" Why, Edward! I never knew that you had a cousin living." (Page 117.) OE A, THE LOST WII^E BT BELLA Z. SPENCER, AUTHOR OF "tried AND TRUE," ETC. SPRINGFIELD, MASS. . W. J. HOLLAND & CO. ST. LOUIS, MO. : ^ AKDREY & SUBIT. * 1869. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 186!'i, by P. 0. BROWNE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Ohio. CONTENTS. • • • Chapter. Page. 1. A Night of Sorrow and Desolation, . . 5 II. Dr. Clifton's Family, , 12 III. Situation Offered and Accepted, ... 28 IV. An Exciting Scene, 38 'T^ V. A Web to Unravel, 48 ^. VI. Painful Interview, 55 i VII. An Amicable Settlement — Endeavoring TO Solve a Mystery, . 64 ^ VIIL Scenes of Tender Interest and Beauty, 81 ^ IX. A Riddle to Solve, ......... 89 ^ X. " Or a's" Flight, 100 XI. Change of Scene — Early Years, . . . 113 '^v XII. Clouds Eising, 120 r*^ XIII. Darker Clouds, 128 i\ XIV. Temporary Shelter, . 134 XV. Excitement at Dr. Clifton's, 144 XVI. Sharp Work, 155 X ^ XVII. Important Errand, 160 ;^ , . XVIII. Strange Woman, 167 iv CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. XIX. "Ora" Meredith Justified at Last, . 185 XX. Longing for Rest, • 196 XXL Sad Afflictions, 211 XXII. Changing Events in a Strange Life, . 236 XXIIL Puzzles and Mysteries, 246 XXIV. Mysteries Explained, 256 XXV Saratoga, 270 XXVI. New Plans and Projects, 277 XXVIL The Excursion, 287 XXVIII. Excursion Continued, 292 XXIX. Complicated Affairs, 299 XXX. Forgiven at Last, 305 XXXL A Nice Piece of Gossip, 312 XXXII. Last Days at Saratoga, 319 XXXm. The " Richmond Belle," 327 XXXIV. Edward Piercelif/s Arrival, .... 341 XXXV. The "End" Drawing Near, 356 XXXVL Last Meeting, 365 XXXVII. Closing Scenes with Sunlight, . . . 377 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. CHAPTEE I. " Oh, my Father, be mercifal !" The agonized prayer was wailed out in the silence and gloom of a lonely chamber, and the fitful flashes of light from a grate where the half smothered blaze played over the black, smoking coals, revealed but partially the half prostrate form of a lady from whose lips the piteous lamentation had issued. She was sitting upon the carpet, her arms crossed upon a chair, and her face buried upon them. A dress of deep black fitted closely about a slender form, and the loose sleeve falling away, gave the gleam of a snow white arm through the fitful light; but neck and shoulders were vailed in a mass of long dark hair that flowed over them and swept the floor. Heavy sobs and low quivering moans followed that audible cry for help and pity, and then the moans gradually ceased, and in a little while she wept softly, quietly, as if relief had come to an over burthened heart, and tears were gently washing away its stinging bitterness. . (5) 6 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. ^ Half an hour passed, and the bLaze burned brighter and more steadily. At last the bowed head was raised, and it was a strangely SAveet face that was revealed, as with one tiny white hand the lady swept back the mass of rich hair that had fallen over it and become wet with that rain of agonized tears. The brow was low, broad and full — a perfect type of intellectual beauty. The eyes large and shadowy — soft and lustrous now in the mist of tears still hang- ing upon the long lashes — in color like a violet, changing to black almost, with each phas^ of straying thought. The cheeks were round and full, yet very delicate in their contour — the Kps full and arched like a bow. The chin delicate, but bearing that un- mistakable stamp of firmness so plainly expressed in that feature of the face. There was a deep crimson burning now upon the cheeks, and the dark lines under the eyes spoke of suffering. But, witb the traces of suff'ering upon her face, you see endurance and meekness in the expression of the beautiful mouth, and the brov/ and eyes are shadowed with a high and lofty purpose. " Ah, me !" she sighed once more aloud, and with a mournful, thrilling softness in her voice. " It is hard, but it is right ^ I feel. Ah, Edward, I may never again look up proudly in your face and call yon mine ! That bright dream has passed like a golden flood of sunshine behind a cloud that may never scatter, and henceforth, unloved (would to God I could say unloving) I must meet life alone and un- aided. No, not unaided," she added, and a beautiful light broke over the face she slowly lifted upward, ORA, THE LOST WIFE. # 7 "for Thou, oh my Father, who hast seen into the innermost depths of my heart and knowcth its strug- gles to follow after the right, will aid me through life, even unto death — though all others forsake me." The lady rose to her feet with another deep drawn sigh. She was not tall, but about medium size, with a form and movements of indescribable grace. A watch rested in her belt; a plain, but elegant brooch fastened the mourning collar about her white throat; and a plain circlet of gold banded the third finger of her left hand. Her whole appearance was that of an elegant, refined, and high-minded woman; struggling with grief, wrestling with pain, but slowly, surely rising above these influences, through love and Faith. ' She took up the poker, stirred the now glowing coals until every corner of the chamber glowed with the bright light they sent out, and then gliding softly to the bed, she drew aside the heavy curtains and revealed the form of a child sleeping upon the pillow. It was a sweet and touching picture, and a mist once more gathered over the lady's eyes as she gazed down upon the child with its round, softly flushed cheek nestled in one dimpled hand, and the .light shining rings of fair hair lying over the forehead. The tiny lips were slightly parted, and the little pearly teeth just peeped from beneath them ; the breath came softly and regularly to the listening ear of the mother, and the long lashes sweeping the baby's cheeks, seemed serenely to vail the clear orbs which on opening you may find as deep, clear and beautiful as these were wont to be, which are now paisty with 8 » ORA, THE LOST WIFE. unshed tears. Mother and child are very like ; only one is a fairer tj^pe, because in a minature form of beauty. Once more the lady sighed heavily, and gently dropped the curtains, gliding back to the fire, and dropping her forehead upon the mantle piece as she murmured : " Only for her ! only for her ! it would be less hard ! So young, so tender, so beautiful — oh God, could I ever bear to see her suflfer. To grow up obscurely — perchance beneath the blighting shadow of suspicion — to come at last to what ? Misery? Ah, Heavens, let me not think of it ! For myself, I should not mind poverty and toil, but for her I shrink from it as from a pestilence. Have I done right, to take her from all that could brighten youth and life, to expose hex, perhaps, to suffering, insult, everything, that the poor and helpless have to endure? Oh, my heart is torn with conflicting emotions — my brain racked with confusion ! Father in heaven ! I am weak and pow- erless ! Help me !" With clasped hands and bowed head she prayed with passionate fervor, wrestling with the terrible forms of evil that beset the pathway where she was advancing, pleading for light, for strength and guid- ance, till once more the shadow was lifted, and her face grew calm. A sharp cry from the bed broke the silence that followed, and going to it, the lady took the child in her arms and sat down in a rocker which she drew up before the grate. " My baby woke soon," she said gently, as she ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 9 folded the long white night-dress over the dimpled feet. " Why can't little Ada sleep ?" The child's eyes were wide open and fixed on the glowing coals as if in deep thought. For a moment she sat unheeding, and then turned her face suddenly to her mother. " Mamma !" " Well, my darling." " Ada see papa 1" said the child, with trembling eagerness. The lady's cheeks, lips and brow grew ashen, but as if determined to hide the spasm that had struck a chill to her heart, from human eyes, she choked down the quivering gasp that rose in her throat, and asked softly: " Ada saw papa ? Where ?" The little creature's face lighted with an intelli- gence beyond her years, and closing the starry eyes she laid one soft, dimpled cheek in her hand, and the tip of a tiny finger over her forhead. The lady smiled sadly. " Ah, mamma understands. Her little girl dream- ed she saw papa." "Yes, Ada jeamed," nodded the child delighted at being so readily understood. Then she added: "Mamma, where is papa? Ada wants to see papa." Again the lady's lips grew even more deathly in their hue, and her frame shook as if with an ague, but now she did not speak. " Oh, mamma," the little one persisted, " Ada wants to go to papa ! Take Ada back to papa !" 10 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. " Oil, my baby, how you torture me," moaned the mother, hiding her white face upon the child's shoulder. " Mamma cannot take you to papa !" " But Ada wants to go back to papa. Do take Ada to papa," pleaded the little girl with a quiver- ing lip. "My child !" faltered the lady once more, "you do not know what you ask. Papa is far, far away — and oh, God! all unworthy the love of his pure little child ! Oh, Edward ! Edward ! this is some of the fruits of your work ! Not I alone must suffer, but the little one whose fond, pure love ought to have kept you true to us both. Oh, Heaven forgive you ! Oh, God ! help me to forgive him !" She rose and placed the child in the chair, and with quickly beating heart, tightly locked hands and corrugated forehead, paced the floor back and forth in strong agitation. She was too weak in the heavy struggles she had endured, to yet rear an impenetra- ble barrier of firmness between herself and her sor- row — to establish a self-control. Ada's eyes followed her mother's form in wonder and grief, forgetful of all save the scene before her. A great throb of pain swelled the little heart, and the lips parted with a low, sobbing cry, which brought the mother back to her side, and catching her to her bosom, she folded her there with remorseful tender- ness, and strove as only a mother can to hush the sobs that quivered through the room with pitiful pathos. " My baby! my precious baby! I had no right to make you feel what I suffer ! Oh, I will try with ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 11 God's help, to shield you from the consequences of the step I have taken. Oh, surely, surely, you were never destined to drink the cup of sorrow from your infancy! God forbid! My baby! my baby! I will, I must shield you !" Thus murmuring, with loving intensity, she kissed and caressed her, till the little girl grew quiet, and once more sat up in her mother's lap, her tearful eyes fixed in childish wonder upon her pale, troubled face. But gradually the little orbs grew heavy and the curly head sank upon her bosom, while the lady sat still and mute. When slumber had completely wrapped the child's transient grief in oblivion, the mother softly laid her upon the pillow once more, and then wdth slow, thoughtful mien, paced back and forth through the chamber. Heavily the hours dragged along. The rain beat against the window panes, and the wind surged drearily around the building with heavy, monotonous sound, but the pale, silent woman whose footfalls woke no echo on the thick carpet, heeded neither. Nor did she heed the loud clang of the town clock as it tolled the midnight hour. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she never paused in that slow, mo- notonous walk until the fire had died out of the grate, and the great city grew quiet, as if for a brief space of time its mighty heart had ceased its pulsa- tions. Then, with a cold shiver, she threw herself upon the bed beside the sleeping babe, and sank into a troubled slumber. CHAPTER II. Papa, Miss Durand leaves us to-day." There was a shade of trouble in the clear brown eyes of Madeline Olifton as she communicated this little piece of information to her father, who had just taken his seat at the breakfast table with the morning papers beside him. ■ The old Doctor looked across at her with some surprise. " Going to leave to-day, you say, my love. What's that for?!' Madeline sighed a little sadly, but smiled quietly as she returned : ''To get married. Surely you have not forgotten that I told you of the fact more than two weeks ago, and now the time has come for her to leave, and her place is still unsupplied." "Bless my soul! I did not remember anything about it! Why didn't you remind me? Going to marry, eh ! Well, well, I suppose we must give her up, as there is no help for it, seeing she is going to marry. When a woman fixes her mind upon that important event of her life, there's an end to their usefulness." ''I declare, I do not see what we are to do without her," returned the daughter seriously. She seemed to understand us so well, that I am afraid we will never find her equal, and for the children's sake more than my own, I regret it." (12) ORAj THE LOST WIFE. 13 "To be sure it's bad ; but never mind, child, we'll soon get another, I hope just as good," said the Doc- tor cheerfully. ''I ought to have attended to the matter before, but its not yet too late. Let's see." He took up one of the papers and looked at the advertising columns. After running his eye down them for a few moments, he threw the paper aside and took up another. Here, after a moment's search, his eye rested thoughtfully. "I'll see, I'll see," he muttered. "Perhaps she will suit." "What is it, father?" asked Madeline, pouring out a second cup of coffee for him as he laid down the paper, thoughtful still. "An advertisement for a situation as* governess. It is a lady at the M House, who is in want of just such a situation as we have open. It remains to be seen if she is just such a person as we want. I will call there to-day." So the subject was dismissed, and a lively conver- sation ensued, in which others of the family took a part. It was a pleasant circle that had gathered round the table in the cheerful little breakfast room. Dr. Clifton himself was a hale, hearty man of fifty; very kind and benevolent in his nature — a thoughtful, tender, and generous friend, and a devoted father. The happiness and welfare of his children was above all other earthly considerations. Of these he had three; a son of twenty-five, who had adopted his father's profession with fair prospects of success ; a daughter, Madeline, of