41 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/rosesherwoodorstOOpete 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 ' 
 
 
 ( 
 
 
 
 
 
A. B. RUE, 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY. 
 
 /VI iss ]Belle f etep v son. 
 
[FIFTH EDITION.] 
 
 RWOOD 
 
 — OR 
 
 THE STAR fS SHINING STILL 
 
 v 
 
 BY MISS BELLE PETERSON, 
 
 Author of “One Word and a Tear, or the Wounded Dove ; 
 “The Story of Leonoria Parolee,” 
 and Poetical Works. 
 
 Published for the Author 
 AT THE COURIER-JOURNAL JOB ROOMS, LOUISVILLE, KT. 
 1881 . 
 
TO 
 
 MR. J. W. RUSSELL, 
 
 HER HIGHLY ESTEEMED AND HONORED FRIEND, 
 THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Chapter. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 
 II. 
 
 1 
 
 III. 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 
 V. 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'I 
 
 IX. 
 
 
 X. 
 
 
 XI. 
 
 
 
 - j 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Love Token, or Parting by the Seaside 5 
 
 Too Late 17 
 
 Gossip at the Railway Station — Miss Montgomery’s 
 
 New Home 20 
 
 Mrs. Thornwhicker in a Pucker 34 
 
 The Arrival of the Two Brothers — Broken Spectacles . 50 
 The Best Two out of Three — The Little Barefoot Angel 64 
 A Grand Reception — The Hole in Harry’s Coat ... 75 
 Clara Raymont’s Bridal Night — A Shower of Tears . 80 
 
 The Bridal Tour — A Sad Disappointment 91 
 
 Kate Winchester’s Surprise — An Angel of Death at 
 
 the Marriage Altar 101 
 
 The Flag of Sorrow ill 
 
 A Funeral Procession — A Night of Sorrow for Rose 
 
 Sherwood 115 
 
 A Visit to Prison — The Star is Shining Still 121 
 
 The Little Supplicant Kneeling at the Feet of the 
 Governor — Marriage on the Scaffold 129 
 
‘She saw him place his foot upon the steamer, and saw it pass into the briny ocean,” 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LOVE TOKEN, OR THE PARTING BY THE SEA. 
 
 As the earth turns upon its axis and the wheels of 
 time speed on, is it not wise to catch the aroma of its 
 fleeting moments that will never repeat themselves by 
 so much as an echo? 
 
 When the Roman Emperor said, ‘ ‘ I have lost a 
 day,” he uttered a sadder truth than if he had 
 exclaimed, “I have lost a kingdom.” Napoleon 
 said that the reason why he beat the Austrians was 
 that they did not know the value of a few minutes. 
 At the celebrated battle of Rivoli, the conflict seemed 
 on the point of being decided against him. He saw 
 the critical state of affairs, and instantly took his 
 resolution. He dispatched a flag to the Austrian 
 headquarters with proposals for an armistice. The 
 unwary Austrians fell into a snare. For a few minutes 
 the thunders of battle were hushed. Napoleon seized 
 the precious moments, and, while amusing the enemy 
 
6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 with mock negotiation, re-arranged his line of battle,, 
 changed his front, and in a few minutes was ready to 
 renounce the farce of discussion for the stern arbitra- 
 ment of arms. The splendid victory of Rivoli was 
 the result. How often the great moral victories and 
 defeats of the world turn upon a few moments ! Men 
 may loiter, but time flies on wings of the wind, and 
 all the great interests of life are speeding on with the 
 sure and silent tread of destiny ; and the fears and 
 hopes which agitate the breast of man, which have 
 pressed his vision into the future, must a!t length have 
 their truth or falsehood tested. But how many of us 
 are there who live on the interest of the present 
 moment, who have no to-morrow hastening toward us, 
 whose revelations shall crown us with the wreath of 
 happiness and prosperity, or sink our heaving bosoms 
 into the gloom of despair? 
 
 But O, gentle reader, be of good cheer! for to all 
 the good there is a golden “ sometime.’ ’ It is a 
 sweet song flowing to and fro among the topmost 
 boughs of the heart, that fills the air with such glad- 
 ness as the songs of the birds do, when the summer 
 morning comes out of the darkness and the day is 
 born on the mountain top. We have all our posses- 
 sions in the future — a hidden chasm, where hope 
 hovers with drooping wing. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 7 
 
 “And points with gorgeous fingers high 
 Unto the laurel wreath, 
 
 That hangs where Fame, with flashing eye, 
 
 Becks him who stands beneath.” 
 
 The battle of life must be fought, and, “if one 
 commence to skirmish early, tactics are soon learned 
 and the conflict is soon ended.” Each individual has 
 a different battle to fight, and different paths to travel. 
 Our path may lead to sunrise or sunset, to the land 
 of flowers or of brambles, to “Greenland’s icy moun- 
 tains or to India’s coral strand.” Destiny’s mystic 
 fingers may weave for our heads a laurel crown and 
 place us upon the pinnacle of fame, or entwine around 
 our brow a chaplet of thorns. 
 
 “The laws which govern our moral and intellectual 
 natures are as rigid and inevitable in their operations 
 as those whose workings we constantly trace in the 
 physical world — of which truth the history of nations 
 and memories of great men furnish innumerable 
 exemplifications; consequently, it is both unjust and 
 illogical to judge of the probability of this or that 
 event or series of events, or the naturalness of this 
 or that character, whether in authenticated history or 
 fictitious works, without a thorough acquaintance 
 with all antecedents and the various relations sur- 
 rounding the actor.” 
 
8 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Kind and gentle reader, as you go hand in hand 
 with those whose lives I am about to narrate, bear 
 this in mind : Life will not stand still for people. 
 
 There is no possibility, except in rare instances, of 
 giving up existence to wretchedness and misery. 
 There is a great deal else to do. We must live ; the 
 world must go on, the earth turn upon its axis. There 
 is eating and drinking, and work and every-day aims ; 
 and, though hearts may break, most people learn to 
 live comfortably with only the fragments of a heart. 
 And I suppose they stop aching at last, except when 
 some chance touch stirs up the old pain. Time is 
 the only physician for wounded hearts. What pre- 
 cious healings it brings on its broad pinions. It 
 takes us to its breast, and folds its arms around us as 
 compassionately and tenderly as a mother does her 
 first-born. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! that recollection should e’er call to 
 mind the golden hours I fain would forget ! In vain 
 have I struggled to erase from memory’s page gilded 
 scenes of by-gone days that are no more to return, 
 but overcast by leaden clouds on which the rainbow 
 glow is never seen. Ever before my grate, in my 
 visions by night and my waking dreams by day, 
 thoughts of far-away nights and enchanting scenes of 
 other years, yet fresh and green as a hot-house plant, 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 9 
 
 are ever floating before me. Locks of living gold 
 and a pair of dazzling azure eyes seem to be looking 
 upon me as they did one memorable night as the 
 owner wandered out into the darkness. Night became 
 enamored with their beauty, and adorned them with a 
 shining shower of stars, whose spectral light fell like 
 seraph smiles upon the silent scenes, and lit up with 
 a silver gleam the long, feathered sprays of the 
 graceful beech tree, whose giant limbs were draped in 
 fantastic loops of Southern moss that wreathed and 
 fluttered in gleaming silver threads like bridal veils. 
 
 The night was warm and fragrant; not a cloud 
 obscured the deep azure of the sky. The voices of 
 gleeful children and the rumbling of carriages and 
 omnibuses broke the peaceful serenity of the night. 
 Yes, it was lovely; although Autumn had kindled 
 her forest conflagration, and the hectic flush was 
 burning on every tree and flower, save on the solemn, 
 sombre pine and melancholy cedar, which waved their 4 
 branches defiantly far above the fevered regions of 
 decay, but looked with an anxious eye upon the 
 golden maple and scarlet oak, and crimson dogwood, 
 waving their flaming banners of rose, amber and orange 
 as though they were shaking hands with Mother 
 Earth, and bidding a final adieu to all her radiant 
 tapestries. 
 
IO 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 The birds kept up such a lively tete-a-tete with 
 Eurus that they could not catch the faint whisper 
 that fell, like the mournful cadence of a dying rose 
 upon the reeking air, and was caught up by the hills 
 and echoed and reverberated among the purple val- 
 leys, and finally lost in the roaring and dashing of the 
 mighty sea, from the two forms that were standing 
 beneath them. They were too deeply engrossed in 
 conversation to heed anything that was going on, 
 except Eurus, who was constantly kissing their cheeks 
 and tangling their hair. 
 
 One of these individuals was a young lady of some 
 twenty years of age, with a tall and graceful figure, 
 and a countenance whose beauty lay rather in the 
 sweetness of expression than in the regularity of 
 features. But let it not be supposed that those lacked 
 charms. A finely-chiseled mouth, coral lips, liquid 
 blue eyes, deep and thoughtful, and soft masses of 
 golden ringlets, would have rendered the face suffi- 
 ciently attractive had not the noble soul, which shone 
 in every lineament, overshadowed all such mere carnal 
 beauty of form. 
 
 Her companion was a young man who might, per- 
 haps, be twenty-and-five, possessing a large share of 
 personal beauty. His eyes were black, and shone 
 and flashed like orbs of fire. A light, silken mus- 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 I 
 
 tache fringed his upper lip. It was a frank and open 
 face, pre-eminently handsome, and pleasant to look 
 upon. His piercing eyes were fixed on his com- 
 panion, while he held her soft, white hand tightly 
 clasped in his own. 
 
 “ O, Egbert,” she said, looking up at him through 
 her tears and laying her hands gently on his shoulder, 
 “ I sometimes wish I did not have any heart! I mean 
 that I wish I could forget how to love !” 
 
 “ Ah, my little one,” said Egbert Chesterfield (for 
 that was the name of her companion), “you have a 
 heart, and a warm and generous one, too, capable of 
 the most self-sacrificing love, and it is as pure and 
 spotless as an infant saint. But, darling, what induced 
 you to make such a wish ? Do you not want to love 
 me? I firmly believe that, instead of cherishing your 
 affection for me, you struggle against it with all the 
 energy of your character.” 
 
 “ I do not deny it, Egbert, and yoh ought not to 
 blame me. To-night we part, and perhaps a final 
 separation stretches before us. I realize the necessity 
 of an estrangement. I have nothing to hope — every- 
 thing to suffer.” 
 
 He placed his hand under her chin, in order to 
 scan her face fully. 
 
 “Rose, do you deem me a traitor? How is it 
 
2 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 possible that you can persuade yourself to believe me 
 to be recreant to the trust — to believe me to be any 
 thing but true, or that my heart is or ever will be 
 another's, after having such an assurance of my love 
 and unchanging fidelity ? I thought your heart was 
 too generous to inflict pain unnecessarily, and right 
 on the eve of our separation. I have confidence in 
 you. Now, will you not be generous enough to place 
 the same in me ? I know that absence has no power 
 over a true woman’s heart. Her affections will tri- 
 umph over separation, over silence, over death ! — 
 over everything but loss of confidence or unworthi- 
 ness in its object; and I can bid defiance to those 
 obstacles, for I have never given you any cause to 
 doubt me, and here I pledge you my honor that my 
 heart will faithfully cling stubbornly to you through 
 separation, through prosperity or adversity, through 
 life or death ; and no barriers which I may be respon- 
 sible for in any degree shall be insurmountable. I 
 hold you to my heart, acknowledging you all my own. 
 Now lay your little hand in mine, and promise me 
 that you will no longer entertain such harsh opinions 
 of me, nor doubt the words I have spoken from the 
 innermost recesses of my heart, and happiness will 
 crown our coming years.” 
 
 The crystal calmness of Rose’s countenance was 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 13 
 
 broken, and her face grew radiant as some fleece-cloud 
 suddenly smitten by a ray of sunshine and sprinkled 
 with the colors of the rainbow. A new light flashed 
 in her blue, liquid eyes, and broke in radiant ripples 
 over her coral lips, and pure white lilies of eternal 
 peace seemed to rest upon her heaving bosom. Doubt, 
 bitterness, and wounded pride, were instantly forgot- 
 ten. She raised her head from its resting-place upon 
 his bosom and laid her hand gently in his, and, looking 
 up into his face through the misty veil the pearly 
 drops had woven, said : 
 
 “ I promise you, Egbert, that I shall lean my heart 
 on those words till the last pulse is stilled in my grave. 
 I feel that I can be resigned, be brave and strong and 
 patient, and bid defiance to adverse fate. Should we 
 never meet again on earth, I will deem it not your 
 fault, and will look for you when I sail beyond the 
 calm shore of rest, where, if faithful here, we will 
 cla«p hands that will never be severed. And now to 
 the guidance of Almighty God I commit you.” 
 
 Egbert caught her to his bosom, and kissed her 
 again and again. Never had her extraordinary beauty 
 so stirred his heart ; never, in all his life, had he seen 
 her look so lovely — a statuesque face, pure and calm, 
 where white-winged Hope lingered like a benediction, 
 
14 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and laid her conciliating finger about her lips, that 
 meekly murmured, “Thy will be done.” 
 
 She was a perfect blonde — a complexion that was 
 fair almost to transparency, except where the rose 
 faintly tinged her cheek. Her hair was a rich auburn, 
 while her eyes shone and sparkled as brilliantly as the 
 diamond that flashed in his bosom, and reminded him 
 of all he had read of the undimmed blue of Italian 
 skies. 
 
 “ Well, little one, I must say farewell, but only for 
 a short time. Just think how soon one year will roll 
 around, and then I will return to claim you for my own 
 little wife. The parting will only link more firmly 
 the chain that binds two congenial souls.” Ar^d he 
 repeated the words : ♦ 
 
 “Oil ! in the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Is there a joy so sweet 
 As when, amid its busy strife, 
 
 Congenial spirits meet ? 
 
 “Feelings and thoughts a fairy band 
 Long hid from mortal sight, 
 
 Then start to meet the Master’s hand 
 That called them into light. 
 
 “When turning o’er some gifted page, 
 
 How fondly do we pause, 
 
 That dear companion to engage 
 In answering applause ! 
 

“ I will give that star as a token of my love and unchanging 
 fidelity, and when that star shall cease to shine, then will I cease 
 to love you.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 15 
 
 “And when we list to music’s sig», 
 
 How sweet at every tone 
 To read within another’s eye 
 The rapture of our own.” 
 
 As he concluded, he brushed back the numerous 
 ringlets that clustered around her brow, and, taking 
 from his pocket a pen-knife, he clipped one from 
 her forehead, with the words : 
 
 * 4 This do I take in remembrance of my little Rose, 
 and I will ever wear it near my heart. I will feel, 
 when surrounded by temptation, that its influence 
 exerts a restraining, purifying impulse over my whole 
 existence.” 
 
 “You might possibly lose it, Egbert,” said she. 
 
 ‘ ‘ I will give you something more permanent — some- 
 thing that will inspire you with thoughts of that 
 Infinite Being who knoweth every sparrow that falleth 
 to the ground, and whom you should ever pray to for 
 His guidance and protection in the hour of tempta- 
 tion.” And she raised her eyes to heaven, just as 
 Luna was struggling feebly up the eastern sky, escorted 
 by one single star that glittered like a vestal lamp in 
 the blue azure waves of heaven, and poured down 
 through the trembling streamers of moss and gleamed 
 on her upturned face. 
 
 “I will give you that star,” she said, “as a token 
 
i6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 of my love and unchanging fidelity ; and when that 
 star shall cease to shine I then will cease to love you 
 — not till then ; and may that little token be your 
 guide and one day pilot you safely back to your Rose.’" 
 The signal bell sounded. He gave one lingering 
 look upon her, kissed her tear-stained cheeks, and tore 
 himself away. Thus the two lovers parted — to meet 
 again — when, where, and how ? She clasped her hands 
 to her heart, as if to stop its wild beating, and stood 
 with parted lips and trembling form as she saw him 
 place his foot upon the steamer, and saw it pass into 
 the briny ocean that was foaming and lashing itself 
 into fury, with its wild, howling moans and waste of 
 waters, leaping, rolling and dashing, and foam-crowned 
 walls towering on each side, and wreaths of smoke 
 trailing lullingly before the wind, that twisted and 
 curled themselves into a thousand quaint shapes, and 
 then faded away into nothingness. Gradually the ves- 
 sel receded, the dark mass became indistinct, the light 
 flickered and was soon lost to view ; and, as she 
 watched the last peak vanish, the last blue outlines 
 dissolve in the distance of that marvelous picture — 
 the procession of hills standing sentinel through ages 
 wrapped in mist and sheathed in the moonlight, and 
 fade and disappear — she felt that just so the joys of 
 youth would pass away. She gave one long, lingering 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. I J7 
 
 look at the trackless ocean that had torn from her 
 heart all that had made life dear and left it bleeding; 
 and the sweet day-dream that had spanned her whole 
 existence like a bow of promise had faded away. 
 
 The first .great grief of her life had fallen upon her, 
 and, like a tender flower, she bowed her head with the 
 storm. As she turned away there came a faint mur- 
 mur from her trembling lips: “Would to God that 
 we had never met ! then this great sorrow would not 
 have fallen upon me. But too late — my fate is sealed, 
 and the die is cast!” 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 Too late, too late! 
 
 It sounds in my ear 
 Like the sigh of the willow, 
 
 When the wind-cloud is near ; 
 
 Or the moan of the ocean 
 That sobs on the shore 
 When wailing the wrath 
 Of the storm that is o’er. 
 
 As the ghost of the miser, 
 
 In slumbers unblessed, 
 
 Haunts ever the spot 
 
 Where its treasure doth rest, 
 
 Sad memory returns 
 
 Unto days that have fled, 
 
 And the “dead past ” seeks vainly 
 To bury its dead. 
 
 2 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 No hope hath my soul ! 
 
 This refrain shall cease ; 
 
 Time doth not assuage, 
 
 Death will not release. 
 
 More sad than the raging 
 Of passion or hate 
 Is the voice of despair 
 
 When * tis whispered “ too late. 
 
 Too late to amend ! 
 
 Too late to atone ! 
 
 ’Tis grief unavailing 
 That has left me alone ; 
 
 For the red stain of sin, 
 
 Though we steep it in tears, 
 Like a scar on the soul, 
 
 Through life reappears. 
 
 The head of the mountain, 
 Though hoary with snow, 
 
 Cools not the fierce fire 
 That is raging below ; 
 
 And if the hot lava 
 
 Has rolled down its side, 
 
 Kind nature seeks vainly 
 Its traces to hide. 
 
 Oh, Hope, canst thou whisper 
 No comfort to those 
 Whose heart, like the geysers, 
 Boils e’en in repose ? 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 19 
 
 Fanned by misfortune 
 And sated with sin, 
 
 Still longing for peace 
 And comfort within. 
 
 Still passing the road 
 
 Which leads unto death, 
 
 With good resolution 
 
 That melts with a breath ; 
 
 Still hoping against hope 
 
 That they backward have pressed 
 The fiery passion 
 
 That boiled in each breast. 
 
