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diff --git a/old/61068-8.txt b/old/61068-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0eca345..0000000 --- a/old/61068-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6325 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tiger Lily and Other Stories, by -Julia Thompson von Stosch Schayer - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Tiger Lily and Other Stories - -Author: Julia Thompson von Stosch Schayer - -Release Date: January 1, 2020 [EBook #61068] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIGER LILY AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Carlos Colón, The Library of Congress and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - Transcriber's Notes: - - Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by - =equal signs=. - - Small uppercase have been replaced with regular uppercase. - - Blank pages have been eliminated. - - Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the - original. - - - - - TIGER LILY - - AND OTHER STORIES - - - BY - - JULIA SCHAYER - - - NEW YORK - CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS - 1883 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY - CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. - - - TROW'S - PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY - _201-213 East Twelfth Street_ - NEW YORK - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - TIGER LILY, 1 - - THIRZA, 89 - - MOLLY, 127 - - A SUMMER'S DIVERSION, 159 - - MY FRIEND MRS. ANGEL, 195 - - - - - TIGER-LILY. - - -The shrill treble of a girl's voice, raised to its highest pitch in -anger and remonstrance, broke in upon the scholarly meditations of the -teacher of the Ridgemont grammar school. He raised his head from his -book to listen. It came again, mingled with boyish cries and jeers, and -the sound of blows and scuffling. The teacher, a small, fagged-looking -man of middle age, rose hastily, and went out of the school-house. - -Both grammar and high school had just been dismissed, and the -bare-trodden play-ground was filled with the departing scholars. In the -centre of the ground a group of boys had collected, and from this group -the discordant sounds still proceeded. - -"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" the master asked, coming -near. - -At the sound of his voice the group fell apart, disclosing, as a -central point, the figure of a girl of thirteen or fourteen years. -She was thin and straight, and her face, now ablaze with anger -and excitement, was a singular one, full of contradictions, yet -not inharmonious as a whole. It was fair, but not as blondes are -fair, and its creamy surface was flecked upon the cheeks with dark, -velvety freckles. Her features were symmetrical, yet a trifle heavy, -particularly the lips, and certain dusky tints were noticeable about -the large gray eyes and delicate temples, as well as a peculiar crisp -ripple in the mass of vivid red hair which fell from under her torn -straw hat. - -Clinging to her scant skirts was a small hunch-backed boy, crying -dismally, and making the most of his tears by rubbing them into his -sickly face with a pair of grimy fists. - -The teacher looked about him with disapproval in his glance. The group -contained, no doubt, its fair proportion of future legislators and -presidents, but the raw material was neither encouraging nor pleasant -to look upon. The culprits returned his wavering gaze, some looking a -little conscience-smitten, others boldly impertinent, others still (and -those the worst in the lot) with a charming air of innocence and candor. - -"What is it?" the master repeated. "What is the matter?" - -"They were plaguing Bobby, here," the girl broke in, -breathlessly,--"taking his marbles away, and making him cry--the mean, -cruel things!" - -"Hush!" said the teacher, with a feeble gesture of authority. "Is that -so, boys?" - -The boys grinned at each other furtively, but made no answer. - -"Boys," he remarked, solemnly, "I--I'm ashamed of you!" - -The delinquents not appearing crushed by this announcement, he turned -again to the girl. - -"Girls should not quarrel and fight, my dear. It isn't proper, you -know." - -A mocking smile sprang to the girl's lips, and a sharp glance shot from -under her black, up-curling lashes, but she did not speak. - -"She's allers a-fightin'," ventured one of the urchins, emboldened by -the teacher's reproof; at which the girl turned upon him so fiercely -that he shrank hastily out of sight behind his nearest companion. - -"You are not one of _my_ scholars?" the master asked, keeping his mild -eyes upon the scornful face and defiant little figure. - -"No!" the girl answered. "I go to the high school!" - -"You are small to be in the high school," he said, smiling upon her -kindly. - -"It don't go by sizes!" said the child promptly. - -"No; certainly not, certainly not," said the teacher, a little -staggered. "What is your name, child?" - -"Lilly, sir; Lilly O'Connell," she answered, indifferently. - -"Lilly!" the