nineteen, wise and thoughtful 14 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. beyond her years^ and the pet of the household, Kate, who was about twelve, and as great a tease as ever lived, yet impulsively affectionate and generous in her nature. Other children he had had, but death had cut them off in their bloom, as it had also his gentle and noble-minded wife. Mrs. Clifton had died scarcely a year previous to the introduction of the family to our readers, and the blow was all the more severe because of the two little orphan girls whom they had adopted, and who, more than their own children, needed her tender care and careful training. One of these was the only child of a niece of Mrs. Clifton's, who, in dying, begged that she would re- ceive and rear her as her own. The other was the daughter of an Italian lady around whom the direst misfortunes seemed to accumulate until death relieved her of a burthen life could not sustain. She had married in opposition to the will of her relatives, and with her proud young English husband, had sought a home in America, where they might establish more congenial relations. Scarcely a year passed, however, before a sudden misfortune swept away the little fortune Mr. Montes possessed, and shortly afterward he was stricken down with a fever and died, leaving his widow and infant alm,os^t utterly destitute. Poverty, toil, and illness combined, bowed the nat- urally delicate, tenderly reared woman to the earth, and in her sorest distress, Doctor Clifton had been called in, and his great benevolent heart became in- terested in the helpless mother and child. Mrs. Clif- ton entered into his generous plans for their aid with a OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 15 spirit of humane love worthy to be classed with his, and they gave her a home where she was kindly cared for. But day after day she drooped and faded away, and at last died broken-hearted. She had written to her relatives, informing them of her condition, ,but the cold reply they returned only served to hasten the termination of a wretched life, and her discarded, helpless orphan daughter, fell dependent upon the charity of her mother's benefactors. They did not demur or hesitate to accept the trust the wretched woman bequeathed them in dying, but with a loving tenderness rare and beautiful, Mrs. Clifton gathered the little one to her bosom and murmured : "I accept this little babe in the spirit One has taught us who said, 'Inasmuch as you do it unto one of these little ones ye do it unto me.' My own will not be more tenderly cared for than this my little adopted daughter, — God helping me," and Doctor Clifton clasping the cold hand of the dying mother, said earnestly : "My wife has spoken for both of us." So the sufferer was comforted in her last moments by the divine love of two noble hearts. Mary Staunton and Agnes Montes were nearly the same age, Agnes being but a little more than a year Mary's senior. So the three little girls ranging down from Kate, twelve, eleven, and ten, were no light responsibility ; but Dr. Clifton declared it a great bless- ing, and he called them his jewels. And this was the circle that gathered around the breakfast table on the morning in which we introduce them to the reader. 16 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. Dr. Clifton, Jr., had sent down an excuse, saying he would breakfast later, as he was busy, and Miss Durand had a slight headache, so that the little ones felt at liberty to break through the restraint their grave brother and governess' presence imposed upon them, and chattered like magpies when the Doctor had thrown aside his paper to enjoy his coffee and their society exclusively. ''Papa," said Kate, ''won't you come and take us out riding with you this afternoon? We are not to have any lessons you know, and it will be so nice. Just see how brightly the sun is shining." "Yes," put in Mary, "and see how the rain drops have frozen upon the trees. They look for all the world just like little diamonds jingling up and down on the twigs. Oh, how beautiful the woods must look!" Madeline glanced out of the window through which the trees to which Mary alluded could be seen, flash- ing in magnificent beauty beneath their load of ice- jewels; and the Doctor with a genial smile upon the animated and expectant faces of his daughter and niece, turned a look upon Agnes who sat eating her breakfast quietly. " What does my Aggie say?" he asked. " Does she want a holiday too, and a ride?" Without lifting her great lustrous black eyes from her plate, the child answered gravely and respectfully: "The holiday I shall have anyway, as Miss Durand is going. As for the ride, I am not anxious. I shall like either to go or stay as you please, sir." "But I had rather see less indifference, my little OR A, THE LOST WIPE. 17 girl, and that you should enjoy it as other girls of your age enjoy such things." There was no response, and Mr, Clifton sighed as he inwardly compared the grave, singular character of the Italian girl with those of the two laughing, happy children who were merrily and joyously dis- cussing the enjoyment in store for them. ''Well, good bye, pets. I guess I'll have to give you all a ride this afternoon. Here, come kiss me, and I'm off." Kate sprang up with a bound and caught him round the neck. " Oh, you dear, dear, good papa ! I wont tease you any more for a week I" and with a dozen impulsive kisses upon his bland, happy face, she sprang through the door and up the stairs like an antelope. Mary came next with loving and childlike grace clasping his neck as he stooped to kiss her, and she too went up stairs. Agnes rose quietly. There was no feeling in the large eyes she lifted to his; no loving pressure from the red lips she gravely held up for his caress. But with more tenderness than he had shown either of the others, he drew her for a moment to his bosom and softly pressed his lips to hers. ''Don't forget to see about the governess this morn- ing the first thing, papa," Madeline requested as she came round to his side, happy like the others of his children, to receive the accustomed token of love at parting. "My daughter, had you not better accompany me in my search ?" "I cannot, indeed, father. There are so many 2 18 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. things to look after to-day, I cannot be spared. I must not risk my reputation as housekeeper, you know," she added playfully. ''I can't see how you could in looking up a gov- erness for your little sisters," said the Doctor in reply, but he added : ''It doesn't matter. I'll attend to the affair myself for you have enough to do anyway. Good morning, my love." He pressed a kiss upon her pure clear brow and was gone, while she turned to her duties with a quiet steadiness much at variance with her age. Her mother's death had wrought a wonderful change in her, developing her at once into a quiet, strong, almost self-reliant woman. No one would have dreamed she was once as wild and thoughtless as the heedless, impulsive Kate, whose rattlebrained disposition gave her gentle elder sister so much care ; and yet before the great affliction which had laid a heavy hand upon a happy family, Madeline was even more wild than she. Ah! how circumstances change or develop us. Doctor Clifton drove directly to the M before entering upon his round of professional visits. He went into the Clerk's Office, examined the register, and found the name of Mrs. O. Meredith, St. Louis, Mo., and sent up his card. There was a shade of earnest thought upon hia brow as he sat waiting in the Ladies' Parlor for the lady he had called to see. His children's happiness was of too much moment to allow him to place a person over them whose influence could prove in- jurious, and he was aware of the diflBpulty he had to ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 19 meet in seeking for an instructresB now from among total strangers. Even the best judges of human nature are sometimes deceived, notwithstanding evidences flattering or derogatory to a character which they may seek to understand. Who was this lady, and what would he find her? He had been induced to believe that he had found what he desired from the advertise- ment. And yet what could advertisements say to reveal the true character of a person ? He sat lost in thought and speculation when the door opened and a servant announced : " Mrs. Meredith," and at once retired. Doctor Clifton rose, and the slender, dark-robed figure of the lady glided to meet him with a grace and qniet ease as pleasing to the fastidious eye of the old gentleman, as was the sweet pale face and clear soft voice that greeted him. With a dignified, yet gentle manner, she accepted the seat he placed for her, and motioned him to resume his own, saying: "You have seen my advertisement?" "Yes, Madam, I have in this morning's paper, and wishing to engage a person qualified as you claim to be, I have called to see you about it. I presume you are a widow," glancing at her black dress, "or more likely an orphan, for you look very young?" "And suppose I should say you were correct in saying both," she answered with a sad smile. "Then, Madam, I should say you are very unfoi- tunate indeed. You are from St. Louis?" "Yes, sir, directly." "You have lived there?" "No, sir, a different part of the world I have called 20 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. my home when prosperity and peace allowed m^ such a haven. But circumstances have changed all things in my life. I am alone — not helpless, I trust, but self-dependent. The past is full of pain — let me forget it. In the present I only seek to find the way to future advancement and usefulness." There was little that could be read in the calm, sad face before him, and the good old Doctor felt not a little puzzled and awkward in proceeding. But after a slight pause in which he vainly tried to read some- thing of the feelings passing within the mind of the strangely fascinating woman before him, he said in- terrogatively: "You of course bring references?" She turned her large eyes upon him with a clear, full gaze, and answered frankly: "No, sir, I do not." "Why, Madam! excuse me, but will you allow me to ask you how you expect to obtain a respectable situation without recommendations? Perhaps you have friends here? Or — " "No, sir," she interrupted, with gentle dignity. "I have no friends here, and I am not surprised at the astonishment your manner expresses at the step I have taken toward gaining a footing in a good family without references. But let me tell you frankly, sir, that my ability to perform any duties I may under- take, and my deportment must be my passport into any family where I may be so fortunate as to gain admittance. My greatest misfortune is my loneliness. None need fear me. I come from a good family, and till now have never known the need of self-depen- ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 21 dence. But as I said, fortunes change, and I am making my way forward now, blindly, perhaps, but earnestly, trustfully. If you will try me you will never have need to regret it. This is all I can say for myself." Her manner was peculiarly earnest and frank, and the face was now lighted with a pure, truthful and innocent expression that won the interest of the man before her to an intense degree. But generous and benevolent as he was. Doctor Clifton was not one to work blindly where the welfare of his children was con- cerned, and he would at once have cut short the inter- view as useless, but for the strange interest that drew him toward the young and desolate being before him. "But, Madam," he said, "do you not know you have undertaken an almost impossible thing ? You bring no references — you tell us nothing of yourself to guide us to a knowledge of your character, and yet you ask us blindly to receive you into the bosom of our families and place our dear little ones in your hands? Pardon me," he continued kindly, seeing her face crimson painfully. " I do not speak to wound you, but to show you the position you have taken, for I really do not think you can comprehend the light in which you place yourself by so extraordinary a step. You will find your path full of thorns and difficulties at every turn, and be doomed at last to disappoint- ment — perhaps worse. You will meet with unkind- ness and rebuff. I am not trying to discourage you in what you may deem right, believe me. Madam; but I say in all kindness that you cannot get along thus in a suspicious world." 22 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. One small hand had crept up over the crimson fore- head while he was speaking, and now shaded the eyes from which the tears were dropping silently. The old gentleman looked at the slightly bowed figure with compassionate kindness, and slowly rising took a step toward the door. She looked up then, and with a little quiveringges- ture, as if self-control was beyond further efibrt, said appealingly: ''Oh, sir, I do know the difficulties you mention, but for my child's sake I would brave everything! I have a tender, delicate daughter for whom I must labor, and I can endure anything for her sake. Is there no hope of proving my personal worth — for oh, sir, I do not deserve scorn or blame — only pity, as there is a Father in Heaven who knows my heart this moment!" "Poor woman ! How little you know this world," exclaimed the Doctor. "My child you are a very novice, and are not fit for that you would undertake. You are but a child at best, yourself, and have a little one you say to care for. Now come and sit down here and tell me frankly how you expect in your youth and beauty to meet a cold world, and hanging a vail between your life and it, ask it to accept you without suspicion and unkindness. Everything will go against you in your helplessness. And if you give no confidence, how can you make friends? There are those who will pity you because they see you alone and helpless, but they will not trust you, because they know nothing of you." There was such an air of fatherly kindness in his OR A, THE LOST WIFE. 23 manner as he seated himself in a chair near her, that her woman's heart went out to him as a little child's in love and confidence. But there was a feeling of shame that. held her mute for several mo- ments until the Doctor's words won from her lips that which she had it in her heart to tell him. "Come," he said, "tell me something about your- self, and if I can, I will help you, for I sincerely pity you, and would gladly aid you out of this unpleasant position. I cannot, however, even to spare your feel- ings, leave you blind to the exact extent of the error into which you have fallen." ''I will tell you," she said tremulously. "I feel your kindness, and see that I am almost helpless alone. I had never thought to breathe to mortal ear what I am going 'to tell you, but your age and kind- ness win my confidence. I ask your assistance, and after all, it is but right that you should know in whom you take an interest, painful as it is to me to tell you." Then followed a brief sketch of her past life, recited sometimes in sadness, sometimes with tears and anguish. The Doctor listened with rapt attention, and when she had done, he took her hand respectfully. Lady you have done well to confide in me. I can and will befriend you, for I know you have spoken truthfully. My sympathy you have to an entire degree, for your sufierings have been severe. But now I will leave you, and this evening will call and speak with you further. Rest assured of my assistance, and try to be cheerful. Consider me your friend." 