 That belief is triumphant, 
 
 And banish each doubt — 
 
 The geyser extant, 
 
 The volcano burns out, 
 
 Till despair slowly whispers, 
 
 This, this is thy fate, 
 
 To yield to the storm 
 
 And lament when too late. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 GOSSIP AT THE RAILWAY STATION, OR MY NEW HOME. 
 
 What is life without a shadow? And what a 
 monotonous world we would have without contrast ? 
 Life without shadow is life without joy. Existence 
 will not be bliss without duties, and “duties are the 
 parents of care.” Whenever a man or a woman, 
 who is, as years go by, still in the bloom of youth, 
 comes to regard the simple condition of rest as the 
 boon most to be desired upon earth, and to consider 
 happiness as a thing of negation, the absence of cer- 
 tain evils recurring diurnally, you may be assured 
 that this man or woman has suffered experiences so 
 crushing and bitter that any surviving vitality suffices 
 for endurance only, and prompts no more to action. 
 
 When the wheel of circumstances threw me into the 
 society of Dr. Raymont, he said : “I am seeking a 
 teacher for my two little daughters, Maud and Lillie. 
 Will you come ? If we suit one another, the arrange- 
 ment will be a permanent one.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 21 
 
 Of this proposition I was as glad as a creature, so 
 spent and weary of emotion as I could be of anything ; 
 and, in twenty-four hours, my trunk was packed and 
 sitting on the platform waiting for the train, which 
 soon made its appearance freighted with bright-eyed 
 girls, dashing young men, anxious mothers, and fretful 
 babies. Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! rang the engine bell, 
 as the train dashed up to the platform. How the 
 throng chattered, and laughed, and lost each other, as 
 they poured out of the cars on to the platform ! The 
 world seemed so full of youth and health and pros- 
 perity. The through passengers, left in possession of 
 the car, proceeded to settle themselves by opening 
 windows, putting down shades, changing their seats, 
 and generally doing all they could to make the day 
 more insufferably hot, as people invariably do. Not 
 quite invariable, after all, for one figure never moved. 
 A perfect hand, beautifully gloved, a pink ear with 
 one little ringlet hiding behind it, and glimpses of a 
 white throat, were all a thick veil allowed to be seen. 
 She was leaning against the blind, listening languidly 
 to the buzz of voices outside. 
 
 “Where is my trunk, John? See that it is on 
 board. Good-by, Fannie ; you must write. ” 
 
 Suddenly her attention was fixed by a voice just at 
 her window, which said: 
 
22 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “ Certainly, I know him. We graduated at the 
 
 same time at College. I suppose he has been 
 
 spending some time in B ; and, by the way, I 
 
 heard that he has become very much smitten with 
 Miss Rose Sherwood.” 
 
 “That is all nonsense,” said his companion, sneer- 
 ingly. “ He never had any idea of marrying the girl ; 
 he has only been carrying on a flirtation with her. 
 I believe she loves him, but she will never see him 
 again.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ He has changed considerably since he left school, ” 
 said the latter; “for he was one of the most moral 
 young men I ever saw.” 
 
 “ Ah! I don’t suppose his piety extended farther 
 than the school-room, and when he left he laid his 
 morality aside. To my certain knowledge, he has 
 been playing the coxcomb to perfection with Miss 
 Rose Sherwood.” 
 
 “Perhaps not,” said the young man. “He may 
 be in earnest.” 
 
 “Well, time will prove it,” continued the other. 
 “ I will bet my bottom dollar that she will never see 
 him again ; for, I think, if he had been such a devoted 
 admirer, he most assuredly would have gone and bid 
 her good-by, which he did not do. He was with me 
 all day until a few hours before he left, and I saw him 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 23 
 
 when he went on board of the steamer. I am quite 
 sure there were no tears shed, nor waving handker- 
 chiefs ! ” 
 
 Upon hearing these words, I put my hand over my 
 mouth, and pinched my lips until they were purple, 
 in order to hold my tongue ; for I felt that I wanted 
 to say something in Egbert Chesterfield’s vindication ; 
 for they were speaking of the same couple that I had 
 seen part by the seaside — the same little Rose. And 
 the same little star that she had given him as a token 
 of her love and unchanging fidelity was peering down 
 upon them, and seemed to say : 
 
 “Ah, how little you know! ” 
 
 Oh, bigotry of human nature ! By what high com- 
 mission, by what royal patent, do men and women 
 essay to judge of fellow-men and sister-women by 
 one stern, inexorable standard, unyielding as the 
 measure of Damastes? The variety of emotional 
 and intertypes is even greater than the physical, and 
 as the ages roll on we need no other criteria. Who 
 shall dare lay fingers on a fellow-creature and auda- 
 ciously proclaim : “I have gone down among the 
 
 volcanic chambers of this soul, and groped in its 
 adytum, amid the dust and ruins of its overturned 
 altars and crumbling idols ; have fathomed its mys- 
 teries, and will tell you, by infallible plummet, the 
 
24 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 depth thereof/’ There are sealed cells where, veiled 
 from scrutiny and sacred as Eleusina, burns the God- 
 given shekinah of the human soul. As the shells that 
 # tessellate the ocean’s pavements ; as the army of innu- 
 merable clouds, which ceaselessly shift their coloring 
 and their forms at the presto of wizard winds ; as the 
 leaves of the forest that bud and wave in the flush of 
 summer, so we differ one from another. 
 
 The two men walked on, talking of other things. 
 The bustle went on inside and outside of the car. 
 The young girl never moved, but her averted cheeks 
 were crimson now, for it was herself they had been 
 discussing. Her head was bent forward, and her 
 cheek rested upon her hand. Her curls overshadowed 
 her brow and face, as they peeped from beneath her 
 hat, which was tossed back as she bowed her head, 
 and a warm tint fell upon her cheeks, while her eyes 
 gleamed out of shadows dark as Erebus. Her bosom 
 slightly rose and fell, under the influence of the mental 
 phantasmagoria that passed before her. 
 
 As my eyes rested upon the bowed form, and 
 watched the rising and falling of her heaving bosom, 
 that was like the swelling of the mighty tide, and 
 covered a heart that was torn and bleeding ; and saw 
 the quivering lips that had drunk the sweetest nectar 
 from a golden vessel, but soon to turn to gall upon 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 25 
 
 them, my heart swelled up in my throat, and, in spite 
 of all my efforts, a tear would make its way down my 
 cheek. 
 
 - She turned her liquid blue eye toward me, and 
 scanned me from head to foot, as some one came up 
 to my window, and said : 
 
 “ Where in the world are you going, Miss Mont- 
 gomery ?” 
 
 “To Dr. Raymonds, near . Perhaps you 
 
 know him, as you are pretty well acquainted through 
 that section of the country?” 
 
 “Yes, I do, quite well; and there is not a nicer 
 gentleman than Dr. Raymont, nor a fairer home than 
 Piney Grove. But how came you to find that place? ” 
 
 “I saw his advertisement for a governess in the 
 Journal, and, on application, secured the situation.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Since you will go away, I am glad you are going 
 to that section of country, for there you will find the 
 scenery beautiful and the society very refined and 
 intelligent. Dr. Raymont has a daughter, Miss Clara 
 Raymont, who has one of the loveliest faces I ever 
 saw.” 
 
 He did not add that she was very proud and 
 haughty; he would let me find that out myself. 
 
 Aurora had just begun to discover the beauty of 
 her face through the gates and balconies of the East, 
 
2 6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 shaking from her locks an infinite number of liquid 
 pearls to bathe the heads of the fatigued and drowsy 
 
 travelers, when the cars stopped at R . Dr. Ray- 
 
 mont met me at the railway station with a ‘ ‘ Bless my 
 soul, Miss Montgomery, so you are really here?” — 
 just as if I were the last person in the world he 
 expected, and as if he had been waiting nearly two 
 hours, as I presently learned, for a totally different 
 person ; and that person was no other than my little 
 Rose, who was a niece of Dr. Raymont. My heart 
 bounded with delight, when I learned that we were 
 both going to the same place, for I felt that I wanted 
 to become better acquainted with her. 
 
 The house before which we alighted was a whole- 
 souled (according to my theory, even houses have 
 souls), hospitable-looking mansion, with wide doors 
 standing open, which seemed to invite entrance to the 
 passer-by, and a charming, old-fashioned garden, 
 running over with evergreens. The prince’s feathers 
 stood like sentinels along the walk, nodding their 
 downy heads as we passed along, and seemed to say: 
 “ How do you do? We are glad to see you.” 
 
 A thousand sorts of beautiful birds began to sing 
 *and twitter, and silver-winged pigeons flashed in and 
 out of the venerable trees, that stretched their long 
 arms as if in protection over the old homestead, cooed 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 27 
 
 and fluttered their little wings in the warm sunlight 
 that lay like a golden sheet on the clear mirror of the 
 lake, and rested like a diadem on the brow of yonder 
 mountain. In the background a venerable-looking 
 peacock sunned his gorgeous plumage, which waved 
 and glittered in the sunlight like kaleidoscopes. 
 
 Mrs. Raymont, a pale-featured and low-voiced lady, 
 met us at the door and repeated just what the flowers 
 had said, only she clasped Rose in her arms and im- 
 printed a kiss upon her lips ; and I must confess that 
 I did envy Rose at that moment, for I thought of the 
 time when fay mother used to put her arms around 
 me, and kiss my cheeks, and smooth my tangled hair, 
 and, with loving words and gentle manner, disperse 
 the clouds from my brow, and, if sad, cheer my 
 childish heart. I thought of my own beautiful home, 
 with its pine-clad hills and the feathery beech trees 
 quivering against the golden background, and the 
 white-sailed ships floating on the melancholy waves 
 like peaceful spirits into the great Beyond. I could 
 see the graceful willow waving above the last dwelling- 
 place of my parents’ lifeless forms, and I thought 
 of them so peacefully sleeping there. 
 
 Oh, Carolina, my dear native home, 
 
 I still love thee fondly, if from thee I roam, 
 
 And if cruel fate has borne me away, 
 
 My spirit will forever, forever with thee stay. 
 
28 v ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 I thought and felt that I would have given any- 
 thing if Mrs. Raymont had taken me to her heart and 
 kissed me as she did Rose. Then there came over 
 me a chilling sensation, and my heart was turned to 
 an icicle as something seemed to say : “You are noth- 
 ing but a stranger. Why do you expect such affec- 
 tion?” My heart meekly replied: “ I do not expect 
 it,” and I stepped back with a dignified air and 
 bowed. All my thoughts and feelings must have 
 been stamped upon my face, for the kind-hearted lady 
 seemed to read my innermost soul, and knew exactly 
 every thought that walked its secret chambers. She 
 took both my hands in hers, at the same time printing 
 a kiss on my cheek, and said : 
 
 “This is Miss Montgomery? 1 am happy to have 
 you with us. May your stay be long and pleasant ! ” 
 I thanked her, and thought I could not be other- 
 wise than happy in such a beautiful home. Then to 
 the servant who had met us at the door, she said: 
 “Show Miss Montgomery to her room, and see 
 that she has every thing she wants.” 
 
 I followed the servant up a long flight of stairs. 
 Being fatigued by my journey, I followed leisurely, 
 and noticed, as we ascended, how wide and airy the 
 halls were, and wondered at the sweet scent of hot- 
 house flowers floating through them. I stopped at 
 
“I thanked her, and thought I could not be otherwise than happy 
 in such a beautiful home.” 
 
30 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the first landing, to look at an antique clock in a large 
 wooden case which time had hardened to ebony. It 
 was a curiosity inviting investigation, buried in shadow, 
 but catching upon its gilded cherubs a few reflecting 
 rays, ticked loudly forth, and, as I regarded it, its 
 loud, cheery tick seemed to reiterate the welcome I 
 had received below, and I felt as if I could have 
 shaken hands with it on the spot ; but, reflecting that 
 such a process would be more damaging to it than 
 gratifying to me, I refrained. 
 
 It is the nature of sensitive minds to vibrate to 
 every touch and tone, catching gleams of happiness 
 from fleeting lights and shades, starting up keenly 
 responsive to every grace or beauty in whatever form. 
 Such minds experience a continual action and reac- 
 tion, growing eloquent if fanned by a summer breeze, 
 shrinking at a passing discord, and with all their emo- 
 tions and sensibilities swayed by influences apparently 
 insignificant. 
 
 I followed the servant, who took me into a large, 
 airy room, very pretty and inviting with its bright- 
 colored carpet and neat furniture. The door had 
 scarcely closed upon the departing servant, when I 
 mechanically dropped into the luxurious depths of a 
 rocking-chair with which the room was furnished, and 
 which was drawn up before the glowing mass of 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 31 
 
 bituminous coal that blazed and snapped in the deep, 
 wide, brass-rimmed grate, and the pent-up tears that 
 Mrs. Raymont had stirred by her kindness flowed 
 copiously down my cheeks. I had not been accus- 
 tomed to such kindness, as my parents died when I 
 was quite young, and I had been thrown among 
 strangers, and had realized so much of the stern real- 
 ities of life that my heart had grown cold and I had 
 become indifferent to God’s creatures — disgusted with 
 the world, with the people in it, and was impatient 
 with everyone but myself. But the kiss (not a Judas 
 kiss) that I received from Mrs. Raymont, and the 
 kind words of welcome that fell upon my frozen heart 
 like a stray beam upon an icicle, made me forget 
 for a time that the world was cold and cheerless, that 
 friends were false and life full of disappointments. It 
 was the first kiss I had received since my mother 
 folded me to her almost lifeless bosom and said : “ God 
 bless you, my darling, and may He who has seen fit 
 to take your earthly parents from you give you more 
 than parents’ care! ” As she closed her eyes a halo 
 of glory seemed to encircle her dying head, and her 
 weary spirit took its flight to seek one who had gone 
 before her, for the spring flowers had not yet had 
 time to bloom over my father’s grave ere my mother 
 was laid beside him, and I was left to travel that dark 
 
32 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and dreary path alone — the orphan’s path ; that rug- 
 ged and thorny path with no hand-post to guide the 
 little wanderer ; no lamp to shed its brightness on 
 my lonely way; no eyo to pity, no hand to shield 
 save that of Him who hath promised in mercy to be 
 the orphan’s friend — for no orphan can find a friend 
 so true as the one over which the green sod is pressing. 
 
 My youthful readers, you to whom I dedicate these 
 few simple lines, do you love your mothers ? Do you 
 appreciate the unlimited kindness that has been so 
 bountifully bestowed upon you by those dear hands 
 that nursed you in your infancy, and soothed your 
 feeble cries when all other ears had grown weary of 
 them ! She taught your lisping tongue its first words, 
 and your tottering feet to bear their unsteady weight, 
 and watched by your sleepless couch through the 
 dark and lonely hours of night, while others were 
 wrapped in slumber, and who, when you had grown 
 up to be men and women, still clung to you through 
 joy or sorrow, through prosperity or adversity, 
 through honor or disgrace. Though the world may 
 forsake you, she will still cling to the shattered idol 
 until it crumbles into dust. If you do not dearly 
 reverence and cherish such a friend, begin to do so 
 this very hour. You know not how soon you may 
 be deprived of that ministering angel who so gently 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 33 
 
 and lovingly and patiently guided your feet, which 
 were so prone to stray, into paths of peace and wis- 
 dom. Let your mother see that you think of her, 
 and perform those little nameless attentions which can 
 only answer the demands of a loving heart. 
 
 3 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MRS. THORNWHICKER IN A PUCKER. 
 
 I had become so much unaccustomed to bestowing 
 much care upon my toilet, that I almost wondered at 
 my anxiety to look well this morning. I did so much 
 wish that Mrs. Raymont should like me. Poor, fool- 
 ish child that I was ! I had yet to learn that to dress 
 well and look pretty isn’t always the surest way to 
 win friends among our own sex. After changing my 
 traveling dress for something brighter and more pre- 
 sentable, I made my way down stairs, where I met 
 two pretty little girls. The tallest one held out her 
 hand, saying: 
 
 “We are Maud and Lillie Raymont. Papa and 
 mamma just. sent us up to see Miss Montgomery.” 
 
 I extended a hand to each, and drew them to me 
 and said : “My little pupils, I suppose. Will you 
 not give me a kiss, with a promise of what good 
 friends we are to be in the future? ” 
 
 Regarding me with large, discerning eyes, then 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 35 
 
 apparently contented by the survey, two little white 
 arms slipped around my neck, and the eldest declared, 
 in a clear, ringing voice : “ I am glad you are to be 
 
 my teacher, Miss Montgomery.” 
 
 With one on each side, hand in hand we marched 
 into the parlor, which differed from the rest of the 
 house in a more abundant display of shells and corals, 
 and the birds that perched themselves on every “coin 
 of vantage ” were gayer of plumage here than else- 
 where, and they looked so surprisingly alive that one 
 expected them every moment to break into a merry 
 twitter. 
 
 I was lounging upon the divan, half asleep, won- 
 dering how long before the breakfast bell would ring — 
 for I began to feel the effects of my travel and long 
 fasting — when something flashed athwart my gaze. 
 Bewildered, I looked up. Had the queen of morning 
 glided into the room upon the first rays of the 
 rising sun ? And did she stand before me, haughty, 
 impassionate, in a robe of richest silk, while from her 
 brow and neck and arms streamed dazzling lusters, 
 miniature suns of diamonds and stars of blood-red 
 rubies ? So dazzled and bewildered was I that it was 
 almost impossible for me to rise from my seat, when 
 Dr. Raymont said : 
 
 “This is my daughter Clara, Miss Montgomery; 
 
36 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 and this is my niece, Katie Winchester,” turning to a 
 young lady at his left, dressed in deep mourning, who 
 reminded me of a lone star beside a comet. 
 
 Kate extended her hand, saying, “ How do you do, 
 Miss Montgomery ? I hope you will find our home 
 agreeable, and may your stay with us be long and 
 pleasant.” 
 
 Clara only bowed with a great deal of haughtiness 
 of manner. She was indeed beautiful beyond com- 
 parison with any girl I had ever seen. A second 
 glance at Kate convinced me that she possessed that 
 which was more beautiful — a sweet temper and amia- 
 ble disposition, and a heart overflowing with love and 
 affection. The contrast of these two girls was as great 
 inwardly as outwardly. 
 
