, " and Miss Tresham told me no more 
 about why she was going than she told my little 
 Nelly playing out in the yard. I am sure it 
 seemed natural enough to me that she should go 
 she often does go to see her priest but every- 
 body seems surprised about it, and Mr. Marks is 
 eo provoked that he says if she don't come back 
 on Monday, and if she won't explain every thing 
 about Mr. St. John, she" second application 
 of the stocking as a pocket-handkerchief " will 
 have to leave us." 
 
 This good news was so unexpected, and so 
 startling, that for a minute Mrs. Annesley scarce- 
 ly realized it. Then a glow of satisfied pleasure 
 
 began to steal over her, and she saw how well 
 Fate was fighting the battle of which she had 
 been almost ready to despair. 
 
 " Really, you astonish me ! " she said. " I had 
 no idea of any thing like this. Miss Tresham only 
 left my house this morning, and now to have gone 
 away so unexpectedly and, you say, without any 
 explanation ? " 
 
 " Without even so much as a word of expla- 
 nation," answered Mrs. Marks, who was now 
 fully launched into her theme. " Perhaps I 
 ought to have said something to her, Mrs. Annea- 
 ley ; but my head was quite upset and then she 
 was in such a hurry to get to the hotel before the 
 stage left that she didn't give me time hardly to 
 breathe. I'm sure I didn't pay any attention to 
 what Mrs. Gordon said about her I mean" 
 hastily correcting herself with a timely recollec- 
 tion that Mrs. Gordon was Mrs. Annesley's cousin 
 " that I felt confident there was some mistake 
 but it seems to me all the same, that Misa 
 Katharine might have told me something before 
 she left, so that I could have explained it to 
 Richard. But she never said a word." 
 
 " Nothing about Mr. St. John ? " 
 
 " Not a syllable." 
 
 " How extremely singular ! " said Mrs. An- 
 nesley, very slowly and very gravely so gravely 
 that Mrs. Marks began to feel as if she had much 
 underrated the importance of Miss Tresham's 
 reticence, and Miss Tresham's departure. It 
 was astonishing how infinitely more Mrs. An- 
 nesley's opinion on the subject weighed with her, 
 than that of her husband had done ! 
 
 " It was strange," she said, " though I didn't 
 think of it at the time. Miss Katharine is so 
 nice, Mrs. Annesley, and we are all so fond of her, 
 that somehow it never struck me that that, as 
 you say, it was singular for her to give no expla- 
 nation about Mr. St. John." 
 
 " Perhaps he may be related to her," said 
 Mrs. Annesley, carelessly she began to be aware 
 that she had betrayed more interest than it was 
 proper to show in Miss Tresham's affairs " your 
 governess herself is a very lady-like person ; but 
 people in her position often have very disreputa- 
 ble relations, you know." 
 
 " Mr. St. John is very much of a gentleman, 
 indeed," said Mrs. Marks, greatly astonished. 
 " I am sure nobody could say that there is any 
 thing disreputable about him. But I don't think 
 he is any relation of Miss Katharine's ; that is " 
 a short pause " I really don't know. I never 
 heard her say that she had any relations." 
 
 Mrs. Aunesley knew this before, but none th
 
 148 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 less did she think it necessary to look as much 
 shocked as if she heard tae statement for the 
 first tune. 
 
 " No relations ! " she exclaimed. " A girl of 
 her age ! Why, that is dreadful 1 Really, Mrs. 
 Marks, you must excuse me if I say that I won- 
 der very much at your courage in engaging such 
 a person to enter your house aud teach your chil- 
 dren," 
 
 By way of reply, Mrs. Marks only stared. It 
 had yet to dawn upon her comprehension that 
 the misfortune of having no relations could pos- 
 sibly be made a social crime. 
 
 " It is hard on a young thing like Miss Kath- 
 arine" she began, when Mrs. Anuesley inter- 
 rupted her in her grandest way. 
 
 "It is not of Miss Tresham I am talking, 
 Mrs. Marks, but of her position. Of course, it is 
 only reasonable that when a girl of her age, and 
 I suppose I may say of her refined appearance, 
 talks of having no relations, she simply means 
 one of two things either that her relations do 
 not acknowledge her, or else that they are them- 
 selves not fit to be acknowledged. In either 
 case, as I remarked before, I think you must 
 possess a great deal of courage to admit her to 
 your family as you have done, and to be willing 
 to trust her as you seem disposed to do. For 
 my part; I confess that I should shudder to think 
 of assuming such a responsibility ; but then my 
 conscience is very sensitive." 
 
 "She was so nice," said Mrs. Marks, deprecat- 
 ingly, much impressed by this forcible view of the 
 matter, and much aghast at being brought in 
 guilty, by implication at least, of a callous con- 
 science. 
 
 " So nice ! " repeated Mrs. Annesley, in a 
 tone of overpowering scorn. She forgot herself 
 and her part, for a moment, and let the real ear- 
 nestness which she felt come to the surface, as 
 the thought rushed over her that all the trouble 
 now weighing upon her, all the fear that had 
 made her life wretched for months past, resulted 
 from the act of this woman this woman so far 
 out of her life, so apart from all her associations. 
 She had scarcely done more than bow to Mrs. 
 Marks when they chanced to meet, once a year 
 r BO, on the village street, and yet the fateful 
 sisters had thrown their shuttle, and across the 
 warp and woof of her own life had woven the 
 threads of this other homely existence. Common 
 as such things are, when they come home to us 
 as they came home to her, it is hard not to feel 
 startled by them hard to realize that they form 
 the daily history of that which we call circum- 
 
 stance ! Two strangers met by chance in the 
 parlor of that Charleston hotel ; the girl's face 
 brightened into a winning smile, and the elder 
 woman's heart was touched ; a few words were 
 said, and lo ! the whole current of life was 
 changed, not only for them, but for others then 
 scattered in widely-different corners of the civil- 
 ized world, then going each his different way, 
 laughing, talking, smiling, weeping, perhaps, and 
 knowing not what had been done knowing not 
 that, on a single breath, as it were, every aim 
 and purpose of existence had been staked and 
 changed for better or worse, who could tell ? 
 Surely only He of whom it is well to think in th'e 
 midst of such reflections as these He who draws 
 us each into our appointed path, and does not 
 leave us to be the blind victims of a merciless 
 Chance. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Annesley, 
 recovering herself with a faint, forced laugh. " I 
 suppose, of course, you think Miss Tresham nice, 
 but I was really unable to discover her attrac- 
 tions. What a beautiful view this room has ! 
 Do you cultivate your garden much ? " 
 
 She rose and walked to the window. Well 
 disciplined as she was, and thoroughly accus- 
 tomed to self-control, she could not have sat still 
 a moment longer and face the woman who had 
 brought all this anxiety and possible grief upou 
 her. An outbreak of some sort must have come, 
 and she wisely prevented it by walking away and 
 gazing absently into the garden, while Mrs. Marks 
 willingly forsook the subject of Miss Tresham 
 for that of her celery and winter lettuce. 
 
 As she talked, Mrs. Annesley's fertile brain 
 ran over expedient after expedient for seeing 
 St. John, and dismissed each as impracticable. 
 How was she to do it ? how was she to do it ? 
 
 This was the accompaniment in her brain to 
 Mrs. Marks's conversation. Yet she was as far 
 as ever from the solution of her difficulty, and 
 she almost began to despair of its accomplish- 
 ment, when she accidentally caught sight of a 
 man's head above a rose-bush in the garden. In 
 a second, she felt sure that, by some strange co- 
 incidence, her opportunity was here, ready to her 
 hand that St. John stood before her. 
 
 She did not stop to consider why she knew 
 that it was he, she did not think for a moment 
 how he came there. She only felt, by a strange, 
 intuitive thrill, that her desire was gratified more 
 speedily and more completely than she could pos- 
 sibly have hoped for it to be, and that, come 
 what would, she must seize the fortunate oppor- 
 tunity.
 
 ON GUARD. 
 
 149 
 
 Yet how could she escape ? how get rid of 
 Mrs. Marks ? That became as great a difficulty 
 now as the means of meeting St. John had been 
 before. As she asked herself the question, how- 
 ever, she saw that there was no need of imme- 
 diate haste. Plainly, St. John had entered the 
 garden to bide his time, and plainly he meant to 
 wait till that time came. His head had now dis- 
 appeared from above the rose-bush, but Mrs. 
 Annesley marked the place where she had seen 
 it, and a thin, pale wreath of smoke, which now 
 and then floated up, sufficiently indicated his 
 present position, and sufficiently proved how he 
 was whiling away the period of waiting. 
 
 " What is he waiting for ? " Mrs. Annesley 
 began to consider. " Is it Miss Trtsham, or is 
 it to come in and see Mrs. Marks ? Ah ! " as 
 a sudden recollection flashed over her " it is for 
 me to leave. He sees the carriage before the 
 gate, of course, and he has decided to remain in 
 the garden and smoke a cigar until the coast is 
 clear. There could not possibly be a better op- 
 portunity for seeing him, if only I could get rid 
 of this horrid woman ! But how on earth am I 
 to do that ? " 
 
 How, indeed ! For, while the blue smoke 
 floated pensively over the rose-bushes, and while 
 Mrs. Annesley could scarcely keep her impatient 
 hand from the latch of the door near which she 
 tood, Mrs. Marks steadily held her ground, and 
 steadily poured forth her flow of language with a 
 profound unconsciousness that seemed as if it 
 could be shaken by nothing less than a moral 
 earthquake. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ON GUARD. 
 
 SUDDENLY the ill-matched companions were 
 startled by a terrible uproar in the back yard 
 the deep, angry growl of a dog was followed 
 by the scampering rush of two animals in a 
 short, mad chase, and then the cries of inarticu- 
 late distress, which dumb beasts can occasion- 
 ally utter in their own behalf, fell painfully on 
 the ear. Mingled with these came a Babel of 
 sound men shouting, women running, cries, 
 commands, and undistinguishable confusion in 
 the midst of which a panting little negro rushed 
 to the dining-room door. 
 
 " Mistiss, Rollo's caught the calf, and Uncle 
 Jake says as how he's goin' to tar it to pieces ! " 
 
 " Good Gracious ! " cried Mrs. Marks, in con- 
 
 sternation. " What did he let the dog catch it 
 for 1 What will your master say ! Tell him to 
 beat him do any thing to make him let go ! I 
 always told Mr. Marks he better not bring that 
 bull-dog here," she added, as the child darted 
 away. " I knew he was sure to do mischief 
 Goodness ! what awful sounds ! Mrs. Annesley, 
 if you'll excuse me, I'll " 
 
 The sentence was not finished, and Mrs. An- 
 nesley had no opportunity to reply. The up- 
 roar grew worse, and Mrs. Marks followed the 
 example of the rest of the household she flew 
 to the scene of action. 
 
 If the victim of Rollo's unreasoning fury had 
 been a child instead of a calf, it is to be feared 
 that Mrs. Annesley would equally have regarded 
 the episode in the light of a fortunate and provi- 
 dential relief. The instant that the last flutter 
 of Mrs. Marks's dress had vanished down the 
 passage, she opened the door that led out upon 
 the side-piazza, crossed it, and the next moment 
 was walking rapidly down the garden-path. 
 
 She was so lightly and delicately shod that 
 her step made very little sound on the smooth 
 gravel, and St. John, who was comfortably smok- 
 ing his cigar in a sheltered nook waiting, as 
 Mrs. Annesley had shrewdly suspected, for the 
 departure of the carriage was completely taken 
 by surprise when, without any warning, this ele- 
 gant figure stood before him. 
 
 Instinctively he took the cigar from his lips, 
 and rose to his feet. This was not Mrs. Marks, 
 but none the less was it somebody much more 
 at home in the garden than he had any right to 
 be. Therefore, the first words that formed on 
 his lips were words of apology for his presence 
 there. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said. " I fear I am a tres- 
 passer ; but I am waiting to see Mrs. Marks." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley bowed graciously, and, instead 
 of retreating, swept a step nearer. 
 
 " Mrs. Marks is occupied just now," she said, 
 " and I came out to look at the garden. Don't 
 disturb yourself, I beg. I shall not interrupt 
 you. Mr. Marks told me something about a new 
 perennial," added she, glancing round. " Don't 
 let me trouble you, but pray do you chance to 
 know where it is ? " 
 
 St. John smiled, and replied in the nega- 
 tive. 
 
 " I am a stranger," he said, " and this is the 
 first time I have ever ventured to invade Mrs. 
 Marks's garden. I am sorry that I cannot tell 
 you any thing about the perennial." 
 
 " You have no idea where it is ? "
 
 150 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " I hare not the least idea where it is." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley gave a little sigh of resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Such a pity ! " she said, and, as she said it, 
 she ran her eye with apparent carelessness, but 
 with really keen attention, over St. John's per- 
 son. 
 
 The result of her observation was discour- 
 aging. Despite all that Mrs. Gordon had told 
 her, and despite her own distrust of the man, 
 she could not believe that it would be expedient 
 or even possible to approach him with any over- 
 tures of bribery. Adventurer though he was 
 sharper though he might be he at least bore 
 all the outward semblance of a gentleman ; and, 
 as he stood before her perfectly self-possessed, 
 notwithstanding the equivocal position which he 
 occupied, and lightly holding his cigar between 
 two fingers as he returned her scrutiny she felt 
 as much at a loss how to address him as she had 
 before felt at a loss how to reach him. It was 
 hardly wonderful. This man was so different in 
 every particular so essentially different from the 
 man her fancy had created, that the discrepancy 
 in itself startled her. 
 
 As she hesitated, St. John, on his side, had 
 time for observation and consideration. The 
 perennial excuse had not deceived him. He had 
 een at a glance that this fine lady whoever or 
 whatever she might be had come into the gar- 
 den to meet himself. At first he had supposed 
 that her motive might have been one of mere 
 curiosity ; but, as she still kept her place in front 
 of him, as he felt her keen black eyes reading 
 his face, and, as he saw the doubt unconsciously 
 stamped upon her own face, an instinct of her 
 real purpose came over him. 
 
 " There is something she wants to get out of 
 me," he thought. " Well, let her try. It will 
 be strange if in the end I don't succeed in get- 
 ting considerably more out of her than she thinks 
 of or bargains for ! " 
 
 " Perhaps there is something else I can do 
 for you," he said, as she remained silent for some 
 time. , 
 
 Mrs. Annesley started a little, and recovered 
 herself. 
 
 " There is nothing, thank you," she said. 
 11 1 won't disturb you any longer. Good-day." 
 
 She bowed slightly, and walked away three 
 steps. Then she paused, and, turning back, 
 spoke again. 
 
 " Perhaps there is something I can do for 
 you," she said. "Am I not right in supposing 
 tbit it has been my presence which has kept 
 
 you from seeing Mrs. Marks ? Shall I be obli- 
 ging, and take my departure ? " 
 
 " I could not presume to ask such a thing," 
 answered he, bowing gravely. 
 
 " It would not be very much of a presump- 
 tion," answered Mrs. Annesley, smiling gracious- 
 ly. " A friend of Mrs. Marks you are a friend 
 of Mrs. Marks, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I scarcely think it probable that Mrs. 
 Marks would allow me to claim that honor." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley arched her eyebrows and 
 looked around the garden. Plainly she meant 
 to say, " Not a friend of Mrs. Marks, and yet 
 here ! " 
 
 The coolness of the glance amused St. John, 
 and he answered it more on account of this 
 amusement than because there was any absolute 
 necessity for doing so. 
 
 " Under these circumstances, you are sur- 
 prised to see me here ? " he said. " But I think 
 that, when I explain the reason of my presence 
 to Mrs. Marks, she will not regard my intrusion 
 as unpardonable." 
 
 " I am sure Mrs. Marks is always glad to re- 
 ceive Miss Tresham's friends," said Mrs. Annes- 
 ley, using the very words which Mrs. Marks her- 
 self had used that morning the words which 
 had encouraged St. John to return and endeavor 
 to learn from her something more than he had 
 been able to glean from her husband. The coin- 
 cidence struck him, and, together with the un- 
 suspected sound of Katharine's name, made him 
 look sharply at the speaker. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said. " I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 But, as it happened, Mrs. Annesley had grown 
 tired of this aimless fencing ; and, besides, she 
 had not time for it. At any moment Mrs. Marks 
 might come in search of her, and the opportunity 
 she had been so anxious to secure would thus be 
 hopelessly lost. Making a rapid calculation for 
 and against success, she decided to close at once 
 with her slippery opponent. 
 
 " Excuse me" she said, with a smile. " I 
 fancied that I was speaking to Mr. St. John." 
 
 The smile told St. John infinitely more than 
 the words. There was a shade of malicious 
 meaning in it, which, under the circumstances, 
 was far from wise, but which Mrs. Annesley 
 would have found it hard to control. It was so 
 pleasant to turn the tables on him in this style- 
 so pleasant to show him, in three words, how 
 well she knew every thing about him ! But still, 
 it was a blunder. It put St. John on his guard, 
 and it made him set his teeth and think : " Con.
 
 ON GUARD. 
 
 151 
 
 found the woman ! What deviltry has she got 
 in her head ? " It galled him, too ; but he had 
 a very good armory of his own at command, and 
 from it he immediately selected his favorite 
 weapon of covert mockery. 
 
 " I am deeply flattered," he said, with a bow. 
 ' I had no idea that my name had been fortu- 
 nate enough to attain any degree of notoriety. 
 I do not think that I have the pleasure of an ac- 
 quaintance with yourself, madam." 
 
 " You have probably never heard of me," 
 said Mrs. Annesley, quietly. " I am a person of 
 no consequence whatever out of my own fam- 
 ily. It has merely chanced that I have heard 
 of you," she went on. "Mrs. Marks is very 
 much attached to Miss Tresham, and, in speak- 
 ing of her, she mentioned your name to me. I 
 also am a friend of Miss Tresham's," said the 
 mistress of Annesdale, with a virtuous expres- 
 sion of face, " and as such, I am glad to meet 
 you glad to be able to say a few words to you, if 
 you will allow me to do so." 
 
 " I am at your service." 
 
 " Let us sit down, then. Since you are kind 
 enough not to consider me impertinent, I should 
 like to be very frank with you. I am generally 
 frank with everybody. Experience has shown 
 me that it is so much the best way." 
 
 They sat down. Just behind the short bench 
 from which St. John had risen, was a wall of 
 running ivy ; on each side rose tall shrubs, which, 
 although bare, still made a seclusion of the little 
 nook. Regarded from a short distance, the two 
 figures, who had the nook to themselves, might 
 easily have passed for a pair of lovers. Consid- 
 ered as they actually were, they much more re- 
 sembled two adroit chess-players, who sat down 
 equally matched to a game in which skill and 
 care could alone determine the result. Mrs. An- 
 nesley made the first move St. John contenting 
 himself with keen watchfulness and attention. 
 
 Said the lady : " I must begin what I have to 
 say, by explaining why I say it. I know Miss 
 Tresham quite well, and" a gulp "like her 
 very much. You can imagine my surprise, there- 
 fore, when I heard from Mrs. Marks that she has 
 left her late home in a very sudden and myste- 
 rious manner, and that it is more than doubtful 
 whether she will be received again when she re- 
 turns." 
 
 St. John started. This was certainly news to 
 him. Mrs. Annesley noted the start, and went 
 on: 
 
 " I think it right to tell you, Mr. St. John, 
 that the grounl on which Miss Tresham will be 
 
 dismissed from Mrs. Marks's house when she re- 
 turns, is that of her connection with yourself. 
 Mr. Marks has finally decided that unless a satis- 
 factory explanation of this connection is given, he 
 cannot retain Miss Tresham as a governess. 
 Now, as a friend of Miss Tresham's, will you 
 allow me to ask if it does not occur to you that 
 it is your duty to remove the cloud from Misa 
 Tresham's name by at once making this explana- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " You have set me an admirable example of 
 candor, madam," said St. John. "Do not be 
 offended if I follow it, and, imitating your frank- 
 ness, ask if it does not occur to you that it ia 
 quite impossible for you to judge of the affaira 
 of people who are strangers to you ? " 
 
 " I thought I had explained that Miss Tresham 
 is not a stranger to me." 
 
 " Evidently she is a stranger so far as re- 
 gards her confidence, or else you would not need 
 to make this appeal to me." 
 
 " You do not intend to heed the appeal, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Imitating your frankness again, I must de- 
 cline to answer that question." 
 
 " Because I am not personally concerned in 
 the matter ? " asked Mrs. Annesley, resolutely 
 resolved to keep her temper under any provo- 
 cation. 
 
 " Yes because I am unable to perceive that 
 you have any personal interest in the matter." 
 
 " Suppose that I assume that, if necessary, 
 I am willing to prove to you that I have an in- 
 terest in the matter, that I have a personal rea- 
 son for wishing to clear up the mystery around 
 Miss Tresham, will you still refuse to give me 
 the explanation V " 
 
 " I regret to say that I am compelled to do 
 so." 
 
 " Do you not take Miss Tresham herself into 
 consideration her character ? Do you not ap- 
 preciate how badly this reticence looks for 
 her ? " 
 
 St. John only smiled. Evidently, if it had 
 been courteous to do so, he would have shrugged 
 his shoulders, and said, " What is that to me ? " 
 As it was, his face said it for him, and Mrs. An- 
 nesley read his face. That instant she shifted 
 her ground. 
 
 " I am anxious to obtain certain items of in- 
 formation about Miss Tresham," she said ; " itema 
 which can harm neither her nor any one else. Do 
 you know any one who, for a liberal reward, would 
 show me how to obtain these ? " 
 
 She looked steadily at St. John, and St. John
 
 152 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 returned her gaze without the quiver of an eye- 
 lash. 
 
 " I do not know any one whom you could 
 employ for such a purpose," he answered. 
 
 "No one at all?" 
 
 "No one at all." 
 
 Mrs. Annesley rose from her seat, and drew 
 her shawl gracefully around her. 
 
 " It is growing chilly," she said, " I must go 
 in. I regret to have disturbed you, Mr. St. John. 
 Pray, don't let me disturb you further pray, 
 don't get up. I suppose it is quite useless to 
 look for that perennial. Good-day." 
 
 A bow on both sides, and they separated. 
 The worsted player retired with all the dig- 
 nity she could summon to her aid ; but, as she 
 swept slowly down the garden-walk, she struck 
 one gloved hand angrily against the other. 
 
 " I went to work wrong," she thought. 
 " Some way or other, I went to work wrong ! 
 The consequence is, that this wretch has com- 
 pletely baffled me, and that I am not an inch 
 nearer to my end than I was before." 
 
 As for St. John, the first thing he did, when 
 he was alone, was to relight his cigar, and the 
 second was to indulge in a laugh of properly-sub- 
 dued tone. 
 
 " Oh, these women ! these women ! " he said 
 to himself. " How is it that the devil teaches 
 them so much cunning, and yet lets them over- 
 reach themselves so completely ? Well " with 
 a long puff " this has certainly been something 
 that I did not bargain for a little dash of in- 
 trigue that I did not expect in coming to look 
 up my respectable friend who asks me to tea. 
 I fancy Mrs. Gordon is not the only person now 
 who has discovered the identity of R. G. After 
 this, I can put my hand on the writer of the 
 advertisement and the letters whenever I choose. 
 I have two things yet to find out, however first, 
 her name ; and, secondly, her motive." 
 
 A thought struck him. He rose from his 
 seat, walked to the garden-gate, let himself out, 
 and sauntered down the road to where Mrs. An- 
 nesley's carriage Btood, with Mrs. Annesley's 
 coachman and footman in attendance. Stopping 
 to admire the horses, he easily fell into conver- 
 sation with the servants, and in five minutes had 
 learned evejry'thing that he wished to know. No 
 human being was ever so fond of boasting as the 
 family-negro of the old regime, and Mrs. Annes- 
 ley's servants were no exception to the general 
 rule. No sooner was it evident that St. John 
 was a stranger, than their tongues were loosed 
 on the glories of Aunesdale and of the Annesley 
 
 family. Mistiss and mistiss's various sp.eudors, 
 Mass Morton, and Mass Morton's horses and 
 dogs, were the favorite topics the last espe- 
 cially ; and St. John, who never forgot any thing, 
 had no difficulty in identifying this much vaunted 
 " Mass Morton " with the Mr. Annesley whom he 
 had met in the grounds of Annesdale. Every 
 thing was so clear to him that he could have 
 laughed to himself as he stood on the sidewalk 
 smoking his cigar, and listening lazily, as John 
 and Peyton by turns descanted on the absorb- 
 ing subject. It was quite a shock to Mrs. An- 
 nesley when she came out and found him there. 
 
 " Mr. St. John ! " she said, haughtily, and 
 drew back as he came forward with the mani- 
 fest intention of assisting her into the car- 
 riage. 
 
 " I have been admiring your horses, Mrs. 
 Annesley," said St. John, smiling. " They do 
 credit to your taste. Will you allow me ? " 
 
 On second thoughts, she allowed him to put 
 her into the carriage ; and, when she was seated, 
 looked up and spoke. 
 
 " If you will take my advice, you will con- 
 sider what I said to you a short time ago. It 
 might be worth your while. I need not tell you 
 where you will find me if you desire to communi- 
 cate with me." 
 
 He bowed making no other answer to the 
 covert sneer in her last words and, as he 
 stepped from the door, the carriage drove off. 
 
 When it was out of sight, he turned, and, 
 opening the gate, walked up to the house. Mrs. 
 Marks had accompanied Mrs. Annesley to the 
 front piazza, and was still standing there when 
 he approached. In the first sound of her voice, 
 in the first word which she spoke, he saw that a 
 change had come over her that she had been 
 placed on guard against him. She answered his 
 questions courteously ; but there was none of 
 the hearty cordiality of the morning in her man- 
 ner, and she did not ask him to enter the house. 
 After finding that her ignorance about Katharine 
 was quite as complete as it had been represented, 
 he had no alternative but to take his leave. Be- 
 fore doing so, however, he received a piece of 
 information which startled him a little. He 
 thought that it might be as well to verify on in- 
 disputable evidence the facts which the servants 
 had given him, \d so he said, carelessly : 
 
 " Will you allow me to inquire if the Mrs. 
 Annesley who has just left is related to the 
 * young gentleman of the same name whom I saw 
 here a few hours ago ? " 
 
 " She is his mother," answered Mrs, Marks
 
 THE SICK LADY. 
 
 153 
 
 adding, involuntarily, " and the cousin of Mrs. 
 Gordon." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said St. John, starting quickly. 
 
 After this, he asked no more questions, but 
 made his apologies, and took his leave almost 
 immediately. As he walked down the street, 
 the few people who met him and looked curious- 
 ly at him, saw that he was deeply absorbed in 
 thought. In fact, he was revolving what he had 
 just heard, and considering what it meant. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon's cousin," he repeated to him- 
 self. " What the deuce is the meaning of it all ! 
 Shall I never get to the end of all the strings and 
 counter-strings which seem to be pulling these 
 people to and fro? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE SICK LADY. 
 
 Two weeks after Miss Trcsham had taken 
 her departure from Tallahoma, a carriage, con- 
 taining a solitary traveller, drove into the town 
 of Hartsburg a place of considerable import- 
 ance, situated some thirty miles southwest of 
 Saxford. 
 
 " The Planters' Hotel, Cyrus," said the trav- 
 eller, as the carriage turned into the Main Street ; 
 " or, no I was cheated shamefully there as we 
 went on the Eagle Hotel, I believe." 
 
 " Whar that be, Mass John ? " 
 
 " Two squares below the other house, on the 
 corner of the street." 
 
 Two squares below the other house the car- 
 riage proceeded, and stopped before a large, 
 rambling frame building, two stories high, with 
 a double piazza running the whole length of the 
 front. An uninviting hostelry, people would 
 think nowadays, with ideas of brick and stucco 
 in their minds ; but in that day the standard of 
 comfort for the unfortunate travelling public 
 was by no means a high one, and, as houses of 
 entertainment went, the Eagle Hotel was by no 
 means to be despised. A " tavern " look about 
 it, unmistakably ; a " tavern " odor, very cer- 
 tainly ; but still well, there were worse places 
 (probably the traveller had spent the night be- 
 fore at one of them), and in that thought was 
 comfort. 
 
 When the carriage stopped, a man came for- 
 ward from the group of smokers and loungers 
 congregated, according to invariable custom, on 
 the front piazza, and reached the door just as it 
 was opened and the traveller stepped out. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Crump, how are you ? " said the 
 latter, with a smile. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Warwick ! how do you do, sir ? " 
 exclaimed Mr. Crump, extending his hand. " I 
 had no idea it was you ! You don't usually 
 travel in this sort of conveyance. Walk in, 
 sir walk in. Come down to court, I sup. 
 
 " No ; I have been below, and am on my way 
 back to Tallahoma. Is it court-week ? " 
 
 " To be sure, sir, and the house full of law- 
 yers. I never saw a larger crowd." 
 
 " Perhaps you can't accommodate me, then ? " 
 
 " Never fear about that, sir. The old woman 
 will find you a room, if she has to turn the judge 
 himself out. Drive the carriage round to the 
 stables, boy, and see the hostler about a place 
 for your horses. Now, Mr. Warwick " 
 
 He turned, but Mr. Warwick was already 
 surrounded by half a dozen men gentlemen of 
 the legal fraternity who were shaking hands, 
 and cordially welcoming him. They were all 
 glad to see him ; all seemed astonished when 
 they heard that he had not " come to court ; " 
 and all inquired if it was possible he had no 
 cases on the docket. While he was answering 
 their questions, and endeavoring to make them 
 understand that it was merely by accident he 
 chanced to be in Hartsburg, Mr. Crump seized 
 his portmanteau, and, carrying it into the bouse, 
 called vociferously for " the old woman." This 
 personage not being forthcoming, half a dozen 
 servants appeared from as many different quar- 
 ters, and to one of them Mr. Crump addressed 
 himself. 
 
 " Sam, take this valise up-stairs, and ask 
 your mistress where it's to go. Tell her it's 
 Mr. Warwick's, from Tallahoma. Where the 
 dickens is she ? Don't any of you know? " 
 
 " She's in the sick lady's room, sir," said a 
 tall negro-woman, who came down-stairs as he 
 spoke. " She says as how she'll be here in a 
 minute." 
 
 " Deuce take the sick lady pshaw ! I don't 
 mean that either ; but it seems to me Selina'a 
 never anywhere else these days. How is she, 
 anyhow ? the lady, I mean." 
 
 The woman shook her head with that doleful 
 solemnity which a negro finds real and sensible 
 pleasure in indulging. 
 
 "Miss S'lina thinks she's some better, sir," 
 
 she said, and, with this significant mode of ex- 
 
 pressing her orrn opinion, vanished. 
 
 j Mr. Crump gave a low whistle, expressive, 
 
 (apparently, of his own view on the subject, and,
 
 154 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 turning, was about to go out of the door, when 
 he met Mr. Warwick coming in. 
 
 " Well," said the lawyer, smiling, " how Is 
 it ? Can Mrs. Crump find a corner for me ? I 
 shall only trouble her for one night." 
 
 " I don't doubt that she'll find room for you, 
 sir ; but I haven't seen her yet. She's busy with 
 a sick boarder, who's been giving us no end of 
 trouble.'' 
 
 " Indeed I But Mrs. Crump don't mind trou- 
 ble, I know." 
 
 Mr. Crump muttered something in reply 
 about " court-week," and " the house being 
 full," from which it was to be supposed that 
 he thought it would be better for him if his wife 
 did mind trouble a little more. He evidently 
 felt injured ; but, before he had time for further 
 expression of his sentiments, a stout, pleasant- 
 faced woman of about fifty came down-stairs and 
 advanced toward them. She greeted the lawyer 
 in rather a preoccupied manner, and then, in- 
 stead of saying any thing about his room, turned 
 to her husband. 
 
 " You'll have to send for the doctor again, 
 Tom. I thought, a little while ago, that she was 
 better; but I don't like the way her fever's 
 rising now, and I'm afraid she's going to be 
 light-headed again." 
 
 " But, Selina, here's Mr. Warwick wants a 
 room, and " 
 
 " I'll see about Mr. Warwick presently," said 
 Selina, looking at him with a pair of kindly yet 
 somewhat anxious eyes. " That poor child up- 
 stairs stays on my mind ; and, do what I will, I 
 can't get her off of it. Go along, Tom, and send 
 for the doctor, as I told you. Mr. Warwick, you 
 don't mind my being a little put out, I am sure. 
 If you'll come with me, I'll try and find you a 
 room. Somehow I had an idea you'd be here 
 this week, and I saved you one right along- 
 side of the judge's. I'll go and look in to see 
 that all's right." 
 
 She led the way up-stairs, and Mr. Warwick, 
 as in duty bound, had nothing but thanks for the 
 room into which she showed him it being very 
 comfortable, according to the ideas of comfort 
 existing at that time. While she still lingered, 
 touching a chair here, and arranging a curtain 
 there, he made the ordinary inquiries concerning 
 her health and domestic affairs; and, after these 
 were answered, she, of her own accord, led the 
 conversation back to her sick boarder. 
 
 " A poor young thing that don't seem to have ' 
 any friends, and though I wouldn't tell Tom so 
 I'll venture to say, not over-much money," 
 
 she said. " She come here in the stage one night, 
 and meant to go on next morning ; but, Lord 
 bless you ! she was took down with a fever, and, 
 though that was more'n a week ago, she hasn't 
 lifted up her head since. I've tried to get her to 
 tell me who her friends are, so that I can write 
 to 'em ; but she won't. She says she ain't got 
 any, which, you know, sir, would look badly, V" 
 she wasn't such a real lady." 
 
 "She is a lady is she?" asked Mr. War- 
 wick, carelessly. The sick woman was to him a 
 matter of infinitely less importance than some 
 fresh water and some hot coffee. 
 
 " A real lady, sir, as ever 1 saw no half-way 
 trash, I can tell you. That's the pity of it, and 
 that's what makes me so anxious to find out 
 who she is, and where she belongs. I'm as sure 
 she's run away from home as I can be ; and, if a 
 man is not somehow or other at the bottom of 
 it, my name isn't Selina Crump. I only wish 
 he'd dare to come here, and set his foot inside 
 the Eagle Hotel ! " 
 
 " What would you do to him if he did ? " 
 asked Mr. Warwick, who, despite his weariness 
 and impatience, was amused by the tone in 
 which the landlady's last words were uttered. 
 
 " What would I do ? I'd scald him that'* 
 what I'd do ! I'd put on a kettle of water spe- 
 cially for him, if I only knowed when he was 
 coming ; and I'd show him how he come into a 
 honest house, after Hieing off a pretty girl like 
 that, and then leaving her to die, or to get well 
 as best she could ! " 
 
 " But why are you so sure that a nmn's at 
 the bottom of it ? " 
 
 In reply to this, Mrs. Crump became some- 
 what mysterious and reticent ; but it finally ap- 
 peared that the lady had been delirious, and, 
 when in that state, had talked a great deal of 
 nonsense, especially about a somebody named 
 "John." 
 
 " She always thinks he's after her," said the 
 landlady, solemnly, " and she's always trying to 
 get away from him." 
 
 " Probably he is her husband," said the law- 
 yer, basing his remark upon an extended knowl- 
 edge of human nature in the marital relation. 
 
 Mrs. Crump obstinately shook her head, and 
 obstinately held her ground blind to the long- 
 ing glance which Mr. Warwick, with the dust 
 of a day's journey upon him, directed to the 
 wash-stand. 
 
 " There's something about a married woman 
 a body can almost always tell," she said. " I'm 
 as sure as can be that this girl ain't married
 
 THE SICK LADY 
 
 155 
 
 P'raps she's run away to do it ; but that's a 
 different matter, and all the more I'd like to 
 send her back to her friends." A pause ; then, 
 in an insinuating tone, " I thought you might 
 help me to find out somethin' about her, Mr. 
 Warwick, knowing so many people as you do. 
 I haven't said a word to anybody else, because 
 she's such a lady that somehow I didn't like to 
 do it. But Tom is mighty snappish about her, 
 and, if I could only find out who she is, it might 
 make him hold his tongue." 
 
 " I do know a good many people," said Mr. 
 Warwick, patiently ; " but it is quite impossible 
 for me to tell whether I know the relations or 
 friends of this sick lady among them. Pray, 
 what is her name? " 
 
 " She wrote it down when she came, and Tom 
 put it on the register ; but my head's dreadful 
 for remembering such things, and I couldn't 
 tell it to you now, if my life depended on it. I 
 saw a book lying on the table with her name 
 written in it, though, and I'll go and get that for 
 you." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she left the 
 room, and, with another regretful glance at the 
 wash-stand, Mr. Warwick walked to the window, 
 to await her return. At that moment the prin- 
 cipal thought in his mind was a wish that he 
 had gone to the Planters' Hotel. He began to 
 wonder if there were any " sick ladies " there, 
 to be thrust remorselessly upon the attention of 
 travellers, and defer indefinitely those ablutions 
 of which tired nature (when just off a journey) 
 first and foremost stands in need. " Mrs. Crump 
 ought to know better," he said to himself, a little 
 indignantly ; and, as he said it, the door opened, 
 and Mrs. Crump reappeared with a small, black, 
 much-worn book in her hand. 
 
 " When she was herself, she mostly had it 
 on the bed by her," said the good woman ; " but 
 to-day she's been light-headed, and so I put it on 
 the table, and in that way I got it without dis- 
 turbing her. Here it is, Mr. Warwick, and the 
 name's in it." 
 
 Mr. Warwick took the volume, and, as he 
 did so, he could not repress a start, or account 
 for a sudden chill instinct, that seemed to rush 
 over him. The book was a pocket-edition of 
 Thomas a Kempis's " Following of Christ," and 
 at once struck him as strangely similar to one 
 that he had often seen in Katharine Tresham's 
 hand. It was her familiar companion, and, as 
 such, familiar to him also. Just now he could 
 have sworn that this was the very book he knew 
 the very look of the worn edges, the embossed 
 
 cross in the middle of the back, and the smaller 
 crosses at each corner. " I am a fool ! " he 
 thought, and opened it at once, at the fly-leaf. 
 There, traced in faded ink, he read, " To Katha- 
 rine Tresham, from her aunt, Mary Tresham," 
 and a date fourteen years before ! 
 
 To say that Mrs. Crump was startled by the 
 face that turned round upon her, would be to 
 describe her sensations very inadequately for 
 she was in fact astounded. She fell back a 
 little, and grasped the bedpost in a state of 
 alarm. 
 
 " Goodness alive, Mr. Warwick ! " she cried ; 
 " what's the matter ? " 
 
 " Is that the name which the lady gave 
 you ? " asked Mr. Warwick, following her, and 
 pointing to the writing on the fly-leaf " is that 
 the name ? " 
 
 " Why, to be sure that's the name. I 1 
 told you it was in the book." Then gaming 
 courage " Is any thing wrong about her, Mr. 
 Warwick ? Oh, me ! what will Tom say ? " 
 
 " Wrong ! " repeated Mr. Warwick, in a tone 
 that made her start back again. Then he 
 stopped and recollected himself. " You have 
 acted quite properly, Mrs. Crump," he said, 
 quietly, " and your decision in this matter shows 
 you to be a woman of good judgment, as well as 
 of kind heart. This is a lady " he emphasized 
 the word " whom I left at my sister's house, 
 in Tallahoma, and whom I am naturally sur- 
 prised to find here. I know her well, and can 
 vouch for her in every particular. Will you sit 
 down and tell me how she came here, and every 
 thing that you know about her ? " 
 
 Mrs. Crump willingly obeyed ; but out of her 
 verbose narrative Mr. Warwick gathered very 
 little more than he had heard already. On 
 Wednesday, a week before (this was Thursday), 
 Miss Tresham had arrived in Hartsburg, and 
 stopped at the Eagle Hotel for the night, de- 
 claring her intention of continuing her jour- 
 ney (destination unknown), the next morning. 
 As the landlady learned afterward, she had a 
 burning fever all night, and, when morning 
 came, was not able to leave her bed. Since 
 then, she had steadily grown worse, and lay in 
 alternate stupor and delirium most of the time. 
 When questioned about medical attendance, 
 Mrs. Crump answered, hesitatingly. The doctor 
 had not come very often perhaps because he 
 thought it extremely doubtful whether he would 
 ever be paid for coming at all and had not 
 spoken by any means encouragingly. " I don't 
 think he's* got much idea that she'll live," said
 
 156 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 Mrs. Crump. " He told me I'd better try my 
 best to find out about her friends." 
 
 " Who is the doctor Randolph ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; a new doctor Joyner is bis name 
 who, I thought, might pay more attention, 
 because he hasn't got any practice to speak 
 of." 
 
 " I should like to see him when he comes, 
 and, meanwhile, I wish you would send a mes- 
 senger for Dr. Randolph. I " He stopped a 
 moment, as there came a knock at the door. 
 " Who is that ? " 
 
 " It's me, sir," responded an unmistakably 
 African voice. " Mass Tom sent me to see if 
 Miss S'lina's up here." 
 
 " What does he want ? " asked Mrs. Crump, 
 going forward and opening the door. 
 
 " He say the doctor's come, ma'am, and Mom 
 Hannah's done took him in the sick lady's 
 room." 
 
 " You had better go at once," said Mr. War- 
 wick, as she turned and looked at him. " Be 
 sure and send the doctor to me before he leaves. 
 I will wait for him here." 
 
 After she left, he sat quite still totally for- 
 getful of the dust now trying to realize, and, if 
 possible, to account for this singular freak of cir- 
 cumstance. But the more he thought, the more 
 absolutely puzzled he became the more difficult 
 it was to believe that the woman of whom Mrs. 
 Crump spoke, the woman who lay thus, sick and 
 helpless at the mercy of strangers, was the 
 Katharine Tresham whom he fancied safe in 
 his sister's home, the Katharine Tresham whom 
 he had seen last in her white ball-dress, with the 
 blue flowers in her soft, brown hair ! " There 
 must be some mistake ! " he said, half aloud. 
 " It cannot be ! " But, as he uttered the words, 
 he looked at the little book still in his hand, and 
 it seemed to answer, " It is so ! " But how did 
 she come here so strangely friendless and 
 alone ? It was vain to ask himself that ques- 
 tion vain to torment himself with fruitless con- 
 jectures. Of course, he thought of St. John, of 
 Mrs. Gordon, of his sister, of Annesley, of the 
 money drawn at the bank, and Mr. Marks's com- 
 ment upon it but all these people and things 
 were hopelessly confused in his mind. He could 
 not even frame out of them a conjecture plausi- 
 ble enough to satisfy himself. One random 
 thought succeeded another, until at last, to 
 escape from them, he rose and started to leave 
 the room. "I'll meet the doctor," he said. 
 This intention was frustrated, however, for the 
 doctor was at the door. 
 
 " Mr. Worwick ? " said he, interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. W r arwick. " Dr. Joyner, I 
 presume ? Walk in, sir. I wish to speak to 
 you." 
 
 Dr. Joyner bowed and walked in. He had 
 on his professional face and his professional 
 manner. Having said this, it is useless to say 
 how he looked in the matter of expression, for 
 all doctors look alike under these circumstances. 
 The drill of a soldier is not more exactly marked 
 than this professional mask, which is so widely 
 prevalent that an inquiring observer is some- 
 times driven to wonder if the novices of medi- 
 cine are taught deportment as well as science. 
 In the way of personal appearance, Dr. Joyner 
 was a man who might have been twenty-five by 
 his figure, and forty-five by his face. The anom- 
 aly of youth and age is not often seen united 
 in the same person ; but, when it is, it strikes 
 us unpleasantly we can scarcely tell why. It 
 struck Mr. Warwick unpleasantly as soon as the 
 physician entered the room, and yet he could not 
 possibly have given his reasons for the feeling. 
 Dr. Joyner sat down, and opened the conversa- 
 tion himself. 
 
 " I was referred to you by Mrs. Crump, sir. 
 I understand that you are a friend of the lady I 
 have just seen." 
 
 " Yes," answered Mr. Warwick, " I am a 
 friend of hers, and, in the absence of other 
 friends, I am anxious to hear an exact account 
 of her case. Will you be good enough to give 
 it me ? " 
 
 This direct question seemed to embarrass the 
 doctor a little. He had uncertain sort of eyes, 
 that were given to shifting their gaze. They 
 shifted it immediately, and, instead of looking 
 at the lawyer's face, gazed out of the win- 
 dow 
 
 " The lady's case is a peculiar one," he said. 
 " I am by no means sure that the illness under 
 which she is laboring has developed itself suf- 
 ficiently for me to give it a specific name." 
 
 Mr. Warwick looked astonished. " What ! '' 
 he said. " She has been 511 for a week, the land- 
 lady tells me, and you are not yet able to give 
 her disease a specific name ! " 
 
 " The symptoms have developed themselves 
 slowly," answered the doctor, stiffly. " I have 
 treated her, in a general way, for fever produced 
 by cold and excitement ; but to-day I begin to 
 think that the brain is becoming involved. If 
 so " He stopped and hesitated. 
 
 Mr. Warwick turned a little pale, but took 
 up his sentence quietly :
 
 THE SICK LADY. 
 
 15? 
 
 " If so, you think her life in danger? " 
 
 " Well, I don't go so far as that ; but I think 
 her illness may be very serious." 
 
 There was a pause. The doctor's eyes shifted 
 from the window to the mantel-piece, and thence 
 travelled back to his questioner's face. They 
 rested there in keen and undisturbed scrutiny 
 for several minutes, Mr. Warwick being deep in 
 thought, with his brows slightly knitted, and his 
 own gaze fastened on the floor. Without looking 
 up, he said, slowly: 
 
 " If I only knew what to do ! " 
 
 " I would advise you to write to the lady's 
 friends, if you know them, sir," said the doctor, 
 quietly. 
 
 The other started, and glanced up. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I was thinking aloud. 
 Can I see your patient ? " 
 
 " You can see her, certainly." 
 
 " Will it not be dangerous ? will it not excite 
 her?" 
 
 " It cannot possibly excite her, for she knows 
 nobody." 
 
 " She could not answer a single question, 
 then?" 
 
 " Not when I left her, ten minutes ago." 
 
 Mr. Warwick resumed his scrutiny of the car- 
 pet, and Dr. Joyner resumed his scrutiny of Mr. 
 Warwick. In this way another minute passed. 
 Then the lawyer rose. 
 
 " Will you come with me to her room ? " he 
 Baid. " Since I am her only friend within reach, 
 I must see her, and judge for myself of her con- 
 dition." 
 
 " I am at your service," said the other, rising 
 in turn. 
 
 They left the room, and walked down the 
 passage together, making one or two sharp turns 
 around sharp corners for the house was built 
 with a daring disregard of any plan or order 
 whatever and finally pausing before a door, at 
 which the doctor tapped lightly. A negro-woman 
 the same who had spoken to Mr. Crump in the 
 passage below opened it, and, seeing the doctor, 
 made way for them to enter. 
 
 A queer little room, with a fireplace in the 
 corner, and dark-green walls, that contrasted 
 strongly with clean white curtains, was what 
 the lawyer saw. The furniture was plain and 
 scanty, but there was not space for much ; and 
 the bed, which occupied tho most prominent 
 place, was neatly draped in spotless coverings. 
 The best that the house afforded was plainly 
 here, and it was evident that Katharine had 
 suffered from no neglect at the hands of her 
 11 
 
 entertainers. Without saying a word, the doctor 
 led the way to the bed, and Mr. Warwick fol- 
 lowed him. Standing side by side, they looked 
 down on the sick girl. 
 
 She had fallen into a light slumber, and lay 
 with her head thrown back over the pillows, 
 showing the white arch of her throat, and its 
 large arteries, beating with a rush that it wag 
 painful to watch. Her cheeks were deeply 
 flushed ; her hair fell in tangled masses all 
 about her face ; and her lips were bright scar- 
 let. She made a lovely picture, seen in the 
 half-darkened room, with the white draperies 
 of the bed surrounding her ; but it was a pic- 
 ture lovely with that awful glow of fever which 
 hushes our breath even when we see it in a 
 stranger. The most inexperienced person look- 
 ing on could hardly have failed to perceive that, 
 if life and death were not already wrestling 
 here, the hour of their struggle was not far dis- 
 tant, and the issue more than doubtful. One 
 hand was thrown, as if in fevered restlessness, 
 outside the counterpane. Mr. Warwick stooped 
 down and laid his finger lightly on the wrist. 
 Almost immediately he lifted his face, and looked 
 at the doctor. 
 
 " Feel her pulse," he said. " I may be inex- 
 perienced ; but it seems to me that it is going at 
 a fearful rate. I cannot count it." 
 
 Even in the dim light, it was evident to his 
 keen eyes that the doctor changed color. He 
 drew out his watch, and, taking the wrist, began 
 counting the pulse, speaking after a while with- 
 out lifting his eyes. 
 
 " Her fever is rising. I was afraid it would. 
 She seemed so much lowered in strength yester- 
 day that I ordered stimulants, and I think they 
 have been pressed too far. She was delirious 
 when I was here a while ago." 
 
 " She seems to be sleeping now." 
 
 " Speak to her, and see if you can rouse 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Warwick spoke. His words roused her, 
 for she opened her eyes at once ; but there was 
 no consciousness in their gaze. They looked at 
 him blankly, and, when he spoke again, she an- 
 swered in the .aimless wanderings of delirium- 
 few words words without any gleam of reason 
 accompanied by a wild and painful glare of 
 the eye, so foreign to its usual soft expression 
 that it absolutely destroyed her resemblance to 
 herself, and made Mr. Warwick almost question 
 if this were indeed Katharine Tresham. After a 
 minute spent in close and attentive observation, 
 he walked to the door, and beckoned the doctor
 
 158 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 to follow him. Once outside, be stopped and 
 turned, thus facing the other. 
 
 " I find that the case is much more serious 
 than I could possibly have imagined," he said. 
 " I fear that there has been some neglect." 
 
 " It was quite impossible for me to nurse 
 the patient as well as prescribe for her," an- 
 swered the doctor, coldly. " All that I could do 
 I have done." 
 
 " Then I suppose you will not object to my 
 calling in. another physician ? I have sent for 
 Dr. Randolph." 
 
 He said this in a matter-of-course tone; but 
 he was not unprepared for what followed. His 
 distrust of the doctor increasing continually 
 ever since the doctor entered his room made 
 him expect very much the reply that came. The 
 man flushed deeply, and drew back with a stiff 
 little bow. 
 
 " In that event, I beg leave to withdraw from 
 the case. I decline to go into consultation with 
 Dr. Randolph." 
 
 " Be good enough, then, to make out your 
 bill and send it to me," said Mr. Warwick. 
 " Good-evening." 
 
 He left the man standing at the head of the 
 stairs, and went down, smiling a little to himself. 
 " It did not cost much trouble," he said, half 
 aloud, as he looked round in search of Mr. 
 Crump. That worthy was easily found, and 
 matters were soon placed on a satisfactory foot- 
 ing. Mr. Warwick had very vague ideas on the 
 subject of sick-nursing ; but he knew that unre- 
 mitting attention was an item of the first impor- 
 tance, and he provided for this by engaging the 
 services of two women, who were to relieve each 
 other on duty. 
 
 " Hannah's up-stairs now," said Mr. Crump, 
 " and Elsie'll be on hand when she's wanted. Is 
 there any thing else, Mr. Warwick ? " 
 
 " I asked Mrs. Crump to send for Dr. Ran- 
 dolph. Do you know whether she did so ? " 
 
 Before Mr. Crump could reply, a heavy step 
 sounded in the passage outside the room in 
 which they were standing, and a round, full 
 voice was heard asking, " Which room ? " 
 
 " There's the doctor now," said Mr. Crump. 
 M This way, doctor ! Here's Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " This way is it ? " responded the same 
 jovial voice ; and the next instant a tall, stout 
 man, with a frank, pleasant face, and an eye of 
 that peculiar color which can only be called 
 " laughing hazel," entered the apartment, lightly 
 winging a stick, formidable enough to have been 
 an Irishman's shillalah. 
 
 " Well, doctor, how are you ? " said Mr. War- 
 wick, meeting him with extended hand. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, I am delighted to see you, 
 and to see you looking so well," said the doctor, 
 giving the hand a cordial shake. " I was afraid, 
 from the urgency of the message, that I should 
 find you seriously ill. You haven't much the 
 look of a sick man," he added, laughing. " What 
 is the matter ? broken down from over-work ? 
 I've prophesied that, you know." 
 
 "Your prophecy is not verified yet, at any 
 rate. But you are mistaken ; I am not the pa- 
 tient for whom you were summoned. There 
 is a lady here under my care" (Mr. Crump 
 opened his eyes to their fullest extent), " who 
 is, I fear, dangerously ill. I want you to see 
 her." 
 
 " What is the matter with her ? " 
 
 " That is what I want you to tell me. I am 
 afraid, however, that she has brain-fever." 
 
 " When was she taken ? " 
 
 " A week ago." 
 
 " A week ago here ? " 
 
 " Yes here." 
 
 " And who has been attending her ? " 
 
 "A doctor of whom I know nothing but 
 that his name is Joyner." 
 
 At the sound of that name, Dr. Randolph 
 dropped his eyes, which had been fastened on 
 the speaker's face, looked in the fire, and said 
 " Humph ! " in a significant manner, that was 
 not lost on Mr. Warwick. He at once hastened 
 to explain. 
 
 " Don't think that / called him in, doctor. 
 Misa Tresham came here a wee*k ago, as I tell 
 you, and was taken ill. Mrs. Crump called in 
 Dr. Joyner. I arrived an hour ago, and I have 
 already dismissed him. With little or no knowl- 
 edge of medicine, I am still able to perceive that 
 he has been grossly mistreating the case. What 
 I ask of you now is to see if you can repair the 
 mischief he has done." 
 
 " That may be harder than you think," said 
 the doctor, gravely. " A week however, I will 
 reserve my opinion till I see the patient ; and 
 that I will do immediately, if you please." 
 
 Mr. Warwick led the way to Miss Tresham's 
 room, and just at the door they met Mrs. Crump 
 coming out. 
 
 " Oh, dear," I am glad to see you ! " she said 
 to the doctor. "She is clean gone out of her 
 head, and the Lord knows I haven't an idea what 
 to do with her." 
 
 The doctor did not utter a word, but passed 
 her hastilj and entered the chamber. One step 

 
 THE SICK LADY. 
 
 159 
 
 took him to the bed, where, with flaming cheeks, 
 and eyes bright with the awful glare of fever, 
 Katharine lay tossing and raving wildly. He 
 gave a single glance, then turned and drew back 
 the curtain from a window near him. It chanced 
 to be toward the west, and the rays of the set- 
 ting sun streamed with a flood of golden glory 
 into the little room, filling it with an almost daz- 
 zling radiance. The sudden rush of light almost 
 blinded the others ; but the doctor bent over the 
 bed, felt the pulse that bounded beneath his 
 touch, and gazed intently into the eyes that met 
 his own. 
 
 When he raised his face, Mr. Warwick was 
 startled by the gravity of his brow and lip. 
 " Bring a basin here," he said to the servant. 
 To Mrs. Crump, "Bare her arm." He drew a 
 small case from his pocket. The next moment, 
 there was the gleam of a lancet, a sharp stroke 
 into the soft, white flesh, and a stream of dark- 
 red blood pouring into the basin. 
 
 " Bandages," he said to Mrs. Crump, who 
 was standing by. While she was gone for them, 
 he turned to Mr. Warwick, and added, " Brain- 
 fever of the most violent type. This is the only 
 hope of saving her life." 
 
 " It is brain-fever, then ? " 
 
 " Beyond doubt. If I had only seen her a 
 day earlier ! " 
 
 " Thank God it is not a day later ! " said the 
 lawyer, under his breath. 
 
 There was no time for any thing more. 
 Mrs. Crump returned, and the doctor imme- 
 diately devoted his whole energy to his patient. 
 In the face of all remonstrances and entreaties 
 to the contrary (Mrs. Crump and Mom Hannah 
 freely treated him to both), he bled her until in- 
 sensibility took the place of violent raving. Then, 
 and then only, he stopped the flow of the blood, 
 and bound up her arm. After this, he called for 
 a pair of scissors a.nd for ice. With the first, 
 he remorselessly cut from her head the rich, 
 brown locks that had crowned it like a glory, 
 and, when they lay scattered over the bed, he 
 saturated a towel with water, filled it with ice, 
 and bound it around the burning temples. 
 
 " There ! " he said, speaking for the first 
 time, after this was done. " Remember, Han- 
 nah, this is your business to keep a supply 
 of towels and ice at hand, and change them 
 whenever the chill has worn off. With the fever, 
 that won't be long. Mrs. Crump, I suppose you 
 have no time to spare' " 
 
 "Indeed, doctor, I shall take the time," in- 
 terrupted Mrs. Crump, hastily. " Just tell me 
 
 what you want done, and I'll engage to do it, no 
 matter what else goes undone." 
 
 " Just at present there is nothing to do, ex- 
 cept to send for some leeches, and try and keep 
 things as quiet as possible. Could you give 
 those gentlemen down-stairs a hint that there ia 
 a case of brain-fever in the house, and that a lit- 
 tle less noise would be desirable ? " 
 
 " I'll give 'em something more'n a hint," 
 answered Mrs. Crump, decidedly and left the 
 room, to send for the leeches, and command tho 
 peace. 
 
 " A word with you, Mr. Warwick," said the 
 doctor, walking away to the farthest window. 
 " I think it right to tell you," he went on, as 
 Mr. Warwick followed him, " that this attack is 
 a very dangerous one, and, from present appear- 
 ance, the chances are that it will prove fatal in 
 its result. If the young lady has any friends, 
 they ought to be communicated with at once." 
 
 He paused as if for a reply; but Mr. War- 
 wick did not speak. Situated as he was in 
 utter ignorance how or why Katharine had left 
 his sister's house it was impossible for him not 
 to hesitate when thus summarily brought to the 
 point of positive action. He did hesitate he 
 ran over in his mind the unsatisfactory condi- 
 tion of affairs when he left home, and the unsat- 
 isfactory conjectures that had beset him an hour 
 ago, without arriving at any result. Finally, he 
 looked at the doctor, and made a simple state- 
 ment of facts. 
 
 " In few words, doctor, I don't like to do 
 this without Miss Tresham's sanction," he said. 
 " She is a foreigner, with no relations in Amer- 
 ica, and as for her friends I can only account 
 for her presence here by supposing that some 
 estrangement has occurred to separate her from 
 those who might be called her friends. Under 
 these circumstances, I do not think that my in- 
 terference could do any good certainly not by 
 means of letters." 
 
 " But when her life is in danger ? " 
 
 " That statement would, of course, be suf- 
 ficient to bring relatives to her bedside ; but 
 you know the world well enough to be able to 
 judge whether it would be likely to have any 
 effect on those who were simply bound to her by 
 ties of convenience." 
 
 The doctor was silenced. He looked from 
 the bed to the lawyer, and from the lawyer to 
 the bed, trying to understand the matter, and 
 failing utterly to do so. In the range of his pro- 
 fessional experience, many sad pages of human 
 life had come under his eye as they come under
 
 160 
 
 the eye of all men of all professions, and of all 
 physicians especially many desolate stories had 
 been laid bare to him, many woful tragedies hud 
 been acted before him, until out of very familiar- 
 ity, he had grown callous to these varied phases 
 of the one great drama of human suffering. But 
 now he felt strangely touched. That this girl, so 
 young, so fair had she been ugly, the position 
 would have lost half its pathos ! so evidently 
 of tender nurture, should be thrown utterly 
 friendless, utterly alone, upon the care and kind- 
 ness of strangers, seemed to him inexpressibly 
 pitiful. He felt for her deeply felt as he had 
 not felt for any one since he was young and im- 
 pressionable, and new at his profession; but 
 with regard to John Warwick, his part in the 
 matter the doctor failed entirely to compre- 
 hend. If all that he had said were true, what 
 interest had he in the girl, what right to make 
 her safety his personal care ? Such conduct 
 was so unlike the quiet, reserved lawyer, always 
 gravely courteous to women, yet always care- 
 fully avoiding them, that it seemed incredible. 
 Reading the doctor's surprise in the doctor's 
 face, Mr. Warwick for Katharine's sake ad- 
 dressed himself frankly to it. 
 
 "I see you think it strange that I should 
 occupy the position I do," he said ; " but if you 
 will consider a moment, I think you will under- 
 stand why and how it is. Miss Tresham has 
 been living in my sister's house for two years, 
 and I have learned to know her well, and to re- 
 spect her highly. I do not know why she has 
 left her position ; but I am confident that it was 
 by no fault of her own ; and it would be strange 
 if meeting her accidentally, as I have done I 
 did not do every thing in my power for her. 
 Considering that I am old enough to be her 
 father, I am sure you will grant this." 
 
 " Leaving your age out of the question," said 
 the doctor, with a shade of his usual jovial smile, 
 " I grant it fully, Mr. Warwick. Your conduct is 
 that of a true-hearted gentleman, and you have 
 my hearty respect and support. God willing, 
 we'll pull the poor girl through, with or without 
 help from anybody else. Now tell me if you 
 have any idea of the cause of her illness." 
 
 " Not the least. When I saw her last she 
 was in perfect health." 
 
 " That was when ? " 
 
 " Less than three weeks ago." 
 
 " Have you any reason to suppose that she 
 may have been suffering from trouble or distress 
 of mind ? " 
 
 41 r. Warwick thought of St. John, and paused 
 
 a moment before he replied. " I do not know," 
 he said. " I think it probable that she has ; 
 but if so, we cannot reach the cause, and it ia 
 useless to consider it. Do you suppose that 
 mental trouble has brought this on ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell I can only make a surmise 
 from the condition in which I find her. Speak- 
 ing in the dark, I should say that mental trou- 
 ble, liberally aided and abetted by quack treat- 
 ment, has brought it on." 
 
 " My instinct was right, then that man is a 
 quack ? " 
 
 " A quack ! That old woman yonder has 
 quite as good a right to put M. D. after her 
 name, and, I dare say, a much better amount of 
 medical knowledge to support it. The scoun- 
 drel has hardly the barest smattering of infor- 
 mation on the subject as he proves by leaving 
 a case whenever another doctor is called in. 
 This is not the first patient he has brought to 
 death's door and, unfortunately, some of them 
 go beyond it. Last week a poor fellow died un- 
 der his hands a carpenter with a large family. 
 As clear a case of butchery as ever I saw ! " 
 
 " Is there no way of stopping this ? " 
 
 " There is no way as long as people, like our 
 friend Mrs. Crump, choose to send for him. 
 We live in a free country, you know, and when 
 a man comes and settles among us, there is 
 no competent authority to examine his diplo- 
 ma and give him a license, before he sets to 
 work killing people." 
 
 " I think if I see him again, I shall feel very 
 much tempted to put it out of his power to do 
 any more mischief for some time to come, at 
 least." 
 
 " He is not likely to let you see him again. 
 To give the rascal his due, he is the embodiment 
 of discretion. As I came along the street, some- 
 body told me that one of his other patients his 
 only other one, I expect was in a critical con- 
 dition. If she dies, I am inclined to think that 
 the town will become too hot to hold him. But 
 we must make arrangements for to-night. Some- 
 body must sit up here somebody who can be 
 relied on to follow my directions exactly." 
 
 " I will do it." 
 
 " You can, if you choose and so shall I, 
 for that matter. But there must be somebody 
 besides a woman, of course. Mrs. Crump 
 would be the person, if she was not broken 
 down ; but, from her looks, I should say that 
 she was up last night. I'll send my wife. Slie 
 will be glad to be of service." 
 
 " Doctor, how can I thank you 1 M
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 161 
 
 " Don't think of such a thing till we see how 
 it turns out." He walked to the bed, and looked 
 down at the hotly-flushed face, the parched lips, 
 and wandering eyes, with a glance of pity. 
 " Poor girl ! " he said to himself. Then, sharp- 
 ly, aloud to the old woman, " More ice here 
 change these cloths." Then, again, to War- 
 wick, " It all hangs on a thread. There is no 
 telling what the end will be." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 WHILE Miss Tresham was lying ill at the 
 Eagle Hotel in Hartsburg, and while Mr. War- 
 wick was quietly journeying along the road that 
 led to his meeting with her, matters and things 
 in Lagrange were in a far from .satisfactory con- 
 dition. 
 
 To begin with the Marks family, there was 
 growing indignation on the part of Mr. Marks, 
 discomfiture and concern on the part of his 
 wife, and turmoil and complaining on the part 
 of the children, at the unaccountable absence 
 of the governess. Two weeks had gone by, 
 without any sign of return, or any word of ex- 
 planation from her. Under these circumstan- 
 ces, what was left for her employers to think 
 but that she had deliberately forsaken them ? 
 It was true that every thing she possessed, with 
 the exception of a small bag containing a few 
 necessary articles of clothing, had been left be- 
 hind ; but that might have been done merely to 
 avoid suspicion and then, there was that unan- 
 swerable riddle, the money 1 Why had she 
 drawn it, if not to go away ? why had she been 
 so particular about demanding gold ? " It is as 
 plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Marks, " that she 
 meant to leave just in this manner ! It was the 
 first suspicion that came into my mind, and it 
 proves to be the correct one." Poor Katharine 
 had very little idea, when she went to the bank 
 that morning, how heavily it was to tell against 
 her afterward, in the net that circumstances were 
 weaving. At first, Mrs. Marks was stout in her 
 defence, but after a while she succumbed facts 
 being too strong against her. " It's that hate- 
 ful St. John ! " she said, at last. " I'm as sure as 
 can be that Miss Katharine has run away just to 
 get rid of him ! " It provoked her that her hus- 
 band would not admit the validity of this ex- 
 cuse. " Miss Tresham may have run away to 
 get rid of Mr. St. John," he said, "but it is 
 
 very certain, Bessie, that she needn't have don 
 any thing of the kiud if all had been straight 
 and clear with her. If he had no claim on her, 
 why should she run away from him ? " In the 
 face of this masculine logic, Mrs. Marks had no 
 reply no relief but that of boxing Nelly's ears, 
 when that poor little soul cried piteously for Miss 
 Tresham to tell her a story at night. 
 
 Then there was another annoyance. Mr. St. 
 John, who, if appearances might be trusted, 
 seemed as completely puzzled as themselves, 
 persisted in calling at the house, in questioning 
 the servants, in accosting Mr. Marks, and in en- 
 deavoring by every means in his power to find 
 out something about the missing governess. As 
 time went on, this became a positive nuisance 
 and a nuisance all the more disagreeable because 
 Mr. Marks disliked the man, and Mrs. Marks had 
 changed her respectful sympathy into a violent 
 aversion for him. In her eyes, he stood as the 
 representative of the change that had given such 
 a shock to her household, and she detested him 
 accordingly. " Will he never go away ? " she 
 said to herself, pettishly, as, day after day, she 
 saw the same slender figure, the same dark, regu- 
 lar profile, pass and repass the house. "If he 
 would only go away, I am sure Miss Katharine 
 would come back, and surely Richard couldn't 
 refuse to let her stay." Fortunately for himself, 
 Mr. Marks was not put to the test. St. John did 
 not go away, and Miss Tresham did not return. 
 Morton Annesley called vainly for news, and was 
 always met by the same dismal shake of the 
 head. " Not even a letter, Mrs. Marks ? " he 
 would say, with such a wistful look in his eyes 
 that it almost betrayed Mrs. Marks into telling 
 him a consoling falsehood. " Not even a letter, 
 Mr. Annesley," she would answer, and heave a 
 deep sigh as the young man went away. At such 
 times her regret took the form of indignant re- 
 proach against Katharine. It was shameful ! 
 Richard was right : it was shameful, she would 
 think, as she went back to her work, and heard 
 the children squabbling in the yard, instead of 
 being settled quietly at their lessons. 
 