24 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. "Thank yon!" murmured the lady through her tears. "And oh, believe me, sir, you will never find me ungrateful." He pressed her hand kindly and took his leave, and then she went to her room and burying her face among the pillows of her couch, wept long and freely. When evening came Doctor Clifton returned ac- cording to promise. He looked a little sober and thoughtful, but was kind and respectful in his manner. Mrs. Meredith met him with some restraint. She had not got over the painful struggle of the morning to reveal that which had cost her so much. But his manner soon dissipated it. There was but one thing that brought a trouble now to both. "Mrs. Meredith, we will give you the situation we have if you find yourself competent. You are at lib- erty to try it, and if you fail to please us, we will find you something else ; but what will you do with your child ?" " What will I do with my child ?" she repeated. " Why sir, can I not have her with me ?" " But you cannot care for a little one and at the same time discharge school duties. Have you not thought of this before ?" " Yes, sir, but I always thought to have a nurse and keep her near me. I could not bear it otherwise." "There I think you are mistaken. Do not under- take too much, lest you fail in all. I think your best plan would be to put her out to nurse. There is an old lady living in the same block with ourselves, who will take her if you are willing, and as I have known her for years, I can vouch for the tender care the child ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 25 will receive. I have thought of everything, and in my desire to aid you have looked into matters of most importance. What do you say to the propositign ?" Mrs. Meredith was silent for some moments. Her way seemed hard indeed, and she would have instant- ly rejected the idea of parting with her child, giving her pure, innocent charge into the hands of strangers ; but now, plainer than ever before, she saw the diflS- culties of her way, and could not reject the only hand that offered her assistance, when another might never be offered in the same spirit of benevolent good- ness. But ougJit she to let her child go from her sight? For her only, she sought to labor; this was her sole motive in life. She had expected difficulties, but she had never intended them to separate her from her child, where every hour she might not watch over and train her mind as only a mother can; and every impulse rose up against it. You must make some sacrifice for the sake of your child, Mrs. Meredith," said her benefactor, tired of the delay. I know it," she answered, ''but sir, I cannot have her go out of my sight. She is all I have, and it will be the sole joy in my lonely life to rear her rightly — to preserve her spotless, with God's help, from the world. How can I answer for her future if I fail to plant in her the principles that are to sustain her through life. Doctor Clifton, a mother's eye should never leave her child, and I cannot let mine go from me." ''But it is better for both yourself and little one, and I would not advise it, did I not feel it so. Do 3 26 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. not act hastily. I offer you a situation on the strength of your confidence, which anotlier would not give, and you will be placing more obstacles in your own way than you are aware of, if you reject it." " Sir, 1 am fully aware of the truth you have spoken, but I feel it my duty to keep her with me. If you cannot allow me to take her with me under your roof, then I fear I must look further, and trust in God for aid, for I cannot, indeed I cannot give up my little child to strangers." There was a spice of stubbornness, with all his goodness, in the old Doctor's composition, and when he was willing to go so far to aid one as he had made up his mind to do in regard to her, he did not like to have the sole proposition he had made thus decidedly rejected. For the mother's feeling he had due respect, but he did not relish the idea of a little child under his roof, where three children already claimed his care, and honestly believing it better that the child should be kept out of her mother's way, had in his own mind made it a sort of condition that she should send her oat to nurse or give up the situation. '^Is this your final decision?" he asked a little coldly. ''What can I say more?" she returned with painful sadness in her tone. ''Ah life is indeed harder to sustain patiently than I thought! The world requires conditions which it places between the heart's of God's creatures and their dearest wishes, and I fear me those who reject them, will be called ungrateful and stubborn. But sir, to end this matter, I will say that I must not put ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 27 my little girl from my own care, and in doing my duty, however hard may be the path I shall have to tread and the difficulties to surmount, I shall look to God for help, and do believe that I shall not look in vain." You are blindly turning your face from one of Ilis especial favors, if you could but see it," answer- ed the Doctor somewhat impatiently. 1 am anxious and ready to assist you, and you refuse it. I hope you will not have cause to regret the step you are taking, but I much fear you will. Remember this, however, and it is all that I can say now ; you will find that my experience in the world has rendered me a correct judge of what is before you in your position, and when you too, through that experience, have gained the knowledge I have, and can make up your mind to accept my advice and assistance, I am still willing to befriend jon. Till then, I leave you to experiment. I may not give you the situation you have open for you now," he added, ''for it must be filled soon, and your rejection renders it necessary I should look further. There may be some other way, however." He bowed and turned to go, leaving her standing near the middle of the room with a storm at heart be- ^ yond his keenest preception. She could not seQ her way clearly, or make a distinction between accepting or rejecting finally, for her child's sake. And during the struggle, he passed out and was gone. "Oh, what have I done!" she moaned. "He would have been my friend, and I could have trusted him, but now I haye sent him from me, perhaps feel- ing that all his kindly interest was wasted, and may 28 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. never again find one who will be the same friend to a lonely stranger he would have been ! My Father in mercy guide me, for oh, indeed I am blind !" Slowly she groped her way back to her chamber, in such an agony of mind as scarcely to be able to stand. Little Ada lay sobbing bitterly upon the bed, and a momentary forgetfulness of the sharp pain she endured, came with her endeavors to sooth her. But after a time when the child again slept, all her doubts fears and struggles came back, and as on the night previous, she paced her room in a wild conflict of feeling till the gray dawn crept in at the window, and she was compelled from exhaustion to lie down. CHAPTER III. A WEEK had passed away, and Mrs. Meredith was almost dispairing. .She could not go out and leave her little girl, and the answers to her advertisement had been discouraging. She found all that Doctor Clifton had warned her of, painfull}'' true. Some were cold and reserved, leaving her at once after a few inquiries — some were quizzi-cal and openly sus- picious — which was an almost intolerable torture to a nature like hers. Knowing her own integrity, and purity of purpose, and feeling the great willingness at heart to bear all things for the sake of right, it was a sore trial to be looked upon as the world looked on her, and suspected of evil she might not combat with- out exposure of her most sacred feelings, and the past ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 29 which she was seeking so jealously to hide. More had to be borne than she had even dreamed, with lier worst fears alive, and she began to doubt the pro- priety of the step she had taken in rejecting Doctor Clifton's conditionts. Of the two alternatives, she found tliis the bitterest by far, for now crept in the terrible fear that her means would all be exhausted before she could gain a situation, and then what could she do with her child to depend on her? She would have to go forth into the world, and perhaps see the little creature for whom she was suffering all this pain and anxiety, deprived of even the commonest necesi- ties of life, and be unable to supply her. The future seemed very dark and hopeless, — her strength was fast failing beneath the trial, and still she knew not what to do, or how to act. Care and loss of rest occasioned by her anxiety, was making terrible in roads on her health, and there was also a dread of personal illness added to her other troubles. But in the midst of all this when she was almost ready to sink down helpless and despairing, Doctor Clifton came back. His kind heart relented when he thought of her distress and loneliness, and the memo- ry of her sweet young face lived too vividly in his heart for him to abandon her mercilessly to the dangers of a world of which she had so little experience. After all it was but natural that she should cling to her child, and while he felt annoyed at the idea of bringing them both into his house, he admired the spirit of devoted love that had made her refuse to part with the little one; and during a week's time to re- flect upon the matter, had allowed himself to decide 30 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. in her fa^or, provided she had been unsuccessful in making other arrangements. His mind had been sorely disturbed about her, and after making this decision, he felt much better pleased with himself than he had done since he left her. And while under the influence of the feeling, he went back to the hotel to inquire about her. Shew^as still there, they informed him, and he sent up his card. "Ah!" he said, as she appeared, looking worn and ill. " You have found it as I told you, I see by your face. I declare, you are nearly ill — your hand is burning with fever! How do you get on?" "Badly," she answered drearily. " It is even worse than you told me, and my strength is less to bear it than I thought, though my will is unchanged. Oh, I shall be ill, and then wdiat wih become of Ada?" "Do not be alarmed," he returned pityingly re- garding the shaking, suffering form of the woman. "I have thought the matter over, and have spoken with my daughter about you. If you wish to come, you may bring your child, and we will see how things can be arranged." With a glad cry she caught his hand to her Hps and pressed it as a little child might have done. His eyes filled instantly with tears and the sight of her grateful face brought a hearty self reproach "What a cruel old wM'etch I have been to let you suffer so!" he said wiping his face. "But come, I will take you home with me, and make up for it in future. Will you go with me now^?" " Willingly," she returned brokenly. OR A, THE LOST WIFE. 31 "Oh, sir, may Heaven bless you! I was almost ready to doubt God's goodness, but you have proved that it is with me still, even in my weakness." She went up stairs to get her things, and under the influence of the generous impulses at work in his heart he went out to the office and paid her bill, ordered her baggage sent to his residence, and then awaited her in the Ladies' Parlor. "What a singular interest this woman excites in me," he mused as he waited. "Idontknowwhy itis, but I suppose its her youth and helplessness. And then she is so grateful ! It will be a pleasure to help the little thing. But bless me, she is a very child, and I almost think I am a fool to place her in such a position in my family. What will she do with those wild girls ! But never mind, we'll see." And so dis- missing the perplexities of the present from his mind, the Doctor met Mrs. M.eredith when she came down, and conducted her to his carriage which was waiting, telling her that her baggage would be sent after them, and he would take her home at once. A strange, fatherly sort of feeling crept into the good old gentleman's heart as he seated the lady by his side and drove off. Then little Ada's pure eyes looking straight to his with their innocent incjuir- ing gaze, stirred a yearning tenderness he could not have understood', had he not been a father. With that same amotion of tenderness, he had a thousand times lifted his own chihlren to his bosom, and now. with an irrisistable impulse, he bent his head to print a soft kiss on the upturned brow, and was rewarded by a bri^rht, confiding smile that drew him strongly 32 ORA, THE LOST WIFE toward the little innocent being. He now began to wonder that a feeling of repugnance had ever existed against the idea of re6eiving her in his home; but at the same time his heart was relenting and swelling with such tenderness his judgment told him that he was acting unwisely in placing a governess over his children who had a child of her own to look after and claim her time. On the way, he spoke of the different members of his family in a manner which gave her some insight into their characters. Mrs. Meredith listened with great attention, and