 Breakfast was announced, which did not displease 
 me in the least. We marched into the dining-room, 
 where Mrs. Thornwhicker had a sumptuous breakfast 
 of rice, fried chicken, hot rolls and butter spread 
 before us. Clara made some inquiries about my 
 journey, etc., and she and Mrs. Thornwhicker mo- 
 nopolized the remainder of the time talking entirely 
 of the reception that was to be given in honor of her 
 rich uncle and cousin, who were to visit them in 
 grandeur and splendor, thus ignoring my very pres- 
 ence, and I was glad when the meal was finished. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 37 
 
 Rose and Katie were silent listeners, and seemed to 
 be anxious to get through in order to get off to 
 themselves to have a tete-a-tete of their own. Dr. 
 Raymont, who was one of those gentlemen who never 
 forgot to be gentle and courteous in his addresses to 
 any lady, would turn constantly to me, seeking to 
 make the conversation general. I replied only when 
 compelled to do so, and then almost in monosyllables. 
 At last, to my relief, the meal was over, and I made 
 my way to my room, Dr. Raymont to his study and 
 Mrs. Raymont to her bed. The latter was an invalid 
 and had been for several years, and the management 
 of the house had been transferred to Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker, a widowed sister of Mrs. Raymont, and who 
 the doctor thought was the best manager in the world. 
 As for Katie and Rose, it would be impossible for 
 any one to tell where they went or in what direction. 
 Their flight was so sudden that I did not try to find 
 out. I stayed in my room the remainder of the day. 
 Mrs. Raymont declared that I needed rest after trav- 
 eling all night. I thought so, too, and did not miss 
 the opportunity. 
 
 The evening was warm and pleasant, and, being 
 tired of my imprisonment, I walked out upon the 
 lawn to survey the beauties of the out-door world 
 that surrounded me. I sat down in the shade of a 
 
38 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 large hickory tree that darkened the sweep of grass 
 in front of the house. It was so quiet and warm that 
 it would have reminded me of a June evening had not 
 the forests been robed in their autumnal dress. A 
 faint, dull red lingered in the east, behind the river, 
 up which the fishing smacks stole lazily, their white 
 sails growing dim and dreamlike as they passed out 
 of its glow into the lengthening twilight. The air 
 was redolent with delicate distillations of delicious 
 fruit that royal-crowned autumn had set before us, 
 and the birds were chirping and hopping from tree to 
 tree, tasting here and there, undecided, as it were, as 
 to what they liked best. They seemed to say, “ Eat, 
 drink and be merry, for to-morrow there will not be 
 one left upon the tree.” Presently my attention was 
 attracted by loud talking. It was the voice of Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker,who was talking in a very excited tone. 
 
 “ Oh, I am in a perfectly awful state of rage ! ” she 
 exclaimed, divesting herself of her hat and shawl and 
 throwing them upon a chair. “The meanness of 
 this world is beyond my comprehension ! ” 
 
 “ Why, what in the name of St. Peter is the matter 
 with you, aunt?” said Clara; “You look like you 
 had been chased by a Bengal tiger ! ” 
 
 “ Matter ? There is plenty the matter, and if I had 
 my way with that squint-eyed widow Maclntarsh, I’d 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 39 
 
 make her look more like the skeleton of a Peteradac- 
 tylus than she does. I never was so provoked in my 
 life, and I firmly believe she did it on purpose ! ” 
 
 “ Well, aunt,” said Clara, “ I hope you will make 
 an explanation, before your vocabulary entirely ex- 
 plodes. Do tell me the cause of your dilemma.” 
 “Why, that red-headed Sallie Maclntarsh went to 
 my ” 
 
 “Red-headed, aunt,” said Clara, before Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker could finish the sentence. “ Why she is not 
 red-headed ; her hair is a beautiful auburn, and Captain 
 Cranshaw thinks it lovely.” 
 
 “Yes, a good-for-nothing thing,” said Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker, puckering up her mouth like a tobacco 
 pouch, and her nose as sharp as Cleopatra’s Needle. 
 “ She is half crazy to catch him, but she will never 
 do it. She is as ‘poor as Job’s turkey,’ and all she 
 gets she puts upon her back. I’d like to know where 
 she gets he;r money. People say she is not the right 
 stripe, and I believe it.” 
 
 “Well, aunt,” said Clara, throwing herself back in 
 her chair and laughing, “what has Mrs. Maclntarsh 
 done to embitter you against her? I thought you 
 were great friends, or at least you appeared to be 
 when you were together, and I know she used to 
 come by often, very often, and take you out to ride.” 
 
40 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 ‘‘She has not done anything to me personally, but 
 she slipped around like a snake in the grass to my 
 dress-maker’s and ordered a dress made for herself off 
 of the very same piece of silk that mine was made 
 from, and then had it made exactly like mine, only 
 more beautiful, all trimmed with pointed lace that cost 
 not less than twenty-five dollars a yard. Mine looks 
 like an old dish-rag by the side of it. She expects 
 to wear it here to the reception, at the same time I 
 expect to wear mine. I wish we had not invited her, ” 
 she exclaimed, despairingly, rocking herself to and fro. 
 
 “That is too bad,” said Clara; “but can’t you 
 have it trimmed over? It is rather plain any way for 
 a ball dress.” 
 
 “Yes, so I can,” said she encouragingly, “and I 
 will do it, no matter what it costs. I guess I can foot 
 any bill she can.” 
 
 Just at this instant, the door opened, and in came 
 Kate witl\ her face all aglow with excitement, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 “Qh, Clara, won’t we have a nice time! Uncle 
 Baskersville and Cousin Harry are coming, and will 
 be here on the 25th.” 
 
 “Who? ’’said Mrs. Thorn whicker, raising herself 
 up and stretching out her neck like a goose that had 
 been choked on a cold potato. 
 
/ 
 
 
 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 41 
 
 “ Uncle Samuel Baskersville, ” repeated Kate, turn- 
 ing red in the face. 
 
 “Mother of all saints!” exclaimed Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker, dropping down in her chair as though she 
 had fallen from the highest pinnacle of hope to the 
 lowest depths of despair. “Just to think ! he is going 
 to poke himself up here just at the very time we are 
 expecting your Uncle Raymont. Clara, what on 
 earth will we do with him ? I do think poor kin is 
 the worst curse that could be sent on any one. It 
 will be so mortifying to have him and that green son 
 of his in the reception-room on the night of the party ; 
 for I know, if the father is as poor as people say he 
 is, he has not been able to educate him.” 
 
 “Well,” said Clara, looking up from the frills, 
 laces and ribbons she had so fastidiously quilled, 
 puffed and bowed, “we are not compelled to intro- 
 duce him to the company as our uncle. No one 
 knows that we have such an uncle, and will never 
 know it unless we tell it.” 
 
 “Certainly,” said Mrs. Thornwhicker, with an air 
 of unspeakable satisfaction. “He is nothing but a 
 half-uncle, any way. But where will we put him to 
 sleep ? I’m sure I shall not put him in the same room 
 with your Uncle Raymont. There will be but one 
 
42 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 vacant room in the house, and the young ladies will 
 have to have one for a dressing-room.” 
 
 “ Give him the little room in the passage,” said 
 Clara. 
 
 “ Why, yes, I had not thought of that. So that 
 decides it. You understand our arrangement for the 
 reception?” turning to Kate, who had been a silent 
 but displeased listener to the conversation. 
 
 ‘ * No, ” said Kate ; “I must admit that it is beyond 
 my comprehension. I can’t see why it is that you 
 are going to slight poor Uncle Baskersville and treat 
 him with so much indifference, while you lavish upon 
 his brother all your luxuries and blandishments. You 
 may treat him as you will, but I expect to do all in 
 my power to make him enjoy his visit, and I know 
 Uncle Richard will, for I’ve heard him speak often ot 
 Uncle Baskersville, and said he was very much like 
 my mother. I don’t think, ’’she continued, as a little 
 pearly drop peeped out of the corner of her eye, 
 “ that it is right to make so much difference, if he is 
 poor ; and from what I can hear of Cousin Harry, he 
 is very smart and intelligent. I am sure Uncle Bas- 
 kersville used to be considered a very smart man, but 
 he has had misfortunes, which neither he nor any 
 one else could help.” 
 
 “The same misfortune that your father had, I sup- 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 43 
 
 pose, ” said Clara, sneeringly. 4 4 He spent every thing 
 he had, and left his children for other people to take 
 care of." 
 
 These words, like a dagger, pierced Kate to the 
 heart. Never in all her life had she been cut so 
 deeply. 
 
 She sat for some moments without speaking, while 
 the hot blood rushed to her face, then faded away 
 and left it an ashy pale, while her lips w^ere a deep 
 purple and trembled as she spoke : 
 
 44 Clara, say what you will to me, but do not speak 
 disrespectfully of my father, who is in his grave, and 
 whose benevolent heart doomed his precious body to 
 fill a poor man’s grave, and leave his only child a 
 victim to the sneers of his rich relatives. But, thank 
 God, I am able now to take care of myself,” she 
 exclaimed, rising from her seat, 44 and I will do it. 
 Uncle Richard shall not have me on his hands any 
 longer ; and, besides, when I get to earning money I 
 will repay him for the hospitalities that I have received 
 beneath his roof. I do not blame him for any thing 
 that has been said. He has been to me all that a 
 kind, good uncle could be to a niece, and God only 
 knows how much I honor and adore him.” 
 
 The fountain in her eyes had dried up, and she 
 walked out of the room with firm step, and made her 
 
44 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 way to her own room, where she found Rose ponder- 
 ing over a letter she had just received. 
 
 “ Rose,” said Kate, “I have something to tell you, 
 and it is this : Uncle Baskersville is coming on the 
 
 25th. You know that is the very time we are expect- 
 ing Uncle Raymont, and Clara and Mrs. Thorn whicker 
 are raging about it. What do you think? — they are 
 going to put him in the little room in the passage, 
 without any fireplace, and he is in such delicate health. 
 But they are going to give Uncle Raymont and his son 
 the large room over the parlor, with a nice, warm fire 
 in it, and uncle so hearty and robust one might sup- 
 pose he could eat a whole ox. Now, do you think 
 that is right?” she exclaimed, looking inquiringly into 
 Rose’s face. 
 
 “No, I do not,” answered Rose. “Is there no 
 other room in the house?” 
 
 “ Only the room they have fitted up for the ladies’ 
 dressing-room. But I’ll tell you what I thought we 
 could do,” she continued, looking as if a new idea 
 had struck her. “We are sound and hearty; let us 
 give Uncle Baskersville our room, and we can take the 
 little room during his stay. That will not be very 
 long, if he receives the treatment Clara and Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker have proposed to bestow upon him.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Rose, “that will be the very thing. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 45 
 
 I am glad you thought of it. We will fix it up and 
 have it all ready." 
 
 “And another thing we should do," said Kate. 
 
 ‘ * Let us do all in our power to make him enjoy his 
 visit." 
 
 “We will," said Rose. 
 
 At this instant the supper bell rang, and the two 
 girls descended the stairs and again we were all seated 
 around the table. Dr. Raymont came in looking very 
 pleasant, and said : 
 
 “I have been very happily surprised, Miss Mont- 
 gomery. I have just received a letter from my other 
 brother, William Baskersville, who says he will visit 
 us on the 25th." 
 
 “It will be very nice," said I, “to have both your 
 brothers to visit you at the same time, after being 
 separated so long," and I gave a sly glance at Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker, which was very contagious, for she 
 caught it and gave it to Clara, and it went from Clara 
 to Kate, from Kate to Rose, and then back to the 
 author, who said : 
 
 “ I suppose they will remain with you some time ? " 
 
 “Only a few weeks," he answered, stroking Kate’s 
 hair, and then said to her : 
 
 “Come into my library, Katie, after supper I wish 
 to see you." 
 
46 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Dr. Raymont had not been in the library long 
 before two white arms stole around his neck, and a 
 sweet voice said: 
 
 “ Here I am, uncle; what can I do for you?” 
 
 He drew her to him and said: “What is my little 
 
 girl going to wear at the reception ? I see everybody 
 is fixing up and having new dresses but her.” 
 
 “ I am going to wear my black merino dress,” said 
 Kate. “You know I am in mourning, uncle, and it 
 matters not what I wear.” 
 
 “ No, Kate,” said he, putting his hand in his breast 
 pocket and taking out a r large leather pocket-book, 
 “you can not wear such a dress at a reception at my 
 house as long as your old uncle can raise a dollar.” 
 As he said this he slipped a hundred-dollar bill into 
 her hand, and told her to have on her best bib and 
 tucker on the reception night. 
 
 The same little arms slipped around his neck, and 
 the same sweet voice said : ‘ ‘ Oh, uncle, you are so 
 
 kind. How can I ever repay you ?” And the bitter 
 words that Clara had spoken to her a’few hours before 
 came bubbling up from her heart, where she had 
 them so secretly stored away. 
 
 “Words, words, words ! ” says Hamlet. God pre- 
 serve us from the destructive power of words. There 
 are words which can separate hearts sooner than the 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 4 7 
 
 sharpest sword ; there are words whose sting can 
 remain in the heart through a whole life. Therefore, 
 always think before you speak. 
 
 He saw the great sorrow written on her brow as 
 she leaned her head upon his shoulder and the pearly 
 drops that dimmed her violet eyes and gathered on 
 the long golden lashes rolled down and rested on his 
 white bosom. He gently raised her head, and said 
 in a measured, low tone, indicative of suppressed 
 emotion : 
 
 ‘ ‘ I did not think it would make you cry, Katie, for 
 your old uncle to give you a little present. There 
 now, go up to your own room ; I expect Rose is 
 waiting for you. ” 
 
 >(c ;fc 
 
 I found the fire burning clear and bright in my own 
 room, and the curtains drawn before the windows, 
 giving it a very cheerful appearance. I sat down in 
 the rocking-chair before the fire to meditate on the 
 scenes that had transpired through the day, and had 
 enjoyed the contemplation of them for some time, 
 when I heard a great noise — rumble, tumble — then 
 an exclamation: 
 
 “ De good Lord, Miss Clara, run here and fetch de 
 camphire bottle wid you. Misses Thornwhicker has 
 got anoder one ob aem appleplexy fits. Poor thing, ” 
 
48 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 she exclaimed, sympathetically, “I do hate to see 
 her hab dem kind o’ things. It skeers me so bad 
 dat I hain’t got a bit ob sense.” 
 
 “Shut up your mouth! ” cried Mrs. Thornwhicker 
 at the top of her voice. She had by this time been 
 restored to the consciousness of her situation. “If 
 you ever mention this to any one, you’ll repent it in 
 dust and ashes. Do you hear?” 
 
 “No, no, Misses,” said the negro, grinning, “I 
 wouldn't say anything ’bout it fur nothin’ in de world, 
 fur I ’spect when dat rich widower comes he’ll be fur 
 takin’ you ’way wid him.” 
 
 “Leave me, you impertinent wretch,” said Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker, who was not displeased at the servant’s 
 last remark. 
 
 As she turned to obey Mrs. Thornwhicker’s com- 
 mands, she spied some glittering fragments scattered 
 over the carpet. 
 
 “Laws, Misses, if here ain’t de doctor’s spectacles 
 mashed and broke all to pieces. Why, I didn’t know 
 you wore spectacles, Misses Thornwhicker!” 
 
 “Bridget, I forbid you to open your mouth again, 
 to-night. If you do, I will feed you on bread and 
 water for the next two weeks.” 
 
 “If it don’t take dem white folks to put on airs,” 
 murmured Bridget to herself as she proceeded up 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 49 
 
 stairs. 4 4 De ole thing called me clear from my work, 
 de oder day, when Capting Cranshaw was here, to 
 pull a needle out of the winder curtin dat she pre- 
 tended to see clear across de parlor, and I could 
 hardly see it after I got dar myself. It was jist to 
 make him think she wasn’t ole. But she wears de 
 doctor’s spectacles when she’s by herself. De Lord 
 knows I’m glad I ain’t white fokes!” 
 
 4 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE TWO BROTHERS, OR THE BROKEN 
 SPECTACLES. 
 
 The morning of the 25th made its appearance, the 
 time appointed for the arrival of the visitors. 
 
 Scarcely had fair Aurora given bright Phoebus time, 
 with the heat of his warm, dazzling rays, to dry up 
 the liquid pearls upon his golden hair, when Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker entered the dining-room with a battalion 
 of servants, and any one accustomed to tactics might 
 suppose she was disposing military and naval forces. 
 After receiving her commands, they dispersed in every 
 direction, and each knew exactly what she had to do 
 and where she had to begin. 
 
 There was sweeping and dusting, 
 
 Scouring and scrubbing, 
 
 Boiling and baking 
 
 And all manner of things making. 
 
 The chickens all seemed to be frightened out of 
 their lives, and one rooster that was more daring than 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 51 
 
 the rest flew upon the lot fence and crowed loudly ; 
 and very soon after the signal sounded they were all 
 collected together in the old barnyard, and seemed to 
 be holding a consultation, while a venerable turkey 
 gobbler was giving orders to the hens to leave as soon 
 as possible for the nearest swamp, and remain there 
 until they could hear from him. 
 
 Said he: “These are critical times ! You know 
 
 our landlady is a widow, and I gave you warning two 
 weeks ago that there was a widower who expected 
 to visit her on the 25th. There have already been 
 taken from our flock two of our best and most beau- 
 tiful daughters.” 
 
 “Two?” said a rooster that had overheard the con- 
 versation. “ What is that in comparison to our loss? 
 Six of our fairest daughters have died upon the altar, 
 and my opinion is that, before another week, there'll 
 not be enough left to tell the tale.” 
 
 For fear of exciting the appetites of my readers, I 
 will not mention what I saw in the pantry that day, 
 but will leave it for them to imagine. 
 
 Evening came, and with it came all the silverware 
 that had been laid away for years. Teapot, cake- 
 basket, waterpot, spoons, forks, candlesticks, cruet- 
 stand, all made their appearance rubbed into mirrored 
 brightness. The housemaids all had on their clean 
 
 y, OF ILL. LIB. 
 
52 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 aprons and white handkerchiefs, and every thing was 
 in apple-pie order. 
 
 It was now twilight, and the king of day had just 
 nodded a graceful goodnight to Luna, who appeared 
 with her host of stars around her, when the large 
 folding doors, which had hitherto been closed, were 
 thrown open, revealing a gorgeous chandelier in the 
 center of the room, where a magnificent display of 
 wreaths of flowers, wax-work and mirrors were exhib- 
 ited ; and the gilt doves above the windows let fall 
 from their bills curtains of the most delicate lace. 
 Birds perched themselves upon the most beautiful 
 positions and sang odes of welcome. The whole 
 house was in billebawde ! Suddenly, a hush came 
 upon the buzzing and humming. Somebody said 
 Mr. Raymont had come. 
 
 The new arrivals changed every thing. Mrs.Thorn- 
 whicker ran before the looking-glass and smoothed 
 back a stray lock of hair that was floating upon the 
 breeze, braced back her shoulders to give herself a. 
 straight appearance, and said “cabbage” in order to 
 give her mouth a dignified pucker before meeting her 
 guests. The young ladies all made themselves very 
 straight, and looked as if they were s.aying ‘ ‘ prunes 
 and prisms.” 
 