 As for Mrs. Annesley, she was simply in- 
 credulous of this great good fortune which had 
 befallen her. That Katharine should go away of 
 her own accord should, without any embarrass- 
 ing disclosure or trouble whatever, be removed 
 out of Morton's life was more than she had ever 
 hoped in her most sanguine moments was far, 
 far too good to be true. She could not belieye 
 it she absolutely declined to believe it. Somd 
 plot was at the bottom of it, she felt sure some-
 
 162 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 thing that would end by complicating matters 
 more seriously than they had been complicated 
 yet, by involving Morton as he had not been in- 
 volved yet. To describe her state of mind dur- 
 ing these two weeks would be impossible. The 
 inaction was terrible to her, the doubt and sus- 
 pense still more terrible. She went to see Mrs. 
 Gordon, but there was no comfort to be obtained 
 there. Mrs. Gordon knew no more than herself, 
 but Mrs. Gordon took a view of the matter which 
 had not occurred to Mrs. Annesley. " The girl 
 has been sent by St. John in search of Felix ! " 
 she cried, as soon as she heard of Katharine's 
 departure, and only her own ignorance of Felix's 
 whereabouts prevented her from instantly setting 
 out to guard him from this new danger. As it 
 was, she lived in a state of restless terror which 
 sometimes almost went beyond her control. Her 
 only comfort, her only hope, was in John War- 
 wick. As long as he was with Felix, she felt that 
 the cnild was safe. Her reliance on him told her 
 this, and did not tell her wrongly. Only some- 
 times she would think with dismay of his liking 
 for Katharine, and wring her hands over it. " If 
 he once lets her draw the secret from him ! " she 
 thought. But then, again, she would grow 
 ashamed of this suspicion. Was it likely he 
 would let her do it ? was it likely that, to the 
 woman he loved best, to the man whom he 
 trusted most, John Warwick would betray the 
 confidence given him as a sacred charge ? The 
 woman who had once known him well, the 
 woman whom he had once loved passionately, 
 did him the justice to answer the question in the 
 negative. No ; John Warwick would never do 
 this, and so John Warwick was to be trusted. 
 But oh, Felix ! Felix ! That was the burden of 
 the mother's thought, the echo of the mother's 
 cry. That great anxiety dwarfed every other con- 
 sideration even the consideration of Morton's 
 folly. She still felt for him, and for the bitter 
 distress that was hanging like a sword over his 
 mother's head ; but still Felix was at her heart, 
 and there was no disguising the fact that she 
 would have been glad to hear of Miss Tresham's 
 return to Tallahoma, even although that return 
 meant Morton's marriage with her the next day. 
 Under these circumstances, it may be sup- 
 posed that there was not much sympathy be- 
 tween herself and Mrs. Annesley yet there was 
 more than might be imagined. They were both 
 Buffering from keen anxiety that was one link. 
 The anxiety of each was about the object dearest 
 to them in the world that was the second link. 
 The same person, in each case, -was the cause of 
 
 this anxiety that was the third link. Thes 
 things were much in common, and it is doubtfu\ 
 whether they had ever in their lives been so nearly 
 drawn together before. Mrs. Gordon's mode of 
 accounting for Katharine's absence seemed to 
 Mrs. Annesley plausible enough ; but Felix was 
 to her a person of small importance or, to put 
 the matter more correctly, of no importance at 
 all and, accepting her cousin's theory as a fact, 
 the great consideration still remained, What 
 would be the end of it with regard to Morton ? 
 She had heard nothing from St. John, and she 
 had been too completely worsted to think of 
 seeking him again herself. Besides, she had a 
 sort of instinctive distrust of him an instinctive 
 feeling that she had placed herself in his power. 
 If he saw Morton, and told him of her applica^ 
 tion, Morton would never forgive her ! This was 
 what made a coward of her, for she was very far 
 from being a subtle diplomatist ready to walk to 
 her end over any obstacles ; but rather a woman 
 weak with the weakness of her sex, who, having 
 set in motion certain machinery of the power of 
 which she had only a vague idea, stood by, 
 shrinking from the consequences a woman 
 whose hands were fettered, from the use of plain 
 means to a plain end, by a purely ideal fear the 
 fear of losing her sou's love, and forfeiting her 
 son's respect. 
 
 As time went on, Morton was, perhaps, the 
 person most to be compassionated. All the 
 others had "themselves to thank," in great 
 measure, for their uneasiness; everybody else 
 (even Mrs. Gordon) was suffering from the direct 
 result of certain acts of his or her own. But 
 Morton had done nothing to bring upon him- 
 self the keen anxiety which he was enduring. 
 It may be perfectly true that we cry all the same 
 whether we break our toys ourselves, or whether 
 somebody else does the work of destruction for 
 us, and that it is by no means a source of com- 
 fort when " one has only one's self to blame " 
 for any of the disasters of life ; but, in the mat- 
 ter of sympathy, this fact of personal responsibil- 
 ity makes a great difference and justly so. The 
 man who has brought his trouble upon himself 
 can, at best, advance only half the claim on our 
 sympathy, of one who suffers through misfortune, 
 or circumstance, or the fault of others. On this 
 ground, therefore, it may be conceded that Mor- 
 ton deserved compassion more than any other 
 of the circle whose interests were so capriciously 
 twisted and intertwined together. Not on tho 
 ground of his love for Katharine Tresham, nor 
 of the suffering which that love entailed upon
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 183 
 
 kirn, but on the ground of his earnest desire to 
 " do the thing which was right," no matter what 
 the cost of that doing might be; of his loyal 
 effort to reconcile the different claims that were 
 conflicting with him, by the plain, straight rule 
 of honor ; and of his sincere renunciation of self, 
 which deserved a better return than had yet be- 
 fallen it. During these weeks he had gone about 
 the ordinary affairs of life, and tried to meet them 
 with his ordinary face ; but, somehow, it would 
 not do. Knocking more and more painfully at 
 his heart, echoing more and more loudly in his 
 ears, he heard the question, Where has she 
 gone ? what has become of her ? Had she, in- 
 deed, passed out of his life forever? Had he 
 trifled so long with the happiness that might 
 have been his, by a word, perhaps, that it had 
 at last escaped him ? Asking himself these 
 questions, he took a sudden resolve. He would 
 go in search of her, and, having once found her, 
 he would not leave her again until all trifling and 
 hesitation were at an end, until the fate of his life 
 was settled as far as it was in Katharine Tresh- 
 am's power to settle it. Her very absence, which 
 told against her so strongly in the eyes of every 
 one else, did not shake his dogged faith for an 
 instant. He trusted her! That was his answer 
 to all that the voice of the world could urge ; 
 and, whether it was a wise one or not, let us at 
 least acknowledge that it was a noble one. 
 
 Having made up his mind to go, Annesley was 
 not long in carrying the design into execution. 
 A plausible excuse of business was soon found 
 for leaving home, and, although Mrs. Annesley 
 strongly suspected the real cause of his depart- 
 ure, she had no excuse for saying, no means of 
 doing, any thing to prevent it. To expostulate 
 would have been worse than useless, and there 
 was nothing else lefft "It comes of being a 
 woman," she thought, bitterly ; but, in fact, if 
 she had been a man a hundred times over, she 
 could have thrown no obstacle in Morton's path 
 which Morton's impetuous resolution would not 
 have surmounted. As a general rule, women are 
 very much given to magnifying the disabilities 
 of their sex, when these very disabilities often 
 make the secret of their greatest strength. In 
 the present instance, it was certainly so. No 
 tangible restraint which Mrs. Annesley could 
 possibly have placed over her son would have 
 bound him half so firmly, would have influenced 
 him half so much, as the intangible restraint of 
 those wishes which appealed to him the more 
 because she had no power to enforce them. 
 Still, he began to courier that he had, perhaps, 
 
 sacrificed a little too much to them ; and, in 
 taking his present resolution, he put them ten- 
 derly but decidedly on one side. Some instinct 
 told him that his first duty now was to the worn 
 an he loved, and, with the simplicity of thought 
 and intention which characterized him, he set 
 forth to fulfil this duty. 
 
 It was on the sixteenth of January exactly 
 two weeks after Katharine left that Morton 
 drove out of the gates of Annesdale, and turned 
 his horses' heads into the road that led to Sax- 
 ford. He had not gone more than a mile when 
 he met George Raynor. Of course, a pause and 
 a conversation ensued. 
 
 " You look as if you were rigged out for 
 travelling," said Mr. Rayuor, after the first 
 greetings were over. "Going down to Apalat- 
 ka?" 
 
 " No only to Saxford," Annesley answered. 
 "I have to meet a man there on business." 
 This was strictly true ; but the speaker did not 
 add that the man would willingly have come 
 to Lagrange. '' Why should you think of Apa- 
 latka ? Is any thing going on down there ? " 
 
 "Nothing that I know of; but I heard you 
 promise Seymour to go down soon, and I thought 
 you might be on your way to fulfil the promise. 
 Maggie Lester went home yesterday," he added, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " And you think I am likely to be following 
 Miss Maggie ? Thank you ; I don't care to inter- 
 fere with Lawton's amusement. She didn't stay 
 long with Mrs. Raynor, then ? " 
 
 " Her mother wrote for her company ex- 
 pected, or something of the sort and she was 
 obliged to leave. Flora was very sorry to see 
 her go chiefly, I think, because she took Irene 
 along." 
 
 " Did Miss Irene go ? " said Annesley, a lit- 
 tle absently. " I am sorry to hear that, and so 
 will a great many other people be. But sho 
 will be back soon won't she ? " 
 
 " Hardly soon, according to present arrange- 
 ments. Flora is to join her in Apalatka, and 
 they will go on to Mobile together. I fancy La- 
 grange won't see either of them again very 
 shortly. I look forward with resignation to a 
 long period of "bachelor soh, Charley ! You 
 had better draw your horses out of the way, 
 Pink ! Here comes the stage." 
 
 Pink the servant who was driving Annes- 
 ley drew his horses to one side of the road ac- 
 cordingly ; while Charley, who was young and 
 foolish, backed into a fence - corner, as the 
 heavily-laden coach, with its six horses, its nine
 
 164 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 inside passengers, and one fortunate outsider, 
 who bud secured the seat beside the driver, 
 rolled by with a sweeping air of grand impor- 
 tance on its way to Saxford. As it passed, An- 
 nesley glanced round and ran his eye over the 
 passengers, vaguely looking for an acquaintance, 
 as people will do, whether in stage-coaches or 
 railroad-trains. With the exception of the 
 driver, to whom he nodded, he saw not one 
 familiar face during the first instant, that is. 
 The second after, a man, on the seat opposite 
 from the side of the road on which Raynor and 
 himself were, leaned forward for a look at the 
 way-side group, and he recognized St. John. 
 
 Long after the coach had passed out of sight, 
 after he had said good-by to Raynor, and was 
 once more under way, with the horses trotting 
 briskly over the smooth, well-beaten road, that 
 face remained with Annesley to conjure up tor- 
 menting thoughts. Why was St. John leaving 
 Tallahoma ? Why was be going to Saxford ? 
 What connection did he have with Miss Tresh- 
 am ? These three questions formed the text of 
 a mental discourse that occupied his attention 
 until the roofs of Saxford came in sight, just as 
 the sun was going down in a gorgeous bed of 
 sunset clouds, and the whole wide panorama of 
 Nature its fields, and valleys, and shaded hill- 
 sides began to clothe themselves in the exqui- 
 site purple of the winter gloaming. 
 
 Annesley drove to the principal hotel of the 
 place, and found that the coach had preceded 
 him in its arrival by an hour or two. The first 
 person he saw, on entering the house, was St. 
 John. Involuntarily the young man frowned ; 
 the very sight of the sallow, handsome face had 
 grown as repugnant to him as to Mr. Marks. 
 Somehow or other this man was connected with 
 Katharine and Katharine's disappearance ac- 
 cording to Mrs. Gordon, he had sent her away ; 
 according to Mr. Marks, he, at least, knew where 
 she was, and why she had gone. In either view 
 of the case, Annesley felt inclined to take him 
 by the throat and demand " satisfaction " in the 
 form of information on the spot. But the codes 
 of civilized life discourage, if they do not abso- 
 lutely condemn, such arbitrary proceedings as 
 these ; and, this consideration apart, such pro- 
 ceedings are sometimes attended with unpleas- 
 ant consequences. Morton restrained the in- 
 clination, and passed on. After the business of 
 obtaining a room was over, his first inquiry star- 
 tled "mine host" a little. Was there a Catho- 
 lic priest residing in Saxford ? 
 
 " You're the second gentleman that's asked 
 
 that question, Mr. Annesley," answered the pro- 
 prietor, opening his eyes, but smiling all the 
 same. " There was a gentleman came in the 
 stage, and wanted to know the same thing. I 
 told him, sir, what I can tell you that there's 
 no priest living in town, but one comes here 
 sometimes I really can't say how often. I re- 
 ferred the other gentleman to an Irish family, 
 named Malone, for information ; bat, if you are 
 anxious to know any thing about the priest, I'll 
 take pleasure in sending round and finding out 
 every thing for you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Morton, a little amused 
 at the contrast thus strikingly marked by the 
 landlord between Mr. Annesley of Annesdnle 
 and an ordinary traveller, who was (so far as the 
 knowledge of that worthy extended) Mr. Nobody 
 of Nowhere. " I will trouble you to find out, 
 then, whether the priest is now in Saxford, and, 
 if he is not, when he was here last, and is likely 
 to be here again. When the messenger returns, 
 send him up to my room, if you please." 
 
 Before long, there was a tap at Morton's 
 door, and the expected messenger made his ap- 
 pearance. He was a bright-looking boy, and 
 delivered his message very clearly. He had 
 seen Mrs. Malone. The priest was in town- 
 had arrived that evening to be in time for Sun- 
 day and was staying with the Malone family. 
 On hearing that a gentleman at the hotel wished 
 to see him, Mrs. Malone had suggested that it 
 would be well if the gentleman would defer his 
 visit until the next morning the father had 
 come thirty miles that day, and was not very 
 well, and a gentleman had already called on 
 him. If the gentleman was going away, he 
 might come that night, of course ; but, if not, 
 it would be more convenient if he would wait 
 until the next morning. % 
 
 " I'll wait," he said, absently ; and, after the 
 messenger left, he asked himself what difference 
 it made. He had waited three weeks in La 
 grange why not wait one night in Saxford ? 
 Yet he felt impatient over the delay, as people 
 will feel over any delay, however slight, that in- 
 tervenes between the fruition of a hope or the 
 fulfilment of an expectation. 
 
 He reasoned with himself about this folly, 
 however, and, after a while, managed to recon- 
 cile himself to ihe charitable opinion that there 
 was no real need for disturbing Father Martin's 
 well-earned repose on that night. One thing, at 
 least, he had gained by the application. He had 
 learned that, instead of knowing all about Kath- 
 arine, St. John, like himself, was merely on the
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 165 
 
 track of discovery, and that, also like himself, 
 the first person to whom he applied for informa- 
 tion was the person whom Katharine would have 
 been most likely to take into her confidence 
 that is, the priest. 
 
 While he was arriving at this conclusion, the 
 person of whom he was thinking entered the 
 hotel and passed directly into the bar-room. If 
 Morton had seen him it is probable that he would 
 not have felt encouraged concerning the degree 
 of information which Father Martin was able or 
 likely to give. Discomfiture was written as legi- 
 bly on St. John's face as anger betrayed itself in 
 bis manner. On entering the door he pushed 
 rudely against a man who chanced to be stand- 
 ing near, and did not trouble himself to make 
 even the ghost of an apology. Walking for- 
 ward, with an air of profound unconsciousness, 
 he called for a glass of brandy, received it, and 
 was about to raise it to his lips, when the man 
 who had been so unceremoniously treated fol- 
 lowed and touched his arm. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, quietly, but 
 with a certain tone of menace in his voice. 
 " You are the gentleman who came within an 
 ace of knocking me down, I believe. Did I 
 hear you apologize for it ? " 
 
 St. John turned quickly, with an insolent 
 reply visible in his eyes before it passed his 
 lips. He was evidently in that frame of mind 
 when to insult somebody is nothing less than a 
 positive relief. As it chanced, however, he had 
 no time to speak. No sooner did he turn his 
 face than the other recoiled a step in sheer 
 amazement, as it seemed. 
 
 " By ! " he said, " St. John ! " 
 
 Something in his tone, something in his man- 
 ner, struck even the by-standers with surprise. 
 They had looked with interest the minute before 
 anxious to see the end of what promised to 
 be a very pretty quarrel but the interest sensi- 
 bly quickened at this unexpected recognition. 
 Its effect on St. John was unmistakable. He 
 looked keenly for a second in the face before 
 him his own growing a shade paler, meanwhile 
 then he put down, untouched, the glass of 
 brandy, and extended his hand. 
 
 " You I " he said. " I had no idea it was 
 yew. I apologize, of course. Where the devil 
 di.i you come from ? " 
 
 The other took his offered hand and shook it 
 with a laugh. After the first manifestation of 
 surprise, the meeting seemed to affect him very 
 little, either one way or another. 
 
 " Where I came from isn't half as wondeiful 
 
 as where you came from," he answered. " Sup 
 pose we exchange reminiscences at our leisure ? 
 Will you come to my room ? You can take your 
 brandy there, and I will order some to keep you 
 company." 
 
 " All right," said St. John ; but he said it 
 reluctantly, and, as he allowed his companion to 
 take hia arm and lead him away, the people 
 whom he left behind could not help thinking 
 that this meeting was to him any thing but a 
 pleasurable event. 
 
 They were quite right, too. He ground hia 
 teeth, and cursed his unlucky fate, as he fol- 
 lowed the man who had claimed his acquaint- 
 ance, up the steep and ill-lighted staircase of the 
 hotel. They entered a room just at the head 
 of the flight of steps, and, while the proprietor 
 of the apnrtment fumbled about for the means 
 of striking a light, St. John sat down on the first 
 substantial object he came to, which chanced to 
 be a table, and was silent. 
 
 " Deuce take the thing ! Where has it 
 gone ? " grumbled the one who was stumbling 
 about the room, kicking the chairs, and finally 
 knocking down the pitcher and basin with a 
 resounding clatter. " I've found the confound- 
 ed candle, but where the devil has the match- 
 box gone! Here no. D it, all the water's 
 spilled, and I've stepped right into it ! Pshaw ! 
 I'll get a light across the passage and not keep 
 you in the dark this way, St. John. Excuse me 
 for a minute." 
 
 St. John vouchsafed not a word as the speaker 
 left the room and crossed the passage to a door 
 just opposite, under which a stream of light was 
 visible. 
 
 His knock was answered by a gentleman, who 
 opened the door almost immediately, and cour- 
 teously acceded to his request. He returned to 
 a table in the room, and brought from it a can- 
 dle with which to light the one presented. As 
 he did so his face was fully exposed to view, and 
 St. John, sitting in the darkness of the oppo- 
 site room, recognized Annesley. Instinctively 
 he drew a little farther back into the friendly 
 shade. At that particular time, and under 
 those particular circumstances, he had no desire 
 to be recognized in return. There was no dan- 
 ger of this, however, for his position effectually 
 shielded him ; and, besides this, Morton's atten- 
 tion was occupied just then with the man before 
 him. As he brought forward the candle some- 
 thing like recognition was plainly to be seen in 
 his face was evidently struggling to assert itself 
 in his mind. As the stranger held his candle to
 
 166 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 the flame, and the light thus fell on his face, the 
 recognition suddenly became clear. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the young man. 
 " I did not know you at first. Dr. Joyner, is it 
 not?" 
 
 Dr. Joyner for it was indeed he looked 
 w ith a start into the face before him ; then, ac- 
 cording to his invariable custom, shifted his eyes 
 back to the candle. 
 
 " You are right. Joyner is my name," he 
 said, " but I believe you have the advantage of 
 me, sir." 
 
 " That is natural," said Morton, smiling a 
 little. "I never saw you but once but my 
 memory is good for faces. I was down in Apa- 
 latka about six months ago, and, in passing 
 through Hartsburg, I called at your office to get 
 a prescription for a sprained wrist. You may 
 not remember the occurrence, but, as soon as I 
 saw your face, it came back to me." 
 
 " Doctors see so many people that they may 
 be pardoned for having poor memories," said the 
 other, apologetically. " I think I remember you, 
 though," he went on, looking again at the young 
 man. " You were with Mr. Seymour, I believe, 
 and he introduced you as Mr. Annesley, of La- 
 grange." 
 
 " The same," said Morton. " Your lotion did 
 my wrist a great deal of good," he added, with 
 the frankness that sat very winningly upon him. 
 " Won't you come in ? I should like to hear 
 something of Apalatka and my friends down 
 there." 
 
 " I regret I am sorry it would give me 
 great pleasure," said the doctor, stammering, as 
 he bowed over his candlestick, " but I left a 
 friend in my room in the dark, too, poor fel- 
 low ! and he is waiting for me to return. Other- 
 wise " Another bow completed the sentence." 
 
 " In that case I can't expect to detain you, 
 of course," said Morton. " Good-evening." 
 
 When the doctor went back into his own 
 com his face wore an expression of mingled sur- 
 prise and amusement, which at once attracted 
 St. John's attention and roused his curiosity. 
 
 " You seem to be enjoying something amaz- 
 ingly," he said. " Considering that the brandy 
 hasn't come yet, you might as well let me know 
 what it is. One thing is certain " with a look 
 of disgust around " I don't see much in the 
 ray of amusement here." 
 
 " I am only enjoying a new illustration of an 
 old proverb," said the other, putting the candle- 
 stick on a rickety table that was on one side of 
 the room, with a cracked looking-glass hanging 
 
 over it. " Did you ever chance to hear that a 
 prophet is never without honor save in his own 
 country ? ' Well, I've just had an example of 
 that. For want of something better to do, I have 
 been trying my hand lately at the healing art, and 
 the result was by no means as brilliant as I could 
 have wished. The other doctors in the place 
 where I settled were jealous of me, a few un- 
 pleasant accidents attended my practice, a man 
 or two died don't men die sometimes under the 
 hands of regular M. D.'s ? and the consequence 
 was that the people raised an uproar, and I had 
 to leave absolutely, my dear St. John, I had to 
 leave, in preference to being mobbed. Think 
 what a state of barbarism this horrible country 
 is in ! Well, I left the place Hartsburg is its 
 name under those circumstances, and I come 
 here, and the first person I meet compliments 
 actually compliments me on my medical 
 skill!" 
 
 " That young fellow across the passage ? " 
 
 " Yes did you see him ? Fine-looking, isn't 
 he ? One of the first men in the country round 
 about here, I believe. I met him, as he remind- 
 ed me, in Hartsburg, with a Mr. Seymour, a 
 wealthy planter who lives in the county of 
 which Hartsburg is the seat. He had sprained 
 his wrist, and I gave him a lotion for it. He 
 says it worked exceflently." 
 
 " Then why couldn't you prescribe for your 
 other patients as well ? " 
 
 Dr. Joyner indulged in a laugh quiet, but 
 of considerable depth and evident enjoyment. 
 
 "I sprained my own wrist once," he said, 
 " and I got this prescription for it from a doc- 
 tor. You see it's useful never to forget any 
 thing." 
 
 " And you practised medicine en the strength 
 of knowing one prescription ? Well" with an 
 impatient movement "I suppose it was as good 
 a trade as any other that you were likely to drift 
 into. What did you leave the old country for ? " 
 
 " Humph ! " said the doctor, looking at him 
 askance. " What did you leave it for ? " 
 
 " That's easily answered because I felt dis- 
 posed to do so." 
 
 " Oh, you did, did you ? Well, then, there's 
 a good deal of diiference between us. I left 
 because the police were so unusually pressing in 
 their attentions, jjust then, that I had no alterna- 
 tive but to do so. *I made the narrowest slip of 
 the galleys imaginable," said he, growing pale, 
 notwithstanding his lightness of tone. " Ma 
 foi I it would be delightful to be number nine 
 of a chain-gang just now ! Practising medicine
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 167 
 
 it the expense of the good people of Hartsburg is 
 quite an improvement on that. Do you object to 
 my leaving you for a minute ? I'll step to the 
 door and call for that brandy. In a place like 
 this you have to assert yourself, or the rascals 
 will neglect you." 
 
 St. John making no objection, Dr. Joyner pro- 
 ceeded to step to the door and assert himself. 
 Having shouted for some time, he at last suc- 
 ceeded in bringing up the brandy, and half a 
 dozen people besides, anxious to know if the 
 house was on fire. After reassuring them on 
 this point, he coolly relieved the servant of the 
 brandy, shut the door in the faces of the others, 
 and returned to St. John. 
 
 " There, now ! " said he, setting the bottle 
 and two glasses which accompanied it down on 
 the table. " I call this comfortable two old 
 friends and good comrades drinking each other's 
 health in elegant seclusion. You'll find water in 
 that pitcher there, St. John confound it ! I for- 
 got it was spilt. Shall I call for more ? " 
 
 " Not on my account," said St. John, resign- 
 edly. " I don't care to bring up half the house- 
 hold again. Sit down," he went on, impatiently. 
 " Something is on your mind I've seen that 
 from the first. Speak it out, and have done." 
 
 " With all my heart," said the other, sitting 
 down and composedly draining a glass of spirits. 
 " You haven't told me yet how you came here," 
 he added, with a sudden furtive glance at his 
 companion's face. " One good turn deserves 
 another. I've been frank with you now be 
 frank with me. Has the pretty little game of 
 rouge et noir done for you also ? " 
 
 " I'm here on business," said St. John, ir- 
 ritably. " I thought I told you that. What is 
 the good of i being so d d inquisitive ? I 
 haven't been in America more than a month or 
 two, and I shall not stay an hour longer than I 
 can possibly help." 
 
 " Are you very closely occupied just now ? " 
 
 " That depends on circumstances. Why do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 The other looked over his shoulder nervously 
 at the door. Then drew his chair a little nearer. 
 " Would you be willing to run a small risk for a 
 great reward ? " he asked, quickly. 
 
 " That depends," said St. John, watching him 
 eoolly ; " both on the degree of risk, and the 
 amount of the reward." 
 
 " The risk is hardly worth considering, and 
 Ihe amount is that of a moderate fortune. In 
 one word, St. John, can I depend on you, or can 
 1 not ? This thing has been on my mind for 
 
 some time, and I have been considering day and 
 night how I could manage it without any assist- 
 ance; but when I saw you, the problem was 
 solved for me. I said at once, ' There is the 
 man in the very nick of time. If his head's aa 
 cool and his wits are as sharp as they used to be, 
 I've nothing more to fear.' " 
 
 " I don't stand in any need of a dose of flat- 
 tery," said St. John. " Affairs are desperate 
 with me just now, and I am ready for any thing 
 that won't put my neck in a noose. A person 
 on whom I depended has just given me the slip 
 in the most complete manner. A scheme on 
 which I have been building is likely to come to 
 nothing, as far as I am concerned, and so pass 
 the brandy, and let me hear your plan." 
 
 " It's not a thing to describe in a place lik 
 this," said the other, glancing round again. " If 
 we talk about it at all, it must be in French, 
 " You don't object, do you ? " 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Listen then," said he, plunging at once into 
 French, and speaking with an ease and fluency 
 which proved his intimate acquaintance with the 
 language. " Before I left Hartsburg, I chanced 
 to hear that a bank of importance, which is es- 
 tablished there, was about to send a large amount 
 of specie for distribution among its various 
 branch banks. I did not pay much attention 
 one way or another to the report, until, in com- 
 ing to Saxford, I travelled with a man who is 
 well known to be the messenger intrusted with 
 the money. This fact, and my own desperate 
 condition, soon made me think that here was an 
 excellent opportunity of fortune, only needing a 
 man of courage and nerve to seize it. The cour- 
 age and nerve I had, my dear St. John, but 1 
 needed a few other things a little assistance, 
 principally. The undertaking is too great for 
 one person to attempt. I needed a comrade to 
 share the risk and the reward. As soon as I 
 saw you, I thought ' Here is my man.' It's for 
 you to say whether or not I was right." 
 
 "I have heard the object," said St. John, 
 coolly. " How about the means ? " 
 
 " The means are as plain as could be desired. 
 The messenger is at present on his way to Talla- 
 homa, where the specie will be lodged in the 
 bank until opportunities are found for forward- 
 ing it to the other branches. Now, I have been 
 in Tallahoma, and I have seen this bank. Writa 
 me down a fool, my dear St. John, if it would not 
 be as easy to enter it as to walk out of this room. 
 See here ! " 
 
 He took from his pocket a morocco case of
 
 168 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 moderate size, touched a spring, and, as it flew 
 open, he held it out for the inspection of the 
 other. 
 
 " What would you call that, now ? " he asked. 
 
 St John regarded it superciliously, as he 
 answered, " I should call it a box of tooth-instru- 
 ments. Have you been practising dentistry as 
 well as physic ? " 
 
 "A little. I fleshed this" he held up to 
 St. John's recoiling sight a formidable-looking 
 pair of forceps " in the " 
 
 " Spare me a description of the operation, I 
 beg," interrupted the other, with unconcealed 
 disgust " What have these things to do with 
 the subject you were talking of? " 
 
 " Don't be impatient, and you shall hear. 
 You would call it a box of tooth-instruments, 
 would you ? Well, you're not to blame there 
 and that's the beauty of it. Anybody would 
 call it the same thing. But now I'll show 
 you." 
 
 So saying, he took the instruments from the 
 box, then, with great care, removed the red- 
 velvet cushion on which they had rested, and 
 which turned out to be a false bottom, beneath 
 which was a cavity containing a dozen or more 
 of eccentric-shaped implements, the use of which 
 it would have puzzled an ordinary observer to 
 conjecture. It did not puzzle St. John in the 
 least. 
 
 " You are well supplied," he remarked, with 
 a grim smile. 
 
 " You may say so ! Look at that, now, will 
 you ? " 
 
 He lifted a small saw, made of the finest 
 watch-spring steel, and exhibited it, handling it 
 with the same caressing touch which a painter, 
 who has not used his brushes for some time, be- 
 stows on those beloved servitors of his more 
 beloved art, or with which a musician passes his 
 hand over the strings or keys of his favorite in- 
 strument. 
 
 " That walks through iron with the same ease 
 that a good carpenter's saw passes through 
 wood!" cried he, with enthusiasm. "And 
 here " He went on to expatiate upon the 
 excellence of various of #he implements, and 
 the virtues of the box itself. " You observe," 
 he said, " that there is room here for other mat- 
 ters besides these useful little gentlemen. I 
 keep any papers of importance, that it might 
 not be advisable to have about me, here too." 
 
 " It is a good idea," said St. John, absently. 
 " But about this bank." He thought for a mo- 
 ment, then looked up with something like a 
 
 flash in his eye " The man who is responsible 
 the cashier, I believe they cill him is named 
 Marks, isn't he ? " 
 
 " I yes, I believe so. I didn't pay much 
 attention to his name. What has that got to do 
 with it ? " 
 
 " It has to do with it that he is an unman- 
 nered scoundrel, who has gone out of his way 
 to insult me on one or two occasions," an- 
 swered St. John, vindictively. " If it's hig bank 
 that you want to rob, I'll help you, with the 
 greatest pleasure, on the understanding that we 
 share the spoils fairly. But I can tell you that 
 you will have to be very cautious in your ar- 
 rangements." 
 
 " We will discuss them now," said the other, 
 eagerly. " Help yourself to the brandy, and then 
 we can plan the campaign." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 FATHER MARTIN. 
 
 EARLY the next morning as early as was at 
 all compatible with civilized habits Annesley 
 set forth to pay his visit to the Catholic priest. 
 Having been carefully directed with regard to 
 the whereabouts of the Malone house, he had no 
 difficulty in finding it, and, when he came to a 
 plain two-story building, with the usual four sides, 
 and the usual long piazzas, set back from the 
 street in a green yard, he knew at once that 
 it was the place of which he was in search. 
 His knock at the front door was answered by 
 a pleasant-looking woman, with an unmistakably 
 Irish face, and still more unmistakably Irish 
 accent. Hearing that he was " the gentleman to 
 see the priest," she asked him to walk in. 
 
 " Father Martin went into the garden for a 
 walk," she said. " I will send one of the chil- 
 dren to tell him you are here." 
 
 " It would be a pity to bring him in," said 
 Annesley, smiling, and winning her heart at once 
 by his face and manner. " Can't I go to him ? 
 I have only a few words to say, and I need not 
 disturb his walk very long to say them." 
 
 " I yes, sir ; there is no reason why you 
 should not go," answered Mrs. Malone, after a 
 moment's besitaUpn. " Straight across the yard 
 yonder is the garden-gate. It can't be long 
 before you find the father ; he's walking in there 
 somewhere." 
 
 Annesley thanked her, and went his way. A 
 path led across the yard to the gate of which she
 
 FATHER MARTIN 
 
 1G9 
 
 had spoken. Opening it, he found himself in a 
 garden, which was not very much of a place in 
 the way of size or arrangement, but which had a 
 certain attraction, seen under that bright morn- 
 ing sky, with the sun shining gayly across the 
 cabbages and rose-bushes, the birds twittering 
 and trilling in every tree, and the fresh odor of 
 newly-turned earth from some spaded beds. 
 But the chief beauty of the place was in the 
 prospect beyond a glorious panorama of open 
 country spreading as far as the eye could see ; a 
 sweep of level fields near at hand ; then hills 
 and valleys farther off, mingling and blending, as 
 only Nature's perspective can blend, gleams of 
 brightness and patches of shade, clouds drift- 
 ing, delicious " bits " of harmony and contrast 
 everywhere, and a breadth of landscape, impos- 
 sible to describe, stretching to the verge of the 
 horizon, where it was edged by a fringe of dis- 
 tant forest. 
 
 Annesley was charmed ; but'he did not have 
 time to indulge the luxury of sight as he would 
 have liked. He gave one minute to admiration, 
 then looked round for the object of his search. 
 It was not long before he discerned a black figure 
 walking up and down under a trellis, which cov- 
 ered one of the walks, and was overrun by a 
 grape-vine. Advancing to the nearest entrance, 
 he saw a man of middle age and decidedly sacer- 
 dotal aspect a man who wore a black cassock, 
 and was reading from a well-worn breviary 
 advancing toward him. As they came within a 
 few feet of each other, the priest looked up. 
 Morton took off his hat, and introduced himself 
 at once. 
 
 " My name is Annesley," he said. " I call by 
 appointment. Mrs. Malone told me I should find 
 Mr. Martin here." 
 
 "I am Mr. Martin," answered the ecclesias- 
 tic, courteously. He closed his book, and, com- 
 ing a step nearer, offered his hand. " Your name 
 is not unknown to me, Mr. Annesley," he said. 
 " I am glad to meet you. Is there any thing I 
 can do for you ? " 
 
 " You can be kind enough to answer a few 
 questions for me," Annesley replied. " May I 
 but are you at leisure to attend to me now ? " 
 
 " Perfectly at leisure," answered the other. 
 " I remained at home this morning because I ex- 
 pected your call. I was only reading my office 
 you don't disturb me in the least. Shall we 
 return to the house, or will you sit down here ? 
 The air is delightful." 
 
 " If you do not object, let us remain here, 
 by all means. Is it necessary, though, that I 
 
 should interrupt your walk ? I should be aorry 
 to do so." 
 
 " Join me, then," said Father Martin, smil- 
 ing. Like everybody else, he was attracted by 
 that gift of pleasing which the young man pos- 
 sessed in such remarkable degree that happy 
 mingling of courtesy and frankness which came 
 to him by nature, and for which he did not de- 
 serve half as much credit as he obtained. " Exer- 
 cise, fortunately, does not interfere with conver- 
 sation." 
 
 Annesley was ready enough to take him at 
 his word. A great many people can testify from 
 experience that, when one has an awkward ques- 
 tion to ask, or a disagreeable answer to render, 
 to ask the one, or give the other, in the course 
 of pedestrian or any other sort of exercise, is 
 infinitely preferable to a cold-blooded interview 
 face to face, and eye to eye. By this time, Mor- 
 ton began to feel that he was in rather an awk- 
 ward position. After all, what excuse could he 
 give, what right did he have, to be making these 
 inquiries about Miss Tresham ? If Father Mar- 
 tin chose to " take him up " sharply, what could 
 he say in self-defence ? He had literally no ex- 
 cuse to offer, literally no right to show. Yet he 
 was in for it now ; and he cleared his throat, and 
 dashed at the heart of his subject without any 
 preliminary. 
 
 " I hope you will not be surprised by what I 
 am about to say," he began. " I believe you 
 know Miss Tresham quite well. Are you aware 
 that she has left Tallahoma suddenly and very 
 mysteriously ? " 
 
 " I was told so yesterday," answered the 
 priest, gravely. " If it is of Miss Tresham that 
 you have come to speak, Mr. Annesley, you may 
 rest assured that my attention is at your com- 
 mand." 
 
 " Your attention ! " said Annesley. They 
 had not taken more than half a dozen steps; 
 but he stopped short, and turned round upon 
 the other. " Your attention ! " he repeated. 
 " Excuse me ; but is nothing else at my com- 
 mand ? Is it is it possible you do not know 
 where she is ? " 
 
 " Until yesterday evening, I was not even 
 aware that she had left Tallahoma. Of course, 
 therefore, it is impossible for me to know where 
 she is." 
 
 " You have not seen her ? " 
 
 " Not since before Christmas." 
 
 " You have not heard from her ? " 
 
 " I have not." 
 
 Annesley looked helplessly at him. He did
 
 170 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 not know what to do or say next. He had been 
 so sure that Father Martin had seen Katharine, 
 BO sure that he knew where she was, that this 
 unexpected obstacle, this barrier of complete 
 ignorance, seemed all at once to end every 
 thing. 
 
 "It is no temporary absence. She is gone 
 gone for good ! " he thought, and, thus thinking, 
 grew so pale that the priest felt sorry for him, 
 and, extending his hand, touched his arm. 
 
 " Be frank with me, Mr. Annesley," he said, 
 kindly. " Believe me, you can feel no interest in 
 Miss Tresham which I do not share. The news 
 which I heard yesterday evening," he went on, 
 " cost me a sleepless night. I do not understand 
 the matter, as yet. Will you try to explain ? " 
 
 "There is nothing that can be explained," 
 said Annesley, looking very downcast. " Miss 
 Tresham has left, nobody knows why, and gone, 
 nobody knows where. That is why I came to 
 you, sir. Her friends in Tallahoma are very 
 anxious about her ; and I thought you must cer- 
 tainly have seen her, would certainly have known 
 where she went. When she left, the impression 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Marks was that she had come 
 to Saxford to see you." 
 
 " When did she come ? " 
 
 " This day no, yesterday, two weeks ago 
 the second of January." 
 
 " I told her, when I saw her in December, 
 that I might be here on the Sunday following 
 that date. Unfortunately, I was prevented from 
 coming. Well, Mr. Annesley, has she not re- 
 turned to Tallahoma since ? " 
 
 " No ; she has not returned." 
 
 " Nor written ? " 
 
 " Not a line." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Father Martin ; and he 
 walked along silently for some time, his hands, 
 which still held the breviary, clasped behind 
 his back, and his eyes absently fastened on the 
 scene outspread before him. " There is one 
 thing," he said, at last. " Can Miss Tresham's 
 employers throw no light on her absence ? Did 
 she give them no explanation of why she 
 went?" 
 
 " She did not tell them that is, she did not 
 tell Mrs. Marks any thing excepting that she 
 was going, and that she would be back on the 
 following Monday." 
 
 Aunesley spoke very quietly, for he felt in- 
 tensely depressed and despondent ; but he was 
 startled by the expression that came over Father 
 Martin's face at his last words. This time, it 
 was he who stopped short in his walk, and looked 
 
 with wonder it might almost have seemed with 
 alarm at the other. 
 
 " Are you sure that she said she would be 
 back on Monday ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered Morton, with some sur- 
 prise. " She certainly told Mrs. Marks that she 
 would be back on Monday. I was in the house 
 an hour or two after she left it ; and this assu' 
 ance was given to me at the time, and repeatt 
 since." 
 
 "That settles the matter, then, Mr. Annes- 
 ley," said the priest, with decision. " If Miss 
 Tresham told Mrs. Marks that she would be 
 back on Monday, you may be sure that she in- 
 tended to return on that day you may be cer- 
 tain that something which she did not foresee in 
 leaving Tallahoma has alone prevented her doing 
 so." 
 
 " But" 
 
 " But is it possible you can know Miss Tresh- 
 am, and doubt this ? " interrupted the other, 
 looking at him keenly. 
 
 " I have trusted, I do trust Miss Tresham im- 
 plicitly," said Morton, simply. " I see that you 
 are right I see that this assertion of hers amply 
 proves that in leaving Tallahoma she left it with 
 the intention of returning. Evidently, however, 
 she changed that intention." 
 
 " Evidently she was made to change it." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " Stop a moment, Mr. Annesley, before I tell 
 you what I mean. I have answered several of 
 your questions. I shall ask you now to answer 
 one of mine. Suppose we sit down ? After all, 
 I believe it is more convenient to be seated when 
 a conversation like this is going on." 
 
 He did not wait for Annesley to accede to his 
 proposal, but, taking the liberty which social 
 custom grants an older man, sat down on a 
 bench placed at the end of the trellis, and mo- 
 tioned the other to a place beside him. 
 
 Morton instantly obeyed. 
 
 The awkwardness of the first meeting was 
 entirely worn off by this time, and his eager- 
 ness had reached such a point that he would 
 probably have stood on his head if Father Mar- 
 tin had made that a condition for gratifying 
 this eagerness. Their position would have en- 
 raptured an artist. The trellis behind them 
 broke the direcbbeams of the sun without exact- 
 ly shading them, while the beautiful scene, with 
 its purple hills and distant forests, its shifting 
 shadows and winsome brightness, lay like a pic- 
 ture at their feet. Yet how little either of them 
 heeded it ! For all the thoughts they gave, it
 
 FATHER MARTIN. 
 
 171 
 
 might have been as desolate as Sahara or as 
 bleak as Siberia ! And, in the face of this, we 
 turn round churlishly and cry out upon Nature 
 that she does not sympathize with us that, 
 in our moments of brightness, she sometimes 
 weeps ; and, in our mourning, often smiles 1 
 
 " You know Miss Tresham quite well, I be- 
 lieve," said the priest, after a momentary pause. 
 " Will you tell me (I do not ask the question 
 without a reason) if you know the history of her 
 life?" 
 
 " I know nothing of her life, excepting that 
 she is a West-Indian by birth, and that she 
 lived in England as a governess," Annesley an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Have you ever heard her speak of Mr. St. 
 John ? " 
 
 Morton hesitated a moment before replying. 
 
 " I have never heard her speak of Mr. St. 
 John," he said, at length, " but I met her once 
 when when she was with him. Circumstances 
 made it necessary that she should introduce us. 
 I know nothing more than that." 
 
 " You never asked any thing more ? " 
 
 " If I had felt disposed to do so which I did 
 not whom could I have asked ? " 
 
 " Miss Tresham herself, perhaps." 
 
 The young man colored suddenly and deeply. 
 
 " You don't know me, sir," he said. " I can't 
 be offended, therefore, that you should think I 
 might have been guilty of such an impertinence. 
 But you do know Miss Tresham. You know 
 whether she is the sort of woman with whom one 
 would be likely to take a liberty." 
 
 The priest smiled with a genial expression 
 that lit up pleasantly his strong Irish face. 
 
 " Your punctilio does you no discredit, Mr. 
 Annesley," he said, " but I assure you I made 
 the inquiry without supposing for a moment that 
 you had been guilty of an impertinence, or that 
 Miss Tresham would permit a liberty. I may in- 
 terpret your answer, then, to mean that you are 
 in complete ignorance of every thing about Mr. 
 St. John save the mere fact of his existence." 
 
 " I could scarcely be ignorant of that," said 
 Annesley, smiling in turn, " since I have been 
 reminded of it very recently. Do you know that 
 he is in Saxford ? " 
 
 " I had a visit from him yesterday." 
 
 " And does he know nothing of Miss Tresh- 
 am?" 
 
 " What he knows, Mr. Annesley, I am unable 
 to say. What he told me I violate no confidence 
 in telling you. He came to me, as you have 
 ione, for information about Miss Tresham." 
 
 " And you told him ? " 
 
 " That I had none to give him. I did not 
 ask Mr. St. John to walk in the garden," he 
 added, significantly, " and our interview was 
 quite brief confined merely to a business-like 
 interchange of question and answer." 
 
 There was a silence after this. 
 
 Morton hesitated what to say next, and per- 
 haps the priest hesitated also. Frankly as they 
 had spoken, willing as they were to meet each 
 other's advances, there was a barrier of reserve 
 still between them a barrier raised by the igno- 
 rance of the one and the knowledge of the other. 
 
 It was Annesley who, with characteristic 
 impetuosity, dashed straight at this. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " there is a great difference 
 between us. I know nothing about Miss Tresh- 
 am's life, and you probably know every thing. 
 Under these circumstances, I should like to ask 
 one question, and I should be glad if you would 
 answer it." 
 
 " I am sure you will ask nothing that I ought 
 not to answer, Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " No, I hope not. My question is simply 
 this : Does your knowledge give you any real 
 advantage over my ignorance? Does it enable 
 you to form an idea why Miss Tresham did not 
 return to Tallahoma, and where she has gone ? " 
 
 Father Martin thought a moment. The young 
 man had certainly gone straight to the only im- 
 portant point the only thing that made the 
 difference between them of any moment. After 
 a while he answered : 
 
 " No, Mr. Annesley, I cannot say that my 
 knowledge enables me to form any clear idea 
 why Miss Tresham did not return to Tallahoma, 
 and it assuredly does not tell me where she has 
 gone. Thus far we stand on equal ground. Of 
 course, I have certain suspicions but so, I 
 fancy, have you. Can you tell me whether Mr. 
 St. John has been in Tallahoma during the whole 
 of these two weeks ? " 
 
 " He has not left the town for a day until 
 yesterday." 
 
 " The next thing," said Father Martin, rising 
 to his feet, " is to inquire what Miss Tresham did 
 while she was in Saxford. Fortunately, we have 
 the means of information near at hand. When 
 I arrived here, Mrs. Malone told me that sha 
 had been to inquire for me. I asked no ques- 
 tions, and the good woman went into no details. 
 If you will come with me, we will ask some ques- 
 tions now." 
 
 Annesley rose with alacrity to follow him. 
 They left their sheltered nook and turned into
 
 172 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 a walk that led directly to the house; but, 
 before they had gone a dozen yards, they saw a 
 servant opening the gate and advancing with 
 evident haste toward them. 
 
 " A messenger for me, no doubt," said the 
 priest, resignedly. " The faithful have heard of 
 my arrival." 
 
 " A messenger who seems to have travelled 
 long and hard," said Annesley. " He is splashed 
 with mud from his hat to his shoes. The roads 
 are not so bad either." 
 
 "Toward the southwest they are. There 
 have been heavy rains between Hartsburg and 
 this place lately, as I found yesterday. Well, 
 my man, whom are you in search of ? " he said, 
 turning to the servant. 
 
 "The priest, if you please, sir," answered 
 the boy, who had reached the two gentlemen by 
 this time and taken off his cap. As he did so, 
 Morton started. To his surprise he recognized 
 a well-known Tallahoma face no less a person- 
 age than Mr. Warwick's body-servant. 
 
 " What, Cyrus ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 "Why, if it ain't Mr. Annesley! " said Cyrus, 
 starting in turn, and staring open-mouthed at the 
 young man. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " Annesley 
 asked, immediately. " Where is Mr. War- 
 wick ? " 
 
 " Mass John's in Hartsburg, sir," answered 
 Cyrus. " I've just come from there. I rode all 
 night, sir, over awful roads. I never saw sich 
 holes in all my life. You could almost a-put 
 Rattler and me both in one of 'em, and " 
 
 " What on earth were you riding all night 
 for ? " 
 
 " It was Mass John's orders, sir," said Cyrus, 
 in an important tone. " He told me to git here 
 as fast as I could and give this note " he pro- 
 duced one from between the folds of the lining 
 of his cap" to the Catholic priest in Saxford. 
 If he wasn't here " 
 
 "He is here," interrupted Father Martin. 
 " I am the Catholic priest. If the note is for 
 me, give it to me at once, my good boy." 
 
 Cyrus delivered up the note immediately, and, 
 after one hasty glance at the address, the priest 
 broke the seal and unfolded it. Morton, watch- 
 ing his face as he read, saw that he paled sud- 
 denly and strangely over the very first Hues. He 
 did not raise his eyes, however, not even after 
 the young man felt sure that he had finished the 
 letter. In fact, he was silent so long that at last 
 impatience got the better of civility and Annes- 
 ley spoke himself. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, but is there any news about 
 about the person of whom we have been talk- 
 ing?" 
 
 Father Martin started and looked up with 
 reluctance, it was evident. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Annesley," he said, " there is news 
 very painful news, I am grieved to say. In a 
 few words," he went on hastily, as he saw the 
 young man change color, " Miss Tresham is very 
 ill, and I am summoned to her. Here is Mr. 
 Warwick's note." 
 
 He extended the sheet of paper, and Annes- 
 ley took it without a word. This was what Mr 
 Warwick said : 
 
 " EACTLE HOTEL, HARTSBURG, 
 " Six o'clock p. M., Friday, January 16th. 
 
 " RKV. Mr. MARTIN r 
 
 " DEAR SIR : Yesterday afternoon I chanced 
 to reach this place, and, to my surprise, found 
 Miss Tresham (lately teaching in my brother-in- 
 law's family in Tallahoma) lying dangerously ill 
 here. Why or how she came here I do not 
 know, for she had lost consciousness before I 
 saw her; but since she is in a violent brain- 
 fever, which leaves scarcely a hope of her life, 
 the doctor urges me to communicate with her 
 friends, and I therefore venture to address your- 
 self. You are the only person who, in an emer- 
 gency like the present, can possibly be able to 
 say what she would or would not wish to be 
 done what steps taken, who informed of her 
 condition. May I hope that you will come to 
 Hartsburg at once ? I shall send this by a mes- 
 senger who will ride all night. 
 
 " Very respectfully, 
 
 " JOHN WARWICK." 
 
 " P. S. I have just seen the doctor, who 
 thinks there is no hope. I ought to add, per- 
 haps, that I should have written to you yester- 
 day, if I had thought of it. But, in running 
 over the list of Miss Tresham's friends, your 
 name only suggested itself to me a few minutes 
 ago. Once more, I hope you will lose no time in 
 coming." 
 
 That was all. The letter so cold, so reti 
 cent, so full of bare details, so utterly chilling to 
 every thought of nope fell from Morton's hand 
 unheeded. Dying! That was the only sound 
 he heard ; the only thought left in his brain. 
 Dying! A black mist seemed creeping over 
 every thing round him ; the very air seemed a 
 knell that repeated the word. Dying ! Youth,
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 173 
 
 health, strength, all had been hers when he saw 
 her last ; and now 
 
 It was Father Martin's hand that touched him, 
 and Father Martin's voice that roused him from 
 his trance of despair. 
 
 "There is nothing in that letter which need 
 affect you like this, Mr. Annesley," he said. 
 " Mr. Warwick is a fallible man, and so is the 
 doctor on whose authority he speaks. Many 
 doctors have said that there is no hope, and 
 lived to learn that while there is life there is 
 always hope. Will you do something to help 
 me on my way to Hartsburg ? " 
 
 " I will do any thing," said Annesley, speak- 
 ing like a man who had been stunned. " What 
 do you want ? " 
 
 " I want a horse, if you will be kind enough to 
 go up the street and engage one for me. I would 
 not trouble you, only my own is broken down 
 from yesterday's journey, and is quite unequal to 
 such a ride as the one before me." 
 
 " Engage a horse ! " repeated Annesley, as 
 if the sound of the other's speech had only 
 dimly reached him. Then lie suddenly caught a 
 gleam of his usual intelligence. " That is quite 
 unnecessary," he said. " My own horses are at 
 the hotel, and are quite fresh. If you will let me 
 drive you " 
 
 " Let you ! " 
 
 " Do you think that I am not going ? " asked 
 the young man, passionately. " If you don't go 
 with me, I shall go alone so it is all the same. 
 No power short of death could keep me from 
 her. I have stayed too long already. This is 
 the end of all my scruples and doubta," he added, 
 bitterly. " She is dying ! " 
 
 " She is said to be dying," corrected Father 
 Martin, obstinately. " I will believe that she is 
 dying when I see her in the article of death not 
 before. If you intend to accompany me or to 
 allow me to accompany you will you let me 
 suggest that you order your horses at once ? " 
 
 " I will be here in ten minutes," Annesley 
 answered. He turned to go, caught sight of 
 Cyrus, who stood by, inwardly astonished, but 
 outwardly stolid and paused. " Cyrus," he 
 said, wistfully, " did you hear anybody say what 
 the chances were for Miss Tresham's recov- 
 ery ? " 
 
 Cyrus looked down at his muddy shoes. In- 
 stinct made even him pause before telling the 
 truth. 
 
 " I heard the folks in the hotel a-talking, sir," 
 he said. " They thought she was mighty bad 
 
 off." 
 
 12 
 
 " Did you hear any of them say that they 
 thought she might get well ? " 
 
 Cyrus slowly shook his head. " No, sir. 
 They all said she was bound to die. I heard 
 Dr. Randolph a-telling Mass John so, just before 
 I left." 
 
 "The horses, Mr. Annesley," said Father 
 Martin, anxiously. 
 
 " I am going," answered Annesley and this 
 time he did go. He left the sunny garden and 
 its bright, beautiful prospect, without even so 
 much as a glance ; yet it was long before the 
 scene of that awful blow passed from his mem- 
 ory long before he forgot one outline of the 
 purple hills, one gleam of the golden sunshine, or 
 one throb of the sickening pain. As he went his 
 way to the hotel, one cry seemed to ring through 
 his heart the same bitter cry that had been 
 wrung from him unconsciously so short a time 
 before. 
 
 "This is the end of all my scruples and 
 doubts. She is dying ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 " Is she alive ? " 
 
 This waa the question which Father Martin 
 and Annesley asked simultaneously, as the ex- 
 hausted horses drew up before the door of the 
 Eagle Hotel, and Mr. Crump came forward to 
 receive them. 
 
 " She's alive, gentlemen that's all I can 
 say," the landlord answered, for he knew at 
 once to whom they alluded. " You're the 
 Catholic priest, I suppose, sir," he went on, 
 addressing Father Martin. " Mr. Warwick told 
 me to be sure and ask you to walk up-stairs as 
 soon as you come. The other gentleman " 
 He stopped, and looked at Annesley. His man- 
 ner said that there had been no directions about 
 the other gentleman. 
 
 " I'll walk up-stairs also," said Annesley 
 springing to the ground, and throwing his reins 
 to a boy standing near. As he was turning away, 
 he suddenly recollected that he had driven his 
 horses very hard, and he paused to say, " Attend 
 to these animals very carefully, if you please. 
 Rub them down well, and let them stand half an 
 hour before feeding them. My servant will be 
 on in the course of an hour or two." Then, 
 to the Jandlord, " Now show us the way uj* 
 stairs."
 
 174 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 Mr. Crump was quite impressed by the 
 young man's manner. From various causes, he 
 had lately conceived the idea that it was a dis- 
 guised princess who had been lying ill at his 
 house for more than a week, and this was only 
 another proof of the correctness of that opinion. 
 One illustrious person after another had seemed 
 strangely interested in her welfare ; and now 
 this handsome young gentleman, whose horses 
 alone showed that he was a person of impor- 
 tance, sprung to the ground, and, with a pale 
 face and a manner which agitation robbed some- 
 what of its usual courtesy, said, quickly, " Show 
 us the way up-stairs." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," said Mr. Crump, with alac- 
 rity. Then, to a servant standing near, " Take 
 off those valises, and bring them in. This way, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 He led the way into the house and up the 
 staircase talking, as he went. "The doctor 
 left only a little while ago, sir. They think the 
 lady won't live through the night, I believe. 
 My wife hardly leaves her at all, and Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph set up night before last. Last night, two 
 ladies arrived at the house, and they've been 
 staying here all day to help about nursing her. 
 One of them is Miss " 
 
 The opening and shutting of a door on the 
 upper floor, and the rustling of a woman's skirts 
 along the passage, stopped his flow of words. 
 Before anybody could speak, Miss Lester ap- 
 peared at the head of the stairs, and faced the 
 advancing party. 
 
 " Has the priest come yet, Mr. Crump ? " 
 she asked, in her quick, clear tones. Then she 
 suddenly caught sight of Morton in the rear 
 of Mr. Crump's portly figure, and smothered a 
 scream. " Goodness ! Is it Mr. Annesley ? " 
 she cried. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, Miss Maggie," said Morton, 
 pressing forward. " How is she ? Pray tell me 
 how she is ! " 
 
 " She's as ill as she can be," answered Miss 
 Lester, with a little catch in her voice that 
 sounded almost like a sob. " But I don't give 
 up hope, Mr. Annesley; and I don't mean to, 
 either. I know how doctors talk ; I have heard 
 too many of them," said the young lady, almost 
 fiercely. " Dr. Randolph isn't a bit better than 
 any of the rest. No hope, indeed ! What's the 
 good of being a doctor, if he can't cure people 
 when they've got brain-fever as well as when 
 they've got chills. Oh, me, if I was a doctor ! 
 Is that the priest, Mr. Annesley ? " 
 
 " This is the priest. Mr. Martin, Miss Les- 
 
 ter," said Morton, hurriedly. " Where is War- 
 wick, Miss Maggie ? " 
 
 " In his own room, I think. He was in Miss 
 Tresham's room a little while ago ; but he went 
 out with the doctor. Mr. Crump will show you 
 the way. Mr. Warwick is very anxious to see 
 the pr that is, Mr. Martin." 
 
 " Walk this way, if you please, sir," said Mr. 
 Crump ; and Father Martin followed him down 
 the passage. 
 
 Morton, however, stood his ground. Despite 
 his inquiry, he had not come to see Warwick, 
 but to see Katharine, and he thought that his 
 best means of compassing the latter point was 
 through Miss Lester. 
 
 " Why don't you go too ? " asked she, in 
 her straightforward fashion. " If you want to 
 hear about Miss Tresham, Mr. Warwick can tell 
 you a great deal more than I can. He knows 
 every thing that the doctor says, while, for my 
 part, I am at dagger's-drawing with him. I 
 told him to his face that he wasn't worth calling 
 a doctor if he could not save her life, and he 
 told me that I did not know what I was talking 
 about. So you see I am not the person to come 
 to for Dr. Randolph's opinion." 
 
 "It is not Dr. Randolph's opinion I want," 
 said Annesley. " I have heard quite enough of 
 that. I want to see Miss Tresham, Miss Maggie : 
 and I hope you will let me do it." 
 
 " You want to see Miss Tresham ? " repeated 
 Miss Lester, in amazement. " Why, Mr. Annes- 
 ley, are you crazy ? Don't you know she is so 
 ill that she would not know her own mother, if 
 her mother came ? And yet you talk of seeing 
 her ! Of course, you can't see her ; nobody can, 
 except the people who are nursing her." 
 
 " But, Miss Maggie " 
 
 "You really can't, Mr. Annesley ; and that is 
 the end of the matter." 
 
 " Not quite the end, I hope," said Annesley. 
 " If you are determined against me, I must ask 
 the doctor. He won't refuse, I am sure." 
 
 " He would refuse if you were her own broth- 
 er," returned Miss Lester. " I I never heard 
 such a thing in all my life ! If it wasn't you, 
 Mr. Annesley, I really think I should be very 
 angry. What possible right have you to see 
 Miss Tresham ? " she demanded, in a tone that 
 provoked Annasley to a retort. 
 
 " As much right as John Warwick, I sup- 
 pose," he said. " He has been admitted without 
 any difficulty, I believe." 
 
 " There is a great difference between you and 
 Mr. Warwick," said Miss Lester, severely. " It
 
 AND DEATH. 
 
 175 
 
 leems to me you might see it. He is an old 
 man" (the speaker was eighteen), "quite old 
 enough to be Miss Tresham's father ; and, be- 
 sides, he found her, and sent away her doctor, 
 and got another one, and all that sort of thing. 
 She would be dead by this time, if it had not 
 been for Mr. Warwick. But you Mr. Annes- 
 ley, I am astonished at you ! If Miss Tresham 
 had been ill at home in a private house, you 
 would never have dreamed of making such a re- 
 quest as this." 
 
 " You are wrong ; you do me great injus- 
 tice," said Morton, quickly. " I would have 
 made it all the same, under any circumstances. 
 Miss Lester, you won't refuse me I am sure you 
 won't if you only stop and consider a minute." 
 
 " I might consider a hundred minutes, Mr. 
 Annesley, and nothing would come of it. Be- 
 sides, / am not the sick-room authority. Oh, 
 dear, no ! There is Mrs. Randolph. You would 
 have to get her permission after you had mine." 
 
 " Please go and ask her to come here, then. 
 Any thing is better than wasting time like 
 this." 
 
 Even at that hour, feminine vanity was not 
 quite extinguished in the youthful feminine 
 breast. Miss Lester shot a keen little shaft 
 out of her brown eyes, and made a smart little 
 courtesy. '' Thank you for such a nice compli- 
 ment, Mr. Annesley," she said, and, having said 
 it, hurried away. 
 
 In a few minutes Mrs. Randolph came out of 
 the sick-room, and walked up to the young man. 
 Strange to say, he found her much more dis- 
 posed than Miss Lester had been to listen kindly 
 to his petition. She read his whole story so 
 plainly, and she had so entirely given up all 
 hope of Katharine's life, that the grim shadow 
 of propriety almost ceased to terrify her, almost 
 seemed to recede into nothingness, by the side 
 of those two phantom-shapes Life and Death 
 which had met in their last awful duel. She 
 listened, softened, and, even while she expostu- 
 lated, seemed half inclined to yield. 
 
 " What good would it do ? " she asked. 
 " Miss Tresham is quite unconscious. You could 
 not rouse her ; you could not speak to her ; you 
 could only look at her." 
 
 " That would be enough," said Morton, im- 
 ploringly. " Only let me look at her that is all 
 I ask. Dear madam, don't refuse me! Think 
 only think that, if you do, I may never see 
 her again in life ! " 
 
 His tone of unconscious pathos brought tears 
 to Mrs. Randolph's eyes. She stopped, thought 
 
 a moment, hesitated, and seemed about to yield, 
 when a step sounded on the stairs. 
 
 " There is my husband now," said she, with 
 an expression of relief. " I am so glad ! It is 
 quite impossible for me to decide such a matter 
 as this ; and he will be able to say exactly what 
 is right to do. I am so glad he is coming ! " she 
 repeated, as the staircase creaked loudly under 
 the weight of her lord, and the top of his tall 
 hat came in sight round the curve. 
 
 For his part, the doctor was quite astonished 
 when he looked up and saw his wife in close con- 
 sultation with a handsome young stranger at the 
 head of the stairs. He had left her in chief 
 charge of his patient; and, knowing that she was 
 the most vigilant of nurses, he found it hard to 
 account for this seeming forgetfulness of duty. 
 " What the deuce " he began asking himself, 
 when he caught a better view of the stranger, 
 and recognized Mr. Annesley, of Lagrange. He 
 knew him slightly, and they were soon shaking 
 hands. Then the petition was referred to the 
 doctor by the doctor's wife. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley is just from Tallahoma, from 
 Miss Tresham's friends," said this diplomatic 
 woman. " He is very anxious to see Miss Tresh- 
 am, and and I hardly knew what to say to him. 
 You have come just in time to take the responsi- 
 bility off my hands. You can tell him all about 
 her." 
 
 " There is only one thing I want to be told," 
 said Annesley, a little brusquely, " that is, 
 whether or not I can see Miss Tresham. Surely 
 there is no harm in it," said he, addressing 
 Mrs. Randolph. " Surely it can't injure her," 
 he said, addressing the doctor. Then throwing 
 all his eloquence into an appeal to both, " Only 
 a few minutes ! I am not unreasonable, and I 
 won't ask any thing more." 
 
 " It is neither of my wife nor of myself that 
 you should ask that much, Mr. Annesley," said 
 the doctor, gravely. " Miss Tresham was placed 
 under my care by Mr. Warwick. It is to Mr. 
 Warwick, therefore, that you must apply for 
 permission to see her. I can only say as a med- 
 ical man whether or not such a visit would injure 
 her." 
 
 " And may I ask what you do say ? " 
 
 " That the visits of a hundred people could 
 have no possible ill effect upon her now. Her 
 disease has to-day passed from violent delirium 
 to its second and more dangerous stage that 
 of stupor, which is deepening gradually into tho 
 insensibility that precedes death." 
 
 Annesley shrank. Alas ! who docs not shrink
 
 176 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 when that terrible word is spoken with the cold, 
 calm deliberation of scientific certainty in regard 
 to some life to save which we would freely tell 
 out our blood, drop by drop for which we would 
 give the very throbs of our heart, the very hours 
 that come to us filled to the brim with the keen, 
 fresh elixir of vitality, the very powers of health, 
 and strength, and possible enjoyment, that mock 
 us so bitterly at such a time ! 
 
 " Doctor," said he, huskily, " is there no 
 hope ? " 
 
 Other people had asked the doctor this ques- 
 tion, and to each of them he had given that 
 decided answer which had so roused Miss Les- 
 ter's scorn. In the name of every symptom of 
 the case, of every teaching of experience, of 
 every data of medical knowledge, he had re- 
 plied, " No hope." 
 
 Now, for the first time, he hesitated. Now, 
 for the first time, he felt inclined to rack his 
 brain for something of a temporizing, it might 
 even be of a consoling nature, felt inclined to 
 evade the direct answer, as he often evaded it 
 when people came to him with the extreme of 
 love and anguish quivering in their voices to ask 
 this same question, "Doctor, is there no hope?" 
 
 "I might answer that, while there is life, 
 there is always hope, Mr. Annesley," he said, 
 " but that is a mere generality which means 
 nothing. If you want my honest opinion of 
 this particular case, I can give jt to you. Every 
 symptom up to this point has been unfavorable. 
 The disease has not yielded an inch to the reme- 
 dies employed, but seems to be advancing stead- 
 ily to a fatal termination. So far I have not seen 
 a single sign which encourages me to hope that 
 the patient may rally. Yet, as a medical man, I 
 cannot say that such rallying would be impossi- 
 ble. In the first place, recoveries take place 
 more frequently from meningitis occurring as an 
 attendant upon other diseases than when the com- 
 plaint is original. Miss Tresham's disorder is 
 secondary meningitis. That, therefore, is our first 
 ground for hope slender though it be. In the 
 second place, the disease has three stages : vio- 
 lent excitement, first, when it can almost always 
 be easily arrested ; stupor next, when the chances 
 of safety are very much diminished ; and, lastly, 
 coma, or profound unconsciousness, which pre- 
 cedes and gradually sinks into death. Recovery 
 from this last state is so unusual that it is hardly 
 possible to count upon it. Nevertheless, in rare 
 instances, it does occur or rather the total 
 prostration which sometimes follows the cure of 
 violent inflammation, simulates the symptoms 
 
 that mark the closing stage of the worst cases. 
 This is our second ground for hope. Slight as it 
 is, I shall act upon it. I shall resort to stimu- 
 lants. If the symptoms are organic, they can do 
 no harm, for death must necessarily take place ; 
 if merely functional, they may be the means of 
 saving her life." 
 
 " And if your worst fears are realized if the 
 last stage is really here ? " 
 
 " In that case to-night decides every thing 
 death must ensue before morning." 
 
 " And if she lives through the night ? " 
 
 " Let us wait until the night is past, before 
 we ask that question," said the doctor, almost 
 solemnly. " Now I must go. If you wish to 
 see my patient, Mr. Aunesley, I can only refer 
 you to Mr. Warwick." 
 
 He made a short little bow and went away, 
 followed by his wife. As for Annesley, he stood 
 still and watched them with a feeling of blank 
 hopelessness impossible to describe. To-night ! 
 He had said that to-night would decide every 
 thing ! Involuntarily the young man looked out 
 of a window near which he stood, and shivered. 
 The shades of evening were falling. The sun 
 was gone, the gray mantle of twilight was en- 
 wrapping every thing, a lovely crescent moon 
 was cradled softly over the fringing western 
 clouds, while faint and more faint the burning 
 glow of sunset was fading from the sky. To- 
 night ! And night was coming night was here ! 
 It could not be, he cried out, fiercely yet vainly 
 ah, how vainly ! The darkness seemed like 
 some horrible monster advancing with slow, 
 stealthy steps to do its horrible work ; to seize 
 its passive victim from those strong arms of 
 helpless, outstretched agony; to bear away the 
 grace, the beauty, the glory of life, under its 
 sombre pall, and leave only a cold white shadow 
 of mortality to meet the gaze of the sun when he 
 came once more in pomp and splendor from his 
 royal couch. fall of night ! long hourrf of 
 darkness ! How terrible ye are to watchers like 
 these, to those who cry, " If she can but live 
 through to-night !" The awful death of light 
 awful sometimes to the shrinking soul when 
 there is no cause like this to dread it seems 
 at such times invested with a horror all its own. 
 When morning comes ah, morning ! Will *A* 
 ever see it ? " 
 
 " Can you sliow me Mr. Warwick's room ? " 
 said Annesley to a servant passing by. 
 
 " Number thirteen right down the pasfage, 
 sir," answered the man, hastily. " You can't 
 miss the door."
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 177 
 
 To number thirteen, right down the passage, 
 Annesley accordingly took his way, and soon 
 found that, indeed, it would have been impos- 
 sible for him to miss the door, especially as it 
 was standing open and Father Martin was in the 
 act of coming out. 
 
 " It is really impossible for me to advise you, 
 Mr. Warwick," he was saying. " You must act 
 according to your own judgment in the mat- 
 ter." 
 