asked a number of questions which betrayed that interest to her employer, and which pleased him still more, since it spoke well for her in the duties that waited her in the future. Madeline met them with a kind, easy grace that warmed her heart toward her at once, and Mrs. Meredith's first thought, as she looked into her sweet, quiet face was: ''We shall be friends, at least." The children v/ere shy and curious with the exception of Agnes, who after a slight nod when Dr. Clifton pre- sented her to her future governess, quietly seated her- self in a corner and seemed to pay no further atten- tion. Mary, after a shy glance into the pale sweet face of the mother, carried off the child to a sofa where they soon made friends and began a regular game of romps ; Kate was more than usually quiet. After a moment, Madeline excused herself and went out, but soon returned with a girl who she said would show her up to her room. Ora, as we love to call our heroine, rose and taking Ada from Mary with a winning smile which warmed the little girl's heart, ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 33 went up stairs, whither in a short time Madeline fol- lowed. There was a look in the blue eyes of the stranger as she went out, that haunted the warm- hearted maiden, and her extreme youth and loneliness, touched her deeply. Her father had said nothing to her in regard to the lady's history except that she was of a good family, and that misfortune had thrown her upon her own exertions for support. This was enough. Beyond, everything was sacred to herself unless she chose to confide in her ; but she was sor- rowing, and needed sympathy, and at the risk of being thought intrusive, she would go up to her room. The door stood very slightly ajar, and gently push- ing it back, Madeline discovered Mrs. Meredith in a far corner of the room with her face buried in the Bofa, while smothered sobs, and low broken murmurs stirred the silence of the chamber. Ada was clasped to her bosom with her right arm, her little wandering eyes brimming with tears, her lips quivering with distress. The picture was too touching for quiet con templation. With a throbbing heart the gentle girl glided to her side and passed her arm about the slight form of the kneeling woman. ''Forgive me if I intrude," she said with a voice laden with loving sympathy, "but I cannot bear to see you looking so distressed and lonely. Be com- forted. You shall not feel the need of friends here." Ora lifted her head and fixed her brimming eyes on the sweet girlish face. There was a glad light in them that the tears could not hide, and her voice was broken and tremulous as she replied : ''You mistake me. I do not weep for distress, 34 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. but for thankfulness. My heart is so full at this unex- pected blessing, that words are powerless to express what I feel. You do not know what it is to be alone and friendless, and to meet with disappointment till dispair has well nigh paralyzed every faculty. Per- haps I am not fit for what I have undertaken ; but God knoweth my will is good, my motives pure, and with His aid, I will try to merit your kindness. May He l)less you and your kind father as you deserve. I had not hoped for such a haven of rest as this." I trust you may find it so, indeed," replied Made- line gently. " But even here you will doubtless find trials. We are not faultless, and you will remember that every picture has its light and shade. But we do hope j^ou will find more of light than shadow here. We will try to make you happy if we can." "Thank you — you are too good," murmured Ora thoroughly unnerved. "Do not think me altogeth-er weak and babyish," she added after a short pause. "I have suffered so much anxiety lately, that this relief has entirely overcome me. I shall soon be my- self again." Just then a servant was heard in the hall with her trunks, and Ora hastily arose to her feet and went toward the glass to brush her hair which had fallen in disorder about her flushed face. Madeline went for- ward and saw the trunks brought and deposited in the room, and then coming back to where Ora stood, she said earnestly : "You must try to feel at home and satisfied with us, and always look upon me as a friend. Can I do anything for you ?" OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 35 ^'NotliiDg, thank you." Ora had agaiu to struggle with her tears and did not dare trust herself to speak further. But she clasped the small white hand of the daughter as she had clasped the father's, and pressed a grateful kiss upon it. Madeline's eyes filled as she released it, and then hastened from the room lest she too should lose all Belf control. A pretty, tidy Irish girl came in soon, and said Dr. Clifton had sent her to take care of baby, and Ora unpacked her trunk to get at the little one's wardrobe. The girl took the white frock handed out, and dressed the child while the lady replaced the dress she wore, with an elegant black bombazine and crape collar, adding no ornaments than those she always wore. Madeline came in herself when the tea bell rang, and the two ladies descended the stairs together. Here the whole family now assembled, including Mr. Harry Clifton whose portrait we shall attempt to draw for the reader. When Mrs'. Meredith entered with Madeline, he was stretched at full length upon the sola, his broad white forehead supported by a hand, white and deli- cate as a woman's, and on one finger of which sparkled I single diamond. His hair was very profuse and curling round his head in beautiful glossy rings. His browns were high, arched and very dark — his eves in color like his sister's—a deep rich brown — changing to a cold, steely gray in nipments of passion. His nose was slightly aquiline., rather prominent, and betrayed the liigh proud nature in the thin, swelling nostrils, and the fine lines of the mouth. The cheek 36 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. bones rose high and firm in their outline, the ch^n heavy, the lips liill, the teeth glitteringly white and maryelously beautiful. He lifted his eyes only for an instant to the face of the young governess as she entered and was pre- sented by Dr. Clifton, with one keen, penetrating glance that cut her like a knife, and then seemed totally to ignore her presence. He was evidently moody, and took his seat at the table in utter silence. The few advances made by his father to open a conversation, met with no response except merely a respectful acknowledgment without warmth. And knowing his son's peculiar moods, the old gentleman abandoned the effort. Ora was very ill at ease. A strange nervous dread made her quiver till she almost spilled her tea in lift ing the cup to her lips. But she exerted herself bravely to hide her constraint, and converse in an ordinary tone of voice, and with an easy, self-possessed manner with Madeline and her father. Mary and Kate were each content to eat in silence Agnes being usually quiet, became no object of atten tion from taciturnity now. But two or three times during the meal, Harry Clifton,whose keen eyes took in everything without seeming to, discovered a strangely baleful light in the girl's black eyes, and her red lip curve with a scornful smile. For an instant his own face lighted with a half defined expression of intelli- gent interpretation of the child's thoughts — but in an instant afterward, he appeared absorbed in thought. Before the others had done, he gravely rose and ex- cusing himself passed from the room to his stufly. OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 37 No comments were made upon him in his absence, a^d Ora concluded the grave, almost severe silence he maintained, to be too natural to excite remark. As soon as she could, she too excused herself on the plea of weariness and attention to her little girl — and went to her room. That night long after the family retired, she lay thinking of her new position, her duties, and pain- fully reviewing her abilities, to judge if she might fulfill them. A thousand misgivings tormented her, and she wondered if they would be kind and patient with her amid diflSculties. Would Dr. Clifton remain her friend — would Madeline remain the kind, gentle, thoughtful being she had proved herself in the outset of her new career ? Would the children ever learn to love her? Here again misgivings intruded upon her thoughts. Little fear was there for Mary Staunton. A look into the child's eyes proved her heart hers already, but she was not so sure of Kate and Agnes. And well she knew that everything depended upon the successful control of her pupils — and -the best con- trol, is ever through love. Could she but win their love and confidence she had no fears for the future. Otherwise, much might be dreaded. Thus pondering, she at length fell asleep with her little daughter's bright head nestling upon her bosom. CHAPTER IV. A WEEK passed away ere Ora Meredith felt herscli fairl}^ installed in her new home, notwithstanding the kindness of its members. It took that length of time to wear away the strangeness and newness of things around her. Madeline's kindness and sympathy grew with her acquaintance of the young governess, and both Mary and Kate were in three days her declared friends. Agnes held aloof coldly, as she ever did from friends or strangers. Flarry Clifton she had not seen more than two or three times, and the old gentleman, though much abroad, was almost as in- visible at home except when at his meals. Then he was kind, genial and almost fatherly in his manner. His prepossession in her favor evidently increased, and things bade fair to run smoothly. What a sense of rest and peace crept into the weary woman's heart as she realized it. Once used to the regular routine of affairs, she was now beginning to feel the real sweetness of rest and security. There was but one thing that really disturbed her, and prevented heart and mind from falling into that calm which generally follows excitement and unrest* This was a knowledge of Agnes' dislike. She had seized every opportunity to win the child to her, but beneath her cold reserve, lurked a stronger barrier in the shape of a growing hatred. She had studied her carefully, tried to win attention, but found hei efforts fruitless in every respect. The little creature (38) oil A, THE LOST WIFE. 39 was an enigma, and she had no key to solve it. Here was a seed for future trouble, and unless she could master it, and plant it in proper soil she felt that it would germinate for evil purposes. One morning seated at her desk in the school- room, she observed that Agnes sat idly twirling the leaves of her book, her eyes fixed upon the branches of a tree that stood outside the window. For some time she allowed her to remain absorbed in her own fancies, and then spoke to her gently. "Agnes you are not studying." " I know it," without turning her head, "Well, why not?" "Because I do not choose to." " Agnes !" Ora^s voice spoke the pain she felt. She was not astonished. She knew that sooner or later there must be war between them. The time had come. One or the other must conquer. The girl turned her brilliant eyes upon the pale sad face of her governess with an expression no child should ever wear. It was full of insolent scorn, hate and defiance. " Come to me," said Ora quieting her tone to one of calm authority. The girl did not heed or move, but kept her eyes fixed upon her face. " Will you?" "No." " Agnes !" A low laugh responded. Now the blue eyes cf the governess grew dark, almost black with intense determination. They met the fiiery black orbs of the 40 OB A, THE LOST WIFE. pupil in a steady gaze, and saw burning there all the stronger, more evil passions of her strange nature. She knew that her whole soul was roused against her, and she must subdue it, and spoke with the resolve thrilling through her voice. " Agnes, you must obey me, or I must punish you. Come to me." "I will not! you dare not touch me!" Ora rose and crossed the room quickly, but with a quiet, even step. The tumultuous feelings of pain and anger that rose in her heart she put down with a mighty effort, that she might bend every energy to one pur- pose with steady precision. Agnes' eyes blazed, and she looked like a young tigress ready to spring upon its prey as her governess approached her; but there was something in the steady glance of the blue eyes bent on hers, that checked her in spite of herself. "Do not touch me," she gasped passionately. "I will call Mr. Clifton." "What is all this?" spoke Harry Clifton at the door. His study adjoined the schoolroom, and the door being slightly ajar, the voices had attracted him. Quick as thought Agnes sprang past Ora's outstretch- ed hand before it touched her shoulder, and stood by the young physician. "Do not let that woman touch me ! If she does, 1 shall murder her!" Ora turned to face the intruder, and met a glance that exasperated her. There was no surprise in his face. Only a quiet, half triumphant smile softly creeping about his mouth, and yet the brilliant eyes ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 41 had a slight look of inquiry. She seemed to feel their meaning. They said. " Has this pale, delicate little woman enough of nerve and stamina in her to put down this young tornado of rebellion ? Let us see." " Mr. Clifton, have you come here to interfere with my authority, or support it?" she asked gazing straight into his eyes. " Do you need support ?" he asked without a change of expression. " No sir," decidedly, " If you come not to inter- fere, leave me to accomplish my own purposes. Miss Montes rebels against my authority. I desire to, and must, establish it firmly for her sake and my own — for the sake of my other pupils — the duty I owe your family in the position I hold. Have you anything to say ?" There was a flash of feeling on his handsome face for one instant, but the nature of that feeling could not be determined, it faded so quicklj. He answered by a question. " Do you mean to punish her?" "Yes." " Why?" "Because I have told her she must obey me, or I should have to punish her. I have passed my word. It cannot be broken." " You are determined to use severe measures?" " Mr. Clifton." Ora had to struggle hard to main- tain her steadiness and quiet tone of voice. "I wish to know distinctly if you came here to interfere with me." 4 42 ORA, THE LOST WIFE " Supposing I have, what then ?" his tone was al most insolent. Then sir, I must say