 “I’ll take a look,” said I to myself, as I peeped 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 53 
 
 out of a half-closed window just in time to see a large 
 and elegantly-dressed gentleman step from a hand- 
 some carriage to the pavement, with an elegant gold- 
 headed cane in his hand. He had the appearance of 
 a Norman warrior with a battle-ax in his hand. He 
 was followed by a young man who seemed to smile 
 like a girl, I thought — one who is pleased and doesn’t 
 care to hide it — and had a wistful look about the 
 mouth and eyes that I could scarcely interpret. 
 
 The guests were ushered into the parlor, where a 
 cheerful fire was blazing in the open fireplace. They 
 had not been seated a great while when the door-bell 
 was sounded, and a servant was immediately dis- 
 patched to the door ; but Kate, who had disappeared 
 in the first rush, and who had not allowed the excite- 
 ment to overcome her so completely that she forgot 
 there was another uncle to be there on the same day, 
 was a little ahead of the servant, and was soon in her 
 uncle’s embrace. Dr. Raymont met him, also, and 
 gave him a warm and hearty welcome. 
 
 “This is my brother, Mr. Baskersville, ” said Dr. 
 Raymont to Mrs. Thornwhicker, who drew back her 
 neck and grunted, ‘ ‘ and this is my daughter Clara. 
 Come here, Clara, and speak to your uncle.” 
 
 Clara spoke very politely to her uncle, who said to 
 her: “You were quite a child when I saw you last, 
 
54 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 some twenty years ago. ” At these words the hot 
 blood rushed to her face, for she had just told her 
 Cousin Julius that she was but eighteen. 
 
 “Yes, just twenty years, to-day,” he continued, 
 turning to Dr. Raymont. “I was here, and” 
 
 Here, fortunately, her Cousin Harry Baskersville, 
 who had been delayed and had not made his appear- 
 ance, stepped into the room, and suddenly, to Clara’s 
 great pleasure, the conversation flowed in a different 
 channel. She could not help thinking that he was 
 the most handsome man she ever saw. He was a tall 
 young man, majestic in person, his form possessing 
 all the grace of sculpture, and his limbs were of the 
 manliest proportions. His hair was dark, his eyes 
 brown, with a countenance full of intelligence and 
 benignity. Dignity, ease and complacency — the gen- 
 tleman and the scholar — were agreeably blended in 
 him. Modesty marked every line and feature in his 
 face. Those words by Dryden instantly occurred 
 to me : 
 
 “ Mark his majestic fabric ! He’s a temple 
 Sacred by birth and built by hands divine ; 
 
 His soul’s the deity that lodges there, 
 
 Nor is the pile unworthy of the god.” 
 
 Such was the appearance of Harry Baskersville 
 when he was introduced to Clara. She could not help 
 wondering at the contrast in the cousins. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 55 
 
 Her cousin Julius Rayrnont was a well-meaning 
 young man, quite clever, but very conceited — rather 
 amusingly so. His face was as non-committal as his 
 figure. The features were well cut, the eyes cold 
 and observant. His mouth was almost hidden under 
 a long, heavy blonde mustache and barbe d ’ Afrique. 
 What beauty he possessed lay principally in the poise 
 of his well-shaped head and in the delicate throat. 
 
 After supper, Clara was led to the piano by Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker, who whispered in her ear as she 
 arranged some pieces of music : 
 
 “ I want you to exert your musical talent, to-night.” 
 Clara played several pieces, and arose from the 
 piano and closed it. Harry turned immediately to 
 Kate and said : 
 
 “Why, don’t you play, Cousin Kate ?” 
 
 “Ido sometimes, but you must excuse me to-night. ” 
 “ I never like to be importunate,” said he, as he 
 raised the piano cover, ‘ 4 but you must favor us with 
 some music, for of all things I love it.” 
 
 A deep blush swept over Kate’s face as she sat 
 down, but soon recovering herself, her fingers swept 
 over the keys so skillfully, eliciting tones of such 
 perfect harmony, that all who listened felt that there, 
 at least, she was mistress. 
 
 - She soon arose to go, but Harry said quickly, laying 
 
56 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 a detaining hand upon her arm: “Not until you 
 
 have given me one song, Cousin Kate." 
 
 She smiled, reseated herself and sang one or two 
 popular opera airs ; but it mattered very little what 
 the song was, for Kate’s one great gift was her voice, 
 which was so rich and full of exquisite melody, that 
 her hearers — who had expected little more than medi- 
 ocrity — were hushed in glad wonder as the sweet 
 notes of the songstress floated through the room. 
 
 Attracted by the sound of the music, Julius ap- 
 proached the piano, and standing there as he watched 
 the lights and shadows coming and going in the beau- 
 tiful face before him, he felt that the soul of the 
 singer was as fair and unsullied as her voice was rich 
 and musical. Turning to Harry, he exclaimed : 
 
 “Is not that exquisite? I think she has more 
 melody in her voice than any one I ever heard." 
 
 At this instant Clara became enraged with jealousy, 
 and, as she passed out of the room, she said in a low 
 but distinct voice : 
 
 “ Don’t bang all the tune out of the piano, Kate! " 
 
 Kate heard it, and so did Harry. 
 
 “Don’t mind it, Katie," said Harry sympatheti- 
 cally, as she rose from the piano and made her way 
 up stairs, trying to conceal her emotion ; but he saw 
 the bright drops sparkling on her long lashes and 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 57 
 
 burning cheeks, which made her look so pretty in 
 her woe that he felt he could hold her to his heart 
 forever, and shield her from the baneful derisions of 
 this cold and mercenary world. As Kate ascended 
 the stairs, Clara’s room door was open, and she 
 heard distinctly every word that was said, although 
 she was not playing the part of an eaves-dropper. 
 
 “ I think you performed as badly to-night as I ever 
 heard you,” said Mrs. Thorn whicker, as Clara entered 
 the room, looking very much out of humor. “ You 
 performed better the other night, when you were 
 playing for the servants,” she continued, as she went 
 before the glass and smoothed back a stray lock. 
 
 “ I played as well to-night as I ever did,” said Clara 
 angrily, “ and I’m sure I don’t care. I do not like 
 the piano any way — it is so common. I like the harp 
 much better, and I’m going to have one, too ; and 
 when I get it I will remove the piano to the nursery, 
 and Kate can bang on it as much as she chooses. 
 Thank gracious, she can’t play on the harp ! ” 
 
 “Yes,” said Mrs. Thornwhicker, “Kate had to 
 plant herself at the piano, to-night. I suppose she 
 feels herself highly complimented, but she need not, 
 for Julius Raymont’s tongue well utters the language 
 of flattery. Ah, well,” continued she, as she slammed 
 the door and descended the stairs, “that is always 
 
58 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the way with girls you take out of the ashes. Set 
 them on a fire-chunk and they will get above you.” 
 Kate, going to her room and finding no water, took 
 the pitcher and went down for some, and as she passed 
 the parlor she heard Mrs. Thornwhicker say : 
 
 “I am sure that I have not seen them for a week. ” 
 Kate filled her pitcher and was about to ascend the 
 stairs, when Dr. Raymont called to her and said : 
 “Katie, dear, do you know anything of my gold 
 spectacles? ” 
 
 “Yes, uncle,” answered Kate, “ they are broken.” 
 “ Broken ? Why, how came they broken ? I would 
 not part with them for five times their worth.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Thornwhicker had them on the night she 
 had the fit and fell down stairs, and they were broken,” 
 said Kate. 
 
 “Oh, mother of all saints!” said Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker, raising her hands and looking daggers at 
 Kate from her piercing black eyes. “I did not have 
 a fit; I only missed my step.” 
 
 “Ah, well! that will do. It makes no difference. 
 I can get another pair just like them,” said the doctor, 
 soothingly. 
 
 Kate went her way rejoicing, but the mortification 
 of Mrs. Thornwhicker was beyond any human power 
 to alleviate. She had set her heart upon the rich 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 59 
 
 widower, and was fast spinning her web to capture 
 him. When Kate got back to her room she found 
 Rose rolling from one side of the bed to the other, 
 intoxicated with laughter. She had overheard all 
 that had passed concerning the doctor’s spectacles, 
 and she enjoyed it as much as Harry did down stairs. 
 
 Mr. Baskersville expressed a desire to retire, saying 
 that he was not feeling well, but hoped he would feel 
 better after a good night’s rest. 
 
 “Show Mr. Baskersville to his room,” said Mrs. 
 Thorn whicker to a servant. “Your room is quite 
 small,” she continued, “but it is comfortable, and 
 you will find every thing convenient except a fire, 
 which I am very sorry we can not give you. There 
 is no fire-place in the room, and all the other rooms 
 are occupied.” 
 
 This was said in a low tone, for she knew if Dr. 
 Raymont was aware of her arrangement he would 
 arrange matters differently. 
 
 “ Come this way, Uncle,” said Kate, who had been 
 watching for him at the head of the stairs ; and she 
 took him into a nicely-furnished room, where a cheer- 
 ful fire was crackling and blazing in the fire-place, and 
 a large easy-chair drawn before the fire. She set the 
 lamp upon the table, and, as she turned to go, her 
 uncle laid a detaining hand upon her shoulder and 
 
6o 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 said: “You are a dear, good girl, Katie; but how 
 
 can you help it, when your mother was a terrestrial 
 angel, and you are her image.” 
 
 “No, Uncle,” said Kate, “I am not good, but I 
 want to be. Then I would have more patience, and 
 be more submissive to the will of God, who has seen 
 fit to take my dear parents from me, and subject me 
 to the contempt and scorn of those who ought to be 
 my kindest and best friends. 
 
 “ Ah, my child,” said he, stroking her hair, “your 
 poor uncle’s heart throbbed, to-night, when he heard 
 Clara’s insulting remarks ; but do not mind any thing 
 she may say or do. You shall not be compelled to 
 bear her insults much longer. Be of good cheer ; 
 your star will rise in the east as hers sets in the west. 
 It is sparkling now, but it will soon go down. I hope 
 all things are for the best.” 
 
 “ Oh, Rose, ” said Kate, as she entered the little, 
 cheerless room that had been fitted up by Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker for her uncle, “I am so glad we gave Uncle 
 Baskersville our room ! Every thing is so nice and 
 comfortable for him. If he had slept in this room, 
 which Mrs. Thornwhicker intended for him, he cer- 
 tainly would have suffered. He is up all through the 
 night, and scarcely sleeps any on account of that 
 dreadful cough.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 61 
 
 The two girls tucked themselves snugly in bed, 
 and were going over all the events of the evening, 
 when the door opened, and Clara entered the room 
 and said, sarcastically : 
 
 “I hope you are resting comfortably, young ladies. 
 Kate, when did you become a member of the Benevo- 
 lent Society ? ” 
 
 Kate made her no answer, but gave a deep sigh as 
 she drew the cover more closely to protect her eyes 
 from the light of Clara’s lamp. 
 
 “I say, Kate,” said Clara, coming nearer the bed, 
 “are you in the arms of Morpheus?” 
 
 “No, ” said Kate, “I was only thinking.” 
 
 ‘ 4 Ah ! what were you thinking about — Harry Bas- 
 kersville, or the hole in his coat-sleeve?” 
 
 “ Ah, Clara,” said Kate, turning and looking her 
 full in the face, 4 4 you need not make such slack re- 
 marks about Harry Baskersville, because he is poor ; 
 for I tell you I would not give him, with his talents, 
 his refinement, his piety, his noble qualities, his 
 brilliant and instructive conversation, for Julius Ray- 
 mont arrayed in all his glory.” 
 
 “ We differ widely in opinion, ” said Clara ; 4 4 1 think 
 he is very shallow-brained.” 
 
 44 His brilliant lingua will prove that he is Julius 
 Raymonds superior in education,” said Kate, “and 
 
62 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 one glance at him will convince you that he is much 
 the handsomest man.” 
 
 “Ah,” said Clara, “when you and Harry get 
 stuck down in a little log cabin, and you, perhaps, 
 sewing out for your bread, you will not give such 
 glowing descriptions of him.” 
 
 “There is more happiness, sometimes, in a log 
 cabin than in the halls of the rich and noble,” said 
 Kate. “ But I have no idea of ever marrying Harry 
 Baskersville, and hope if he ever marry that he may 
 find some one more deserving than myself.” 
 
 “ Oh, you would make a charming wife for Harry,” 
 said Clara, as she walked out of the room, “for your 
 aspirations do not rise higher than a log cabin.” 
 
 Kate made no reply, but turned her face to the 
 wall and tried to compose herself to sleep. Morpheus, 
 however, refused to comfort her, and she lay there, 
 long after the old clock in the hall had tolled the hour 
 of midnight, thinking over all that had happened. 
 
 What solemn reflections arise at this lonely hour, 
 midnight, if the mind be attuned to them ! If the 
 world were spread out before us like a map, what 
 varied emotion and feeling, what unworthy striving, 
 what unmerited suffering, what new lives born to 
 pain, what old lives dying out in it, what hope, what 
 despair, what thoughts dark and bright, what flowers 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 63 
 
 of tender love, what weeds of ruthless circumstances, 
 what souls born in the mire and kept there, what 
 sounds of woe and pleasant fountain voices with 
 sparkles in them, what angel light and divine touches 
 of compassion, would, in the brief space occupied by 
 the striking of the hour, there be displayed ! And so 
 the hours may strike, night after night, for generation 
 after generation, until a time shall come when every 
 human pulse that at this moment beats through the 
 world, when every heart that thrills and thirsts, the 
 rich and the poor, the lowly and the lofty, both great 
 and small, shall lie down together, and dust shall 
 mingle with dust. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BEST TWO OUT OF THREE, OR THE LITTLE BARE- 
 FOOT ANGEL. 
 
 Morning broke ; the sun struggled up the mountain 
 tops, and tossed the clouds right and left, and stood 
 looking down upon all around. “A bright day to 
 you, Mother Earth,” he exclaimed, “and to all 
 your inhabitants !” and then he smiled gloriously, 
 causing every thing within reach to flash back a greet- 
 ing to his honor. 
 
 There was one beneath the roof of Dr. Raymonds 
 hospitable mansion who welcomed its golden light, 
 and that one was Mr. Baskersville. Long after mid- 
 night he walked the floor, and his hacking cough kept 
 time with his brother’s snores in the next room. 
 The brother had declined the bed intended for his 
 use, which graced the best bedroom, and was trimmed 
 with graceful puffs of snowy lace. He straightway 
 ordered a hammock to be swung from the ceiling, and 
 reclined therein, consoling himself for the fatigues of 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 65 
 
 traveling by smoking an endless succession of cigar- 
 ettes. At his head was a small marble stand, upon 
 which stood a decanter filled with choice wine, which 
 he occasionally helped himself to. A blazing fire 
 was kept burning through the night, by a servant 
 that Mrs. Thornwhicker had ordered to remain in his 
 room and administer to his wants through the night, 
 while Mr. Baskersville, cold and sick, hovered over 
 a few coals. 
 
 There was one who kept vigil with him, however, 
 and that one was my humble self. Too much agitated 
 to sleep, I seated myself before the fire and tried to 
 read. Presently, my attention was directed to a rat, 
 that crept from under the washstand. With an im- 
 pulse of disgust I seized the broom and hit it. It 
 squeeled and tottered, lifting its suffering eyes. The 
 poor thing had been poisoned ; great ulcers were on 
 its back. It was crawling from death, and I had hurt 
 it. Throwing myself upon the bed, I cried aloud : 
 “Vile wretch that I am, I have struck a suffering, 
 defenseless creature ; I have afflicted the afflicted!” 
 If I could only have gathered the rat in my lap, and 
 soothed its dying moments ; but it dragged itself from 
 my sight, and left me in everlasting remorse. Since 
 cruelty is a two-edged sword, that falls back painfully, 
 if you use it even against vermin, how it must cut if 
 5 
 
66 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 we lift it against our fellow-creatures ! I had nearly 
 wept myself to sleep, when a low, wailing sob came 
 from the lips of little Maud, who had insisted upon 
 rooming with me that night. 
 
 “Everyone has trouble,” said I, as I stooped 
 down and kissed the little quivering lips of the 
 sleeper, and inquired into her trouble. 
 
 “ Oh, Miss Montgomery,” said she, “I was dream- 
 ing of a little girl I saw in the hospital once, when I 
 went there with mamma. I sat down by her bed and 
 took her little, pale hand in mine, and it was so cold ! ” 
 continued she, with a far-away manner. * ‘ And she 
 was so near Heaven that she said she could look in, 
 just like we, on a dark street at night, can look right 
 into lighted rooms. I used to think that the floor of 
 Heaven was soft, white clouds — the upper side of the 
 clouds, you know — and that the golden streets were 
 where the rays of light from God’s face made the 
 clouds all golden, and if the angels ever lost their way 
 in Heaven, they only had to follow up the paths to 
 reach His throne. But it never seemed comfortable 
 to me,” continued Maud, “ for I always seem as if I 
 should fall through if I stepped on the clouds, unless 
 I happened to step where the mountains held them 
 up. That used to make me shiver, for mountains 
 always have snow upon them in the winter, and in 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 67 
 
 my bare feet there — ” said Maud, coming to herself. 
 "Oh, I want to ask you something, Miss Montgom- 
 ery,” she continued: "do angels go barefooted in 
 Heaven ? It seems to me the strangest notion. The 
 little girl I was speaking of, in the hospital, said she 
 never had any shoes in her life, and she thought if 
 she could only get into a pair once and hear them 
 crack, she’d be happy. She told me she was going 
 to die, but that the nurse told her she would get 
 plenty of shoes in Heaven. Oh, Miss Montgomery, 
 before I thought, I told her angels did not wear shoes, 
 that they all went barefooted, and she just gave one 
 little cry ! I would have given any thing to have 
 had time to think it all out as she wanted it ; but she 
 went off to sleep, and never awoke again. She had 
 the saddest little face in her coffin, I ever saw, and I 
 could not help crying.” 
 
 Maud looked truly sorrowful, but her face illumin- 
 ated when I told her that one look at God’s face 
 would brighten the sad little face and sweeten all the 
 life that trailed in behind it. 
 
 Child-like, Maud soon dried her tears, and went 
 off to sleep again to dream of the little barefoot angeL 
 My thoughts, however, continued to flow, as I looked 
 back upon the drama of my life, and rehearsed it 
 gravely and steadily up to the present moment. 
 
68 
 
 HOSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 The sum of our imaginary woe becomes at last so 
 great that one is moved to examine and analyze it. 
 Is it well or is it ill that our soft hearts should thus 
 be “ idly stirred? ” What is the use or significance 
 of tears, and are we the better or the worse for them ? 
 
 Was the acute Greek right, when he approved the 
 action of tragedy as “ paralyzing ” the soul through 
 “ pity and terror?” or shall we abide by the austere 
 decision of that modern classic, Dr. Newman : “ God 
 has made us feel in order that we may go on to act 
 in consequence of feeling. If, then, we allow our 
 feelings to be excited without acting upon them, we 
 do mischief to the moral system within us; just as 
 we might spoil a watch, or other piece of mechanism, 
 by playing with the wheels of it. We weaken the 
 springs, and they cease to act trusty.” 
 