 " That is harder than you think," Mr. War- 
 wick replied. 
 
 And just then Annesley appeared. 
 
 Father Martin, who was looking very pale 
 and grave, nodded to the young man, and walked 
 slowly away, while Mr. Warwick extended his 
 hand cordially. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Morton," he said. 
 " I heard that you were in the house, and I was 
 just coming in search of you. I suppose you 
 have seen Randolph, and there is nothing for 
 me to tell you." 
 
 " I saw him a moment ago," Morton answered. 
 " He has spoken very plainly. He says that every 
 thing depends on to-night, and that the chances 
 are all against life." 
 
 " I suppose you have heard how I found 
 her?" 
 
 " No, not yet." 
 
 The lawyer told him in a few brief words, 
 adding: " It is quite useless to make wishes with 
 regard to what is past ; but, if I had reached 
 here a day earlier, all this might have been 
 spared. The treatment of an infamous quack 
 brought on the disease of which she is dying; 
 and, if Randolph had seen her twelve nay, six 
 hours earlier but this is folly. You heard 
 the news in Saxford, the priest tells me." 
 
 " I was with him when he received your note. 
 I had gone there to try and find out something 
 about her. I " he paused involuntarily. Men 
 do not readily speak to each other with regard to 
 matters of sentiment or feeling, do not easily con- 
 quer the strong reluctance to show the soft ker- 
 nel of their natures, instead of putting forward 
 the harder rind which characterizes them in every 
 degree and condition of life. Even when cir- 
 cumstances force them to this expression, they 
 give it with a hesitation which shows how much 
 it goes against the grain. It certainly went 
 against the grain with Morton now. According 
 to his own desire, he would not have made a con- 
 fidant of anybody ; but to make a confidant of 
 John Warwick the irony of events could not go 
 any farther, he thought. Still, he must speak 
 
 plainly, if he wished to see Katharine ; and 
 plainly, therefore, he proceeded to speak. 
 
 " Perhaps I don't need to tell you, Mr. War- 
 wick, that I have loved Miss Tresham for a long 
 time," he said. " That love is my excuse for 
 coming here, and for asking your permission to 
 see her since chance and your own kindness 
 have placed her under your care. I can scarcely 
 hope to interest you by speaking of my own feel- 
 ings," he went on hastily " but her death would 
 be to me a terrible grief." 
 
 " I am sure of it," said the lawyer, with kind 
 gravity. " You are right in conjecturing that I 
 was aware of your love for Miss Tresham," he 
 went on ; "I have observed it, and I can under- 
 stand that it brought you here, and that it makes 
 you anxious to see her, now that you are here. 
 But, of course, you have been told that she is 
 insensible. It seems to me it would be more 
 painful than gratifying to you to see her in that 
 state." 
 
 " All I ask is to see her," said Morton. " The 
 doctor says it could do no harm but he referred 
 me to you for permission." 
 
 " To me ! I stop a minute let me think," 
 said Mr. Warwick, in reply. He rose and walked 
 to the window, where he stood gazing, as Annes- 
 ley had done, on the gathering twilight and fall- 
 ing night. Objects were indistinct by this time, 
 and his tall, dark figure was little more than an 
 outline to Morton, who sat quite still beside tho 
 fire. After a while he came back, and, standing 
 on the hearth, addressed the young man. 
 
 " I have been thinking of your request," he 
 said, "and I have decided that it is you, not I, 
 who can tell best whether or not I ought to ac- 
 cede to it. Your own love for Miss Tresham is 
 no reason why you should be allowed to see her. 
 The only thing that would give you that right 
 would be her love for you ; and, consequently, 
 her assumed consent. Understand this, and say 
 yourself whether or not you shall see her." 
 
 Morton was startled. " Mr. Warwick, you 
 place me in a hard position," he said. 
 
 " The decision rests with yourself," repeated 
 Mr. Warwick; and, liaving said this, he turned 
 and went back to the window. 
 
 Annesley sat and thought. For a short time 
 he was quite puzzled, but at length he began to 
 understand Mr. Warwick's meaning, and to ap- 
 preciate the bearing of the question which had 
 been thus unexpectedly thrust upon him. It was 
 a strange position, certainly. To decide, at the 
 bidding of another man, whether the woman he 
 loved, loved him in return ; to count over he*
 
 JL78 
 
 words, and looks, and intangible shades of tone, 
 and to reckon if all these proofs went for or 
 against his cause. At any other time, or for any 
 other reason, nobody would have been quicker 
 than Morton to call himself a miserable puppy 
 for doing such a thing as this ; but now it was 
 imperative to arrive at some conclusion it was 
 the only hope, the only condition, of seeing her. 
 Honestly, then, and with a strange, wistful lean- 
 ing toward hia own side, as far removed from 
 vanity as one thing could possibly be removed 
 from another, he went over the ground, faith- 
 fully summed up all the evidence, and, at last, 
 made his decision. Then he rose and crossed 
 the floor to Mr. Warwick, who had waited pa- 
 tiently at the window. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, I think you will agree with 
 me that this is not a time for false delicacy," he 
 eaid, with quiet simplicity. " You have put me 
 on my honor to speak the truth : forgive me if 
 what I believe to be the truth sounds like van- 
 ity or unpardonable presumption. I have asked 
 myself honestly if I think Miss Tresham would 
 marry me, and, honestly also, I have answered, 
 4 1 think she would.' " 
 
 " That is enough," said Mr. Warwick, turn- 
 ing, and, a good deal to Morton's surprise, offer- 
 ing his hand. " Yes, I agree with you that this is 
 no time for false delicacy. Your candor does you 
 more credit than any mock modesty would. I 
 left the question to yourself; but, since you have 
 expressed your opinion, I will tell you that it is 
 mine also. Miss Tresham is not a woman to 
 wear her heart on her sleeve ; but, I think if you 
 had asked her to marry you, she would have said 
 ' Yes.' You have my best wishes that she may 
 y it yet," he added, smiling gravely. " Now 
 we will go to her room." 
 
 " You will find Miss Vernon here," Mr. War- 
 wick went on, as they walked down the passage 
 together. " She and Miss Lester arrived at the 
 hotel yesterday, and, finding Miss Tresham ill, 
 they remained. They are both very kind ; and 
 Miss Vernon, in particular, has proved herself a 
 most excellent and capable nurse. This is the 
 room." 
 
 He stopped Annesley, who was passing on, 
 and tapped lightly at the door before which he 
 paused. It was opened by Mrs. Randolph, who 
 at once admitted him. She smiled when she 
 saw Morton, but said nothing ; and, leaving them 
 to close the door, went back softly to the bed. 
 
 Mr. Warwick passed in first, and Annesley 
 followed. There was nothing repuisive, nothing 
 
 suggestive of pain, or struggle, or death, in the 
 scene before him. On the contrary, every thing 
 was very quiet and peaceful. A sick-room, un- 
 doubtedly, but hardly a death-chamber, one would 
 have thought, looking at the exquisite neatness 
 of all the arrangements, at the white bed with its 
 recumbent figure, at the shaded light, the soft, 
 pretty glow of the fire, the figures sitting or 
 standing here and there. Every thing was very 
 subdued. If they had spoken in tones of thun- 
 der, they could not have roused that motionless 
 sleeper, or raised those heavy lids ; but, none the 
 less, an unconscious impulse made them tread 
 softly and speak low. Around the bed two or 
 three were grouped. Father Martin, with his 
 hands clasped behind his back, stood just before 
 Annesley, as the latter approached. When a 
 touch made him draw aside, the young man 
 looked down on the face he had come to see. 
 
 A motionless face, out of which the burning 
 fever flush had faded long since, a face that was 
 almost as white as the pillows on which it rested, 
 that was sunken in the lines a little, and bore 
 on its serene features something of a shade of 
 the awful change that was to come. To-night ! 
 Did they say she would die to-night ? Morton 
 could realize it, now that he had seen her. Fair, 
 and gentle, and robbed of all terror, as that 
 quiet sleep looked, it was not so fair and gentle 
 but that it showed the deadly meaning under- 
 neath. It was too still, it was too full of unchan- 
 ging repose. The longer he looked, the more he 
 felt inclined to doubt whether, indeed, it was 
 life or death on which he gazed. At last he 
 could look no longer. With a gasp he raised 
 his eyes, and met the gaze of another pair of 
 eyes on the opposite side of the bed eyes whose 
 beauty he had known long, but whose tenderness 
 he never appreciated until he saw them now 
 shining like stars upon him from Irene Vernon's 
 face. 
 
 " How is her pulse ? " he heard Mr. Warwick 
 ask the doctor, who came forward and bent over 
 the patient. 
 
 "Feeble and thread-like apparently fail- 
 ing," was the reply. " There is nothing for it 
 but to push the stimulants. I have very little 
 hope in them ; but, at least, they can do no 
 harm ; while, as it is, she is sinking rapidly." 
 
 They went* en speaking, but Annesley moved 
 away. This was so different from any thing he 
 had anticipated, that he was obliged to go to the 
 other side of the room to steady himself. They 
 had all warned him that it would be so, but, 
 nevertheless, he had fancied something very dif
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 179 
 
 ferent something like a scene in a book, some- 
 thing that would sweeten all the rest of life with 
 a taste of love's divine elixir. But this ! To see 
 her pass from him like this, lapsing from earth's 
 sleep to the deeper sleep of death, without one 
 gleam of consciousness, one parting glance, one 
 farewell word surely, this was hard ! He had 
 set aside all the obstacles, and traversed all the 
 space that divided them ; he had won his point, 
 and was here in the same room with her ; yet 
 what were those other barriers to that which sep- 
 arated them now ? Ah, love can do wonders ! it 
 can break through prison-bolts, it can climb 
 mountains, it can cross oceans ; but it has never 
 yet been able to send one single tone into the 
 ear that death has dulled, to win one single 
 glance from the eyes that death has closed. 
 
 After a while Miss Vernon came up to him, 
 and held out her hand. " Don't despair, Mr. An- 
 nesley ! She is very, very ill ; but I think the 
 doctor has not quite given up hope," she said, 
 gently. 
 
 " She is dying ! " answered Morton. He ap- 
 preciated it now, and the realization of the in- 
 evitable brought a sort of stunned quietude with 
 it. 
 
 " I am not sure of that," said Miss Vernon, 
 quickly. " I have seen a great deal of sickness 
 in my life, and seen people who were desperately 
 so desperately ill, sometimes recover, that I 
 cannot despair of anybody. Besides you may 
 be surprised to hear this, Mr. Annesley but 
 Miss Tresham does not look to me like a dying 
 person. And, what is more, Mrs. Randolph 
 whose experience is, of course, greater than mine 
 says the same thing." 
 
 " Don't try to give me hope, Miss Vernon," 
 he said, with a faint smile. " Think how terri- 
 ble it will be to-morrow." 
 
 " But you need some hope. I see that you 
 have given up to despair." 
 
 " I was madly full of hope until I saw her. 
 After that, I should be blind not to perceive 
 that the doctor is right that there is no 
 hope." 
 
 He turned away, and, leaving her abruptly, 
 went to a window near at hand. The solemn 
 curtain of night met his gaze a deep, dark 
 shadow lay over all things, shadow hardly lighted 
 by the faint, tender radiance of the young moon, 
 or the steady glory of a myriad stars. It had 
 come, it was here, that fateful time of darkness 
 in which Life and Death would fight their last 
 battle ! 
 
 Presently Miss Lester accosted him. " Mr. 
 
 Annesley, you have had nothing to eat. Come 
 with me, and I will take you down-stairs and 
 ask Mrs. Crump to give you some hot coffee and 
 supper all to yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Maggie, I am not hungry," 
 he answered. But, when she pressed the matter, 
 he went down careless what he did, or what be- 
 came of him. He drank the coffee, and listened 
 to Mrs. Crump's account of all that had hap- 
 pened, as in a dream. After some time, he 
 found himself back up-stairs in his own room, 
 this time pacing to and fro, or sitting motion- 
 less before the fire, waiting, listening, strung to 
 the highest pitch of nervous anxiety for they had 
 promised to call him whenever " any change " 
 should come. 
 
 So the long hours passed, midnight came, and 
 it was at midnight that the doctor had said the 
 flickering taper would be most likely to go out. 
 In the sick-room all was quiet. The nurse nodded 
 on one side of the fire, and Miss Lester dozed on 
 the other : the doctor had gone into Mr. War- 
 wick's room to lie down, leaving strict directions 
 for the administering of the stimulants, and strict 
 orders that he was to be called at the least sign 
 of change. Mrs. Randolph was sleeping lightly in 
 a deep arm-chair, while Irene Vernon, at, the bed, 
 kept vigilant guard over the sick girl. Exactly 
 at midnight, she gave another dose of the stimu- 
 lant, then remembering what the doctor had said, 
 she laid her finger on the pulse. It crept beneath 
 her touch like a thin, feeble thread, but still she 
 started, and motioned Mr. Warwick, who waa 
 standing near, to bend down. 
 
 " Feel it," she said. " I may be deceived, 
 but it seems to me it is stronger and fuller than 
 when I felt it last." 
 
 She took away her finger, and he laid his 
 own in its place. Her eyes were on him, and 
 she saw that he too started. 
 
 " It is stronger and fuller," he said. " There 
 is a change of some sort. I must go and call 
 Randolph." 
 
 He left the room, and was passing down the 
 passage, when a door on the right opened, and 
 Anneeley appeared. 
 
 " Well," he said, quickly, " has it come ? " 
 
 " There is no change for the worse," answered 
 Mr. Warwick. " I am only going to wake Ran- 
 dolph. See for yourself, if you like," he added, 
 as Morton looked at him a little doubtfully. 
 
 In two minutes, the doctor stood in the room, 
 and felt the pulse his face watched by the others 
 with breathless anxiety. 
 
 " There is a little change," he said, guard
 
 180 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 edly; "but it may be only a fluctuation of the 
 disease a flicker of the taper. We shall soon 
 see. Press the stimulants, Miss Vernon shorten 
 the time between the doses. A few more hours 
 will end all suspense." 
 
 The hours crept on slowly, heavily, every 
 minute a battle-ground with Death, who sullenly 
 retreated step by step ; not vanquished, only kept 
 at bay. It was a night that nobody who was 
 present ever forgot, for it is seldom, indeed, that 
 the issue of this terrible conflict hangs on such a 
 trembHng balance, that one single error of judg- 
 ment, one single fault of skill, would throw the 
 advantage so irretrievably into the hands of an 
 adversary who never relents. For hours it was 
 impossible to tell whether Life or Death was win- 
 ning the victory the variations being so slight, 
 the fluctuations so many. Nobody dared press 
 the doctor with questions, yet everybody felt what 
 a neck-and-neck race he was running, as he sat 
 by the bed, and scarcely once took his finger from 
 that slender, feeble pulse, steadily pursuing the 
 same treatment which he had so hopelessly be- 
 gun, and stimulating by every possible means the 
 inking system. Not once during all those hours 
 did the set, anxious expression of his face relax, 
 or his lips utter a word of hope. He worked 
 with unflagging energy ; but whether or not he 
 found any signs of encouragement, no one could 
 tell. When the first light of the cold, gray dawn 
 began to steal into the room, the issue of the 
 battle was still doubtful the victory was still to 
 be won. 
 
 Annesley, who had been in and out of the 
 room a dozen times since he had met Mr. War- 
 wick at midnight, was walking up and down 
 the passage (on which a soft cloth, to deaden all 
 sound of foot-steps, had been laid), as this chill 
 dawn began to break. Full as he was of other 
 thoughts, he stood still to watch it. A less en- 
 livening occupation could hardly be imagined, 
 especially on a winter morning, when mind and 
 body are alike depressed by long watching at a 
 sick-bed. In summer there is something bright 
 and rejoicing in the birth of color, the songs of 
 birds, the dewy freshness of awaking Nature ; 
 but a winter-day dawn is one of the most dreary 
 things in existence. How stealthily the gray 
 light comes ! How ghost-like the white mist 
 looks creeping along the ground, or wreathing 
 into phantom-shapes among the bare, black 
 boughs of trees ! How barren and bereft of all 
 beauty the earth seems ! Annesley looked around 
 him drearily, then turned and began his prome- 
 nade again. Night itself was better than this, he 
 
 thought. Up and down he walked with the day 
 light growing clearer and clearer around him, 
 all unheeded, or, if noticed, only a discordance. 
 The east began to glow into royal beauty, fling- 
 ing out her crimson and golden banners, with 
 a gorgeous affluence that made the glories of 
 sunset pale into insignificance. At lasj, with one 
 magnificent bound, the sun uprose, and sent his 
 long lines of level gold flashing across the earth. 
 One of them darted into the passage where An- 
 nesley paced, and streamed on Katharine's door, 
 like the touch of a burning finger. At that very 
 moment, the door opened, and Irene Vernon came 
 out the sunshine encircled her like a halo of 
 luminous glory, as Annesley hurried forward to 
 meet her. 
 
 " You want me ? " he asked, breathlessly. 
 
 " Yes," she answered eagerly, with a smile 
 was it the smile or the sunshine that daz?Jed 
 him so ? " 1 want you. The dcctor has spoken 
 at last, and he says Oh, Mr. Annesley, thank 
 God that we may hope." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. 
 
 A FEW days later, Katharine was sufficiently 
 out of danger, and sufficiently in the way of re- 
 covery, for Mr. Warwick to think of returning to 
 Tallahoma. He could not see her, or enter into 
 any explanation with her before he went, for the 
 doctor absolutely forbade any exciting presence 
 or exciting topics ; but he made every possible 
 arrangement for her comfort, and finally took his 
 departure, with the assurance that she could not 
 be in better hands. She was still at the hotel, 
 for the doctor peremptorily negatived removal ; 
 but it was understood that Miss Lester would 
 claim her as soon as she was well enough to 
 move. There had been quite a contest between 
 this young lady and Mrs. Randolph on the sub- 
 'ject, but the former had carried the point in her 
 spirited, self-willed way. Mrs. Randolph was 
 forced to resign her claim, and it was settled (as 
 much as any thing could be settled without the 
 consent of the person most concerned) that Miss 
 Tresham was to be handed over to Miss Lester 
 as soon as Dr. Rfcpdolph would give his sanction 
 to such a step. Meanwhile, Miss Lester and Misa 
 Vernon at last took their departure from the 
 hotel, and, much to the relief of the down- 
 trodden Lcsters, pere and mire, accomplished 
 their return to Bellefont the name of the Les-
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. 
 
 181 
 
 ter plantation. From this place, however, they 
 made daily incursions on the Eagle Hotel, and 
 sent messengers with game and fruit, and a hun- 
 dred delightful things, at all hours of the day. 
 As for Annesley, he did not trouble himself to 
 go back to Lagrange, but quietly took up his 
 quarters with Godfrey Seymour who, like the 
 Lesters, lived near Hartsburg and he, too, left 
 his compliments and inquiries regularly with 
 Mrs. Crump ; for Mrs. Crump's patient. 
 
 To this patient the sight and sounds of life 
 came back very slowly, giving to life itself a 
 dream-like unreality. It was only by gradual 
 degrees that consciousness returned once more 
 that time and the things of time again asserted 
 a claim over the spirit that had stood on the very 
 threshold of eternity. All the weeks of pain, 
 and the days of terrible danger, were blotted 
 into nothingness ; so that when Katharine at 
 last opened her eyes to the things around her, 
 she found herself in a new, unintelligible world. 
 Her very arrival in Hartsburg was one of the 
 memories that had gone from her forever, so her 
 complete surprise at the strange faces and strange 
 surroundings about her may be imagined. 
 
 " Where am I ? how did I come here ? who 
 are you all ? '' she asked. But, receiving no sat- 
 isfactory reply, she felt too languid and indiffer- 
 ent to press the matter. Day after day she lay 
 in that profound rest which makes the luxury 
 of convalescence, too weak to think, too weak 
 to remember, too weak to conjecture, too weak 
 to do any thing save smile faintly in the doctor's 
 cheerful face, answer Mrs. Randolph's or Mrs. 
 Crump's kind inquiries, and for the remainder 
 of the time lie quite still, watching the sunshine 
 on. the window-sill, and Mom Elsie's black fingers 
 as they sent the bright knitting-needles swiftly 
 to and fro. As yet, she had seen no familiar 
 face, heard no familiar name not even the names 
 of Miss Lester and Miss Vernon, not even the 
 name of Mr. Warwick. 
 
 " I'll run no risks," said the doctor to the 
 latter. "Take yourself off to Tallahoma the 
 eooner the better. Leave her in ray hands, and 
 when you come back we will think about let- 
 ting you see her then. That handsome scamp, 
 young Annesley, had the impudence to come to 
 me with a request of the same sort to-day," he 
 added, smiling. " I assure you, I cut him short. 
 He wanted a message delivered. I told him I 
 ehould like to catch myself playing Mercury, or 
 Apollo, or Cupid, or whoever is supposed to be 
 the messenger of love-stricken youths, to a pa- 
 tient just out of a brain-fever." 
 
 "I need not trouble jou with any thing of 
 the kind, then, I suppose ? " 
 
 " You may trouble me with it as much as you 
 please ; but, whether or not I'll trouble Misa 
 Tresham well, candidly, that is quite another 
 matter." 
 
 Denied all access to Katharine in this decided 
 manner, Mr. Warwick had no alternative but to 
 take his departure, and leave her, as requested, 
 in the doctor's hands. He did so unwillingly^ 
 but time, business engagements, and, above all, 
 the remembrance of Mrs. Gordon's anxiety, 
 pressed him hard. Excepting on a matter of 
 life and death, he absolutely could not remain 
 away from Tallahoma any longer. Feeling this, 
 he made up his mind to go, and, having made 
 up his mind, he was not long in carrying resolve 
 into execution. On Wednesday morning, the 
 twenty-first of January, he drove away from the 
 Eagle Hotel, and, leaving Miss Tresham to be 
 slowly won back to health by comfort and care, 
 turned his face homeward. 
 
 Wednesday night he spent in Saxford. Thurs- 
 day afternoon he was driving along the familiar 
 roads of Lagrange, and fast nearing Tallaboma, 
 when he met a squarely-built, middle-aged man, 
 dressed in a suit of brown homespun, riding a 
 horse (also squarely built) of deep-bay color, with 
 whom he stopped to speak. 
 
 " Well, Shields, how are you ? " said he. 
 
 " Pretty tol'able, I thank you, Mr. Worruck. 
 How do you do yourself, sir ? " answered Mr. 
 Shields, with a sort of stolid surprise at the 
 sudden encounter. " I'm glad to see you back. 
 How did you leave the little boy ? " 
 
 " Quite well, and in a fair way to be content- 
 ed, I think. Has not Mrs. Gordon received my 
 letter ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir. I haven't seen her for 
 nigh about a week. I was at the house Tues- 
 day ; but she was onwell, they said, and, as I'd 
 no partic'lar business, I didn't disturb her." 
 
 " Any news in Tallahoma ? " asked Mr. War- 
 wick, as he saw that the man held his ground 
 and did not pass on as he had expected him to 
 do. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Shields, speaking slowly, 
 but with evident unction "well, yes. There's 
 news in Tallahoma that I'm sorry to tell you, 
 Mr. Worruck. The bank was broke into last 
 night, and robbed of a hundred thousand dollars, 
 they say." 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " It's a fact, sir. The excitement about it in 
 town is tremenjous. You might a 1 knocked me
 
 182 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 down with a feather when I heard the news my- 
 self; and, as for Mr. Marks, he was as white as a 
 sheet when I saw him this morning. They say 
 the first thing he knowed of it was when he went 
 down to the bank as usual, and found the locks 
 all broke, and Hugh Ellis" 
 
 " When did it happen ? " demanded Mr. War- 
 wick. 
 
 " Last night." 
 
 " Is there any suspicion as to who the thief, 
 or thieves, were ? " 
 
 "There's a suspicion of its bein' a man that 
 went to the bank yisterday ; but nobody knows 
 who he is, nor where he is neither, for he's not 
 about town to-day." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Warwick, "this is bad 
 news, and I must hurry on to town. I will stop 
 and see Mrs. Gordon, however. Good-evening, 
 Shields." 
 
 He nodded, and Cyrus drove on, leaving Mr. 
 Shields somewhat crestfallen in the middle of the 
 road. He looked regretfully after the vanishing 
 carriage, and then pursued his way in rather a 
 subdued frame of mind. He did not exactly 
 think to himself that it was hard to be cut short 
 in this summary fashion, when he would have 
 liked to talk over all the particulars of the mat- 
 ter, as he had talked them over twenty times 
 before that day ; but, none the less, it was hard. 
 Mr. Warwick, as he drove on, did not think of 
 what a real and sensible pleasure he had deprived 
 the poor man. 
 
 His road led him directly past the gates of 
 Morton House. When he reached those gates, 
 he turned in. Ten minutes later, he was shown 
 by Harrison into Mrs. Gordon's room. She was 
 sitting before the fire, leaning back in a deep 
 arm-chair with a listless languor that struck Mr. 
 Warwick at once. She did not even turn her 
 head when the door opened, and her abstraction 
 was so deep that he reached her side without at- 
 tracting her attention. 
 
 " You see I have got back, Mrs. Gordon," he 
 eai.1, quietly. But, quietly as he spoke, he could 
 not avoid startling her. She bounded in her 
 chair at the first tone of his voice ; then turned 
 quickly, and tried to rise did rise half-way, 
 but, through weakness or agitation, sank back 
 again. 
 
 " You ! " she said, faintly. " I how you 
 itartled me ! " 
 
 " I see I did," he said, with some contrition. 
 " I ought to have known better. I thought you 
 would have heard me come in." 
 
 " No ; I did not." 
 
 " I am back, you see." 
 
 " Yes, I see." She rose now, and held oui 
 her hand. " I am very glad to see you. And 
 Felix ? " 
 
 " I left Felix very well, and almost contented ; 
 no doubt, he is quite contented by this time." 
 
 Instantly her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Contented ! " she repeated. " Away from 
 me ! Ah, that is hard harder than you think i 
 Yet I am glad to hear it. Sit down, pray, and 
 tell me all every thing about him. I am hun- 
 gry, heart-hungry, to hear." 
 
 Pressed for time, and burning with impa- 
 tience, as he was, he sat down and told the story 
 of his journey, with all those details that every 
 woman loves to hear, and few very few men 
 know how to give. She listened to him eagerly 
 drank in every word, indeed while he de- 
 scribed the kind people (old friends of his own) 
 with whom he had placed Felix, the child's first 
 despair, and subsequent partial content. After 
 every thing, even to the last parting, had been 
 told, he rose. 
 
 " I would not leave you so soon," he said, in 
 answer to her glance of pained surprise ; " but I 
 heard some news, a few minutes ago, which star- 
 tled me very much, and I feel that I ought to 
 hasten into town. Besides, even for your sake, 
 I had better go. I may find a letter from Mr. 
 Lloyd. You know it was arranged that he should 
 write to me instead of to yourself." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 As she stood up to give him her hand at 
 parting, the light shone full on her face from a 
 window just opposite, and he saw that it was even 
 more pale and hollow than when he went away. 
 
 " You look badly," he said. " Have you been 
 ill, or only fretting ? " 
 
 " I have had nothing to do since you left but 
 nurse my fancies," she answered, with a sad 
 smile, "until I am half sick with nervous terror 
 about Felix. I have wished a thousand times 
 that I had not sent him from me, or that I had 
 gone with him." 
 
 " It is not too late yet," said he, kindly. 
 " Shall I take you to him ? Only say the word, 
 and I will do so." 
 
 " No," answered she ; " don't tempt me. I 
 might go if it were not that it would look so 
 cowardly, so muth as if I had reason to bo 
 afraid and I have none. Let him come ! IIo 
 can do me no harm now that Felix is gone." 
 
 " He could annoy you more than you think." 
 
 " Let him try ! " Something like the fire 
 and glow of combat swept into the face that, an
 
 MRS. GORDON'S SUSPICION. 
 
 183 
 
 Instant before, had been so pale and listless. 
 'At all events, he shall find me here, if he 
 chooses to come. Don't talk of this, however. 
 Talk of yourself, instead. Let me thank you for 
 having been so kind to me and so considerate, 
 which even the kindest people often fail to be. 
 But I must not detain you. I see how impa- 
 tient you are to be gone, and I do not wonder 
 I have heard of that dreadful robbery. I am so 
 very sorry for Mr. Marks ! You will come to see 
 me again soon will you not ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? I would not go now but 
 for the news of that robbery of which you speak. 
 I must see poor Marks at once, and try to stir 
 him up to some energetic measures for discover- 
 ing the perpetrators of such an outrage. I can 
 imagine how stunned and hopeless he is. Good- 
 evening. If there is a letter from Lloyd, I will 
 send it to you at once." 
 
 He shook hands with her, and was starting to 
 leave the room, when she called him back. Like 
 most women, she had still a " last word," and he 
 was doomed to hear it. He could not help feel- 
 ing a little impatient, as the best-natured people 
 will feel at such detentions when they are burn- 
 ing to get away yet if he had only known 
 the importance of that word, he would hardly 
 hare grudged the time necessary to hearing 
 it. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," she said, when he turned 
 back, " I am half ashamed to speak and yet I 
 think I ought to. It is better to give a useless 
 hint, than to withhold one that may be of even 
 the least service. Don't think me full of nervous 
 fancies, when I ask if you have thought of St. 
 John in connection with this robbery ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick started, and his face changed 
 so much that she noticed and was surprised at 
 it. 
 
 " No. How could I ? " he replied. 
 
 " Well I have. I don't mean to accuse 
 him, I simply mean to say that I thought of him 
 as soon as I heard of it. Was this an instinct, 
 or merely a fancy ? I don't pretend to know ; 
 but I think it right to direct your attention to 
 him as a measure of precaution." 
 
 " What ! is he so worthless a scoundrel that 
 you should think he would commit an open rob- 
 bery like this ? " 
 
 " He has lived by cheating and robbing one 
 way or another all his life. Why not this way 
 as well as any other ? If the chance of success 
 was good, and the chance of detection not great, 
 I don't believe he would have hesitated a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " You say this deliberately ? Stop, Mrs. Gor- 
 don think. It is a terrible thing to make such 
 a charge. Do you say it deliberately, weighing 
 it well ? " 
 
 " I say it deliberately, weighing it well. 
 Whether or not he is guilty of this crime, I 
 believe him capable of it." 
 
 " But alone unaided ! " 
 
 " How do you know that he is alone, unaid- 
 ed? God forgive me if I am judging him un- 
 justly, but a man like him soon makes friends, 
 and accomplices." 
 
 Mr*. Warwick did not answer. To her sui- 
 prise, he turned away and looked in the fire. 
 The peculiarity of his manner, the expression of 
 his face, struck her. Involuntarily, she wondered 
 what was the meaning of it what there was in 
 this supposition to affect him so evidently and so 
 strongly ? Before she could ask any questions, 
 however, he turned round again a question on 
 his own lip, and by no means one that she had 
 anticipated. 
 
 " Have you spoken of this before, Mrs. Gor- 
 don ? " he asked. " Have you mentioned thia 
 suspicion to any one else ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, wonderingly. " Even 
 if I had felt disposed to do so, I have seen no 
 one to whom I could have mentioned it. I heard 
 of the robbery from the servant^. I see nobody 
 else." 
 
 " Will you do me a favor a great personal 
 favor ? " 
 
 " Certainly," she said, wondering still more. 
 " Can you ask me such a thing you who have 
 just sacrificed time, business, every thing to 
 serve me ? Tell me what the favor is, and be 
 assured that it is granted beforehand." 
 
 " Then do not mention this suspicion to any 
 one else. I have a particular reason for asking 
 this," he added, as he saw the astonishment 
 legible on her face. " For one thing, if it should 
 be correct, it might reach Mr. St. John's ears, 
 and put him on his guard. Promise me " he 
 spoke earnestly " that you will not mention the 
 matter again." 
 
 " Since you ask it as a personal favor, of 
 course I will not. Otherwise but I shall try 
 not to be curious. You must have some very 
 good reason for this, Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " I have," 
 
 " Reason that I am not to hear ? " 
 
 " Not just now, at all events. I have not 
 time, even if I had inclination (and, frankly, I 
 have not inclination at present), to tell you. 
 May I rely on your promise ? "
 
 184 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 * I hope you may we Mortons are proud 
 of always keeping our word." 
 
 " I do rely on it, then. Now, good-by. If I 
 do not leave at once, it will be sunset before I 
 reach Tallahoma." 
 
 " One woid ! I see you think I will never let 
 you go ; but it is only one word more. Have you 
 seen any thing of Morton Annesley ? His mother 
 is very anxious about him." 
 
 " Why should she be anxious ? Surely he is 
 old enough to take care of himself." 
 
 " He has gone she does not know where, but 
 she strongly suspects that it is in search of- J -your 
 Bister's governess, who left here very abruptly, 
 several weeks ago." 
 
 " Tell me something about that," said he, 
 forgetting even the bank for a moment. "Do 
 you know why she went ? " 
 
 " I do not know, but I have suspected that 
 she was sent by St. John in search of Felix. I 
 found after you left that he came here to see 
 her, and only discovered me accidentally. There 
 is some tie of close connection between them, 
 evidently. I I absolutely went to ask her to 
 stay here as you advised, and I found him with 
 her. God only knows how grateful I was for 
 having done so. If I had brought her back 
 with me, I might have been weak enough to tell 
 her all that he wishes to know." 
 
 Mr. Warwick said not a word. Once again, 
 that incomprehensible expression came over his 
 face which Mrs. Gordon had noticed before. He 
 looked at his boots meditatively, and, after a 
 while, she went on : 
 
 " If Felix had not been under your care, I 
 scarcely know how I could have borne the cruel 
 suspense, the cruel doubts and fears Miss Tresh- 
 am's absence has caused me. I am sure she 
 went for this purpose this alone and now that 
 I see you before me, my heart begins to fail once 
 more. Ah, tell me, is he quite safe ? is there 
 no possibility of her reaching him ? " 
 
 "You may set your mind at rest on that 
 point," he answered, quietly. " There is not 
 the least danger of his being found by any 
 agent or messenger of Mr. St. John. But I am 
 forgetting myself. I must go. Once more, good- 
 by." 
 
 He shook hands again hastily, and left the 
 room before she had time for another word. A 
 minute or two later, he was driving at a rapid 
 pace down the avenue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 
 
 DCSK was setting in when Mr. Warwick en 
 tered Tallahoma, and, as the Marks house was 
 the first on that side of the village, Cyrus had 
 already drawn up to the gate, and his master was 
 about to descend from the carriage, when the 
 latch was lifted and a servant came out. 
 
 " Mass John I " he exclaimed, as, notwith- 
 standing the dim light, he recognized Mr. War- 
 wick. 
 
 " How are you, Tom ? Has your master 
 come home yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; master ain't been home since mor- 
 nin', and mistiss is just now sent me to tell him 
 to come home to supper. The bank was robbed 
 last night, Mass John, and " 
 
 " Yes, I know. Drive on, Cyrus to the 
 bank. Tell your mistress, Tom, that I have 
 come, and that I have gone on to meet your 
 master." 
 
 Mr. Warwick was so occupied with his own 
 thoughts that he did not notice any thing, did 
 not even look out of the window, as he drove 
 through the village, or he would have seen his 
 brother-in-law, who was plodding homeward, with 
 step most unlike his usual brisk business-walk, 
 his head declined, and his eyes fixed vacantly 
 on the pavement. Thus abstracted, the carriage 
 passed him unperceived, and in a few minutes 
 stopped at the bank. 
 
 " You need not wait," said Mr. Warwick, 
 alighting hastily. He opened the gate, and had 
 proceeded half-way up the walk, when, recollect- 
 ing his promise to Mrs. Gordon about the letter, 
 he went back and called to Cyrus, who was driv- 
 ing off. " Make haste home with the horses," he 
 said, " and, as soon as you have given them to 
 Jacob, go to the post-office, get my letters, and 
 bring them here as quickly as possible." 
 
 The front-door of the bank was standing wide 
 open, and, as he was entering the passage, he 
 heard the sound of a key turning in its lock. 
 The next instant, the clerk of the bank, who 
 had just been locking the door of the cashier's 
 room, preparatory to going out, came toward 
 him. It was too dark to see the young man's 
 face ; but, recognising his figure and movements, 
 the lawyer spoke. 
 
 " Well, Hugh, I understand you have had a 
 terrible piece of work here," he said, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 Poor Hugh Ellis had borne up manfully until
 
 MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 
 
 185 
 
 this moment ; but his courage and power of self- 
 control broke down now. Seizing the hand which 
 Mr. Warwick offered, he wrung it hard, made a 
 desperate effort to swallow a huge lump that had 
 been stationary in his throat all day, giving him 
 the constant sensation of choking, failed in his 
 effort, and suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Warwick, kindly ; 
 " this won't do ! There's no good in crying 
 over a thing, you know. What we must think 
 of is to ferret out the thieves and get the money 
 back." 
 
 " Oh ! if y-ou could do that, Mr. War- 
 wick ! " cried Hugh, sobbingly. 
 
 " It must be done. So come back into the 
 bank with me, and let me hear all about the busi- 
 ness. Where's Marks ? " 
 
 " Just gone home to supper ; but he said he 
 would be back in half an hour," answered Hugh, 
 with animation ; for his heart was already light- 
 ened, and his spirits raised, by the confident man- 
 ner of the lawyer. 
 
 Leading the way back to the cashier's. room, 
 he unlocked the door, groped his way to the 
 fireplace the windows being all shut close, the 
 room was in pitch darkness felt about on the 
 mantel-piece until he found a box of matches, 
 and struck a light. As he turned, with it in 
 his hand, toward Mr. Warwick, who was advan- 
 cing, the latter started in astonishment, exclaim- 
 ing : 
 
 " Good Heavens ! what is the matter with 
 you ? " 
 
 He might well ask the question, since tlie face 
 before him was so bruised and disfigured that he 
 could scarcely believe it to be that of Hugh Ellis. 
 The lower part of one cheek was swollen out of 
 all shape, and very much discolored, while the 
 eye on the other side of the face was half closed, 
 and surrounded with pieces of sticking-plaster, 
 crossed diagonally by narrow strips of black 
 court-plaster to hold them in place the counte- 
 nance altogether presenting an appearance at 
 once ludicrous and pitiable. 
 
 " Did you have a fight with the burglars ? " he 
 demanded, his mind leaping to this conclusion be- 
 fore the young man had time to speak. 
 
 " Not much of a fight," answered Hugh, in a 
 tone of mortification. " They were two to one, 
 and too much for me, though " 
 
 " But you saw them ? " interrupted the other, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I saw them." 
 
 " This is better than I had hoped. Sit down, 
 Hugh, and tell me all about it. Don't waste 
 
 time, for minutes may be valuable here ; but 
 don't slur over particulars, as it is generally by 
 some trifle that a discovery is made in cases of 
 this sort. Go on." 
 
 He took a chair as he spoke, and Hugh, put- 
 ting the candle down upon the counter, followed 
 his example, and proceeded to comply with hia 
 request. 
 
 " I went to bed about eleven o'clock, as usual, 
 Mr. Warwick, and soon went to sleep. How long 
 I was asleep, I don't know but I'm sure it 
 couldn't have been long when I was waked, aa 
 I thought, by a sudden, sharp noise. I jumped 
 up and listened ; but every thing was perfectly 
 still so still that I began to think I must have 
 been mistaken about there having been any 
 noise, though I couldn't imagine what else would 
 have waked me so suddenly. Since the money 
 was brought up from Hartsburg, I have been 
 very wakeful easily disturbed, and constantly 
 starting in my sleep. Nearly every night I have 
 got up two or three times, and struck a light to 
 see that all was right. It was only yesterday that 
 I mentioned to Mr. Marks that I hadn't had a 
 good night's sleep since it came ; and he laughed, 
 and said he was glad I took such care of it, but 
 that it wouldn't be here to trouble me much 
 longer, for he should send off part of it to-day, 
 and expected to get rid of the rest all that 
 don't belong here the first of next week. Well, 
 I sat up in bed, listening with all my ears, for 
 some time but not a sound could I hear ; and 
 then I got up and struck a light, and went round 
 to all the doors and windows, examining them 
 closely. Every thing was right, and I put out the 
 candle and went back to bed. But I could not 
 go to sleep again. Not that I felt uneasy. So far 
 from that, I was disposed to laugh at myself for 
 being startled at nothing. But I was so wide 
 awake, that I felt as if I should not be able to 
 close my eyes for the rest of the night. I lay 
 thinking of all sorts of things for a long time, 
 when suddenly just as quick as thought, Mr. 
 Warwick, and without knowing why I jumped 
 up in bed, all over in a cold perspiration ! I 
 had not been asleep I'd swear to that ! for I 
 was thinking at that very minute about Miss 
 Katharine who, I suppose, you don't know " 
 
 " Yes, I know, she has left Tallahoma. Go 
 on. You were thinking of her, and so you are 
 sure you were awake ? '' 
 
 " Yes, sir. As wide awake as I am this min- 
 ute. And there hadn't been the slightest noise- 
 and I couldn't tell, to save my life, what was 
 the matter with me. I just jumped up as if I had
 
 186 
 
 MORTOX HOUSE. 
 
 been set on springs and found myself in a cold 
 sweat, and trembling like an aspen-leaf. It took 
 me so by surprise that it must have been several 
 seconds before I came to myself sufficiently to 
 know what I was about. Then I felt sure just 
 as sure as I am now that something was wrong. 
 I put my hand under the pillow and drew out my 
 revolver, and, without waiting this time to light 
 the candle, I sprang out of bed, groped my way 
 to the door, which I always leave open at night, 
 and came into this room. I stood still to listen 
 for an instant, but all was silent ; I was just 
 turning to go back into my own room to strike 
 a light again, when I heard a noise in the pas- 
 sage outside there." He pointed to the door 
 which gave egress from the cashier's room to the 
 passage. " It was a slight, but suspicious kind 
 of noise. Guided by the sound, I went close to 
 it to the door, I mean and then I heard voices 
 whispering. The door is so thick, and they spoke 
 in such a low tone, that I could not make out a 
 single word they said ; but I could hear that it 
 was two men talking and that they were pick- 
 ing the lock. Oh, Mr. Warwick, if I had only 
 had the presence of mind to keep perfectly quiet, 
 so as to let them think I was asleep, and come 
 in, I might have slipped out while they were 
 busy picking the lock of the vault door, and 
 obtained assistance to come and take them be- 
 fore they got the money. Mr. Marks always 
 takes the vault key, and the keys of the safes, 
 home with him at night and the opening of 
 them must have been a tough job. If only I had 
 had the presence of mind ! But all I thought of 
 at the minute was to scare them off or kill them 
 I didn't care which. Like a fool as I was, I 
 didn't even wait to light the candle, but called 
 out just where I stood, ' I hear you, you thieves ! 
 I've got a revolver, and if you want me to send 
 you to the devil, just come on ! ' They took me 
 at my word quicker than I expected. I had 
 started once more to go after the light but be- 
 fore I was half-way across the room, the door 
 was burst open, and when I turned I just caught 
 one glimpse of two men as they rushed in, by 
 the light of a lantern one of them carried. It 
 was a dark lantern, and he shut it as soon as he 
 saw that I had no light I heard the door pushed 
 shut, and one of them said, ' You stand against 
 it, while I do for this bragging rascal.' I don't 
 remember ever being afraid of anybody before in 
 my life, Mr. Warwick ; but it was an awful feel- 
 ing that I had then expecting every minute to 
 be seized in the dark s and not knowing how I 
 could defend myself, and, above all, how I could 
 
 save tie money! I knew if they killed ma 
 they d have every thing their own way. Well, 
 the thought flashed through my mind that if I 
 could get into my own room and fasten the door 
 it locks on the inside I might manage to 
 escape out of the window, before they could 
 break open the door, and, once out in the moon- 
 light, I could give the alarm, or at least fig' 
 them if they followed me. I was barefooted, ai 
 had the advantage of them in that as I ma< * 
 no noise in moving. But it was pitch dark, anr 
 I somehow got turned round in my head as to 
 the direction of my room-door. Instead of going 
 toward it as I intended, I went the opposite way, 
 and suddenly came thump against the counter. 
 The villain that was after me heard it, and I 
 heard him coming toward me. I ought to have 
 kept out of his way ; but, instead of that, I 
 fired at random in the direction of the noise he 
 made in approaching, which was the very worst 
 thing I could have done for of course he was 
 not hit, and the flash of the pistol as it went off 
 showed him exactly where I stood. All was so 
 confuted after this, I can scarcely recall any thing 
 about it. I fired twice, and the last thing that I 
 can remember is that just as I was pulling the 
 trigger for the third time, both the scoundrels 
 jumped on me. I fought like mad, but I think 
 it couldn't have been long before they over 
 powered me. I felt a sudden blow here" he 
 put his hand to the side of his forehead, which 
 was ornamented with the yellow-and-black patch- 
 es. " It seemed to me that a blaze of sparks 
 flashed out of my eyes, and made a solid sheet 
 of white flame before them that shut out every 
 thing. The blow must have knocked me down 
 and stunned me for my mind don't go beyond 
 seeing this white blaze for an instant, like a flash 
 of lightning exactly. The next recollection I 
 have is of coming to my senses gradually, and 
 finding myself in pitch darkness and dead silence, 
 tied neck and heels, aching all over from head 
 to foot, and with a gag in my mouth. I tried at 
 first to get up, but I couldn't budge an inch, I 
 was tied so hard ; and every movement I made 
 seemed as if it would kill me with pain. As to 
 my head, I really thought it would burst, it ached 
 BO ! I think I was hardly in my right senses for 
 some time for, in spite of myself, I kept strug- 
 gling to get loofe, until I was almost strangled, 
 besides suffering perfect agonies from the strain- 
 ing of my wrists and ankles, which had all the 
 skin rubbed off of them." He held up his hands, 
 exhibiting a pair of bandaged wrists, as he went 
 on : " At last I lay quiet from exhaustion and I
 
 MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 
 
 187 
 
 Bouldn't begin to give you an idea of how much 
 I suffered, and how long the time seemed, until 
 Mr. Murks came in the morning. I thought morn- 
 ing never would come ! I hope I may never, as 
 long as I live, have such a time of it again ! I 
 knew the bank was robbed and that it was my 
 fault because if I had only " 
 
 " You are wrong," said Mr. Warwick, as the 
 young man's voice faltered, and the tears again 
 came into his eyes. " It was not your fault you 
 did your best and that is all that can be re- 
 quired of any man, and you were willing to risk 
 your life and that is what every man would 
 not do under similar circumstances. So, don't 
 blame yourself unjustly. I am sure Marks doesn't 
 blame you." 
 
 " No. He" 
 
 " You say you saw the men ? " interrupted 
 Mr. Warwick, who was exceedingly impatient to 
 come back to this point of Hugh's narrative, and 
 had only constrained himself to listen to the 
 rather verbose relation of the young man, in the 
 hope of hearing something more about those per- 
 sonages. " Have you any suspicion of who they 
 were ? " 
 
 "I have a suspicion that I have seen one 
 of them before, sir though I couldn't be certain, 
 as it was only just a single glimpse that I caught 
 of them, before the lantern was shut." 
 
 " Who was it ? " said Mr. Warwick, abruptly. 
 
 " I don't know his name, sir he is a stranger 
 hereabouts ; that is, if I'm not mistaken about 
 the person I'm thinking of. When I turned 
 round, as the door was burst open, I saw the two 
 men distinctly for an instant that is, distinctly 
 enough to take in a general idea of their appear- 
 ance, and to see that they were black. But I 
 felt sure then, and I'm still more sure, in think- 
 ing it over, that they were not negroes, but white 
 men with their faces blacked." 
 
 " It is more likely," commenced Mr. Warwick, 
 " that they wore " crape masks, he was going to 
 eay but stopped himself in time. " You are 
 right, Hugh ; they were certainly white men. 
 This is not the sort of thing that negroes would 
 undertake. And you think you recognized one 
 of them ? " 
 
 " I think so, sir. The one that was in front 
 when I saw them was quite a tall man as tall 
 as you are yourself, or taller, and stout in 
 proportion ; the other, who had the lantern, 
 was shorter and thick-set. Just about such a 
 looking man as Mr. Shields." ("Not St. John 
 either of them ! " thought Mr. Warwick, paren- 
 thetically.) " It was the first one that I thought 
 
 I recognized. I never saw him but once, and 
 that was the day before the robbery " 
 
 " Yesterday, then." 
 
 " Yes, it was yesterday, though it seems to 
 me a good deal longer ago. Well, this man 
 came into the bank, while Mr. Marks was gone 
 to dinner, with a very ragged five-dollar bill that 
 he wanted a new note for." 
 
 " And did he get it ? did you take the 
 bill ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I couldn't. It was no bill of ours, 
 but one of the ' Commercial Bank of A.'s ' notes. 
 I thought it was strange that the man should be 
 so stupid as not to know that a bank has noth- 
 ing to do, in this way, with any but its own is- 
 sues ; but I explained the matter to him ; and 
 he seemed very hard to understand. I felt a lit- 
 tle out of patience at having to go over and over 
 my explanation ; and all the while I was talking, 
 he stood staring round the room, and at me, in a 
 very curious way. I noticed that he stayed a 
 great deal longer than there was any necessity 
 for ; and seemed inclined to stay still longer, if I 
 had not told him that, if that wns all he wanted, I 
 was sorry I could not accommodate him, and 
 that he must excuse my going back to my writ- 
 ing, as I was busy. He went away then." 
 
 " And you think this was one of the bur- 
 glars ? " 
 
 " I think so, sir ; but I wouldn't take oath to 
 it. There was something about the tallest of the 
 two scoundrels that at once brought this stranger 
 to my mind ; but it might have been merely his 
 height." 
 
 " The voice did you notice that ? " 
 
 "No, sir. I was in too much of a flurry to 
 think of noticing that. And I only heard him 
 speak once." 
 
 " Was his dress the same as that of the stran- 
 ger ? " 
 
 Hugh shook his head. " Both of the bur- 
 glars had on blanket overcoats. The stranger 
 who came about the money was dressed in 
 black." 
 
 " He was not a gentleman, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Well, I can hardly say," answered Hugh, 
 hesitatingly. " His dress was rather shabby ; 
 but still, so far as that was concerned, he might 
 have passed for a gentleman. But there wag 
 something in his face, a hang-dog sort of look, 
 that but, on the whole, I suppose, yes " rather 
 doubtfully " I suppose he was a gentleman. 
 And I can't believe that he did not know better 
 than he pretended about the bill. I think he 
 made that an excuse to get in and take a look at
 
 188 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 the bank, and find out all he could. I saw him 
 looking very hard at the door of the vault there. 
 And he shut the room-door when he went out, 
 though he found it standing open. And then, he 
 didn't walk out at once, but stopped so long in 
 the passage that I went and opened the door to 
 see what on earth he was about. He walked 
 away when he heard me coming, I suppose, for 
 he was just going out of the front door when I 
 stepped into the passage." 
 
 " All this docs look very suspicious," said Mr. 
 Warwick. " Did it occur to you, at the time, that 
 he might have evil intentions ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Such an idea never entered my 
 head. All I thought was that he must be some 
 idler who had nothing to do himself, and was 
 loafing about, disturbing other people at their 
 work. He had a dissipated appearance ; indeed, 
 he looked to me more like a gambler than any 
 thing else." 
 
 "And have you made any inquiries about 
 him, as to who and what he is, and whether he 
 is in town yet ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir we've tried to find out some- 
 thing about him, but nobody seems to know any 
 thing at all. As soon as I told Mr. Marks this 
 morning what I've just been telling you, he tried 
 his best to trace up the fellow ; and so did a good 
 many other people. The whole town's been in a 
 great excitement, as you may suppose, Mr. War- 
 wick." 
 
 " Did you, or anybody, go to the hotel and in- 
 quire if the man had been there ? " 
 
 " Mr. Hilliard was here himself, and Mr. Marks 
 asked him, the first thing, whether a man like the 
 one I described had been at his hotel. He said 
 not ; and nobody seems to have seen him except 
 little Jimmy Powell, who thinks it must have 
 been a man that came into his father's store 
 yesterday, about dinner-time, and bought a pen- 
 knife from him." 
 
 " And what has Marks " 
 
 Mr. Warwick paused, as he heard the sound 
 of approaching foot-steps. The next moment, 
 Cyrus entered with some letters which he gave 
 to his master, who, after glancing at the address 
 of each, put all but one of them into his pocket. 
 That one he opened at once, and read it with 
 evident satisfaction. " Give me a sheet of paper, 
 and pen and ink, Hugh, if you please," he said, 
 as he refolded it. Carefully sealing it up and 
 addressing it, he handed it to Cyrus, saying, 
 " Take a horse and go with this at once to Mor- 
 ton House. Ask to see Mrs. Gordon yourself, 
 and give it into her own hand. Now, don't lose 
 
 it for your life, Cyrus! It is of the greatest 
 importance." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Have you had your supper? " said Mr. War- 
 wick, calling him back as he was leaving the 
 room. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then go home and get it before you carry 
 that letter; but don't be all night over it, for I 
 want the letter delivered as soon as possible. 
 And remember what I told you this afternoon 
 about gossipping." 
 
 " Yes, sir I ain't forgot." 
 
 " Talking of supper, I expect I have been 
 keeping you from yours, Hugh ? " said Mr. War- 
 wick, as Cyrus finally disappeared. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not in a hurry I'm not at all hun- 
 gry," answered the young man. 
 
 " You ought to be, then," said Mr. Marks, 
 entering the door in time to hear the last sen- 
 tence, " for you had no dinner any more than 
 myself. Well, Warwick," he continued, as he 
 shook hands with his brother-in-law, who rose to 
 meet him, " you come back to find me a ruined 
 man." 
 
 " Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mr. War- 
 wick, gazing hard at the face before him, which, 
 by the dim light of the single candle, looked 
 pale and haggard, as he had never seen it be- 
 fore. " It is an ugly business, I must admit," he 
 went on ; " but giving up is not the way to mend 
 it. We must go to work and find the thieves 
 and the money." 
 
 " That's easier said than done," replied Mr. 
 Marks, sitting down with an air of hopeless de- 
 jection. " We've been all day trying to do some- 
 thing toward it, and have not succeeded in gain- 
 ing the least trace to begin with. And the in- 
 fernal scoundrels have got a clear start on us of 
 sixteen or eighteen hours, at least." 
 
 " Why, surely you have sent out advertise- 
 ments of the robbery to all the papers in the 
 State, and notified the bank to stop payment of 
 the notes stolen ? " said Mr. Warwick. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I sent off special messengers not 
 an hour after I found out the robbery. But the 
 thieves are not likely to let the grass grow under 
 their feet. Of course, they'll get out of the State 
 as fast as they can. Hugh, why don't you go to 
 supper ? " , 
 
 " I'd rather stay and hear what Mr. Warwick 
 thinks ought to be done," answered Hugh. 
 
 " I'm afraid nothing can be done to-night," 
 said Mr. Warwick. " But, when you come bnck, 
 you shall hear if we have decided on any thing."
 
 MR. WARWICK'S INVESTIGATION. 
 
 189 
 
 Fpon this hint, Hugh, who took his meals at 
 a boarding-house not far off, finally went to his 
 Jong-deferred supper; and Mr. Warwick inquired 
 what was the amount of money stolen. " A hun- 
 dred thousand dollars, Shields told me, but I 
 suppose that is an exaggeration ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes ; the amount did not reach that figure. 
 There was twenty-four thousand and eighty dol- 
 lars in specie, a package of fifty thousand in 
 notes still in the sheet, and thirteen hundred and 
 twenty-seven dollars in bills that have been in 
 circulation," answered Mr. Marks, with his usual 
 preciseness, but by no means his usual brisk, 
 hearty tone. 
 
 " And you sent off at once to the bank, and 
 all its branches, giving the numbers of the 
 notes?" 
 
 "I did every thing that could be done in 
 that way. I sent messengers right off express 
 to our bank and branches ; and I wrote by mail 
 to all the other banks in the State, and in the 
 neighboring States, giving a list of the numbers 
 of the notes, even down to the one-dollar bills. 
 Powell, and Gibbs, and Williamson, and Horton, 
 were here all the morning, assisting Hugh and 
 myself with the writing copying the lists and 
 the advertisements and Burgess kept the mail 
 open to the minute the stage was starting, to 
 put the letters in. I have offered, on my 
 own responsibility, a reward of five thousand 
 dollars for the recovery of the whole of the 
 money ; or a thousand for the detection of the 
 thieves, and recovery of any considerable part 
 of it." 
 
 " So far, very well," said Mr. Warwick. 
 " And how about trying to detect the thieves 
 yourself? Did you examine closely the scene 
 of their operations? and could nothing be 
 found to afford a clew ? " 
 
 " The whole town, pretty near, were examin- 
 ing-" 
 
 " You ought not to have permitted that. The 
 thief or thieves themselves might have been 
 among the number, for aught you know, to see 
 if they had left any thing behind them, and to 
 secure it if they had." 
 
 " No danger of that," answered Mr. Marks. 
 " Hugh saw the thieves, and he says one of them 
 was very tall over six feet, he is sure and the 
 other was short and heavy built. There was 
 nobody here that would answer to either descrip- 
 tion, and nobody that we didn't know. Just our 
 own townsfolk. I wouldn't have let strangers 
 come about, of course." 
 
 " And how do you know but that the robbery 
 13 
 
 may have been committed by some of our own 
 townsfolk ? " 
 
 Mr. Marks shook his head. " There are some 
 trifling men in Tallahoma, it's true ; but I don't 
 believe there's one that would be bad enough for 
 a thing of this sort." 
 
 Mr. Warwick rose and took up the candle- 
 stick. 
 
 " Get another light, and come with me, will 
 you ? I should like to look at the vault myself," 
 he said. 
 
 Mr. Marks did as requested. He took from 
 the mantel-piece another candle, lighted it, pro- 
 duced a bunch of keys from his pocket, and pro- 
 ceeded across the room to a heavy-looking door 
 set in a deep recess in the wall. 
 
 " The lock was picked, but I had another put 
 on, though it looks very much like locking the 
 stable after the horses are stolen," he said, as 
 he opened the door. 
 
 Descending a narrow flight of steps that ran 
 down against the wall, with a balustrade to pro- 
 tect it on the outside, they held the lights for- 
 ward, and Mr. Warwick took a survey of the 
 place. It was a small, vaulted cell rather than 
 room, not more than eight feet by twelve, with 
 two huge safes standing against the wall oppo- 
 site the stairs. Substantial safes they were foe 
 the period, but not cast-iron, and not burglar 
 proof, as their present melancholy condition 
 proved. The doors of both were wide open ; but 
 while one of them retained its contents, consist- 
 ing of piles of ledgers, labelled boxes, and bun- 
 dles of papers of all sizes (which had evidently 
 been roughly handled and thrust back in utter 
 confusion), the shelves of the other were bare. 
 
 Mr. Warwick examined the whole place with 
 the most minute care. First, he held his candle 
 within the empty money-safe, running his eye, 
 and even passing his hand, over every square 
 inch of surface on the two shelves above, and 
 taking the drawer which was fitted between the 
 lower shelf and the floor of the safe, for the 
 reception of specie, clean out of its place, in 
 order to make an effectual search. 
 
 " You'll find nothing," said Mr. Marks, who 
 had stood by watching these proceedings with an 
 expression of face in which apathy and impa- 
 tience were rather singularly blended. 
 
 " Don't let me detain you," said Mr. War- 
 wick, reading this expression. " I dare say you 
 are right, but still I want to satisfy myself by a 
 thorough examination. You were all excited 
 this morning, of course, and may have overlooked 
 some little matter there is somebody coining in,
 
 190 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 I think. Had you not better go and see, Rich- 
 ard ? I will be up presently." 
 
 " I suppose it's Hugh," replied Mr. Marks ; 
 "but I'll go." 
 
 Left alone, Mr. Warwick next subjected the 
 floor of the vault to as close an inspection as 
 that which he had bestowed on the safe, until 
 he was convinced that no object, though it had 
 been only the size of a pin, could have escaped 
 his observation. He then took in hand the safe 
 containing the documents. Every separate vol- 
 ume, every box, and each package of papers, 
 passed under the scrutiny of his keen eye and 
 industrious fingers. But, as Mr. Marks had pre- 
 dicted, he found nothing. 
 
 It was with a sense of decided, though even 
 to himself unacknowledged^ discouragement, that 
 he remounted the stairs to the room above. Mr. 
 Marks was sitting in a drooping attitude, with 
 his eyes, but not his thoughts, fixed on the clerk, 
 who knelt upon the hearth, trying to ignite a 
 hopeless-looking pile of wood which he had just 
 put on the andirons. In their excitement and 
 preoccupation of mind, both himself and his prin- 
 cipal had forgotten the fire that afternoon the 
 more readily, as the day had been a very mild 
 one. But the evening closed in cold ; and poor 
 Hugh, who was feeling almost as wretchedly in 
 body as in mind, shivered at the cheerless aspect 
 of the apartment, as much as at its chilly tem- 
 perature, when he returned from his boarding- 
 kouse. The hearth, that always gave forth such 
 a cheerful glow and warmth, was cold and dark 
 now like the ill-fortune that had so unexpect- 
 edly come upon them, he could not help think- 
 ing though he was not addicted to a poetical 
 turn of thought usually. 
 
 Mr. Warwick walked up to his brother-in-law 
 and laid his hand on his shoulder kindly. " Take 
 my advice, Richard," he said. " Go home and 
 go to bed. There's nothing more for you to do 
 here ; and you look thoroughly used up. I want 
 to ask Hugh a few questions about his visitors 
 of last night ; but I shall not be long. Tell Bes- 
 eie, if you please, to have some hot coffee ready 
 for me I have had no dinner." 
 
 " I can wait for you," said Mr. Marks. " By- 
 the-way, Hugh, hadn't you better have got some- 
 body to stay with you to-night ? " 
 
 " What for ? " demanded Hugh, coloring with 
 boyish mortification. "There's no such good 
 luck as that those villains should take it into 
 their heads to come back. I only wish they 
 would. I'd know how to deal with them this 
 time'" 
 
 " And," pursued Mr. Marks, who was a kind, 
 hearted man, considerate of the comfort of those 
 about him, and feeling now some self-reproach as 
 he remembered how little attention he had paid 
 to the pains and bruises which the clerk had 
 incurred, though unavailingly, in the dischar^o 
 of his duty " and I don't believe Tom has been 
 here to attend to your room to-day, has he ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, he came this morning, but it was 
 while the house was full, and every thing in con- 
 fusion ; so I told him to never mind about it." 
 
 " I'll go and send him now, then. You might 
 as well come with me, John. It must be getting 
 late, and I should think that, as you had no din- 
 ner, you'd be hungry." 
 
 " I am. But waiting a little longer makes 
 no difference ; and I must take a look at Hugh's 
 room. It is only eight o'clock," he added, con- 
 sulting his watch. . " I will follow you in half 
 an hour, or less time, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Marks made no further remonstrance, but 
 rose, said good-night, and departed. 
 
 " Now, Hugh, let me see your room," said Mr 
 Warwick. " I am glad that it has not been med- 
 dled with. Did you look about to find if 
 Humph ! " he exclaimed, as at this moment he 
 stepped into the apartment in question, which 
 adjoined the cashier's room. " Humph ! " 
 
 It was a comfortless-looking dormitory at 
 present, certainly. The bedclothing, including 
 the mattresses, had been tumbled off one side 
 of the French bedstead, and lay in a disordered 
 heap upon the floor, which was strewed with 
 strips and fragments resembling hospital-linen, 
 for much of it was crumpled and bloody, like 
 soiled bandages. Hugh explained that he had 
 been tied down to the bedstead itself, which, no 
 doubt, was bared for that purpose. The sheets 
 had been torn up, and twisted into a rough imi- 
 tation of rope, with which he was bound. 
 
 " The scoundrels seemed to understand their 
 business," said the young man. " You see they 
 made notches in the side of the bedstead here 
 near the head, to keep the bands I was tied 
 with from slipping." 
 
 Mr. Warwick bent over, and looked closely 
 at the spot pointed out. The bedstead was of 
 walnut-wood, and the notches appeared to have 
 been cut into it without difficulty, as they were 
 at least an inch deep. " The wood is soft," he 
 remarked. " This looks as if it had been cut 
 with a pocket-knife." 
 
 He stepped toward the foot of the bed as 
 he spoke, and again leaned down to examine 
 whether there were notches there too. There
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 191 
 
 teas one great gash obviously the commence- 
 ment of a notch but that was all. In holding 
 the candle so that the light would fall full upon 
 this, Mr. Warwick's eye was attracted to a 
 small, glittering object upon the carpet just at 
 the side of the bed, and, stooping, he picked it 
 up. 
 
 " What is it ? " cried Hugh, as the lawyer 
 attered a slight exclamation. 
 
 " A fragment of the blade of a knife," an- 
 swered Mr. Warwick, quietly, but his eyes spar- 
 kled. " Something may be made of this, I 
 hope," he added, examining it eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, do you really think so, Mr. Warwick ? " 
 said Hugh, joyfully. 
 
 " T hope so. It was broken in the attempt to 
 make that notch." 
 
 " And you think, sir, you can trace them out 
 by it ? " 
 
 " I shall try. It is a point to begin with ; 
 and in an affair of this kind, as in every thing 
 else, the first step is almost always the most 
 difficult. I shall sleep the better to-night for 
 having found this little bit of metal. Here hold 
 the candle a minute ! " 
 
 Hugh extended a hand trembling with excite- 
 ment for the candle, and Mr. Warwick took out 
 his pocket-book and carefully placed the broken 
 blade in an inner compartment of it. 
 
 " Don't be too sanguine," he said to Hugh, 
 as he fastened' the clasp, and returned the book 
 to his pocket. " And don't mention my having 
 found this to any body least of all, to Marks 
 for it may turn out nothing. But," he added, as 
 he saw Hugh's face fall at these words, " I think it 
 is a clew. Good-night. There's Tom coming, and 
 I'll go. Oh ! don't have any sweeping done 
 to-night. I will be here early in the morning, 
 and we can then make a more careful search of 
 the room, and may possibly find something else. 
 I don't like to keep my sister waiting for me so 
 long ; and this does very well for a beginning. 
 Mind, Hugh, that you hold your tongue ! " 
 
 " I will, Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " You are not afraid of another call from your 
 friends, the burglars ? " 
 
 "Afraid? I should think not!" cried the 
 young man, flushing, and half offended by the 
 question. 
 
 " Well, good-night," said Mr. Warwick. 
 * Here's Tom " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 " JOHN, John, I am so glad you have got back 
 at last ! " was Mrs. Marks's greeting to her 
 brother, when he entered the dining-room, 
 where a bright fire and the supper-table were 
 waiting for him. She had been crying all day, 
 poor woman, but the fountain of her tears was 
 not exhausted. It gave forth a plentiful supply 
 of briny drops, as Mr. Warwick smiled kindly, 
 kissed her, and told her to dry her eyes, and 
 give him some supper, for that he was tired and 
 hungry. 
 
 " Richard has gone to bed, I hope ? " said 
 he, as Mrs. Marks began to take up from the 
 hearth, where they were ranged in a semicircle 
 to keep warm, various dishes, which she placed 
 upon the table, himself hastening to assist her 
 in doing so. 
 
 " Yes, he's gone to bed " a profound sigh 
 " but there's no sleep for him this night, 1 
 know. Seventy -five thousand, four hundred 
 and seventy dollars, John," pursued poor Mrs. 
 Marks, with <i ludicrous, unconscious imitation 
 of her husband's manner, that made Mr. War- 
 wick smile, despite his sincere sympathy with 
 the distress which seemed so out of place on 
 the round, good - natured face before him. 
 " More than twice as much as Richard is 
 worth, counting every sixpence he has got in 
 the world ! and he blames himself for it all 
 and I'm sure he must blame me, though he 
 don't say so " the tears burst forth afresh 
 " and five little children" 
 
 " Stop a minute," said Mr. Warwick, stem- 
 ming the torrent of words that promised to flow 
 on uninterruptedly for an indefinite time to come. 
 "Blames himself? What does he blame him- 
 self for ? " 
 
 " He says he ought never to have left the 
 bank. That a cashier's business and duty is to 
 protect, by his constant presence, the property 
 committed to his charge ; and that, instead of 
 leaving poor Hugh to bear the brunt of the 
 danger, and get beaten and bruised nearly 
 to death, he ought to have been there himself. 
 And you know it was my fault, John, that 
 we left the bank, because it was such a nasty, 
 cooped-up place for the children, compared to 
 this house." 
 