teacher repeated abstractedly, looking into the dusky -face, with its flashing eyes and fallen ruddy tresses,--"Lilly!" - -"It _ought_ to have been _Tiger_-Lily!" said a pert voice. "It would -suit her, I'm sure, more ways than one!" and the speaker, a pretty, -handsomely-dressed blonde girl of about her own age, laughed, and -looked about for appreciation of her cleverness. - -"So it would!" cried a boyish voice. "Her red hair, and freckles, and -temper! Tiger-Lily! That's a good one!" - -A shout of laughter, and loud cries of "Tiger-Lily!" immediately arose, -mingled with another epithet more galling still, in the midst of which -the master's deprecating words were utterly lost. - -A dark red surged into the girl's face. She turned one eloquent look of -wrath upon her tormentors, another, intensified, upon the pretty child -who had spoken, and walked away from the place, leading the cripple by -the hand. - -"Oh, come now, Flossie," said a handsome boy, who stood near the blonde -girl, "I wouldn't tease her. _She_ can't help it, you know." - -"Pity she couldn't know who is taking up for her!" she retorted, -tossing the yellow braid which hung below her waist, and sauntering -away homeward. - -"Oh, pshaw!" the boy said, coloring to the roots of his hair; "that's -the way with you girls. You know what I mean. She can't help it that -her mother was a--a mulatto, or something, and her hair red. It's mean -to tease her." - -"She can help quarrelling and fighting with the boys, though," said -Miss Flossie, looking unutterable scorn. - -"She wouldn't do it, I guess, if they'd let her alone," the young -fellow answered, stoutly. "It's enough to make anybody feel savage to -be badgered, and called names, and laughed at all the time. It makes me -mad to see it. Besides, it isn't always for herself she quarrels. It's -often enough for some little fellow like Bobby, that the big fellows -are abusing. She is good-hearted, anyhow." - -They had reached by this time the gate opening upon the lawn which -surrounded the residence of Flossie's mother, the widow Fairfield. -It was a small, but ornate dwelling, expressive, at every point, of -gentility and modern improvements. The lawn itself was well kept, -and adorned with flower-beds and a tiny fountain. Mrs. Fairfield, a -youthful matron in rich mourning of the second stage, sat in a wicker -chair upon the veranda reading, and fanning herself with an air of -elegant leisure. - -Miss Flossie paused. She did not want to quarrel with her boyish -admirer, and, with the true instinct of coquetry, instantly appeared -to have forgotten her previous irritation. - -"Won't you come in, Roger?" she said, sweetly. "Our strawberries are -ripe." - -The boy smiled at the tempting suggestion, but shook his head. - -"Can't," he answered, briefly. "I've got a lot of Latin to do. Good-by." - -He nodded pleasantly and went his way. It lay through the village and -along the fields and gardens beyond. Just as he came in sight of his -home,--a square, elm-shaded mansion of red brick, standing on a gentle -rise a little farther on,--he paused at a place where a shallow brook -came creeping through the lush grass of the meadow which bounded his -father's possessions. He listened a moment to its low gurgling, so -suggestive of wood rambles and speckled trout, then tossed his strap of -books into the meadow, leaped after it, and followed the brook's course -for a little distance, stooping and peering with his keen brown eyes -into each dusky pool. - -All at once, as he looked and listened, another sound than the brook's -plashing came to his ears, and he started up and turned his head. A -stump fence, black and bristling, divided the meadow from the adjoining -field, its uncouth projections draped in tender, clinging vines, and -he stepped softly toward it and looked across. It was a rocky field, -where a thin crop of grass was trying to hold its own against a vast -growth of weeds, and was getting the worst of it,--a barren, shiftless -field, fitly matching the big shiftless barn and small shiftless house -to which it appertained. - -Lying prone among the daisies was Lilly O'Connell, her face buried in -her apron, the red rippling mane falling about her, her slender form -shaking with deep and unrestrained sobs. - -Roger looked on a moment and then leaped the fence. The girl rose -instantly to a sitting position, and glared defiance at him from a pair -of tear-stained eyes. - -"What are you crying about?" he asked, with awkward kindness. - -Her face softened, and a fresh sob shook her. - -"Oh, come!" said Roger; "don't mind what a lot of sneaks say." - -The girl looked up quickly into the honest dark eyes. - -"It was Florence Fairfield that said it," she returned, speaking very -rapidly. - -Roger gave an uneasy laugh. - -"Oh! you mean that about the 'Tiger-Lily'?" - -"Yes," she answered, "and it's true. It's true as can be. See!" And for -the first time the boy noticed that her gingham apron was filled with -the fiery blossoms of the tiger-lily. - -"See!" she said again, with