 It is a pleasant and plausible supposition that both 
 of these authorities are right. There are two kinds 
 of pathos, each frequently exemplified by the per- 
 plexed authors of the present day. One invigorates 
 the moral sense, the other enervates it; one is fruitful, 
 the other barren ; one true, the other false. The 
 true pathos deals chiefly with the average conditions 
 and probable results of life, which, God knows, are 
 sad enough ; the false seeks curiously for unparalleled 
 misfortunes. The true is mostly incidental, often 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 69 
 
 unconscious ; the false is always deliberate. And 
 since, after all, an exclusive or exaggerated sense of 
 human misery means simply madness, the true pathos 
 is, above every thing, shy in habit, simple and mod- 
 erate in speech, while the false, appealing to coarse 
 sensibilities, employs, to produce its effect, all arts 
 known and unknown to rhetoric, and makes, as 
 Matthew Arnold says of Byron, a “pageant of its 
 bleeding heart.” From the touch of the true pathos 
 we always rise with a corrected sense of our relations 
 to the world; humble, in view of our advantages, 
 and patient of our deprivations. From the presence 
 of the false we are apt to rebound, with the selfish 
 and childish reflections that what has moved us is 
 only a story, and that things are not so bad after all. 
 Then we marshal each his author to show who made 
 us cry, why he made us cry, whether we ought to 
 have cried, and whether we cried to any purpose. 
 “But these tears, after the Jewish fashion, we put 
 into a bottle, and reserve for the next month.” 
 
 Kate woke up next morning very much astonished 
 and bewildered at finding Mrs. Thornwhicker in her 
 room, who kissed her most compassionately, and said 
 mischievously : 
 
 “You lazy girls, you had better get up or you’ll 
 
70 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 lose your breakfast ! Oh, you are such a good girl, 
 Kate ! It was so kind of you to give up your room 
 to your uncle. I was really uneasy about him last 
 night, for I heard him coughing all through the night. 
 I will send him a good hot breakfast to his room, 
 and a good hot punch wouldn’t do him any harm.” 
 
 “ Soft soap and moonshine!” thought Kate, as she 
 raised herself up and leaned on her elbow, rubbing 
 her eyes to see if she was dreaming, and wondering 
 what was going to happen. 
 
 “You bad girl, you,” she continued ; “you don’t 
 know how you did tease me, when you told the doc- 
 tor that I had a fit and fell down stairs and broke his 
 glasses ; and I truly think they every one believe it ! 
 Of course you did not say it intentionally. Now, I 
 want you to tell your uncle, when you go down, that 
 you were only teasing me because I fell, and that I 
 did not have a fit — won’t you?” 
 
 Kate was a good metaphysician, and soon unraveled 
 the tangled problem as to why it was that she had 
 become so affectionate, and why her sympathies had 
 been so suddenly stirred toward Mr. Baskersville. 
 
 “Get up, Rose,” said she, after Mrs. Thornwhicker 
 had left the room. “You have missed it all; we 
 have been visited by an angel ! ” 
 
 “A fallen angel!” said Rose, who had a natural 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 7 I 
 
 dislike for Mrs. Thornwhicker from the first hour she 
 saw her. 
 
 “I wonder what is going to happen? She must 
 be under conviction,” said Kate. 
 
 It was the first time Mrs. Thornwhicker had ever 
 kissed Kate. The first few weeks of their acquaint- 
 ance, after the former had been introduced into Dr. 
 Raymonds family, she beamed upon her quite gra- 
 ciously, supposing her to be, at least, a rich relative of 
 the family, but when she discovered simply a poor 
 relation and an orphan, her arrogant pride asserted 
 itself. From henceforth contemptuous glances and 
 insults, veiled but exasperating, and slights, small 
 but piercing like needles, were directed at her. 
 
 Kate Winchester was one of those fortunate indi- 
 viduals whom God endows with active brain, healthy 
 body, and that peculiar trait which is best charac- 
 terized as “spirit.” I say fortunate, because she 
 was left v/hen a mere child to the charity of the world, 
 which, as every one knows, somewhat resembles that 
 of certain Indian tribes — letting the weakly children 
 die, lest they become troublesome. But the world 
 honors spirit ; and, when it was seen that the little 
 maiden was determined to beat down all opposition 
 with her tiny fist, it straightway smiled upon her. 
 People called her cold, and perhaps she merited the 
 
72 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 epithet, for her manner was certainly very indifferent 
 toward those whom she had no wish to conciliate. 
 She read characters quickly — too quickly to be popu- 
 lar with the masses, generally, who do not much 
 wish camera obscura exhibitions, and when Kate once 
 found there was nothing.worth liking or cultivating 
 in a character, that character would become almost 
 a nonentity to her ; but let her once thoroughly 
 respect a friend, she was as warm-hearted and affec- 
 tionate, and far more true than the majority of her sex. 
 
 As Kate was making her way down stairs, she met 
 a servant with a large waiter, directing his steps 
 toward Mr. Baskersville’s room. 
 
 “See,” said Kate, pointing to the waiter, “what 
 virtue there is in broken spectacles! *\ 
 
 “ If you please, be a little more explicit,” said Rose, 
 “I don’t like problems — before breakfast, at least. ” 
 “ Why, I mean simply this, ’’said Kate : “ If it had 
 not been for Dr. Raymont’s spectacles, we would not 
 have had the exquisite pleasure of seeing that waiter 
 going to Uncle Baskersville’s room this morning.” 
 “You are the strangest girl I ever saw,” said Rose. 
 “What has that waiter to do with Dr. Raymont’s 
 spectacles? ” 
 
 “Oh, I forgot that you were not awake when Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker made her morning call.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 73 
 
 “No; I awoke just as she was leaving the room. 
 What did she want?” 
 
 “She wanted me to tell Uncle Raymont that she 
 did not have a fit when she fell and broke his glasses 
 the other night, and say also that I was only joking.” 
 
 “As if you would tell a falsehood for her!” said 
 Rose. “I’d see her in Hayti first! She is only 
 trying to catch him because he is rich. She looks 
 as if she had been blown out of a volcano ! ” 
 
 “Yes,” said Kate, “she thinks she will get into 
 my good graces by being kind to Uncle Baskersville. 
 As for me, I am glad the spectacles were broken, for 
 his sake.” 
 
 Mr. Raymont ate sumptuously of Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker’s hot rolls, fried chicken, and eggs. The 
 latter, he said, were boiled a little too hard, and the 
 biscuits had a little too much soda in them. The 
 coffee, too, was not quite strong enough. He kept 
 up such a strain of complaints that our fastidious 
 housekeeper’s face was burning red with indignation ; 
 yet she poured out the coffee with indolent grace, 
 and chatted and flattered him with soft, caressing 
 nothings. 
 
 “ I have beaten you the best two out of three! ” 
 I heard some one say as I strolled into the drawing- 
 
 room. 
 
74 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “Yes, you have beaten me, Cousin Harry, ’’said 
 Kate; “and you have won the prize. If I had a 
 sunflower and a few hollyhocks I would weave for 
 your majesty a couronne .” 
 
 “I will get you some cedar and holly-berries,” said 
 Maud, who had been watching* the game. “I think 
 they will look better than hollyhocks.” 
 
 Maud scampered away, but soon returned with the 
 evergreen and holly-berries, and the couronne was made 
 and placed upon the head of the gallant knight, as 
 he kneeled at the feet of his fair queen. 
 
 Harry was very much surprised, upon going to his 
 room that night, to And a package laying upon his 
 dressing-stand directed to him. 
 
 “What does this mean?” said he, as he opened 
 the package and found therein a handsome suit of 
 clothes, forgetting all about the bet Kate had made 
 with him ; but when he saw the little card that was 
 pinned on the coat-collar, he smiled and said : “ Who 
 would have thought it?” 
 
 Kate had proposed to Harry to have a game of 
 chess, and bet a suit of clothes against a set of jew- 
 elry that she could beat him the “best two out of 
 three,” and allowed herself to be beaten in order to 
 present Harry with a new suit without making him 
 feel embarrassed. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A GRAND RECEPTION — A HOLE IN HARRY’S COAT-SLEEVE. 
 
 The weeks passed by in sweet procession, until 
 they brought the choicest time of all the year — 
 Christmas. As for me, there was a wonderful light 
 on sea and land. Whatever others thought, I knew 
 the light wreaths of snow that gleamed on every tree 
 were garlands thrown down by the angels in honor of 
 their King. The bells that chimed through the air, 
 like archangels’ harps, were harbingers of peace and 
 joy. Every room was bright with leaping Christmas 
 fires, and every one was merry as marriage bells. 
 Far in the east was the Star of Bethlehem, twinkling 
 and blazing in adoring reverence, as it did on the 
 night when it came and rested over the Ark of the 
 Covenant, as a guide for the good shepherds. When 
 the joyful news of the soul-cheering message was 
 echoed and reverberated over the hills and through 
 the dales of Bethlehem, they knew that Jehovah 
 was there. 
 
;6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Yes, it was Christmas, and Clara Raymont hailed 
 it with delight. Her cards for a fancy party had been 
 out for several days, and this evening was to witness 
 the assemblage of the guests. The rooms were beau- 
 tifully decorated with graceful wreaths of cedar, ivy, 
 and holly-berries, while rare flowers of the brightest 
 tints and beauty shone ever and anon amid the rich 
 vuidarious , as the most brilliant chandeliers cast their 
 sparkling glow over the whole. 
 
 Clara and Julius were the ruling spirits of each gay 
 scene, and even Kate seemed for a time to forsake 
 her shy manner and forget her quiet way. She was 
 dressed “in deep mourning, which was very becoming 
 to her fair complexion, and all the ornament she 
 wore was a white rose in her golden hair, that Harry 
 had put there, emblematically, he said. 
 
 Clara looked beautiful in her regal robe of white 
 and crimson, with its sweeping train and ermine 
 finish, while the fairness of her complexion was en- 
 hanced, if possible, by the dazzling rays of the pearls 
 and diamonds which shone in the waves of her dark 
 hair, and upon her neck and arms. Julius was ever 
 at her side. She dealt in magic; it was a perfect 
 blessing to be near her, to catch the light and warmth 
 of the thousand glances which fell upon him, and 
 which she caught in return. He was desperately 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 77 
 
 enamored with her charms, and in the presence of fair 
 Luna doffed his hat and laid his fortune at the feet of 
 the dark-eyed beauty. 
 
 Thus the fair Clara took Julius captive at her will, 
 and he yielded himself a prisoner, and permitted her 
 to bind him with the silken cords of love. 
 
 “I believe in love at first sight, ’’said he, taking 
 out his pocket handkerchief for the twentieth time to 
 wipe the perspiration from his face. * ‘ A man of soul 
 is able to tell, in a week, whether a woman would do 
 for a wife. The judgment of true love is intuitive — 
 a glance, and it is done. A man of genius has in his 
 love an unexplainable model, the prototype to which 
 exists somewhere in reality, although he may never 
 have seen or heard of her. This is wonderful, but it 
 is true. He wanders about the world, impervious to 
 all the delicious, thrilling, soul-melting beams of 
 beauty, till he reaches the right one. There are blue 
 eyes ; they are tender, but they touch not him — there 
 are black eyes ; they are piercing, but his heart re- 
 mains whole. At length, accident throws him into 
 contact with a creature; he hears the tone of her 
 voice, he feels the warm streams of soul shining 
 from her countenance ; gaze meets gaze, and thoughts 
 sparkle into thoughts, till the magic blaze is kindled. 
 That blaze,” said he, taking both her hands in his, 
 
78 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “was kindled the moment I was first permitted to 
 look upon your lovely face.” 
 
 At this moment some one approached, and the 
 conversation languished. Presently, the band played 
 one of Strauss’ waltzes, and Julius Raymont delivered 
 himself up to its ecstacies, and, taking Clara by the 
 arm, swept down among the dancers, and flashed 
 through the waltz, and imagined himself one of the 
 happiest men on earth. Clara was happy, too, at the 
 thought of coming into possession of such a large 
 fortune. 
 
 Julius was good-looking, she thought, and she 
 would soon learn to love him; but she could not 
 help thinking that Harry Baskersvill^ was one 'of the 
 most handsome men she had ever seen, and wondered 
 at his graceful, unembarrassed elegance as he moved 
 through each set or conversed with the various per- 
 sons who approached him. She soon discovered that 
 his office of prompter was quite superfluous. He 
 acted his own character to perfection. How could 
 he fail when his whole heart was in the acting? 
 
 “Harry has created quite a sensation to-night!” 
 said Mrs. Thornwhicker, approaching Clara, who had 
 not failed to perceive it.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Clara, “ his new suit adds considerably 
 to his looks. I did not know he had another suit 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 79 
 
 with him, as I have not seen any baggage. I have 
 been afraid to look at him all night, for fear the first 
 thing that met my gaze would be the hole in his coat- 
 sleeve.” 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CLARA RAYMONT’S BRIDAL NIGHT A SHOWER OF TEARS. 
 
 Within the mansion of Dr. Raymont was gathered 
 another brilliant throng. Priceless jewels and costly 
 fabrics gleamed and rustled ; from every window 
 bright lights streamed, casting broad bands of radi- 
 ance far out over the soft grass and graveled pave- 
 ment, penetrating even to the secluded walks among 
 trees and shrubs, and lighting, here and there, in 
 quivering gleams. Borne upon the air were sweet 
 strains of melody, rising and falling, now swelling 
 higher and higher in loud, joyous, triumphant tones, 
 and again breathing low and sweet as the gentle 
 whispering breeze among the forest trees. 
 
 It was the bridal night of Clara Raymont. The 
 marriage was one of uncommon splendor. The 
 wealthy, the gay, and the fashionable, were there. 
 What a splendid bridegroom — what a beautiful 
 bride! At the wedding there were chivalry and 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 8 
 
 beauty, courtesy and gallantry, wisdom and wit. 
 White satin, white veils, white ribbons, white gloves, 
 white vests, and appropriate flowers were in profu- 
 sion. 
 
 “There never was a more suitable couple united 
 since the first marriage in the garden of Eden,” said 
 old Mr. Raymont, coming up to Mrs. Thornwhicker 
 and giving her a severe pinch on the arm that almost 
 caused her to scream with pain. 
 
 After the ceremony was performed, two large fold- 
 ing doors were suddenly thrown open, which revealed 
 a gorgeous table in all the splendor of wax-lights, 
 flowers and silver. After supper, the company re- 
 turned to the ball-room and kept up the dancing till 
 four in the morning. 
 
 The wedding was the most splendid one ever given 
 in the country. It was one of those weddings, too, 
 for which we sometimes predict a leisurely repent- 
 ance. Love at first sight, followed by a very brief 
 courtship, and then the wedding, friends’ congratula- 
 tions, kisses, tears, laughter and supper, which they 
 ate, no doubt, looking shyly at each other, and won- 
 dering whether it could be possible that they were 
 husband and wife. Was it a dream that had come 
 true, or only a dream, a drama, or that out of which 
 all dramas. are made — a mirage of sun and mist on 
 
82 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 the horizon of realities? It was natural, coming to- 
 gether, as they did, that they should know very little 
 of each other in regard to those details of the life 
 before them on which so very much depends in the 
 course of time. They did not know much of the 
 world they had lived in, and nothing at all of the 
 world they were entering. She was beginning this 
 wedded life, as so many of our girls do, without the 
 fine, sturdy womanhood of the open air, with a bloom 
 on her face like that you see on the blossoms in a hot- 
 house. Since they first met it had been Eden un- 
 fallen, with the dew of heaven on it. Did they won- 
 der whether a brief space would find them outside 
 their Eden, in among the thorns and briers, with a 
 flaming sword at the gate forbidding their return ? I 
 can only wonder — I can not tell. They may have 
 thought of this, and wondered whether their trust in 
 each other would ever come to such an end as that. 
 He had swept suddenly into the circle of her life, 
 filling up the picture she had in her heart of the man 
 she would marry. Although a relative, she really 
 knew no more about him than he knew about her. 
 She had only heard of his wealth, that glittering ore 
 which builds around all human sympathy a wall of 
 adamantine. Would he turn out selfish or self-for- 
 getful, or she a frivolous gossip or a woman he could 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 83 
 
 not trust like his own soul. Would the sunshine 
 break out in his face as he entered his own door, 
 and meet the sunshine breaking out in hers? Or 
 would he be pleasant to every other human and save 
 all his snarls until he entered his own home, shut the 
 door and sat down to supper, and she give him back 
 his own with usury? 
 
 There it all lay before them — the vast, unknown 
 possibility, leading to heaven or to hell, by the time 
 they get to their silver wedding. These young people 
 have yet to find each other out. They may do it as 
 soon as their marriage was accomplished, or they 
 may spend a life-time in the discovery. Some married 
 people find each other out as I have read of mariners 
 finding out the polar world. They leave the shores 
 of their single life in the spring days, with tears and 
 benedictions, sail on awhile in sunshine and fair 
 weather, and then find their way, little by little, into 
 the cold latitudes, where they see the sun set day by 
 day, and feel the frost creep in, until they give up at 
 last and turn to icicles while sitting at the same table. 
 Others, again, find each other out as we have been 
 finding out this continent. They nestle down at first 
 among the meadows, close by the clear streams ; then 
 they go on through a belt of shadow, lose their way, 
 and find it again the best they know, and come out 
 
8 4 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 into a large horizon and a better land. They meet 
 difficult hills and climb them together, strike deserts 
 and dismal places and cross them together, and so, at 
 last, they stand on the further reaches of the moun- 
 tains, and see the other ocean sunning itself, placid 
 and still, and then their journey ends. But through 
 shadow and sunshine they keep together, right on to 
 the end. They allow no danger, disaster, or difference 
 to divide them, and no third person to interfere; for, 
 if they do, it may be as if William and Mary of 
 England had permitted the great Louis to divide their 
 throne by first dividing their hearts. 
 
 God grant that so it may be with these twain in 
 their far-a^ay home. They should keep together, 
 and when the arm fails, and the mount of glittering 
 ore moulders away and leaves nothing but extraneous 
 matter, the heart would still abide in its old beautiful 
 strength, and they would find well-springs in their 
 driest deserts, and gleams of sunlight stealing through 
 their darkest shadows. 
 
 But kind and gentle reader, as we go along side by 
 side with this romantic and loving couple, do not let 
 us forget our little heroine, Rose Sherwood, to whom 
 much honor is due, and to whom we are indebted for 
 the title of our most worthy volume. 
 ******** 
 
 “ I am very sorry, Miss Rose, that you had to part 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 85 
 
 so soon with Mr. Chesterfield,” said a sneering voice 
 in one corner of the room. “ Why did you not keep 
 him longer?” 
 