 " All this sort of talk is nonsense, Bessie," 
 said Mr. Warwick. " Marks is very much out of
 
 199 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 spirits, of course ; but he will find that matters 
 are not so bad, after all He has been prompt in 
 taking the steps necessary in the business, and 
 the only uneasiness I feel now is about the spe- 
 3ie. I have no doubt the greater part of that 
 can be recovered but not the whole, prob- 
 ably. As to the notes you need not trou- 
 ble yourself about them, I assure you. The 
 scoundrels will find that the fifty thousand 
 dollars might as well be blank paper so far 
 as they are concerned. In fact, it is certain 
 to bring detection upon them if they try to 
 pass it." 
 
 " I don't see how that can be," said Mrs. 
 Marks, drying her eyes once more, but looking 
 very doubtful. " It's money. All they've got to 
 do is to cut it apart. It's signed, every bit of 
 it." 
 
 " And numbered too, fortunately. Never 
 mind puzzling yourself with the matter. You 
 can take my word for it, can't you ? " 
 
 "I suppose so. But John, are you quite 
 sure " 
 
 " Well ? " he said, as she paused, and the in- 
 exhaustible fountain began welling forth from 
 her eyes again. 
 
 " Are you sure we shall not be ruined 
 and " sob " that Richard's character 
 won't" 
 
 " Bessie," said Mr. Warwick, in such a very 
 quiet tone, that Bessie's eyes opened wide in 
 startled surprise, and the drops with which they 
 were brimming stood arrested in their fall 
 " Bessie, have you quite forgotten that you once 
 bore the name of Warwick ? " 
 
 The poor woman was bewildered. Never 
 very quick of apprehension, she was totally un- 
 able now to perceive the connection between 
 this " awful " bank robbery and her own maiden 
 name ; and, after a troubled pause of considera- 
 tion, she looked inquiringly into her brother's 
 face. 
 
 " I asked the question," continued he, " be- 
 cause I confess that I am mortified to find that 
 my sister " he laid a strong emphasis on the 
 last two words " instead of being courageous 
 and cheerful in this misfortune which has be- 
 fallen her husband, as a brave woman and good 
 wife ought to be, is giving way to unreasonable 
 and extravagant lamentations that must make it 
 twice as hard " 
 
 " Oh, no ! you don't mean that I have made 
 It harder for Richard to bear ! Surely you don't 
 think that " 
 
 " I know it.'* 
 
 She wrung her hands spasmodically. " Whad 
 can I do what can I do ? " 
 
 " You can act like a sensible woman, and re- 
 member that the loss of money even if Marks 
 loses any, which I am not at all sure that he 
 will" 
 
 " He says he intends to refund every cent 
 that the bank loses, whether it is required of him 
 or not, and if it takes all that he owns in the 
 world." 
 
 " He may be a few thousands out of pock- 
 et, then but what of that ? If, instead of los- 
 ing a little money or, we will say a good deal of 
 money he or some of the children were to 
 die" 
 
 " John ! " gasped his sister, turning very 
 pale. 
 
 " I think you would feel what a trifle, com- 
 paratively speaking, this whole business is," went 
 on Mr. Warwick, without noticing her horrified 
 ejaculation " and be glad that trouble, which 
 you know everybody has to endure in this world, 
 Bessie, has come in this form, instead of a 
 worse." 
 
 " Indeed, I am glad and thankful to God," 
 said she, in a subdued, rather awe-struck tone. 
 " And thankful to you, John, for reminding DM 
 of it," she added. 
 
 He smiled encouragingly, and told her he had 
 no doubt this wretched business might be set to 
 rights in the end ; but that, mea'nwhile, he ex- 
 pected to see her hopeful and brave. Then he 
 went to a side-table, where a chamber candlestick 
 was ready for him, and, as he lighted it, asked 
 whether she thought Marks was asleep yet. " I 
 won't disturb him, if he is; but I should like to 
 speak to him a moment, if he is not. Will you 
 see, Bessie, if you please ? " 
 
 She went, merely opened the chamber-door, 
 glanced in, and returned. 
 
 "He's wide awake," she said, with a sigh. 
 
 "I will go and speak to him, then. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Come in," responded Mr. Marks's voice, 
 when his brother-in-law knocked at his door a 
 minute later. 
 
 Mr. Warwick walked up to the bed, and found 
 the afflicted cashier lying straight and motionless 
 on his back, with his arms thrown up over the 
 pillow, his haifcds folded one upon the other 
 above his head, and the same expression of 
 stolid endurance on his face that it had worn 
 when he was at the bank. 
 
 " I have just been scolding Bessie, Dick,' 
 said Bessie's brother, with a sixile that had
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 193 
 
 humor as well as cheerful kindness in it "and 
 I have come to give you your share now. Why, 
 zounds ! what's the use of being a man, if you 
 can't bear the ills of life like a man ! It is 
 natural that you should feel this severely ; it is 
 a bad business, as it stands just at present. But 
 you must not look only on the dark side of it. 
 The money may be recovered will be recovered, 
 I believe. You know whether I am in the habit 
 of talking at random, or of boasting ; and I tell 
 you that I have not the least doubt of being 
 able to track down the villains in time. We 
 must have patience, and not be discouraged be- 
 cause it is impossible to find them at once. I 
 have made a little discovery since I saw you " 
 
 " You don't say so ! " cried Mr. Marks, start- 
 ing up and leaning on his elbow, as he gazed 
 eagerly up into the other's face. " What is it ? 
 what ? " 
 
 "Never mind as to that. It is something 
 that Hugh and myself found out after you left. 
 Don't question Hugh in the morning. I told 
 him not to say any thing to you about it. I 
 should not have mentioned it myself if it had not 
 been that I see you need stirring up a little. 
 Between Bessie and yourself, you are making 
 this affair twice as bad as there's any necessity 
 for." 
 
 " It's harder to bear than you think for," 
 said Mr. Marks, apologetically. But, his face 
 had cleared very much, and he was looking alto- 
 gether ten per cent, better than he did when his 
 brother-in-law entered the room. 
 
 " A good many things in this world are hard 
 to bear," said Mr. Warwick ; and not at all 
 pertinently to the subject of which they were 
 talking he sighed under his breath. " Well, 
 gooJ-night. I hope you will go to sleep now, 
 and be yourself again in the morning. Rest 
 assured that I am sanguine of recovering the 
 money." 
 
 He went to his own room, and the first thing 
 he did was to take out his pocket-book, and 
 examine again the fragment of knife-blade which 
 he had found. Then he sat down before the fire, 
 stirred it, absently, put the tongs back into 
 their place, and gazing at the leaping and curl- 
 ing flames, and the glowing cavern that he had 
 made beneath them, he remained for a long time 
 absorbed in deep thought. 
 
 He rose early the next morning, and at an 
 hour when he was usually asleep, took his way 
 into the village, which was just beginning to 
 show signs of awakening life. Shopkeepers 
 were opening their doors and windows, and 
 
 drowsy-looking servants were sweeping off door- 
 steps, and gossiping with each other, as they 
 leaned on their brooms ; exchanging items of 
 information concerning the great bank robbery, 
 which was the topic of conversation with white 
 and black in Tallahoma just then. 
 
 Mr. Warwick paused at the entrance of a 
 store, near the open door of which a negro boy 
 was lazily shaking a foot-mat, wondering to him- 
 self the while, " what had brought Mr. Worruck 
 out that time in the morning." 
 
 " Your master here yet, Bill ? " said the law- 
 yer, pointing into the store. 
 
 " No, sir nobody's here yit but me and Mass 
 Jimmy." 
 
 To his surprise, Mr. Warwick, instead of pass- 
 ing on, entered the door. Probably that gentle- 
 man bad never before been conscious of the 
 existence of " little Jimmy Powell," certainly he 
 had never noticed the boy particularly. But he 
 looked closely now, as he walked into the store, 
 and encountered the gaze of a pair of remarkably 
 quick and intelligent eyes, the owner of which 
 was seated on the front edge of a counter, with 
 one leg doubled under him, while the other dan. 
 gled over, and kept up a swinging, kicking ac- 
 companiment to an air he was whistling. A 
 bright face altogether not an ordinary boy, Mr. 
 Warwick thought small for his age ; for, though 
 he was thirteen or fourteen at least, his size and 
 delicate physique made him appear a year or two 
 younger. 
 
 " How are you, Mr. Warwick ? Can I do any 
 thing for you this morning, sir ? " he said, at 
 once dexterously slipping backward across the 
 counter, and landing on his feet on the opposite 
 side, where he stood with the attentive and busi- 
 ness air of a well-trained clerk. 
 
 " Yes, I wish to see some penknives," said 
 Mr. Warwick, with a half smile at the serious 
 clerkliness of the little man's manner. 
 
 At the word penknives, there was a flash of 
 intelligence in the boy's face, but he said noth- 
 ing. Turning quickly to one of the shelves be- 
 hind him, he took from it a box, which he 
 brought and placed on the counter, and, open- 
 ing it, proceeded silently to display several kinds 
 of knives. Mr. Warwick examined them, one 
 after the other, and finally looked up, or, rather, 
 looked over, at the countenance that was just on 
 a level with his own hands. The expression of 
 that countenance surprised him a little, there 
 was so much shrewd interest and curiosity in it; 
 and yet not vulgar curiosity, either, for the boy 
 restrained it the moment he perceived that it
 
 194 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 waa observed, replying with modest brevity to 
 the questions as to the price of the knives, which 
 his customer asked. The latter had been wait- 
 ing to see whether the little clerk would volun- 
 teer some information which he wished to obtain, 
 but, finding that there was no probability of this, 
 he now opened the conversation himself as he 
 paid for one of the knives. 
 
 " You have heard all about the bank robbery, 
 of course ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the answer ; and the bright, 
 brown eyes shot another ray of intelligence, and 
 then looked gravely attentive. 
 
 " You know then, probably, that Hugh Ellis 
 thinks he recognized one of the burglars in a 
 man who was in the bank the day before the 
 robbery was committed ; and he .tells me that 
 the only information he can get about this man 
 is, that a person answering to his description 
 was here in your father's store that same day, 
 and nearly about the same hour, and that you 
 sold a penknife to him. Do you remember what 
 sort of a knife it was ? " 
 
 " It was like the one you have just bought, 
 sir." 
 
 " Ah ! You are sure ? " 
 
 " Certain sure, Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " You recollect selling the knife, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Can you describe the man's appearance to 
 me?" 
 
 " He was as tall as you are, sir maybe a lit- 
 tle taller, for he stood just where you are stand- 
 ing now, and I had to look 'way up to see his 
 face. He had sandy, bushy hair, and a very red 
 face, and he was dressed in a shabby suit of 
 black." 
 
 "Would you have taken him for a gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 The boy hesitated. 
 
 " I hardly know, sir, whether he was or not. 
 He looked something like a gentleman, but his 
 linen was soiled." 
 
 " What sort of money did he pay for the knife 
 with ? " 
 
 " He offered me a very dirty five-dollar bill 
 that was all torn. But I wouldn't take it, and 
 then he paid in silver." 
 
 "A five-dollar bill?" said Mr. Warwick, 
 whose interest had been quickening, and his 
 hopes rising, with each successive reply to his 
 questions. " Did you notice what bill it was 
 of what bank, I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. He threw it down on the coun- 
 ter, and I took it up and looked at it a min- 
 
 ute. It was a ' Commercial Bank of A 
 note." 
 
 " Humph ! " cried Mr. Warwick. " It must 
 have been the same fellow who was at the bank. 
 
 A ' Commercial Bank of A ' note, and very 
 
 ragged, you say ? " 
 
 " Very ragged indeed. I don't think it was 
 a counterfeit," added the boy, thoughtfully ; 
 " but it was too ragged to pass anywhere ; and 
 so I told him I couldn't take it." 
 
 " Why did you think of its being counter- 
 feit ? " asked the lawyer, a little surprised at this 
 remark. 
 
 "Because I didn't like the man's looks, sir, 
 and I thought he mightn't be too good to pass 
 counterfeit money. There's a good deal of it 
 about now, you know. He never once looked 
 me straight in the face, though I tried my best 
 to catch his eyes. But they kept moving about, 
 first to one place, and then to another." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Mr. Warwick, with an em- 
 phasis that was almost startling. 
 
 "Yes, sir. He looked so" and the boy 
 glanced about him in a quick, uncertain sort of 
 way, rolling his eyes from side to side with a 
 restless movement that brought vividly to Mr. 
 Warwick's recollection the eyes of the quack 
 doctor in Hartsburg. 
 
 " Do you remember the color of his eyes ? " 
 
 " They were of a light greenish blue, sir." 
 
 Mr. Warwick stood silent for a full minute, 
 evidently in deep thought. He was trying to 
 recall to mind the appearance of the quack doc- 
 tor ; but, with the exception of the restless eyes, 
 his memory was for once totally at fault. He 
 had a general but very vague impression that 
 the man was tall, and that his hair was not 
 " sandy and bushy." Nevertheless, the repre- 
 sentation given of the stranger's eyes the very 
 pose of the boy's head while rendering the imi- 
 tation brought back so forcibly the look of 
 Dr. Joyner, as he called himself, that Mr. War- 
 wick felt morally sure that, in common parlance, 
 he had " struck the trail " and, it is needless to 
 say, he resolved to pursue it. 
 
 " Well, Jimmy," he said, looking down with a 
 smile, " I think you have given me some valu- 
 able information, and that you can help me still 
 further in this matter, if you are willing to do 
 so." 
 
 A quick flash came to the upraised face, 
 and the boy's eyes sparkled with eagerness, as 
 he replied : " I wish I could, sir." 
 
 " Do you think you would know the man if 
 you saw him again ? "
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 195 
 
 " Yes, sir, I'd know him anywhere." 
 
 " You are at the store here all the time, are 
 rou not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." The little fellow sighed as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " I ask, because I should like to see you 
 again after breakfast. Good-morning for the 
 present." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Warwick." 
 
 " By-the-by," said the lawyer, turning back 
 as he was about to cross the threshold, on his 
 way out of the store ; " by-the-by, my little friend, 
 I had rather you did not mention to anybody 
 excepting your father, if it comes in the way 
 what I have been asking you, and what you have 
 told me. I want to trace out this man that we 
 have been speaking of, and, in a matter of the 
 kind, talking ruins every thing." 
 
 " I know that, Mr. Warwick. I'll not say a 
 word." 
 
 From Mr. Powell's store the lawyer went to 
 the stage-office, as it was called, to find out, if 
 possible, whether the man he was in search of 
 had left Tallahoma by any of the several lines of 
 public conveyances that ran to and from the 
 place Tallahoma, though in itself an inconsid- 
 erable village, being on one of the principal thor- 
 oughfares of travel in the State. He did not 
 succeed in obtaining any information ; and was 
 feeling very much " at sea," as he walked med- 
 itatively toward the bank, when, just as he was 
 turning a corner, he met the Chesselton hack 
 coming in. Instantly it flashed upon him, as by 
 an inspiration, that it was more likely a man 
 trying to escape observation would take this, 
 which was a less public line of travel more 
 merely local than those he had been thinking 
 of. The Chesselton hack, he remembered, ran 
 only three times a week, and consequently, though 
 Chesselton was but twenty-eight miles from Tal- 
 lahoma, communication was much less easy and 
 frequent than with Saxford, for instance, to 
 which there was a double daily line both a 
 coach and hack line. To a man endeavoring to 
 evade detection, it was a desirable consideration 
 to be as much out of the way of quick communi- 
 cation as possible. The hack left Tallahoma on 
 Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, returning 
 on the night of the same day it left ; that is, 
 making the round trip in twenty-four hours. 
 And the maty-looking vehicle, the appearance 
 of which had suggested these reflections, had 
 now just arrived from its Thursday trip for the 
 current week. This was Friday morning, and 
 there would be no further mail communication 
 
 with Chesselton until Saturday an excellent op- 
 portunity for a thief who had taken refuge there 
 to make good his escape farther, undoubtedly. 
 
 These thoughts passed rapidly through Mr. 
 Warwick's mind as he turned and followed the 
 hack to the hotel where it stopped, in order to 
 speak to the driver. He paused at the entrance 
 of the stable-yard into which the carriage was 
 driven after discharging its passengers at the 
 hotel-door, to wait until the driver descended 
 from his seat. 
 
 " Gillespie ! " he called, as the official seemed 
 likely to prolong interminably his directions to 
 and gossip with the hostlers who surrounded him 
 and his horses. " Gillespie ! " the man turned 
 to see who had spoken to him "just step here a 
 minute." 
 
 " How-d'ye-do, Mr. Worruck ? Was it me 
 you was callin' to ? " inquired the man, approach- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Yes, I want to speak to you." He looked 
 round, and, seeing that nobody was within ear 
 shot, went on : "I am trying to find out some 
 thing about that bad business which happened 
 night before last at the bank, and I want to 
 know what passengers you took over to Ches- 
 selton yesterday ; whether a fellow who was 
 hanging about town here the day before the rob- 
 bery, and who, Hugh Ellis thinks, was one of the 
 burglars, may not have been among them ? " 
 
 The driver shook his head. 
 
 " I was keepin' a sharp lookout myself, Mr. 
 Worruck, for I'd like monstously to have the 
 handlin' of that five thousand dollars reward 
 that Mr. Marks offered for the apperhension of 
 the thieves " he chuckled at the bare thought 
 of handling it "but I hain't seed nobody sence 
 I left Tallyhomy that answered to the descrip- 
 tion of either of 'em, I'm sorry to say. There 
 wasn't as many passengers as usual yisterday. 
 Only one old gentleman, and a man and his wife, 
 and" 
 
 " But," interrupted Mr. Warwick, " did you 
 take up no passengers by the way ? " 
 
 " I tuk up two ; but one was a woman, and 
 the other didn't noways curryspond to the de- 
 scriptions I heard from Mr. Ellis. He didn't 
 have on black does, nor yit a great-coat, I 
 noticed particilar. And he wore a curous kind 
 a specktickles sich as I never seed before, that 
 stood out like a couple of leather cups before his 
 eyes." 
 
 " Goggles, I suppose? " said Mr. Warwick. 
 
 " Mebbe so. Anyhow, he didn't answer t 
 the descriptions."
 
 196 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "He may have changed his dress, and put on 
 the goggles to avoid detection," said the lawyer. 
 " What sort of looking man was he, and how was 
 he dressed ? " 
 
 " He was a good-lookin' man, or would a bin, 
 if he hadn't had on them guggles, did you call 
 em? they give him a out-of-the-way sort of 
 look. He was dressed well enough drab breech- 
 es and a brown surtout. But, with them things 
 btickin' out two inches from his face, with green 
 glasses at the top of 'em, he had a curous look." 
 
 " What sized man was he ? " 
 
 "A stout fellow. Six feet more'n that, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Where did you take him up ? " 
 
 " At Moonie's the second stage-house from 
 here, you know." 
 
 " Twenty miles from here, is it not ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, twenty miles and good ones, 
 too." 
 
 " How far did he go with you ? " 
 
 " He stopped a little this side of Chessel- 
 ton." 
 
 " And did you see any thing of him after- 
 ward ? " 
 
 " Never sot eyes on him after he got out of 
 the hack when I stopped at Spring Creek to 
 water my horses. He said he'd git out and 
 stretch his legs by walkin' the rest of the way, 
 as he was goin' to a private house in the country 
 nigh by." 
 
 " Did he have no baggage ? " 
 
 " A black leather travellin'-bag, not very big, 
 as you may know for he tuk it into the stage 
 with him, and sot it down betwixt his feet." 
 
 " And you don't think it likely he was the 
 man Hugh Ellis saw ? " 
 
 " I don't think it noways likely it was the 
 same man, sir." 
 
 " Did you notice the color of his hair ? " 
 
 "Well, I didn't, Mr. Worruck. But I'll tell 
 you what I'll do. My next trip over I'll see if I 
 can find out who the fellow was, sence it seems 
 a matter of intrust to you." 
 
 " Thank you, Gillespie. I shall be obliged if 
 you will do so. You go over again to-morrow, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 After exchanging a few sentences more, Mr. 
 Warwick bade Gillespie good-morning, and hur- 
 ried on to the bank. 
 
 Hugh Ellis was expecting him impatiently. 
 
 " I've found something, too, Mr. Warwick," 
 he said, quite trembling with eagerness, as he 
 held up to view a dark crimson-and-yellow silk 
 
 handkerchief that was considerably worn, and 
 not a little soiled from use. " I got up as soon 
 as it was light enough to see, and hunted the 
 room over, and I found this lying behind the 
 bed. How it was that Tom didn't find it last 
 night when he was making up the bed I don't 
 know." 
 
 " How do you know that it was dropped by 
 the burglars ? " 
 
 " It must have been. How else could it have 
 got into my room ? It is not mine. I never 
 saw it, or one like it, before. They must have 
 dropped it." 
 
 " It may have been dropped by some of the 
 people who were here yesterday." 
 
 " No, sir ; impossible. Nobody was in my 
 room. I shut the door and locked it." 
 
 " It may be Tom's." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Hugh, decidedly ; 
 but he looked a little crestfallen. " I'll go and 
 ask him," he continued, starting toward the door, 
 carrying the handkerchief, which he held by one 
 corner, fluttering along. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " said Mr. Warwick. " Look 
 if it has a name on it." 
 
 Hugh, fingering it rather superciliously, could 
 find no name. 
 
 " Are silk handkerchiefs ever marked ? " 
 
 " Sometimes. Put it down. lam going to 
 breakfast presently, and I will ask Tom about it. 
 Are you certain that there is nothing else to be 
 found in the room ? " 
 
 " I am certain, sir. I searched the floor first 
 the whole room, indeed and then I took every 
 thing off the bed, and shook the counterpane, 
 and the sheets, and the blankets, each one sep- 
 arately. I even took the pillow-cases and the 
 bolster-case off! I assure you, Mr. Warwick, I 
 have looked thoroughly." 
 
 " Very well. I need not lose any time here, 
 then ; and I am very glad of that, for I am going 
 to start to Chesselton directly after breakfast. 
 See here ! " 
 
 He sat down to the table they were in the 
 cashier's room and put down before him the 
 knife which he had just bought from Jimmy 
 Powell. Then he took out his pocket-book, pro- 
 duced the fragment of blade, and, opening the 
 knife, he placed the fragment upon the whole 
 blade. Hugh uttered an exclamation as he saw 
 that the two were Identical in every respect, even 
 to the brilliant newness of the metal. Mr. War- 
 wick explained in as few words as possible all 
 that he had learned from Jimmy Powell, ani 
 what he had since heard from the stage-driver.
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 197 
 
 " Now," he said, when he had concluded his 
 relation, " I am going somewhat upon a venture, 
 which I am not in the habit of doing ; but I have 
 an instinct, amounting to a positive conviction, 
 that the man you saw, the man who bought this 
 knife from young Powell" he touched the 
 broken blade " the man whom Gillespie de- 
 scribes as wearing green goggles, and a quack 
 doctor that I met last week in Hartsburg, and 
 who, a day or two after I saw him, had to take 
 French leave of the place to escape being 
 lynched, are all one and the same individual; 
 and I shall take young Powell, who says he can 
 identify the rascal, and see if I can't find him. I 
 hope," he added, as he rose to go, " that Well, 
 Tom, what's the matter ? " 
 
 Tom, who had at that moment appeared in 
 the open door, responded to this question by 
 another. 
 
 " Mistiss say ain't you comin' home to break- 
 fast this mornin', Mass John ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am just going now. Is this your 
 handkerchief ? " 
 
 He took up the article in question, and, hold- 
 ing it as Hugh Ellis had done, by one corner, 
 exhibited it to the servant as he advanced. 
 
 " Mine ? No, sir," answered Tom, with sur- 
 prise. " I never saw it before, Mass John." 
 
 " Well, Hugh, I'll take it and see if I can 
 discover the owner." 
 
 He looked round, picked up a newspaper, 
 and, wrapping up the handkerchief, consigned it 
 to his coat-pocket. 
 
 " I shall not see you again before I start, 
 Hugh, so good-by. How are you feeling this 
 morning, on the whole ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully stiff, sir. I ache all over. But 
 I don't mind that, so those infernal scoundrels 
 are brought to taw, and we get back the mojuey." 
 
 He said this as he walked to the door with 
 Mr. Warwick, who paused there to shake hands 
 and give him one parting caution. 
 
 " Not a word to anybody about the knife or 
 about my movements. In one word, hold your 
 tongue." 
 
 " Trust me to do that, sir." 
 
 Mr. Marks was just leaving the breakfast- 
 table, when his brother-in-law entered the room. 
 The little Markses, sitting demure and silent 
 they had been involuntary penitents during the 
 four-and-twenty hours preceding all started up 
 with irrepressible and rapturous cries of " Uuky ! 
 unky ! Here's unky ! " 
 
 Even the unnaturally-solemn visage of the 
 cashier relaxed into a smile as the little folk 
 
 bounded tumultuously forward, each eager to 
 get " unky's " first greetings ; and Mrs. Marks's 
 face beamed for a moment. But, before the 
 said greetings were over, Mr. Marks looked as 
 saturnine as ever, and his devoted helpmeet was 
 applying her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 " Don't go yet, Richard ; I have a word to 
 say to you presently," said Mr. Warwick, as he 
 saw the former about to leave the room. 
 " Well, bairns, have you missed unky much ? " 
 
 " Oh, that we have ! that we have ! " was the 
 unanimous and rather stunningly vociferous re- 
 ply. We" 
 
 " Hush, this minute, children ! " cried their 
 mother, whose temper had not improved since 
 her brother's departure, a month before. " Do 
 you want to deafen your uncle ? Go along out 
 now ; he has other things to think about than 
 your nonsense. Go along, all of you ! and, 
 John, do come to breakfast ! " 
 
 " In a minute," answered her brother, with- 
 out moving from where he stood, just inside the 
 door, surrounded by the children, who were, 
 every one, clinging to him Jack and Dick hav- 
 ing seized each an arm, Sara and I^aty having 
 possession of his hands respectively, while poor 
 little Nelly had nothing for it but to clasp her 
 two little fat arms round his knee in an ecstasy 
 of noisy delight. He looked down on them with 
 a smile which was like sunshine to their little 
 hearts, as he listened to their rejoicings at hia 
 return. But again Mrs. Marks began a sharp 
 remonstrance and command to them. 
 
 " Do let them alone, Bessie ! " said Mr. War- 
 wick, a little sharp in turn. " Here, Sara hold 
 your hand." 
 
 Sara's hand was extended with astonishing 
 quickness, while all the others were breathless 
 with expectation. 
 
 " Now, is it honor bright ? " asked their 
 uncle, appealing to them generally. 
 
 " Yes, unky, honor bright ! honor bright ! " 
 
 " Then, take this key, Sara, and see what 
 you can find in my valise. Go, all of you, and 
 stay in my room till I come. But mind Sara is 
 to take the things out and put them on the table, 
 and you must all keep quiet and wait patiently." 
 
 " Honor bright ! " responded they, in a breath, 
 and were gone. 
 
 " Bessie, do you think it worth while to punish 
 those poor children for the fault of the thieves 
 who broke into the bank ? " said Mr. Warwick, 
 as he sat down to the breakfast-table. 
 
 " Punish them, John ? I don't know what 
 you mean ! I haven't been punishing them."
 
 198 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "Yes, you have, and in the worst possible 
 way by cloudy looks and unmerited reproof. I 
 wish you would remember what I said to you 
 last night." 
 
 Mrs. Marks looked conscience-stricken, and 
 Mr. Warwick turned to her husband, who stood 
 by the fire, waiting for the word that his brother- 
 in-law had for him. 
 
 " I have got what I believe to be a clew, 
 Marks, and I shall start immediately after break- 
 fast to follow it up. I don't know when I shall 
 be back in a day or two, perhaps ; but it is not 
 certain. All I can tell you is, that I intend to 
 track down those scoundrels. So, keep up your 
 spirits. You will find that this matter will all 
 come out right at last." 
 
 " You really think so ? " asked Mr. Marks, a 
 little doubtfully 
 
 " I am sure of it. Did you ever know me to 
 be mistaken in an opinion which I expressed 
 deliberately ? " 
 
 " Why, no ; I never did." 
 
 " Rely on my opinion in this, then. If I am 
 absent more than a day or two, I will write. ,A.re 
 you going to the bank now ? If so, I will say 
 good-by, as I have ordered my buggy to be ready 
 by the time I have finished breakfast." 
 
 " I'll see you off," said Mr. Marks, drawing a 
 chair toward the fire, and sitting down. " There's 
 no hurry about my getting to the bank," he added, 
 disconsolately. 
 
 " Where are you going, John ? " asked Mrs. 
 Marks. 
 
 "I am going first to Morton House to see 
 Mrs. Gordon for a few minutes," answered Mr. 
 Warwick, evasively. " By-the-way, Bessie " 
 
 But Bessie, to whom the mention of Mrs. 
 Gordon's name recalled the remembrance of the 
 domestic trouble which had so much affijcted her 
 before the more important misfortune of the 
 bank robbery occurred, and dwarfed its import- 
 ance, indeed drove it entirely from her mind for 
 the time being interrupted him eagerly. 
 
 " John," she cried, " every thing has been 
 going wrong since you left home ! Would you 
 believe that Miss Tresham went away the Friday 
 after you left, and, though she was to have come 
 back on Monday, she's never made her appear- 
 ance from that day to this ? and, what's more, 
 we haven't heard one syllable about her ! 
 What's become of her, I can't understand, 
 for" 
 
 " Do you recollect what I told you, Warwick, 
 the day she drew her salary at the bank, and 
 ranted it in gold ? I remarked to you then 
 
 that I suspected she was going to leave us; and, 
 you see, I was right," said Mr. Marks, to whom it 
 was quite a satisfaction a little ray of light in 
 the very dark sky that gloomed over him to be 
 able thus to vindicate so triumphantly, particu- 
 larly to his brother-in-law, the correctness of his 
 judgment. 
 
 "I remember your saying you were afraid 
 she would leave you," replied Mr. Warwick. 
 "And you have no idea why she left have 
 heard nothing from her ? " 
 
 " Not a word not the scrape of a pen ! " 
 cried Mrs. Marks, volubly. " All her things are 
 here yet two trunks, and ever so many " 
 
 " You know she drew a thousand dollars in 
 gold from me on Tuesday," Mr. Marks here broke 
 in, with an animation which he had not exhib- 
 ited before, since the first suspicion of the bank 
 robbery had aawned on his horrified apprehen- 
 sion. " Well, on Friday, when she was going off, 
 she borrowed ten dollars from Bessie ! Think of 
 that ten dollars ! Now, I say that there's some- 
 thing wrong about all this one way or another 
 and I made up my mind that, if she didn't come 
 back at the time she said, and couldn't give a satis- 
 factory account of why she went " 
 
 "She went to see the priest, Richard she 
 said so ! " cried Mrs. Marks, who was still some- 
 what of a partisan of Katharine's. 
 
 " Yes, she said so," answered Mr. Marks, dry- 
 ly. " But she didn't say what was the reason 
 this St. John you remember the man you 
 warned me about, Warwick, when you met him 
 as he was going out of the bank that day ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick nodded. 
 
 " Well, there is some connection " 
 
 Here Mrs. Marks's eagerness grew quite un- 
 controllable, and she dashed into the conversa- 
 tiontaking the floor by storm from her more 
 quiet husband and proceeded to pour out the 
 whole story of St. John's visit to Katharine im- 
 mediately on her return from Annesdale : Mrs. 
 Gordon's having come in while St. John was 
 there ; what Mrs. Gordon had said ; Katharine's 
 hasty departure ; Morton Annesley's call ; St. 
 John's call ; Mrs. Annesley's call ; St. John's 
 second call, and the manner in which the latter 
 had persisted ever since in persecuting the 
 whole family, in the effort to obtain information 
 of Katharine's* whereabouts; her own solemn 
 conviction that Katharine had gone away to get 
 rid of St. John, and that she would never come 
 back while he remained in Tallahoma; and Mr. 
 Marks's obstinate resolution not to receive her 
 again into his family, if she did come back
 
 TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR. 
 
 199 
 
 Mr. Warwick listened in attentive silence, and 
 had finished his breakfast before the narration 
 was concluded. When Mrs. Marks finally stopped 
 an instant to take breath, he turned to her hus- 
 band. '_ ' 
 
 " Has it never occurred to you that Miss 
 Tresham might have been detained away acci- 
 dentally ? " 
 
 " Never ! " answered Mr. Marks, emphatical- 
 ly. " It only occurs to me that there's some- 
 thing wrong. I'm sure of it; and, though I 
 don't know what it is, I'll have nothing more to 
 do with Miss Tresham. I told Bessie at the time 
 that it was a risky business to be engaging a 
 governess without knowing any thing about her. 
 I have no idea that Miss Tresham will ever re- 
 turn here ; but, if she walked into the room this 
 minute, she should not stay very long. I'm done 
 with her." 
 
 Mr. Warwick said nothing. He did not have 
 time to argue the question just then, and, in fact, 
 what could he have said ? Perfectly ignorant of 
 Katharine's motives, or the reasons which she 
 might be able to give for her apparently singular 
 conduct, he thought it best to be silent as to his 
 knowledge of her present place of sojourn. He 
 could only conjecture that Mrs. Marks's suspicion 
 of her having left Tallahoma to avoid St. John 
 was correct, and, as he had but a moderate 
 opinion of Mrs. Marks's powers of reticence 
 or, indeed, of the capacity of people in general 
 in that particular he judged it most prudent to 
 leave matters as they were at least, until his 
 return from the journey which he was about tak- 
 ing. Unwilling as he had been to entertain the 
 suspicion suggested by Mrs. Gordon concerning 
 St. John, he had found it impossible to put the 
 idea from him, notwithstanding that the evidence 
 of Hugh Ellis as to the appearance of the bur- 
 glars went far to discredit its probability. The 
 correctness of Hugh's observation in the case 
 of one of the two which Mr. Warwick consid- 
 ered fully corroborated by the testimony of the 
 little Powell entitled his statement to respect, 
 and a little staggered the intuitive conviction, 
 which had steadily been gaining ground in Mr. 
 Warwick's mind, that Mrs. Gordon was right. 
 Yet still, that conviction was only staggered, not 
 done away with ; and, though he thought it neces- 
 sary to follow the clew which he had obtained, 
 and which, so far as he was aware, did not point 
 to St. John as a participant in the outrage, he 
 was exceedingly anxious that the man should 
 not leave Tallahoma during his own absence, and 
 anxious, also, that he should continue ignorant 
 
 of Katharine's movements. Therefore, he would 
 not risk any thing, he thought, by premature can- 
 dor. When the affair of the robbery was off his 
 hands, he would take up this mystery about the 
 governess, and see if he could not unravel it. 
 So, without a word upon the subject, he rose, and, 
 after a few more encouraging assurances that he 
 would " bring the business " (of the robbery) 
 "all straight," he took leave of the Markses, 
 senior and junior, and, entering the buggy, 
 which was at the gate, told Cyrus to drive to 
 Mr. Powell's store. 
 
 As he was passing the hotel, his quick eye 
 caught sight of St. John on the bench that ran 
 along the wall from end to end of the long 
 piazza (for the convenience of the loungers who 
 there did congregate at all times and seasons) 
 engaged in what, to appearance, was the busi- 
 ness of his life smoking. He sat apart from a 
 group of noisy talkers, but near enough to enjoy 
 the benefit of hearing their conversation. 
 
 No sooner did Mr. Warwick appear in sight, 
 than one of these gentlemen of leisure, a brother 
 lawyer, started up, and stepped to the edge of 
 the piazza to exchange a word with him as he 
 passed. 
 
 " Warwick ! A moment, will you, War- 
 wick ! " cried he. "I did not know that you 
 were back. When did you arrive ? " 
 
 " Yesterday evening," answered Mr. War- 
 wick, as he stopped and shook hands cordially. 
 " But I am off again, you see." 
 
 " Ah ? " said the other, with some surprise. 
 " I thought you would have gone to work about 
 the robbery. Don't you intend to hunt down 
 those scoundrels ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick smiled. " You know my faith 
 in the old saw, ' Give a thief rope enough, and 
 he is sure to hang himself.' " 
 
 Mr. Ashe the legal brother smiled also, 
 and very significantly ; though, as he stood with 
 his back to the group in the piazza, nobody but 
 Mr. Warwick himself perceived the smile, or the 
 glance that accompanied it. He knew Mr. War- 
 wick's faith in the said proverb ; but he knew 
 also that Mr. Warwick invariably took the pre- 
 caution, in cases of the kind, to hold the end of 
 the rope in his own hand and shrewdly suspect- 
 ed that he was not departing from his usual cus- 
 tom on the present occasion. A few general 
 remarks followed after this Mr. Ashe judicious- 
 ly refraining from indiscreet questions and 
 then Mr. Warwick, pleading haste, went on his 
 way. But he had taken the opportunity during 
 the moment in which he was stationary almost
 
 200 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 directly in front of St. John for he had not 
 stopped the buggy until it passed a few feet be- 
 yond the group of loungers to cast one or two 
 rapid, apparently careless, but in reality very 
 keen glances at that personage. Glances which 
 were returned with interest since, on more than 
 one account, the lawyer was an object of no 
 common regard to the scheming adventurer. 
 This was the man who had spirited away Felix 
 Gordon this the man who, according to the 
 unanimous belief of his townsmen, " would soon 
 ferret out the bank thieves." St. John had no 
 particular, or, rather, no personal knowledge of 
 Mr. Warwick's character ; but he had heard 
 enough about it in the discussions concerning 
 the bank robbery, which were in everybody's 
 mouth, to excite his apprehension. 
 
 " Yet," thought he, moodily watching the 
 smoke, as it curled away from his lips, " what 
 can the man do ? " And then he went over in 
 his mind all the precautions against detection 
 which his comrade had so elaborately adopted ; 
 he remembered that this comrade was accom- 
 plished in the art of deceiving London and Pari- 
 sian detectives ; and he smiled cynically at the 
 idea of a village-lawyer in " this d d backwoods 
 country," being able to outwit such an adept in 
 his profession. For himself, he had 'not the 
 slightest uneasiness. His figure had been so 
 effectually disguised by much clothing and a 
 heavy blanket-overcoat, that nobody, he was cer- 
 tain, would ever imagine that the tall, slender, 
 and elegant form, so familiar now to Tallahoma 
 eyes, could have been transformed into that of 
 Burglar No. 2, whose portrait passed from lip 
 to lip as " short and square-built ; just about 
 such a looking man as Mr. Shields." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Warwick drove on a square 
 or two, and stopped before Mr. Powell's store. 
 
 " Is your father in, Jimmy ? " he said, as the 
 boy hurried forward to meet him. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Will you walk into the counting- 
 room ? " 
 
 He led the way to a glass door at the farther 
 extremity of the store, opened it, ushered in the 
 lawyer, and closed it again looking regretfully, 
 as he did so, at the curtnin which concealed the 
 interior of the apartment from his view. He had 
 scarcely returned to his place near the entrance 
 of the store, however, before the folds of this 
 curtain were pulled aside, and he saw his father's 
 hand beckoning to him. All elate, he bounded 
 down the long room, and disappeared from the 
 gaze of the wondering clerks. A few minutes 
 afterward, the door was again opened, and Mr. 
 
 Warwick, Mr. Powell, and Jimmy, all issued forth 
 the face of the latter beaming with pleasure. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, Powell," 
 said Mr. Warwick, as they walked toward the 
 door. " I'll take good care of Jimmy, and bring 
 him safe back, I promise you." 
 
 " I don't doubt that, Mr. Warwick. Always 
 glad to accommodate you in any way, sir ; and 
 particularly glad in this case for Marks's sake 
 as well as your own. I only hope Jimmy may be 
 of use to you." 
 
 They shook hands, and Mr. Warwick, reenter- 
 ing his buggy, pursued his way in one direction, 
 while Jimmy, after also shaking hands with his 
 father, and receiving a few parting injunctions 
 from him, walked off in another. 
 
 The latter went home, and, as Mr. Warwick 
 had advised, put his tooth-brush and a change 
 of linen into a pocket of his overcoat, and then 
 proceeded, by a short cut through the woods, to 
 Morton House. So correctly had Mr. Warwick 
 reckoned the time which his own and the boy's 
 movements would require, that, just as he drove 
 out of the Morton domain, Jimmy emerged from 
 the wood on the opposite side of the road, and 
 joined him. 
 
 " I give you credit for your punctuality," he 
 said, with a smile. " Let me have the reins, 
 Cyrus. I shall be back in a day or two. Good- 
 by. Up with you, Jimmy this side." 
 
 He drove off, down the Saxford road, and kept 
 it for several miles ; then he took a fork to the 
 left, and, after pursuing this for some miles far 
 ther, emerged into the Chesselton road. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 CHECKMATED. 
 
 ON Saturday afternoon, St. John took his 
 usual sunset stroll, which invariably led him 
 past the Marks residence, into the country tow- 
 ard Morton House. He was in good spirits }n 
 high spirits, in fact for, by the Chesselton mail 
 of the morning before, he had received a letter 
 posted at the stage-house from which Gillespie 
 had taken up his goggle-wearing passenger (a 
 country post-office, as well as stage-house), ad- 
 vising him of the safety thus far of his associate. 
 Added to this, he was under the impression that 
 Mr. Warwick had " gone off on a wrong scent." 
 Not an hour had elapsed from the time at which 
 that gentleman halted for a moment at tne hotel 
 piazza to speak to his friend Mr. Ashe, before
 
 CHECKMATED. 
 
 201 
 
 ihe group of loungers were discussing the fact of 
 his having taken Jimmy Powell and started to 
 Saxford. Everybody had heard Hugh Ellis's ac- 
 count of the man who was at the bank with the 
 ragged note, and was aware that Jimmy Powell 
 believed he had seen the same man, on the same 
 day, in his father's store; it was known that Mr. 
 Warwick had been at the stage-office, making the 
 most minutely particular inquiries ; and some- 
 body had met Mr. Warwick with Jimmy Powell 
 in his buggy, travelling toward Saxford. With 
 such circumstantial evidence, the inference was 
 clear, thought the gossiping loungers and their 
 interested auditor Mr. Warwick had gone to 
 Saxford in pursuit of the burglars, and had 
 taken the boy along to identify the one he had 
 seen. And while Mr. Warwick's admiring 
 townsfolk exulted in anticipation at the suc- 
 cess which they were sure awaited him, 
 St. John smiled to himself sarcastically, and 
 with intense satisfaction, at the failure which 
 he was as confident the lawyer would meet 
 with. 
 
 He was thinking of this failure, congratulat- 
 ing his confrere in crime and himself on the ad- 
 mirable conception and execution of their daring 
 exploit, and altogether in a better humor with 
 Fortune than he had been for many a day before, 
 when a curve in the road he was pursuing, brought 
 him into an open and rather elevated space of 
 ground, over which a crimson light from the 
 blazing western sky was at the moment stream- 
 ing. St. John was no lover of Nature. He did 
 not turn to admire the magnificent sunset ; but 
 having just emerged from between two walls of 
 lofty and dense forest, which had made an almost 
 twilight gloom around him, he was surprised to 
 find that the sun was not yet set, and he paused 
 an instant to look at his watch. As he stood 
 motionless, his figure was so clearly defined in 
 the broad light, and against the background of 
 sun-gilded forest, that Mr. Warwick, who was 
 advancing from the opposite direction, though at 
 east a quarter of a mile distant from the place 
 where he stood, recognized the slender and ele- 
 gant form at once. As it chanced that he was 
 just approaching the gates of Morton House, he 
 checked his horses. 
 
 " I have business here that I must stop to 
 attend to," he said. " I suppose you can drive 
 on to town alone, Jimmy ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 "You will find Cyrus at my office. Just 
 hand the horses over to him." He alighted, and 
 beld out his hand with a cordial smile. " I shall 
 
 not forget the service jou have rendered me, 
 my boy. Good-evening." 
 
 St. John, discovering that it was so much ear- 
 lier than he had thought, walked on, with his 
 eyes on the ground, as was his habit, and his 
 thoughts still dwelling upon the success of hia 
 late " venture." He was considering whether it 
 would not be safest to destroy the paper, rather 
 than run the risk of detection at any future time 
 in attempting to pass it. This question had 
 already been discussed by his associate and him- 
 self; for, even before he had heard of the pre- 
 cautions taken by the cashier to stop the notes, 
 he was aware of the danger attending the illicit 
 possession of bank-paper. But it had been de- 
 cided to keep it, on tlie chance of being able to 
 realize at least a part of it, after the excitement 
 about the robbery had blown over. He had in- 
 tended to insist on one point that not a dollar 
 of it should be used, until he himself was safe 
 out of the country. His own safety once assured, 
 he was not uncomfortably solicitous about that 
 of the man whom he regarded merely as a tool 
 forced upon him by Fate. 
 
 Engrossed in meditations so interesting, Mr. 
 St. John gave but the most careless glance at the 
 buggy he met and passed. He had left behind 
 him the sunny knoll which had betrayed his pres- 
 ence to Mr. Warwick, as the road again entered 
 between aisles of thick forest growth, when sud- 
 denly he lifted his eyes with a sense of instinc- 
 tive apprehension, and perceived at a distance of 
 fifteen or twenty yards before him on his path, 
 and advancing at a quick pace toward him, a 
 man he instantly recognized as the lawyer whom 
 he had supposed to be at that very time in Sax- 
 ford. He was startled so much startled, that, 
 for once, presence of mind deserted him. He 
 turned and began to retrace his way to the vil- 
 lage, hoping thus to avoid the most transient 
 meeting with a man for whom he had felt, from 
 the first moment he ever saw him, a sense of 
 unequivocal distrust a distrust amounting to 
 positive fear under present circumstances. After 
 a moment or two, he felt somewhat reassured 
 from his first panic. What pretext could the 
 man find for addressing him ? So thinking, he 
 walked more slowly, and endeavored to collect 
 himself to meet with a properly supercilious 
 wonder any salutation which the lawyer might 
 make. But notwithstanding his resolution 
 _his heart beat quickly, as near and nearer be- 
 hind sounded the sharp, firm tread that was 
 overtaking him rapidly. Just as he had left 
 the forest shade once more, and stood in the
 
 802 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 full light of the setting sun, a voice at his side 
 said : 
 
 " Good-evening, Mr. St. John." 
 
 He turned with an air of affected surprise, 
 cast a single glance at the speaker, responded 
 coldly, " Good-evening," and fell back a pace, 
 with the obvious intention of letting the other 
 pass on. But Mr. Warwick, instead of taking 
 the hint, stepped a little forward, and faced so 
 as to impede the way. 
 
 " This chance meeting has saved me the trou- 
 ble of hunting you up in Tallahoma, Mr. St. 
 John," he said, quietly. " We will sit down on 
 this log, if you please. I have something to say 
 to you." 
 
 The tone, the manner, above all, the expres- 
 sion of those piercing blue eyes, struck terror to 
 the guilty man's soul. He quailed for an instant ; 
 but, rallying then by a great effort, answered 
 sneeringly : 
 
 " Really, sir, you are very obliging. But, to 
 the best of my recollection, I have not the honor 
 of your acquaintance. You probably mistake me 
 for some other person." 
 
 He would have moved on, but the tall form 
 of the lawyer effectually barred the way. The 
 only possibility of escape was by positive flight ; 
 and reckless, and morally degraded as St. John 
 was, there still remained with him one at least 
 of the instincts of gentlemanhood courage. He 
 could not fly from an adversary : on the contrary, 
 the very sense of open antagonism gave to him an 
 unaffected boldness of bearing and of feeling, 
 which the consciousness of crime had almost par- 
 alyzed the moment before. He met Mr. War- 
 wick's eye unflinchingly, as he said with super- 
 cilious hauteur: 
 
 " What is the meaning of this insolence, 
 sir?" 
 
 Mr. Warwick smiled. " I am a little prema- 
 ture, I admit, in claiming your acquaintance," he 
 said, in so ordinary a tone that only a very nice 
 ear could have detected an inflection of mockery 
 in it ; " but I have a little document to present to 
 you, which will correct the informality a letter 
 of introduction from your friend Mr. Gilbert Di- 
 dier, alias Dr. Joyner, alias Mr. Johnson, alias 
 etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum, I have no doubt." 
 
 He took out his pocket-book deliberately 
 though he kept his eye on St. John opened it 
 and produced a small, sealed note, which he ex- 
 tended. 
 
 St. John did not move to take it. His sallow 
 face had grown actually livid, and he reeled as he 
 itood. almost like one drunken. Mr. Warwick 
 
 had the character of being a hard man ; but, as he 
 gazed at the cowering form that only a moment 
 before had worn so brave a front, an expression 
 very much like that of compassion passed ovei 
 his face. It vanished, however, as he saw the 
 instinct of the bravo flash into the eyes of the 
 detected criminal. He was prepared for this; 
 and, as St. John plunged his hand into his bos- 
 om, he himself threw forward his right hand, and 
 St. John, before he saw the weapon, heard the click 
 of a pistol as it was cocked. 
 
 " If you withdraw your hand, I fire," said the 
 lawyer, in a tone not to be misunderstood. " You 
 see that, in every sense, you are in my power 
 in my power absolutely. If you wish to save 
 your life and your reputation, you will not at- 
 tempt useless resistance, but will follow the 
 example of your associate whom I yesterday even- 
 ing caused to be arrested and lodged in Chessel- 
 ton Jail for the late robbery of the bank at Tal- 
 lahoma, and who has confessed his guilt." 
 
 lie paused, and, with his pistol still covering 
 St. John's person, waited for an answer waited 
 patiently enough, for he saw that a terrible strug- 
 gle was going on in the mind of the miserable 
 man, and he believed it would end in the man- 
 ner he wished. So he stood, watchful but patient, 
 as the thin and now fearfully pallid face worked 
 with a convulsive passion frightful to behold. 
 Suddenly the face grew calm, settling into an ex- 
 pression of half-sullen despair, of half-fierce de- 
 fiance. 
 
 " What are your proofs ngainst me ? " he 
 asked, with a directness which elicited Mr. War- 
 wick's respect for his discretion in thus coming 
 at once to an understanding of his position. 
 
 " Your promissory note in your own name to 
 Didier, 'for one-half the specie secured in your 
 late enterprise on the bank at Tallahoma ' I 
 quote, you perceive, the wording of the note it- 
 self with an acknowledgment that the whole 
 amount of money stolen is in your possession, 
 and that the paper shall be disposed of as here- 
 after agreed between Didier and yourself," was 
 the reply, in a perfectly dispassionate and busi- 
 ness-like tone. 
 
 St. John gnashed his teeth. 
 
 " Also," continued Mr. Warwick, in the same 
 tone, " a letter of date of Thursday morning 
 last, purporting to be from James Smith to 
 Thomas Johnson, advising the latter that ' busi- 
 ness goes on prosperously,' and so forth. The 
 writing of this letter (though some attempt at 
 disguising the hand was made), and the paper 
 upon which it was written, would be recognised
 
 CHECKMATED. 
 
 203 
 
 by a court of law as identical with those of the 
 promissory note." 
 
 " The vile hound, so he betrayed me ! " ex- 
 claimed St. John, more to himself than to Mr. 
 Warwick. 
 
 But the latter answered : 
 
 " Joyner, or Didier, you mean, I suppose ? 
 No ; I always give the devil his due. He did not 
 betray you. I don't think he could have been 
 induced to do so. I obtained the evidence I hold 
 very much against his will by Read his note. 
 That, I presume, will explain." 
 
 Once more he held the note toward St. John, 
 and the latter, withdrawing his hand from his 
 bosom, this time condescended to take it, though 
 with an air of disdain. Tearing it hastily open, 
 he read as follows : 
 
 " Don't think that I betrayed you, St. John. 
 I did not even make the slightest admission about 
 myself until after this infernal lawyer curse 
 him ! Curse his whole tribe, for they are the 
 same all the world over, from Lincoln's Inn to 
 this damned out-of-the-way hole that I am caged 
 in ! I was going to say that I did not make the 
 slightest admission about myself, much less about 
 you, until after all was up by his discovery of the 
 false bottom in my instrument-box that I showed 
 you. I had stowed your note and letter in there 
 for safety. I had hoped that you would escape 
 with the money, for there was nothing to crimi- 
 nate you, or even to suggest a suspicion against 
 you, until this infernal law-ferret scented out 
 the box, and got possession of your note, and 
 the tools that are my letters of credit and open- 
 sesame into banks and out of prisons. After that 
 it was no good in holding out, and I made the 
 best terms I could with him for you as well as 
 myself. Take my advice, and follow my example. 
 You will get off easy if you make no difficulty 
 about giving up the money, which is lost to us 
 anyhow, and it will make considerable difference 
 for me. Don't get into one of your devil's hu- 
 mors and refuse to listen to reason. You see he 
 has evidence to convict you. And you owe it to 
 me to do all you can for me, as I would have done 
 for you ; for I'll be d d if any thing would have 
 induced me to betray you. 
 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 "GILBERT DIDIER." 
 
 " Have you seen this ? " said St. John to the 
 .awyer, when he had finished reading it. 
 " No." 
 " Is what he saya true ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick took the note, which the other 
 offered, with his left hand, and in turn ran his 
 eye over its contents, without, however, suspend- 
 ing his vigilance as to St. John's movements. 
 
 " Yes, it is true," he answered, briefly. 
 
 " What are your terms ? " 
 
 " I will spare you arrest and prosecution for 
 the crime you have committed, and will keep 
 your secret not even telling it to my brother- 
 in-law on two conditions : first, that you at 
 once give up the whole of the money ; second!}', 
 that you agree to leave this State and never re- 
 turn to it. If you refuse these conditions, I will 
 arrest you on the spot. You look as if you 
 thought that would not be easy to do " he in- 
 terrupted himself to say, as St. John's lip curled 
 into a sneering smile " but you are mistaken. 
 As I told you a minute ago, you are in my power 
 absolutely. The first movement that you make 
 to possess yourself of the pistol that you have 
 in your bosom, I will disable you. I don't intend 
 to kill you, but I'll wing you ; both side?, if neces- 
 sary. I am the more powerful man of the two, 
 and could then deal with you easily myself. But 
 I need not be at that trouble. I have only to 
 raise my voice and shout for assistance, to be 
 heard by some of the Morton negroes. The 
 quarters are just round the point of that wood, 
 and the hands are in from work by this time. 
 They know me, and will dbey any orders I give 
 them." 
 
 St. John's eyes sank to the ground, and he 
 gnawed his lip sullenly, without speaking. 
 
 Mr. Warwick, after a minute's silence, re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " Decide at once whether you accept my con- 
 ditions. I am in a hurry." 
 
 " What terms do you offer as regards Di- 
 dier ? " 
 
 " I have not made public the evidence that I 
 hold against him. He was arrested at my in- 
 stance, oit suspicion of having been connected 
 with the burglary. I need not say that my evi- 
 dence is sufficient to convict you both. He was 
 aware of this, or he would not have made the 
 admissions which he did to me privately for he 
 is a bold scoundrel. I must do him that justice. 
 On the restoration of the money, I will withdraw 
 my accusation against him, and he shall be re- 
 leased, on condition that he, too, leaves the coun- 
 try. I shall retain the proofs against both of 
 you that I possess, and, if either breaks the con- 
 dition I impose by coming back into the State, 
 he will be coming to immediate arrest and prose- 
 cution."
 
 204 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "Your conditions won't do. I must have 
 some of the money." 
 
 "Not a stiver!" 
 
 " You may whistle for it yourself, then. My 
 arrest and conviction will not help you to a 
 knowledge of where it is. Allow me five thou- 
 sand dollars the reward which that fellow 
 Marks has offered for its recovery two thou- 
 sand five hundred apiece to Didier and myself, 
 and I will produce it. Otherwise do your 
 worst ! I shall at least have the gratification of 
 baffling you, and ruining your insolent brother- 
 in-law." 
 
 " You are not as clever as you think your- 
 self, Mr. St. John," said Warwick, dryly. " You 
 forget that your accomplice knows where the 
 money is concealed. To give you a chance, 
 he refused to treat with me himself on the 
 subject. But I leave you to judge whether 
 he is likely to persist in his silence when he 
 learns that you threw away the chance thus 
 afforded you, and as his own safety depends 
 upon the restitution of the money. I give 
 you terms much more favorable than you have 
 any right to expect, because it will be less 
 troublesome to me to receive the money im- 
 mediately, and let you go, than to arrest and 
 imprison you, and then make another jour- 
 ney to Chesselton to bring Didier up here. 
 Once for all, do you take my conditions or 
 not?" 
 
 There was a pause, a struggle a bitter strug- 
 gle in St. John's mind, before he answered, sul- 
 lenly 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Produce the money. I am aware that it is 
 secreted in the woods somewhere hereabout. De- 
 liver it to me at once." 
 
 Without a word the defeated man turned and 
 walked toward the great iron gates that gave en- 
 trance to Morton House, his companion keeping 
 beside him. The sun had set very shortly after 
 the foregoing conversation commenced, and it 
 was now deep dusk on the lonely road which 
 they traversed ; but when they entered the gates 
 of Morton they did enter, St. John leading the 
 way still silently there was something of twi- 
 light yet lingering in the more open path that 
 they pursued ; and the full moon was just rising 
 grandly brilliant in the clear eastern heaven. St. 
 John, after keeping the path for a short distance, 
 plunged into the thickest of the wood, and finally 
 stopped at a spot well chosen for the purpose to 
 which it had been applied a sort of miniature 
 avine that was shut in on all sides by a thick 
 
 undergrowth, and surrounded by tall forest-trees. 
 Halting beside the huge trunk of a fallen tree, he 
 stirred among the dry leaves with his foot for an 
 instant, then, stooping, took up by the handle a 
 mattock which had been concealed there. Walk- 
 ing a few steps farther, to the foot of the tree, 
 he again pushed away a quantity of dry leavea 
 that filled a hollow caused by the violent up- 
 tearing from the earth of the roots of this for- 
 est monarch, which had been blown down by a 
 hurricane, and proceeded to exhume with the 
 mattock the treasure that he was forced to re- 
 sign. 
 
 Mr. Warwick watched the work in silence ; 
 but when St. John, after removing the shallow 
 layer of earth that had covered a pair of small 
 leather saddle-bags, hauled it out with the mat- 
 tock and pushed it with a heavy thump toward 
 him, he said : " Is the money all here ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well. Keep your part of the agree- 
 ment and I shall keep mine." 
 
 He picked up the saddle-bags, and they left 
 the spot as silently as they had sought it ; and it 
 was not until they had regained the open path 
 again that another word was spoken. Then Mr 
 Warwick paused and said : 
 
 " Our paths separate here. I have been trav. 
 elling and am tired and this is rather a heavy 
 weight to carry from here to Tallahoma. I will 
 cross the wood to Morton House, and borrow 
 Mrs. Gordon's carriage to take me to town. 
 Good-evening." 
 
 St. John deigned no reply. He waited tc 
 hear the conclusion of Mr. Warwick's speech 
 then, without a syllable, without even a glance, 
 he turned and walked rapidly toward the gates. 
 
 Some short time afterward, to Mr?. Gordon's 
 surprise, Harrison ushered Mr. Warwick into her 
 sitting-room. He carried on his arm the leather 
 saddle-bags, and, declining the servant's proposal 
 to relieve him of it, deposited it himself on a 
 side-table before accepting Mrs. Gordon's invita 
 tion to join her at her tea, which she was jus* 
 taking. 
 
 " You do not drink tea," she said. " Coffee, 
 Harrison, and something a little more substan- 
 tial than this." She pointed to the table. 
 
 While Harrison went to execute this order, 
 the lawyer tolfl. his story, and preferred his 
 request for the carriage. 
 
 " I tell this to you only," he said, after she 
 had congratulated him cordially on the recovery 
 of the money. " Having received the first hint 
 of the man's guilt from you, I do not consider it
 
 CHECKMATED. 
 
 205 
 
 a breach of my promise to tell you that your sus- 
 picion was just." 
 
 Harrison returned, here, with a reenforcement 
 of edibles that quite transformed the appearance 
 of Mrs. Gordon's tea-table ; and, after taking his 
 Bupper with the appetite of a man who has been 
 travelling, and is in excellent spirits, Mr. War- 
 wick said good-evening to his friend and hostess, 
 and once more preferring to carry his saddle- 
 bags himself (a little to the scandal of Harrison, 
 who was old-fashioned in his ideas of the pro- 
 prieties), he entered the carriage which was in 
 readiness, and was soon set down at the garden- 
 gate of the Marks residence. 
 
 Passing up the walk and through the piazza, 
 he entered the dining-room, and found Mr. and 
 Mrs. Marks its sole occupants the children hav- 
 ing been sent off to bed when the tea-table was 
 removed, an hour before. He paused on the 
 threshold of the door, and, himself unperceived, 
 regarded for an instant, with a smile of dry 
 humor, the disconsolate-looking pair. Mr. Marks, 
 solemn-visaged and pale, sat gazing with a dull 
 stare into the fire; while his wife, her usually 
 busy hands folded in pathetic idleness, was look- 
 ing sorrowfully at him. 
 
 " Well, Marks, I have brought you back part 
 of your money," said Mr. Warwick, advancing 
 into the room. " Just draw that little table for- 
 ward, and we will count it, and see how much is 
 missing." 
 
 Mr. Marks sat motionless, so startled and 
 astonished was he by this unexpected appear- 
 ance and address of his brother-in-law. He 
 looked from Mr. Warwick's face to the saddle- 
 bags on his arm, and back again, in dumb in- 
 credulity of the possibility of such good fortune ; 
 until the latter, growing tired of the weight, de- 
 posited it upon the knees of the stupefied cashier, 
 while he himself fetched the table he had asked 
 for, transferred to it a candle from the mantel- 
 piece, lifted the saddle-bags again and set them 
 down with a sounding thud beside the candle, 
 drew a chair to the table, and sat down. Then, 
 as he proceeded methodically to unbuckle one 
 of the bags, life flashed back through Mr. 
 Marks's stagnant veins, and he drew his chair 
 forward with feverish eagerness impatient of the 
 slowness, as it seemed to him, with which Mr. 
 Warwick's long white fingers did their work. 
 One, two, three straps ; and the buckles were 
 new and stiff, hard to open. But the flap was 
 lifted at last, and Mr. Warwick's hand brought 
 forth bag after bag, and ranged them before the 
 hungry eyes that looked on. When he had cmp- 
 14 
 
 tied both bags, he began telling over their con- 
 tents. Twenty-four canvas bags the mint mark, 
 " $1,000," bright and black on each seals un- 
 broken (with the exception of one, a little larger 
 than the rest, which had been opened and was 
 now tied at its mouth with a piece of red tape), 
 and two packages of bank-notes. These Mr. 
 Warwick examined first. He patiently counted 
 the smallest package the notes that had been 
 in circulation. " Thirteen hundred and twenty- 
 seven dollars," he said, as he put down the last 
 bilL " That was the amount, was it not ? " 
 
 " That was the amount," answered Mr. Marks, 
 recovering speech. 
 
 " Now let us see whether this is right too," 
 said the lawyer, unwrapping a newspaper that 
 was folded loosely around the larger pack- 
 age. 
 
 " All right ! " cried the cashier, eagerly, as he 
 saw that here too the seals were intact. " Good 
 God ! I never thought to see any of it again, 
 and here it is just as I saw it last! This bag" 
 he took up the one that was tied " has eighty 
 dollars over the amount in the others. It was 
 part of what I was to keep, and I put the eighty 
 dollars in " 
 
 " John, how did you get it back ! " excterryed 
 Mrs. Marks, who had been literally inarticulate 
 with joy up to this moment. " Oh, my dear, 
 dear John, how did you get it back ? " 
 
 " Never mind about that, Bessie," he an- 
 swered, smiling. " All I can tell you is that I 
 tracked down one of the burglars and made him 
 disgorge." 
 
 " You've got him safe, I hope, for punish- 
 ment ? " said Mr. Marks. 
 
 " No. I could not secure the thief and the 
 money both so I preferred of the two to take 
 the money," answered he, rising and standing 
 on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire. 
 
 " But John" 
 
 " If you ask me any more questions, Bessie, 
 I'll make Marks pay me the five thousand dol- 
 lars reward that he offered for the recovery of 
 the money," interrupted her brother, with hia 
 slight and rare laugh. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean, John, that you're not 
 going to tell us any thing more than this ? " 
 
 " Yes, Bessie, I mean just that. I have con- 
 jured back the money there it is ! and that 
 must satisfy you." 
 
 " It satisfies me ! " cried Mr. Marks, speak- 
 ing like himself once more. " John, I don't 
 know how to thank you!" He started up and 
 began shaking Mr. Warwick's hand so hard that
 
 200 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 the latter could not restrain a slight grimace of 
 pain. 
 
 " Don't try," he said, as he managed to with- 
 draw the suffering member from that merciless 
 grasp. " Where are the children ? Not gone to 
 bed already, surely ? " 
 
 " Yes, they are gone to bed. It's not very 
 early," answered Mrs. Marks, apologetically. 
 "Why, what am I thinking of! don't you 
 want some supper, John ? " 
 
 " Thank you, no I have had supper. Have 
 you heard any thing from or of Miss Tresham 
 yet?" 
 
 " Not a word. And never shall, I expect." 
 She sighed. 
 
 " There you are mistaken. I can give you 
 some news of her." 
 
 "Toucan!" 
 
 " Yes." And he proceeded to describe his 
 having found her in Hartsburg the week before, 
 and all that had followed. The Markses were 
 amazed, and even a little sympathetic so far as 
 the brain-fever was concerned ; but Mr. Marks 
 remained firm in his resolution of having noth- 
 ing more to do with her. " I liked her very 
 much," he said, " and all may be right so far 
 as she herself is concerned ; but I'm convinced 
 there's something wrong about this Mr. St. 
 John, and there certainly is some connection 
 between the two; so I think it safest to have 
 nothing more to do with Miss Tresham. I've 
 made up my mind to it, and I hope you won't 
 try to change my resolution, John " 
 
 " Certainly not," interrupted Mr. Warwick, 
 a little coldly. "If you have made up your 
 mind, that settles the matter. All I have to 
 say is, that you are acting very hastily and very 
 foolishly, in my opinion. I wonder if Tom has 
 gone to bed, as well as the children ? " 
 
 " Do you want him ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I should like to send word to Hugh 
 Ellis that the money is safe." 
 
 " You're right ! " cried Mr. Marks, with ani- 
 mation. " Poor Hugh ! I'll go and send at once, 
 and relieve his mind." 
 
 The message certainly relieved Hugh's mind, 
 but it put his curiosity on the rack ; and great 
 was his disappointment the next morning when 
 he learned that this curiosity was not to be grati- 
 fied by any more satisfactory information than 
 that very meagre account which the Markses had 
 already heard. Nor was he alone in his disap- 
 pointment at Mr. Warwick's reticence. All La- 
 grange felt defrauded and indignant ; and St. 
 John, as he sat next morning for the last time 
 
 in the hotel piazza (he left in the Saxford coach 
 at noon that day), listening to the gossip of tlie 
 loungers, had the satisfaction if in his existing 
 frame of mind any thing could be a satisfaction 
 to him of hearing Mr. Warwick's obstinate re- 
 fusal to give any explanation of how he recov- 
 ered the money, commented upon and censured 
 in the strongest terms. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 TO WIN OR LOSE IT AH. 
 
 FEBRUARY came with a burst of tender, spring, 
 like beauty that seemed to take the world by 
 storm. Far away on the hills and over the woods, 
 the soft, purple mist of the spring-time that 
 mist to the careless eye so like, and to the ob- 
 servant eye so essentially unlike, the blue, melan- 
 choly haze of the Indian summer rested like a 
 promise of coming beauty and budding vegeta- 
 tion, hung like a veil of enchantment over each 
 distant scene, rounding every outline, softening 
 every rugged shape, clothing all things with a 
 loveliness that charmed the senses like a draught 
 of fairy elixir ; if, indeed, we do not dishonor 
 Nature by such comparisons, for what fairy elixir 
 could be half as full of the delicious power to 
 charm as lier least gleam of sunshine, her palest 
 sunset, the least flicker of her shadow upon a 
 velvet turf? Sometimes February comes with 
 dun skies and dropping tears, and sad robes trail- 
 ing over the cold-brown earth ; but then again 
 and this more frequently she comes in the win- 
 some guise of which we have spoken, crowned 
 with flowers who does not love them better 
 even than the royal roses of May ? and followed 
 by a train of joyous birds that seem to fill the air 
 with their happy twitter and full-throated song. 
 " Singing, perhaps, does not so much make them 
 happy, as it saves their little hearts from burst- 
 ing because they are so full of happiness," says 
 one of the sweetest and most tender of writers ; 
 and sometimes we think this must be so. Some- 
 times we feel as if they utter our happiness, as 
 well as their own, our thanks to God for the 
 bounteous gift of all this His fair and glorious 
 creation. 
 
 It seemed s% at least to Katharine, as she felt 
 the world waking to new life all around her 
 felt it as she felt the health that was coming like 
 new wine into her veins, and flushing her cheek. 
 She was by this time domesticated at Bellcfont, 
 and every thing was very pleasant around her
 
 TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL. 
 