that you are very wrong in the course you are taking. If I cannot control my pu- pils entirely as I desire, how am I to gain over them a proper influence for good? Understand me, sir, T claim this as my domain. I must be mistress here or nothing. Allow me to judge of the nature of the ofi*ences I am called upon to punish, and to punish according to my judgment. This I must exact, or resign my place." She had said more under the spur of exasperated " feeling, than she knew to be prudent, but the words had gone forth and she would bravely abide the re- sult. She felt herself right, and no power could shake her purpose. Her position must be firmly » established or destroyed forever. She would stand her ground and endeavor to gain tJie field. He was regarding her with an unreadable expression, and stood silent for a moment after she had done speaking. Then he bowed frigidly, saying in cold, measured tones. " Certainly, madam, I have no right to interfere with your authority here, and of course must allow that you know how to use it. May I ask, however, that you will fully explain the difficulty ?" Ora explained brie%, and with dignity. He lis- tened almost respectfully to her clear statement, then with a second bow frigid as the first, turned upon his heel and quitted the room, saying simplv : " I leave her to your tender mercies." She heard him enter his room, whistling as if ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 43 nothing had occurred. Her blood was boiling with indignation, until her cheeks were stained crimson with the tide, but her quiet, firm manner underwent no change, as she again faced the rebellious girl who had caused this commotion. The child's eyes still glared defiance, even though she had lost her champ- ion. It would be hard to say which of the two -were strung by a stronger purpose — the child or the wo- man. But Ora had gained one victory. She took courage for the second. " Agnes, I am very sorry to punish you," she began gently. " But you have disobeyed me, defied my au- thority — sought to enlist others in your favor against me, and, combining the whole, leave me to sum up a most serious offence. I have told you I should pun- ish you, and I must do it, although it pains me deep- ly. Indeed the punishment is as severe for me, as I can possibly make it for you, for I had hoped better things of you. I have tried to make you love me, and through your love, to win you gently to your duties, helping you happily through them. Tou put it out of my power by ungrounded dielike. I cannot conceive why you should dislike or wish to wound me. When I think how much your friends will be pained at this, it pains me doubly ; and when I remem- ber that you are motherless, the pam increases till it becomes a sore and bitter trial to punish you. Yet I must do it, because you have disobeyed me, and I have said I would punish you.'' Agnes' blazing eyes were obgcured by a mist. Had the earnest tones and sincere manner of her teacher reached a place in that strange, unchildlike 44 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. heart? She felt the supremacy of the will she had set herself up against, as her subdued manner indi- cated, but she was not conquered. She turned her back upon her, partly in defiance, partly to hide the tears she could not repress. Ora took her hand and drew her resistingly to- ward her desk. " Now Agnes, I shall banish you from the school- room for the remainder of the day. You cannot come down to dinner or tea, and I shall keep you locked in your room. Dr. Clifton and bis daughter must be informed of your disgrace, and when you come out, you must make up your mind to confess your fault and sorrow for it to them and myself This is a severe punishment my child, but you force me to inflict it. It is always easier and pleasanter to do right. Do you not see into what pain and sor- row you will cast every member of this family, by your willfulness? Surely, you will soon feel sorry to have wounded those who love you so much, and de- sire only your good." Agnes did not reply, and Ora taking her arm, now led her unresistingly from the room. She was con- quering. Only a few more judicious movements, and the victory would be complete. When she reached the room, she did not thrust her in angrily, and leave her. But she repeated very sadly and feelingly. "Agnes, I am very sorry you have forced me to punish you so severely. I can see into your heart, my child, and know what I am doing, but I cannot help it. Try to conquer the bad spirit that possesses OR A, THE LOST WIFE. 45 you and give rise to better and nobler feelings. Here is your book. You must study your lesson. I will come and hear it at noon." She passed out and locked the door without more words, and Agnes scowled darkly after her. But her gentle, loving, sorrowful tones were still ringing in her ear, and gradually subduing the anger that had blazed up against her. For the first time in her life, a chord in her heart had been touched, and it vibrated to that touch with a strange thrill the child could not define. Love and tenderness she had had all her life, and had not heeded it because it was untempered by firmness and decision. Here she found a spirit softened with love, strengthened with purpose; and with the inherent sense which compre- hends and admires the stronger and nobler powers of superior minds, this child of dark and bitter pas- sions slowly began to feel the dawn of a better and higher nature. The narration of the little episode of the morning, did cast a shadow over the family circle which Ora felt like a child. Madeline's gentle face grew sad and her eyes were full of tears. Dr. Clifton was grave, but he said promptly. "You did right. We have been perhaps too con- scientiously tender with Agnes because she was or- phaned and dependent upon us. We do not wish her ever to feel her dependence. But there are ele- ments in her nature that must either be eradicated ©r subdued, else I forsee trouble for her future." " I am riot sure that we have done her a kindness by allowing her willful nature full scope. We have 46 ORAj THE LOST WIFE vainly tried to win her. We had no heart to punish her." " Here is where serious mistakes are often made," observed Ora. "As much harm may be done by mistaken kindness as intentional wrong." But she forbore to add any more, and silence fell upon the l)arty. In her recital she had not touched upon the part Harry Clifton had played in the aflfair, and he appeared utterly oblivious to the most remote knowl- edge, preserving unbroken silence throughout. When Ora returned to the schoolroom, he pointed over his shoulder after her as she mounted the stairs, and said with a smile. " We've caught a tartar, Mad. Whew ! you should have seen her eyes flash !" ''Why, did you see it?" asked Madeline surprised. "Yes, I went in on her at the outset, hearing the rumpus from my study. By George, a Queen might have envied her!" and he laughed, a low short laugh. "How was it? She represented it rightly?" asked Madeline half disturbed. " Perfectly." He then explained what passed, word for word. "I am only surprised at her forbearance with me in her recital," he said in conclusion. " Here we have more strength of character than I had supposed," said the Doctor. " It is a good omen, when we take into consideration her loving gentle- ness and sweetness of disposition. I think from present appearances, we may trust her." "Dont be too hasty my good Father; Aggie is a little volcano, and Mrs. Meredith has not succeeded ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 47 in heaving the stone over the mouth of the crater Wait till she's conquered." " I wish she may have a bloodless victory said the Doctor." Madeline was silent. Well, there's one thing sure," added Harry more lightly than was his wont. "There is a queen here, and she is pretty sure to exclude trespassers from her domains. I for one have no further desire to risk my head, and leave her to reign in peace." So saying, he took up his hat and went out. Agnes lifted her eyes calmly to her teacher's face when she went up to hear her lessons, and handing her the book recited her task without hesitation or blunder. Ora contented herself with saying kindly : That is well," and marking another lesson, left her to herself again. At evening, when she went up, she found her with a hot, flushed face, and traces of tears on her cheeks She had evidently been weeping bitterly, but she recited her lesson promptly as before, and then Ora sat down by her in the gathering shades and taking the child's hand, asked softly : " Aggie, are you sorry for your fault ?" The answer was prompt and candid as the girl laid her cheek burning with blushes on her teacher's knee. " Yes, very sorry." Ora's heart throbbed. Poor child" she thought. What a struggle it must have cost her to bring her- self to this." She stooped and kissed her, saying: There is the seal of your forgiveness. We will be friends in future, Aggie, not foes, and happiness will spring from love." 48 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. Ah, what a subtle power is that which springs frora kindness. AVithout knowing it, Ora Meredith was slowly gathering np the stray threads of that fierce child's better nature, and winding them about herself in a bond that could break only with death. The inherent promptings of the child's nature lead her to despise those whom she could rule, to revere, and love the only one whom she had ever seen who had used a controlling power over her. Much to the surprise of every member of the fami- ly, Agnes confessed her fault to Dr. Clifton and Made- line on the following morning, frankly, and expressed her sorrow. They had never before known her to yield to a will opposed to her own, and give way to better feelings. They could not understand it. So difierent — so unlike herself with that shy, yet frank manner, and the hot blushes mantling her cheek while she owned her error. Was the teacher a magician, thus to transform hei in a day ? CHAPTER V. In the quiet and hush of the evening hour, Dr Clifton's family had strolled one after another into the library. Dark clouds drifted without, and an occasional patter of rain, made the fire look more bright and cheering within. Ora sat in a far corner, at the piano, Agnes at her side wrapt in a dreamy spell born of sad music. Dr. Clifton reposed upon a ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 49 lounge at ease, while Madeline sat looking listlessly into the grate, casting now and then a look of quiet interest upon the pale sweet face just outlined against the crimson wall paper. The singer's thoughts must have been busy with the past, there was such a low, lingering sweetness in her tones. Gradually the wandering fingers steadied, and the VKjice which had given forth only brief snatches of Bong, now swelled out in a touching " Invocation." Tho' thine eyes be shaded, and thy cheek be faded — Tho' the seal of death be on thy brow, iStiU no fate can sever our true hearts fo rever. Tell me love, where dwells thy spirit nowV Does it rest in stillness, 'mid the gloomy chillness, In the silent chambers of the tomb ? Does it wander darkling, 'mid the diamond sparkling, 111 the deep mouthed caverned halls of gloom? Where the boundlesss ocean rolls in ceaseless motion, Does it join the dwellers of the deep; Do the fairy daughters of the crystal waters Lull thee with the sound of streams to sleep? ** By the hopes that perished — by the love we cherished. By the smile that ever answered min'e — Give, oh, give some token, ere my heart be broken, That shall lead my weary soul to thine/' Madeline's tears were dropping silently on her black dress as the thrilling tones died away in a mournful refrain. No words can express the passion- ate sweetness of the voice whose power carried the worda deep into the hearts of her hearers. Even Dr. CliftOv^'s eyes swam in tears, and Agnes stood with her little hands clasped, and her bosom heaving with wild eautioii when it was ended. Kate and Marv had paused in some light amusement they were about 5 50 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. to begin, and when the song was finished, stole soft- ly from the room with shadows upon their young faces. It brought back the dead face of a lost mother on a tide of melting memories. The others thought only of her whose passionate heart had for a brief space of time thrown oflf the mask of serene composure to wail out a plea to some lost one for whom it longed. The spell was complete. It seemed almost sacrilege to breath a word which would dissipate the memory of those sad strains which still seemed to stir the air with their tremu- lous sweetness. It was soon broken, however, by a voice which sounded hard and cynical as Harry came in by a side door and advanced toward the grate. " Ton my word, you all seem to love darkness, bur- rowing yourselves in this gloomy place like so many mice. What's the attraction ?" "Oh, brother, it always seems nice and* cosy in here," replied Madeline pleasantly, hoping to soften the effect of his tones, " and then Mrs. Meredith was singing." " So I perceived as I entered," he replied dryly. "By the way, madam, did it never occur to you to make a better use of your voice — on the stage, foi instance? It would be a vast difierence from the dull, plodding life of a governess." His words were insulting, and Madeline spoke quickly, with a troubled look. "Brother! how you talk! How can you be so rude ? The stage, indeed !" The last words were spoken in a lower tone, but OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 51 they caught Ora's ears, whose heart swelled grate- fully. His voice had broken very painfully u])on her under the influence of the memories that would rise in her heart, and his words stung her with a deep sense of injustice and insult; but she answered him in a voice as calm and unruffled as usual,with a slight tinge of coolness she could not repress. "I do not doubt it would be vastly different as you say ; but fortunately, even in misfortune and pover- ty, we are still at liberty to choose the mode of labor which provides us with bread. Mine, certainly, could not approach to anything like publicity." " Why, do you fear the public he asked with a glance of cool affrontery. Her brow flushed hotly, but she lifted her eyes to his face as she rose and came toward the grate with a steady gaze, and scornful lip, saying. " No sir, I should v^oifear the public, but I despise it too much to make of myself a plaything for its amusement." The entrance of a servant with cards prevented fur- ther remark- on his part, and she turned aside with a throbbing heart. His wanton rudeness had moved her with unusual force. As she turned, she caught a full view of Madeline's face as she took the cards. There was a brilliant flush upon her cheek and a light in her eyes which spoke volumes as she repeated 'Guy Bartoni,' 'Charles Lafarge.' Papa, Guy has re- turned." "Indeed! John, light the gas and show him in here. It is warm and pleasant in this room my dear, and he is no stranger," he added to Madeline whose itoiftKSlTY OF ILLINOIS 52 OR A, THE LOST \V ME. vivid color dee|)ened as her father ttias rt^o^i. his right to a familiar footing in the famil3\ Ne?