 I looked around, and was not a little surprised at 
 seeing the same individual who had discussed Rose 
 and Egbert Chesterfield at the railroad station, on the 
 eve of our departure from Newport. The hot blood 
 rushed to Rose’s face, and her pulse beat fast as she 
 listened. When he was quite through she raised her 
 head, lifted her heavy lashes, and looked at him 
 gravely. A hard smile was upon her lips, a bitter 
 light in her eyes, and she spoke with an effort : 
 
 “This is hardly a case requiring much sympathy 
 or regret, Captain Cranshaw ; and the next time you 
 select the Newport depot to discuss a lady in, and 
 the way-train passengers for an audience, I hope you 
 will mention the ten thousand-dollar security debt 
 my father has to pay for you next month ! ” 
 
 As she said this she arose and walked out upon the 
 veranda, where the cool breeze might kiss her burn- 
 ing cheeks. “ What a lovely night ! ” she murmured 
 to herself, “and yet there is no comfort for me in its 
 beauty. If only the darkness would cover all, and 
 clouds shut out the sun ! All outside is hopeful and 
 lovely, and I am wretched and miserable.” 
 
 Some one whom the shadow had hidden came 
 slowly to her side and said : 
 
86 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “I have been looking for you, Cousin Rose, and 
 here you are with that same old brown study which 
 you are accustomed to wear. Do tell me what tangled 
 problems of life are so rapidly deepening the lines on 
 that white brow of yours, and darkening the shadows 
 in your eyes/' 
 
 “Not exactly a brown study, ” answered Rose. 
 
 “ I had just been repeating one of Scott's poems, 
 when these sober thoughts came to my mind, and 
 there is so much reality in them that I found myself 
 repeating more than once: 
 
 ‘ O, mirth, where is thy joy ? 
 
 O, pleasure, how far art thou removed from real happiness ! ’ ’* 
 
 “ Are you not happy, Cousin Rose?” said Harry, 
 looking at her tenderly. 
 
 “I can not say, Cousin Harry, ’’said she, “that I 
 am either happy or miserable.” 
 
 And here they discussed the philosophy of events, 
 and Harry adopted the views of Buckle, 1 ‘ that human 
 beings necessarily acted by the impulse of outward 
 circumstances upon the mental and bodily condition,” 
 while Rose controverted the theory, and maintained 
 that they acted rather from the impulse of some qual- ► 
 ity within themselves, unaffected by outward circum- 
 stances. The discussion languished at length, and 
 there had been silence for a little space, when Harry 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 87 
 
 said: 44 Excuse me, Cousin Rose; I have a letter for 
 you. It was handed to me at the post-office, and 1 
 forgot to deliver it.” 
 
 Rose took the letter and stole away from the rev- 
 elers. She hastily broke the seal, and found therein 
 a little scroll from Egbert Chesterfield, upon which a 
 few words were traced, asking her to release him 
 from their marriage engagement ; that he would leave 
 shortly for South America, and would remain there 
 ten years ; therefore, he would release her from the 
 engagement, as he did not think it just for her to 
 make the sacrifice ; but if she was yet unmarried when 
 he returned, they would renew the engagement, if it 
 was agreeable to her. 
 
 Such harshness cut her to the heart, and she wept 
 in all the hopelessness of despairing love. It is need- 
 less to attempt to describe the dismay and affliction 
 of the fair girl at this blow ; but, though dismayed 
 by its suddenness, she sank not beneath its force. . For 
 hours grief reigned uncontrollable, when the violence 
 of her emotion gave place to the calmness of despair. 
 
 4t Why do I go on loving him still ? ” she asked her- 
 self, reddening with shame at the confession, 44 when 
 I know him to be so utterly unworthy. He is not 
 the man I love, and yet his face is always before my 
 eyes, his voice in my ears. How I w r ould despise 
 
88 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 any other girl for such weakness! No, nor will I be 
 guilty of such weakness! I will not think of him; I 
 will not love him, if there is any power on earth to 
 conquer love!’' 
 
 This resolution lent a transient glow to her cheek 
 and vigor to her nerve. After a few moments’ thought 
 she arose and dashed a tear from her eyes, and took 
 from her portmanteau a scrap of paper, and wrote 
 the following words : 
 
 “ Egbert, you are free ! ” 
 
 An hour later she wandered into the parlor, just as 
 some of the guests were asked to play, and no one 
 observed her. She was quite herself now, and she 
 answered without any hesitation, as it would appear, 
 with perfect truth and composure, and never waived 
 the subject, nor winced under the ordeal, not even 
 when Mrs. Thornwhicker glanced over the daily paper 
 and called to her : 
 
 “.Did you see this, Rose, dear? Here is Mr. 
 Chesterfield a passenger on the Eclipse for South 
 America. Did you know about it, dear?” 
 
 Can any of our readers imagine the agony of this 
 poor girl’s heart as she listened to these gossips, 
 knowing she was the victim, and took in the truth — 
 that the one into whose keeping she had given her 
 whole heart was utterly false and unworthy of her 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 89 
 
 love and had not only deceived her, but made her a 
 victim to the most contemptible vice on earth, gossip. 
 One must have passed through this fiery furnace in 
 order to comprehend how fiery it is. But the ma- 
 lignant smile that crossed Captain Cranshaw’s lips 
 aroused her sufficiently to prevent her giving way to 
 the sensation of hopeless desolation that had oppressed 
 her before, but could not allay the dull, heavy pain 
 at her heart, and she spoke with perfect composure, 
 as she slowly turned over the music : 
 
 “ He has often spoken of visiting South America, 
 but I have never heard him speak of any particular 
 time for the journey.” 
 
 Then there flashed across her memory, like the 
 corruscations of a Southern night, the hours he had 
 spent with her describing the gorgeous scenes of the 
 Amazon, and the canons of the Andes. How his 
 imagination had taken fire with the subject, and he 
 had painted it all with warmth and delight, as if they 
 were one day to explore that fair land together. Yet 
 she must go on with her life, all the same as if no 
 eclipse had interposed, as if she had not heard the 
 thunder of fate rebuking her, nor seen its sharp light- 
 ning divide her heaven ; and she did go on all the 
 same to outward appearances. After that the days’ 
 pleasures went on ; people arrived and departed ; the 
 
9 o 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 sun shone ; little clouds blew across the sky ; the hills 
 frowned down like impending thunder clouds, and the 
 earth turned on its axis as if nothing had happened. 
 Rose never doubted, after that first moment, that he 
 had gone from her forever. She gave him up at once, 
 then and there, without reservation, never hoping to 
 see his face again. Another girl might have looked 
 for his return, but she never did ; another might have 
 given herself over to melancholy and bitterness, but 
 she forebore. There was that in her heart which was 
 stronger than pain, which wrestled with it, which 
 wearied but never gave up the strife ; but all the same 
 she hated the long, sickly, yellow summer days, with 
 blue vapors curling about the hills ; the haunted 
 silence of the late season, and, more than all, the 
 warm, pattering rains, that drifted from the eaves 
 and pattered on the balconies, and tired her with 
 strange intonings of grief. 
 
 And now for a time we will leave her with her grief, 
 trusting that ere long He who afflicts to heal will 
 translate her sorrows into promised joy, and raise 
 her from the grave of buried hopes o’er which she 
 lingers, plucking the flowers of memory and pressing 
 them to her wounded heart, which sends forth a sigh 
 of sadness in response to the requiem sung by the 
 passing breeze to departed joy. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE BRIDAL TOUR A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 “Uncle, ’’said Kate, coming up to Dr. Raymont 
 and putting her arms around his neck, “can I go 
 home with Uncle Baskersville ? Say yes, uncle; 
 please do,” continued she, pleadingly. “I want to 
 go so very much, for I have never visited him, and 
 he is so anxious for me to go.” 
 
 The doctor hesitated a moment and said : 
 
 “Well, I suppose you will have to go, but I hate 
 to give you up. We will be so lonely, and besides I 
 am afraid you will not enjoy your visit as much as 
 you anticipate. You know that your uncle is in 
 reduced circumstances, poor man, and is not able to 
 make you as comfortable as he could wish. There 
 will be no one there but your uncle and cousin, and 
 you will be lonely.” 
 
 “ Oh, I will not be lonely,” pleaded Kate. “ You 
 know I am not the kind of' girl to get lonely, for I 
 never care for society.” 
 
9 2 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “Yes, but you should not cherish such feelings. 
 It will make you selfish and egotistical, and you will 
 be an old woman before you are twenty. Enjoy life 
 while you can, for the stern realities of life will frown 
 upon you soon enough, and you will surely be called 
 upon to do your share of the duties and responsibili- 
 ties of life.” 
 
 “ I am called upon now, uncle,” said she, gravely. 
 Uncle Baskersville is in bad health, and, besides, he 
 is too poor to hire a housekeeper, and I think it my 
 duty to stay with him ; for I will not only be a help 
 to him, but a comfort to him in his affliction.” 
 
 “You are a good and noble girl,” said her uncle, 
 sighing, for he thought of his own daughter, whom 
 he had reared and indulged, and who seldom felt even 
 the restraint of a remonstrance at his hands. She 
 never knew a thought nor had a wish beyond the 
 gratification of her own appetite or desire, or her own 
 internal satisfaction. And she was so soon to leave 
 the parental roof, where she had never known a sor- 
 row, nor aught of grief that wealth could shield her 
 from, to go forth upon the stage of action with no 
 more grip than a bird, to either make a happy and 
 honored wife, or a miserable, discontented woman. 
 
 “ God only knows ! ” said he, as he sat there alone 
 and saw it all — the one great mistake he had made in 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 93 
 
 rearing his only child. As these thoughts rushed to 
 his mind he bowed his head and murmured: “ Had 
 I my life to go over I would raise her differently." 
 
 But “if, if, if!" Ah, ’tis ever thus! While life 
 and effort go toiling up the steeps of time, looking 
 back we hear the footsteps of regret tinkling along 
 over the little subjunctives, making minor music as 
 they go. Oh, the bitterness of late contrition ! the 
 agony of remorse that comes not till the ears that so 
 long needed counsel and reproof are wrapped in deep 
 oblivion. 
 
 A few days after the wedding the bride and groom 
 took their departure, accompanied by Mrs. Thorn- 
 whicker, who was on the eve of matrimony with Mr. 
 Raymont. He had asked her to marry him, and she 
 had yielded unhesitatingly on the condition that he 
 would take her to Europe on a tour. She was very 
 much elated over her journey, and smiled as she 
 built her castle high in the air, and saw the future 
 bending over her like a bow of promise sparkling and 
 gleaming in the golden sunshine. 
 
 After several days’ travel, to her great pleasure they 
 reached their destination, for she had sat pinched up 
 in one corner until she almost imagined herself to be 
 Lot’s wife ! Mr. Raymont occupied two-thirds of the 
 
94 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 seat, and his feet monopolized the one in front, with 
 his head thrown back and snoring like a wounded lion. 
 
 “ Wiggle Creek! ” sang the brakeman, as the train 
 dashed up to the station. 
 
 “What is the name of this place?” asked M.^. 
 Thornwhicker, who failed to catch the name. 
 
 “ Wiggle Creek ! ” said a gentleman in front of her. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Oh my, what a name ! ” she exclaimed ; ‘ ‘ and the 
 place is about as horrible as its name.” 
 
 “ Yes, this is Wiggle Creek, ” said old Mr. Raymont, 
 as he gathered up the bandboxes and traveling bags ; 
 “ and we will have to wiggle out of here ! ” 
 
 “Oh, horrors!” exclaimed Mrs. Thornwhicker, 
 shuddering at the uncouth expression that came so 
 unexpectedly, and at the idea of getting off at such 
 an old, dilapidated-looking place with that horrible 
 name. 
 
 They found a carriage awaiting them, with a beau- 
 tiful span of horses most handsomely equipped. The 
 four entered‘the coach, comfortably seated themselves ; 
 the driver cracked his whip, and the horses dashed 
 off and were soon lost to the view of the inhabitants 
 of Wiggle Creek. 
 
 Julius was very reserved, but seemed perfectly 
 happy, as Clara’s beautiful head rested on his bosom 
 in broken slumbers, now and then asking how far it 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 95 
 
 was from home, while Mrs. Thorn whicker occupied 
 the same position she did on the train, and was afraid 
 to move her feet for fear they would come in contact 
 with Mr. Raymonds, who was patting and singing 
 ‘ ‘ The Little Log Cabin in the Lane” nearly all the way. 
 For a few minutes he ceased patting and singing, 
 when the blessed dews of Morpheus sealed the eye- 
 lids of Mrs. Thornwhicker, who dreamed of entering 
 a magnificent mansion, where a great many servants 
 
 > 
 
 all dressed in oriental costumes, bowed to the ground 
 as she approached. At this point Mr. Raymont 
 hallooed at the top of his voice right in her ear : 
 
 “ Wake up, folks, we are home at last ! Come out 
 here, you Bridget, and help get the women folks into 
 the house, and then fix us a buncomb supper, for I 
 am as hungry as a wolf! ” 
 
 Mrs. Thornwhicker opened her eyes, and instead 
 of the beautiful mansion that floated before her sleep- 
 ing vision, and the servants dressed in oriental cos- 
 tumes bowing as she entered, she beheld an old, 
 dilapidated-looking house and a negro girl dressed in 
 a dirty, greasy, linsey dress, with a tallow candle, 
 which was sticking in the mouth of an ale-bottle as a 
 substitute for a candlestick. 
 
 “What are you stopping here for ?” said Mrs. 
 Thornwhicker. * 1 Why not keep on home ? ” 
 
9 6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “ Home !” shouted Mr. Raymont, as loud as his 
 vocal chords would permit him; “what is this but 
 home ? Plenty good enough home for me. Good 
 fire, good bed, plenty to eat, good back-bones and 
 sausages — what more?” 
 
 “But you were, you said you were, rich! You 
 have deceived us and brought us to this miserable- 
 looking place where the owls wouldn’t roost ! Poor 
 Clara, what will become of you, and what will the 
 world say?” said Mrs. Thorn whicker, as she turned 
 her woe-begone eyes upon Clara, who was sitting like 
 a statue, with clasped hands, and looking at Julius, 
 who was insisting upon her getting out. She 
 thought, I suppose, that no woe like hers had ever 
 come upon the world since the deluge. 
 
 “I have not deceived you,” said Mr. Raymont. 
 “You have deceived yourselves! I did not tell you 
 I was rich, nor any one else. It is a mistake. It is 
 not I that am rich ; it is my brother Baskersville ! ” 
 “But why did he dress so indifferently ? ” 
 
 “Just his notion,” said Mr. Raymont. “ You see 
 it is not the prettiest bird that sings the best, nor the 
 longest gun that makes the loudest report ! ” 
 
 “ But your diamonds and your clothes? ” 
 
 “All borrowed!” said he. 
 
 “And this carriage?” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 97 
 
 “ Borrowed. All belong to my brother Baskers- 
 ville, who listened to my whims,” said Mr. Raymont, 
 “and was good enough to loan them to me.” 
 
 “ It was a made-up plot,” said Mrs. Thornwhicker, 
 “just to get your son married off, and it is a perfect 
 shame!” And she. threw herself into the first chair 
 that came to hand. 
 
 “Clara will not suffer,” said he, patting her on the 
 cheek. “Julius is strong and hearty, and knows how 
 to work.” 
 
 “But what does Clara know about work? She 
 never made herself a dress in her life, nor cooked a 
 cake of bread ; and as for your back-bones and sau- 
 sage, you can eat them yourself! Clara was not raised 
 on hog meat; I don’t suppose she ever ate a pound 
 of it in her life. She would die with the dyspepsia 
 before a week,” said Mrs. Thornwhicker, as the girl 
 came in with a large dish of cold turnips and back- 
 bones. 
 
 “Oh, it will only make a woman out of her,” said 
 Mr. Raymont, seating himself at the table and wink- 
 ing at Clara, who seemed to be in a stupor. Julius was 
 trying to comfort her, but received nothing in return 
 except a cold, reproachful look and silent contempt. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Thornwhicker slept till a 
 late sun thrust bright daggers through her hair, 
 7 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 98 
 
 through the uncurtained windows, and heated her 
 eyelids, and she arose with a determination to take 
 her departure that day, but was prevented by the 
 tears and entreaties of Clara, who vowed she would 
 go, too, if the former went, which Mrs. Thornwhicker 
 thought would be a disgrace to the Raymont family. 
 
 “Just stay one month,” remonstrated Julius, “and 
 Clara can go with you and remain until I can arrange 
 things more comfortable. Uncle Baskersville has 
 presented me with a very nice little house in Blooms* 
 dale, which I expect to furnish handsomely, and will 
 move there, as soon as I can make the arrangement, 
 and have every thing in order when she returns.” 
 
 At these words Clara’s countenance changed, and 
 she seemed to soften toward him. 
 
 “Yes, Aunty,” said she, playing with the buttons 
 on his coat, “I know Julius will do all in his power 
 to make me comfortable ; and, besides, he is not so 
 much to blame after all. I deceived myself. He told 
 me he was poor, but I thought he was only jesting, 
 as people will sometimes do when they are rich and 
 think every body knows it. You know it was sup- 
 posed that Uncle Raymont was vastly rich, and, 
 besides, he came in so much splendor and grandeur, 
 who could have thought otherwise? But this will 
 only learn us a lesson,” she continued, wiping away 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 99 
 
 a tear which, in spite of all her efforts, stole into the 
 comer of her eye, as she thought of the ill-treatment 
 that her Uncle Baskersville had received from herself 
 and Mrs. Thornwhicker, and how kind and self- 
 sacrificing Kate had been to him, and through no 
 other motive but the purest affection, which would 
 surely return in blessing upon her head. 
 
 “Yes, Clara, ” said Julius tenderly, “I know you 
 have had a hard experience, and I am sorry it has 
 turned out in this way. I thought you knew my 
 circumstances, and that is why I valued your love so 
 highly. I thought you married me through a pure 
 motive — I mean, darling, for myself alone, and not 
 for a heap of shining dust, which does not constitute 
 happiness, but in our knowledge has made shipwreck 
 of love. Here let me say to you, Clara,” he con- 
 tinued, bending low and stroking her hair, which 
 rebelled against his hand as he pushed it over the 
 dark waves, “ if I am lacking in money, I am not in 
 true manhood. My integrity shall be sufficient to 
 carry me through.” 
 