 207 
 
 Luxurious appointments, plentiful attendance, 
 kind faces, cordial tones, smiles that seem only 
 the faint reflections of warm hearts- -who has 
 not been cheered by such a haven once or 
 twice in life, at least ? Who has not gone forth 
 warmed, invigorated*grateful for what has been, 
 and courageous to meet what may be ? Just 
 now it was the time of rest with Katharine. The 
 first period of convalescence was past, and she 
 was well enough to make one of the family cir- 
 cle into which she had entered ; yet the habits 
 of illness still clung to her, and the task of 
 getting well was as yet far from complete. Re- 
 pose was still a necessity ; and this repose the 
 Lesters took especial care to secure for her. 
 Chough the house was thronged with company 
 half the time, Katharine found that every thing 
 had been arranged so that she could see as much 
 or as little of it as she chose ; and when she 
 chose to see exceedingly little, nobody found 
 fault or was offended. Mrs. Lester, a quiet, 
 motherly old lady who wore black-silk aprons, 
 and carried a huge basket of keys, sympathized 
 with the young stranger, and' spent much time in 
 concocting delicate, dainty dishes with which to 
 tempt her appetite; Colonel Lester made her 
 welcome in very pleasant and hearty fashion, 
 and promised her exercise on a " splendid " 
 riding-horse that would bring back her roses as 
 Boon as she was able to sit in the saddle ; Miss 
 Lester was charmingly kind, and kept her dozen 
 or so of boisterous cousins to herself as much as 
 possible; Miss Vernon Katharine liked better 
 every day ; Spitfire condescended to remember 
 that he had formerly made her acquaintance, and 
 to greet her with tolerable amiability ; and the 
 redoubtable Bulger (whose teeth in themselves 
 were enough to terrify a nervous person into 
 hysterics), suavely permitted her to pat his head, 
 when he was triumphantly marched in for inspec- 
 tion by his doting mistress. Even the maid who 
 was detailed for her special service had a bright, 
 pleasant face ; and any one who has ever suffered 
 from a sour, sullen, or unwilling servant, will 
 need no assurance that this was a very far from 
 inconsiderable item in the general sunshine. 
 
 On the whole, Katharine felt as if she was 
 in a sort of dream. Tallahoma ! Mrs. Marks ! 
 the school-room ! St. John ! Mrs. Gordon ! 
 Wlat had become of them all? Which was 
 reul, that life or this one ? What had befallen 
 all those people since she parted from them so 
 long ago? What chance had led these kind 
 Samaritans to the way-side where they had found 
 her ? It all seemed strange nearly as strange 
 
 as when she first waked from unconsciousness 
 and asked those bewildered questions which no- 
 body would answer which nobody had answered 
 to her satisfaction yet. 
 
 One evening, a few days after her arrival at 
 Bellefont, she was down-stairs, in the cosy sit- 
 ting-room where the family assembled when 
 there was no company, where Mrs. Lester pla- 
 cidly knitted in one corner, where Colonel Les- 
 ter read the papers, and occasionally nodded over 
 them, where he played whist, and never nodded 
 over that, where Miss Lester had her particular 
 seat by the fire (the same seat on which she had 
 nursed her doll a few years before), from which 
 she chattered nonsense unceasingly, where Spit- 
 fire basked luxuriously on the hearth-rug, and 
 where a little darkey with an unnaturally solemn 
 face and an unnaturally-clean check apron, sat in 
 a corner by the fireplace on a low stool, ready to 
 hold Mrs. Lester's yarn, to bring chips, and run 
 errands generally, for anybody who wanted any 
 thing. It was a pleasant, home-like scene, Kath- 
 arine thought, as she sat back in a corner (it ia 
 astonishing how many corners a room of this 
 description can manage to have), and watched 
 and listened, herself quiet and silent. There was 
 a piano in still another corner somewhat in the 
 shade and at this Miss Vernon was singing that 
 softest and sweetest of Scotch ballads, " The 
 Land o' the Leal." The clear voice which had 
 no power in it for bravura execution sounded 
 very sweetly in the touching cadences of the 
 tender melody. They were all silent, and all 
 listening even Colonel Lester, who cared no 
 more for music in general than for the beating 
 of a tin pan when there came a step in the 
 hall. " Some of the ubiquitous cousins," thought 
 Katharine, with a sigh of regret ; but a familiar 
 voice was heard saying, " Yes, I know the way," 
 and Godfrey Seymour entered the room. The 
 music did not cease. Miss Vernon only nodded 
 to him with a smile, and went on singing, while 
 he made the tour of the fire, shaking hands with 
 every member of the circle, and only recognizing 
 Katharine when he came to her last of all. 
 " Miss Tresham ! " he exclaimed. " What a 
 pleasant surprise ! " Then he greeted her warm- 
 ly, and sat down by her side. Katharine did 
 not feel much like conversation, but it never 
 required any effort to talk to Seymour. He was 
 so frank, so simple, so free from all effort him- 
 self, that, unconsciously, he forced others to be 
 natural also. Miss Tresham was startled when 
 at last she glanced at the clock and saw how 
 long she had been talking to him.
 
 208 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " I must go," she said, smiling. " I am an 
 invalid still, and keep invalid hours. You will 
 excuse me, won't you ? " 
 
 " Of course, I excuse you," he answered, 
 " especially since I hope to see you very soon 
 again." 
 
 He went with her to the door, shook hands 
 when he said good-night, and then, in turning 
 back, cast a quick glance round the room, that 
 took in the occupation of every one of its in- 
 mates. One of the ubiquitous cousins had ar- 
 rived, and was entertaining Miss Lester, Colonel 
 Lester was nodding over a newspaper, Mrs. Les- 
 ter was winding some yarn which Flibbertigibbet, 
 (a name of his young mistress's bestowal), held 
 eolemnly on his two little black paws. Miss Ver- 
 non was still at the piano, singing softly to her- 
 self. To the piano, therefore, Mr. Seymour took 
 his way. 
 
 " I don't know what you will say to me," he 
 began, as he settled himself in a seat by the key- 
 board. " I have broken faith with everybody, 
 and told Miss Tresham that Morton is staying 
 with me." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Miss Vernon, stopping in the 
 midst of her song. " And what did she say ? " 
 
 " Nothing in particular," he answered, 
 " though I assure you I was frightened enough 
 when I found I had let out the secret. I had 
 been warned so solemnly against any indiscre- 
 tion of the kind, that I fully expected her to 
 faint ; but, instead of that, she had not even the 
 grace to turn pale." 
 
 " How foolish you are ! " said the young lady, 
 railing. " Of course, nobody ever expected her 
 to faint, or even to turn pale. In fact, there is no 
 reason why she should not be told about him. 
 You know it was by the doctor's orders that 
 every thing has been kept from her up to this 
 time; but I think she is well enough now to 
 bear something a little more exciting than dear 
 Mrs. Lester's nice soups and omelets." 
 
 " I bring a message from Annesley, anyway. 
 The poor fellow wants to know when he can 
 come over. I was charged to make intercession 
 for him, and I can do so most sincerely. It is 
 amazingly dull for him over at our place." 
 
 " That is a slander on your place which I 
 won't sanction. Because Mr. Annesley happens 
 to be lovesick, and unable to find any pleasure in 
 any thing that is not brightened by Miss Tresh- 
 am's eyes " (then with some contrition) " there 
 goes my sharp tongue again ! I wonder if I never 
 shall cure myself of saying ill-natured things ? 
 Honestly, I am very sorry for him, and it was 
 
 only to-day that I told Maggie that she ought tc 
 write a note and tell him he might come. I am 
 very glad you paved the way by speaking of him 
 to Miss Tresham. By-the-by, this reminds mo 
 that Mrs. Lester has received a letter from Mr. 
 Warwick, begging her to keep all accounts of the 
 T^llahoma bank robbery from Miss Tresham, and 
 adding that he will be down here eoon to take 
 her back to La grange." 
 
 " He seems to take a great deal of interest in 
 Miss Tresham. I hope it does not bode ill for 
 Annesley." 
 
 " Nonsense ! I should as soon think of a 
 volume of Blackstone falling in love as Mr. War- 
 wick. Miss Tresham was his sister's governess, 
 and he has been very kind to her that's all. 
 Men are twice as fanciful as women are about 
 such things as this." 
 
 " Perhaps because we know each other bet- 
 ter. Miss Tresham is amazingly pretty," he 
 added, candidly, " and very attractive, very sym- 
 pathetic. I should not mind falling in love with 
 her myself." 
 
 " Do it, then, by all means. Your chance 
 would be quite as good as Mr. Annesley's, I 
 should think." 
 
 " I might, perhaps, if no man can serve two 
 masters, you know, much less two mistresses. 
 Now, I found mine long ago. Fortunately, or 
 probably unfortunately, for me, I could not 
 change my allegiance, if I would." 
 
 " It is a misfortune to be too constant," said 
 Miss Vernon ; but she said it very gently, and 
 then changed the subject abruptly. " And Mr. 
 Annesley wants to make an appearance on the 
 scene, does he ? " 
 
 " He sent me over specially to intercede for 
 him. Not that I needed much persuasion tc 
 induce me to come," he added, with a slight 
 grimace. " I am always ready enough to singe 
 my wings. Tell me what message I shall take 
 back to the poor fellow." 
 
 " We must go and ask Mrs. Lester that. I 
 can't venture to bid him come merely on my own 
 responsibility." 
 
 Mrs. Lester being propitious, it was finally 
 decided that Mr. Annesley might venture to 
 make his appearance at Bellefont the next 
 morning ; and, with this comforting news for 
 his friend, Mr. Seymour took leave. 
 
 The next morning was unspeakably lovely. 
 The sky had not a cloud, the air was soft and 
 warm, yet full of buoyancy so full of buoyancj 
 that it almost seemed as if it were possible tc 
 feel the buds expanding, the flowers opening, and
 
 TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL. 
 
 209 
 
 the grass springing all around. As Miss Vernon 
 sauntered back and forth on the front terrace, 
 her bright beauty looked akin to the bright day. 
 She almost dazzled Seymour and Annesley when 
 they came riding up, and, dismounting from their 
 horses, looked up and saw her standing at the 
 top of the steps, with the sunshine pouring over 
 her slender figure, her fresh morning-dress sweep- 
 ing the gravel-walk, and a knot of violets fast- 
 ened at her throat. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you," she said, greet- 
 ing them both with a smile. " Is not the day 
 charming? I could not stay in the house, 
 though there are half a dozen people there who 
 have come with the deliberate intention of 
 spending the day the Roystons, and ever so 
 many more. Mr. Seymour, you need not look 
 so much alarmed. You can stay out here with 
 me, if you choose, and that will give me a good 
 excuse for not going back. I can say you kept 
 me." 
 
 " And put all the blame on my shoulders," 
 said Godfrey, laughing. " Well, they are broad 
 enough to bear it, and I accept the responsibil- 
 ity with pleasure. We will certainly stay. It is 
 a sin to go iu-doors such a day as this." 
 
 " But how about me ? " asked Annesley. 
 44 Am I to be left to the tender mercies of Roys- 
 ton & Co., or am I to be allowed to remain and 
 enjoy the beauties of Nature also ? " 
 
 " You are to come with me and be shown 
 what you are to do," answered Miss Vernon. 
 " Stay here, Mr. Seymour, if you please, I will 
 be back in a minute. This way, Mr. Annesley." 
 
 Somewhat amused, and a little puzzled, Mor- 
 ton obeyed, and followed the young autocrat 
 around the terrace. She led him to an angle 
 of the house, and quite out of sight of the draw- 
 ing-room, before she paused. Then she stopped, 
 and pointed to three French windows that opened 
 on the terrace, just where the terrace overlooked 
 the garden, which lay to the south. 
 
 " Do you know where those windows lead, 
 Mr. Annesley," she asked, gravely. 
 
 " I think I do, Miss Irene," answered Mor- 
 ton, with equal gravity. " They lead into the 
 sitting- room." 
 
 " Well, if you choose to go through one of 
 them, you will find Miss Tresham in the sitting- 
 room. I left her there half an hour ago." 
 
 " But is there no fear of startling her ? " 
 
 " None at all, I assure you. She knows you 
 are expected, and I don't think she troubles her- 
 self to be the least bit excited about it. She 
 said she should be glad to see you she wanted 
 
 to hear from Lagrange. Go in, by all means, and 
 give her the news from Lagrange ; only remem- 
 ber " (and her voice changed from bantering to 
 earnest) " that you must not mention the bank 
 robbery. For some cause, Mr. Warwick has pro- 
 hibited it." 
 
 " You may depend on my discretion," he 
 said, and was turning away, when she extended 
 her hand and touched him. 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Annesley," she said, 
 smiling and blushing. Many a long day after- 
 ward the scene came back to Morton ; he re- 
 membered the sweet spring sunshine, the slender 
 white hand on his coat-sleeve, the beautiful face 
 bending toward him, the frank, tender eyes, and 
 the delicious fragrance of the violets fastened at 
 her throat. " One word, Mr. Annesley," she said, 
 hastily. " Don't think me impertinent, but we 
 are old friends, and may I wish you success ? " 
 
 For one moment Annesley was surprised ; the 
 next, he felt deeply touched. The few words 
 had been so sweetly and so gracefully said that 
 the veriest churl must have acknowledged their 
 charm. It was fortunate that they were out of 
 sight of the drawing-room windows, for, follow- 
 ing his first impulse, he bent and kissed the 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Irene," he said, simply. 
 
 Then, before she could answer, he was walk- 
 ing away toward the French windows. 
 
 As it chanced, Katharine was sitting imme- 
 diately in front of one of these windows, leaning 
 back with supreme comfort in a deep arm-chair, 
 enjoying idly all the fresh beauty of the scene 
 before her, and so wrapped in the dreamy reve- 
 rie which such weather inspires, and which does 
 not deserve to be called thought, that a book she 
 had been attempting to read had dropped from 
 her hand to her lap, and lay there unheeded. 
 She hardly started when a crisp, ringing step 
 step that she knew well sounded on the gravel 
 walk, when Morton drew aside the curtains and 
 looked in at the window, thus finding himself 
 face to face with the woman he had come to 
 seek. 
 
 " Miss Tresham I How happy I am to see 
 you ! " he exclaimed, making one long step 
 through the window to her side. " How happy 
 I am to see you ! and to see you looking so 
 entirely yourself ! " 
 
 " How happy I am to be well enough to be 
 seen again ! " she answered, letting him take 
 both her hands in his warm, eager clasp. " You 
 are very good to to look so glad," she added, 
 with a little laugh. " Everybody is so good to
 
 210 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 me 1 You have heard how these kind people 
 insisted on bringing me here to get well ? " 
 
 " I have heard considerably more than you 
 have, I believe," said he, laughing in turn. Then 
 he released her hands, and, stepping back a lit- 
 tle, looked at her. 
 
 Her illness had not left any very terrible 
 traces. That was his first thought. The worst 
 was certainly the loss of her hair ; yet, even that 
 did not disfigure her as much as might be ima- 
 gined. The head had only been shaven on the 
 top of the scalp, and that was covered by a light 
 and infinitely becoming cap of muslin and lace ; 
 elsewhere the brown hair, which was not more 
 than an inch or two long, had an inclination to 
 curl, that saved it from the horribly-ungraceful 
 aspect of short straight hair. Bound the fore- 
 head it lay in soft, pretty rings, that seemed to 
 suit the delicate complexion, which had an exqui- 
 site transparence, that is often seen after severe 
 illness, but rarely ever at any other time. Even 
 the eyes he knew so well had caught, Morton 
 thought, new beauty ; they were so full of dewy 
 lustre, as they looked up, dazzled and drooping a 
 little from the sunshine ! Perhaps this dewy 
 lustre sprung from tears. At least, there was 
 something like a suggestion of tears in her voice 
 when she spoke. 
 
 '' Everybody is so good to me ! " she repeat- 
 ad, with much feeling. 
 
 " How could anybody help being good to 
 you ? " he asked, in a tone that carried with it 
 an unmistakable accent of sincerity. After he 
 said it, something rose in his throat and choked 
 him a little. With that face before him, and the 
 golden day all around, a sudden remembrance 
 came of the night when this bright life had 
 seemed passing away from earth, and the things 
 of earth, into that realm of darkness and shadow 
 which to him, as to many people, the night served 
 to typify. Was it real ? Was it she, sitting be- 
 fore him there with the sweet, flickering smile 
 smile half akin to tears on her lip ? Or was 
 that other only a dream that memory of past 
 danger, darkness, and distress ? He found it 
 impossible to realize them both. Yet, he looked 
 at her, and said : 
 
 " You don't know how grateful I am that you 
 are gaining health and strength once more." 
 
 " Can you imagine how grateful I am ? " 
 she asked. " It is so pleasant no words can 
 say how pleasant to feel life coming back with 
 every breath one draws ! The most common and 
 trivial things of existence seem to have new 
 sweetness and value, when one has so nearly 
 
 lost them. This day no doubt, it is charm, 
 ing enough to you, but to me it seems like para, 
 dise 1 So it is with every thing. I cannot de- 
 scribe the sensations that beset me; or, per- 
 haps, I can sum them up in one I am so glad 
 to get well ! " 
 
 " And glad to be here, are you not ? " 
 
 " Very glad, indeed, though everybody waa 
 most kind in Hartsburg. I don't understand 
 matters quite yet," said she, looking puzzled ; 
 " but I suppose I shall after a while. I was sur- 
 prised to hear that you were expected to-day 
 How do you chance to be down here ? " 
 
 " Oh, I I am staying with Godfrey Sey- 
 mour," said he, smiling a little. " What are 
 you reading ? " 
 
 She held out the book. It was a volume of 
 the " Faerie Queene." 
 
 " I wanted something that would not excite 
 me," she said; "and this is an old and dear 
 favorite, that has gone with me many a ramble. 
 Perhaps it is from this association that it seems 
 to me as if it should always be read with bright 
 sunshine and beautiful scenes all around. I am 
 so glad to see you ! " she went on, with an 
 abrupt change of subject, as Annesley took the 
 volume and began turning over the leaves. " I 
 want to ask you about Lagrange. I feel as if 
 the world might have come to an end while I 
 was lying sick in Hartsburg ; so I really have 
 not dared to write to anybody. Tell me some- 
 thing, please, Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " What shall I tell you ? " asked Mr. An- 
 nesley, becoming much interested in the " Faerie 
 Queene." 
 
 " Any thing," answered she, impatiently, 
 " Don't look that way, or I shall think there is 
 something you don't want me to know. Mr. 
 Annesley " growing pale " tell me, please, it 
 there any thing ? " 
 
 " On my honor, not a thing," answered Mor- 
 ton, hastily, quite startled by her sudden change 
 of color. " What should there be ? and, if there 
 were any thing, why should I not tell you ? I 
 I'll go aud bring Mrs. Lester to you, if you don't 
 get your color back," he added, becoming more 
 alarmed. 
 
 " No, don't ! " said she, holding out her hand 
 as he half turned to go. "Stop ; the color will 
 come back in a rninute. I fancy your fright is 
 only an excuse to escape from my questions," 
 she went on, smiling faintly. " I have not asked 
 them yet, you know. Did you see Mrs. Marks 
 before you left Lagrange ? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw her, and she was quite well.
 
 TO WIN OR LOSE IT ALL. 
 
 211 
 
 Please let me go and get you something some 
 water or wine." 
 
 " I need nothing at all ; thank you. Did Mrs. 
 Marks say any thing to you with regard to me or 
 my absence ? " 
 
 Poor Morton cast about in his mind for an 
 evasive answer, found none, and plunged head- 
 long at a reckless truth. 
 
 " She mentioned you, of course, and ex- 
 pressed great concern at your absence. You 
 she it seems you did not tell her how long you 
 meant to be away ? " 
 
 " How could I, when I had no idea of any 
 thing like this ? It is like a dream," she said. 
 " You don't know how strangely vague every 
 thing seems. Almost immediately after I ar- 
 rived in Saxford, things waver and grow dim in 
 my recollection. I stayed there two or three 
 days longer, perhaps waiting for Father Mar- 
 tin. I think, in fact I am sure, that the fever 
 was on me then. My remembrance of those 
 days is of continued, dull, heavy pain, and burn- 
 ing thirst. If I had been myself, of course, I 
 should have gone back to Tallahoma ; but I was 
 full of cowardice and terror terror of a person 
 whom I did not like and I had no control over 
 my nerves. Day by day this grew worse, until it 
 became a wild desire for flight. My last tangible 
 recollection is of making up my mind to leave 
 Saxford and going to sell my watch, for I had 
 brought very little money with me. After that, 
 every thing is a blank till I waked up in Harts- 
 burg, and they told me I had been at death's 
 door. I don't know what they think of me in 
 Tallahoma. It has been six weeks, you know, 
 since I left there but I have felt a quietness 
 about it that amazes myself. I am glad to come 
 back to life; but it seems as if many things 
 that troubled me before have dwindled in im- 
 portance, have less, far less power to disturb me 
 than they formerly had." 
 
 " Then that is one good result, at least, 
 arising from your illness." 
 
 She looked a little startled. 
 
 " Why, is there any thing that I must 
 hear ? " 
 
 " How quick you are to suspect what has no 
 existence ! There is nothing at all that I know 
 of I am simply glad that you have reached an 
 enviable state of indifference to things subluna- 
 ry, which are more often disagreeable than pleas- 
 ant." 
 
 " I did not say I was indifferent. I hope I 
 never shall be. I think indifferent people have 
 hardly a Hrht to live in a world that is full of 
 
 things to take interest in. Never mind about 
 that, however. Tell me how many days it has 
 been since you left Lagrange." 
 
 " Days ! " He first stared, then hesitated. 
 " It has been a month since I left home." 
 
 " Indeed ! " The extreme of astonishment 
 was in her face and in her voice. " A month ! " 
 she repeated. " Then you must have been else- 
 where? You cannot have been here all that 
 time?" 
 
 " If by here you mean Apalatka, I am obliged 
 to confess that I have been here all the time." 
 
 " But, Mr. Annesley " 
 
 " Well, Miss Tresham ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said she, coloring. " 1 
 was so much surprised that I was on the point 
 of being very uncivil. I was about to ask what 
 you had been doing here." 
 
 She spoke with perfect unconsciousness ; but 
 her words seemed charged with meaning to Mor- 
 ton. He had gone in search of her with one fixed 
 purpose in his mind : he had waited to see her, 
 steadily resolved to accomplish that purpose as 
 soon as practicable; and now, here was the op- 
 portunity to do it. Morton did not fear his fate 
 very much, as his frank assertion to Mr. Warwick 
 on the night that Katharine lay, as they thought, 
 dying, plainly showed. Poor fellow ! He had 
 been so spoiled and humored, so praised and 
 taught to consider himself irresistible all his life, 
 that the wonder was, not that he had a little van- 
 ity, but that he had half so much honest humil- 
 ity. There was nothing of offensive puppyism 
 in fact, there was nothing of puppyism at all 
 in his belief that Miss Tresham would accept 
 him. He wondered at it himself, and, despite 
 his apparent grounds for confidence, could not 
 help doubling it a little. He even flushed sud- 
 denly at her last words, more like a boy than 
 like a man of the world ; then looked straight 
 at her with his clear eyes. 
 
 " I will tell you what I have been doing 
 here," he said. " I have been waiting to see 
 you.' 1 ' 1 
 
 " To see me ! " repeated Katharine. She was 
 stupid just then, and it did not occur to her what 
 he meant. On the contrary, her head was so full 
 of Tallahoma, and St. John, and Mrs. Gordon, 
 that she turned pale again, and gave a low, trem- 
 bling cry. " I knew it," she said. " You have 
 something to tell me. Mr. Annesley, pray be 
 kind and tell it at once." 
 
 " I think I am the most bungling fellow that 
 ever lived ! " cried Annesley, out of patience with 
 himself. " This is the third time I have startled
 
 212 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 you without any earthly reason for it. Please 
 believe, ouce for all, that there is nothing I could 
 tell you if I wanted to of a disagreeable nature, 
 I mean. There is something I wish to tell you, 
 and mean to tell you," he went on, hurriedly ; 
 " but it certainly cannot have the merit of nov- 
 elty, and I hope it will not be disagreeable to 
 you. Miss Tresham, do I need to tell it ? Don't 
 you know you, without any help from me why 
 I came here, and why I have remained ? " 
 
 In a second she knew what he meant. A 
 flush came over the pale face, then died away, 
 leaving it paler than ever. Looking at her, An- 
 nesley was startled ; he did not know whether to 
 hope or to fear. Only one thing was certain a 
 good sign, it is usually considered she did not 
 speak. Still there was something about her, now 
 as ever, which kept him at a distance, which 
 made him speak with humility when there was 
 every reasonable ground for speaking with hope. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," he said, " don't be angry 
 with me. I only mean this : that I love you so 
 well I cannot keep silent longer. I what is the 
 use of talking ! " said the young man, with a sud- 
 den, passionate burst of excitement. " You are 
 every thing in the world to me ; words are too 
 poor to tell you what you are. I never knew 
 what love was till your face kindled it in my 
 heart. I should have spoken long ago if if you 
 had given me one sign of encouragement. But 
 you are so cold, so self-contained. Even now " 
 
 He stopped suddenly stopped without any 
 apparent cause and, turning, walked away. 
 
 He was right. Words were too poor to tell 
 her what he felt, to utter the great love, the faith- 
 ful, honest devotion which lay at her feet ready 
 for her to take up and make her own. But 
 then, again, no words were needed to tell him 
 that he had spoken in vain, that there was no 
 answer to his passionate pleading in that averted 
 face, that the hand lying so lightly on the arm 
 of her chair would never be extended to him, 
 never ah, never ! The knowledge came on him 
 with a rush a force that was equivalent to a 
 physical blow. He stopped, turned pale, and 
 walked to the other end of the room. Then 
 there was a silence. A bird just outside of the 
 window was twittering and trilling as if in the 
 very exuberance of happy content, a ripple of 
 gay voices and laughter sounded across the hall 
 from the drawing-room, and a gardener just be- 
 low the terrace sung to himself a negro melody 
 as he spaded. 
 
 Katharine was the first to speak, her voice 
 telling nothing of the struggle it had been to 
 
 comm.md it, as she uttered his name. He cam 
 back instantly, a light of wistful hope in his eyes 
 that touched her heart, and gave her tones a sort 
 of quiver when she went on : 
 
 "Mr. Annesley, forgive me that I did not 
 speak. You surprised me so much, and I I am 
 not very strong yet. What can I say ? " she 
 added, after a moment's pause. "It seems use- 
 less to tell you that I am grateful for the honor 
 you have done me. I admire you so much, I 
 esteem you so highly, that I shall be prouder all 
 my life, and yet sadder, too, to think that you 
 should have loved me. But you know ah, why 
 have you been so foolish ? you know it cannot 
 be!" 
 
 " I only know that it depends on you," said 
 Annesley. " On nothing on nobody else. Un- 
 derstand this, you hold my life in your hands. 
 Keep it, or throw it away, just as you please ; 
 all the same, it is yours." 
 
 "Hush!" said Katharine, gently. "Pray, 
 don't talk like that. Your life ah, Mr. Annes- 
 ley, how much you have forgotten when you 
 speak so to me. Your life can be nothing to 
 me, my life less than nothing to you. Not a 
 single interest or possibility of one crosses, or 
 can cross, the other. Why have you forgotten 
 this ? " 
 
 " Rather ask why I should remember why I 
 should believe it." 
 
 " You know it is impossible," said she, speak- 
 ing with an earnestness that startled him. " You 
 have acted on a sudden impulse a generous im- 
 pulse, I am sure but you must see and feel that 
 it is impossible ; that I am nothing, that I never 
 can be any thing to you." 
 
 " You are every thing to me," he answered, 
 standing before her, pale and resolute, deter- 
 mined evidently to obtain a definite answer 
 before he left her presence. 
 
 " I oh, how foolish I am ! " said Katharine, 
 as a sudden rush of tears ended her sentence 
 almost before it was begun. She was foolish 
 very foolish but this was a great temptation ; 
 and that fact may, perhaps, excuse her. How 
 forlorn she felt, just now, especially, among 
 strangers, and without a single friend on whom 
 it was possible to rely ; and, in the very midst of 
 this loneliness, a hand was extended, a voice 
 spoke, and she ^new that care, kindness, home, 
 wealth, position, best of all, earnest love, was 
 offered to her. Was it strange that, realizing 
 this, her resolve almost failed, her heart gave a 
 great pang when she tried to speak the words 
 that would out them forever from her 9
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 213 
 
 "Don't distress yourself," said Annesley, to 
 whom the last, worst evil of earth was the evil 
 of seeing a woman's tears ; " pray, don't distress 
 yourself; I shall never forgive myself if you 
 do ! I think I had better go," he said, desperate- 
 ly ; "I shall make you ill if I stay any longer. 
 All this agitation must do you harm. I will 
 come again to-morrow. Please think of what I 
 have said, and and try to make up your mind to 
 come to me. I think I could make you happy, if 
 you would," he added, wistfully, " and I am sure 
 you could make me more than happy." 
 
 With these words he left the room, Kath- 
 arine making not an effort to detain him. In 
 truth, she was literally incapable of doing so. 
 Weakness and agitation together had proved too 
 much for her. She was so completely exhausted 
 that, after he was gone, she could hardly remem- 
 ber where she was, or what had happened. 
 
 When Morton went back round the terrace 
 (for his exit, like his entrance, was by way of the 
 window), he found that Miss Vernon had disap- 
 peared, and that Seymour was standing by the 
 horses, smoking a cigar, and looking rather 
 gloomy. 
 
 " Have you spoken to the good people in the 
 house ? " asked Annesley, coming up. " I won- 
 der if it is necessary to do so before we go ? " 
 
 " No, I have not," answered Godfrey, with a 
 start. " And I don't think it is necessary. They 
 are not ceremonious people, or people likely to 
 be offended. If you have finished your visit, we 
 might as well be off. As certainly as we go in, we 
 shall have to stay to dinner." 
 
 " Let us be off, by all means, then," said An- 
 nesley, springing into his saddle with ungrateful 
 haste. 
 
 The other followed his example, and, riding 
 briskly, they were soon out of the Lester domain. 
 The Seymour place was several miles distant. 
 They had ridden a mile or two before Annesley 
 roused sufficiently from his own abstraction to 
 notice his companion. 
 
 " What is the matter, Godfrey ? " he asked. 
 " You don't seem like yourself you don't even 
 .ook like yourself." 
 
 Godfrey rolled a cloud of blue smoke from 
 between his lips before he answered. Then he 
 laughed shortly. 
 
 " A man is apt to look gloomy after he has 
 made a fool of himself," he said. " I have made 
 an egregious fool of myself; so, as a logical con- 
 elusion, I have a right to look gloomy. It is 
 only the old story," he went on, meeting Annes- 
 ley's eye. " Every six months, regularly, for the 
 
 last three years, I have asked Irene Vernon to 
 marry me. She has told me, regularly, in the 
 gentlest and kindest manner, that she cannot 
 think of such a thing. Each time I say to my- 
 self that it shall be the last time ; yet I go back 
 and commit the same absurdity over again. 
 With the best possible intentions to the contrary, 
 I committed it again this morning." 
 
 " And the result ? " 
 
 " The result was that I made her cry, and 
 that I should like to give myself a sound drub- 
 bing, if that would do any good." 
 
 " Cry ! " repeated Annesley, somewhat aghast. 
 " Good Heavens ! I wonder if women always cry 
 on occasions of the kind ? " 
 
 " Not if we may believe the testimony of some 
 lucky fellows," said Seymour, dryly. " However, 
 I don't think a man is worth much until he has 
 been rejected once or twice," he added, resigned- 
 ly. " It is like getting well thrashed at school 
 part of that sound, but unpleasant process called 
 'finding one's level.' One or two straightfor- 
 ward noes would not do you any harm, my good 
 fellow." 
 
 " Thanks. I suppose you mean that I am a 
 puppy ? " 
 
 " No ; I only mean that you are a little con. 
 ceited, as, perhaps, you have some right to be. 
 If you won't consider me impertinent, have you 
 ever been rejected ? " 
 
 " Never ! " said Morton, who had reasons of 
 his own for being reticent on this point. 
 
 " Then you have some of the needful disci- 
 pline of life yet to undergo. Let that be your 
 consolation when the time of your discomfiture 
 comes." 
 
 "I hope it may never come ! " said Annesley, 
 with perfect sincerity. 
 
 But, in his heart, he could not help thinking 
 that there was a very good chance of its coming 
 on the morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 AFTER Annesley left, Katharine went to her 
 own room, partly because she was obliged to lie 
 down, and partly because she wanted to be alone 
 and think over all that had occurred. 
 
 From this process resulted great self-con- 
 tempt, and greater self-reproach. Why had she 
 been so foolish ? why had she been so unde- 
 cided ? why had she let herself be swayed from
 
 214 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 what she knew was right? why had she let him 
 go away under a false impression that she might 
 perhaps say yes ? and, oh ! above all, why had 
 she been so silly as to cry ? She asked herself 
 all these questions, and did not find a single satis- 
 factory answer for one of them. The more she 
 thought of the matter of that unsatisfactory, 
 pointless proposal the more vexed with herself 
 she became. She could not walk distractedly up 
 and down the floor, because she was much too 
 weak for such an exercise ; and she could not 
 tear her hair, because there was hardly any left 
 to tear ; but she did every thing else that people 
 under stress of strong emotion are usually ex- 
 pected to do she set her teeth, she wrung her 
 hands tightly together, and every now and then 
 impatient exclamations (far from complimentary 
 to herself) burst from her lips. Nothing is more 
 true than that " some people seem by intuition to 
 see only truth and right ; others must needs work 
 out their faith by failing and sorrow. They real- 
 ize truth by the pain of what is false, honor 
 through dishonor, right by wrong repented of 
 with bitter pangs." Katharine was one of the 
 latter class. Looking back over the events of 
 the last few months, regarding them as having 
 culminated in the events of the last few hours, 
 no words can express the self-contempt and self- 
 reproach that rushed over her. " St. John was 
 right, I have thought of myself of nobody but 
 myself!" she said. " And this is the end. Ah, 
 me! Are people always punished so much for 
 considering themselves? If so, I wonder that 
 anybody ever does it" 
 
 The more she thought of Morton, the more 
 the temptation of his offer gained strength, and 
 yet the more firmly she determined to put it from 
 her. " I should make a base return for his gen- 
 erous kindness if I accepted him," she thought ; 
 yet what an attraction there was in himself and 
 in all that he offered her ! There is neither sense 
 nor truth in saying that a woman only feels this 
 attraction when she is in love. Plenty of women 
 feel it about plenty of men ; yet instinct tells 
 them that it is not the right feeling not the 
 feeling that will endure, and, enduring, sweeten 
 all that even the happiest married lives must know 
 so they resist it ; and so, likewise, it often takes 
 as hard a struggle to say No, as it is sometimes 
 reported to take for saying Yes. The probabil- 
 ities are that, if- Katharine had loved Annesley 
 as much as Juliet could possibly have loved 
 Romeo, she would still have held firm to her 
 refusal ; for with all her weaknesses and her 
 itory shows that she had a sufficient number 
 
 of them she possessed no inconsiderable 
 amount of that rare strength which enables 
 a human soul to come victorious from the 
 most fierce and terrible combat known to earth 
 the combat where self takes part against 
 self, and the flesh rises against the spirit. But 
 Fate had been kind enough to spare her thia 
 last, worst trial. She was not " in love " with 
 him, as far as that common phrase can be taken 
 to mean the eager, impetuous passion that no 
 obstacle of rank, time, distance, or age, can over- 
 awe. Very probably she would have fallen in 
 love after the most approved mode, if she had 
 been of an equal social position with himself, if 
 she had not known that insuperable obstacles 
 lay between them, or if she had not been occu- 
 pied with other and graver considerations. As it 
 was, however at the risk of making her a little 
 less interesting, the truth must be told her 
 struggle had not the romantic savor which a 
 desperate passion hopelessly combated can alone 
 give ; the attraction that drew her toward Annes- 
 ley was, in great degree, an attraction apart from 
 himself. 
 
 Yet not the attraction of those merely world- 
 ly advantages which went with him. They had 
 their weight, of course ; it is only in Arcadia that 
 people are entirely independent of such consid- 
 erations ; but their weight was infinitely less 
 than that of the faithful love, the warm devo- 
 tion, the shielding protection, that would be hers, 
 if she held out her hand to him. Think of her 
 for a moment think how lonely and friendless 
 and desolate she stood ! Then, if possible, won- 
 der that the temptation was almost beyond her 
 strength. Let it not be supposed, however, that 
 any grandiloquent ideas of not loving him suf- 
 ficiently made her hold back. She loved nobody 
 else ; and she did not doubt that a grande passion 
 for this young paladin would come soon enough 
 with time and opportunity to help it. That was 
 not the consideration. Yet she him eh, what 
 was the consideration ? Her head felt singularly 
 dull and heavy. Before she was aware of it, tired 
 Nature asserted itself, and she fell asleep. 
 
 How long she slept, she had no means of 
 telling ; but the sun, which was streaming over 
 the crystal essence-bottles of the toilet-table 
 when slumber overtook her, had entirely veered 
 round, and was dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp 
 about the white ewer and basin on the wash- 
 stand, when she woke woke with a start, and 
 found a bright face surrounded by crisp, red 
 curls bending over her. 
 
 " Well," cried Miss Lester, " it is not possi
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 215 
 
 ble that you have % really concluded to open your 
 eyes at last ! I began to think that you were 
 going to sleep straight on into to-morrow. Dinner 
 has been over ever so long, and mamma has been 
 up two or three times to see about you. She came 
 to me at last, and wanted to know if I thought 
 you could have taken morphine or any thing of 
 the sort. What is the matter ? Does your head 
 ache ? " 
 
 " No, not now," answered Katharine, putting 
 her hand to the member in question, and trying 
 to remember what made her feel so vaguely un- 
 comfortable. Suddenly, it all came back to her 
 with a rush. Mr. Annesley 1 Oh yes that 
 was it ! How painfully bright the sunshine was ! 
 Why could she not have been left to sleep in 
 peace ? 
 
 " It does ache, I am sure," said Miss Lester, 
 who was watching her. " Is it the sun that 
 dazzles you ? I'll close the blinds, if you say 
 BO." 
 
 " No, thank you," said Katharine, rising lan- 
 guidly. " I believe I will get up. I am sorry 
 to have troubled Mrs. Lester so much. I really 
 did not mean to sleep so long." 
 
 " People can't be expected to wake them- 
 selves," said Miss Lester, composedly. " If you 
 are going to get up, I will ring for your dinner. 
 You must feel the need of something to eat." 
 
 The dinner was rung for, and the dinner 
 came up a sight to tempt the worst valetudi- 
 narian appetite. Even in the midst of difficul- 
 ties, people can sometimes be tempted by dainty 
 dishes served on fine old china, with damask of 
 dazzling whiteness, as Katharine satisfactorily 
 proved. She ate her dinner with considerable 
 appetite ; and, after it was finished, Miss Lester 
 cleared her throat, and made a plunge into con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I would not tell you before you had taken 
 your dinner," she said, " for a little thing often 
 takes away one's appetite ; but there is some- 
 body down-stairs to see you somebody who 
 came after you went to sleep." 
 
 Poor Katharine ! This was dismaying intel- 
 ligence indeed, for she thought of nobody but St. 
 John ; and, thinking of him, she gave such a 
 gasp, and grew so pale, that Miss Lester was 
 quite frightened. " Good gracious ! " cried she, 
 making a wild dart at a cologne-bottle on the 
 toilet-table. " Surely you are not going to faint. 
 I had not an idea dear, dear ! why, it is only Mr. 
 Warwick, Miss Tresham ! What on earth is the 
 use of looking like this about him ? " 
 
 " Mr. Warwick ' '' repeated Katharine, and 
 
 she gave another gasp, and tried to laugh. " Oh, 
 how much you startled me! I was thinking of 
 another and and quite a different person. I am 
 glad Mr. Warwick is here. But surely he has 
 not come to see me ? " 
 
 " To see you, and nobody else," answered 
 Miss Lester, keeping the cologne-bottle still in 
 her hand, and looking suspiciously ready for all 
 possible emergencies. " He drove over from 
 Hartsburg, and arrived just before dinner. You 
 were asleep then, and mamma would not let you 
 be waked ; besides, Mr. Warwick said he was in 
 no hurry. Take your time, therefore, about see- 
 ing him. If you don't feel like it just now " 
 
 " Of course, I feel like it," said Katharine, 
 rising and walking to the mirror. " I like Mr. 
 Warwick extremely, and it is very kind of him 
 to come and see about me," she went on. " I 
 wonder how he found out ? Oh, my poor hair! 
 How much he will be astonished to see me such 
 a fright ! " 
 
 " Who Mr. Warwick ? Why, he saw you 
 when you looked a hundred times worse ! " 
 cried Miss Lester, heedlessly. Then she stopped, 
 and stammered, as Katharine turned round in 
 amazement : " I mean, of course I forgot you 
 did not know oh, pshaw ! Miss Tresham, it is 
 all nonsense, and I am sure you ought to know 
 that, if it had not been for Mr. Warwick, you 
 would not be alive now. He found you there in 
 Hartsburg, when you were lying ill, at the mercy 
 of that abominable quack who, I hope, is hanged 
 by this time." 
 
 " He found me ? Ar. Warwick found me ? " 
 said Katharine, in the depths of astonished be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 After this, there was no help for it. Whether 
 Miss Lester would or not, she was forced to tell 
 the whole history, as far as she was acquainted 
 with it ; and Mr. Warwick had to listen resigned- 
 ly to Mrs. Lester's gentle commonplaces below, 
 while Katharine, above, listened breathlessly to 
 the account of his good deeds. When, at last, 
 she went down-stairs, the remembrance of what 
 she had just heard was flushing her cheeks and 
 lighting her eyes, until John Warwick, who had 
 naturally expected to see a pale, languid invalid, 
 was quite startled by the eager, impetuous girl 
 who opened the sitting-room door and walked up 
 to him. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," she said, " I have just heard 
 I did not know before how very, very kind 
 you have been to me. Forgive me oh, pray, 
 forgive me for having given you so much trou- 
 ble ! I am very grateful to you ! They tell me
 
 216 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 I should have died, if you had not found me. I 
 should not like to die, and and I am so grate- 
 ful to you ! " 
 
 She spoke hurriedly, clasping her hands ea- 
 gerly together ; then stopped suddenly at the last 
 words, and extended them toward him, with an 
 impulsive warmth that he had never seen her 
 display before. 
 
 " My dear Miss Tresham, they have been im- 
 posing upon your credulity, I fear," he said, 
 laughing, as he took the hands and shook them 
 cordially. " I am delighted to see you looking 
 so well ! You have done wonders with her, Mrs. 
 Lester." Mrs. Lester, who was sitting by, smiled 
 a bland acknowledgment. " I had not expected 
 to find you so entirely recovered in such a short 
 time; but Mrs. Crump told me that your con- 
 valescence was very rapid. I saw Mrs. Crump 
 as I came through Hartsburg ; I spent last night 
 at the Eagle Hotel She sent her best wishes to 
 you." 
 
 "And Mrs. Crump deceitful woman ! kept 
 me in ignorance about you. And Dr. Randolph 
 Mr. Warwick, why did you forbid them to 
 tell me ? You might have known that I would 
 find it out sooner or later." 
 
 "On my honor, I did not forbid them. I 
 never thought of such a thing. You must pour 
 out the vials of your indignation on Randolph's 
 head, not mine. By-the-by, this is the first op- 
 portunity that I have had to return an article 
 of your property which, strangely enough, 
 chances to be in my possession." t 
 
 He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth 
 the little, worn volume of Thomas a Kempis, on 
 which Katharine darted at once, with a cry of 
 recognition and delight. 
 
 " My ' Imitation of Christ ! ' " she exclaimed. 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Warwick ! I am so glad 
 to see it again ! I thought I had surely lost it 
 during all that dreadful time of which I remem- 
 ber nothing. It is such a pleasure to recover 
 it!" 
 
 "If I was fortunate enough to be instru- 
 mental in saving your life," he said, " you may 
 thank that book for my having done so. If the 
 landlady had not brought it to me, I should 
 have gone away totally unconscious that I had 
 passed the night under the same roof with 
 you." 
 
 Katharine opened the book, and pointed to 
 the faded writing. 
 
 " It seems like a blessing accorded to her 
 prayers," she said, softly. " I can hardly think 
 that I deserved it. But you have not told me 
 
 I don't understand how did you chance to be 
 in Hartsburg ? " 
 
 " Your memory is bad," he said, smiling. 
 " Have you forgotten a note that I wrote you 
 when I left Tallahoma, nearly two months 
 ago ? " 
 
 " A note ? " 
 
 " Yes, a note. Stop and try to think what it 
 was about. That will tell you how I chanced to 
 be in Hartsburg." 
 
 She stopped and thought for a minute, be- 
 fore she succeeded in grasping the missing idea. 
 Then, like a flash, her face cleared, and she 
 looked up at him. 
 
 " I remember ! You said you were going to 
 take Felix Gordon to school. Were you on your 
 way back to Tallahoma when you stopped in 
 Hartsburg ? " 
 
 " Yes, on my way back." 
 
 " And you found me accidentally ? " 
 
 He pointed to the book. 
 
 "If we may call that accident." 
 
 Her glance followed his. 
 
 " No," she said, reverently ; " it was not acci- 
 dent. I hope I am sufficiently grateful to God 
 first, and to you afterward. You have done so 
 much so very much for me, and I, alas ! can 
 do nothing for you." 
 
 " Yes," answered Mr. Warwick, smiling 
 slightly, " you can do something for me, and 
 you must not be surprised when I tell you 
 what it is." 
 
 " I shall not be surprised, no matter what 
 it is. I am only too glad to hear that there i* 
 something," she said, earnestly. 
 
 Mrs. Lester, with commendable discretion, 
 had left the room by this time, and they were 
 alone. Miss Tresham was sitting on a low chair 
 at one side of the fireplace, while Mr. Warwick 
 still stood before her, in his favorite attitude, 
 with one hand on the mantel. After her last 
 words, he sat down, and looked at her kindly 
 with his clear blue eyes. 
 
 " I did not expect you to make such a rash 
 promise," he said. " But, since you have done 
 so, I will take advantage of it. What I ask of 
 you, then, is confidence." 
 
 She started* colored, and looked at him a lit- 
 tle apprehensively. 
 
 "Pray be quiet," he said. "I won't distress 
 you, if it is possible to avoid it. Can't you trust 
 me a little ? " 
 
 " I trust you a great deal," she answered, 
 simply. 
 
 " Very well, then. Trust me thus far tell
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 217 
 
 me candidly, as you would tell your own brother, 
 the reasons why you left Tallahoma." 
 
 There was a minute's silence. Katharine 
 checked a question which rose to her lips, strug- 
 gled with herself a minute the varying color 
 made that evident then lifted her eyes, and 
 spoke as quietly as he had advised. 
 
 " I will not ask why you think it necessary 
 to make this inquiry, Mr. Warwick. I am sure 
 you must have some good reason, or you would 
 not do it. You don't know how strangely your 
 question strikes me after after some thoughts I 
 had this morning. It seemed to me then that, 
 looking back on the last few months, I could 
 trace all that I have suffered to one thing my 
 own cowardice. I ought to have spoken plainly 
 from the first spoken as I will endeavor to 
 speak now, if you have patience enough to listen 
 to me. Don't be astonished if I go very far 
 back, though ; I must do it to make you under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I can spare you a little, perhaps," he inter- 
 posed here. " Do you know that the Catholic 
 priest what is his name? Mr. Martin, from 
 Saxford, was summoned when you were so ill ? 
 I sent for him principally that I might inquire 
 if you had any friends or relations. I thought 
 he was more likely to know than any one else. 
 Well " as she colored deeply " I see that you 
 anticipate what I am about to say. You must 
 not blame him. I pressed him hard, and he 
 thought you were certainly dying. Under these 
 circumstances, he finally told me that you had a 
 brother the Mr. St. John I had seen in Talla- 
 homa." 
 
 " And you thought " 
 
 " I thought nothing, believe me, that I need 
 hesitate to tell you. If I ask your confidence 
 now, it is because, knowing thus much, I find it 
 necessary to know more; why, I will tell you 
 presently." 
 
 "You don't despise me for having- been so 
 so cowardly about acknowledging him ? " 
 
 A dark cloud came over the lawyer's face, 
 a cloud which absolutely frightened Katharine, 
 and yet which had no possible relation to her. 
 
 " I do not even blame you," he answered. 
 "More than that I can not say, until I know 
 more. I am sorry to impose such a hard task 
 upon you, but " 
 
 " It is not a hard task," she interrupted, ea- 
 gerly. " It is almost a relief to tell it to you. I " 
 (she looked at him wistfully), " I begin to wish 
 that I had told you every thing when you asked 
 tne some time ago, if you remember." 
 
 "It would have been much better if you 
 had." 
 
 " Yes, I see that now. But then it seemed 
 so useless, it seemed like a confidence without a 
 purpose. You could not help me, I thought, and 
 so why should I trouble you ? Afterward, after 
 he came, of course, it was harder to do. Yon 
 can't tell what he has been to me all my life," 
 she said, covering her face with her hands. 
 
 " I can imagine." 
 
 " My first remembrance is one of terror and 
 dislike of him. We lived in Jamaica with an 
 aunt our parents were both dead and even yet 
 it makes me burn with indignation to think how 
 her life was robbed of all peace and sunshine by 
 St. John. Mr. Warwick, I can't go into particu- 
 lars. They would not interest you, and they 
 would make me uncover some bitter ashes which 
 I tried tried hard to bury in her grave. Only 
 believe that he repaid her kindness by ingrati- 
 tude and bad conduct of every possible descrip- 
 tion. I ought to explain, perhaps, that she had 
 adopted us from our earliest childhood, from my 
 earliest recollection. We never bore any other 
 name than hers." 
 
 " Yet your brother " he began. 
 
 " Is named St. John," she interrupted. " Yes, 
 I know. But St. John is merely one of his bap- 
 tismals, the one by which we always called him, 
 and it was only when he finally separated from 
 us that he dropped Tresham and adopted his 
 second Christian name as a surname. Well, at 
 last it became impossible that my aunt could 
 endure him any longer. She wrote to his guar- 
 dian in England, a man whom he had never seen, 
 and represented matters so forcibly that St. John 
 was removed from her nominal control. The 
 guardian desired that he should be sent to Eng- 
 land, which was done. After that, as a means 
 of escaping from him in case he came back, she 
 left Jamaica and went to live in Porto Rico. It 
 was in vain, however, as far as her object was 
 concerned. After a while he followed us; he 
 was in need, and wanted money. Slender as my 
 aunt's means were, she was forced to comply with 
 his demands, as a condition of getting rid of 
 him. This left her too poor to move away again 
 if she had felt disposed to attempt it. That was 
 but the beginning. St. John did not come very 
 often, but he continually wrote for money ; and 
 you can imagine what it was to have this con- 
 tinual cloud hanging over one's life and home, 
 and the face one loved best in the world. What 
 his life was in Europe, meanwhile, I cannot even 
 pretend to say ; I cannot bear to think. Thera
 
 218 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 was a man named Fraser, who seemed his special 
 comrade; or, rather, I should say, his leader in 
 the life on which he entered. That man well, 
 you have heard of him. St. John told me that 
 he is Mrs. Gordon's husband." 
 
 " Yes ; I have heard of him." 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you know better than I do 
 how St. John lived during the intervals of 
 months, sometimes years, in which we never 
 heard of him. As I have said, he only came or 
 wrote when he was in need. He had not been 
 heard from for a long time, when my aunt died 
 and left me desolate. Almost her last words im- 
 plored me to leave the West Indies and go to 
 some place where he would not be able to trace 
 me. ' He will ruin your life if you do not escape 
 from him,' she said. ' He will destroy every pros- 
 pect of happiness that you could possibly have if 
 he knows where you are, and if you acknowledge 
 him and give him a claim upon you.' She was 
 dying, Mr. Warwick ; you may believe that I was 
 ready enough to promise to avoid him if I possi- 
 bly could. Well, I left the West Indies, and 
 went to England to an old friend of hers, who 
 obtained a very good situation for me at Dorn- 
 thorne Place. I had lived there a year con- 
 tented, at least, if not happy when one day St. 
 John appeared. By some means he had tracked 
 me down ; from the mere desire to torment me, 
 I honestly believe, for he knew I was in no posi- 
 tion to aid him. This man of whom I have spo- 
 ken, Fraser, I mean, had inherited a large Scot- 
 tish property, and St. John was living with him 
 as his secretary. The knowledge that he was 
 living near me, the knowledge that he knew 
 where I was, filled me with the old terror. I 
 remembered my dear aunt's dying admonition, 
 and, coupled with my own inclination, it made 
 me resolve to leave England and come to Amer- 
 ica. I felt that I should be more safe from him 
 here. You know how I came, how kindly your 
 sister took me, how quietly and happily I lived. 
 But it all ended on that November evening when 
 you brought me his letter ; the same evening that 
 Mrs. Gordon arrived. Do you remember it ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick's memory was very good. He 
 said, with perfect truthfulness, that he remem- 
 bered it. 
 
 " After I received that letter, the terror of his 
 coming grew upon me to an almost morbid de- 
 gree. At one time I had nearly made up my 
 mind to leave Tallahoma, but then that was very 
 hard to do ; I had grown so much attached to 
 the children, and Father Martin (to whom alone I 
 told my story) counselled me against it. ' Wait,' 
 
 he said ; and I waited, alas ! too long. I waa 
 very miserable during that time, though you were 
 the only person who perceived it. I remember 
 one day I was reading St. John's letter over 
 again, in the parlor, when somebody came in, and 
 I hastily put it out of sight in a sheet of music 
 and forgot it. Not long afterward Mr. Annesley 
 was turning over my music and found it. This 
 seems a trifling thing, no doubt, but you don't 
 know what a shock it was to me. I seemed to 
 realize who and what he was so clearly when it 
 came to the point of speaking of Mm to some- 
 body else. Of course, the feeling grew because it 
 was indulged. I did not combat it as I should 
 have done ; and, at last, it reached such a point, 
 that I felt as if I would sooner die than acknowl- 
 edge him. J see now how wrong it all was, how 
 nothing but selfish regard for the opinion of the 
 world, and wretched human pride, was at the bot- 
 tom of it; but then I gave way, and tried to 
 make myself believe that it was right to give way 
 to it." 
 
 " I can't say that I think it was wrong," ob- 
 served the lawyer, gravely. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it was wrong. I see things 
 more clearly now ; somehow it seems as if I al- 
 most see them as clearly as I might have seen 
 them on that death-bed which I so narrowly 
 escaped. We are not put into this world to 
 think of ourselves. Now, I thought of nobody 
 but myself. I shirked the plain duty, I tried to 
 throw off the plain burden which God put be- 
 fore me, and all out of mere Worldly opinion and 
 fear lest my name should be linked with with 
 Mr. Warwick, nothing can ever do away with 
 this ! It was cowardice, it was wretched cowar- 
 dice, and all that has followed is my fault." 
 
 " Pardon me if I remind you that you are 
 wandering from the point," said Mr. Warwick. 
 " It is a bad thing to be discursive. Suppose you 
 go back to causes, and let effects alone." 
 
 She aw what he meant. " I won't excite 
 myself," she said. " There is no use in that, 
 you know. But, all the same, it is my fault. 
 Well, St. John came ; and, of course, after he 
 came, matters with me grew worse. After I took 
 the first false step I see now that it was a false 
 step in the way of concealing his relationship, 
 and attempting to conceal his visits, I went 
 deeper and deeper into difficulties. At first it 
 seemed very simple. He assured me that he 
 would leave as soon as he received the money I 
 was able to give him, and I counted certainly on 
 his keeping his word. But then came his recog' 
 nition of Mrs. Gordon, and his writing to her hus-
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 219 
 
 band, and all the rest. Have you seen Mrs. Gor- 
 don, Mr. Warwick ? have you heard how she 
 came in and found St. John with me, and how 
 she charged me with having brought him 
 there ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said, kindly. "I have heard 
 both from herself and from Bessie. Qon't trou- 
 ble yourself to go over that." 
 
 " Well, after she left, a sudden impulse 
 seemed to take possession of me ; I felt desper- 
 ate, felt as if I must get away, let what would be 
 the consequences. I chanced to remember that 
 Father Martin would be in Saxford on the Sun- 
 day following New Year. I thought I would go 
 and ask him what to do. If you had been in 
 Tallahoma, I am inclined to think that I should 
 have asked your advice ; but you know you had 
 gone. That was Friday. I had barely time to 
 catch the coach and go to Saxford. Acting 
 on impulse, I went." She then told him sub- 
 stantially the same that she had told Annesley 
 with regard to the days she spent in Saxford, 
 the nervous, feverish desire of flight which had 
 beset her, and the manner in which she went to 
 Hartsburg. After this, she added : " There is 
 only one thing I have neglected to mention. On 
 that last morning, just before Mrs. Gordon came 
 in, St. John told me for the first time how he 
 had discovered where I was. Mr. Warwick, 
 don't refuse to credit me when I tell you that it 
 is somebody in Lagrange, somebody whom I 
 could never possibly have imagined, who was 
 cruel enough to advertise in the London Times 
 for information concerning me." 
 
 " I have heard that, too," said Mr. Warwick. 
 " I see you think that I have heard every 
 thing," he added, smiling ; " but you forget how 
 natural it was that Mrs. Gordon should men- 
 tion this advertisement to me." 
 
 " I remember that she saw it, that I showed 
 it to her." 
 
 " Since you have mentioned the matter, per- 
 haps you will not'/be surprised if I ask you a 
 question concerning it : have you any idea who 
 was the author of that advertisement ? " 
 
 " Idea ! How could I have ? I knew so few 
 people out of Mr. Marks's family; I flattered 
 myself that I had not an enemy, or any thing 
 approaching to an enemy, in Lagrange." 
 
 " Stop and think a moment. Is there nobody 
 in Lagrange whom it was in your power to disap- 
 point, and after a certain fashion injure? Miss 
 Tresham, brain-fever certainly has not improved 
 the keenness of your perceptions." 
 
 " Mr. Warwick, you do not mean " 
 
 " Well ? " (as she paused). 
 
 " You cannot mean Mrs. Mrs. Annesley ? " 
 
 " I do mean Mrs. Annesley." 
 
 " But this is only a conjecture on your part ; 
 you are not sure ? " 
 
 " Pardon me I am perfectly sure." 
 
 "Mr. Warwick!" 
 
 ''Well? " (smiling again). 
 
 " Oh, don't smile ! " cried she, passionately, 
 covering her face with her hands. " It it ia 
 so horrible ! That she could that she would 
 Oh, what had I ever done to injure her! How 
 had she the heart ! " 
 
 " Be reasonable," said he, gently. " I was 
 indignant too as indignant as you could possi- 
 bly be when I first heard of it ; but, after think- 
 ing it over coolly, I saw that a woman a mere- 
 ly worldly woman like Mrs. Annesley was not 
 so much to blame for taking this step. Miss 
 Tresham, she did not even know you personally 
 when she wrote that advertisement." 
 
 " But she knew anybody must have known 
 that it was a cruelly dishonorable thing to 
 do ! How could she tell what she might bring 
 upon me ? " 
 
 " She probably thought much more of her- 
 self than of you ; and more, perhaps, of her son, 
 than of either. Have you yet to learn how easily 
 people reason themselves into a belief that a 
 thing which they wish to do, is a thing that it 
 is right to do ? I have no doubt that this adver- 
 tisement, and every thing connected with it," he 
 went on, " seemed to Mrs. Annesley a solemn 
 duty." 
 
 " Does that excuse her? " 
 
 "Well no. Morally speaking, I suppose it 
 does not. Philosophically speaking, however, it 
 may. Try to be a philosopher, Miss Tresham," 
 he continued, with an effort to divert her that 
 might have amused Katharine if she had been in 
 a humor to be amused. " I should not have 
 told you had I supposed that you would take it 
 so seriously ; in fact, I should not have told you 
 at all, if I had not been sure that, in thinking tlu- 
 matter over, your own suspicions would point (o 
 the right mark." 
 
 "They might have done so," she said, a lit- 
 tie wearily. " I cannot tell." 
 
 Her head sank on her hand with a dejection 
 that touched the lawyer. "She loves Morton, 
 and this is hard on her," he thought. " Poor 
 girl ! " He rose, walked to the window, stood 
 there a moment looking out, then turned and 
 came back. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," he said, seriously, " shall
 
 220 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 I tell you something else that made me speak 
 of this ? I thought you might perhaps respect 
 my opinion a man of my age is apt to be vain 
 on that point, you know and I thought that, if 
 you were inclined to take an extreme view of Mrs. 
 Annesley's conduct, I might throw all the weight 
 of this opinion into the other scale. You have no 
 friend in the world," he went on, with energy, 
 " who feels your interest more than J do, or 
 who would be quicker to resent your injuries. 
 But, on my honor, I do not think that Mrs. An- 
 nesley can be very much blamed. Remember 
 that we must not judge people by our own stand- 
 ard of honor and dishonor, of right and wrong. 
 We must, as much as possible, judge them by 
 their own. Mrs. Annesley's code is of the world, 
 worldly : judge her by that, Miss Tresham, and 
 see if you cannot excuse her." 
 
 "No," said the girl, with a hard, set look 
 about the mouth. " Judged by the merest code 
 of worldly honor, this was a dishonorable act. 
 Don't try to make me think otherwise, Mr. War- 
 wick; I cannot. Besides, what does it matter? 
 Mrs. Annesley is nothing to me." 
 
 " I am not sure of that," he said. " She may 
 be a good deal to you some day ; that is, if you 
 are wise. You must excuse me if I speak of 
 something that does not seem exactly my con- 
 cern. Miss Tresham, you would not let such a 
 thing as this weigh against Morton's honest, 
 unselfish love ? Morton," he proceeded, ear- 
 nestly, " whom I have known ever since he was 
 a child, and who is certainly one of the very best 
 fellows in the world ? " 
 
 " No," said Katharine, quietly, " I am glad 
 to say that it has not weighed with me. In 
 utter ignorance of his mother's act, I told Mr. 
 Annesley this morning that I could not marry 
 him." 
 
 " Miss Tresham ! " 
 
 " Well," said she, a little surprised at the 
 astonishment on his face, " what is there so 
 amazing in that ? Surely, Mr. Warwick, you did 
 not think that I would marry him ? " 
 
 " I thought so yes," said Mr. Warwick, 
 beginning to recover himself a little. " Why 
 should I not think so ? If you were my own sis- 
 ter, I could not wish a better fate for you than to 
 be his wife. A woman could scarcely nsk more 
 than Morton Annesley is able to give." 
 
 " And you advise me to accept him ? " 
 
 " I do, most emphatically." 
 
 " I had not expected this of you," she said, 
 impulsively. " Think what a position you would 
 place me in! Mr. Annesley himself is every 
 
 thing that is kind, and generous, and disinter- 
 ested ; but his mother his friends what just 
 ground they would have for complaint if I were 
 selfish enough to accept him ! It looks, perhaps, 
 as if it would be doing a good thing for myself," 
 she went on ; " but in truth (unless I was willing 
 to find happiness in fine dresses and jewels, and 
 the like), I should be doing the worst possible 
 tiling. Such a marriage would be too ill-assorted 
 for any hope of happiness. As Mr. Annesley 
 grew older he is little more than a bright, 
 warm-hearted boy now he would feel it himself. 
 Can you not think what it would be to him he 
 so proud, so sensitive to the least shadow of dis- 
 honor to know that his wife's brother was ' 
 was Mr. Warwick, don't you see how blind 
 and foolish I should be, even to my own best in- 
 terests, if I did such a thing ? " 
 
 " I see this," said Mr. Warwick, whose ear 
 was quick enough to catch the pathetic ring in 
 her voice, "that you are on the eve of doing what 
 many high-strung natures have done before you ; 
 that is, of throwing away substantial happiness 
 for an unsubstantial scruple. I am a practical 
 man, Miss Tresham, and, you may take my word 
 for it, that all these things of which you have 
 spoken are not worth considering when placed in 
 comparison with a heart like Morton's. If you 
 love him " 
 
 " If I loved him," interrupted she, "I might 
 not be able to reason as I have done. But I 
 don't love him ! " 
 
 " You don't ? " 
 
 " No I don't. I am sure I don't know why," 
 she said, with half puzzled frankness. "Nobody 
 knows better than I do how charming he is, no- 
 body could admire or respect him more ; but I 
 do not love him. Perhaps because I have had 
 otlier things to think of, or because I knew how 
 many insurmountable barriers were between us, 
 or, again, because I have learned to put little 
 faith in the admiration and attention that any 
 moderately-attractive woman is sure to re- 
 ceive." 
 
 " But are you certain of this; are you certain 
 that you are not deceiving yourself? " 
 
 " I am certain. He was here this morning, 
 and I have had a*ll day to think about it ; that is, 
 until I went to sleep. I assure you that saying 
 No to him did not cost me a pang, unless (I will 
 be quite frank with you) it was the pang of feel- 
 ing my own loneliness." 
 
 " You feel your loneliness, then ? " 
 
 Her eyes softly filled with tenrs tears tluit 
 had no bitterness in them. She lookod at the
 
 MISS TKESHAM'S REPLY. 
 
 221 
 
 Stile, worn volume closely clasped in her hand ; 
 then round the pleasant, home-like room. 
 
 " They are all very kind to me," she said. 
 " But how could I feel other than lonely here ? " 
 
 Something in the simple words, something in 
 the pathetic glance, went to the lawyer's heart 
 like a shaft. He knew more- much more than 
 she did the loneliness of her position ; much more 
 than she did of the difficulties that surrounded 
 her. Looking at her as she sat in the deep, old- 
 fashioned arm-chair, she seemed so fair, so deli- 
 cate, so little fitted to cope single-handed with 
 that world over which only the sternest triumph, 
 that an impulse which he could not resist an 
 impulse which he afterward bitterly regretted 
 made him speak words that Katharine little ex- 
 pected to hear. 
 
 " Yes, I can see that you are lonely," he said, 
 with something a gentleness that she did not 
 quite understand in his voice. " Miss Tresh- 
 am, do you think it would be a hard fate to ex- 
 change this loneliness for care, and protection, 
 and love, even though there were little besides 
 these things to win your heart? I am old 
 enough to be your father, but if you can resolve 
 to trust yourself with me, I do not believe you 
 will ever repent it ; at least " (with an uncon- 
 scious inflection of pathos), " I promise you that 
 no effort shall be wanting on my part to prevent 
 your ever repenting it." 
 
 For one bewildered moment the room seemed 
 going round with Katharine. Was she awake ? 
 was she asleep ? was it Mr. Warwick who had 
 spoken these words ? Was it he sitting there, 
 or or How foolish she was ! He had not 
 meant that she was sure she had misunder- 
 stood. He, of all men, had not meant to ask 
 her 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," she said, turning pale, " it 
 cannot be it is not possible you do not 
 mean " 
 
 Mr. Warwick cut the confused sentence very 
 abruptly short. 
 
 "I mean," he said, quietly, "that I have 
 asked you to marry me. Will you do it ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. 
 
 THIS time, at least, Katharine could not mis- 
 take the meaning of what she heard. Deliber- 
 ately with his eyes open, and every outward ap- 
 pearance of a sane man Mr. Warwick asked 
 15 
 
 her if she would marry him ! It is not too much 
 to say that amazement literally superseded every 
 other feeling with her. It is seldom, indeed, 
 that an offer comes with quite such a force of un- 
 expected surprise. Usually, if there is no posi- 
 tive preparation, there is a suspicion at least, a 
 word, a glance, or, it may be, only a tone, to show 
 what is coming. But here there was absolute 
 want of preparation, absolute astonishment, and, 
 for a time at least, absolute incapacity to reply. 
 Then the realities of the occasion began to as- 
 sert themselves ; and Katharine tried to meet the 
 emergency. 
 
 " It seems impossible that you can be in ear- 
 nest, Mr. Warwick," she said ; " but if if you 
 are, I scarcely know what to say to you." 
 
 " Would you like time to consider ? " he 
 asked. " If so, take it." 
 