-h>^,r of them noticed the half gasp of th^ gf>V3rness a\ the name, nor the ashy paleness which overspread her featm^es. Harry alone had caught the stiflec sound of her quick drawn breath and noted the pallo. of her face as he caught a slight glimpse of her pro tile, and a smile wreathed his lips, while his grea eyes flashed out a glance of triumph. In a moment she had glided unnoticed, except by him from the room. " Ah ! there is a web here, eh he half muttered under his breath. " What is it ? Shall we get hold of the meshes by and by, and unravel it? We shall see." The smile of satisfaction grew broad upon his face, lighting it to a look of generous cordiality as he smoothed and stroked his cheek softly with a soft white hand. The sister mistook it for pleasure at the new arrival, and looked grateful and happy. A deadly faintness had seized Ora at the sound of the first name Madeline had spoken, and she hasten- ed from the room to hide the mortal fear that struck to her heart like a blow. As she mounted the stairs, the gentlemen came out of the parlor and preceded by the servant, crossed the hall toward the library door. Casting one look over the balustrade as she gained the landing, she saw distinctly, two faces strongly lighted by the hall lamp. One was dark and foreign, with heavy beard and large black eyes. The other was fair— almost boyish with dancing blue ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 53 eyes and a cherry mouth that seemed forever laugh- ing amid its dimples. With a low moan, she press- ed her hand over her heart and dragged herself slowly to her room where she threw herself upon her knees beside a chair and buried her face in the arms she threw over the cushion. It was an attitude she always assumed when in pain. How long she remained thus, she could not tell ; but at length she was roused by a knock at her door. Springing up, she demanded what was wanted in a voice which shook slightly in spite of her eJBforts to control it. "Master Harry says, will you please come down and favor us with some music, ' returned John without. " Tell your master that I am not well, and desire to be excused," she replied and as the servant re- treated, she clasped both hands over her forehead with a gesture of indescribable pain, " Oh, why does that man seek to torture me ?" she groaned. " Insults, taunts and veiled sarcasm is al3 that he can give me. Oh, heaven grant that he did not observe me when I heard his name. Perhaps he did, and has sent for me to further his eflfort to un- derstand why it should move me. But no, it was only to add another sting to the insult of to-night and I will not seem to take any further notice. Whati^ it that makes him pursue me with hate? Oh, if he should discover that Guy Bartoni is known to me, what may not follow ? I dare not think of it. I seem to be holding a cup in which sparkles all the wine of life there is left to me. Will his hand strike it down and leave me to die of thirst in a wilderness of 54 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. misery? Oh, why has he come here? How did he find that fair young dove whose heart he has won. I could see it by the flush on her cheek, and the light in her eye ! Can he be her chosen lover ? Oh^ God forbid 1 The Vulture with the Dove — oh, Heav- en is too merciful to mate her thus. I should die to see her wed him — sweet beautiful Madeline ! Ah, what shall I do — how escape his eye ? How shall I warn her? Dare I warn her at all? Oh, I am in a strait. Father, help me !" She had been pacing the floor, and now she fell upon her knees. Thus it ever is, in our misery. We commune with ourselves until we see our helpless- ness, and then we turn to that power without which we can do nothing. Hours passed before she sought her couch and endeavored to close her eyes in slumber. It was late before the family left the library. Ora upon her knees, had heard the light patter of Made- line's feet as she passed her door; a few moments later she had heard the strangers mount the stairs also and enter chambers on the same floor with hers. After- wards Dr. Clifton passed to his room. It was a half an hour later before Harry retired, and then as he went by her. door, she fancied she heard a low laugh, which stilled the beatings of her heart and made her blood course through her veins like streams of ice. What could it mean? What mischief w^as brewing against her that should bring a laugh like that to his lips? Oh, were the blight days of peace and rest, and the hopes that sprang out of them, about to fade away into the dread chaos from which she so lately escaped? CHAPTER VL A LIGHT streamed in upon Ora's face and woke lier from the disturbed slumber into which she had fallen. She rose with a sickening sense of dread, as the memory of the preceding night came back to her; and endeavored to perform the duties of her simple toilette as usual. But her head swam and her trembling fingers re- fused to perform their office. After several vain at- tempts, she realized that she was too ill to sit up, and went back again to her couch, feeling, even with all her suffering, a sense of relief when she thought that this would preclude the necessity of leaving her room during the day. It was Sunday, and school duties being removed from her thought, left her free to nurse her illness and her troubles in the quiet and solitude of her own chamber Half an hour passed, and all the rooms had given up their inmates. She heard the light, bouyant tread of the young housekeeper as she went by her door; afterwards those of the guests as they desended. Occasionally a girlish laugh reached her room, and she knew tliat Kate and Mary were enjoying their privileges of rising to breakfast with the guests, to the fullest extent. When the gentlemen went down, the noise suddenly ceased and then all appeared very quiet below. (55) 56 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. Ada's eyes had been open nearly an hour and the nurse had succeeded in dressing and carrying her off while her mother yet slept, so that she was now in utter solitude. A short time passed, and a servant came up to ask if slie was coming down to breakfast. She replied negatively, and when he had gone, closed her eyes w^earily and lay still. Thought was very busy with past events, and both heart and brain felt the pressure of contending emo- tions. The glimpse of a familiar face and form had had the power to recall events she would have given much to forget ; and now the quiet tide of her life was stirred again to a turbulent flow which might never again settle into the blessed calm which for a little while had made it seem so sweet. Tears hung on the tremulous lashes that lay on the white cheeks, and the masses of brown hair scattered over the pillow, were damp with cold dews of sufier- ing, when Madeline came in softly and stood over her. She had not heard the light tap on the door, nor her still lighter step as she entered; and did not even feel her presence till a soft, cool hand touched her forehead. " Oh, you are ill," began Madeline in her kind, eager, earnest waj. "'Why did you not send down word, and let me come up to you at once?" Ora looked up in her face, and smiled a sweet, patient smile. " You are too good. I do not need anj^thing but rest, and would never think of taking you from your guests." ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 57 She forced herself to speak indifferently. My guests could have done without me, for a little while, at least," Madeline replied with a soft blush. Then she took some Cologne from the dressing table and sat down beside her, bathing her head with the utmost tenderness as she continued. " Do you know that I came up here to tell you something? Miss Durand used to be my confidant and adviser in all household matters and I loved her very much ; but 1 think 1 can speak to you more freely than I could have done with her. I am not like most young girls. I have no confidants out of my own home, and you know that Papa is not the most proper confidant in all things. So you see, being obliged to go to some one, I have come to force some sympathy from you." A deeper glow rose to the fair cheeks, as, after the half hesitating and apologetic preface, she prepared to pour into Ora's ears, the story of her love and hap- piness. The lips of her suffering listener, grew more ashen in their hue, but the blue eyes unclosed with a brave, steady gaze upon the blushing face, and she forced herself to listen calml3^ "You see it has been a long time since I have seen him — Guy, I mean — and I was very much sur- prised when he came last night. He had written us from the West, but his letter never reached us. Two years ago, he went across the Plains to California, and has just returned. We were betrothed long be- fore my mother's death, but he never said anything to her or father about it particularly — I was so young. 58 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. I knew that my father liked him, though I fear poor mamma did not. She never seemed to have the con- fidence in him that papa did; but she never said anything to me about him. I was too young to think of marrying, and I begged him to wait until he returned, before much should be said in any way. He consented, and so it has stood. We corresponded as regularly as possible, and I always had delightful letters from him, dated from various places. ^' I suppose he will want the marriage to take place now at an earlj'- day." She went on a little more hurriedly. " But I cannot bear the thought of leaving papa and the children. They would miss me. Jt is the only draw-back to my happiness. I know they can never get along without me, and it is folly to think of it for a moment. No one could take my place, and Guy has set his heart upon my going with him to a beautiful residence on the Hudson^ some distance from town. I want your advice, dear Mrs. Meredith. What shall I do ? I have not given Guy an opportunity to press his wishes, as yet, but if he should, what can I say to him in excuse for re- maining with papa and the children ?" Ora's position was an extremely delicate and painful one, but she replied, gently, though with an effort. "The simple truth, dear Madeline. He cannot gainsay your wishes, surely, when he knows that they cannot do without you. No one else can fill your place, since your mother is gone, and I do not wonder at the feelings of perplexity you express. I do not like to advise upon so delicate a subject as this, but ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 59 since you ask me, I confess I cannot imagine how they could do without you at present." " I am sure they could not," returned the young girl in a tone denoting deep thought. She had appeared lost in revery during Ora's speech, and seemed only to have caught the sense of the last words. At length she added, rousing herself and speaking positively! " It is not to be thought of. I will tell Guy that he must wait longer. He may demur, but if I am not worth waiting for a while longer, I am not worth having. Still, I dread the task of telling him so." She dropped her head thoughtfully upon one hand, and Ora surveyed the sober face pityingly. " Oh, Father," she thought, ''surely thou wilt not let this pure, sweet girl be sacrificed by wedding one like him. Ah! help me to save her! I cannot bear to think of it ! What canlAo !" A hasty summons from Kate took Madeline hur- riedly from the room at this moment, and she did not see her again for several hours. But she was not forgotten by the ever thoughtful girl. A nice cup of tea and some toast came up ; and every little while a messenger was sent to know if she felt better. All day Madeline's cheeks wore the rich color it had assumed during her little narrative of the morn- ing, and her manner was slightly confused at times, as if nervous with the dread she had expressed. Harry Clifton's eyes shot roguish glances at her occasionally, which served only to increase her con- fusion, seeing which, he at last forbore, and left her in peace for the time being. The family all went to 60 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. church in the afternoon, accompanied hy the two gentlemen, and after their return, household matters occupied her till after dinner, which served to relieve Madeline till evening, from the dreaded tete-a tete. At length, however, Harry and the younger gentle- man started oif to the smoking room to enjoy their cigars, and Dr. Clifton betook himself to the Library, The little girls went up to the nursery to have a romp with Ada before bed time, and the two were left alone. It was a moment longed for as much by one as dreaded by the other, for he went up to her instantly, caught her hand, then drew her close to his bosom where she hid her face, now dyed to the forehead, with crimson. " Oh, Lina, how cruel you have been to me all this long day," he said reproachtuUy. "I have been dying to hold you here, where I have so longed, for two weary years, to fold you close, close to my heart ; and yet you hold yourself aloof now that I have come back, and give me no opportunity to say a dozen words to you alone. Look up, darling, and tell me — do you love me now as when we parted ? Are you still mine ?" As ever, dear Guy," she lifted her face from his bosom and attempted gently to withdraw herself from his arms. " You do not deem me capable of change, I hope. Until I know you unworthy, you will ever hold the first place in my heart above all others." Then tell me why you have avoided me so scru- pulously?" he questioned holding her fast and again drawing her within his embrace. I have even tried ORAj THE LOST WIFE. Gl vainly to catch your glance to reassure