 “ But what is integrity in these days ? ” interrupted 
 Clara. “ Why, you might be as honest as the sun, 
 and, if you hadn’t money and position, what would it 
 amount to ? ” 
 
 “Truly,” put in Mrs. Thornwhicker, with a shake 
 
IOO 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 of her head, '‘what would it amount to?" But 
 Julius promptly answered: 
 
 “Integrityis everything. How are we to attain 
 position v/ithout integrity? I want enough at least 
 to recommend me. I expect to have wealth and 
 position one of these days," he continued ; “ but it 
 will depend entirely on you, Clara. Every thing 
 lies in your hands. Hold the ladder and I will climb, 
 though it may not be made of starry flowers that 
 sparkle with an Eden-like beauty. I would not wish 
 it; they are too frail. But let it be made of true 
 love, faith, hope, and patience. Yes, give me your 
 love, Clara — it is all I ask of you ; and one of these 
 days you will not regret being the wife of Julius 
 Raymont ! ” 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CATE WINCHESTER’S SURPRISE THE ANGEL OF DEATH 
 
 AT THE MARRIAGE ALTAR. 
 
 My readers will no doubt be pleased to accompany 
 Kate Winchester to her uncle Baskersville's, in 
 Bloomsdale, Mo., a beautiful little city, with its 
 charming mountain and river views, so desirable in 
 the location of homes. The atmosphere in that noble 
 little city was so invigorating, and the brotherly love 
 which seemed there to predominate made the course 
 of life, if I may use the expression, quite delightful 
 to all. No one ever said of Bloomsdale, “It needs a 
 few first-class funerals before it will ever amount to 
 any thing,” for that peculiar class of rich, pig-headed 
 people, blind to the general good and interested only 
 in self, self, self! had never happened there to take 
 up their abode, and never disturbed the inhabitants 
 with their greedy grunts and ill manners. Rich peo- 
 ple there were, but were too much alive to need 
 funerals. Their money circulated too freely, their 
 
102 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 influence was too beneficial, and their lives were too> 
 unselfish to be easily spared. 
 
 Among the first settlers of Bloomsdale was Mr. 
 Baskersville, who was a thorough business man and a 
 person of large heart. It is necessary, now-a-days, to 
 mention the latter when it exists in the same connec- 
 tion. Please do not misunderstand me. I do not 
 mean to use the term in a restricted sense, and merely 
 convey to you the idea that in giving he was generous. 
 
 I mean that he was possessed of those little traits of 
 character which many own in common, but which wc 
 fail to especially remark, save when fully developed 
 in hearts over large. He had heart for his business 
 and heart for his friends. 
 
 Up the steep terrace of Bloomsdale, across Wash- 
 ington avenue to Grand street, up Southern avenue, 
 and still further up, up, up to Cloud’s Rest, was 
 “Sunny Height, "the residence of Mr. Baskersville. 
 Not another location in Bloomsdale was so desirable 
 as this. It commanded a view of the entire country 
 for miles around. On the east, the ascent to Sunny 
 Height was very rocky and precipitous, overhanging 
 the beautiful Mississippi river, and away out upon 
 this rocky bluff was resting the elegant mansion of 
 the Baskersvilles, looking like a veritable castle by 
 the sea, with its many turrets and towers. No one 
 
104 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 enjoyed the charming prospect from this point more 
 than Kate, as steamboats glided by with majestic 
 motion, their salutes echoing for miles around. 
 
 “ What are you gazing at so thoughtfully, Cousin 
 Kate? ’’said Harry Baskersville, who had been watch- 
 ing her for the last half hour from the other side of 
 the boat, as she sat near the stern looking at the 
 waves and gracefully-curled foam that marked the 
 steamer’s path, and dreaming of impossible things, 
 and pondering on perplexing questions, revolving this 
 and that theory in her mind, while her eyes were 
 taking in the beauty of all around. 
 
 “ I was only watching the waves of the steamboat, ” 
 said she, “and thinking of that beautiful simile by 
 Coleridge, in The Friend: ‘Human experience, like 
 the ^tern-light of a ship at sea, illumines only the 
 path we have passed over.’ ” 
 
 “Let us go up into the pilot-house,” said he, 
 “ where we can have a better view of the scenery.” 
 “Oh, what a sunset! ’’said Kate, as she clapped 
 her hands in admiration. “I never saw' any thing 
 from Fiesole comparable to that ! ” 
 
 From the zenith eastward the sky was violet-hued ; 
 in the west, light cloud-flakes had gathered in fleecy 
 masses and semi-spiral whiffs. Some burned like 
 dashes of vermilion in lakes of beryl or chrysoprase ; 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 105 
 
 others, in purple pomp, fringed their edges with 
 gold ; snowy mountain ranges were tipped with fire, 
 pillared cathedrhls with domes of silver, and be- 
 neath all glared a liquid sea of rippling flame — a 
 sky which only Ruskin could describe or Turner 
 paint. 
 
 It is beyond the power of my pen to describe Kate 
 Winchester’s surprise when Harry Baskersville sprang 
 out of the carriage, as it rolled up before Mr. Baskers- 
 ville’s lordly mansion, and said : 
 
 “Welcome, Cousin Kate, to Sunny Height!” 
 “What place is this? ’’asked Kate, not exactly 
 understanding what Harry said. 
 
 “This is our home,” said Mr. Baskersville; “and 
 will you not get out, or had you rather keep riding? ” 
 “What! your home?” 
 
 “Yes, my home, and your home too, as long as 
 you want it ! ” said he, smiling at Kate’s bewilderment. 
 
 “Why, Uncle,” said Kate, who looked as though 
 she did not know whether to get out or not, “you 
 said you were poor, and here you are living in a 
 palace among the clouds ! ” 
 
 “I am poor,” said Mr. Baskersville. “Look at 
 my wasted form. I once weighed one hundred and 
 eighty pounds, but now I only weigh one hundred 
 and twenty-five ! ” 
 
io6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 “Oh, Uncle, ” said Kate, slapping him on the 
 shoulder, “don’t tantalize me! You know what I 
 mean. There is a mystery about this, and I want 
 to unravel it. It all seems like a dream to me,” said 
 she, as she walked into the elegant parlor, where a 
 blazing fire was burning in the grate; “and I believe 
 I am dreaming, and will wake up presently and find 
 myself perched beneath the shadows of Mrs. Thom- 
 whicker’s jurisdiction.” 
 
 “Ah, my child, ” said he, “the mystery is very 
 easily unraveled. There has only been a little mis- 
 take. You know that I have not seen your Uncle 
 Robert for twenty years, nor had any communication 
 with him. I don’t know why it was. Neglect, I 
 suppose, or being pressed with business. Well, I 
 took up an idea one day that I would visit him, and 
 sat right down and wrote him a long letter, and told 
 him of my expected visit, and also spoke freely about 
 my pecuniary affairs very favorably ; but, being called 
 away very suddenly, I forgot to sign my name to the 
 letter. My brother Richard came in during my 
 absence and read the letter, and, seeing my negli- 
 gence, through mischief, signed his own name. He 
 then wrote another letter, saying he would visit them 
 also, and spoke of his misfortune in losing his prop- 
 erty, and signed my name instead of his. He mailed 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 07 
 
 the letters before I knew any thing about it, so I 
 thought I would humor the joke and let him have his 
 way. You know he is all life, and seems as happy 
 in adversity as he did when he was in prosperity.” 
 ‘‘But, Uncle, ” said Kate, looking more surprised 
 than ever, “do you mean that Uncle Richard Ray- 
 mont is the poor man at last?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said he, “ your Uncle Richard is very poor, 
 though I have helped him a great deal; besides, 1 
 have made your Cousin Julius a present of a very 
 nice little house and lot here in Bloomsdale.” 
 
 “Oh, I am so glad,” said Kate, “for Clara’s sake, 
 for she will be sadly disappointed. Her heart was 
 set on Uncle Raymont’s wealth.” 
 
 “Ah, "said Mr. Baskersville, “one never gets too 
 old to learn, and this trip has learned me a lesson 
 in human nature. The Buckle theory of immutable 
 cycles is correct. This throbbing, surging world of 
 human emotion and passion is but an arithmetical 
 problem, to be solved through the erudition and 
 astuteness of Quetelet or Hassel by an infallible, sta- 
 tistical rule of three. Yes, Katie,” he continued, 
 “I have learned that there is one in this wide world 
 whose affections can not be bought with money, and 
 that one has left a lasting impression upon my heart.” 
 As he spoke his eyes dwelt upon her face, as she 
 
io8 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 looked gladly at him, and over her sunny hair his 
 hands passed tenderly, as they had done before. 
 “ You do not know,” said he, smiling, “what a com- 
 fort you have been to your old uncle. You smiled 
 upon me and comforted me when you thought I was 
 buried in adversity, which will return in blessings on 
 your head. Clara, however, has furnished food for 
 bitter reflection. Now, I want you to make this your 
 home, and you shall not want for any thing that 
 money can furnish. I have plenty, and more than 
 plenty, and but a few years to live at best ; but, 
 thank God, I have a boy to bear my name, and not 
 let it die with me, and one, too, that I am not afraid 
 to trust it with ; and when I am in my grave I will 
 rest assured that it will not be degraded.” 
 
 Kate had been with her uncle but a short time 
 when he was taken very ill, and she, like a ministering 
 angel, was ever at his bedside administering to his 
 wants. How anxiously did he watch her every move- 
 ment, as he saw the tell-tale blood rush to her cheeks 
 whenever Harry would enter the room ! and how 
 tenderly Harry would gaze into her sweet face, as she 
 administered the medicine or carefully adjusted the 
 pillows! How he longed to throw his arms around 
 them both and tell them his heart’s desire, though he 
 did not. But one night, as the two kept their vigils 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 IO9 
 
 beside his restless couch, watching the rising and 
 falling of his heaving bosom, and counting the pulse 
 that sank deeper and deeper, he looked up at them 
 with a wild, anxious gaze, then closed his eyes, and 
 Harry said tenderly : 
 
 “Do you wish any thing, father ?" 
 
 He nodded his head, and tears came into his eyes 
 and trembled like pearls upon the closed lids. Kate 
 took her handkerchief and wiped the pearly drops 
 away, and tears fell from her own eyes and mingled 
 with those of her uncle. Then she said, in a sup- 
 pressed voice: 
 
 “Tell us, dear uncle, what you wish, and you 
 shall have it." 
 
 He held out his hand, and she laid her hand in his 
 cold, white palm, which he placed in Harry’s, who 
 grasped it firmly as he looked with tender emotion 
 upon the beloved form of his father, wan and glisten- 
 ing with the dew of exhaustion, who said: 
 
 “I leave the balance to God and you. You know 
 my desire, and you have a father’s blessing upon 
 you ! ” 
 
 As he ceased to speak, silent, blistering tears 
 trickled down his furrowed face. Harry knew his 
 father’s desire, and it was his desire, too, for he had 
 loved Kate from the first moment they met each 
 
I IO 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 other, and she returned it with the purest affection 
 that ever burned upon the altar of love. They were 
 quietly married by the bedside of their dying father, 
 who shortly after passed into the sanctum sanctorum 
 of happiness. 
 
 Harry has often assured Kate that he did not regret 
 his visit, nor wearing the coat with the hole in the 
 elbow. She made him a tender and loving wife, 
 changed into the same image, from glory to glory ! 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FLAG OF SORROW. 
 
 There had been a great change in Mr. Sherwood’s 
 dwelling since Egbert’s departure. During the sum- 
 mer, yellow fever had hung threateningly over the 
 city. Soon it was announced that the disease had 
 made its appearance in a very malignant form, un- 
 robing many of the citizens of their mortal vestments 
 to join the land of spirits. One who passed the vail 
 that floats between our mortal vision and the spirit 
 land, was Mrs. Sherwood. Her death was a sore grief 
 to Rose, but she bore it with womanly fortitude. 
 The mountains themselves showed no braver front to 
 the storm than she did to adversity. The flag of 
 sorrow and want was waving triumphantly among the 
 poor, and Rose, like a ministering angel, laid herself 
 upon the altar of sacrifice. Day and night, she kept 
 faithful vigil by the bedside of the sufferers. Though 
 young, her womanly heart, “ like the jeweled lever of 
 
1 12 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD, 
 
 ,1 watch,” guided her hand unerringly. Since her 
 mother’s death she had become a recluse, availing 
 herself of her mourning dress to decline all social 
 enjoyments, and during these months a beautiful 
 pathway opened before her feet. She became a 
 church member, and clasped her hands firmly with 
 resignation over her life mission. A thousand oppor- 
 tunities of doing good and benefiting humanity are 
 ever open to those whose hearts incline them to a life 
 of piety and deeds of charity and well doing. To 
 these, Rose Sherwood was devoting her life. She 
 did not quail before the dark waves of adversity, and 
 during the epidemic she did not cowardly fly from the 
 conflict, but bared her bosom to the storm until toil 
 and grief bowed her to the earth, on whose cold 
 breast she longed to lay her weary limbs to rest, 
 where she would no longer behold human woe, wick- 
 edness, folly, and misery. She felt willing to with- 
 draw from the scenes of strife, jarring discords, the 
 abodes of suffering and unrighteousness, when it 
 should be heaven’s will to close her eyes calmly and 
 peacefully to all of earth. 
 
 Rose was the picture of a faded beauty, though 
 beautiful still. Her look was unhappy, dejected, for- 
 lorn S Ah, a rare sweet flower was that, plucked by 
 a cruel hand and left to pine, wither, and decay! 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 I 13 
 
 Though deeply tinged and darkly shaded with the 
 hue of melancholy, yet her face was illumined with 
 bright intelligence. In those speaking eyes and that 
 pallid countenance was to be read the history of a 
 crushed and broken heart. Rose still remained in 
 her maidenhood, though more than one gay cavalier 
 had gallantly doffed his hat and laid his fortune at the 
 feet of the blue-eyed maiden, but still she shook her 
 head at each diurnal turn of fortune’s wheel. 
 
 8 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A FUNERAL PROCESSION A NIGHT OF SORROW FOR 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Three years had passed in quick succession, strew- 
 ing the paths of some with flowers beneath sunny 
 skies, and leading others amid the thorns and bram- 
 bles of life’s highway to endure the storms of afflic- 
 tion from cloudy skies. Clouds may veil the bright- 
 ness of the sun, yet how pure is the undimmed efful- 
 gence of that glorious orb, and how powerful his rays 
 when the “mists have cleared away.” 
 
 It was a dreary afternoon in November. All day 
 the rain had fallen, freezing upon the pavements and 
 chilling the hearts of the poor and homeless. Through 
 the arched gateway of Pinewood Cemetery slowly 
 marched a funeral procession, but the only mourner 
 was a young lady — young in years, but grown old 
 with suffering. As she stood beside the open grave, 
 which echoed the wails and dying groans of that 
 dear and last parental form, and heard the dull, heavy 
 

“ Oh father, dear father, why hast thou left me alone in this 
 cold, unfriendly world, with none to whisper in my ear gentle 
 words of love and friendship, nor speak a word of comfort to my 
 unhappy heart.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 1 1 5 
 
 sound of the frozen earth fall upon the coffin-lid, that 
 echoed through the chambers of her desolate heart, 
 the storm-cloud seemed to wrap the face of the earth 
 like a widow’s veil, and nature wept with the hushed 
 passion of the youthful mourner as she threw herself 
 upon the cold, wet mound, heeding not the pelting 
 rain without, for a torrent of sorrow was raging within. 
 
 “O father, dear father!” she murmured, “why 
 hast thou left me alone in this cold, unfriendly world, 
 with none to shield me from the blasts of affliction — 
 none to whisper in my ear gentle words of love and 
 friendship, nor speak a word of comfort to my un- 
 happy heart ! ” 
 
 That night Rose returned to the gloom of her home, 
 knowing that her future life must share the fate of an 
 orphan, for she was an orphan, indeed. Before the 
 ivy had time to embrace the tombstones of her 
 mother’s grave, the dear father was laid beside her. 
 
 Rose was alone in her chamber, and, judging from 
 her appearance, had retired to her couch and risen 
 therefrom in order, by reading, to banish the terrible 
 forebodings that assailed her pillow. She sat down 
 before the grate and threw her arms over a chair, as 
 she was wont to do in childhood. Long she sat by 
 the dying embers — dying like her own bright hopes 
 had died. Now and then her thoughts would wander 
 
i6 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 to one upon whom she had lavished all the exuberant 
 wealth of her heart, not to treasure, but to trample 
 it beneath his proud, exulting feet. Oppressed with 
 gloomy reflections, with doubts and superstitious fears 
 that hung like lead upon her heart, she clasped her 
 feverish head as if to check the burning current of 
 her thoughts, and bowed her head in silence. After 
 a short space, she lifted her eyes, beaming with spir- 
 itual light, imploringly to heaven, and with a subdued 
 utterance and in touching tones, she thus resumed : 
 ‘ ‘ Oh, for a heart resigned to my allotment ! Blessed 
 Jesus, aid and support me, and may all worldly 
 thoughts, attachments and desires be taken away 1 
 Alas, alas, that recollection should e’er call to mind 
 days that have fled — golden hours I fain would forget. 
 Enchanting scenes of other years, yet fresh and green 
 on memory’s page, how they make me long to fly 
 away, had I the wings of an eagle, that my weary 
 spirit might find rest ! Once I was happy — silver- 
 tongued hope whispered cheeringly to my glad heart, 
 a bright bow of promise spanned the future, and I 
 walked the primrose path of pleasure; but, ah, the 
 opening flowers I seized even now have shed their 
 bloom, the rainbow’s lovely form has suddenly van- 
 ished. Farewell, sweet dreams!” 
 
 She was aroused from her reverie by a peal from 
 
 l 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 II 7 
 
 the door-bell. She arose and hurriedly adjusted her 
 dress, brushed away the tears that suffused her 
 cheeks, and opened the door. 
 
 “A letter for you, Miss Rose,” said the post- 
 master, pleasantly. ‘ 4 I thought I would bring it up 
 to you, as I had to pass this way, and hope it will 
 help to cheer your drooping spirits.” 
 
 “Thank you,” said Rose, as she closed the door 
 and returned to her room, where, with eager hands 
 and anxious heart, she broke the seal. The penman- 
 ship was no other than Egbert Chesterfield’s, and 
 read as follows : 
 
 “Dear Rose: Through all the chances, changes 
 
 and vicissitudes of my wayward life, I never had a 
 task so painful to my mangled feelings as the present 
 one of addressing you from this doleful abode of dis- 
 grace and misery, where I stand a monument of 
 destruction, driven by the adverse winds of fate to 
 the confines of black despair and into the vortex of 
 galling misery. I am, with heart-rending sorrow and 
 anguish of soul, ranged and mingled with outcasts, 
 with the brand of Cain stamped upon my once un- 
 spotted name, but not upon my soul. In twenty 
 days I am to suffer an ignominious death upon the 
 scaffold — to be hanged by the neck like a dog for that 
 1 am innocent of — innocent as an angel in heaven. 
 