 " No, I do not require time to consider," 
 she replied. " No amount of consideration 
 could teach me any fitting words in which to 
 thank you in which to say to you how deeply I 
 feel the kindness which has made you speak to 
 me thus. I see, I reel, why you have done so ; 
 but" clasping her hands, and speaking pas- 
 sionately " you certainly cannot think so poor- 
 ly of me as to believe that I would repay all 
 that you have done, all that you would do for 
 me, by marrying you because I am poor and 
 lonely ; because I need a home and a friend ? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Tresham," said he, smiling 
 gravely, " I am not a romantic or passionate 
 lover like the man whom you have already re- 
 jected. I was not very much addicted to pas- 
 sion or sentiment in my youth ; but now well, 
 now I am equally beyond the age and the incli- 
 nation for either. Still I think I may say that 
 I love you well enough to be willing to be ac- 
 cepted even on those terms. Don't look so much 
 astonished " as her eyes opened on him large 
 and startled. " I have spoken on the strength 
 of an unaccountable impulse. When I entered 
 this room, I had not the least intention of such 
 a thing. I was sure you would marry Annesley. 
 It was only when I discovered my mistake that 
 I thought I might give you the option of accept- 
 ing or rejecting a man old enough to have left 
 love-making behind him ! Only "here he took 
 a short turn up and down the room " the hsarl 
 will not grow old with years. We may think 
 that it does, we may flatter ourselves that it has, 
 until suddenly there comes an hour when pas- 
 sion, strong as any passion of youth, seizes it, and 
 we know that age has left one citadel uncon- 
 quered. I tell you this," he went on, parsing
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 igain in front of her, " because I do not wish 
 you to think that I have asked you to marry 
 me simply on account of your lonely position. I 
 have foved you longer than you can imagine 
 longer than I knew myself but it never occurred 
 to me to think of telling you so. My age alone 
 put such a declaration out of the question. Now, 
 however " 
 
 " Now you think of me ! " cried Katharine, 
 with a rush of tears a softer shower than that 
 which had driven poor Morton from the field 
 " Mr. Warwick, I am so sorry, if I had known 
 this earlier, I might perhaps have learned to love 
 you, I might have been able to marry you ; but, 
 as it is, I oh, pray forgive me I cannot." 
 
 " You cannot promise to marry me, and trust 
 that the love will come with time ? " 
 
 She shook her head mournfully. Through 
 their brimming tears, her eyes said again " For- 
 give me," as she answered, " I dare not." 
 
 " Think a moment," he said, in evident agi- 
 tation. " Believe me, I do not press you from 
 mere selfishness. Do you not think you like me 
 even well enough to marry me for the sake of 
 that home and that friend of which you spoke a 
 moment ago ? " 
 
 " I like you too well, much too well for that," 
 she cried, passionately. "Don't you see ah, 
 don't you see how it is ! If I liked you a little 
 less, I might marry you for such a motive ; while 
 if I liked you a little more, I should marry you 
 for your own sake. But, standing between the 
 two, I only feel your generous effort to make me 
 happy. I am only sure that I should repay you 
 very ill, if I accepted you for any reason but the 
 right one." 
 
 There was silence for some time after this. 
 Through her tears, Katharine glanced up into 
 Mr. Warwick's face, and was surprised to see 
 how grave and thoughtful it looked, as he stood 
 with his eyes absently fastened on the fire. He 
 did not know that she was looking at him ; so he 
 allowed an expression of troubled perplexity to 
 betray itself, which he would otherwise have 
 kept concealed. Something in this expression 
 struck the girl with a vague foreboding of ill. 
 The fear that had found such frequent expression 
 when Annesley was with her, suddenly sprang to 
 her mind and to her lips again. Before she was 
 conscious of what she was doing, she leaned for- 
 ward and touched his arm. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," she said, as he turned quick- 
 ly toward her, " I am sure something is the mat- 
 ter something in which I am concerned. Tell 
 me what it is." 
 
 The quickness with which she leaped to a 
 conclusion would have taken anybody but a law- 
 yer by surprise would have thrown anybody but 
 a lawyer off his guard. It required all Mr. War- 
 wick's professional command of countenance not 
 to show how closely her shaft had struck home. 
 As it was, he had only just presence of mind 
 enough to smile. 
 
 "Why should you think that?" he asked. 
 " Can't you imagine that I was thinking of my- 
 self, and my own great disappointment ? " 
 
 " No, you were not thinking of yourself," she 
 answered. " You were thinking of me I am 
 sure of it. Mr. Warwick, if it is any thing about 
 St. John it is something about St. John ! " cried 
 she, suddenly springing to her feet, as she caught 
 an expression on his face that it was beyond his 
 power to control. " I knew it ! I felt sure of 
 it ! Oh ! " with a ring of imploring agony in 
 her voice " tell we what it is." 
 
 " Sit down, Miss Tresham," said Mr. War- 
 wick, almost peremptorily. " There is no know- 
 ing what harm you may do yourself by this ex- 
 citement. There has been a little trouble in 
 Tallahoma, and Mr. St. John was mixed up in 
 it," he added, quietly; "but I assure you every 
 thing is right and straight now. Still, if you in- 
 sist upon hearing about it " 
 
 " Oh, indeed I do ! " 
 
 "I can give you an outline of the matter. I 
 am sorry, however, that you force me to it, for 
 I think you have had agitation enough for one 
 day. Why, you are quivering like an aspeu- 
 leaf ! " 
 
 " Never mind. I cannot help it, it is purely 
 nervous. Go on, please ; tell me what he has 
 done." 
 
 As gently as possible Mr. Warwick told her, 
 softening the blow by every means in his power. 
 But no gentleness, no softness, could break ita 
 awful force, could shut out from her sight the 
 hideous truth. " my God ! " she exclaimed, 
 when she first clearly understood what it was 
 that he had done. But after that, no sound came 
 from her lips. She sat with her face buried in 
 her hands, and only now and then a long, shud- 
 dering sigh seemed to shake her whole frame 
 from head to foot. Even after Mr. Warwick 
 ceased speaking after he had made his last 
 attempt at pitying comfort she still sat bent 
 down, crushed, as it were, by the double blow of 
 anguish and disgrace. 
 
 " Miss Tresham, this will never do," said he, 
 at last. " This is not like you is it worthy of 
 you ? Can you find no comfort in the fact thai
 
 MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. 
 
 223 
 
 ao one is aware of Mr. St. John's complicity in 
 the matter ? Have you not sufficient reliance in 
 me to feel that the secret is as safe with me as 
 with yourself? " 
 
 "I should be the most ungrateful human 
 being in the world if I did not feel it," said she, 
 lifting her face so pale and drawn, that it abso- 
 lutely startled him " but not even your kind- 
 ness can alter the fact itself the terrible, awful, 
 overwhelming fact ! Mr. Warwick, I never, never 
 thought I could sink so low as this ! " 
 
 ""Which do you consider worst," said Mr. 
 Warwick, coolly, " this conduct, or that of which 
 you have spoken with regard to yourself? " 
 
 " Oh, this, this ! " 
 
 " There I don't agree with you. The man 
 who robs a defenceless woman, as this man has 
 robbed you, does not, it is true, make himself 
 amenable to the law, as when he breaks into a 
 bank ; but he does transgress the higher law 
 the moral law as much, or, perhaps, more ; and 
 the man who violates the one, will not hesitate 
 to violate the other, whenever he thinks that he 
 can do so with impunity. Miss Tresham, believe 
 me, you need not regret Mr. St. John's moral de- 
 gradation I mean that you need not think he 
 has taken any deeper step. When he entered 
 the bank to rob it, he was committing an act 
 which made him liable to the penalties of the law, 
 if the law could detect him ; but he was not, 
 even in degree, taking a deeper step in abstract 
 dishonesty, than when he entered it to rob 
 you ! " 
 
 " But the disgrace the terrible disgrace ! " 
 
 " So far as that goes, so far as the opinion 
 of the world goes, a thing cannot be disgraceful 
 which is not known. If you trust me at all, 
 trust me this far, nobody ever shall know of 
 this." 
 
 " Mr. Warwick " Once more the tears 
 came, and ended all further speech. He made 
 DO effort to stop them, but walked away to the 
 window, and left her to herself; sure that those 
 tears would do more to relieve her heart and 
 clear her brain than any words of his could. 
 As he stood there, feeling sad and sore enough 
 at heart, he watched the last red glow of sunset 
 fade from the top of some distant trees, and the 
 lovely veil of spring twilight begin to steal over 
 the earth. Something in the scene and in the 
 hour carried his thoughts back to that evening 
 when the doctor said that the life so near him 
 now, the life at that moment throbbing with the 
 emotions and sorrows of earth, would pass before 
 morning into eternity, when he had gazed at the 
 
 steady advance of night, and waited for Morton 
 Annesley to decide whether or not the heart of 
 that dying girl was his. " Poor fellow ! " said 
 the lawyer, half aloud, forgetting his own cause 
 for wounded feeling in pitying the young man 
 who had been so full of honest, impulsive grief. 
 Strangely enough, he was standing at that' mo- 
 ment exactly in the place where Morton had stood 
 a few hours before waiting to hear his sentence. 
 Katharine noticed it when she turned to speak, 
 and saw that he had left her side. 
 
 "And, knowing this, you counselled me to 
 marry Mr. Annesley ! " she cried, her voice, with 
 a sudden flash of indignation in it, making him 
 start, as it rang through the silent room. " Oh, 
 how could you do it? how could you think so 
 meanly of me? how could you think that I 
 would carry such a stain as this to a man who 
 loved me ? " 
 
 " You do not seriously think that your broth- 
 er's conduct leaves any stain on you ? " said he, 
 coming back, with something of his usual slight, 
 grave smile on his lip. " Miss Tresham, I am 
 astonished at you ! Such talk sounds like melo- 
 dramatic nonsense in a novel or a play ! If An- 
 nesley were here, he would tell you what I tell 
 you for him, that Mr. St. John is not of the least 
 importance when considered in connection with 
 yourself. As for this affair in Tallahoma, I see 
 but one result springing from it, and that is a 
 good one. It has taken the scoun the man 
 out of your path. Trust me that, as long as you 
 remain in Tallahoma, you have nothing to fear 
 from him. He will never return there, for he 
 knows that I hold evidence against him which 
 would convict him in any court of law." 
 
 " And yet you let him go ? " 
 
 " Yes, I let him go." 
 
 " On my account ? " 
 
 " Do I need to tell you that ? do you sup- 
 pose any other motive could have induced me to 
 spare him ? " 
 
 " And you have done all this for me, while 
 I " she stopped, and covered her face with her 
 hands, held them so a moment, and then looked 
 up. " Mr. Warwick," she said, with exquisite 
 gentleness, " I begin to appreciate your offer of 
 a moment ago ; I begin to see more clearly why 
 you made it. I begin to understand that, when 
 you offered me a home, you did so because no 
 other home is open to me. You have not spoken 
 of Mr. Marks. I feel sure that he does not wish 
 me to return to them." 
 
 For the second time during the course of this 
 interview Mr. Warwick's face betrayed him. Th
 
 224 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 climax to her speech came so suddenly, that he 
 was no* prepared for it ; and, feeling her eyes 
 steadily fastened on him, he knew that evasion 
 or concealment was useless. The truth had 
 already shown itself, and the truth must be 
 told. 
 
 "You are right, Miss Tresham," he said; 
 "my sister's husband has fallen many degrees 
 in my estimation, by his refusal to receive you 
 again. But you mistake very much when you 
 think that I asked you to marry me merely to 
 offer you a home. It is true that your loneli- 
 ness encouraged me to tell you of my love, but 
 that love existed long before this loneliness came 
 upon you." 
 
 " But still it is true Mr. Marks does not wish 
 me to return ? " 
 
 " It is true," he answered. He could say no 
 more, for he was too indignant with his brother- 
 in-law to attempt to make excuses for his con- 
 duct (which really, if he had looked at it dispas- 
 sionately, did not merit indignation), and he 
 could not but be wounded by Katharine's indif- 
 ference to those last words of his words which 
 had been so full of earnest feeling. 
 
 " Oh," said the girl, wearily, " how desolate I 
 am, how very desolate ! I cannot stay much 
 longer with these kind people, and yet where to 
 go, what to do ? Mr. Warwick, am I asking too 
 much of your kindness and forbearance when I 
 beg you to advise me what to do ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick might have replied that he had 
 already advised, and that his advice, in two differ- 
 ent cases, had been unhesitatingly rejected. But 
 he was one of the rare men rarer, by far, than 
 heroes, or geniuses, or exceptional wonders of any 
 other description who, on emergencies, can put 
 themselves aside, and speak or act for others 
 without any bias of egotism. He considered 
 for a moment, and then he said : 
 
 " I think that Tallahoma would be the best 
 place for you just now, because Talluhoma is 
 Bafe from Mr. St. John. You are not well 
 enough to be molested by him, and you are only 
 safe from that molestation when you are where 
 he will not dare to venture. Will you allow me 
 to ask if you gave him all the money which 
 Marks paid to you ? " 
 
 " All. I borrowed ten dollars from Mrs. 
 Marks to go to Saxford by-the-way, I must 
 return it to you for her and in Saxford I sold 
 my watch, when I hardly knew what I was do- 
 ing, to enable me to go farther. They were very 
 honest at the hotel in ITartsburg. I found all 
 that money safe in my bag when I got well. I 
 
 have it still, for Mrs. Crump would not receive 
 any before I left. She laughed, and told me I 
 could settle the bill when I came back. Dr. 
 Randolph said the same thing. After those bills 
 are paid, however, I scarcely think there will be 
 any left." 
 
 " Never mind those bills. I have already set- 
 tled them. Surely" as he saw a deep flush 
 come over her face " you do not mind being 
 indebted to me for such a trifling amount, and, 
 I hope, for such a short time. Remember, Miss 
 Tresham" smiling a little sadly "I am old 
 enough to be your father. I assure you that I 
 have the bills, and you may pay me the full 
 amount as soon as you are able to do so. Wait, 
 however, and don't attempt to pay me until you 
 are able. Give me the pleasure of helping you a 
 little. Now " hurrying on " the question is, 
 have you money enough to come and board in 
 Tallahoma while I endeavor to obtain another 
 situation for you ? I am sure I can do this in a 
 short time." 
 
 "I believe I have a hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars. The watch had been my aunt's, and was 
 richly jewelled. It should have sold for much 
 more ; but I I was not in a condition to do any 
 thing but take the first sum that was offered me. 
 Nevertheless, this amount is enough to support 
 me for a time, is it not ? " 
 
 " For a short " Mr. Warwick began, when 
 the door behind him opened and shut quickly, a 
 silk dress rustled across the floor, and through 
 the dusky gloom Irene Vernon came forward, 
 her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing, and her- 
 self looking like some radiant picture that had 
 stepped from its canvas to walk the earth in 
 guise of flesh and blood. 
 
 "Mr. Warwick," she began, abruptly, "and 
 you, Miss Tresham, pray pardon me when I tell 
 you that I have overheard a little of your conver- 
 sation. I was passing along the terrace a mo- 
 ment ago, and, as I stopped by the window, I 
 caught the sound of your voices, and heard a 
 few words enough to send me in upon you, 
 and make me venture to ask you " (addressing 
 Katharine) " a question. Am I right in gather- 
 ing from those few words, that you do not intend 
 to return to Mrs.Marks ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Vernon, you are quite right,** 
 said Katharine, quietly. " I do not intend to 
 return to Mrs. Marks, for the simple reason that 
 Mrs. Marks does not wish my services any long- 
 er." 
 
 " And you are talking of going to Tallahomt 
 to to board ? "
 
 MISS TRESHAM'S REPLY. 
 
 225 
 
 " Mr. Warwick has advised something of the 
 lort." 
 
 " Well, I will give you better advice than Mr. 
 Warwick's, then," said the young beauty, with 
 her most royal tone and look. " You can go 
 back to Tallahoma in fact, I think it is a good 
 thing to do but you must go back with me. 
 No not a word ! I positively won't hear a word 
 until I have finished what I have to say. It is 
 very uncivil to interrupt people, is it not, Mr. 
 Warwick ? Well, Miss Tresham, I was about to 
 tell you that I heard to-day from my sister, for 
 whom I have been waiting here, and she cannot 
 join me. My troublesome brother-in-law has 
 managed to break his leg Flora says she thinks 
 he did it on purpose to keep her at home and 
 she begs me, instead of going on to Mobile, to 
 come back to Lagrange and wait for her. Now, 
 I will go back on one condition that you go with 
 me. Flora took a great fancy to you, and so did 
 George, and they will both make you heartily 
 welcome, not to speak of the pleasure of my 
 society. You can get well there at your leisure, 
 and and indeed it is just the thing for you. 
 Mr. Warwick, tell her that she ought to go ! " 
 
 " Miss Vernon, you are too kind, much too 
 kind," began Katharine, in that tone which inev- 
 itably presages a refusal; when Miss Vernon 
 broke in upon her with an utter disregard of her 
 own theory about interruptions : 
 
 " You are mistaken, Miss Tresham, I am not 
 at all too kind nobody ever was too kind in 
 this world. If there were such a thing as being 
 too kind, it might not, perhaps, be quite as hard 
 a world to live in as it is. That is social cant ; 
 and you know how I hate social cant. I see 
 plainly," she went on, " that you .ire going to 
 say something about ' deeply grieved,' and ' im- 
 possible to accept,' and all that sort of thing. I 
 will take it for granted that you have already 
 said it ; and I will ask you to give me one rea- 
 son a single reason why it is impossible for 
 you to accept the kindness (saying that it is a 
 kindness) which I have offered you ? " 
 
 " I have no claim upon such kindness," Kath- 
 arine said. 
 
 " You have the claim of my liking you ; what 
 better could there be ? " 
 
 "I have not even that claim upon your sis- 
 ter." 
 
 " Upon my sister ! Why she likes you ex- 
 ceedingly ; and, even if she did not, she would 
 be glad to see you all the same. Mr. Warwick, 
 did you ever hear any thing quite as absurd as 
 the idea of her making a bugbear out of Flora, 
 
 of all the people in the world ? " (Persuasive), 
 " Tell her, please, that she ought to come I " 
 (Imperative), " Tell her that she must come ! " 
 
 Said Mr. Warwick, looking a little amused: 
 " Miss Tresham, don't you think it would be well 
 to consider Miss Vernon's proposal ? It seema 
 to me that it is a very clear way, and a very 
 pleasant way out of all your difficulties present 
 ones, at least." 
 
 " But I really cannot," said Katharine. 
 " Miss Vernon is mistaken if she thinks it is 
 social cant when I say that she is too kind 
 that her kindness blinds her to the objections 
 against her plan." 
 
 " Name them," said Miss Vernon, with busi- 
 ness-like brevity. 
 
 " I am under very many obligations already," 
 said Katharine. " I cannot consent to increase 
 their number." 
 
 " That is nothing more nor less than pride," 
 said Miss Vernon, concisely ; " and pride, no 
 doubt you are aware, is the besetting sin of 
 human nature, and the one we are most called 
 upon to struggle against. I was reading in your 
 what do you call it ? your manual, the other 
 day, and I saw that you were specially told to 
 mortify your will. Now, here is a good oppor- 
 tunity for you to mortify your will by going with 
 me to Lagrange." 
 
 Katharine laughed. It was impossible to do 
 otherwise the girl's manner, half-serious, half- 
 whimsical, made such a strange and complete 
 contrast to the highly-wrought frame of mind 
 which she had dispelled by her entrance. She 
 had brought a fragrance of violets into the room 
 with her, and as she stood in the soft gloaming, 
 with the firelight gleaming on her silk dress and 
 a gold locket that hung round her throat, she 
 seemed to have brought an atmosphere of other 
 things besides violets of sweet thoughts and 
 noble impulses, and generous, kindly deeds. 
 
 Katharine was won by her now, as, indeed, 
 she had been from the first ; and, when two soft, 
 white hands took hers, and a gentle voice said, 
 " See ! I ask it of you as a favor to me. Won't 
 you come ? " she remembered how tenderly those 
 hands had nursed her through her desperate ill- 
 ness, and she felt that refusal was no longer 
 possible. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I will come." 
 
 And so it was settled. Thus, swayed as it 
 seemed by the merest chance, yet led, who can 
 doubt, by the kindest care, she took the road back 
 to Lagrange that road that was leading slowlj 
 but surely to the end.
 
 226 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 It was determined that they would leave the 
 next morning. Miss Vernon, on her own (that 
 is, her sister's) account, was anxious to do so ; 
 but she good-naturedly proposed to wait several 
 days if Miss Tresham desired. To her surprise, 
 Katharine begged that the journey might not be 
 deferred on her account. 
 
 " I am quite well enough to travel," she said ; 
 u and, if I could only go away from here to-mor- 
 row morning early, I should be so glad so very 
 glad ! " 
 
 " But Mr. Annes ," began Miss Vernon, in 
 amazement. Then she paused, her bright-blue 
 eyes turned keenly on her companion's face, and 
 in a moment the truth flashed over her. " Miss 
 Tresham," she cried, sharply, almost angrily (they 
 were alone in Katharine's room a little while be- 
 fore supper), " you don't mean to say that you 
 have rejected Morton Annesley ? " 
 
 " Miss Vernon," answered Katharine, with a 
 touch of the besetting sin of human nature, " did 
 you think it likely that I would accept him ? " 
 
 " Did I think ? Of course, I thought you 
 would accept him," returned Miss Vernon. 
 " Why should I not think so ? You seemed to 
 like him, and he is certainly every thing that a 
 woman could wish to like. Miss Tresham, you 
 can't have done such a thing !" 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Katharine, who was 
 tired of the subject, and could not bear the 
 Idea of running another gantlet of remonstran- 
 ces. " Yes, I have ; and, if you only knew my 
 reasons for having done so, I am sure you would 
 not blame me." 
 
 " I would blame you ! " cried Miss Vernon, 
 indignantly. " I don't believe that, if I knew 
 any or every reason that could possibly have in- 
 fluenced you, I should blame you a single de- 
 gree less than I do now." 
 
 "Don't make rash assertions," said Knth- 
 arine, smiling faintly, " I cannot go into a detail 
 of all the motives that influenced me ; but, put- 
 ting most of them aside, one is, or ought to be, 
 enough to exonerate me from blame. Miss V T er- 
 non, I grant all Mr. Annesley's good qualities 
 so cordially that I think the woman who marries 
 him ought to love him devotedly. Now, I don't 
 love him at all. Would you advise me to return 
 all the generous devotion that is willing to give 
 o much by a cold sort of liking that is not able 
 to give any thing ? " 
 
 " But is it possible that you really do not 
 love him ? " 
 
 " It is certainly possible ; and ah, me ! I 
 must write to-night and tell bim so. The letter 
 
 can be delivered after we leave, in time to pr 
 vent his coming here to-morrow morning." 
 
 " You are determined to go, then ? " 
 
 " The decision rests with you ; but I should 
 like to go." 
 
 " Of course, then, the matter is settled ; we 
 will go. Heigho ! " sighed the young lady to her- 
 self, as she left the room. " Poor Morton ! 
 poor, dear fellow ! How strangely contrary to 
 what we expect, things turn out sometimes ! " 
 
 That night Katharine sat down to write her 
 letter to Annesley. Taken at any time, or un- 
 der any circumstances, it was a hard letter to 
 write ; but, with an aching head, and, worse yet, 
 an aching heart, the difficulties of composition 
 were many times increased. 
 
 Everybody does the same thing in a case liks 
 this. Everybody spoils one sheet of paper aftei 
 another; makes beginnings with the desperate 
 intention, " This shall do ! " becomes disgusted 
 at the third line, throws it aside disdainfully, or 
 wrathfully crumples it up, and dashes at another 
 fair page, with the same result. One stilted ad- 
 dress follows another ; the gamut of endearing, 
 or respectful, or uncivil terms is run from end 
 to end, until at last if common-sense can man- 
 age to get a hearing the grand conclusion of 
 so many experiments is simple, and generally 
 brief. 
 
 Thus it was with Katharine. After getting 
 well on in half a dozen lengthy epistles, she at 
 last thought how foolish and vain all words be- 
 sides the few strictly necessary ones were, and 
 the result of this thought was the following 
 note: 
 
 44 DEAR MR. ANNESLEY : Miss Vernon has 
 kindly asked me to accompany her back to La- 
 grange and spend a few weeks at her sister's 
 house until I am strong enough to find another 
 situation. I shall leave with her to-morrow 
 morning. This arrangement, made since I saw 
 you, renders it necessary that I should write and 
 tell you how deeply I feel your kindness, and 
 how impossible it is for me to accept all you 
 have offered me. I will not pain you as I know 
 I should do by speaking of the great disparity 
 in our social positions, and of other greater ob- 
 stacles, which under any circumstances would 
 stand between us. It is enough for me to say 
 that the woman whom you honor with your heart 
 should love you as you deserve to be loved aa 
 some woman far more worthy of you than I am 
 will yet love you and that this love it is not in 
 my power to give you. Forgive me, Mr. Annes-
 
 GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 227 
 
 ley, if this sounds ungracious sounds as if I 
 had forgotten all the many kindnesses which 
 are, in truth, written on my heart. I must 
 Bpeak frankly, and make myself clearly under- 
 stood, for your sake, as well as for my own. 
 Every feeling, except the one feeling which alone 
 you would be willing to accept, I have for you. 
 Each one of them makes me your warjn and life- 
 long friend ; but all of them put together are not 
 strong enough to make me your wife. God bless 
 you, Mr. Annesley ! God make you happy ! God 
 reward you for all your generous kindness ! It 
 is hard to close this letter here, and yet there 
 is nothing more to say, unless I ask you again 
 to forgive me. 
 
 " Faithfully, your friend, 
 
 " KATHARINE TRESHAM. 
 " BELLEFONT, Thursday night." 
 
 It was done. For the second time that day 
 Katharine deliberately put aside the love and 
 the protection which two different men, each 
 well worthy of trust, had offered her, and with 
 the blind, heedless, yet sometimes divine impulse 
 of youth, turned from the golden gifts of life, 
 those gifts for which some wretched women are 
 willing to sell themselves into legal bondage, and 
 went her way alone. It had been a struggle, a 
 hard struggle, in both cases ; it was a struggle, 
 even after this letter was written, to seal it and 
 lay it aside, saying : " Lie there, happy days, full 
 to the brim of love and content, and soft belong- 
 ings, and tender care, and glittering pleasure ! 
 Lie there, sweet dreams of what might be, of 
 affection ripening into love, and trust growing in 
 sweetness and strength with every passing year ! 
 Lie there, words, and looks, and tones, that will 
 never see the light ; days possible, yet forever 
 unborn ; emotions never to be felt, and the whole 
 current of a life never to be lived ! " It was hard 
 to hold out the arms, saying : " Come, weary days 
 filled with toil, uncheered by any smile from kin- 
 dred lips, or glance from loving eyes ! Come, 
 days that lead among the rough by-ways of the 
 world, and toss the living, yearning human heart 
 from one strange household to another, that teach 
 in every hour of your flight how some paths are 
 strewed with roses only that others may be filled 
 with thorus ! Come, days within whose very bit- 
 ter lurko a sweet that only those who meet you 
 willingly can ever taste a sweet like that grand 
 victory which noble deeds wring from defeat, 
 which come when the spirit has dropped its 
 arms after long conflict, and the divine secret 
 of content begins to steal upon the soul, the 
 
 first knowledge of good and evil, the first star- 
 tied, humbled thanks to God that He guided the 
 blind eyes and the faltering hand, and gave at 
 last the leaden casket with the precious jewel 
 shrined within 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 GREAT was the astonishment, and greater the 
 consternation, of the Bellefont household when 
 they heard of the intended departure of Miaa 
 Vernon and Miss Tresham. With Miss Lester in 
 especial, these feelings verged strongly on indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Your sister is absurd. If Mr. Raynor chose 
 to break his leg, surely she is able to nurse him 
 without any assistance from you ! " cried this 
 young lady to Miss Vernon. " I thought you 
 might be content to stay with me for a little 
 while; you are not nearly strong enough to 
 travel yet," she said, reproachfully, to Miss 
 Tresham. 
 
 Miss Vernon laughed, and Katharine apolo- 
 gized, but they both remained firm in their inten- 
 tion. Bellefont charmed wisely, but charmed in 
 vain. 
 
 " We must go," said Miss Vernon, decidedly, 
 and Katharine echoed, " We must really go ! " 
 
 They did go, notwithstanding all the persua- 
 sive eloquence employed by their kind hosts. 
 And, when these last saw that the resolution was 
 firm, they made a virtue of necessity and yielded 
 gracefully, remembering that the law of hospital- 
 ity is double, and that it is as incumbent to 
 speed the parting as to welcome the coming 
 guest. 
 
 " You won't forget us, I am sure," said Mrs. 
 Lester, wistfully, when she kissed the young 
 stranger who had taken such a hold on her 
 heart. 
 
 And she vras right. In all the years of her 
 life Katharine never forgot the pleasant home 
 which had opened its doors to her in the hour 
 of her need, nor the cordial faces and warm 
 hearts that had surrounded her with kindnea* 
 and care. 
 
 When the last thanks had been uttered, the 
 last farewells many times repeated were over, 
 and the last glimpse of pretty Bellefont, crown- 
 in" its stately terraces, had vanished from sight, 
 Katharine could scarcely restrain her tears. She 
 felt as if she were bidding adieu to peace, as if
 
 228 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 she were leaving quiet behind her, and turning ' 
 her face toward turmoil. She had seemed to 
 escape out of that uneasy current of ttfe in La- 
 grange, to be able to spread her wings for wider 
 flight and freer air, yet, of her own accord, she 
 was now going back she was now drifting again 
 among the scenes and the people that haunted 
 her like uneasy dreams of delirium, and inspired 
 her with a strange shrinking impossible to analyze 
 and hard to resist. 
 
 " I have an instinct approaching to a cer- 
 tainty that I ought to have turned my face in 
 the other direction," she said, to Miss Vernon, as 
 the horses trotted gayly along the smooth road, 
 and she felt that every moment was taking her 
 nearer to Lagrange. 
 
 "And I have an instinct approaching to a 
 certainty that you are doing the right thing in 
 taking this direction," answered Irene, smiling. 
 " Now, the question is, which instinct is entitled 
 to the most respect ? " 
 
 " Mine, I think, since I have a reason for it." 
 
 " A good one ? " 
 
 " A very good one." 
 
 " Suppose you let me judge of that." 
 
 " It would involve a long story," said Katha- 
 rine, " and that, I fear, would tire you." 
 
 " What, with a day's journey before us, and 
 not even a novel to read ! My dear Miss Tresh- 
 arn, what are you thinking of? If you have a 
 itory, and if you would not object to telling it, 
 there is nothing I should like better than listen- 
 ing to it, especially if there were any good end 
 to be gained by doing so." 
 
 " There is no good end to be gained," said 
 Katharine, " but, since I accept your hospitality, 
 I certainly owe it to you to be quite frank about 
 myself. I don't know what mav or may not be 
 said about me in Lagrange, Miss Vernon ; but, 
 having so generously extended your hand to me, 
 it is only right that you should be able to judge 
 intelligently of the truth or falsehood of any re- 
 ports which may be afloat." 
 
 " Miss Tresham, if those are your reasons 
 for telling your story, let me assure you that you 
 need not do BO. I rarely hear gossip, and I never 
 believe it." 
 
 " Nevertheless, it exists ; it is heard by every- 
 body, and believed by the vast majority. Mrs. 
 Raynor may like some explanation of " 
 
 " I can answer for Flora, that she will not 
 dream of such a thing." 
 
 " At all events, you must allow me to speak," 
 said Katharine, smiling faintly. " For once in my 
 life I have been betrayed by cowardly folly into 
 
 that tangled web which deception in any form ia 
 sure to weave. The sooner I can clear myself 
 of It, the sooner I may be able to forgive myself 
 for having fallen into it. Shall I begin at th 
 beginning, and tell you a tolerably long story ? " 
 
 " If you insist, I can only be frank, and say 
 that I should like nothing better." 
 
 So, as the carriage rolled along the pleasant 
 country-road, with a changing panorama of sunny 
 landscape all around, drifting clouds throwing 
 sudden shadows over distant hill-sides, green 
 valleys on either side, orchards in the full glory 
 of tinted bloom, and dogs rushing out to bark 
 from every way-side house, Katharine told the 
 story of her life, in all its details, to a very sym- 
 pathizing listener. 
 
 These two advanced nearer toward friendship 
 during this day than in all the days of their for- 
 mer acquaintance. For it is with friendship as 
 with love to be perfect, it has two requisites, 
 congeniality and confidence. Without the for- 
 mer, it is a merely fictitious sentiment ; and, 
 without the latter, it is a sentiment dwarfed at 
 best, and restrained. Confidence is a golden key 
 to almost every heart, and certainly a golden link 
 to every affection, let its form or degree be what 
 it will. 
 
 Says Miss Thackeray, very sweetly and truly : 
 " If love is the faith, then friendship is the char- 
 ity of life." 
 
 And so these two women were to find it. 
 Neither of them was an ordinary woman ; both 
 of them had much of the rare sweetness that is 
 born of strength, and in which a frivolous or 
 petty nature is invariably lacking ; and both of 
 them had felt at different times, and in a different 
 manner, the need of a friend. 
 
 There had been a certain attraction between 
 them from the first ; but they were not quick to 
 come together. Both of them had seen too much 
 of the world for this. When at last the league 
 of friendship a league which was to last all 
 the rest of their lives was struck, they made 
 no protestations to that effect. It was under- 
 stood somehow, and none the less felt and re- 
 spec^ed because it was tacit. 
 
 " Now," said Katharine, when she had fin. 
 ished, " you will do me a great favor if you wilJ 
 tell as much or as little of this to your sister as 
 she requires to know or as you think fit. Re- 
 member that I leave the matter entirely to your 
 discretion." 
 
 " My discretion, then, will be likely to leave 
 Flora very much in the dark," answered Irene, 
 smiling. " It is better to err on the side of tell
 
 GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 229 
 
 tag too little than of telling too much, you know 
 at least there is a remedy for the first, but no 
 remedy has ever been devised for the second. I 
 shall tell her just as little as she will be satisfied 
 to hear, Miss Tresham." 
 
 Judging from her experience of human na- 
 ture in general, and the feminine nature in par- 
 ticular, Katharine was inclined to think that 
 this would not be very little ; but she thanked 
 Miss Vernon for her discreet intentions, and it 
 was decided that Mrs. Raynor's curiosity was, 
 if possible, to be left ungratified. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day, many 
 familiar signs began to show that they were ap- 
 proaching the bourn of their journey familiar 
 Lagrange scenery around, familiar Lagrange 
 faces on the road. 
 
 Miss Vernon saw that Katharine was grow- 
 ing nervous, and tried to reassure her. 
 
 " It is very absurd that you should persist in 
 making bugbears of two of the most inoffensive 
 people in the world," she said. " Miss Tresham, 
 do you think I would have asked you to come 
 with me, if I had not been able to promise you a 
 cordial welcome ? " 
 
 Katharine acknowledged the truth of this, and 
 much more like it ; but still she was uncomfort- 
 able as, in fact, it was not remarkable that she 
 should have been. 
 
 It was almost a relief when at last the 
 dreaded moment of final arrival came, when the 
 carriage turned from the rnain-road, entered a 
 wide gate, and, after half a mile of trotting along 
 an avenue so full of sylvan beauty that it looked 
 as if it might have led into the heart of a forest, 
 came to a bridge crossing a pretty creek, a smooth 
 lawn sloping on all sides like green velvet, and 
 the usual country-house, with many piazzas, and 
 wide, cool hall, where Mrs. Raynor was standing 
 in the door waiting to receive them. 
 
 " Irene, I am delighted you have come ! " 
 she cried. " I hardly expected you so soon in 
 fact, I did not know whether or not to expect 
 you at all. Miss Tresham, I am charmed to see 
 y OU s he looked a little surprised, nevertheless 
 " I am glad that you are well enough to travel. 
 Irene wrote me an account of your illness ; it 
 must have been dreadful ! " 
 
 " I have brought Miss Tresham to stay with 
 us for some time," said Irene, before Katharine 
 could answer. " She looks badly, does she not ? 
 We must try to bring back her roses before we 
 let her go. How is George ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully cross," answered George's wife, 
 with the most literal promptness. " The doctor 
 
 says he is getting on very well, however"; and, 
 indeed, I suppose crossness is one sign of it. 
 Miss Tresham, I am very glad to hear that you 
 are going to stay with us. I am only afraid you 
 will be dreadfully bored. I confess I am bored 
 myself nearly to death. Bella and Louisa have 
 been over continually, Irene. They are dear 
 girls, you know ; but by no means the liveliest 
 of- companions." 
 
 " Where is George ? " asked Irene. 
 
 " In his own room. Will you go in and see 
 him ? He will like to hear all the Apalatka news. 
 I will take Miss Tresham up-stairs. This way, 
 Miss Tresham. Dear me, how pale you are! 
 You must lie down immediately, and take some 
 refreshment. Do you prefer wine or cordial ? " 
 
 Katharine's mind was soon set at rest on the 
 score of her welcome. Mrs. Raynor was unaffect- 
 edly glad to see her glad of any thing or any. 
 body to break the monotony of sick-room nurs- 
 ing, for which Nature had rendered her singularly 
 unfit. 
 
 " George is so disagreeably cross that I ara 
 glad to get away from him for a little while," she 
 said, as she sat down in the room into which 
 she showed Katharine, and plainly manifested 
 her intention of remaining some time. " I have 
 a horror of sick men," she went on; "they are 
 so impatient, and ten times harder to manage 
 than sick women, or sick children either. I am 
 so glad Irene has come to relieve me a little. I 
 am very glad, too, that she has brought you, Miss 
 Tresham. I hope you will not let Mrs. Marks 
 deprive us of you soon." 
 
 " I shall not return to Mrs. Marks at all," 
 said Katharine, meaning to give an explanation 
 of her position at once. But Mrs. Raynor mere- 
 ly opened her pretty blue eyes a minute, and 
 then rambled on with her own grievances ; she 
 had a habit of paying very little attention to what 
 was said to her, especially if she chanced to be 
 interested by something else at the time. 
 
 Miss Vernon soon discovered that her sister's 
 curiosity was not at all troublesome on the sub- 
 ject of Katharine. Not to give her too much 
 credit, however, it must be premised that this 
 would scarcely have been the case if she had 
 entertained even a suspicion of any thing un- 
 usual in the matter. True, Lagrange was full of 
 gossip about Miss Tresham and Mr. Annesley ; 
 but Mrs. Raynor had been full of her own con- 
 cerns, and had heard very little of tKis gossip. 
 Besides, Katharine was certainly very " nice." 
 She herself had thought so, and Irene had taken 
 quite a fancy to her. As Mr. Raynor had onc
 
 230 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 remarked, Irene did not often take fancies, espe- 
 cially to women, and when, by some chance, she 
 did take them, it wan an understood thing that 
 they were to be humored. Then, in her present 
 desperate and doieful condition, Mrs. Raynor was 
 BO glad to see her sister that there was no doubt 
 but that she would have welcomed the most dis 
 agreeable person in the world whom Irene might 
 have chosen to bring back with her. 
 
 " I believe there is a good deal of talk ab'-ut 
 Miss Tresham," she said, indolently ; " but, of 
 course, we have no reason for minding that. 
 These stagnant Lagrange people would talk 
 about a straw. By-the-by " (with some anima- 
 tion), " Irene, have you any idea where Morton 
 Annesley is ? " 
 
 " Certainly I have," answered Irene. " He is 
 down in Apalatka, staying with Mr. Seymour. 
 Why do you ask? Have his good-natured 
 friends been talking about him, too ? " 
 
 " Indeed, they have ; and, what is more, I 
 fancy that Mrs. Annesley and Adela have been 
 very uneasy." 
 
 " Uneasy ! " repeated Irene, with a curl of 
 her scarlet lip. " Pray what mischief did they 
 think he was likely to get into ? Surely he is old 
 enough to manage his own affairs without being 
 kept in leading-strings by his mother and sis- 
 ter." 
 
 " They have every disposition to keep him in 
 leading-strings ; but I don't think they succeed 
 vary well," answered Mrs. Raynor. " He has a 
 will of his own, notwithstanding that he looks so 
 gentle. Adela French was here not long ago 
 jnst before George broke his leg, that is and, 
 although she said nothing on the subject, I could 
 see that she was very uneasy." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About the danger of his marrying Miss 
 Tresham, I presume. For my part, I never be- 
 lieved that there was any probability of it. I al- 
 ways felt sure that he has entirely too much 
 sense for such a thing." 
 
 " It would be the best thing in the world for 
 him," said Miss Vernon ; " and, I am sure, it will 
 not be his fault if he does not succeed in doing 
 it. Is Adela French in Lagrange yet ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I think not. George has 
 kept me so closely at home" (in an aggrieved 
 tone), " that I hardly know any thing. I will ask 
 Bella when she comes to-day. She may know, 
 and she can tell you all that people are saying 
 about Miss Tresham." 
 
 " Thank you ; but I have not the least curios- 
 ity on that score. I give them credit for any 
 
 amount of ill-nature, just as much as if I had 
 heard all tl ey say." 
 
 When Miss Raynor came, she proved fully 
 capable of retailing all the gossip of which her 
 sister-in-law had spoken. Miss Vernon listened 
 with a disdainful curl of the lip ; but still, she 
 did listen ; she felt that it was necessary to know 
 exactly what was said of Katharine, in order to 
 use to the best advantage those discretionary 
 powers which the latter had given her. After 
 all, however, the talk proved to be harmless and 
 indefinite enough with all its ill-nature. La- 
 grange had known nothing ; and, therefore, La- 
 grange had found it difficult to say very much. 
 The chief hubbub seemed to have been raised 
 about poor Morton Annesley. The kind friends, 
 who always know all the particulars on these 
 occasions, had declared, unhesitatingly, that he 
 had " given his mother the slip," and eloped with 
 Mrs. Marks's missing governess. Why he should 
 have thought it necessary to give his mother the 
 slip, or why if he wished to marry Mrs. Marks's 
 governess an elopement on either side was re- 
 quisite, nobody was able to say ; but circumstan- 
 tial evidence being strong against the two, they 
 were formally condemned after the most approved 
 form of popular justice. It was useless to hint 
 (as one or two skeptical people did) that Mr. An- 
 nesley had not left Lagrange until two weeks after 
 Miss Tresham's departure. That the wise ladiea 
 and gentlemen concerned were ready to reply, 
 was by special arrangement. It was meant to 
 lull suspicion, and throw people off their guard. 
 No doubt Miss Tresham had gone on before to 
 some appointed rendezvous, where Mr. Annesley 
 had followed in due time, and a marriage had 
 taken place. This point being settled to the 
 satisfaction of everybody but the most stoutly in- 
 credulous, people became undecided whether Mr. 
 Annesley would take his bride away somewhere 
 (to Europe, probably), or whether he would re- 
 turn, and, with a high hand, " have it out " with 
 his outraged family. Being, as usual, very stag- 
 nant for subjects of interest, Lagrange hoped 
 much for the latter event. Parties ran high on 
 the question. Would or would not Mrs. Annes- 
 ley continue to live at Annesdale ? " Mrs. An- 
 nesley is a Christian woman; she will bear this 
 severe trial as a Qhristian woman should, and re- 
 main with her son," said one party. " Mrs. An- 
 nesley Ts a woman of spirit and self-respect ; she 
 will certainly leave Annesdale, and go to Mobile 
 with Adela French," said another party. Chorus 
 of both parties, " What a sad pity for Mrs. An 
 nesley ! Such a charming person ! Mrs. Marks'i
 
 GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 231 
 
 governess for a daughter-in-law ! Only what she 
 might have expected, however ; the idea of invit- 
 ing such a person to Annesdale! Might have 
 known what would follow," etc., etc., etc. 
 
 It was not to be doubted that Miss Vernon 
 felt a considerable degree of malicious enjoy- 
 ment when, after a month of uninterrupted gos- 
 sip (to which the only drawback had been a de- 
 cided and uncomfortable dearth of material), the 
 news fell like a thunder-bolt on the county, that 
 she had returned to her sisters, bringing Miss 
 Tresham who was still Miss Tresham with her. 
 At first Lagrange was incredulous, then Lagrange 
 was indignant, and finally Lagrange stood on its 
 dignity, and said things more scornful and slight- 
 ing than agreeable and complimentary, about the 
 governess who was no longer a governess. Why 
 had she left Mrs. Marks? Lagrange was not 
 curious, by any means ; but still, it wanted to 
 know that. Where had she been all this time, 
 and what was the reason that Mr. Annesley had 
 not yet made his appearance? Lagrange did 
 not absolutely request people to tell their story 
 to the marines, who were foolish enough to make 
 statements about brain-fever, and Colonel Les- 
 ter's, and no connection with Mr. Annesley ; but, 
 in its secret heart, it did not believe a word of 
 the whole story, and waited grimly for what it 
 was pleased to call the " upshot of the matter." 
 
 This did not come for some time, however. 
 Miss Tresham remained quietly enough at the 
 Raynors', and Mr. Annesley still lingered in 
 Apalatka. Poor Morton ! That letter of Kath- 
 arine's, written the night before her departure, 
 had dealt him such a cruel and such a terribly 
 unexpected blow, that he felt cowardly about go- 
 ing back to Lagrange, about taking up again the 
 familiar life from which so much sunshine had 
 gone, he thought, forever. He felt more inclined 
 to remain with Seymour, to spend his days stroll- 
 ing about the woods, with a gun on his shoulder, 
 and a dog at his heels ; his nights in talking or 
 not talking to Godfrey, as he felt inclined, while 
 they both smoked countless cigars. It was a 
 dull, quiescent sort of life, but it suited his mood. 
 It was doubtful when or how he would end it ; 
 and, all this time, Lagrange talked unceasingly, 
 and Mrs. Annesley's anxiety nearly drove her into 
 a fever. 
 
 All this time, too, Katharine was winning back 
 health, and strength, and bloom, and making her- 
 self very attractive and very necessary in the Ray- 
 nor household. The power to charm, the gift 
 of diffusing brightness, was hers now as much as 
 ever, and these new friends began to look a little 
 
 injured when she talked of intended departure. 
 " Why can't you stay ? " Miss Vernon would 
 ask ; " why need you be in such a hurry to pro- 
 cure a situation? Flora and George are both 
 absolutely in love with you, and both thank me 
 on an average once a day for having brought you 
 here. I am almost sorry to see Mr. Warwick 
 come ; I fear, every time, that he may have found 
 a place for you." 
 
 " He is trying to do so," said Katharine. 
 Then she added, gratefully: "Mr. Warwick ia 
 very kind to me. He is the best friend, by far, 
 I ever had." 
 
 " One of the best," corrected Irene. " I am 
 sure he has no better disposition to serve you 
 than than Mr. Annesley, for instance. He has 
 better opportunity, that is all." 
 
 " Don't you think one is apt to be more grate- 
 ful for realities than for possibilities ? " asked 
 Katharine, smiling. "Not but that I am very 
 much obliged to Mr. Annesley," she added. 
 " He, too, has been a very kind friend to me." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I see plainly that you prefer 
 Mr. Warwick." 
 
 "Do you mean that I am more grateful to 
 him?" 
 
 " Well, yes ; and that you prefer him. That 
 includes liking as well as gratitude, doesn't it ? 
 you are twice as cordial to him as I ever saw you 
 to Mr. Annesley." 
 
 " He is different," said Katharine, blushing in 
 a manner which Miss Vernon thought quite unac- 
 countable. " I have known him so much longer 
 and so much better. And and there is no dan- 
 ger of misconstruction with him. Now, with Mr. 
 Annesley, I felt as if it was necessary to be on 
 my guard all the time." 
 
 " Against his vanity, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; how could you think I meant such 
 a thing? Against gossiping tongues, and ill- 
 natured comments, and all that sort of thing 
 It must be a very foolish woman who does not 
 learn a little discretion from being tossed about 
 the world as I have been." 
 
 "I hope you will never be tossed about 
 again," said Miss Vernon. " I wish you would 
 be reasonable, and let it be over at once." 
 
 The two ladies were sitting in a pretty morn- 
 ing-room, which opened on the lawn, while they 
 talked in this manner. A soft, spring shower 
 was falling outside, but every thing looked very 
 bright and pretty within, when the door opened, 
 and Mr. Warwick was shown into the room. 
 They greeted him cordially; and, after the firs! 
 salutations were over, he turned to Katharine.
 
 232 
 
 MORTON HOL'SE. 
 
 " I flee jou are getting quite well," he said. 
 M Are you almost ready for work ? " 
 
 "I am quite ready," she answered, eagerly. 
 " Have you found any thing for me ? " 
 
 " I cannot say positively," he answered, " but 
 I have a strong hope of doing so before very long. 
 
 Have you any objection to going to R Couu- 
 
 tyf 
 
 "I have not the least idea where R 
 
 County is ; but I have no objection to going any- 
 where." 
 
 " How very obliging you are ! " said Mr. War- 
 wick, smiling. But Miss Vernon gave a cry. 
 
 "R County!" she said. "Why, Mr. 
 
 Warwick, that is so far away, that we need 
 never hope to see her again if she once goes 
 down there. Is it possible you could not find a 
 situation for her nearer Lagrange ? " 
 
 " It does not at all matter that it is so far 
 away," said Katharine, hastily, for she under- 
 stood Mr. Warwick's reasons for choosing R 
 
 County better than Miss Vernon did. " I I am 
 not at all diffident about going among strangers," 
 she went on. " Mr. Warwick, do you really think 
 that there is any certain hope of a situation ? " 
 
 " Read that," said Mr. Warwick, taking a let- 
 ter from his pocket, and giving it to her. 
 
 She opened it eagerly; and, while she read, 
 Miss Vernon was summoned from the room. A 
 little negro boy, whom Mrs. Raynor called her 
 page, came in with a message from " Mass 
 George" of a very imperative nature, necessi- 
 tating her immediate attendance on that gentle- 
 man. She went at once, though it was with 
 some reluctance. " George is spoiled to death ! " 
 she said, to Mr. Warwick. " I have no doubt he 
 will send a message for you when he knows you 
 are here. He seems to think that people exist 
 merely for the purpose of ministering to his 
 amusement." 
 
 " It is not worth his while to send for me," 
 said Mr. Warwick. " I shall not be here ten min- 
 utes longer. Tell him that, if he has any such 
 intentions, if you please, Miss Vernon." 
 
 " I will," she said, with some malice, and 
 the door had hardly closed on her when Kath- 
 arine looked up. 
 
 " I like the tone of this letter," she said. 
 " You have answered the questions, I pre- 
 ume ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " I answered them yes- 
 terday. I know Major Wright well," he went 
 on, " and I am sure you will find a situation in 
 his family pleasant. I should not have enter- 
 tained his proposal otherwise." 
 
 "I am sure of that," she said, gratefully. 
 " You think of me a great deal much mor 
 than I deserve." 
 
 " Let me be the judge of that," said he. 
 " When Wright's next letter comes no doubt 
 empowering me to offer certain terms for your 
 acceptance you will be ready to close with 
 them, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; most gladly." 
 
 " You won't feel inclined to regret Ihat R 
 
 County is so far from Lagrange ? " 
 
 " How could I ? The last few months have 
 given me very painful associations with La- 
 grange." Then, remembering how ungracious 
 this sounded, she hesitated and blushed. " You 
 
 will come down to R sometimes, will you 
 
 not J*" she said. " There is no one else I shall 
 care to see." 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " It has been 
 two or three years since I was down there last, 
 hunting up evidence in a troublesome case. It 
 may be two or three more before I have such 
 another matter on hand. Do you think you will 
 remain with the Wrights that long ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell," she answered, a little wound- 
 ed by his tone. " ' A rolling-stone gathers no 
 moss,' you know ; so I shall endeavor to be a 
 stationary one. Very likely, therefore, you will 
 find me in the Wright household two or three 
 years hence. If so, I hope you will come to see 
 inc." 
 
 " There is not much doubt of my doing that," 
 said he. " But I shall hope to see you in a home 
 of your own, no longer a waif and stray of For- 
 tune, as you are now." 
 
 She looked at him reproachfully. It was 
 astonishing how they were playing at cross- 
 purposes, these two. He meant to show her 
 that she had no troublesome persistence to fear 
 from him ; while she felt aggrieved by the man- 
 ner in which he seemed to ignore much that she 
 thought he might have remembered. 
 
 " You have forgotten," she said, in a low 
 voice. " You must have forgotten a great deal 
 before you could say such things to me. I shall 
 never marry, Mr. Warwick." 
 
 Mr. Warwick shrugged his shoulders a little 
 over this positive declaration. 
 
 "Why not? 4Mie asked. 
 
 " You know why not," she answered. " My 
 burden is heavy enough on myself; I will not 
 take it to acy one else." 
 
 " Not even if he were willing to bear it ? '' 
 
 " No, a hundred times, no ! " 
 
 " That is foolish, itiss Tresham. You mmrt
 
 GOOD SAMARITANS. 
 
 233 
 
 forgive me for saying so, but it is very foolish. 
 Your brother has nothing whatever to do with 
 yourself. A man who loved you a man whom 
 you loved would never hesitate for such a con- 
 sideration as that." 
 
 " You should not judge all men by your- 
 self," she said, smiling faintly, yet very sweetly. 
 " There are very few who are able to sacrifice 
 themselves as you have proved willing to do. 
 I I never knew anybody before who was.*' 
 
 " Don't think that I mean to reopen a sub- 
 ject which was closed finally," he said, " when I 
 beg to correct you in the use of that word. ' Sac- 
 rifice ' means something which we do unwillingly 
 for the sake of another. Now, when I asked you 
 to marry me don't start ! I have not the least 
 intention of repeating that act of folly ! I was 
 making no sacrifice at all ; I was simply follow- 
 ing the instinct of human nature, and endeavor- 
 ing to win for myself the happiness I most de- 
 sired. Take my word for it, that this will be the 
 case with somebody else before long some- 
 body," he added, kindly, " to whom you may be 
 able to give a different answer." 
 
 She shook her head, but something a most 
 unaccountable something rose in her throat, and 
 she could not speak. 
 
 He saw her agitation, and walked away, to 
 give her time to recover herself. 
 
 " Poor girl 1 no doubt she is afraid of an- 
 other sentimental scene with a man old enough 
 to be her father," he thought, with a strange 
 mixture of bitterness, and amusement, and sad- 
 ness, as he stood looking across the lawn, watch- 
 ing the rain as it fell, and the sun as it tried to 
 struggle through the clouds. After a while he 
 turned round and took up the thread of conver- 
 sation again, with a tolerably successful attempt 
 at cheerfulness. 
 
 " You have no idea how anxious poor Bessie 
 is to see you," he said. " It would really be a 
 deed of charity to give her that pleasure when 
 you chance to be in Tallahoma some day. I am 
 sure you don't bear malice, or I would not ask 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Bear malice ! " repeated Katharine. " What 
 an expression ! Why, I am quite as much at- 
 tached to Mr. Marks and the children as ever ; 
 and I really have not been to Tallahoma because 
 I could not bear to think of not calling to see 
 them. Miss Vernon asked me to go with her 
 yesterday, but I declined." 
 
 "You must understand that Bessie has all 
 the time been very anxious for you to return," 
 ke said. " It was Marks who made a fool of him- 
 
 self. I can see very plainly that he is sorry for 
 it now. Perhaps the fact of Mrs. Raynor's august 
 protection may have something to jjo with his 
 change of sentiment," he added, with a smile. 
 
 " It has been for the best," said Katharine, 
 a little sadly. " I cannot blame Mr. Marks at 
 all; and I am sure it is better that I should 
 leave Lagrange. I have done little besides mis- 
 chief since I have been here." 
 
 "Will you be good enough to tell me what 
 kind of mischief ? " asked Mr. Warwick, with 
 the humorous accent she knew very well. 
 
 " Don't laugh at me," she said. " I assure 
 you I am serious. Looking back, I can trace 
 every thing to myself. If I had not come here, 
 there would have been none of this trouble about 
 St. John and Mrs. Gordon, or about Mr. Annes- 
 ley, or or about yourself." 
 
 " And if you had not been born, you would 
 not be living," said he. " If I laugh at you, it 
 is because you deserve to be laughed at for such 
 absurdity ! A quickness at perceiving the con- 
 nection between cause and effect is a very good 
 thing in its way, Miss Tresham, but it is possible 
 to carry it too far it is possible to torment 
 one's self uselessly with past and irretrievable 
 issues. No man is wise enough to foresee the 
 to-morrow, or how the events of to-day may in- 
 fluence it. If we act with an honest intention 
 for the best in the present, it is all that God will 
 require of us. Nobody in the world stands 
 alone ; life is a very complex tissue, and every 
 human soul influences others directly or indirect- 
 ly. The conduct of some one else affected the 
 course of your life; your conduct, in turn, 
 affects the lives of others, and HO on, ad infini- 
 turn. If you want to be logical, you must go far 
 beyond yourself." 
 
 " You give me comfort as well as teach me 
 logic," she said. " Must you go ? " (as he rose). 
 " Well, give my love to Mrs. Marks, and tell her 
 I will certainly come to see her soon. Are tho 
 children nil well ? " 
 
 " Quite well, and eager for a s'ght of you. I 
 may hear from Wright next week. If so, I will 
 come and let you know." 
 
 "Thank you." She held out her hanl 
 " You are very good to me," she added, softly. 
 
 The tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, 
 haunted him after he left the room, after he rode 
 away, and even after the ordinary distractions of 
 life began to assert themselves once more. It 
 was with difficulty that he finally banished th 
 intrusive recollections. 
 
 "I have been a fool once," he though^
 
 234 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Nothing shall induce me to make a fool of 
 myself a second time. I am old enough to have 
 left such absurdities behind me." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE LAST DEFIANCE. 
 
 " THE slow, sad hours that bring us all things 
 ill" went by, slowly and sadly enough; brought 
 little enough besides ill to Mrs. Gordon, as the 
 days lengthened, the heavens smiled, and earth 
 budded, and Nature, wakening from her brief 
 winter sleep, prepared for her long summer carni- 
 val. Spring came, with its soft airs, its sportive 
 breezes, its glittering sunshine, and bright flow- 
 ers ; but no change of season or of weather 
 lightened her gloom ; no lapse of time softened 
 her sorrow, or taught her resignation. Round 
 the old house that had been silent so long, and 
 at last had come to shrine this one lonely life, 
 all was rejoicing beauty; but within its doors 
 there was a hush that seemed to speak of deso- 
 lation a subtile and penetrating sadness that 
 human grief sometimes seems to impress even 
 upon inanimate surroundings. People the few 
 people who ever came felt it as soon as they 
 entered the door, and left it behind them, like a 
 weight, when they emerged again into the fresh 
 air and bright sunshine. Day after day of stag- 
 nant, weary calm, rolled by ; and the pale wom- 
 an, lying on her sofa, grew daily more pale and 
 more hollow-eyed. Who can wonder ? Trouble, 
 suspense, and bereavement, are grim phantoms 
 which prove hard enough to fight when the daily 
 cares of life cares merciful at such a time are 
 pressing on the heart, and giving at least the 
 relief of partial distraction to the mind. But 
 trouble, when there is nothing to do but brood 
 over it ; suspense, when it is only possible to sit 
 and wait for the dreaded day, or the dreaded ob- 
 ject ; bereavement, when not one human source 
 of consolation has been left ; oh, where is the 
 tongue or the pen that can speak of these? As 
 people who sit by warm hearths, and fpr whom 
 luxurious tables are spread, shrug their shoul- 
 ders, and say, " Poor thing ! " when their sym- 
 pathy and their attention are claimed by some 
 gaunt, thinly-clad form out beyond in the night 
 and storm, so we utter a few set words of pity 
 and condolence .* hen a face, white with the awful 
 footprints of despair, looks in on our life. But 
 have we we, warmly clothed, and fed, and lodged, 
 *nd hedged about with love even the least con- 
 
 ception of how bitterly the colil cuts, how heavily 
 the rain falls, how dark and full of terror is the 
 night to that poor, houseless wanderer? If we 
 had, ah, vain words ! even if we had, what could 
 we do ? The needs of the body can be supplied, 
 the wants of the body can be filled, but who has 
 yet been able to comfort the soul sick with lone- 
 ly grief, or feed the heart starving for absent 
 love? 
 
 So the days went by one after another, with 
 dreary sameness and so the woman, whose life 
 of fevered emotion had sunk at last into apathetic 
 lethargy, watched them, from sunrise to sunset, 
 all alone. Sometimes she shivered, as a keen 
 realization of her position came over her; as, in 
 a mirror, she saw herself sitting in the desolate 
 solitude of her father's house, waiting for the 
 man whom she had once loved, and now hated ; 
 the man who had wrecked her life, and made her 
 what she was ; the man whom she dreaded, ab- 
 horred, yet longed to see again longed to pour 
 out upon him the bitter tide of reproach, de- 
 fiance, scorn, and hate. Sometimes she would 
 shrink and shiver at a footstep, thinking, dread- 
 ing that it might be his; then, again, she would 
 pace the floor, and clasp her hands together, 
 longing that he would come, that the worst 
 might be over, that the utmost which could be 
 said might have been said. But the weeks wore 
 on, and he did not appear. John Warwick came 
 often as often as possible, and as he had news 
 from Felix and did his honest best to cheer 
 and lighten the gloom which he found ; but even 
 he, when he went away, felt depressed ; even he 
 felt how hopeless were any efforts to bring sun- 
 shine where sunshine was not. 
 
 "If you only had a companion !" he said, to 
 Mrs. Gordon, one day. " Such a life as this is 
 enough to kill you ! your own thoughts are tbe 
 worst possible company; anybody or any thing 
 would be better." 
 
 " And where would you find me a com- 
 panion?" she asked, languidly. "Not that I 
 would desire such a thing, but, if I did, where 
 would you find one ? A companion ! think of all 
 that a companion means. Not somebody to sit 
 there and distract me with set looks, and com- 
 posed manners, and talk about the weather and 
 Lagrange gossip ; but somebody who would have 
 quickness enougR to read my moods, and change 
 with them ; who would cheer at one time, and 
 soothe at another; who would not be too gay, 
 nor yet too dull ; toward whom I need feel no 
 reserve, yet who would not pry into my heart . 
 somebody who Ah, what is the good of talk
 
 THE LAST DEFIANCE. 
 
 235 
 
 Ing ? All this means a friend, and where have I 
 a friend ? " 
 
 " I know where I could find such a person for 
 you," he said. " If if you would only consent 
 to it." 
 
 She looked at him a little suspiciously. 
 " Whom do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " I mean Miss Tresham," he answered. " If 
 you would only believe " 
 
 She interrupted him, passionately. "I will 
 believe nothing that would bring her into this 
 house! I don't trust her, Mr. Warwick; say 
 what you will, I don't trust her ! St. John's sis- 
 ter cannot be other than false, and you will live 
 to find it out ! " 
 
 " I am rather of the opinion," said he, " that 
 you and some other people will live to find out 
 that it is neither just nor reasonable to condenjn 
 one person for the faults and crimes of another, 
 no matter how nearly related that other may 
 be." 
 
 " And you trust her ? Trust anybody with 
 that blood ? " 
 
 " Stop a moment, Mrs. Gordon ; consider how 
 little you know of the blood, or are able to judge 
 of it from one representative. It is impossible 
 for you to tell how many brave and noble an- 
 cestors this very St. John may have had, ances- 
 tors whose blood has made his sister what she 
 ta." 
 
 " She is his sister ! " 
 
 "That settles the matter, I see," said he, 
 slightly shrugging his shoulders. " Well, per- 
 haps you may be glad to hear that this dangerous 
 person will soon be removed from the neighbor- 
 hood of Morton House. I received a letter to- 
 day from an old friend of mine in one of the 
 lower counties, offering Miss Tresham the posi- 
 tion of governess in his family. She has re- 
 quested me to accept it for her, and to say that 
 she will leave Lagrange in a few days. I am go- 
 ing home to write that letter now." 
 
 " Does your friend live near Felix ? " 
 
 " No ; very far from Felix. Surely, after all 
 that I have told yon, you do not cling to that 
 idea yet ? " 
 
 " It has been an instinct with me from the 
 first One cannot disregard instincts." 
 
 ' Yes, one can, especially when they are con- 
 trary to reason and common-sense. You see I 
 talk plainly to you. On my honor, I think you 
 need it. Have you seen Annesley since he re- 
 turned ? " 
 
 " He was here yesterday. He tells me that 
 this girl has finally rejected him." 
 
 " And will not even that fact alter your judg. 
 ment of her a little ? " 
 
 She made an impatient gesture. "Why 
 should it ? No doubt she would have married 
 him if she had dared to do so ; that is, if she 
 had not known that his family would never recog- 
 nize her." 
 
 " Morton is tolerably independent of his fam. 
 ily," said Mr. Warwick, dryly. " If Miss Tresh- 
 am had married him, no doubt they would have 
 found it tiresome to stay away from Annesdale 
 because his wife was mistress there ; and that is 
 all that their not recognizing her would have come 
 to, you know. Well, the afternoon is wearing 
 on, and I must leave you. Don't you ever go 
 out to get a little fresh air ? " 
 
 " Scarcely ever," she answered, languidly, giv- 
 ing him her hand as he rose to take leave. 
 
 After he went out, he carried a dreary pic- 
 ture back to town with him the room, which 
 looked dark and confined, as any room will look 
 on a day when Nature is taking one of her royal 
 holidays ; the sofa, with its cushions, and the 
 pale, thin face pillowed thereon ; the relaxed 
 form ; the sad eyes ; the books, tossed aside in 
 utter weariness ! He seemed to see it all as he 
 rode along, with the lovely day around him ; and 
 he could not help saying over and over again, 
 " Poor woman ! " 
 
 The poor woman, who well deserved his com- 
 passion, lay, meanwhile, where he ha 1 left her, 
 watching dreamily the shadows lengthening on 
 the stretch of emerald sward beyond her window, 
 the fruit-trees looking like pink-and- white clouds 
 in an orchard far away, and the golden afternoon, 
 with all its spring-time wealth of sight and sound, 
 drawing toward sunset. Sunset, however, had not 
 yet come when she fell into a light sleep, her 
 face still turned to the window, and the soft 
 breeze playing gently over it. Something of 
 peace, something even of beauty, came to her as 
 she slept, as we see it often come to world-worn 
 faces when the stillness of this mimic death sti'.-ils 
 over them, winning back a little of the lost grace 
 of youth to the heavy, deep-set lines of age or 
 care 
 
 She had not slept more than half an hour 
 when the stillness around her was broken, slight- 
 ly broken by a step on the sward that sloped sc 
 gently from the window before which her sofa 
 was place*}. The sound was so slight that it did 
 not rouse her, and she still remained unconscious 
 still slept with a faint, sweet smile on her lip 
 when a shadow fell across the floor, a figure 
 Jrew near the window, and a man, pushing back
 
 236 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 the gently-swaying curtains, stepped into the 
 room. 
 
 Not Mr. Warwick, not Annesley, not even St. 
 John, but a stranger, who steps into this history, 
 as he stepped into that room, for the first time 
 a tall, handsome man, with an air at once un- 
 mistakable and indescribable, which only much 
 intercourse with the world confers, with a bear- 
 ing of marked distinction, and with a look of 
 youth despite certain significant lines that told 
 of the wear and tear of reckless years and more 
 reckless passions in singular contrast to that 
 pale, faded woman on the sofa. Evidently, he 
 had walked round the house, and entered the 
 first window which he found open. Evidently, 
 also, he had not caught a glimpse of the sleep- 
 ing figure before he made his unceremonious 
 appearance. He started when he saw it, drew 
 back a step, then smiled a little, and came for- 
 ward. 
 
 At the same moment, Mrs. Gordon woke 
 woke suddenly, with a wild start. In recalling 
 the scene afterward, she remembered that, in the 
 midst of a happy dream about Felix, her heart 
 seemed, without any warning, to give a great 
 bound, and with a terror which she did not 
 understand she sprung to a sitting posture, and, 
 half sleeping, half waking was it dream or real- 
 ity ? saw before her the face that had haunted 
 her last waking thoughts. 
 
 She gave a low, inarticulate cry, then clasped 
 both hands to her heart, and kept them there, 
 striving vainly to Rtill the passionate throbs that 
 made speech impossible. She had expected him, 
 looked for him ; sometimes, in a strange, wild 
 way, longed for him; yet, now that he was be- 
 fore her, the realization of it turned her faint. 
 She could say nothing ; her lips seemed parched ; 
 her tongue refused to speak ; it almost seemed 
 as if she was still asleep ; and yet she knew that 
 she was awake, and that her husband was before 
 her. 
 
 " I have come, Pauline," he said, coolly. " I 
 suppose, of course, you expected me. You have 
 acted like well, like a foolish woman ; but I 
 presume you knew that I would come." 
 
 All the past rushed back over her in the first 
 tone of that cold, careless voice all the memo- 
 ries, how bitter, how stinging, none but she 
 could tell ! Rage, scorn, defiance, hate where 
 were they all ? Only an overwhelming horror 
 came to her, as in these words he asserted his 
 claim over her this man who was her husband, 
 and the murderer of her brother, yet who stood 
 there under her father's roof ! 
 