me. Last night I fancied this sweet face, the face of an angel, it was so radient with joy. To-day, however, I have been almost tempted to believe mj'^self deceived, you were so cold and distant." " Oh, no ! not distant or cold, dear Guy ! Only perplexed." "And why perplexed?" She looked up frankly, and with a confiding sweet- ness in her manner, beautiful to see, as she replied lowly. " Because I remembered that in the last letter I ever received from you, you told me when you came back, it would be to claim me at once for your wife—" " And so I shall," he interrupted. " I must have my bride now, without delay. Surely I have waited long enough. You do not mean to put me oflf again, do you Madeline ?" " I must, indeed I must." His brow clouded, and an expression of pain swept over her face as she observed it. " And why must you ? Explain Madeline. You profess to love me, and I cannot understand what can come between us when this is so. Your father has long known of our attachment, and favors our union. With mutual love and his approval, wliat excuse can you bring?" My father's lonely helplessness — my sister's need of me. Guy, my mother is taken from us, you well know. In my poor way, I have tried hard to fill her place, and though I know how far short my efibrts 62 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. have fallen I still know that they would miss me here, next to her. What could they do without me ? Ah, Guy, I cannot leave them yet. My duty is here, and I must not selfishly pass over it, much as I would like to gratify you." " Gratify me !" his tone was almost scornful in its bitterness, and Madeline looked at him, startled — al- most affrighted. He put her from him and strode back and forth through the room. " Oh," he said bitterly, " I had never expected this. After all this long waiting, I came back to you, my heart glowing with happiness at the thought of call- ing you mine. Then you come to me, and tell me still to wait. Plead a duty another might perform, and expect me to listen to it patiently !" A low sob replied to this outburst, and he went quickly to the sofa where she had sank and cov- ered her face with her hands to hide the tears she could not repress. " Forgive me, Madeline, if I pain you ; but I can- not bear the thought of again dragging through lone- ly, weary years without you. The disappointment of the moment made me forget myself. I did not mean to wound you, darling. Tell me that you did not mean it — that you were only trying me, to test my love." "Ah, no Guy! I am no trifler;you well know I have faith in your love, and would gladly be your wife to-morrow, could I leave my poor father, and the darling children my dying mother confided to my care. It pains me to disappoint you. Still I must do it. I have thought a great deal about it, ORA, THE LOST WIFE. G3 and the more 1 think, the more I feel the sense of duty which binds me here. If I could stay with them after our marriage, it would be diflferent, but that, you have always given me to understand, I must not ex- pect to do. Therefore the only way left me, is to say ' wait until I can leave then safely.' I cannot do it now." The interview was long, and very painful to the devoted girl whose love and duty were thus divided. The lover became more earnest as she persisted in her refusah He was angry and persuasive by turns, but she remained firm, and they parted in mutual trouble. Madeline carried an aching heart and tear wet face to her pillow that night. Guy was angry and impatient. He was both impulsive and selfish, and could ill brook opposition to his wishes. In Madeline he had expected to find a pliant subject, and her firmness surprised and galled him. He left her a wild, gay and very loving girl. He came back to find her a strong, firm woman, with a depth of thought and purpose beyond his most extravagant ideas. He did not like the change. Women, accord- ing to his views, ought never to have a wish, except through their husbands, and he wanted his wife to be hisslave,not his companion on the footing of an equal, with wishes and opinions independent of his own. Strange as it may seem, on reflection, the world claims a very large class of men with the same ideas — much too large for the happiness of that portion of the opposite sex, who are in every way fitted to stand on an equal footing, morally and in an intellec' tual sense of the word. CHAPTER VII. Monday morning found Mrs. Meredith at her post, but she looked pale and ill, so that her excuses for not going below stairs, were readily accepted by all the family. Unsuspecting, none except the ever watch- ful Harr}^, could see a deeper motive in her with- drawal, than to avoid meeting strangers while feeling too ill to mix with society. But the one hasty glimpse of her pallid face and wild eyes on the announcement of the visitors, had roused his interest to an intense degree. He knew that there was cause connected with them for the course she was pursuing, and he re- solved to fathom the mystery. His first attempt proved futile. By the way Guy " he had remarked to Bartoni at breakfast, ''you have been in St. Louis a great deal. Did j^ou ever, when there, meet with a Mrs. Meredith?" " Meredith ? No, I cannot remember that I ever did. Why do you ask ? " '' O, a casual question. My sister's governess came from there, and having once, undoubtedly, moved in the more refined circles of society, I thought you might possibly have known her." "I think not. I have no reccollection of such a person." Conversation changed to various subjects, but had little life in it. Madeline looked sad though evidently (m ORA, THE LOST WIFE. G5 Btriving to appear cheerful. Bartoni was in no inooJ for talking more than politeness required, and the Doctor was sober and thoughtful. In the sad lace of his child and the discontented one of her suitor, he read the difficulty between them, and it disturbed his usual happy flow of spirits. He could not see a cloud upon the beloved face of his devoted child without acute pain ; and the very cause of her sadness, en- deared her to him but the more. In her self-denying love, he saw a new beauty of character which exalted her. An intense and proud admiration mingled with the warm emotions of paternal affection stirring in his bosom. Now more than ever, he felt how deep would be the loss, were she to go from his fireside- The very thought brought a mist to his eyes which he brushed aside hastily to keep watchful eyes from ob- serving. After breakfast, Harry and Charles Lafarge, who appeared the sole exception to the general depression, strolled off together, and the Dr. prepared for his usual round of professional visits. On leaving the room, Bartoni had craved a private interview, but he felt himself unequal to it in his present state of mind, and put him off till his return. The lover submitted with a bad grace, and went to his room, and kissing the little girls, the Doctor sent them up to their govern- ess, dismissed the servants, and turned to his daughter. Well, my child, how-is it ? Must I give you away?'^ "•No, no, dear papa !* not now ! I cannot leave you and my darlings yet," she replied eagerly, but in tear- ful sorrow. " I could not be so selfish as to think of 66 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. Then I must tell Guy I cannot spare you ? He cannot be kept long in suspense. You wish me to say to him when I grant him the interview promised, that I cannot give you up ?" Yes, dear father, it is my sincere wish. It dis- turbs him very much, and I feel sorry to disappoint him, yet it must be so. Be gentle and kind with him, father, but be decided." Suppose he will not take my refusal, or resigns his suit in consequence ?" Ah, no ! he could not do that — at least, if he loves me, he would rather wait than give me up," she cried in a startled way. ''If he could, his love would not be the treasure I have deemed it. I will not think such a thing of him." The Doctor smiled. Such is woman's devotion. She will not believe anything unworthy the object of her love, till it is proved to her unmistakably ! "Well, my love," he said after a little pause. "I will do as you wish, the more readily since I feel how utterl}^ miserable we should all be to lose you. But it pains me to see you thus sacrificing yourself for us. We ought to be more unselfish. No, no, best, dearest of fathers ! you have never been guilty of a selfish thing ! It is my earnest wish. I could not be happy even with him, and know that you needed me, and I far away. Only try to soften tliis disappointment for him, and my heart will be lighter. He feels it so keenly!" Her eyes were full of tears, the lips quivering with grief. Dr. Clifton drew her to his heart. My brave, generous, noble-hearted child! Hotv OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 67 can I ever repay such unselfish devotion ! God bless you!" " Ah ! He has blessed me with a dear good father, whose comfort is above all things, whose hap- piness it is my joy and pride to promote. IIow could I leave you now, with these little, untrained chil- dren on your hands ? What could you do with them ? He must wait till Kate is old enough to take my place." The conference of the afternoon was long and trying to poor Madeline w^ho waited in painful suspense to hear the result. After her father and lover had been closeted for an hour, they sent for her, — a summons she obeyed in great fear and trembling. Both gentlemen looked up as she entered and the smiles upon their faces somewhat reassured her. Come here my daughter," said the Doctor pleas- antly. ''We have made an amicable settlement of this little matter, which needs only your co-operation to render it complete. Guy has consented to remain with us, and make this house his home, if you will name an early day for the wedding, which leaves you still in the same position toward us, as heretofore. What do you say ?" She looked at Guy, whose eyes pleaded for an affirm- ative response, and^with a blush and smile; she laid hei hand in his. The old man breathed a deep sigh of relief. A load was taken from his heart. ''Ah ! this is as it should be ! Now I ciin see my child happy, and have all of you with me ! But, pussy, you have no idea what a vast amount of argument I had to use to bring him round to my side of the ques- 68 OKA, THE LOST WIFE. tioii. I am out of breath, exhausted ! I leave you to punish him for his cruelty." So saying, he took himself off, his face all aglow with happiness and genial humor. Guy clasped the girl to his bosom and murmured, — ''See how much I love you, my Madeline! I give up the long cherished dream of years, for the joy of calling you mine without delay. Now, darling, name the day, and make the time very short, for 1 cannot bear to wait." Thus we leave them in the broad sunlight of re- stored happiness, while we look in again upon our heroine. The children had flung their books aside for the day, and bounded joyously away, glad to be free, and the teacher with a faint sigh of relief, closed her desk and bowed her head upon it. She was very weary. On this day, her duties had been more than usually trying. She could not concentrate her thoughts upon the work before her, and bring them from the dark chaotic pool into which they were constantly flying. Agnes had observed her absence of mind and depres- sion, but attributing it to illness, thought only of try- ing to lighten her labors by more than usual care; while on the contrary, Kate and Mary seized their advantage to become more careless and mischievous than ever. For a quarter of an hour, Ora sat still in her place, the sunlight streaming in upon her hair, and lighting it to a glorious radiance. She was so still, an observer might have thought her asleep, but for the occasional shudder that passed over the slight frame. Agnes ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 69 who had come back, stood several minutes by her side, before she ventured to touch her arm and attract her attention. "What is it, dear?" she asked looking up wearily. " Why have you come back instead of going to play with the girls ?" " 1 could not go with them when you looked so sick and in trouble, dear Mrs. Meredith. I feel too sorry to play." The child's earnest tones of sympathy touched the troubled, longing heart of the woman. She drew her to her side with an impulse of strong affection. "Dear little Agnes! supposing I am sick, and in trouble, what could you do for me ? Go, darling, and play. Do not let a thought of me mar your pleasure." ' "Oh, please, dont send me from you. Tou know I am not like them^ and dont care to play as they do. I had rather stay with you. Besides, I dont want to go where I may see that man." " What man do you mean," asked Ora in surprise. " The tall, dark man they call Guy Bartoni. He makes me shudder whenever I look into his eyes. I feel dreadfully when I am where he is." "Why, Agnes, -what makes you? Why should he make you feel badly ?" " I do not know. But I am sure there is something in it. He is not a good man. Can you imagine how people feel when a snake looks into their eyes and charms them ? Well, I feel just so when he looks at . me. Oh, I cannot bear it!" She shivered and drew closer to the side of her teacher." 70 OR A, THE LOST WIFE. ''Dont talk so, my child. You do not kuow what you are saying. Mr. Bartoni is your guardian's friend and guest, and you must try to banish such groundless fancies," said Ora, concientiously striving to put aside her own feelings and bring the child to discard her antipathy. But Agnes was strong in her expression of loathing, and no power could remove her dread and dislike. For the first time, Ora observed that she held in her hand a sheet of music. She took it from her and looked at it. It was an air from Trovatore. What are you doing with this, Agnes ?" Trying to learn it. I was in the music room just now, but I could not quite get it all right. Wont jou please show me how to sing this part?" She pointed to a difficult part in the music, and looked up wishfully. Certainly dear, but I'm afraid it is most too hard for you. What made you choose this piece ?" "Because I liked it better than any other piece I know. It suits my feelings." " No, no, Aggie. Dont say that. It is too sad a cry for this little child heart of yours to understand. You mistake your love for music, for sympathy with the sentiment of the song. Come, I will teach you." They went out together, and in a few moments her rich, full tones swelled out in the most touching of Verdi's matchless compositions. " Ah ! Che La Mar- ie Ognora!''