1 18 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 1 ‘ Though I am resigned to the web of destiny which 
 the loom of time has woven for me, there is but one 
 thing that binds me to earth, and that is, to look upon 
 you once more, and fall upon my knees and beg 
 your forgiveness ! Will you forgive me ? Oh, Rose, 
 grant me this last and dying request, and let me go 
 in peace. Say I am forgiven before I am unrobed of 
 my mortal vestment. The little token you gave me 
 is shining still — shining as bright as on the night of 
 my departure, when I left you standing by the lonely 
 seaside. Although in my dark, damp cell, where I 
 have been confined for ten tedious months, with no 
 eye to pity and no hand to shield me, I can not help 
 from feeling happy- when I gaze upon the little star 
 through my barred windows, shining so bright in the 
 heavens, and, though unworthy as I am, it tells me 
 there is one in this wide world who has not forsaken 
 me. Egbert Chesterfield.” 
 
 It is beyond the power of my pen to describe the 
 affliction of this sorrow-stricken and lonely girl as the 
 pleading accents wailed up and down her lonely heart, 
 mournful as the ceaseless cry of “El alma perdida y ' r 
 in moonless, breezeless Amazonian solitudes. She 
 clasped the tear-stained sheets to her breast and cried : 
 “ Oh, Egbert, you must not die — you shall not die L 
 I will forgive y^ou, and I will save you, too, if there 
 
“ Oh Egbert, you must not die — you shall not die ! I will for- 
 give you and save you, too, if there is any power on earth to re- 
 move your fetters.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 l 9 
 
 is any power on earth to remove your fetters.” 
 Through the remainder of that cloud-riven night she 
 wrestled silently — not, like the Jewish patriarch, with 
 angels, but with despair grim as death. The thunder 
 pealed and the wind shrieked through the leafless 
 trees, while the rain poured down in one endless, 
 blinding sheet, and pattered against the solitary win- 
 dows. At last, when the morning broke, the sky 
 flushed rosily, like an opal smitten with light, and 
 holy resignation, the blessed boon only of trials like 
 hers, shed its heavenly chrism over the worn and 
 weary, bruised and bleeding spirit. She arose with a 
 thousand conflicting emotions in her heart, a thou- 
 sand ill-defined fears, but she turned toward the future 
 with a fixed purpose which no earthly power could 
 shake. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A VISIT TO PRISON — THE STAR IS SHINING STILL. 
 
 In the great crisis of our life, when brought face to 
 face with annihilation, we are suspended gasping over 
 the great emptiness of death. We become conscious 
 that the self which we thought we knew so well has 
 strange and unthought-of capacities. To describe a 
 tempest of the elements is not easy, but to describe 
 a tempest of the soul is impossible. Amidst the fury 
 of such a tempest a thousand memories, each bearing- 
 in its breast the corpse of some dead deed whose 
 influence haunts us yet, are driven like feathers before 
 the blast, as unsubstantial and as unregarded. The 
 mists which shroud our self-knowledge become trans- 
 parent, and we are smitten with sudden, lightning-like 
 comprehensions of our own misused power over our 
 fate. This much we feel and know, but who can coldly 
 describe the hurricane which thus overwhelms us ! 
 As well ask the drowned mariner to tell of the mar- 
 vels of mid-sea when the great deep swallowed him 
 and darkness encompassed him round about. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 I 2 1 
 
 As Egbert Chesterfield watched the setting sun 
 through the barred windows of the prison to which 
 he had been consigned, he felt that he was done with 
 life. The rays of the setting sun gilded his rippling 
 hair, and lingered like a benediction on the placid 
 face where sorrow had left its softening shadow, and 
 laid its chastening finger about the lips, which meekly 
 murmured, ‘‘Thy will be done.” 
 
 The shadows of night had fallen, and the lamps 
 which glittered upon the great thoroughfares of the 
 city threw their glimmer into the iron-grated windows 
 and shadowed upon the wall evidences of his degra- 
 dation. He could hear the light footsteps of happier 
 fellow-beings hurriedly pass, and the floor beneath 
 him trembled as the heavy coach rolled by, bearing 
 its gay inmates to some scene of festive enjoyment or 
 to some cheerful, happy home. None among the 
 throng cared for him nor bestowed a thought upon 
 him, except when the passer-by pointed a finger at 
 his prison and told of his crime and its detection ; 
 but none cared for the anguish that racked his bosom, 
 nor thought of giving consolation to one who had 
 fallen from his integrity and forfeited his fair name. 
 Perhaps, had they known the story of his past life, 
 there might have been those who would have stepped 
 forward to rescue, and not suffered the iron to enter 
 
122 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 his soul, at least before he had been allowed an im- 
 partial trial. But, oh, who was there to tell his story? 
 He had no evidence in his favor. The gratings and 
 the heavy bars that shut him in from the world were 
 to his spirit like the torturing rack. Not that he 
 cared now to be at liberty. It was not the thought 
 of death nor the walls of his prison, so bare and cold, 
 nor the bed of straw, nor the darkness and loneliness 
 of his cell. The prison in which his soul was shut 
 up was stronger and gloomier than they. But a few 
 days more of sorrow and suffering would release it 
 from its prison. 
 
 ' * On the day of the 1 8 th I am to be hanged ! Who 
 would have predicted such an end?” murmured Eg- 
 bert Chesterfield, as he paced the floor of his prison. 
 “Yet I am innocent, but every evidence is against 
 me,” he continued, quickening his pace, “ and I shall 
 go down to my grave with the brand of Cain. When 
 I am in my grave the marks of a murderer will be 
 upon my neck, but, thank God, my soul will be free 
 from stain. If my innocence were proven even after 
 I am gone, I would be more reconciled to death, but 
 it is a hard fate to go to my grave with a stain of the 
 deepest dye upon my name. Oh, Rose, Rose, if I 
 could only see you once more — you whom I have 
 never ceased to love ! I have sinned against heaven 
 and you ! ” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 23 
 
 The thoughts that rushed upon him as he said this, 
 the dark images that arose like magic specters and 
 spread out their horrors to his view, threw back the 
 life-blood to its covert, and, helpless almost as an 
 infant, he cast his trembling form upon the couch 
 that was near at hand and wrung his hands in agony. 
 
 He had fallen into the deep and troubled slumber 
 of exhaustion, which is hardly to be termed sleep, 
 not possessing its refreshing qualities. He lay there 
 in a kind of stupor or trance that seemed to recall all 
 the events of his past life and go again over their 
 troubled phases. Presently he was aroused by the 
 heayy peals from the bell of an adjoining steeple, 
 tolling the hour of evening. He heard footsteps ap- 
 proaching, the key was applied to the door of his cell, 
 the heavy bolt flew back and the keeper entered. 
 
 “A lady, sir!” heralded the official. 
 
 The first thought with Egbert was that the jailer 
 had thrust in another unfortunate victim like himself 
 to share his cell. The next moment the lovely Rose 
 was by his side, and her eyes, beaming with love and 
 emotion, were fixed upon him. She had thrown off 
 the cloak and hood in which she had been disguised, 
 and as she stood gazing upon him she looked like a 
 ministering angel that had dropped from the Throne 
 of Mercy to shed light and hope in his dreary prison. 
 
124 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 She wore the same sweet smile, had the same 
 angelic face, but sorrow had set its seal upon that fair 
 brow, and sadness had robbed it of its wonted cheer- 
 fulness. Like the transparent cloud, it had shut out 
 the radiance, but the light was still there. 
 
 It is impossible to attempt to describe the feelings 
 of Egbert Chesterfield at this moment. At first he 
 thought his eyes had deceived him, and the next 
 thought was that his reason was departing. He was 
 soon assured, however, that it was no vision, for Rose 
 drew near him and said : 
 
 “ Egbert, have you no welcome for me?” And 
 turning her face toward the east and pointing her 
 finger to heaven, she exclaimed : “The star is shining 
 still ! ” 
 
 Egbert attempted to raise himself from his couch, 
 but fell back upon his pillow lifeless. When return- 
 ing consciousness aroused him he opened his eyes, 
 and they fell on the lovely Rose standing by his couch 
 of straw, chafing his hands and forehead. He caught 
 her hand and pressed it tremblingly to his lips, and 
 as the tears fell thick and fast upon it, he exclaimed : 
 
 “O, God, I thank Thee for this angel of mercy, 
 who has so mysteriously appeared within these prison 
 walls ! ” Drawing her nearer to him, he continued : 
 “ My Rose, my noble Rose, my angel, have you come 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 125 
 
 to forgive me? — have you come to bless my last few 
 days on earth ? If you have, repeat these words for 
 me : * Egbert, you are forgiven ! ’ ” 
 
 Rose repeated the words : ‘ ‘ Egbert, you are for- 
 given ! ” 
 
 “I now die contented,” said he, “if it is for an- 
 other’s crime!” 
 
 The jailer left them alone in the cold, damp, cheer- 
 less prison cell. 
 
 Egbert Chesterfield was the only son of a wealthy 
 Mississippi planter. Mrs. Chesterfield, his mother, 
 was a North Carolinian, and, like most natives of this 
 grand old State, clung most fondly, even in absence, 
 to the memory of her early home. It was at her 
 request and earnest entreaty that Egbert was sent to 
 
 B College, where he had borne a most unsullied 
 
 reputation. It was the day after his graduation that 
 he received a letter announcing his father’s sudden 
 illness. Egbert hastened home as quick as possible, 
 but the long streamers of crape that floated from the 
 polished silver door-knobs told him that he was too 
 late — too late for any thing, save a few days watching 
 beside the couch of his heart-broken mother, whom 
 even the presence of Egbert could not recall from her 
 wandering toward the spirit-land, whither she fol- 
 lowed her husband in a few days. 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 I 26 
 
 Egbert Chesterfield now found himself sole pos 
 sessor of that beautiful Southern home which had 
 ever been his special pride and admiration, but its 
 rich verdure and glad beauty only reminded him of 
 what he had lost. So, after settling all claims against 
 his father’s estate, he leased out the farm, intending 
 to leave for South America immediately, when he 
 received an invitation from one of his fellow-students 
 in North Carolina to attend the celebration of his 
 marriage nuptials, and also to act as groomsman. He 
 accepted the honors conferred upon him, and it was 
 there he met with Rose Sherwood. Not many days 
 had passed when Egbert declared his love for her, 
 vowing eternal fidelity, and she, ’after much hesitation 
 and fear as to his truth and sincerity, finally yielded 
 to the soft persuasions of love and gave into his keep- 
 ing her whole heart. Soon the cold breath of time 
 and absence would test his affection ; for on the day 
 of his separation from Rose he left for his distant 
 home, having received that morning from his lawyers 
 a telegraphic dispatch that a suit had been brought 
 against his father’s estate for a large amount of money, 
 which demanded his immediate attention. He there- 
 fore abandoned the idea of going to South America. 
 As his business demanded his attention at the old 
 homestead, he resolved to return at once. He bid 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 12 7 
 
 adieu to his affianced bride, promising to return in 
 the course of a year to claim her hand in marriage. 
 
 It had not been Egbert Chesterfield’s intention to 
 deceive Rose, when he declared his love for her. He 
 was honest and sincere. He was born with a sensi- 
 tive heart, a fiery imagination, a frank and impetuous 
 character, a right mind, and a heart that drank in all 
 the exalted passions, especially a love of glory. He 
 was brought up in his father’s house with the ten- 
 derest care. When Egbert wrote the letter to Rose 
 which too plainly spoke of a change of his feelings, 
 wrought by the cold breath of absence, there was a 
 remaining sentiment of love and tenderness in his 
 heart, and he could not cast her off his mind. He 
 had withdrawn himself from her gentle influence, 
 but an active conscience forbade his stifling altogether 
 the love to which he had proved recreant. Egbert 
 sought gay company, and resorted to places of amuse- 
 ment calculated to win his affections from Rose. 
 Finally, he became weary of roving, and being a 
 believer in the possibility of resurrected love, he re- 
 solved to return and find Rose, if possible, and throw 
 himself at her feet. 
 
 Egbert was naturally very fond of fishing and hunt- 
 ing, and occasionally indulged in these amusements. 
 Taking his rifle one morning, he walked out upon the 
 
128 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 shores of Lake Minnetonka, which is a favorite resort 
 of nearly every species of fowl, while the waters teem 
 with fish in great variety, giving to this region the 
 reputation of a veritable sportsman’s paradise. After 
 hunting for several hours, he seated himself upon a 
 small terrace with the intention of a few minutes’ rest 
 ere his return home, when his attention was directed 
 to a large rock just opposite himself, when he heard 
 the wails and groans of some one who seemed to be 
 in fearful agony. Egbert hastened to the spot, where 
 he found the object of his search. Lying upon the 
 ground before him was a man weltering in blood, 
 with a dagger piercing his heart. The perpetrator of 
 the crime had flown, leaving the knife in the breast of 
 his victim. Egbert, without a second thought, stooped 
 down and drew out the weapon, which only shortened 
 the life of the dying man, who expired instantly. 
 Just at this moment some one passed and saw Egbert 
 bending over the dead body, saw the dagger in his 
 hand and the crimson current dripping from the blade. 
 Therefore, he was arrested, dragged before a tribunal 
 of justice, found guilty, and condemned to an igno- 
 minious death upon the scaffold. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LITTLE SUPPLICANT KNEELING AT THE FEET OF THE 
 GOVERNOR — MARRIAGE ON THE SCAFFOLD. 
 
 Mother Earth had unbound her frozen bosom to 
 the western gale ; the dew-drop pearled the evening’s 
 breast ; the blushing sun had disappeared in the fiery 
 portals of the west, and the envious clouds were 
 bending low to dim his radiant glory, and stain the 
 golden track of his bright passage to the Occident, 
 
 when Rose Sherwood arrived in the city of L , 
 
 and made her appearance at the Governor’s house. 
 She was ushered into the presence of that official, 
 who greeted her most warmly. Beautiful indeed she 
 was, her face flushed with a rosy tint, though an inde- 
 scribable sadness rested upon it, producing a spiritual 
 look that added another charm to its beauty. With 
 eager hands and anxious heart she presented a peti- 
 tion for the reprieve of Egbert Chesterfield. The 
 Governor shook his head, mournfully but positively. 
 9 
 
i30 
 
 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 Her blood coursed wildly through her veins as she 
 spoke. She had varied in color — as if her heart was 
 now stopping, now redoubling its beating — and her 
 hands were tightly clenched. Throwing herself upon 
 her knees at his feet she implored the life of her lover. 
 The expression of the stern man's face was curiously 
 altered, as he gazed with surprise and admiration 
 upon the little supplicant kneeling at his feet. The 
 palms of her uplifted hands were reverently pressed 
 together, and her imploring eyes, fixed upon-his own, 
 spoke the language of her heart. Counselor never 
 pleaded more eloquently for a client than did the 
 noble Rose for her dying lover. 
 
 Now, we will convey the reader to Shellsburg, 
 where another and far mightier drama was being 
 enacted. Far as the eye could reach was a compact, 
 undulating mass of upturned faces, and doors, win- 
 dows, and roofs, contained human hives. There was 
 a subdued roar, like the beat of the storm-waves when 
 the wind blows eastward. Rising in the midst was a 
 black scaffold, upon which, motionless as a statue, 
 stood Egbert Chesterfield ; and before him, with hair 
 silvered by the frost of many winters, stood the man 
 of God, hymn-book in hand. A shiver like that of 
 the wind passing through a dense fog ran through the 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 131 
 
 vast throng, as he slowly and solemnly read the ap- 
 propriate hymn : 
 
 “Show pity, Lord, O Lord forgive ! 
 
 Let the repenting rebel live ! 
 
 Are not thy mercies large and free ? 
 
 May not a sinner trust in thee?” 
 
 Near the spot of execution stood an ambulance, 
 and within it a handsome metallic coffin with a star 
 engraved upon it, and a hand with a finger pointing 
 to the star — which had evidently been engraved there 
 by request of the unfortunate victim who within a few 
 hours was to be confined beneath its lids. 
 
 The prisoner turned to those who had accompanied 
 him, and bid them a tender and final farewell. 
 
 ‘ ‘ I know my mortal days are numbered and fin- 
 ished,” said he. “One struggle, and my soul will 
 be released from the clay that imprisons it ; but, thank 
 heaven, I am not afraid to die, but do as cheerfully 
 pull off my doublet at this time as ever I did when I 
 laid myself upon my bed for the repose of the night. 
 I pass from earth with my heart set upon heaven, 
 and feel the attractive influence stronger and stronger 
 as I approach nearer and nearer to that desirable 
 center.” 
 
 Disrobing himself of his cloak and doublet, he 
 prayed long and fervently for his executioners. 
 
 A moment’s pause — a dead silence — then acclama- 
 
132 ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 tions rent the air. Another form ascended the scaf- 
 fold. Before Egbert Chesterfield, erect and firm, 
 stood Rose Sherwood, with flashing eyes that were 
 like spots of fire in the dead white of her thin face, 
 and with firm, closed lips. She held in her hand a 
 large envelope bearing the United States seal. Egbert 
 rushed to her, and folded his arms around her, and 
 clasped her to his heart, and exclaimed : 
 
 “Oh, Rose, my darling, my angel, have you come 
 to see me die, that I might gaze upon you in my last 
 moments? ” 
 
 “No, no, dearest Egbert,” she cried : “I have not 
 come to see you die, but to save you! Yes, to save 
 you! ” she continued, holding up the pardon. “ You 
 are saved — you are free — and the star is shining still ! ” 
 
 It is beyond the power of the most fertile imagi- 
 nation to form an adequate conception of the scene 
 that followed. As it can be better imagined than 
 described, we will here leave it to the reader. The 
 scaffold, which but a few minutes before the angel of 
 death had hovered around, was changed into a mar- 
 riage altar. The marriage ceremony was performed 
 by the same minister, who had just committed the 
 soul of Egbert Chesterfield to its God, and thus he 
 and Rose Sherwood were pronounced man and wife 
 upon the platform of death. 
 
“No, no, dearest Egbert, I have not come to see you die, but 
 to save you, and you are saved, you are free, and the star is 
 shining still.” 
 
ROSE SHERWOOD. 
 
 133 
 
 While these events were transpiring, another scene 
 attracted the attention of the audience. Leaning 
 upon a staff, with pale and haggard countenance, 
 and assisted by two other persons, came the real 
 murderer, who, without hesitation, confessed his crime, 
 saying his time on earth was short, and, were he to 
 be hanged, he would not be robbed of many days. 
 
 The crowd broke up, and bands of men rushed 
 about shouting paeans through the air. Congratu- 
 lations fell from every lip. And now we will return 
 with this romantic and happy couple to their beautiful 
 Southern home in the valley of the Mississippi, where 
 the angel of terrestrial light will dip its wing in the 
 shining waters of bliss, and baptize them with the 
 fluttering of its golden pinions. 
 
 THE END. 
 
IN PRESS 
 
 AND SOON TO BE PUBLISHED, 
 
 “ BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME.” 
 
 By MISS BELLE PETERSON, 
 
 Author of “ Rose Sherwood, or the Star is Shining Still;” 
 “ One Word and a Tear, or the Wounded Dove;” 
 
 “ The Story of Leonoria Parolee,” 
 and Poetical Works. 
 

 
 
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