 I " How did you come here ? " she demanded, 
 haughtily. " This is my father's house, a house 
 only fit for honorable men. My servants long 
 ago received orders not to admit you." 
 
 " I gave you credit for that measure of pre- 
 caution," he answered, in the same coldly-care- 
 less manner, a manner on which it was evident 
 that St. John had modelled his own, and which, 
 therefore, possessed all the advantage that an 
 original possesses over a copy. " I did not 
 trouble your servants to admit me," he went on. 
 " The front of the house was entirely deserted. 
 I walked around until I came to this window. 
 Seeing it open, I entered." 
 
 " It is still open," she said. " If you do not 
 leave the room instantly, I shall do so myself. I 
 am determined never to see or speak to you again. 
 If there is any thing that you wish to say to me, 
 any arrangement that you wish to make with me, 
 I refer you to my lawyer." 
 
 He only answered by walking across the 
 room, and closing the door. Then, coming 
 back, he placed a chair so as to intercept any 
 possible retreat on her part, and quietly sat 
 down. 
 
 "All this is folly," he said, with uhtnoved 
 composure. "I thought you knew me well 
 enough to be aware how worse than useless 
 such a tone as this is. You seem to forget or 
 I suppose you really do not know that I am 
 the injured person in this freak of yours. Your 
 conduct, from first to last, has not a single ex- 
 cuse, not a single palliation. I directed you to 
 go to Scotland, and you deliberately came to 
 America, thereby robbing me of Felix, and en- 
 deavoring to conceal yourself from me. It was 
 a woman's idea," he said, with contemptuous 
 amusement, " and has had the success that 
 might naturally have been expected." 
 
 " You mean that you have found me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I mean that I have found you, and that 
 I am lenient enough to give you your choice 
 whether you will return to Scotland with me, or 
 whether I shall leave you in the seclusion you 
 have chosen, and simply take Felix." 
 
 The tone of subdued but unmistakable malice 
 with which he spoke the last words roused Mrs. 
 Gordon like the blast of a trumpet. Suddenly, 
 the remembrance came to her that she was not, 
 as heretofore, helplessly in his power. It was 
 evident that he thought to bend her to his will 
 through her fears for Felix ; yet Felix was safe, 
 was far away, was where this man could not pos- 
 sibly seek or find him. The sweetness of that 
 one moment repaid her for all the months of
 
 THE LAST DEFIANCE. 
 
 desolate sorrow she had endured. Watching 
 her face, her husband was startled by the change 
 that came over it the sudden glow that seemed 
 to light up the sunken eyes and the pallid fea- 
 tures into something of their old beauty. 
 
 " I decline to make any choice," she said. 
 "I have already told you that I refer you to 
 my lawyer for any thing you wish to say to 
 me. However long you may choose to detain 
 me, you will obtain nothing further from 
 me." 
 
 With something like a mocking smile, he 
 leaned forward, and laid his hand on a bell- 
 rope that hung against the wall, just at the 
 head of her sofa. 
 
 " I will ring for Felix, then," he said. " It 
 will save time and trouble if I take him away 
 with me at once." 
 
 "You can ring if you choose," answered 
 Mrs. Gordon ; " but you will not find Felix. Do 
 you suppose I should have sat here quietly if 
 there had been any danger of your finding 
 him ? " she asked, scornfully. " I should have 
 defied you to keep me ! But, thank God, Felix 
 is safe ! Three months ago, I knew that you 
 would be here, for your miserable instrument 
 appeared before you, and I sent the child away. 
 It was like tearing the very heart out of my 
 breast ; but I did it, and now I am repaid." 
 
 " You you dared to do it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I dared to do it." 
 
 It was well that she came of that brave 
 Morton blood which had never been known to 
 quail at danger in any shape, for there was 
 that in the baffled face looking at her which 
 might have startled the firmest nerves. All 
 his cold smoothness of manner gave way, as 
 she had before seen it give way on a few mem- 
 orable occasions, and the savage of the man's 
 nature stood out clear, and dark, and unutter- 
 ably repulsive. He was silent for a moment. 
 In that moment the veins rose like cords on 
 his forehead, and his eyes glittered as eyes only 
 glitter in passion that, for violence, is next to 
 insanity. When he spoke well, it is scarcely 
 worth while to transcribe such scenes as these. 
 Who cares to write, who cares to read, who cares 
 to dwell upon them ? Fortunately for Mrs. Gor- 
 don, she had served her apprenticeship of en- 
 durance ; and the knowledge of years is not 
 readily forgotten in a few months. Besides, 
 she was fired with new spirit. One of those 
 moods in which she had longed for him to 
 come, that she might pour out her hate and 
 scorn, rushed over her. She gathered all her 
 16 
 
 old haughty strength and pride, and faced him 
 once, at least on equal ground. 
 
 " I defy you ! " she said, after he had sworn 
 a bitter oath to make her repent. " You have 
 done your worst and your last. You have 
 wrecked my life, you have murdered my broth- 
 er, you have insulted and injured me in every 
 possible way. There is only one more channel 
 through which you can strike me that is, 
 Felix; and Felix you will never see again, even 
 if the price I must pay for it is the price of 
 never seeing him myself! Once more I repeat 
 that I am safe that I defy you." 
 
 It seemed as if she could not repeat the 
 last words too often. Their very sound in her 
 ears was as the echo of music, and, when she 
 uttered them, she looked like another woman 
 like a vision of the regal beauty who, long 
 years before, had gone forth from this very 
 house, and who now faced the direct result of 
 her own wilful folly. Gordon could scarcely 
 believe that it was his wife who spoke to him. 
 Not on account of her fiery spirit he knew that 
 well enough of old but at sight of the trans- 
 forming power which excitement had over her, 
 and which seemed to kindle the dead light in 
 her eyes, and bring back the dead roses to her 
 cheeks. He had hardly ever been wrought tt 
 such a pitch of fury against her, yet, again, h 
 had hardly ever been forced to such a degree 
 of reluctant admiration. He made a quick step 
 forward, and caught her arm. 
 
 " The devil is surely tempting you to your 
 own ruin," he said, bitterly. " Have all the 
 years we lived together taught you no better 
 than this ? Have you not learned yet that 
 there are no possible circumstances which could 
 make it safe for you to defy me ? You had bet- 
 ter stop a moment and think you don't know 
 what you are doing ! " 
 
 " I know perfectly well what I am doing," 
 she answered. " I am trying to save Felix and, 
 with God's help, I will save him from you, and 
 what you would make of him." 
 
 " And do you really think that you have con- 
 cealed Felix so effectually that I, with unlimited 
 means at command, cannot find him ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 He read her face keenly, and, being well 
 skilled in physiognomy, saw that she spoke 
 from no mere bravado no mere attempt to 
 simulate confidence in order to deceive him. 
 From some cause, of which he knew nothing, 
 she was sure, she was perfectly secure, thai 
 the child was placed beyond his reach.
 
 138 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " No doubt you were confident of being safe 
 when you came here," he said, with the mocking 
 smile which she knew so well. " Can't the fail- 
 ure of one attempt teach you wisdom with re- 
 gard to another ? But that is a foolish question, 
 women never learn wisdom, especially women 
 like you. I see one thing, however, that you 
 have not arranged and carried out this precious 
 scheme alone. You have had assistance. Ah ! " 
 as she changed color a little " I knew it ! 
 Well, that makes matters a trifle easier than 
 they would have been otherwise. I can find 
 your instrument, and, having found him, you 
 know me well enough to be aware " 
 
 " I know him well enough to be aware that 
 your threats are useless," she interrupted. " You 
 will gain nothing from him. He is not a man 
 whom you can either bribe or intimidate. I 
 sent you a warning once," she went on, excited- 
 ly. " I don't know whether you ever received 
 it ; but if so, you would do well to heed it you 
 would do well to remember that I am here in 
 the midst of my friends, and that to attempt to 
 harm me further is only a certain means of 
 harming yourself. I am no longer in a foreign 
 country, and helplessly at your mercy. I am at 
 home, and you if you only knew it are at my 
 mercy I " 
 
 "I suppose you mean that some of your 
 highly-civilized kinsmen and friends would be 
 ready to shoot or stab me at your bidding," he 
 said, carelessly. " For that I have only one an- 
 swer by all means let them try. How much you 
 must have forgotten, before you thought it worth 
 your while to take a tone like this." 
 
 " I have said all that I shall think of say- 
 ing," she answered, coldly. "It is for you to 
 heed or not, as you think fit. Once more, will 
 you go ? I have defied I do defy you to do 
 your worst. There is nothing to add to that." 
 
 " Yes, there is something," he said. " Not 
 on your side, perhaps, but on mine. I will inflict 
 my presence upon you long enough to add it." 
 
 He had loosed his grasp of her arm by this 
 time, and he now sat down again in the chair 
 from which he had risen. His change of man- 
 ner warned her that something worse than what 
 had gone before, was yet to come. She tried to 
 conjecture what it could be; but a dizziness 
 eized her, and she could think of nothing. 
 Felix! Fjlix I That was the only thought which 
 rang through her brain. He could not touch 
 him. She was sure of that. What did any thing 
 else matter ? With a great parting flash of glory, 
 the sun went down ; the whole sky was glowing 
 
 with the lovely reflection of the incarnadine west, 
 melting into softest rose-colors, and violets, and 
 blues, when he began to speak. 
 
 " I gave you your choice when I first came 
 in, to return to Scotland with me, or to resign 
 the child to whom the law gives you no claim. 
 Considering the defiance of my authority, which 
 has been your only reply, I might reasonably re- 
 tract that oifer. But, as it is, I give it to you 
 once more, and for the last time. Stop ! " lift- 
 ing his hand when he saw that she was about 
 to speak " you must understand fully, as you 
 do not understand now, the alternative that is 
 placed before you. In the first place, I am sure 
 that it is in my power to find Felix if you con- 
 sidered a moment, you would be sure of this 
 too. But to do so will cost both time and trou- 
 ble, neither of which I desire to expend. I shall 
 expend them, if necessary," he said, with ener- 
 gy ; " but I am willing to make a compromise 
 to effect his recovery without them. I shall not 
 speak to you of your duty, nor of the false and 
 groundless charges that you make against me 
 in the matter of your brother's unfortunate 
 death" 
 
 " If you are wise, you will leave that name 
 unspoken," she said, in a tone that came with 
 something like a hiss through her teeth teeth 
 set to keep back the fierce tide of emotion that 
 struggled for expression. " If you utter it again 
 here, under this roof I think I could almost 
 find strength to murder you, as you murdered 
 him ! Say what you have to say while I am able 
 to control myself sufficiently to listen to you. It 
 is the last time that I shall ever see you, or hear 
 your voice." 
 
 "You forget that you are my wife, and entire- 
 ly in my power." 
 
 "I am your wife God help me! but I am 
 not in your power, nor ever will be again." 
 
 " We shall see about that," he said, smiling 
 again. " I was on the point of saying, when you 
 interrupted me, that I shall not speak to you of 
 your duty, but of your interest. If you consent 
 to produce Felix, I will allow you to accompany 
 him back to Scotland. If you refuse, I will find 
 him myself, and in that case I shall take him 
 alone. Do you understand ? " 
 
 ''I understand." 
 
 " And refuse ? " 
 
 " And refuse." 
 
 " Very well. That point is settled irrevo- 
 cably. We will not return to it again. Now I 
 give you another alternative either you will 
 produce Felix, or you will alienate from liim, by
 
 THE LAST DEFIANCE. 
 
 239 
 
 your own act, the inheritance which would natur- 
 ally be his. I swear to you solemnly and you 
 know whether or not I am likely to keep my 
 oath that unless he is resigned to my guardian- 
 ship, he shall never inherit a "fragment or a pit- 
 tance of the Gordon estate." 
 
 " You are counting too much on my igno- 
 rance, when you make such threats," she said, 
 haughtily. " I chance to know that you are un- 
 able to fulfil them I chance to know that your 
 uncle's estate is entailed upon your son, and that 
 you are powerless to alienate it from him." 
 
 " You are right," he said, with a flash of tri- 
 umph in his eye. " It is entailed upon my son, 
 but upon my eldest sow." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 Something like a dim foreboding of the truth 
 began to dawn upon her. The excitement died 
 >ut of her face, she turned white to her very 
 lips, and leaned back against the cushions of the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Well," he replied, coolly, " Felix is not ,my 
 eldest son. For reasons that will be apparent to 
 you hereafter, I have preferred and do prefer him 
 as an heir. But he is not the legal inheritor of 
 the estate. It depends upon you whether or not 
 he will ever own an acre or touch a penny of 
 it." 
 
 " Upon me ! " A gathering mist seemed clos- 
 ing round her; but she fought it bravely she 
 struggled desperately against the rising faint- 
 ness that threatened to sweep away all powers 
 of combat. One thought only gave her strength 
 Felix's rights ! They were assailed falsely, 
 unscrupulously, assailed, she was sure and she 
 was their only defender. 
 
 " I do not believe you ! " she cried out, pas- 
 sionately. "Why should I? You have never 
 failed to deceive me when you could do so with 
 any advantage to yourself. Why should I be- 
 lieve any thing so stamped with falsehood as 
 this ? " 
 
 " Believe it or not, as you please," he an- 
 swered. " It is a matter, fortunately, which ad- 
 mits of proof." 
 
 " You can prove that Felix is not your eldest 
 on ? " 
 
 " I can prove a former marriage when I was 
 quite a boy, and the existence of a legal heir to 
 the Gordon estate in the person of my son by 
 that marriage." 
 
 "He is living?" 
 
 " Yes, he is living. I can put my hand on 
 him whenever I choose. You need not look so 
 incredulous," he said, as he saw her eyes grow 
 
 larger and larger, her face whiter and whiter. 
 " As I have said, it is a case in which assertion 
 can have no weight ; it is capable of proof that 
 can, if necessary, be taken into a court of law. 
 Perhaps you may be convinced if I give you a 
 short statement of the matter ? " 
 
 She made a gesture, signifying assent ; and 
 yet it was hardly necessary. Something in hit 
 manner something in his tone above all, 
 something in his fuce (and she knew that face 
 well) told her that he was speaking truth, and 
 not merely a cunning falsehood devised to an- 
 noy and intimidate her. Every thing had seemed 
 so plain to her a minute before, and now all was 
 confusion. Felix ! Felix's rights ! What were 
 they ? where were they ? what ought she to do 
 This was the accompaniment to her husband's 
 words when he began to speak. 
 
 " I need not trouble you with particulars," he 
 said. "It is enough to give you a bare outline of 
 facts. When I was a very young man in fact, 
 little more than a boy my regiment was sta- 
 tioned in the West Indies. I had not been there 
 very long when I accompanied one of my friends 
 on a visit to Martinique. This man I have for- 
 gotten his name, and it does not matter had a 
 letter of introduction to an Irishman named 
 O'Grady living on the island. lie took me with 
 him ; and, since our welcome was very warm, I 
 soon became intimate in the family. The man 
 himself O'Grady, I mean was a widower, and 
 his family consisted of two daughters. One of 
 
 them was a widow, a Mrs. . Confound my 
 
 memory ! I have forgotten that name, too. The 
 other was a young girl, pretty enough, I dare 
 say ; but I have little recollection of her now, 
 excepting that she turned my head completely at 
 the time. A love-affair followed, of course, not- 
 withstanding that I was in a much better posi- 
 tion to cut my throat than to think of marrying. 
 My father had paid my debts twice, and I was in 
 deep disgrace with him. The beggarly allowance 
 which he still continued, and my pay together, 
 barely sufficed, or rather did not snffice, for my 
 own wants, since I was a third time deeply in 
 debt. To marry under these circumstances was 
 simple insanity. This I knew perfectly well. 
 Still, I was young, and ready for any act of folly. 
 The consequence was that I compromised with an 
 elopement and private marriage. The girl was 
 easily worked upon ; and, for the rest, matters 
 were quite easy. There is hardly the least com- 
 munication between the different islands of the 
 West Indies, and there was nobody to follow or 
 make disagreeable inquiries. Her father, who
 
 240 
 
 MORTON 
 
 was infirm, died almost immediately after her 
 departure, and there were no troublesome broth- 
 ers or cousins in the matter. I took her to the 
 island where I was stationed ; but nobody in the 
 regiment had any suspicion of the marriage. I 
 was particularly cautious on this point, because 
 any rumor reaching my father's ears would have 
 ruined me. Well, before long, I appreciated my 
 folly as it deserved, and grew heartily tired of 
 the whole affair. I fancy it did not answer well 
 on either side. Kate that was the name of the 
 girl was sufficiently full of complaints, if com- 
 plaints are any signs of unhappiness. At last, 
 to my great relief, the regiment was ordered 
 home. I left her as well provided for as possi- 
 ble, but hardly had I sailed from the island when 
 (as I afterward learned) she wrote for her sister 
 a thing I had expressly forbidden. Her excuse 
 was that she felt sure of dying at the approach- 
 ing birth of a second child. If that was the 
 case, her foreboding was verified, for, as it 
 chanced, she did die. The sister wrote to me 
 then with regard to the children one, the boy 
 of whom I have already spoken, the other an in- 
 fant, and I believe a girl. To be burdened with 
 such dead-weights as these would have been 
 equivalent to suicide, in so far as my prospects 
 in life were concerned. A lawyer answered her, 
 by my directions, offering a yearly sum for their 
 support, provided I was never troubled with any 
 filing concerning them, and provided also that 
 they did not bear my name. Since the entire 
 proof of the marriage rested with me, to pro- 
 duce or to suppress as I thought fit, she had no 
 alternative but to consent. She gave them her 
 own name, and kept them with her until the boy 
 grew toward manhood and became unmanage- 
 able. Then she addressed the agent through 
 whom the yearly stipend was paid, and request- 
 ed that some arrangement might be made, remov- 
 ing him from her control, also requesting that, 
 if necessary for this, the whole of the allowance 
 might be taken, as she was able to support the 
 sister herself. This was accordingly done ; and 
 the boy was placed at school in England. Be- 
 fore long he was expelled for some disgraceful 
 scrape. Then I took him, to see of what mate- 
 rial he really was, and soon found " 
 
 He stopped, for Mrs. Gordon had risen again 
 to a sitting posture, and faced him in the gather- 
 ing twilight with a look of horror that words can 
 only fail to describe. It awed even him, seen 
 through the falling gloom ; yet he recovered mm- 
 self with a slight movement, as if to shake off 
 some unconscious influence. 
 
 "Well," he said, lightly, "what is the mat 
 ter?" 
 
 " What is his name ? " she asked, in a tone 
 that fell sharply on the still air. Then, in a 
 lower voice, " My God ! It cannot be ! It is too 
 horrible even for you ! What is his name ? " she 
 cried, again, more sharply than before. 
 
 " You might know his name by this time," 
 he answered, in a tone of mingled disgust and 
 triumph that did not escape her highly-strung 
 ear. " The m:in to whom you will give the Gor- 
 don estate, if you still refuse to surrender Felix, 
 is the man you have so long scorned and hated, 
 the man whom you have held as less than the 
 dust beneath your feet is, in short, St. John ! " 
 
 For a full minute after that name was spoken, 
 not a word further broke the silence of the room. 
 Face to face they sat in the dusky gloaming, 
 the tempter and the tempted, and the only audi- 
 ble sound was that of Mrs. Gordon's breathing, 
 which came in short, painful gasps, as she sat 
 with her hand once more pressed to her side, 
 trying to still the wild throbs of her heart, try- 
 ing to command her voice sufficiently to speak. 
 She was silent so long that at last Gordon him- 
 self broke the stillness. 
 
 " The choice is before you," he said. " Sur- 
 render Felix, and I make him my heir ; refuse, 
 and I shall prove my first marriage, which will 
 give the estate to St. John. I need not tell 
 you what is my choice in the matter. It will be 
 no pleasant task to acknowledge a son in one 
 of the most profligate adventurers and swindlers 
 in Europe." 
 
 "And who made him either an adventurer or 
 a swindler ? " she cried, with a sudden vehe- 
 mence that startled her listener. " Who made 
 him a tool for all the base uses that your own 
 hand disdained ? Who taught him to scorn every 
 law of God and man ? If he is your son if you 
 have spoken truly you have prepared for your- 
 self an heir who is worthy of you ! If I surren- 
 dered Felix, it would be for the same result. 
 You would make him what you have made this 
 poor instrument of your vices ! Do you hear 
 me do you believe me when I tell you that I 
 would rather see him dead before me ? " 
 
 " Do you think that Felix will appreciate 
 these heroics y.' he asked, with a bitter sneer. 
 "Do you think that, if he lives, he will thank 
 you for having stood between him and his in- 
 heritance for having made him virtually a beg- 
 gar?" 
 
 " If he has a drop of Morton blood in his 
 veins, he will thank me for having spared hinc
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 241 
 
 the example of such a father, and the shame of 
 having purchased worldly prosperity the enjoy- 
 ment of property that rightly belongs to another 
 at the price of moral degradation." 
 
 " Then your decision is finally made ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is made. Nothing that you can say, 
 nothing that you can do, will change it ! " 
 
 He rose to his feet and half turned away, then 
 stopped a moment, and came back to her. 
 
 " I suppose you know that you have no right 
 whatever to this property which you are enjoy- 
 ing," he said, " that the law gives all control of 
 it to your husband. If I choose, I can sell this 
 house, and every acre of land you call your own, 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I am not sure that the law gives you such 
 power," she answered. " But, granting that it 
 does, I have only one reply to make try, if you 
 dare, to enforce it." 
 
 " Do you think that the law will stand your 
 friend, because you chance to be a Morton, and 
 to be at home ? " 
 
 " I think I know that the law is sometimes 
 powerless to act in the face of public opinion. 
 And, if it comes to an issue of high-handed 
 outrage like this, a Morton will never lack 
 friends or defenders in Lagrange." 
 
 " You may find yourself mistaken." 
 
 " We shall see. But, if you had the right, 
 and if you were able to enforce it, there would 
 be no difference. If I were obliged to live on 
 charity, or to beg my bread by the way-side, I 
 should still defy you. Let that be the last word 
 between us the last I shall ever speak to you 
 I defy you ! " 
 
 " Very well," he said, grinding his teeth to- 
 gether in irrepressible rage. 
 
 Recalling the scene afterward, Mrs. Gordon 
 wondered at her own fearlessness. She was en- 
 tirely alone, she was utterly helpless, and she 
 had good reason to know of old how brutal and 
 how reckless he could be. Yet she rose to her 
 feet in the excitement of passion, and uttered 
 those last quivering words, like a haughty chal- 
 lenge. 
 
 He made a step forward, almost as if he 
 would have struck her ; but she did not quail. 
 She stood before him, like a pale wraith of a 
 woman, in the ghostly twilight, daring him to do 
 his worst. After a short interval of silence, that 
 worst came in the form of words. 
 
 "You have taken your choice," he said, 
 " and, indeed, you shall abide by it. I swear to 
 ton that I will find Felix, and that I will make 
 you repent this defiance in sackcloth and ashes. 
 
 When I find him, and when your hour of repent* 
 ance comes, then I will see you again, and not 
 before ! " 
 
 His tone, often as she had heard it in mo- 
 ments like these, involuntarily made her shud- 
 der ; it was so full of concentrated bitterness, 
 hatred, and revenge, that the wonder was, not 
 that he had for a moment threatened her with 
 personal violence, but that he was able to re- 
 strain himself from executing that threat. If 
 she had felt inclined to reply, he gave her 110 
 time to do so, but left the room immediately 
 through the window by which he had entered. 
 
 As his shadow passed away, the woman his 
 wife sat down, sick and shuddering. It was 
 over. Was it over, or had she only waked from 
 a hideous dream ? Had he really been there, 
 and had the last bitter defiance been exchanged 
 between them ? Had she really told him that 
 Felix vras safe from him, and that, for herself, 
 she was ready to face the worst that malice, aided 
 by the strong arm of legal power, could devise 
 against her? Her head seemed giddy; she could 
 not tell. A darkness, that was not the darkness 
 of approaching night, closed round her. She 
 made a vain effort to cry aloud ; but it ended in 
 a low, gurgling moan. Then she sank down on 
 the pillows. 
 
 Gordon, meanwhile, was walking quickly and 
 fiercely as men always walk under the influence 
 of strong passion round the house. It was not 
 by any means so late as it appeared in the room 
 he had quitted ; but, still, dusk had fallen, and 
 objects near at hand were becoming indistinct, 
 while those farther off were entirely wrapped in 
 obscurity. This fact, together with great pre- 
 occupation of mind, prevented his observing a 
 man who was nearing the terrace, as he emerged 
 from the shadow of the house, and descended the 
 stone steps that led down to the avenue. 
 
 He had scarcely taken half a dozen steps on 
 the latter, when his path was barred ; a voice, 
 quiet but somewhat menacing, said, "A word 
 with you, if you please," and, looking up, he 
 found himself face to face with St. John ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HODB1. 
 
 IT was time that Morton Annesley had at lart 
 returned to Annesdale, and that Lagrange had at 
 last been rewarded for long and impatient waiV
 
 242 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 ing, by the appearance of the hero of the melo- 
 drama it had arranged with so much artistic 
 skill, and such dramatic situations arranged, 
 alas ! for nothing. It was a very tame conclu- 
 sion indeed, the crestfallen gossips thought, 
 when Annesley quietly came home, two or three 
 weeks after Miss Tresham's return, and looked 
 and seemed, in every respect, very much as 
 usual. 
 
 It was a very blessed conclusion, his mother 
 thought, however ; and her joy was so great that 
 she even refrained from any reproaches or any 
 complaints of the long and bitter anxiety she had 
 endured anxiety concealed as much as possible 
 under a suave manner and a smiling face, but 
 suffered like the gnawing of a vulture, while La- 
 grange talked itself hoarse, and her own heart 
 was sick to the extreme of heart-sickness. It 
 might have been that his pale face and listless 
 manner pleaded for him more powerfully than 
 any words. He had suffered he was suffering ! 
 After all, there is no excuse like that, especially 
 to a woman. Of her own accord, and quite si- 
 lently, Mrs. Annesley buried out of sight the 
 tomahawk which had been kept in bright, sharp 
 readiness for combat, during all this period of 
 absence. He was back again, he was safe what 
 did all the rest matter ? It is true it mattered 
 sufficiently to fill her with an inexpressible mix- 
 ture of relief and indignation when she heard 
 that the girl against whom she had expended so 
 much effort, the girl whom she had unhesitating- 
 ly denounced as a scheming intrigante, 1 ad ab- 
 solutely refused the grand chance of becoming 
 mistress of Annesdale, when the owner of Annes- 
 dale had been insane enough to offer it to her. 
 There is no exaggeration in saying that contend- 
 ing emotions nearly choked her when she heard 
 this ; and that the relief and the indignation, 
 already mentioned, were at least equal in her 
 breast. " Oh, what a blessing to be free at last 
 from that haunting dread, and yet oh, how dare 
 she, the miserable creature ! " That was the 
 way thanksgiving and reproach were mingled to 
 her. Is it not always so ? Few things are more 
 singular than to consider how seldom in our lives 
 we have ever known a pure, unmixed emotion of 
 any sort. Whether it be joy or sorrow, it is al- 
 ways dashed by and blended with something 
 else ; it is almost always complex in its nature. 
 God is good to us in this, as in all things else. 
 Strong revulsions of feeling would be too power- 
 ful, if they came with unmixed force if joy were 
 joy, and sorrow were sorrow, pure and simple, 
 aot as now, the hues of <j;ich blended with ex- 
 
 quisite care into the other. Yet people com. 
 plain of this, and call it " unsatisfactory." If 
 they called themselves ungrateful, they would b 
 considerably nearer the truth. 
 
 The day after Morton's return home, he went 
 to see Mrs. Gordon. The one following this hia 
 third in Lagrange he spent in Tallihoma, at- 
 tending to various arrears of business. It was 
 sunset when he left the town, and turned Ilde- 
 rim's head in tlie direction of Annesdale. His 
 road led him past the Marks house, and some- 
 thing in the hour and in the sight of the chil- 
 dren, who were playing in the garden, brought 
 to his mind with singularly vivid remembrance 
 that November evening when he had stood at 
 the gate talking to Katharine, and Mrs. Gordon 
 went by when her face entered for the first 
 time the current of their existence. It is only 
 as we pass on in life only when we have 
 reached some height of time, and can thus over- 
 look the road winding through the valley that 
 the mist clears a little, and we begin to under- 
 stand the true significance of events that seemed 
 purposeless or puzzling at the time of their oc- 
 currence. To Annesley, looking back, it seemed 
 as if every change of the last few months dated 
 from that evening as if all the perplexities and 
 annoyances which had encompassed him took 
 their rise then as if the quieter life, and the 
 hopes that had brightened it, went down into 
 darkness with that long - vanished day. He 
 sighed a little to himself a short, quick, half- 
 impatient sigh then pulled his hat over his 
 eyes, and touched Ilderim with the spur. Ilde- 
 rim, who always resented any liberty of this 
 kind, immediately indulged in a few rearing 
 and plunging exercises, which had the effect of 
 diverting his master's attention from useless and 
 by no means enlivening retrospection. When he 
 was brought to terms, and had at last settled 
 into a sharp, steady canter, a proverb familiar 
 enough to a certain class of thinkers was on 
 Annesley's lips. " Che sard, sard / " he mut- 
 tered to himself. " After all, who can tell ? 
 Every thing is for the best, no doubt. The only 
 difficulty Soh, Ilderim ! What the deuce is the 
 matter with you, sir ? " 
 
 He broke off with this impatient question, as 
 Ilderim suddenly, gave a bolt from one side of 
 the road to the other. It was just where a foot- 
 path led across some fields, and a stile crossed 
 the hedge that bordered the main road. As An- 
 nesley turned quickly to see what had caused 
 the fright, he caught a glimpse of the top of a 
 hat sinking below the hedge, and thinking that
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 243 
 
 iome little imp had startled the horse for amuse- 
 ment, and was now hiding from the probable 
 consequences, he gave Ilderim's bridle a per- 
 emptory jerk, and, in a good deal of a fume, 
 rode up to the stile. " Come out, you miserable 
 little rascal," he said, " and let me tell you that 
 if you ever try such a trick as that again " 
 
 He stopped short, full of amazement. In- 
 stead of a child, a man rose up from behind the 
 hedge, at his bidding, and, with the full glow of 
 sunset falling on him, he recognized St. John. 
 They faced each other silently for an instant 
 Annesley overcome by astonishment, St. John 
 full of mortified rage, and neither knowing what 
 to do or to say, until the adventurer, who, hav- 
 ing been most prepared for the encounter, broke 
 the awkward silence first. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, with a sort of 
 insolent defiance. " Did you speak to me ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," answered Annesley, 
 recovering a little. " No, I did not speak to 
 you. That is, when I spoke, I thought some 
 mischievous boy had frightened my horse, and 
 was hiding behind the hedge. I had no idea it 
 was you that is I mean " 
 
 " You had no idea that / was hiding behind 
 the hedge," said St. John, grimly. " Thank you, 
 Mr. Annesley, for that much courtesy. You are 
 right, too I was not hiding. I have been in 
 the country to see a friend, and, returning to 
 Tallahoma by this short cut, I stopped here a 
 moment to resj. I regret to have startled your 
 horse. I know by experience that nothing Ls 
 more provoking. Good-evening." 
 
 Annesley returned the salutation, and rode 
 on ; but as he rode, he thought of the encounter, 
 and the longer he thought, the more singular it 
 appeared to him. "That fellow is a slippery 
 scoundrel," he thought, " and I am as certain as 
 I can possibly be of a thing I don't know, that 
 he was hiding when I startled him. ' A friend 
 in the country,' ' resting on the stile ' as if he 
 imagined I would credit such a story ! What 
 the deuce is he up to, I wonder ? He can't be 
 meaning to turn highwayman; and yet this looks 
 amazingly like it. Ah ! " 
 
 He pulled up Ilderim with a jerk that almost 
 threw that astonished horse on his haunches, 
 and stopped a minute in the road to think. 
 Like a flash, the recollection of Mrs. Gordon 
 came to him, and he remembered that this stile 
 was almost exactly opposite the gates of Morton 
 House. Was St. John on his way there ? did his 
 appearance mean any thinglike annoyance to her? 
 Such a thought was enough to fire Annesley at 
 
 once. He did not stop to consider whether or 
 not it was probable that it was possible, was 
 quite sufficient to put his blood in a glow. He 
 wheeled Ilderim about, and in a second was gal- 
 loping back along the road he had come. 
 
 At the gates of Morton House, however, he 
 paused. He did not want to startle his cousin 
 unnecessarily, or make himself ridiculous, yet 
 he could not banish an uncomfortable impres- 
 sion that St. John's appearance in that particu 
 lar place meant mischief. While he was still 
 debating what he should do, the thought of John 
 Warwick came to him as a sort of inspiration. 
 " He will know," he thought. " He has been on 
 the scene, and knows much more of matters 
 than I do. He may be able to tell what the fel- 
 low is after ; and, at all events, I need not star- 
 tle my cousin without first learning whether or 
 not she is likely to be annoyed." Under such 
 circumstances, and with such a person, resolve 
 and execution are very nearly synonymous terms. 
 In the course of another minute, he was gal- 
 loping rapidly toward Tallahoma. 
 
 Dusk had fallen, as he rode down the village 
 street his evident haste making more than one 
 person gaze curiously after him and drew up 
 before Mr. Warwick's office just as that gen- 
 tleman, with his letter to Katharine's would- 
 be employer in his pocket, stepped into th* 
 street. 
 
 " Why, Annesley ! " he exclaimed, as the 
 eager horseman reined up at the curb-stone. " I 
 am glad to see you' back," he continued, coming 
 forward with extended hand. " How are you ? " 
 
 " Tolerably well, thank you," said Annesley, 
 shaking hands absently, and in a great hurry. 
 " You won't be surprised, or think me very fool- 
 ish, if I ask you a rather abrupt question, will 
 you ? " he added, quickly. " I have a special 
 reason for it." 
 
 " A lawyer has no business ever to be sur- 
 prised," replied Mr. Warwick, noticing the eager 
 concern on the face before him. " Ask away a 
 hundred if you like." 
 
 " Anybody in your office ? " 
 
 " Not a soul." 
 
 The young man leaned out of his saddle, and 
 spoke low and quickly. " You know more about 
 Mrs. Gordon's affairs than I do," he said. " Ii 
 it possible that that fellow St. John could annoy 
 her in any way ? " 
 
 The lawyer started a little. 
 
 "It is possible, certainly," he answered, 
 coolly ; " but it is not at all probable. Why do 
 you ask ? "
 
 244 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Because I met him half an hour ago, at the 
 pates of Morton House." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Mr. Warwick, abso- 
 lutely recoiling a step in his amazement. " You 
 must be mistaken, Morton," he went on hastily. 
 "It can't be it is not possible that you met 
 St. John ! " 
 
 " I saw him as plainly as I see you, and 
 spoke to him, besides," answered Morton, some- 
 what surprised. " Why should it not be St. 
 John ? He" 
 
 "Never mind about that," interrupted the 
 other hastily. " If you are sure it was the man 
 himself" 
 
 " I am perfectly sure." 
 
 " Well, then, are you also sure that he was 
 going to Morton House ? " 
 
 " Not at all as you may judge for yourself." 
 He then proceeded to detail the incident as it oc- 
 curred. " You see," he went on, when he had 
 finished, " it is all pure supposition on my part 
 and for that reason, I would not run the risk 
 of disturbing my cousin until I had spoken to 
 you about it. If he can annoy her in any 
 way " 
 
 " He can annoy her," interrupted Mr. War- 
 wick, " and his venturing to reappear here looks 
 very much as if he had that intention. You are 
 mounted, Annesley. You had better ride on to 
 Morton House at once I will follow you as soon 
 as I possibly can." 
 
 " Then you really think " 
 
 " Hallo, George ! Stop a minute ! " cried 
 Mr. Warwick, suddenly interrupting him. And 
 when Morton turned, be saw that the person ad- 
 dressed was a young man who came riding down 
 the street in their rear. " Good-evening, Clay- 
 ton," he said, recognizing one of the young 
 " men about town " of Tallahoma ; and, as Clay- 
 ton drew up and returned the salutation, Mr. 
 Warwick went on : " George, you are going home, 
 are you not? I thought so. Lend me your 
 horse, then, for an hour or so. I want to go to 
 the country in haste, and haven't time to wait 
 for my own." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Warwick," said the young 
 man, dismounting instantly. " He's quite at 
 your service," he continued, with evidently cor- 
 dial sincerity. " You need not be in a hurry 
 about returning him ; and, if you want to go any 
 distance, he's quite fresh I've only been out to 
 the plantation and back." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mr. Warwick, hastily, 
 and mounting the horse without loss of time. " I 
 am in a great hurry it is most fortunate that 
 
 you happened to be passing, George. Good, 
 evening. Now, Annesley ! " 
 
 Annesley needed no second bidding, and side 
 by side the two men whom Fate had of late 
 seemed capriciously determined to throw togeth- 
 er, rode out of town on their way to Morton 
 House. Considering that both horses were put 
 on their mettle, it was not surprising that in a 
 few minutes they reached the large iron gates of 
 the Morton domain, and, in still another min- 
 ute, were cantering up the avenue looking al- 
 most like spectral horsemen as they rode rap- 
 idly under the bare trees in the dusky gloam- 
 ing. 
 
 Their anxiety and uncertainty had in some 
 intangible manner been communicated without 
 any agency of speech ; for certainly each knew 
 what the. other was feeling, and yet certainly 
 also, not a word had been spoken on either side 
 after they left Clayton, standing full of surprise 
 and curiosity on the curb-stone in Tallahoma. 
 They were half-way between the gate and the 
 house when the first sound broke the stillness. 
 Suddenly, on the soft evening air, the report of 
 a pistol rang sharply out. Both horses sprang 
 reared plunged and before a word could be 
 exchanged in the midst of the struggle for the 
 mastery, which ensued on the part of both 
 riders two other reports followed in quick suc- 
 cession. 
 
 " What on earth can it be ! " said Annesley, 
 as soon as Ilderim, quivering in every limb, was 
 again under his control. 
 
 Mr. Warwick did not answer. He galloped 
 hastily forward, and the other followed. In an- 
 other minute, they reached the terrace-steps, 
 and came upon a scene that neither of them ever 
 forgot. 
 
 The reports which they heard had evidently 
 startled the entire household. Notwithstanding 
 the obscurity of the twilight, they were able to 
 see that figures were running eagerly round the 
 terrace and descending the steps, at the bottom 
 of which a confused movement was taking place. 
 A group of servants were bending over some ob- 
 ject, or objects on the ground ; but they all 
 drew back instinctively as the two gentlemen 
 galloped up. 
 
 " What is it, Harrison ? " asked Mr. War- 
 wick, almost before he drew rein. 
 
 " The Lord only knows, sir," answered Har- 
 rison- evidently in a state of the wildest excite- 
 ment. " Two men shot theyselvcs sir right 
 here and the first we knowed of it was when 
 we heard the reports. I was in the kitchen
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 245 
 
 sir, and I jumped up and come a -running, 
 and" 
 
 " Stand back, all of you ! " said Mr. Warwick, 
 impatiently. He and Annesley pressed forward. 
 It was true. Two figures were lying on the 
 ground where there was every trace of a fierce 
 struggle one slightly breathing with a pistol 
 still in his hand ; the other fallen across the 
 lower step of the terrace on the very threshold 
 of Morton House stone dead ! 
 
 For a moment, the unexpected horror of the 
 situation held both men powerless. They looked 
 at each other through the gathering shades of 
 evening, with white faces ; but neither of them 
 said a word, until the thought of Mrs. Gordon 
 came to both. What had preceded this trage- 
 dy, they could not even guess; but it would 
 have been strange if their first care had not been 
 for her. 
 
 " You will see what can be done here," said 
 Annesley, after a moment. " I must go to my 
 cousin." 
 
 " Yes go at once," answered Mr. Warwick, 
 quickly. " She must have heard the reports, 
 and she may come Stop that, by any means." 
 
 Morton did not think this likely ; but he gave 
 one or two agile bounds up the terrace-steps, 
 and strode hastily toward the house. He had 
 not gone a dozen paces before he met Babette, 
 running in the direction of the scene of action, 
 wringing her hands, and crying aloud. She did 
 not recognize him, and he was forced to claim 
 her attention peremptorily before she would even 
 notice him. When she found who it was, how- 
 ever, she seized his arm with both hands, and 
 poured forth a pitiless lamentation. 
 
 " M'sieur, what is the matter ? " cried she. 
 " I went in madame's room, a minute ago, and I 
 found her poor lady lying in a dead faint on 
 the sofa. I knew ah, mon Dieu ! I felt sure 
 that M'sieur Gordon had been there. Then I 
 heard the guns, and I saw all the servant* run- 
 ning; but I could not leave madame, and 
 she " 
 
 " Has she come to herself? " asked Morton, 
 who could not help thinking that a dead faint 
 was the best possible condition for Mrs. Gordon 
 just then. 
 
 " I can do nothing with her ! " cried Babette, 
 hysterically. " I have tried to bring her to, but 
 I could do nothing with her ; and I came to see 
 about the guns m'sieur, what is it ? has 
 M'sieur Gordon " 
 
 " You are just the person ! " said Annesley, 
 interrupting her; and, much to her surprise, tak- 
 
 ing her, in turn, by the arm. He led her for. 
 ward, without giving her time for a word, and 
 stopped at the head of the steps. 
 
 "Here's Babette, Mr. Warwick," he said. 
 " She will be able to tell more than anybody 
 else. My cousin, she says, is in a swoon. Why 
 don't you send for lights ? " 
 
 " I have done so," answered Mr. Warwick's 
 voice out of the dusk. " There they come now." 
 
 They came as he spoke three or four ex- 
 cited negroes running as hard as possible, some 
 with candles, which they shaded with their 
 hands, and some with pine-torches caught from 
 the kitchen fire the red names streaming out 
 wildly on the night air, and lighting up the 
 whole scene with the peculiar glare that only 
 pine produces. It was a singularly picturesque 
 group, if anybody concerned had been able to 
 think even for a moment of its possible effect. 
 Afterward Annesley remembered how he stood 
 at the top of the steps holding the trembling, 
 sobbing Frenchwoman by the arm; how Mr. 
 Warwick directed every thing below ; how he 
 glanced back at the grim old house behind them, 
 thinking of the insensible woman within it ; how, 
 at that moment, a shrill, piercing scream from 
 Babette made him look round again ; how the red 
 glow of the torches fell just then full on the 
 face of the dead man, and how he shivered from 
 head to foot as his companion cried wildly : 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu ! M'sieur Gordon ! " 
 
 An hour later, Mr. Warwick came out to An- 
 nesley, who had left the house and was walking 
 up and down the terrace before the front en- 
 trance. Mrs. Gordon insisted upon being left 
 alone with the dead body of her husband, and 
 the doctors were in consultation over St. John, 
 so there had been nothing for Morton to do ; and 
 he had come out to see if he could not shake off 
 the numbing horror that seemed to oppress him, 
 in the fresh air, and under the great, silent can- 
 opy of heaven. He had not made more than 
 half a dozen turns, however, and the cigar he 
 had mechanically taken out was still unlighted 
 in his hand, when the lawyer walked up to 
 him. 
 
 " The doctors have decided that there is no 
 possible hope for that poor fellow," he said. 
 " The ball has entered his lung in a place which 
 renders extraction impossible ; and death must 
 take place in a few hours probably sooner. He 
 has recovered consciousness, and I think his si* 
 ter ought to be summoned Morton you must 
 go for her."
 
 246 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " For his sister ! " repeated Morton, in be- 
 wilderment. As much as he had time to think, 
 he was certainly inclined to believe that Mr. 
 Warwick had taken leave of his senses. 
 
 " I forgot that you did not know," said the 
 Other. " Miss Tresham is his sister ; and she is 
 at Raynor's George Raynor's. Will you go for 
 her?" 
 
 " I of course, instantly," said Annesley, 
 swallowing this new cause for astonishment 
 with a great gulp. " But if you will excuse 
 me are you sure is there no mistake " 
 
 " I am quite sure," answered Mr. Warwick, 
 cutting him short. " There is no mistake what- 
 ever about her being his sister ; but it is a long 
 story, and I cannot begin to tell it now. Ta.ke 
 every thing for granted, my good fellow, and go 
 at once remember, it is a case of life and 
 death." 
 
 " I am not likely to forget that," the other 
 replied. 
 
 Nothing more was said by either. Men, 
 when they know they can rely on each other, 
 are not much given to speech. With his un- 
 lighted cigar still between his fingers, Annesley 
 walked away to the stables where some officious 
 servant had taken Ilderim, while Mr. Warwick 
 went back into the house. His foot fell softly as 
 in crossing the hall he passed a closed door, 
 under which shone a stream of light. As he 
 sprang into the saddle, he chanced to turn 
 one look at the house, and caught the same 
 light shining steadily over the terrace from a 
 flower-wreathed window. He drew his breath 
 quickly at sight of it, for he knew what it meant 
 hn knew that in the room where little more 
 than an hour before the last bitter defiance had 
 passed between them, the widow now watched by 
 her husband's corpse. 
 
 He had no time for reflection, however. " Re- 
 member, it is a case of life and death," Mr. 
 Warwick had said ; and the young man, as he 
 had answered, was not likely to forget it. He 
 gave Ilderim a sharp taste of the obnoxious 
 spurs, and, after one wild plunge, was away cut- 
 ting straight across the park, and taking a plan- 
 tation by-way that led through the fields to the 
 Raynor estate. He did not trouble himself 
 much about gates or bars ; but when he came 
 to a fence and fences, it seemed to him, had 
 never before been so numerous gave Ilderim 
 his head, and went straight at it. 
 
 At this rate, it was not long before he came 
 in sight of the Raynor house or rather, of the 
 Raynor out-buildings ; for his approach was 
 
 made from the rear. Fortunately, he knew the 
 place well, and was at no loss where or how to 
 proceed. Opening one of the usual large plan- 
 tation gates, he let himself into the stable-yard, 
 and riding forward soon came upon a group of 
 servants lazily talking and smoking together. 
 
 " Here, one of you boys," he said, startling 
 them very much by his unexpected appearance, 
 " take my horse, while I go to the house. Is 
 your master at home ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir Mass George's at home," an- 
 swered several of the astonished boys. Then 
 two or three of them advanced. " It's Mass 
 Henry Dargan, ain't it?" asked the first; for 
 the starlight made personal appearance very 
 much a matter of conjecture. 
 
 " No it's Mass Morton Annesley," said an- 
 other, before Morton himself could reply. " I 
 knows his horse. Shall I put him up for you, 
 Mr. Annesley ? " 
 
 " No " answered Annesley. He stopped 
 and thought a moment. " Is Charley in the 
 stable ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir been up all day." 
 
 " Change my saddle to him, then, and put a 
 side-saddle on Ilderim. Make haste about it, 
 and when they are ready, bring them both to 
 the house. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " A side-saddle, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes a side-saddle. Don't waste time over 
 it. Change my saddle as quickly as you can, and 
 bring the horses on." 
 
 He walked away, leaving the astonished 
 grooms to bewilder themselves with conjectures 
 about this strange order, and took a familiar 
 path to the house. Following it directly, he soon 
 found himself on a side piazza, and, looking 
 through a glass doer, saw that the family were 
 at supper. Involuntarily, he stopped a minute 
 he began to realize now that it was hard to take 
 the next step. 
 
 Standing thus, he saw Katharine for the 
 first time since that well-remembered day at 
 Bellefont. She was looking pale, but very pret- 
 ty, he thought, as he watched her sitting exactly 
 opposite the door through which he made his 
 observation. The family party was not large, 
 and supper if the light meal merited such a 
 heavy name was set very informally on a small 
 round table. George* Raynor, with his crutches 
 beside him, was comfortably established on one 
 side of this, while his wife poured out coffee on 
 the other. Irene Vernon, with a book in her 
 hand, stood by the hearth, where a seivant was 
 toasting bread. Being the person most discn-
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 247 
 
 gaged, she first caught a glimpse of Annesley's 
 face through the glass door, and made a slight 
 exclamation. After that, he had no alternative 
 but to push it open, and enter. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 SOMETHING in Annesley's face and manner 
 told his story for him as soon as he came in up- 
 on the astonished group. Raynor was the first 
 person who looked up as the door opened, and 
 he made the first echo of Miss Vernon's excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " Why, Annesley ! " he cried, making an 
 effort to rise, and sinking back again, when he 
 remembered his leg. " Good Heavens, Morton ! 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 Morton came forward, and tried to smile, as 
 he held out his hand. 
 
 " You must excuse my being so unceremoni- 
 ous," he said. " I came through the stable-yard, 
 and followed the side-path to the house. I hope 
 you are all well. It was a shame to startle you 
 so ! Indeed, Mrs. Raynor, you need not be 
 alarmed. Nothing is the matter, I assure you 
 at least nothing that concerns you." 
 
 " Something that concerns somebody else, 
 then," said Raynor, impatiently. " The deuce, 
 man ! don't try to tell us that nothing is the 
 matter when you look like this ! What is it ? " 
 
 " I have come for Miss Tresham," said An- 
 nesley, looking at Katharine, and thinking 
 poor fellow ! that he had better make a desper- 
 ate plunge into the matter at once. Impulsively, 
 he went over and took her hands there was 
 something very pitying in his face and eyes. 
 " I am very sorry for you," he said, " I must beg 
 you to come with me at once. You are wanted 
 at Morton House." 
 
 " Wanted ! by whom ? " she asked, for Mor- 
 ton House was the last place she could possibly 
 have expected him to name. 
 
 " Wanted by " he hesitated a moment " by 
 Mr. St. John. He has been in a difficulty, and, I. 
 am sorry to say, is badly wounded." 
 
 " Ah ! " she gave a low cry, and grew sud- 
 denly pale. " But but he cannot be there 1 " 
 
 " Yes, he is there. I cannot tell you any 
 more now," he went on, hastily, as he saw the 
 amazement in her dilated eyes. " You had bet- 
 ter change your dress at once. I have ordered 
 a horse for you it will be the quickest way of 
 
 reaching Morton House. The sooner we start 
 the better." 
 
 " Is" She stopped, and drawing her hand 
 out of his clasp, clutched nervously at the back 
 of the chair from which she had risen, while her 
 words came with n slight gasp " is he dying? " 
 
 Annesley did not answer, but, being inexperi- 
 enced in dissimulation, his face answered for him. 
 Everybody who was looking on read the reply 
 written there as plainly as Katharine did. She 
 gave a shuddering sigh, put her hands to her 
 face for an instant, then let them fall, and 
 turned to leave the room. 
 
 " I will be ready in a minute," she said, in a 
 repressed sort of voice. 
 
 " I will help you," said Miss Vernon, break- 
 ing the trance of surprise that held them all. 
 She came forward quickly, and drew the girl's 
 hand into her arm. There was something very 
 gentle in the action, and in her face, as she 
 looked back at Annesley. "She shall be ready 
 in a minute," she said. " Don't fear any de- 
 lay." 
 
 They passed out of the room, and then Mor- 
 ton was beset by questions to which he gave 
 very unsatisfactory answers indeed. . " I don't 
 know much more about the matter than you do," 
 he said, at last. " And of what I do know, I am 
 bound to say nothing, because it is no affair of 
 mine. You may hear all about it soon God 
 knows : I don't. Who is shot ? That poor fel- 
 low St. John, for one, I can tell you. George, 1 
 had a side-saddle put on Ilderim for Miss Tresh- 
 am, and ordered out Charley for myself. You 
 don't object, do you ? " 
 
 "Object! Of course not," said George. 
 " Charley has been standing up in the stable eat- 
 ing his head off, ever since I broke my leg. But, 
 Morton, you can at least tell us what this St 
 John is his name ? has to do with Miss Tresh 
 am?" 
 
 " No, I can't," answered Morton. " Misa 
 Tresham will very likely tell you herself," he 
 continued; "until then, my dear fellow, you 
 must restrain your curiosity as best you can. 
 Mrs. Raynor, will you give me a cup of coffee? 
 I have had no supper this evening." 
 
 He made the right diversion. With all a 
 woman's ready sympathy, Mrs. Raynor was at 
 once intent upon administering to his bodily 
 wants, even in preference to the gratification of 
 her own curiosity. Notwithstanding his pro- 
 test, she insisted upon making him eat as well as 
 drink, and she was so full of this important 
 matter, that she did not find time to ask anoth-
 
 248 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 er question, before Miss Vernon and Katharine 
 came back, the latter equipped and ready to 
 start. 
 
 " Mr. Annesley, are you not afraid to put her 
 on that wild horse ? " Miss Vernon asked, as 
 they stood on the piazza and Morton led Ilderim 
 up. " Minnie is in the stable. Surely she would 
 do." 
 
 " She would do excellently well for a pleas- 
 ure - ride," answered Annesley ; " but not for 
 such a purpose as this. Charley is by no 
 means safe," he added, " so Ilderim is our only 
 resource. Miss Tresham are you afraid of 
 him ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," Katharine answered. 
 " I should not be afraid of any thing, Mr. 
 Annesley, that would take me there at once." 
 
 " Ilderim will take you there like light- 
 ning," he said, lifting her to the saddle. And, 
 as he said it, a sharp recollection came to both 
 of them of the evening when nhe had given the 
 name which had come to bear such a signifi- 
 cance. " Ilderim it signifies ' the Lightning,' " 
 she had said ; and now it rested with Ilderim 
 whether or not she should reach her brother's 
 death-bed in time to hear or to speak one last 
 word of love, or pardon, or hope. " Oh ! " she 
 said, under her breath, " do you remember ? " 
 just as Annesley for his part said, " Do you re- 
 member ? " then added quickly, " You are riding 
 him at last." 
 
 " Take care of her, Mr. Annesley," came 
 from the piazza, in Miss Vernon's voice. It 
 was the last sound that followed them as they 
 rode away. 
 
 " Where are we going ? " Katharine asked, 
 as they passed out of the stable-gate together. 
 " This is not the road to Morton House." 
 
 " Yes, it is the shortest road," he answered. 
 " A cut across the plantations which will take 
 off two or three miles of the distance. Are you 
 afraid ? " 
 
 " Afraid with you ? Oh, no." 
 
 She said the words very simply, but, out of 
 their very simplicity, they touched him deeply, 
 making that strange, lonely ride that gallop at 
 full speed across the great silent fields, and now 
 and then through a dark stretch of woods full 
 of the weird, inarticulate voices of the Night 
 an era in his life to be ever remembered. What 
 man is wise enough to be able to tell when pas- 
 sion is born, when it reaches its full height, or 
 when it dies? Does the turn of the tide always 
 come when the waves have reached their highest 
 point? As they rode along, with the hoof- 
 
 strokes of their horses the only audible sound, 
 themselves uttering scarcely a word, Nature in 
 silent grandeur all around them, man so far 
 distant, and the great hosts of heaven march- 
 ing steadily overhead, it seemed to Annesley 
 as if much that had before been unintelligible 
 was now made plain to him. He could not 
 possibly have given expression to the different 
 emotions that swayed him, to the different 
 thoughts that came to him, or to the strange 
 flux and reflux of feeling that possessed him. 
 But all the same, these things left their mark 
 upon his life all the same, he looked back af- 
 terward to this night as .to one of those peri- 
 ods of transition which every human soul must 
 undergo. The forces may be long in marshal- 
 ling, the causes may be long in preparing their 
 effects, but we may know the thrill of final issue 
 when it comes, even though we may not know 
 till long afterward the final result. 
 
 Annesley had no means of judging what 
 length of time they had been on the road, when 
 at last they reined up before the door of the 
 great stables of Morton House, and, springing 
 to the ground himself, he received the slight, 
 swaying form of his companion in his arms. 
 
 " Courage, Miss Tresham ! Here we are at 
 last!" he said, kindly. " Don't give way now, 
 after holding out so well. Shall I send for 
 some wine for you, or shall we go to the house 
 at once ? " 
 
 " Let us go," she answered, panting slight- 
 ly. " We must not wait a minute. He Mr. 
 Annesley, do you think he is alive ? " 
 
 " Let us trust so. But you ought to hare 
 something to strengthen you before " 
 
 " No," she interrupted, with feverish eager- 
 ness. " Take me in. I I am quite well." 
 
 "Just as you please," he said, with that 
 consideration whicli comes from the heart, and 
 knows, therefore, when it is vain to press even 
 that which is best on an unwilling recipient. 
 He drew her hand into his arm, and she remem- 
 bered afterward how gently and carefully he 
 led her to the house, speaking now and then 
 kind words of cheer and comfort. During the 
 last half-hour of their ride, he had told her all 
 he knew of what had occurred, and who had 
 been St. John's adversary in the quarrel that had 
 ended so fatally. Shocked she was, undoubted- 
 ly ; but almost less so than he had expected. 
 " It is horrible horrible for Mrs. Gordon that 
 he should have been killed there," she said, 
 with a shudder ; " but, oh, you cannot tell how 
 his influence has led St. John astray, and how
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 much this seems to me 
 That was all she said of the man who had so 
 suddenly and so fearfully gone to his account. All 
 her thoughts seemed filled by her brother. An- 
 nesley was astonished to hear with how much 
 tenderness she spoke of him ; he could not tell 
 how the news of his danger and extremity car- 
 ried her heart back to the days when they had 
 been children together, and loved each other as 
 only children can love. All the intermediate 
 time of terror and repulsion, of shame and dis- 
 grace, was swept out of her memory. He was 
 her brother, that was enough. 
 
 As they neared the house, Annesley pointed 
 to the light which streamed from the windows 
 of Mrs. Gordon's room the room where Katha- 
 rine had spent the first evening of their acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " My cousin's husband was here this after- 
 noon," he said. " He must have seen her in that 
 room, and, as well as we can judge, had just left 
 her, when when this took place. His body is 
 there now." 
 
 " And she ? " 
 
 "Is with it." 
 
 The girl looked at the light and shivered, 
 Vaguely and dimly she wondered at the possible 
 depths of emotion existing so near her. Out of 
 her own anxiety, she had time for a throb of pity 
 toward the woman who, under the roof that had 
 sheltered her girlhood, received the dead body of 
 the man she had once loved, and, through love, 
 learned to hate. 
 
 "Does she know how how it occurred?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " She knows all that we do," Annesley an- 
 swered; "but that is not much. This is the 
 door, Miss Tresham." 
 
 He led her into the house, and the first per- 
 son whom they met was Mr. Warwick. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, you have come at last ! " he 
 said. " I thought you would be too late. He is 
 sinking rapidly. Miss Tresham are you able to 
 see him at once ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes at once," she said. 
 
 " Then bring her on, Annesley this way." 
 
 He led the way, and Annesley with Katharine 
 followed. St. John had been insensible when 
 he was brought into the house, so they had 
 carried him up-stairs, to one of the chambers. 
 It chanced to be the one that had been occupied 
 by Felix, and the first thing that met Katharine's 
 eye, as she entered the door, was a number of 
 boyish playthings arranged carefully at the end 
 of the room. The hobby-horse, drum, and gayly- 
 
 249 
 
 like^ retribution ! " j painted bow and arrows, made a strange contrirt 
 to a table near by, which was covered with sur- 
 gical instruments and an open medicine-case, 
 such as doctors practising in the country always 
 carry ; and to the bed, with its muslin curtain* 
 thrown completely over the old-fashioned can- 
 opy, while the bandaged form of the wounded 
 man rested on top of the coverings. Two doc- 
 tors were in the room the only two of any skill 
 that Lagrange could boast. One of them waa 
 sitting by the bed, the other stood by the table, 
 measuring out some medicine, when Katharine 
 entered. Mr. Warwick walked up to the latter. 
 
 "Here is Miss Tresham, doctor," he said 
 " I suppose there is no danger of her exciting the 
 patient too much ? " 
 
 " I suppose not," answered the doctor, a little 
 vngraciously. He looked keenly and somewhat 
 suspiciously at Miss Tresham. He did not un- 
 derstand matters at all, and he did not care to 
 conceal his resentment of this fact. Who was 
 Mr. St. John ? how had he been shot ? what 
 was this about a dead man in the house ? what 
 the deuce did this girl, whom he knew as the 
 subject of a great deal of Lagrange gossip, have 
 to do with it all ? Doctors are subject to the 
 infirmities of human curiosity as well as other 
 men, and do not like to be kept in the dark a 
 whit better. Perhaps this doctor liked it a shade 
 less, as his tone showed, when he said, stiffly: 
 " I suppose not the patient is considerably past 
 being harmed by any thing." 
 
 " Oh, doctor, is there no hope ? " asked a 
 voice, against the pathetic sweetness of which 
 even the doctor was not proof. He glanced 
 quickly at the gray eyes lifted to his face then 
 looked away again. 
 
 " I thought you would have told her that the 
 man must die," be said, addressing Mr. War- 
 wick. 
 
 " He did tell me that is, I have heard It," 
 said Katharine, before the lawyer could speak. 
 " Only I thought I would like to hear your opin- 
 ion myself. He is my brother," she added, after 
 a momentary pause. " You will forgive roe for 
 asking how long he can live? " 
 
 " That is a question which it is hard for me 
 to answer," snid the doctor, more gently than 
 might have been expected ; then he shot aglanc* 
 half questioning, half indignant, at Mr. Warwick. 
 " Mr. St. John's wound is mortal," he went on ; 
 but in these cases it is hard to determine ex- 
 actly when death will ensue, so much depends 
 on the vital power of the system. He may live 
 two oMhree hours possibly even through the
 
 50 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 niglit or he may die within ten minutes. I can- 
 not tell" 
 
 " Which do you think most probable ? " 
 
 " As far as I can judge, he is sinking rapidly. 
 He has already lived longer than I anticipated." 
 
 Annesley, on whose arm she still leaned, felt 
 her shudder from head to foot; out she said 
 nothing. Her face grew a shade whiter, perhaps, 
 and her lips set themselves with painful rigidity, 
 but that was all. The doctor thought to himself 
 that she had no feeling. " She calls the poor 
 man her brother, and takes the news of his cer- 
 tain death like this ! " he thought, as she drew 
 her hand from Morton's arm, and crossed the 
 floor alone, to the side of the bed. 
 
 St. John lay in what was apparently a deep 
 stupor, or what was, perhaps, the prostration 
 which precedes dissolution, and verges on insen- 
 sibility. The haemorrhage from his wound had 
 been so excessive that his face was bleached to 
 a deathly pallor; but otherwise it showed no 
 signs of the approaching death which the doctor 
 prophesied. Looking at him, Katharine could 
 scarcely believe that it was indeed so near, un- 
 til suddenly a sharp convulsion of agony passed 
 over the face, and roused it from its repose. 
 The lips sprang apart, then closed tightly over a 
 groan, while the eyes opened full on her face. 
 In an instant she saw that he was perfectly con- 
 scious. As soon as the paroxysm abated it did 
 not last more than a minute he strove to speak, 
 but, failing in this, lifted his hand, and motioned 
 her to come nearer. The doctor silently resigned 
 his seat, and, sinking into it, she bent her face 
 down almost on a level with his own, while her 
 hands clasped eagerly over the one be had ex- 
 tended. 
 
 " Don't try to talk, dear," she said, gently. 
 " Here I am I shall not leave you." 
 
 " You won't be needed long," he answered. 
 His voice was very weak, and had a slight catch 
 between the words ; but otherwise there was no 
 change, and the old mocking cadence still rang in 
 its notes. 
 
 " Oh, St. John " Her own voice broke down 
 in the quiver of sobs that were hastily choked 
 back. This was neither time nor place for them 
 especially since the doctor's hand was laid 
 heavily on her shoulder, and the doctor's voice 
 said in her ear, " The least excitement will kill 
 him in a minute." She fought hard for self-con, 
 trol, and after a time gained it. At last she was 
 able to say, quietly, " I will not leave you but 
 pray keep quiet. The doctor says the least ex- 
 citement is very dangerous." 
 
 " Confound the doctor ! " answered St. John, 
 peevishly, apparently quite unconscious that this 
 personage stood just by his side. " What is the 
 use of keeping quiet?" he went on. ''Why," 
 with a singular inflection of contempt, " I know, 
 as well as he does, that I'm done for ! Only 
 there's one or two things I must say to you, if- 
 if I can." 
 
 " Don't try oh, pray don't try ! " 
 
 " I must, I tell you ! " This quite impatiently 
 then, more faintly, " Water my throat is dry 
 I can hardly talk." 
 
 Katharine turned, but the doctor was al- 
 ready at hand, with a glass of water in which a 
 stimulant was infused. " He is sinking fast," he 
 said, as he leaned over her. " If he has any 
 thing on his mind, let him say it. He may go 
 off any moment." 
 
 But, after drinking the water, St. John seemed 
 to sink back into stupor. Holding his hand, 
 Katharine chanced to rest her fingers on the 
 pulse, and she was startled to feel how weak and 
 slow it was. Life was ebbing fast even her 
 inexperience began to appreciate this, especially 
 when she noted that awful grayness which is the 
 first shadow of approaching dissolution, and 
 which no one, who has seen it once, can ever 
 forget or mistake, stealing over the fnce. He 
 looked very handsome as he lay with closed 
 eyes, and slightly-heaving chest. All that was 
 repulsive about the face seemed to have been 
 fined away as by a sharp chisel. The features 
 stood out with the pure clearness of sculptured 
 marble, and the dark lashes and brows made the 
 only contrast to the deadly-white pallor of the 
 complexion. Mr. Warwick and Annesley ex- 
 changed a glance was it only imagination, or 
 did they notice a strange, subtile likeness coming 
 out on this face, to that other face lying even 
 more still and white, below ? Just now, they 
 thought It was imagination, but afterward when 
 the full horror of the truth was known to them 
 they knew that fancy had not played them false, 
 but that the hand of death had brought out with 
 a force not to be mistaken the trace and the 
 proof of common blood. 
 
 Several minutes passed, then Mr. Warwick 
 came up to Katharine, and, standing in the shade 
 behind her chair, lent down and spoke. 
 
 "If he rouses again, you must ask him how 
 this occurred," he said. " The other man ia 
 dead, and it is important that we should know." 
 
 " Very well," she answered, under her breath 
 and just at that moment, with a slight start, 
 St. John opened his eyes.
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 251 
 
 " Katharine are you there ? " he asked, his 
 f oice having become much weaker since he spoke 
 last. 
 
 " Yes, I am here," she answered, bending for- 
 ward so that he could see her. " Is there any 
 thing I can do for you ? " 
 
 He muttered something, but so low that she 
 did not catch his words. Then, while she was 
 still straining her ears, he turned his head, and 
 said abruptly, " Is Gordon dead ? " 
 
 Katharine had been so entirely unprepared 
 for such a question, that she did not know what 
 to reply ; she did not know what the effect might 
 be of the unsoftened truth. She looked at the 
 doctor ; but the doctor's face was non-expressive 
 at Annesley, but there was nothing to direct 
 her there. It was not until Mr. Warwick said, 
 in a low voice, " Tell him," that she found cour- 
 age to answer. 
 
 " Yes, St. John ; he is dead." 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure." 
 
 There was silence after this. St. John drew 
 a deep breath to every one of the bystand- 
 ers it sounded almost like a sigh of relief and 
 lay quiet for some time. Katharine was on the 
 point of speaking again, when he anticipated 
 her, uttering his words faintly, and with evident 
 effort. 
 
 "So that is settled," he said. "Well, I 
 didn't mean to kill him ; but I should be a cant- 
 ing hypocrite if I said it was not a good riddance 
 to everybody ! He tried me too far," he went 
 on, gathering a little more strength. " It was 
 all his fault not mine. He was in one of the 
 devil's own rages, and I was desperate. They 
 have told you all about it, I suppose, Katharine." 
 
 " How could they ? " she answered sadly. 
 " Nobody knows any thing about it." 
 
 " Don't they ? " said he, with the old mock- 
 ing sneer on his white lip. " It would be a pity 
 if their curiosity should never be gratified. Of 
 course, you know how it was, though. When a 
 man is hungry, and footsore, and penniless, he is 
 next to a wild beast, and I was all those things, 
 a few hours ago. I knew Gordon would be here 
 about this time ; and I had been wandering about 
 the country for days, keeping a sharp lookout 
 for him. At last I met a boy to-day, was it ? 
 who had driven him to Tallahoma. Then I came 
 on as quickly as possible, and I thought Morton 
 House would be the best place to find him the 
 safest place for me, that is. Just as I got to the 
 terrace, he came down the steps. It seemed he 
 had found out that the child was gone, and that 
 
 his wife was out of his power. If you knew any 
 thing about him, you'd know what sort of a seen* 
 we had then. He was out of his head with fury, 
 especially against me, who had brought him here 
 for nothing, while I was just as ready as not to 
 have out all the old scores ! There was plenty 
 of them, for I had been his cat's-paw for many a 
 day, with most of the labor, and all the risk, 
 and hardly a taste of the profit. I told him lie 
 should not stir till he had promised to give mo 
 something any thing to live on, and, in that 
 case, I engaged never to come near him again. 
 He had not sense enough to close with the offer 
 considering all that had gone before, an amaz- 
 ingly liberal one, I can tell you but he dared to 
 say that he would give half his fortune to take 
 me to the gallows, but not a penny to keep me 
 from it. At that, I lost my temper. I oh, this 
 cursed throat ! Give me some water." 
 