^ The. child's voice chimed in with hers, clear and sweet as a bell, with a promise in its present power, of a glorious development in the future. Ora was surprised. She had often observed her love foi ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 71 music, and noted with pleasure her rapid progress. But never before had such passionate feeling rung through the child's tones as thrilled her now. "Oh ! I know just how any one would feel to say Buch words," cried Agnes when they had finished. I went to the Opera once with MMeline, and I cried bitterly when this part was sung." She placed her finger upon the words — " Out of the love I bear thee. Yield I my life for thee I Wilt thou not think — "Wilt thou not think of me? Oh! fare thee well, my Leonora, fare thee well." ''I could scarcely breathe! Oh, if one I love so much, were to leave me, I should die I" and from the earnest, passionate tones in which she uttered the words, Ora knew that she felt what she expressed. Ah me !" she sighed inwardly. " Poor, strongly loving, passionate little heart ! What bitterness may be in store for you, should you ever find one on whom your affections may rest!" At this moment Madeline came in upon them, wear- ing a look of radiant happiness. Ora's heart beat heavily. What was coming now. Her prophetic fears spoke but too truly. " Come, into my room a little while, please" she begged slipping her arm around her with loving con- fidence. I want to talk to you." For a moment Ora struggled with the feelings that threatened to overpower her. Then she bade Agnes go down stairs and stay with the girls, and went away with her eager companion. '72 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. Madeline in the excess of her happiness, seated her, and threw herself in childlike abandon at her feet, resting her fair face upon her lap while she clasped both hands in hers. "Ah! it is so nice to have somebody to talk to when we are too happy to contain ourselves ! I am so glad that I can make a friend of you, and not feel that I am losing my dignity by treating you as an equal. For you are indeed my superior, in every re- spect, and are so good and patient always, I must love you. But, here I am running on without saying what I brought you to hear ! I am so glad its all over. Oh, I was so heart sick last night ; so sad and fearful to-day ! Guy was so disappointed and angry when I told him that I could not leave my father, and said so many bitter things. He is so impulsive, he cannot bear opposition. But he had a long talk with papa, and now it is all right. He will stay here — all of us can live together, and I can be with my dear charges till they no longer need me! Ah ! I am so glad. I have had to make him a promise for an early wedding in consequence of his yielding to papa's request to stay here, and we are to be married early in the spring." She did not see the deathly hue of the face above her, and was too absorbed in her own thoughts to note the trembling of the fingers threading her hair. And so, while the pale lips closed in mute agony, repress- ing the cry that rose from her heart, the young girl went on with her story, telling her of the plans formed for future happiness, and the many glorious prospects Bpread out before them. It was quite dark ere she had done and rose to go ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 73 below, BO that she did not see the strained look of suffering upon the face before her, in the dim light, and she left her, unconscious of the misery she had awakened. On separating from his betrothed, Guy had gone uj) to his room, his thoughts divided between pleasure and discontent. Could good Dr. Clifton have looked into the man's heart, and seen the secret motives whicli prompted his actions, he would have shrank shudder- ingly from committing his child to the care of such a being. Bartoni, was as his name indicated him, of Italian descent. His father was a native of Italy, coming from a family of great wealth and influence. He boasted n' long line of titled ancestry, of which he was very proud, but his father had fallen in love with the coun- try in which he took a fancy t6 travel, and one of hor fair daughters captured his affections. He married in Now York and died shortly after the birth of his only son. Mrs. Bartoni remained with her relations after his death, and as the boy grew up, gave all her atten- tion to his education. She was a very kind, indulgent mother, and the strong passions transmitted from father to son, made her at an early period of his liib, the slave to his wishes and whims. And so, growiii.; up thus uncontrolled and unrestrained by steady hands, at twenty, he was as wild and willful as it was possi- ble for him to be. Nothino; but a stronix element of pride in his nature, saved him from open recklessness. Shortly after his twentieth birthday his mother die 1, and the funeral rites were scarcely ended, ere he left the city for parts unknown. 7 74 ORAj THE LOST WIFE. Two years passed away, and he came back. A change had come over him. He was less wild, more steady and manly than heretofore, and his friends grew very hopeful with this good omen. Nothing trans- pired to change the favorable light in which he suc- ceeded in placing himself, and when he saw Madeline Clifton, and sought to engage her interest, the Dr. had quietly suffered it, feeling that he w^as safe in doing so. Still we have seen the course she had pursued, and know^ how it was that the marriage did not take place at the time. She pleaded her youth, and won his promise to wait in silence. He went to California in the interval, but of that portion of his life during his absence, no one knew anything beyond what was sur- mised from his letters. This, however proving satis- factory, no one sought to know more. In returning, he had brought with him a friend, Charles Lafarge, who he said, had shared his wander- ings amid strange scenes. They were inseparable. He spoke glowingly of his position, possessions and talents, and the bright, handsome face of the stranger did the rest. Three days had not passed, ere he be- came a general favorite. We have said that Bartoni sought his room, his mind divided between pleasure and discontent. The * grim smile upon his dark features certainly betokened satisfaction as he threw himself upon a lounge and tossed the masses of raven hair away from his face, muttering half audibly: — Pretty sure thing, though ! Guess I can stand the terms for a while, when the bird is safe in my hands. ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 75 Leave myself a little time to transfer it to a cage of my own choice, when the old man's purse strings have yielded handsomely to my wants. By Jupiter, Made- line is a handsome — yes, a queenly girl, bnt deuced if I dont take some of the spirit out of her when she is safely my own. / yield now ! We'll see who gives in six months hence!" And it was to this man. Dr. Clifton was about to give his Pearl beyond price ! To this man she had given her sweet, pure love ! Suddenly upon the stillness, broke strains of rich, entrancing melody. With the first notes, he started to a sitting posture and listened intently, scarcely moving till the last tones melted away in the stillness. Then he breathed heavily and exclaimed! ''There can be but one voice on earth like that! Surely, I would know it amongst a thousand ! Yet, how absurdly I am talking ! It were impossible fox her to be here. But who is it, then ? Ah 1 I have it ! The Governess ! I remember a child's voice accofn panying hers. Besides I heard the family speak of her glorious voice. No w^onder. But what a won- derful resemblance. I could almost have sworn that it was Glendora's." He heard Madeline's voice as they came out of the music joom and went down the corridor and eager for a glimpse at the stranger's face, looked cautiously, through the door. He was too late, however, to catch anything but a glimpse of the two forms as they dis- appeared in Madeline's chamber, and turned away disappointed. "I must be mistaken," he muttered. "She is a 76 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. visitor, doubtless;! cannot think of Madeline on such familiar terms with the childrens' governess ! I must find out who she is." This little incident awakened a new train of thought which he indulged, pacing slowly back and forth through his room till the servant came in to light the gas. Then he took from his trunk materials for writ- ing, and remained thus engaged, till summoned to tea. On going below, he glanced around as if expecting to see some one. Madeline observed it with a look of inquiry, and he said smiling : ''I thought you had a visitor. I heard such sweet music a little while since, I was tempted to hope for a repetition. Who was the fair songstress ?" ''That was Mrs. Meredith. She does sing very sweetly. I do not wonder you were charmed. 1 never hear her sing without tears springing to mj eyes. Her expression is matchless. She makes yoi? feel every word she utters, and evidently feels thertt more keenly herself. I would give anything for her musical talent." '' Or an equal portion of your own" laughed her father. ''How is she, my daughter? I have not seen her to-day. She was complaining yesterday ?" "Somewhat better, I think, but far from w^ell. She has been in the schoolroom all day, and looks ^ale g and tired. I hope she wont get ill from over exer- tion." Guy looked surprised. He could not understand the deep interest expressed in a mere governess, much less the close intimacy of his affianced bride with one occupying so inferior a position. ORA^ THE LOST WIFE. 77 "She must be a prodigy," he remarked somewhat dryly, ^'to elicit such praise and awaken such interest. Who is she ?" The lady of whom I spoke the other morning, as a former resident of St. Louis," said Harry in reply, without waiting for others to speak. "She appears to be creating a commotion. Father and sister Mad were her sworn allies from the beginning ; Kate and Mary soon succumbed to her charms. Little black eyed, tornado Aggie, was harder to manage. She was never known to love anybody in her life, but after a certain time, there was w^ar between two opposing forces. The governess proved the stronger of the two, and brought the little rebel to terms most extraordi- nary. She now worships her very footsteps. lam the only unconquered reprobate of the family I believe, and am patiently waiting my turn." He spoke lightly, but he knew he was interesting his auditor by the expression of his face, and hoped thus to catch a clue to the mystery he was endeavor- ing quietly to solve. " Why, really, sir," observed Mr. Lafarge, your governess becomes quite a heroine. Does she asso- ciate with the family ? I am becoming curious to see her." This was what Harry wanted. He hoped thus, without seeming to desire it, to bring about a meeting. Dr. Clifton furthered his wishes unconsciously. ''We will ask her to come down, if she feels able, and favor us with some music. I enjoy her singing very much, and have a proof that you will, also Guy, by your remark a few moments since. Mr. Lafarge 78 0 R A 5 THE L'O S T WIFE. has yet to jiiclge from personal knowledge, if it is to his taste." I shall certainly be glad of the opportunity," re- turned the gentleman. You quite interest me." A little silence fell upon the party gathered round the board, broken at length by a cry that startled them as by the shock of an earthquake, it was so wild and piercing. It came from above, and Madeline without apology sprang through the door and darted up the stairway. The cries continued, proceeding from Ora's room. Dr. Clifton followed more slowly. Harry remained with the guests, in breathless sus- pense to learn the cause of the alarm. The scene presented to Madeline's view on entering the chamber, was one of w^ild confusion. Ada sat screaming in childish terror upon the floor, while her nurse supported the head of the fallen mother upon her lap. Ora lay pale and still as if death had smit- ten her with one blow from the fair scenes of life, a crimson stream pouring over the purple lip and stain- ing the carpet by her side. Agnes stood over her with locked hands and rigid features. Terror and anguish had deprived her of speech after the first wild, agonized screams that had brought the family to the scene. Oh, Father of mercies !" ejaculated the girl as she hastily bent over the prostrate form. "What is this ? How did it happen ? Tell me, some of you. Can you speak, Agnes? Father, ftither, come quickly!" ''Here I am" said the Dr. entering. ''Why, what does this mean ? Ah ! a hemorrage ! Help me, daugh- ter, to lift her on the bed. Hold up her head nurse, ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 79 till I can lift her in my arms. There, that is right." They laid her on the couch, and with great prompt- ness, the old man applied restoratives. A crowd was round the door. He ordered every one kept out, and enjoined quiet. ''Kate and Mary, go down stairs my children, and nurse, take that child from the room. Agnes, go with them. Go^ Madeline, and send John to me to get what I want. Tell them down stairs that it is not anything very serious, I hope. Then come back to me. Above all, do keep things quiet. I hate such confusion." His orders were obeyed promptly by all save Agnes. She crept into the shadow of the curtains and remained like a statue, her acute senses alive to every word and action that might indicate hope or despair. In a sborttime the hemorrhage was stopped and the sufferer opened her eyes languidly. The Dr. bade her be quiet in very kind tones ; told her that her recovery depended on her silence, and strove to re-assure her by his manner, in every way. A look of gratitude swept over the white face, and a mist obscured the dark orbs, but she remained perfectly still as he di- rected. Tlien from Jane, the girl's story, as repeated to Madeline a,fter being sent out, he learned how it all happened. After giving Ada her supper, she had carried her into her mother's room to undress and put her to bed. She thought the lady looked very pale as she lay upon the sofa, but as she was always pale, she had not paid 80 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. .particular attention. Ada had clambered up for a kiss where she was lying, and Mrs. Meredith raising i: jrself to a posture more suited to her efforts, sud-