 It was given to him, and, after drinking, he 
 went on of his own accord : 
 
 " You need not think I fired without provo- 
 cation at an unarmed man. I did not mean to 
 use the pistol in fact, it was in my pocket, and 
 I had forgotten all about it. I would not have 
 touched it, if I had not been at a terrible dis- 
 advantage. But he fought like a tiger, and he 
 soon got the better of me. In the scuffle the 
 d d thing went off, and gave me this wound. 
 Then I knew I was done for, and the devil en- 
 tered me, and I was determined to kill him. I 
 managed to draw it, and fired twice. I I don't 
 believe he stirred afterward." 
 
 " He is exciting himself too much," said doc- 
 tor No. 2, in the midst of the pause which fol- 
 lowed the last words words over which the 
 dying man's voice had sunk into inarticulate 
 weakness. " He will kill himself in ten minutes, 
 at this rate ! Miss Tresham, you must not let 
 him talk." 
 
 " But I will talk," interrupted St. John. " If 
 I choose to kill myself in ten minutes, whose 
 business is it ? Not yours, at any rite ! Katha- 
 rine, I I have something to say to you." 
 
 " Had you not better be quiet, dear ? " 
 
 " I can't think what it was" a strange gasp- 
 ing and cntching was now audible in the weak 
 voice, the gray shade stole more plainly over the 
 face, and an awe settled on those around him. 
 I yes, I wanted to tell you that I am sorry 
 I have been such a drag and terror on your life. 
 I don't know, but but it seems now ss if I 
 might perhaps do a little better, if it were to 
 live over again. It is too late now for nny tiling 
 of that sort ; but I am sorry."
 
 252 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh, St. John ! " The tears came now in a 
 hot, burning shower, as she sank on her knees 
 by the bed. " Oh, my brother my dear, dear 
 brother ! don't you know can't you tell how 
 little it all seems ? It was my fault too don't 
 think it was all yours. If it were oh, if it were 
 to live over, I should be more patient, more lov- 
 ing, more kind then all might be different. But, 
 dear love, try to think of your soul, and of God. 
 Oh, remember how near death is ! St. John, 
 have you quite forgotten and disowned the dear 
 Lord who died for you ? Oh, try, try to make 
 one good act of contrition it is all you can do, 
 but He is strong enough to do the rest." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 How strangely his faltering tones contrasted 
 with her passionate accents ! All was silent 
 around. The figures about the bed might have 
 been of graven stone, for all the sign of life they 
 gave by word or movement. It seemed as if the 
 forces of Good and Evil had met to fight their 
 last awful combat over this erring soul. 
 
 " Oh, try ! " she cried, " for God's sake, try I 
 Think think that you may have to face Him in 
 another minute ! You are sorry for all this life 
 of sin and violence, are you not ? " 
 
 He murmured something in reply. The oth- 
 ers could not hear it, but she did. Whatever it 
 was, it must have been affirmative, for she lifted 
 a crucifix, which was attached to a rosary at her 
 girdle, and held it before his eyes. " Try to fol- 
 low me," she said, and then she poured forth a 
 fervent Act of Contrition. It was only the ordi- 
 nary form, but her voice uttered it with a pas- 
 sion and pathos that touched the heart more 
 than any pomp of language could have done. It 
 was the very cry of an anguished, shipwrecked 
 soul, mounting in its last dire extremity to Him 
 who once ended His bitter passion on Calvary. 
 St. John tried to follow ; but strength was fail- 
 ing fast. When she held the crucifix to his lips, 
 he kissed the sacred figure fastened thereon ; 
 but he could not articulate any longer. The 
 awful moment of final agony had come. God 
 and the pitying angels only knew what strong 
 and powerful wrestling in passionate supplication 
 the girl beside him did, during that short time. 
 One familiar prayer after another rose from her 
 lips ; and at last, by a sudden impulse, she began 
 the " Memorare." In a second, something like 
 the light of conscious life flashed into the fail- 
 ing eyes. The lids lifted, the lips faintly smiled 
 the sound of the long-forgotten but still fa- 
 miliar words had apparently taken the thoughts 
 of the dying man far back into his childhood. 
 
 "Katy little Katy," he murmured. And 
 just at the words : " Oh, let it not be said that I 
 have perished where no one ever found but grace 
 and salvation," there came one strong shiver and 
 all was over. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 IN THE DAWN. 
 
 THE first gray chill of daylight was stealing 
 over the terrace and gardens of the house, when 
 Mrs. Gordon's door at last opened, and coming 
 out she asked a servant, who was loitering and 
 shivering in the hall, where Mr. Warwick was. 
 
 " He's in the dining-room, ma'am," answered 
 the boy. " Mus' I tell him you want him ? " 
 
 " No I will go myself." 
 
 She walked a few steps, then stopped and 
 turned round. 
 
 " Is he quite alone ? " she asked. " Is there 
 nobody with him ? " 
 
 " Nobody at all, ma'am ; the doctor is gone, 
 and Mass Morton, he went up-stairs a minute 
 ago." 
 
 Thus reassured, she walked forward, and 
 opened the dining-room door. A fire was burn- 
 ing on the hearth, and throwing its flickering 
 light over the walls panelled in old-fashioned 
 style, and the portraits hung round them. It also 
 threw a fantastic glow over the face of Mr. War- 
 wick, who had leaned back in a deep arm-chair, 
 and quietly fallen asleep. This sleep was only a 
 light doze, however, for the opening of the door 
 roused him at once, and he started when he saw 
 the figure that came across the floor toward 
 him. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon ! " he exclaimed, not quite 
 sure in the dim light whether or not his sight 
 played him false. 
 
 " Don't let. me disturb you," said Mrs. Gor- 
 don, as he rose. " If I had known that you were 
 sleeping, I should not have come in. You must 
 be very tired." 
 
 " No not tired at all," he said, moving a 
 chair toward her. " Pray sit down you look 
 very weak. Can I get any thing for you any 
 thing in the way ofi stimulant or refreshment? ' 
 
 Her pale lips answered, but no sound was 
 audible. She shook her head, and, sinking into 
 the chair he had placed for her, motioned him to 
 resume his own seat. As he turned to do so, he 
 perceived the pale, gray daylight which bcgnn to 
 struggle through the blinds of a window at the
 
 IN THE DA.VN. 
 
 253 
 
 end of the room, and, walking to it, threw them 
 open. He felt as if it might be possible to throw 
 off something of the ghastly horror of the night 
 with these first tokens of God's day. 
 
 When he came back to the fire, he was star- 
 tled to see the change which the last few hours 
 had made in Mrs. Gordon's appearance. She 
 looked inconceivably old and haggard, as she sat 
 there in the pale morning light inconceivably 
 worse than he could have imagined that even the 
 long watches of this fearful night would have 
 made her look. Before he could speak, she an- 
 ticipated him. 
 
 " Sit down," she said. " I have something 
 to say to you, and I can say it better now than 
 hereafter." She paused a moment, then added, 
 gently, " Is that poor man up-stairs dead ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, a little surprised, not at 
 the question itself, but at the tone of it. " Yes, 
 he is dead he has been dead for several hours." 
 
 She gave a deep sigh, and, leaning back, 
 closed her eyes. There are few stranger things 
 in this strange world than the similarity and asso- 
 ciation of sound. This sigh immediately recalled 
 to Mr. Warwick's mind the sigh which St. John 
 had uttered on hearing of Gordon's death. In 
 both there was a cadence of unmistakable re- 
 lief which his ear was able to detect, though it 
 had been mingled with a singular chord of other 
 emotions. Some instinct warned him that he 
 was not yet at the end of this night's eventful 
 history that there was something yet to hear, 
 something yet to do, before the sun should rise. 
 Thinking of this, he did not observe that Mrs. 
 Gordon unclosed her eyes, and when she spoke, 
 her voice startted him. 
 
 " Where is Miss Tresham ? " she asked. 
 " Was she sent for ? Is she here ? " 
 
 " Miss Tresham is here," he answered then 
 added, after a second, " she is lying down, I 
 believe. The agitation which she underwent 
 at her brother's death was too much for her. 
 He had scarcely ceased to breathe, when she 
 fainted." 
 
 " But she has recovered has she not? " 
 
 " So the servants tell me. I have not seen 
 her since I carried her out of the room." 
 
 " Babette is an excellent nurse," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, with more interest than he had expect- 
 ed. " Has she seen her ? " 
 
 " She is with her now, I think." 
 
 " Ah ! " with a faint sigh, " then she is in 
 
 good hands. There is no fear of her dying," she 
 
 went on, a little bitterly. "Neither grief nor 
 
 trouble is merciful enough to kill. I will speak 
 
 17 
 
 of her again, after a while. Now, I should liko 
 to ask you something else. Did he did St 
 John give any account before he died of how 
 all this occurred ? " 
 
 " Yes ; just before he died, he told his sister." 
 He then related all that the dying man had said, 
 adding, when it was over : " Every thing goes to 
 corroborate this statement. The time at which 
 Morton met him the time we occupied in com- 
 ing from Tallahoma the shots we heard, and the 
 condition in which we found the two men. The 
 doctors also say that the position of the wound 
 proves it was given accidentally and in the man- 
 ner described." 
 
 " Then there is no doubt that he killed my 
 my husband ? " 
 
 " There is no doubt of that. I can only ask 
 you to think for a moment of his provocation, 
 and you will scarcely be able to condemn him, 
 as we condemn a cold-blooded murderer." 
 
 " Condemn him ! " Her tone and manner 
 surprised the lawyer so much that he could only 
 gaze at her in astonishment. Excitement sprang 
 into the eyes, passion quivered in the voice 
 some overpowering emotion seemed to seize and 
 shake her form from head to foot. " Condemn 
 him ! My God ! I can only pity him, till pity 
 grows into pain. I can only look with horror 
 as I have looked all this night on the terribk 
 retribution which even in this world crime some- 
 times works for itself 1 " 
 
 Was she mad ? Had the shock proved too 
 much for her mind ? Mr. Warwick almost 
 feared that it had, as he met those burning eyes. 
 The daylight began to broaden by this time, and 
 he saw more plainly the ravages of fierce emo- 
 tion, already suffered, on that white, haggard 
 face. 
 
 "Try to be quiet, Mrs. Gordon," he said. 
 " I am afraid I ought not to have told you all 
 this. You have undergone too much excite- 
 ment. You are not yourself. Let me beg you 
 to rest to talk no more." 
 
 " I must," she answered. " It is a work of 
 justice, and it must be done. Don't fear about 
 me. I shall have strength enough to do it, and, 
 after that, nothing matters. It does not even 
 matter if I never see Felix again, for he is safe 
 now. Does that sound horrible ? Should not I 
 think of it now, while he lies dead ? " 
 
 " It is natural that you could not avoid think- 
 ing of it," he said. " But let me entreat you ' 
 
 He spoke in vain. She did not even hear 
 him, but went on with what she was going to 
 say :
 
 254 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 " Was it yesterday afternoon that you were 
 here? Every thing appears BO long ago tbat 
 happened before he came. Well, I fell asleep 
 after you left, and, when I woke, he was entering 
 the room. I told him that Felix was gone, and 
 that I I defied him ! It seems to me that was 
 all I said ; at least " passing her hand wearily 
 across her brow " I cannot remember any thing 
 else. By various arguments he tried to induce 
 me to surrender the child ; but, when he found 
 that every thing else was useless, he threatened 
 me with the entire loss of his inheritance. I 
 knew that he could not possibly alienate this, 
 and I told him so. Then " she shuddered vis- 
 ibly " then he said I was mistaken that he 
 could alienate it, that Felix was not his eldest 
 Bon, that there was another another who " 
 
 She stopped so ghastly pale, that he was 
 about to rise and go to her assistance, when she 
 lifted her hand with a gesture which signified 
 " Keep still," and went on : 
 
 " He said he had another a son whom he had 
 never acknowledged the child of an early, pri- 
 vate marriage. He told me the history of that 
 marriage, and it was so much in character with 
 the record of his whole life that 1 could not 
 doubt it. But conceive what I felt when he said 
 that this son was the man whom I have known 
 as his partner and instrument in dishonor and 
 crime!" 
 
 Mr. Warwick started to his feet. The horror 
 of the revelation was too much even for his self- 
 control. 
 
 "Good God, Mrs. Gordon!" he cried. "You 
 don't mean that it was " 
 
 She looked up and finished the sentence as 
 he paused. "I mean that it was St. John!" 
 she said. 
 
 " It is impossible ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " It is true," she answered. 
 
 "But have you thought have you consid- 
 ered?" 
 
 " The horror of it ? Yes, I have thought of 
 it all. I scarcely think this tragedy has shown 
 it to me more plainly than I saw it when he 
 poke when he told me who St. John was." 
 
 Mr. Warwick sat down again. A chill seemed 
 creeping over him which he tried vainly to shake 
 off. It was horrible ! He began to appreciate it 
 a little but only by degrees. It was not a thing 
 to take in all at once. He could not feel, all at 
 once, how that woman had felt as she faced the 
 terrible secret through the long watches of the 
 night he could not all at once realize the 
 real tie which united those two men, both of 
 
 whom were lying dead undei the rcof of Morton 
 House. 
 
 " There is one thing to be grateful for," h 
 said, at last. " That wretched man, St. John, 
 died in ignorance of this." 
 
 " And therefore 1 asked you if he was dead," 
 she answered. " I felt that it was impossible to 
 utter the truth even to you while he lived. 
 If all ended with him, I should let the horrible 
 secret die and be buried in the grave of the man 
 who from the beginning to the end of his life 
 worked little beside ill. But there is some one 
 else to be considered." 
 
 " Miss Tresham ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Tresham. She must be told." 
 
 " Why ? " he asked, eagerly. " Why should 
 you distress her by such a terrible story ? Why 
 not be merciful, and never suffer her to suspect 
 it?" 
 
 " I have thought of that. But, granting that 
 it would be a merciful concealment, it is one 
 which I have no right to make. It is her right 
 to know this story ; and I am sure you would 
 not be willing to accept the responsibility of 
 keeping it from her. Besides, I have wronged 
 her very much, and I can only make reparation 
 by means of this explanation." 
 
 " But what good end will be gained ? I do 
 not see." 
 
 " Do you not see that I cannot suffei her to 
 remain in her present position she who is my 
 husband's daughter, and Felix's half- sister? 
 And do you think that she would be likely to ac- 
 cept any thing from me unless she was made 
 aware of her own claim upon me ? unless she 
 knows that she is a Gordon ? " 
 
 " But you are not certain of this," he per- 
 sisted. " You have only your husband's asser- 
 tion, and and the story may have been devised 
 merely to terrify you." 
 
 " I have told you already that I am absolute- 
 ly certain of its truth. If you wish to be con- 
 vinced, however, go and bring Miss Tresham 
 here. Her answers to two or three questions 
 will be sufficient." 
 
 " Bring Miss Tresham here ! " he repeated, 
 looking absolutely aghast. " I must really re- 
 monstrate against this, Mrs. Gordon," he went 
 on. " Neither M#ss Tresham nor yourself are in 
 a condition to bear further excitement. Such a 
 story would be a fearful shock to her. I must 
 beg you to defer it." 
 
 To his surprise, she answered by rising to 
 her feet. "Come with me," she snid, walking 
 toward the dooi.
 
 IN THE DAWN 
 
 255 
 
 Half mechanically he followed. She crossed 
 the hall, and led the way into the apartment 
 where she had spent the night. It was the sit. 
 ting-room which he knew well. On the couch 
 where he had left her the afternoon previous 
 the couch where she had been sleeping when 
 her husband entered the body of the dead 
 man lay, with a shawl thrown over the figure, 
 while the face remained uncovered. Before leav- 
 ing the room, Mrs. Gordon had extinguished sev- 
 eral candles on a table near by, and opened the 
 blinds of the window through which he had en- 
 tered. It looked toward the east, and as much 
 of daylight as there was, streamed freely into 
 the apartment streamed over the couch and the 
 white face pillowed on its cushions. 
 
 She moved so as to command a view of this 
 face, and motioned him to approach. He did so, 
 and thus, for the first time, saw clearly in death 
 the man whom he had never seen in life. 
 Handsome as that face had always been, it was 
 something far more than handsome now it was 
 almost beautiful, under the refining touch of 
 death, and with the peculiar serenity of expres- 
 sion which sometimes comes to the clay when 
 the spirit has left it. But that which struck Mr. 
 Warwick at once, and startled him most strange- 
 ly, was the likeness to St. John as St. John's 
 face had reminded him of this, though he had 
 only seen the latter hastily and indistinctly. 
 There had been no likeness between them in 
 life even now, the whole cast of feature was so 
 entirely dissimilar that it was difficult to deter- 
 mine where the resemblance was, and in what it 
 consisted. But no one could possibly have 
 failed to perceive that there was a resemblance 
 that, in some subtile manner, the blood which 
 they owned in common asserted itself, and 
 stamped each face with a token which even 
 the most superficial gazer must have observed. 
 Mr. Warwick certainly observed it, and it ban- 
 ished from his mind the last doubt of the story 
 Mrs. Gordon had told him. She was standing 
 by him, when he said, half unconsciously : 
 
 " It is true. It is there." 
 
 " So you see it, too ? " she said. "I brought 
 you for this purpose," she added, after a mo- 
 ment. "We will go now. I I cannot talk 
 here." 
 
 She led the way again to the door, and again 
 he followed her. They were in the dining-room, 
 when she spoke next. 
 
 " That was why I took you in to show you 
 the likeness which death has brought out so 
 trongly," she said. " The perception of this 
 
 resemblance first made me think of telling HIM 
 Tresham the terrible truth at once. Remember, 
 I have not the least proof of the story, save my 
 own word, and and that. But I am sure it 
 would be impossible for her to look at that face 
 and refuse to believe me." 
 
 "I agree with you that far, but why be m 
 such haste ? why not rest, yourself, and let her 
 rest ? A few hours hence " 
 
 " Can you answer for the change which an 
 hour may make in that face? And will the 
 force of the blow be less great to-morrow than 
 to-day ? " 
 
 He saw that she was resolved ; so he did 
 what it would have been wisest to have done a't 
 first he submitted. 
 
 " What do you want ? " he asked. 
 
 " I want you to go for her, and, if possible, 
 bring her here. But first, one moment give 
 me a pencil and a piece of paper." 
 
 Somewhat puzzled, he produced a pencil and 
 that inevitable last resource for writing emergen- 
 cies with a man the back of a letter. 
 
 "Will that do?" he asked. 
 
 " That will do," she answered. She wrote 
 a few words, then tore off the strip of paper, 
 folded it, and, greatly to his surprise, handed it 
 to him. " Keep it," she said, " and when I ask 
 Miss Tresham one or two questions which I must 
 ask her, see if her answers correspond with 
 what is written there. Now, go and bring 
 her. Remember bring her, if she can possi- 
 bly come." 
 
 With those words words the earnestness of 
 which it was impossible to disregard sounding 
 in his ears, he went up-stairs. As he was look- 
 ing round for a servant to send with a message 
 to Katharine, he saw Annesley standing with his 
 back to him at a large window which ended the 
 upper passage, and overlooked the front en- 
 trance. He went to him immediately, and 
 touched his shoulder. 
 
 " Do you know how Miss Tresham is ? " he 
 asked, as the young man turned quickly round. 
 
 " Miss Tresham ! " repeated Morton. " Did 
 you ask how she is, or where she is ? " 
 
 "How she is, of course. I thought yon 
 might have heard." 
 
 " She is much better so much better, that 
 she is in that room "he nodded in the direction 
 of the chamber where St. John had died" I 
 was staying there, but she came in, and beggei 
 me to leave her alone with with the body." 
 
 " And is she there now ? " 
 
 " Yes, she is there now."
 
 256 
 
 MORTON HOUSL. 
 
 To Annesley'8 surprise, Mr. Warwick turned 
 and walked into the room thus indicated. 
 
 Every thing had been put in order, and the 
 chamber, seen in the light of early dawn, looked 
 singularly calm and peaceful when he entered. 
 The white bed, with the motionless figure upon 
 it, occupied the centre of the floor, and candles 
 still burned at the head and foot. By the side, 
 Katharine knelt with the little crucifix in her 
 hands, on which the dead man's last glance had 
 been fixed. It was a touching picture, the law- 
 yer thought, as he paused a moment, with un- 
 conscious reverence, on the threshold. Twelve 
 hours before, and how great had been his scorn, 
 how profound his contempt for that man ! now 
 the great sanctification of death had come, and he 
 lowered his voice, and softened his tread, even in 
 presence of that poor forsaken dust. Truly we 
 live in the midst of mystery who shall ex- 
 plain even this ? 
 
 Katharine had heard his step, light as it was, 
 and, rising to her feet, she looked round. When 
 she saw who it was, she smiled a faint, pitiful 
 sort of smile, and motioned him to draw nearer. 
 
 " Come and see," she said, pointing to the 
 still face. " Does that look as if it had ever 
 known violence or sin ? " 
 
 Certainly it did not. Even more marked 
 than on the face below because here the end 
 had been less sudden was the peculiarly serene 
 expression which always follows death from gun- 
 shot-wounds. The placid lips seemed almost 
 about to smile, and on the brow, and around the 
 closed eyes, there was a seal of ineffable calm 
 calm almost like that " pathetic peace of God " 
 which, on the faces of those who in the beautiful 
 language of Holy Writ have " fallen on sleep," 
 sometimes hushes into awe the very sobs and 
 tears of mourning. But here even as below 
 was the likeness intensified, if possible, since 
 he had noticed it first. It startled him at once 
 into a remembrance of the errand on which he 
 had come. 
 
 " Miss Trei?ham," he said, " Mrs. Gordon is 
 very anxious to see you. Will you come to her ? " 
 
 Much to his surprise, for he had expected to 
 meet with some difficulty, Katharine assented at 
 once. 
 
 "I can do nothing here," she said, mournfully 
 " nothing, save pray. I am only too glad if I 
 can be of the least comfort to Mrs. Gordon. Is 
 she very much prostrated, Mr. Warwick ? " 
 
 "She is supported by excitement now," he 
 answered. " I am afraid she will be terribly 
 prostrated when it is over." 
 
 That was all that was exchanged. Anneslej 
 looked surprised, when they passed him on their 
 way down-stairs ; but he said nothing, and the 
 silence lasted until they reached the dining- 
 room. Then before opening the door Mr. 
 Warwick thought it well to give a slight warning 
 to his companion. 
 
 " Don't be astonished," he said, " if Mrs. Gor- 
 don asks you some questions that do not seem 
 to you exactly relevant. She has a good reason 
 for doing so, and I am sure you will confer a fa- 
 vor on her by answering them frankly." 
 
 " I of course I will, if I can," said Katha- 
 rine, already much astonished. 
 
 After this, he opened the door, and they 
 walked in. Mrs. Gordon was sitting by the fire, 
 where he had left her ; but she looked up when 
 they entered. Then rising, she advanced a few 
 steps, and held out her hands to Katharine, with 
 a grace which, even at that moment, was some- 
 what stately. 
 
 " Miss Tresham," she said, in the rich, sweet 
 voice which had charmed Katharine when she 
 heard it first, " I cannot claim your sympathy, 
 nor offer my own in the grief that has fallen 
 upon us, until I have asked you to forgive me." 
 
 Notwithstanding the grace and the stateliness, 
 there was much of hesitation both in her voice 
 and manner for she remembered the day at 
 Mrs. Marks's when she had last seen Katharine, 
 and she did not know how her advances were 
 likely to be received. She need have felt no 
 doubt on this score. Almost before she finished 
 speaking, those outstretched hands were taken 
 eagerly and warmly. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Gordon," said the girl, gently, 
 " there is no need to utter such a word. I hnve 
 nothing to forgive. I can only love and pity 
 you if you will let me." 
 
 It was so sweetly, so simply, so earnestly 
 said, that, by a sudden impulse, the elder woman 
 opened her arms. In a second, the first tears 
 which either of them had shed, flowed together. 
 
 Mr. Warwick walked away to the other end 
 of the room. It was a very long apartment, and 
 he might almost have been out of it, for all that 
 he heard of the words spoken, or the tears and 
 sobs mingled by the fire. There was not very 
 much of the latter : neither of these women wa 
 of a demonstrative nature ; and, with both, the 
 grief which oppressed them was not of that ten- 
 der kind which can be "cried away." A few 
 hot, bitter drops ; a few dry, choking sobs, and 
 that was all. Before very long, Mrs. Gordon'! 
 voice recalled him.
 
 IN THE DAWH. 
 
 257 
 
 "Mr. Warwick," she said and Mr. Warwick 
 turned instantly and came back to the fireplace. 
 A small round table, on which some supper had 
 been arranged for Morton and himself, was still 
 near the hearth-rug where it had been placed. 
 Mrs. Gordon and Katharine were standing on one 
 ide of it as he advanced from the other. In 
 this manner they faced each other. There was 
 something almost judicial about the scene, he 
 could not help thinking. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick," said Mrs. Gordon, a little 
 formally, " will you look at the paper which I 
 gave you a few minutes ago, and see if Miss 
 Tresham's answers correspond to the answers 
 written there ? " Then she turned to Katharine. 
 " Don't think that I intrude upon your re- 
 serve," she said, gently, " when I ask you to tell 
 me how you are related to to Mr. St. John ? " 
 
 "I have no reason for reserve upon that 
 point," Katharine answered. " I have not had 
 for some time. I am his sister." 
 
 " His own sister?" 
 
 Yes his own sister. There were " her 
 voice faltered " there were only two of 
 us." 
 
 "And will you let me ask what was your 
 mother's maiden name ? " 
 
 Katharine looked a little surprised. She did 
 not understand she did not see the point or 
 meaning of these questions. But she felt 
 Bomewhat apathetic and indifferent about them. 
 It was strange that Mrs. Gordon should ask such 
 things at such a time ; but there was no reason 
 why she should not answer them ; and so after 
 a second she replied : 
 
 " My mother's maiden name was Katharine 
 O'Grady." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon looked at Mr. Warwick. He 
 glanced up from the paper, with a slightly-signifi- 
 cant expression. Nothing was said only that 
 glance was exchanged and then the lady turned 
 again to address Katharine. 
 
 " Forgive me for pressing yon, but I should 
 like to ask one or two further questions. Was 
 your grandfather an Irishman by birth, and did 
 he live in Martinique ? " 
 
 " So I have heard my aunt say," Katharine 
 answered. " I never saw him he died before I 
 was born. My mother and my aunt were both 
 native West-Indians," she went on. " They were 
 born in Martinique." 
 
 " And do you remember your mother ? " 
 
 " I ? Oh, no. She died when I was a few 
 weeks old. My aunt was my mother," she said, 
 oftly. 
 
 " And did she never tell you any thing about 
 your father ? who, or what he was ? " 
 
 " Never. My impression always was that he 
 was dead though I cannot remember that my 
 aunt ever absolutely said so." She paused a 
 moment, then added : " Since her own death, I 
 I have sometimes thought this might not be," 
 
 Mrs. Gordon extended her hand across the 
 table, and took from Mr. Warwick the slip of 
 paper, which he at once surrendered. She gave 
 it to Katharine, saying : 
 
 " I wrote those answers to the questions I 
 have asked you before you came down read 
 them." 
 
 Wondering more and more the girl obeyed. 
 This was what she read written hastily in pen- 
 cil on the torn fragment of a letter. 
 
 " Maiden name of mother Katharine 0'. 
 Grady. 
 
 " Time of her death soon after the birth of 
 her second child. 
 
 " Grandfather an Irishman by birth, who lived 
 in Martinique." 
 
 Katharine looked up with profound astonish- 
 ment visible in her face. 
 
 " I gave the paper to Mr. Warwick, when he 
 went for you," Mrs. Gordon answered. 
 
 " But how how was it possible ? How did 
 you know ? " 
 
 " Child," answered the other, so gently and 
 sadly that her voice seemed, as it were, to still 
 instead of excite emotion, " I know, because I 
 heard the whole story from your father's lips." 
 
 Mr. Warwick, who was looking on apprehen- 
 sively, notwithstanding this apprehension, was 
 alarmed by the change that at those words 
 came over Katharine's face. She turned deadly 
 pale, and quivered from head to foot Did 
 something like an instinct of the truth dawn 
 upon her? It almost seemed so. It almost 
 seemed as if fear, doubt, terror, and amazement, 
 were all struggling in her eyes and in her voice 
 when she spoke. 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon " it was fairly a wail" what 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 But having gone thus far having made re- 
 treat absolutely hopeless Mrs. Gordon's courage 
 failed. Woman-like, she looked at the man 
 standing by with a glance that asked, " What 
 must I say ? " 
 
 Mr. Warwick answered the glance quietly, 
 
 almost sternly. 
 
 " It is too late to hesitate now," he said. 
 " Tell her." 
 
 " Yes, tell me 1 " cried Katharine, clutching
 
 258 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 the table with one hand, and looking up with 
 eyes full of passionate appeal. " I I must 
 hear it now. Tell me tell me at once ! " 
 
 " Have you never thought have you never 
 suspected who your father might be ? " asked 
 Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 " I how could I ? " 
 
 " Have you never thought that the man who 
 ruined your brother's life that the man who 
 ruined my life and the man who ruined your 
 mother's life, might be one and the same ? " 
 
 " My God ! no ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gordon pointed to the paper in her 
 hand. My husband," she said, " came to me 
 yesterday evening. He demanded Felix, and, 
 when I refused, he threatened me with the loss 
 of the child's inheritance. When I was incredu- 
 lous of his power to fulfil the threat, he told me 
 that he had an elder son living the child of an 
 early marriage and that the name of this son 
 was " 
 
 But here Katharine interrupted her voice 
 ringing, with a tone of horror in it through the 
 quiet room : 
 
 " It cannot be ! " she cried, almost wildly. 
 " Mrs. Gordon, stop stop and think ! Don't 
 utter any thing which is so horrible, which must 
 ie so untrue! It " she made a motion with 
 her hands, as if thrusting it from her " it can- 
 not be true!" 
 
 " I see that you know what I mean," said 
 Mrs. Gordon, calmly and again her quietude 
 seemed to still Katharine's passionate excite- 
 ment. " Come with me," she added, in a lower 
 voice. " What I have to say to you can best be 
 aid in his presence." 
 
 She drew the girl's hand within her arm, and 
 before Mr. Warwick could interfere led her 
 from the room. They crossed the hall, and en- 
 tered the apartment where the dead man lay. 
 Outside the windows was all the dewy freshness 
 of Nature's happy morning wakening birds 
 twittering, leaves softly rustling, life everywhere 
 inside was the terrible quietude, the settled 
 stillness which pervades the air of a death-cliam- 
 ber, and makes our very pulses seem to our- 
 selves out of unison with its deep repose. 
 
 When they both stood by the couch, looking 
 down on that marble face, Mrs. Gordon spoke. 
 
 " This man," she said, " wronged me more 
 deeply than he could ever have wronged any one 
 else save, perhaps, that poor victim of his vice 
 and crime who lies dead above us. I have strug- 
 gled all this long night for the power to say that 
 I forgive him. Thinking of all that he has done 
 
 of all that he had the will to do I have not 
 yet been able to say this. But, standing here 
 with you now, I feel that your debt against him 
 ia even heavier than mine. Your mother and 
 your brother he ruined and killed them both. 
 He made your life the hard and bitter thing which 
 it must have been. He your father left you 
 without a thought or a care to struggle alone, in 
 your woman's helplessness, against the world. 
 Count up all these things, as I have done add 
 up every sigh, and tear, and drop of blood. Then 
 see if you are Christian enough to stand here- 
 here by his side and say that you forgive 
 him ! " 
 
 Her words rang through her listener's heart 
 with a strange power, her voiee was full of the 
 modulations of a passion for which language has 
 no name. As she spoke, her very soul her 
 quivering, stricken, human soul seemed laid 
 bare before the girl who listened. The horror 
 of it was too much for Katharine. The still, 
 white face swam before her eyes a deadly 
 faintness came over her. She fought hard 
 against the rising tide of unconsciousness ; but 
 fought vainly. Things tangible faded away from 
 her for a time how long, or how short, she 
 could not tell but when she came to herself, 
 she was sitting before the window with the fresh 
 air playing over her face, and Mrs. Gordon's 
 hand resting on her brow. 
 
 " I shall never forgive myself," she was say- 
 ing. " I ought to have thought I ought to 
 have known " 
 
 " Never mind," said Katharine, rallying a 
 little. " I have not fainted yet. I I don't 
 think I shall." Then she roused herself, and 
 caught the hand which was on her brow. " Is it 
 true ? " she asked, passionately. " I cannot 
 think I cannot reason and consider all the 
 links of evidence. I shall believe you, if you 
 tell me it is true." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon bent down and kissed her ten- 
 derly. " It is true," she said. 
 
 Nothing more was uttered for some time. 
 Katharine sank back again, and closed her eyes. 
 Mrs. Gordon stood, like a statue, by her side. 
 Into fuller and yet fuller radiance glowed the 
 east royal tints of every imaginable color melt- 
 ing and changing* jind softening into each other, 
 and waxing more glorious with every succeeding 
 moment, on the wide panorama of sky. Who 
 can look on such a scene with the mere eye of 
 sense, or the mere thought of earth ? " Heaven 
 and earth are full of the majesty of Thy jrlory !" 
 rises instinctivolv to the mind aiid to the lips. I
 
 A TURN OF FOruuAK'iS WHEEL. 
 
 259 
 
 unset comes to us like & sweet, solemn Tesper, 
 after the weary, busy cares of day, surely eunrise 
 is like a grand, triumphal symphony, bursting 
 and thrilling from a million notes into one noble 
 harmony of exultant praise! It seemed so to 
 Katharine when she opened her eyes and saw 
 the dazzling glory spread before her. With an 
 impulse that startled her companion, she rose to 
 her feet, and half turned toward the dead man, 
 on whose changeless face the glowing splendors 
 fell. 
 
 " Oh, who are we, to talk of forgiveness ! " 
 she said and her voice, with a deep, pathetic 
 thrill in it, fell strangely on the hushed calm 
 " is there any wrong so great that it is not easy 
 to forgive it if we only think of the dear Lord 
 who will one day need to forgive us so much ? 
 Can we harden our hearts over any thing, if 
 we only remember that our free, generous, will- 
 ing pardon of all wrongs may touch His heart, 
 and make Him more merciful to the soul that 
 has gone forth to meet His justice? Mrs. 
 Gordon, we do not know we cannot tell how, in 
 what degree, our forgiveness may benefit this 
 life which has passed forever from our life, 
 which, in all the ages of eternity, can never, 
 never harm us again! Let us oh, let us 
 fcere now say that we forgive him that we 
 /orgive him for ourselves, and for those he has 
 injured far more than us ! " 
 
 Her earnest pathos startled and awed Mrs. 
 Gordon ; bent her, as it were, without any resist- 
 ance, to the higher passion, the stronger will. 
 They advanced to the couch, and side by side 
 said the words together. 
 
 As they uttered them, the sun rose, and, with 
 the first flood of golden light, a myriad of birds 
 burst forth into rejoicing. The night was past, 
 the day was come. As the glory of the sunlight 
 streamed over their bending figures, it seemed 
 like the promise of a brighter, happier future 
 like the earnest of a day of tranquil peace, after 
 the night of troubled terror. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 
 
 A WEEK after the double tragedy at Morton 
 House, and while all Lagrange was still ringing 
 with the noise of it, Miss Vernon walked across 
 the lawn of her brother-in-law's residence with 
 Morton Annesley. 
 
 The young man was on his way to bring Fe- 
 lix Gordon home, and had only stopped a few 
 
 minutes to deliver a note and a message from 
 Miss Tresham to her late kind entertainers. 
 But, when he rose to make his adieus, he sud- 
 denly recollected something else that he wished 
 to say, and, much to Mrs. Raynor's regret, asked 
 Miss Vernon to walk " down to the bridge " with 
 him. Irene consented, and they were soon on 
 their way to that spot a very favorite spot with 
 every habitue of the place. The lawn was ex- 
 ceedingly pretty now that every thing began to 
 wear the light, silvery-green livery of early 
 spring ; but the special charm of it, the special 
 thing which made it different from other lawns, 
 was the creek which flashed along under a fringe 
 of willows and laurel, and the graceful bridge 
 which was thrown across it. When they reached 
 this spot, they paused the bright water flowed 
 beneath their feet, the soft shadows flickered 
 overhead, and a lovely perspective of lawn and 
 shrubbery opened behind them. On the other 
 side of the stream set, as it were, in an arch- 
 way of green a travelling-carriage with servants 
 in attendance, and a trunk strapped on, waa 
 standing in the shade the horses switching 
 their tails leisurely, and the servants amicably 
 gossiping. The whole sweet, spring wealth of 
 tender Beauty and indescribable charm was all 
 around and all about them, until indeed on 
 might have wondered 
 
 " how it was 
 
 That any one, in such a world might grieve, 
 At least for long, at what might come to pass ; 
 The soft south-wind, the flowers amid the grass, 
 The fragrant earth, the sweet sounds everywhere 
 Seemed gifts too great almost for man to bear." 
 
 The day was rapidly advancing toward its 
 meridian, but Annesley seemed in no haste to 
 begin his journey. Irene wondered a little at 
 his delay, as, instead of saying good-by, he 
 stood before her, and looked and listened while 
 she tii Iked of Katharine. 
 
 " I suppose there is no hope that Miss Tresh- 
 am will return to us," she said, twisting the note 
 which he had brought around her fingers. "I 
 am very sorry we are all very sorry. We have 
 missed her so much since she went away. She 
 is one of the most attractive and sympathetic 
 persons I ever knew. George said only last night 
 that he would be willing to go to school himself 
 for the pleasure of securing her as a permanent 
 inmate." , 
 
 " Mrs. Gordon needs her more than you do, 
 said Annesley. smiling a little. " Will not that 
 console you? Ah! you don't know all that sht 
 has passed through ! "
 
 260 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 "She! Do you mean Mrs. Gordon, or Miss 
 Tresham ? " 
 
 "Both but I mean Mrs. Gordon." He 
 ftopped a moment, then added : " Of course you 
 have heard the whole terrible story ! " 
 
 "No, I have not," she answered. " I believe 
 there is a great deal of gossip afloat, but I rarely 
 heed gossip." 
 
 " Still, you have heard " 
 
 " Something, undoubtedly." 
 
 " How those wretched men were killed, for 
 instance ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, in a low voice. " How hor- 
 rible it was ! " 
 
 " How much like retribution it was I " re- 
 turned the young man, with a dark cloud coming 
 over his face. " I confess that my pity all went 
 with that poor fellow St. John," he said. " He 
 was hardly used in every way. Miss Irene, did you 
 ever trace out a sequence of cause and effect ? " 
 
 " Never," she answered then added, smiling, 
 " I am like the lilies of the field, not worth much 
 either for toiling or reflecting." 
 
 " You are like them in another respect also," 
 said he, pointing the compliment by the admi- 
 ration in his eyes as they lingered on her face, 
 which was indeed like a lily in its stainless 
 beauty. "But I am sure you have sometimes 
 noticed the strange connection between events, 
 the strange manner in which circumstances seem 
 to act and react on each other." 
 
 " I assure you I never have. I eat my daily 
 bread, and am thankful for it, without troubling 
 myself to think that somebody must have sowed 
 and reaped and garnered it yesterday. I remem- 
 ber, however, that you once suggested something 
 of this kind about Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 " It is a very fascinating occupation, when 
 you once get fairly into the spirit of it," said he, 
 leaning against the railing of the bridge. 
 
 He could have stayed there all day, he 
 thought, with the pretty music of the stream in 
 his ears, and those wonderful blue eyes gazing at 
 him. In the midst of his reflections, he forgot 
 to think what a strange comment on this strange 
 self-absorbed life of ours his very mood and the 
 very tone of conversation made. The awful 
 tragedy which had carried two souls into eter- 
 nity, and wrung two living hearts with the bit- 
 terness of death, had become a topic to be dis- 
 cussed with philosophical curiosity in the midst 
 of a scene like this. 
 
 " Tell me the facts as they really occurred," 
 eaid Miss Vernon, " that is, if I am not asking 
 you to violate confidence." 
 
 " No," he answered, gravely, " facts can harm 
 nobody now. Indeed, there is so much exagger- 
 ation of them, that it is well the truth should be 
 known." 
 
 Then he began, and told her all that had oc- 
 curred soon drifting by insensible degrees into 
 more than the bare outline of events. Some- 
 thing in the sympathetic face and honest eyea 
 made him sure she could be trusted ; and so, 
 while the servants and horses waited as patiently 
 or as impatiently as they could, while the water 
 rippled, and the shadows flickered, he gave a 
 sketch of the different causes that had led to 
 this result. Her interest and astonishment were 
 almost beyond power of expression. St. John 
 the son of Gordon ! Katharine the step-daugh- 
 ter of Pauline Morton ! Little as he felt inclined 
 for such a thing, Annesley could almost have 
 laughed at the overwhelming surprise on her 
 face. 
 
 " It is true," he said. " My cousin tells me 
 that the last assurance her husband gave her was 
 of his first marriage, that St. John was his eldest 
 son, and the heir of the Gordon estate." 
 
 " And and does Mrs. Gordon mean to make 
 this public ? " 
 
 " No making it public would involve too 
 many painful disclosures. The horror of the 
 tragedy would be doubly augmented, if people 
 knew that a son (however ignorantly) had killed 
 his own father. Besides, it is unnecessary. My 
 cousin is going to Scotland soon, and the affairs 
 of her life matter nothing to the people she 
 leaves behind this time forever." 
 
 " But Miss Tresham ? " 
 
 " Miss Tresham will accompany her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " Miss Vernon started a little. 
 " I am surprised to hear that," she said, simply, 
 almost involuntarily. 
 
 " Why should you be surprised ? " he asked. 
 "Don't you think it is the natural thing and the 
 right thing on both 'sides ? " 
 
 Yes oh, yes, I" she stopped, hesitated, 
 blushed somewhat "I was not thinking of that. 
 I was thinking, if you will pardon my candor, 
 Mr. Annesley, of you." 
 
 " Of me ! " said he, blushing himself, in the 
 boyish fashion which he had never quite out- 
 grown, yet smiling at her embarrassment. " And 
 may I ask what you* were thinking abo^t me ? " 
 
 " I am sure you don't need to ask," answered 
 she, with a direct frankness which some carping 
 people called brusquerie. " Perhaps 1 have no 
 right to speak on such a subject, but" a win- 
 ning smile, half-bright, half-soft "my excust
 
 A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 
 
 261 
 
 a, that I should be very glad to see you both 
 happy." 
 
 " I hope we may both be happy," said he, 
 earnestly. " But, dear Miss Irene, I think it will 
 be apart not together. Miss Tresham has re- 
 jected me." 
 
 " I never thought you lacked perseverance." 
 
 41 1 don't think I do when there is any thing 
 to be gained by it. But you would not advise 
 me to waste time and effort in a hopeless suit ? 
 Did you read the letter which Miss Tresham 
 wrote to me the night before she left Belle- 
 font?" 
 
 " I ! How could I ? " she asked, flushing. 
 " What a strange opinion you must have of Miss 
 Tresham if you think she would show such a 
 letter ; or of me, if you think I would read it ! " 
 
 " Don't be indignant ! " said he, smiling. 
 " You forget that Miss Tresham and yourself 
 were in the same house, and good friends be- 
 sides. There would have been nothing repre- 
 hensible in her showing you the letter nothing, 
 certainly, that I should have been inclined to 
 resent. It was a very charming letter," said he, 
 with a slight grimace. "The only misfortune 
 was, that I was not exactly in a frame of mind 
 to appreciate this, when I received it. I read it 
 over last night, and appreciated it better, I 
 think. It is exceedingly kind, but very decided. 
 If I had it here, I would show it to you, and ask 
 you if you thought it worth while to persevere in 
 the face of such a ' No ' as that." 
 
 " You certainly take your disappointment 
 very philosophically," said Miss Vernon, with a 
 Blight tinge of sarcasm in her voice. 
 
 He changed color a little. 
 
 " I hope you don't think that I take it 
 lightly," he said. " I assure you it has been a 
 very serious matter with me. I was as wretched 
 down there in Apalatka, as well, as anybody 
 could possibly wish to be. But no man with 
 any sense or self-respect will spend life pining 
 and moaning because a woman has rejected liim. 
 1 fought hard for resignation, and I think I may 
 say that I have gained it." 
 
 " You are resigned ? " 
 
 " I am quite resigned." 
 
 Miss Vernon looked at him with an expres- 
 sion on her face which he did not understand 
 a mixture of half-puzzled surprise and struggling 
 remembrance, which puzzled him in turn. She 
 could not tell of what his tone and manner re- 
 minded her, until, like a flash, she recalled the 
 day when they had walked up and down the 
 piazza at Annesdale, and he had spoken of Mrs. 
 
 Gordon, and of the content with Kfe and tha 
 things of life which could be gained so he said 
 by fighting for it. She remembered how she 
 had questioned whether this philosophy of his 
 a buoyant, healthful philosophy, which, even in 
 theory, had commanded her respect would 
 bear the test of disappointment or failure. Was 
 her question being answered now ? Was this, 
 indeed, the content which is the victorious fruit 
 of struggle, or was it only that mask of indiffer- 
 ence which often betrays, instead of hiding, the 
 deepest wound ? 
 
 " You astonish me," she said. " I had an 
 idea I really don't know why that you were 
 very constant, very tenacious, in your affections. 
 This makes me think that I was mistaken in that 
 opinion." 
 
 He colored again, and looked at her with an 
 expression which she, in turn, did not quite 
 understand, 
 
 " Won't you distinguish between constancy 
 and obstinacy ? " he asked. " I think there is 
 a distinction. One may be constant to an affec- 
 tion as long as there is hope of return ; but, 
 surely, it is the height of folly to hold obsti- 
 nately to a sentiment which causes, and can 
 cause, only pain. Dou't you think it is desirable 
 to control one passion as well as another tha 
 passion of love, as well as the passion of auger 
 or revenge? I won't pretend to tell you how 
 much it has cost me to be able to say that I am 
 resigned ; but if you did know if you could 
 know you would not, I am sure, accuse me of 
 being inconstant or light." 
 
 " I I did not," said Miss Vernon, a little 
 contritely. " The fact is, I am unreasonable," 
 she went on, half-laughing. " It would be diffi- 
 cult to please me, I am afraid. Nobody would 
 have bei-n more sorry than I, if you had taken 
 Miss Tresham's rejection to heart after the ap- 
 proved romantic mode ; and yet, you see, I find 
 fault with you for showing yourself a sensible 
 young man of the nineteenth century. Desper- 
 ate love has quite gone out of fashion," she 
 said, with a shrug of her shoulders. " Nowaday 
 you are all so reasonable, that it is quite edify- 
 ing. I have been wasting a good deal of sym- 
 pathy on you ; I see, now, that I must change it 
 to respect." 
 
 " And I see that you are determined to give 
 me a liberal taste of mockery," he said. " I 
 thought you would be more kind more just." 
 
 " Indeed, you are mistaken," she answered. 
 " Indeed, I am glad, heartily glad, that I am abla 
 to change sympathy to respect. You must
 
 263 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 not think otherwise. I should be very sorry if 
 you were were suffering." 
 
 "Since I am. not suffering, however, you 
 think I am able to bear a little sarcasm on my 
 unfortunate exemption." 
 
 "You are provoking!" she said. "You 
 know better, and I shall not reason with you 
 any longer. Let me inquire if you have any in- 
 tention of reaching Suxford to-day ? " 
 
 " There will not be the least difficulty in do- 
 ing so ; the roads are excellent, and my horses 
 perfectly fresh. It is growing late, though," he 
 said, with a regretful look at the shadows round 
 him. " I suppose I ought to go I suppose I 
 must go. Before doing so, however, I should 
 like to convince you" 
 
 " Never mind," she interrupted, hastily ; " I 
 am quite convinced. Besides, it is not a matter 
 of any importance. My opinion " 
 
 " Is of great importance to me," he said, 
 eagerly. " I want to show you I want to 
 prove to you that I am neither inconstant nor 
 light." 
 
 " That expression which, by-the-way, I 
 don't at all remember having used seems to 
 rankle with you ! " she said, trying to laugh, yet 
 feeling vaguely conscious that the scene was 
 growing too earnest for her taste. " I don't 
 mean to be inhospitable," she went on, " but I 
 really think you ought to go ; those poor ser- 
 vants look so tired, and I fancy they are gazing 
 reproachfully at me, thinking that I keep you." 
 " They make a great mistake, then," he said, 
 smiling; "for it is I who am keeping you un- 
 willingly enough on your part, as I perceive. It 
 is amazingly hard to go. This is certainly the 
 pleasantest and prettiest spot in Lagrange. I 
 wish I was an artist ; I would paint you as you 
 Btand there now. The whole scene is lovely, and 
 you pardon me, if I say so never looked more 
 beautiful." 
 
 " You are not an artist, though, and I am not 
 standing for my portrait," answered Miss Ver- 
 non, turning away. " I see I must make the first 
 move," she went on. " I hope you will have a 
 pleasant journey. Good-by." 
 
 He followed her, and held out his hand. " If 
 I am obliged to go, at least you must tell me 
 good-by after a more cordial fashion," he said. 
 " I shall be back soon. Shall I find you still 
 here ? " 
 
 She gave him her hand and smiled. " Very 
 probably you will," she said " unless George 
 becomes more amiable than he is at present, 
 about letting Flora go. Give my love to the 
 
 Lesters if you see them in Apalatka," she adoVd. 
 " Once more, good-by." 
 
 This time he echoed her farewell, and took 
 his departure. But long after he had left the 
 pretty lawn, and silvery creek behind, her ff.ir 
 face, her tender eyes, her bright smile bore han 
 company. Try as he would, he could think of 
 he could see nothing else. " How beautiful she 
 is ! " he caught himself saying again and again. 
 Yet something told him that her beauty was the 
 least part of her, that the regular features, the 
 lily-white complexion, the golden hair, and violet 
 eyes, would have been worth little indeed with- 
 out the brave, noble soul, the strong, sweet na- 
 ture, which shone through these outer coverings, 
 and glorified them, " like the lamp of naphtha in 
 the alabaster vase." He had only lately learned 
 to know this. Until within the last few months, 
 Irene Vernon had been to him a woman merely 
 like other women a girl like the majority of 
 girls, only a little less attractive, perhaps, on ac- 
 count of her haughty beauty. Now an in- 
 stinct began to dawn upon him that hence- 
 forth in his life she was to be set apart from 
 all other women. The memory of his fevered 
 passion for Katharine seemed to fade away. 
 That graceful figure, that exquisite face, still 
 stood there on the bridge, with the bright water 
 flowing beneath, the tender green of earth's re- 
 newed life all around, and heart, and hope, and 
 fancy, seemed to bow down before her and say, 
 " Lo ! we are thine ! " 
 
 Two weeks after this, Mrs. Gordon's prepa- 
 rations for leaving America were so nearly com- 
 pleted that the day of her departure was fixed, 
 and not far distant. Felix was once more at 
 home, and all that now detained her in La- 
 grange was the final disposition of the Morton 
 property, and its transfer to Annesley. The 
 house which his mother had so long coveted 
 for him was at last to be his, through the kind- 
 ness of the very woman whose arrival had 
 caused Mrs. Annesley so much of bitter heart- 
 ache, so many fruitless schemes and plans. 
 Where were they all now ? what end had they 
 gained ? Morton, with his loyal honesty, had 
 seen the straight path and followed it ; while 
 she bad wandered off into dark and devious by- 
 ways. And, after all, it was Morton, not she, 
 who won at last the prize on which her heart 
 had boen set. Did the perception of this teach 
 her wisdom ? Doubtful, indeed Few things 
 are more rare, than that the eye once accustomed 
 to darkness should learn to love the light ; thai
 
 A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 
 
 263 
 
 that the nature which finds pleasure in hidden 
 paths, should learn that plain roads lead best 
 to plain ends, and that open weapons are more 
 effective, as well as more honorable, than con- 
 cealed and stealthy ones. Still, Mrs. Annesley 
 was heartily glad of this auspicious end, and, in 
 her own way, felt a little ashamed of herself. 
 " I should have tried to do more for Pauline, if I 
 had only known," she said and that was the 
 whole secret of it. If she had only known if 
 she had only been aware that something was to be 
 gained by cousinly kindness and championship, 
 she would have buckled on her armor and entered 
 the lists as fearlessly as Morton himself; but, as 
 it was, why should she have been expected to do 
 such a thing ? "I had my children to think of," 
 she would say, " and we were never fond of each 
 other at the best of times." Every thing had 
 turned out very well, and she was glad of it ; but 
 she could really see no cause for blaming herself 
 in any thing she had done, or failed to do, al- 
 though well yes she might, perhaps, have 
 been a little more cordial to Pauline. 
 
 As to Lagrange, it was thunderstruck by the 
 news of Mrs. Gordon's impending departure, and 
 by the rumor tenfold exaggerated of her 
 wealth and rank. And this was the woman who 
 had lived in their midst for six months, whom 
 2hey had persistently ignored, and about whom 
 they had circulated any number of ill-natured 
 reports. A Morton, too ! The last direct repre- 
 sentative of the oldest blood in the country! 
 What could they have been thinking of! La- 
 grange waked up, as it were, from a sort of 
 trance, and felt, in a measure, half-dazed, and 
 totally unable to account for its own conduct. 
 One thing was certain, however: Mrs. Gordon 
 must see her old friends and, what was consid- 
 erably more important, her old friends must see 
 Mrs. Gordon ! once more, at least, before she 
 bade a final farewell to the home of her youth. 
 The door of Morton House was suddenly be- 
 sieged with visitors, and Harrrison grew weary 
 of receiving cards, and saying, over and over 
 again, that Mrs. Gordon begged to be excused 
 from seeing company she was preparing for her 
 departure, and was, besides, not very well. Only 
 the few friends who had come forward to wel- 
 come her, were admitted to say farewell be- 
 fore the wanderer once more turned her face 
 this time forever from her father's house. 
 These few were struck by a singular change 
 in her appearance. They had expected to see 
 her looking much older, much more broken 
 by the late terrible scenes through which she 
 
 had passed ; yet fragile, and pale, and worn at 
 she was, underneath all this there was some- 
 thing which had not been there before a 
 glimpse of the Pauline Morton of old coming 
 out under the ghastly change wrought by yean 
 and trouble, a possibility of reviving power 
 which no eye could have been keen enough to 
 see before The worst part of the change which 
 had so shocked her friends was gone from her. 
 She was even yet a woman on whom the signet 
 of fiery trials had been branded too deeply ever 
 to fade ; but she was no longer a woman resting 
 helplessly under the torturing, haunting dread 
 of a terror that might come to her any day or 
 hour. Peace at least was hers at last, and the 
 seal of peace the promise of the calmer life 
 upon which she was entering was plainly to be 
 read upon her face. 
 
 " In time, perhaps, you may even teach me 
 to be happy," she would say, wistfully, to Kath- 
 arine. 
 
 And, indeed, the thing which seemed to give 
 her most pleasure was the thought of this bright 
 and gentle companion whom she had won, this 
 girl who all her life long had managed to find 
 some pearls of happineso under the stormiest 
 water. 
 
 Katharine, for her part, made her prepara- 
 tions to leave Lagrange with a reluctance that 
 surprised herself. She did not understand the 
 intangible sadness and regret which oppressed 
 her she often asked herself what it meant she 
 often wondered why a dimness should come over 
 her sight, and a choking rise in her throat when 
 she looked out over the fair hill? and woods 
 clothed in their lovely April green, and thought 
 how soon she would leave them, never to return. 
 
 " Why should I care so much ? " she would 
 ask herself, half indignantly. " It is no native 
 home of mine it is not as if I had been born 
 and reared here ! Then, indeed, it might be hard 
 to go ; but now, I do not understand it. Why 
 should I care so much ? " A little while later it 
 was all so clear to her that she could have 
 laughed at the remembrance of her own per- 
 plexity; but that wo* a little while later. At 
 the time of which we speak, no one would have 
 suspected her hidden sadness, her unaccountable 
 reluctance ; but, all the same, it existed all the 
 same, she would move about the rooms, and gal. 
 leries, and gardens, of Morton House, brighten- 
 ing and cheering every spot to which she came, 
 but deplorably conscious, meanwhile, of a very 
 heavy heart, and asking herself, in puzzled hon- 
 esty, what it possibly meant
 
 264 
 
 MORTOA HOCSE. 
 
 At last the day of departure drew near at 
 hand. They were to leave on Tuesday morning. 
 On Monday afternoon a heavy shower of rain 
 was falling ; but Katharine wrapped herself up 
 in a large cloak, and, armed with an umbrella, 
 set forth to pay a farewell visit to Mrs. Marks. 
 Mrs. Gordon was somewhat shocked, remon- 
 strated, and insisted upon ordering the can .age; 
 but the girl obstinately declined. 
 
 " I much prefer to walk," she said. * I don't 
 mind a rain like this, and it looks as if it might 
 clear. I can stay as long as I please if I walk, 
 you know ; and then " a slight quiver of the 
 voice here " it is for the last time." 
 
 So Mrs. Marks, who felt sufficiently doleful, 
 and had entirely given up all hope of the prom- 
 ised visit, was equally astonished and delighted 
 when there came a shout from the children on 
 the front piazza, and the next minute a drenched 
 apparition of Katharine, with glowing cheeks 
 and rain-gemmed hair, walked in upon her. 
 
 " So you have come ! " she cried, joyfully. 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! I didn't look for you at all 
 after it began to rain." 
 
 " And you thought an April shower like this 
 would keep me away from you, when it is for the 
 last time ? " said Katharine, dropping her wet 
 wrappings in the middle of the floor. " You 
 must have given me credit for wanting to -see 
 you very badly mustn't she, children ? Katy, 
 my shoes are quite damp. Can you take them 
 into the kitchen to dry, and get me a pair of 
 your mother's slippers to wear ? " 
 
 While Katy eagerly darted away on this er- 
 rand, the other children crowded around the 
 young ex-governess, and drew her into a chair. 
 What an afternoon it was that followed ! There 
 was so much to say, so much to tell of the past, 
 BO much to promise of the future, that the won- 
 der was how it all was said, even in the three or 
 four hours which were consumed. 
 
 Katharine made several fruitless attempts to 
 leave before she rose at last and said that she 
 must go. 
 
 " I am afraid it will be dusk before I can 
 reach the house," she said, " and Mrs. Gordon 
 will be uneasy. No, no, children, don't do that " 
 as several audible sobs were heard "this is 
 not good-by. You must not think so. Mrs. 
 Gordon, and Felix, and I, are all going to stop to 
 see you to-morrow morning." 
 
 It may not have been " good-by," but still it 
 was a very lugubrious leave-taking. Mrs. Marks 
 broke down as well as the children, and Kath- 
 arine herself was on the brink of tears when 
 
 she left the sobbing group behind, and harried 
 along the front walk. These tears were blinding 
 her to such an extent that she did not recognize 
 she did not even see a man who had reached 
 the gate as she came out of the house, and stood 
 there waiting for her. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Tresham," he said, as 
 she fumbled for the latch, and his voice, which 
 was very unexpected, made her start violently. 
 " Are you going to Morton House ? " 
 
 " Good - evening, Mr. Warwick," she an- 
 swered, as the gate at last yielded, not to her 
 touch, but to Mr. Warwick's, and she came out 
 into the road. " Yes, I am going to Morton 
 House. I have been spending the afternoon with 
 Mrs. Marks," she added, looking up at him with 
 her brimming eyes. 
 
 " I think you came very near spending the 
 evening also," he said, smiling. She caught the 
 smile, and it made her feel aggrieved. She did 
 not, of course, expect him to be in tears like 
 Mrs. Marks, and the children, and herself, but 
 still he might have felt the solemnity of the oc- 
 casion a little, and he need not have smiled in 
 that way, just as if nothing more than usual had 
 happened or was about to happen. " You are 
 late for such a lonely walk," he said. " Give me 
 your umbrella. I will see you safely to the 
 house." 
 
 "Indeed, you need not take that trouble," 
 she said, with a shade of coolness in her tone. 
 " It is not very late," she went on. " The road 
 may be lonely, but it is entirely safe, and I had 
 much rather you did not." 
 
 Her speech was cut short very summarily. 
 Mr. Warwick took the umbrella out of her hand, 
 and held it over her head, as he walked along 
 the foot-path by her side. 
 
 "I am sorry if you would 'much rather' 
 I did not accompany you," he said; "but I 
 cannot reconcile it to my conscience to let you 
 go alone into the country at such an hour as this. 
 Besides, if you must know the truth, I was on 
 my way to Morton House when I saw you ; so 
 the only difference is, whether I shall go alone or 
 with a companion." 
 
 "In that case, I am very glad that you 
 chanced to see me," said Katharine, conquering 
 her momentary grievance. " I need a compan- 
 ion," she went on, a little sadly. " My frame 
 of mind is any thing but cheerful. Oh, how hard 
 it is to say good-by to people that one loves ! " 
 
 " Yes," said he, with something of uncon- 
 scious dreariness in his voice, " it is hard." 
 
 Nothing more was spoken for some
 
 A TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 
 
 265 
 
 They walked along, side by side, and both BO 
 much abstracted that they scarcely noticed how 
 the rain had ceased, and the sun, which was not 
 yet down, seemed about to break through the west- 
 ern clouds. They were by this time fairly beyond 
 the last outskirts of the town, and the sweet, 
 wild odors of forest and field the peculiar spicy 
 woodland fragrance which loads the very air 
 after a spring rain were borne to them by every 
 breeze that, in passing, shook myriads of glit- 
 tering rain-drops from the boughs under which 
 they walked. Katharine laughed a little as one 
 of these quick showers sprinkled her face. 
 
 " The very trees are weeping," she said. " I 
 wonder if I may flatter myself that they, too, 
 are sorry to see me go ? How fresh and fragrant 
 every thing is ! Surely there is no month like 
 April ; and yet it seems to me that, after this, 
 April will always be sad to me." 
 
 " You are like a child who thinks to-day's 
 clouds will not be gone to-morrow," said Mr. 
 Warwick, smiling again ; but this time in a man- 
 ner with which she was not inclined to find fault. 
 " Is it possible that you do not know that before 
 another April eomes round Lagrange will seem 
 to you like a dull and painful memory ? By that 
 time you will wonder how you ever endured such 
 a life as this, from which you are now sorry to 
 part." 
 
 " You think so because you don't know me," 
 he said, a little resentfully. " Whatever else I 
 may be, I am not fickle nor ungrateful. I love La- 
 grange now, and I shall love it always. If I 
 live to see a hundred Aprils come, I shall always 
 think of this one, and and be sorry." 
 
 " Sorry to have left poverty and toil behind 
 you, and gone to ease, and luxury, and happi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 "No, sorry to have left so much kindness 
 and so many dear friends behind me kindness 
 hown to me in the days of my need ; friends 
 who proved their friendship when I was desolate. 
 Mr. Warwick ! you do not really believe that I 
 can ever forget these things ? " 
 
 "No," said Mr. Warwick, touched by her 
 earnestness. " I do not believe any thing un- 
 worthy of you. I am sure that, go where you 
 will, you will retain a kindly remembrance of us, 
 and that, perhaps, is as much as we could ask." 
 
 " I shall always think of you as the best 
 friend I have ever known," she said. " I I 
 cannot say good-by without thanking you once 
 more for all your kindnesses to me they have 
 been so many, so great." 
 
 "Don't call them kindnesses," he said, 
 
 hastily. " They were not that they were 
 pleasures to me, and I was only glad that they 
 were also services to you. I " 
 
 Re stopped. What he was on the point of 
 saying, he scarcely knew ; but an instinct warned 
 him that it was something which had better be 
 left unsaid. He was a self-contained man, well 
 accustomed to controlling himself on all possi- 
 ble occasions ; so he had very little difficulty in 
 restraining words which he told himself could 
 serve no good end. Why distress and pain her 
 uselessly ? why give her a last disagreeable 
 memory of him to take away? What folly it 
 was, after all ! She had unhesitatingly rejected 
 him when she was poor and desolate, without a 
 home on earth ; and was it likely was it even 
 possible that she would reconsider that deci- 
 sion now, that she would turn from the brilliant 
 future which opened before her, to share his 
 homely, commonplace life ? He gave a sort of 
 mental laugh a laugh singularly devoid of 
 merriment at the very thought. 
 
 " Is not this the view of which you are BO 
 fond ? " he asked, pausing abruptly on a knoll 
 which they had reached, a gentle eminence that 
 commanded a prospect of the surrounding coun- 
 try of all the fields and meadows clad in bright* 
 est green ; of the hedges in full blossom ; of 
 groups of trees near by, with feathery, tendef 
 foliage ; of shadowy woodlands far away ; of hilll 
 melting and stretching in graceful undulations to 
 the east. Toward the west there was an ex- 
 panse of open country, and the sun (which had 
 now come forth) was gilding all things with the 
 red glory of sunset, turning all the rain-drops 
 into diamonds, and all the little rain-pools into 
 miniature fiery lakes. 
 
 "Yes, this is the view," said Katharine. 
 " Is it not lovely ? " 
 
 She stood quite still, and looked with linger, 
 ing, pathetic gaze on the fair scene. The light 
 of the glowing western sky was on her face and 
 in her eye* soft, sweet eyes, that were none the 
 less lovely for the tears that filled them. 
 
 " It is hard to leave," she said at last, sim- 
 ply, and almost as if she were thinking aloud. 
 
 Those words, and the tone in which they 
 were uttered, were too much for the man beside 
 her. After all, what did it matter? He could 
 only hear again what he had heard before lit 
 could only receive the answer which was, of 
 course, the sole possible answer for a question 
 such as his. Still he would ask it He could do 
 no harm, at least ; and a strange, wild hope 
 which he sternly tried to repress rusbed orer
 
 266 
 
 MORTON HOUSE. 
 
 him unaccountably, and without a moment's 
 warning. The struggle with himself occupied 
 a minute. During that minute, the sun quietly 
 sank out of sight, and Katharine, with a wistful 
 sigh, turned her face around. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better go," she said. 
 " Mrs. Gordon will be uneasy." 
 
 " We will go in a second," he answered, 
 quietly so quietly that she had not the faintest 
 suspicion of what was coming. " You say it is 
 hard to leave," he went on. " Has it ever oc- 
 curred to you that there is a very easy way of 
 remaining ? I suppose it is worse than folly for 
 me to ask such a question, but do you like La- 
 grange well enough to give up all this bright 
 future which is opening before you, and make it 
 your home for life with me ? " 
 
 The strong passion which, under these cir- 
 cumstances, he did not feel inclined to betray 
 which, under any circumstances, he was not a 
 man likely to betray rang in his voice despite 
 himself, and startled her. Something dazzled 
 her something seemed to rush over her with a 
 thrill beyond expression. Was it joy, or sur- 
 prise, or relief, or only a great unutterable sense 
 of rest, which came suddenly, like a blessing, 
 and, in its coming, showed how sore and deep 
 had been the conflict to which she was only able 
 to give a name now, that it was forever ended ? 
 She stood for a moment quite silent striving to 
 
 realize, striving to understand all that was re- 
 vealed to her so simply and so strangely. Mr. 
 Warwick grew pale, despite his self-control, and 
 set his lips in a way peculiar to him. He was 
 bracing himself for the reply, telling himself 
 that, of course, he had known all the time what 
 it would be, and that, at least, he was prepared 
 for it. 
 
 If this was the case, he certainly was not 
 prepared for what came. After a short pause- 
 it teas short, though it seemed to both of them 
 very long a white hand was extended, and a 
 voice with a quiver half of archness, half of 
 tears said : 
 
 " I am afraid that I do not like La. 
 grange sufficiently to give up for its sake all 
 this of which you speak, but but I do like 
 you." 
 
 It was not very clearly expressed, perhaps ; 
 but John Warwick had no difficulty in compre- 
 hending what she meant. He knew then, aa 
 well as he knew long years afterward, that the 
 happiness of his life had come to him at last; 
 and as he saw the sweet face with the sunset 
 glow still on it turned toward him, wearing the 
 look that no man was ever blind enough to mis- 
 take, his first words were those which, for the 
 smallest as for the greatest blessing, should be 
 ever on our lips : 
 
 "Thank God!" 
 
 PBB BHD
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
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