an unchildish laugh, holding the flowers -against her face. - -Roger was not an imaginative boy, but he could not help feeling -the subtle likeness between the fervid blossoms, strange, tropical -outgrowth of arid New England soil, and this passionate child of -mingled races, with her ruddy hair, and glowing eyes and lips. For a -moment he did not know what to say, but at last, in his simple, boyish -way he said: - -"Well, what of it? I think they're splendid." - -The girl looked up incredulously. - -"I wouldn't mind the--the _hair_!" he stammered. "I've got a cousin up -to Boston, and she's a great belle--a beauty, you know. All the artists -are crazy to paint her picture, and her hair is just the color of -yours." - -Lilly laid the flowers down. Her eyes fell. - -"You don't understand," she said, slowly. "Other girls have red hair. -It isn't that." - -Roger's eyes faltered in their reassuring gaze. - -"I--I wouldn't mind--the _other_ thing, either, if I were you," he -stammered. - -"You don't know _what_ you'd do if you were _me_!" the girl cried, -passionately. "You don't know _what_ you'd do if you were hated, and -despised, and laughed at, every day of your life! And how would you -like the feeling that it could never be any different, no matter -where you went, or how hard you tried to be good, or how much you -learned? Never, _never_ any different! Ah, it makes me hate myself, and -everybody! I could tear them to pieces, like this, and this!" - -She had risen, and was tearing the scarlet petals of the lilies into -pieces, her teeth set, her eyes flashing. - -"Look at them!" she cried wildly. "How like me they are, all red blood -like yours, except those few black drops which never can be washed out! -Never! _Never!_" - -And again the child threw herself upon the ground, face downward, and -broke into wild, convulsive sobbing. - -Young Roger was in an agony of pity. He found his position as consoler -a trying one. An older person might well have quailed before this -outburst of unchild-like passion. He knew that what she said was -true--terribly, bitterly true, and this kept him dumb. He only stood -and looked down upon the quivering little figure in embarrassed silence. - -Suddenly the girl raised her head, with a flash of her eyes. - -"What does God mean," she cried, fiercely, "by making such a difference -in people?" - -Roger's face became graver still. - -"I can't tell you that, Lilly," he answered, soberly. "You'll have to -ask the minister. But I've often thought of it myself. I suppose there -_is_ a reason, if we only knew. I guess all we can do is to begin where -God has put us, and do what we can." - -Lilly slowly gathered her disordered hair into one hand and pushed it -behind her shoulders, her tear-stained eyes fixed sadly on the boy's -troubled face. - -The tea-bell, sounding from the distance, brought a welcome -interruption, and Roger turned to go. He looked back when half across -the meadow, and saw the little figure standing in relief upon a rocky -hillock, the sun kindling her red locks into gold. - -A few years previously, O'Connell had made his appearance in Ridgemont -with wife and child, and had procured a lease of the run-down farm and -buildings which had been their home ever since. It was understood that -they had come from one of the Middle States, but beyond this nothing of -their history was known. - -The wife, a beautiful quadroon, sank beneath the severity of the -climate, and lived but a short time. After her death, O'Connell, always -a surly, hot-headed fellow, grew surlier still, and fell into evil -ways. The child, with a curious sort of dignity and independence, took -upon her small shoulders the burden her mother had laid aside, and -carried on the forlorn household in her own way, without assistance or -interference. - -That she was not like other children, that she was set apart from -them by some strange circumstance, she had early learned to feel. -In time she began to comprehend in what the difference lay, and the -knowledge roused within her a burning sense of wrong, a fierce spirit -of resistance. - -With the creamy skin, the full, soft features, the mellow voice, and -impassioned nature of her quadroon mother, Lilly had inherited the -fiery Celtic hair, gray-green eyes, and quick intelligence of her -father. - -She contrived to go to school, where her cleverness placed her ahead -of other girls of her age, but did not raise her above the unreasoning -aversion of her school-mates; and the consciousness of this rankled in -the child's soul, giving to her face a pathetic, hunted look, and to -her tongue a sharpness which few cared to encounter. - -Those who knew her best--her teachers, and a few who would not let -their inborn and unconquerable prejudice of race stand in the way of -their judgment--knew that, with all her faults of temper, the girl was -brave, and truthful, and warm-hearted. They pitied the child, born -under a shadow which could never be lifted, and gave her freely the -kind words for which her heart secretly longed. - -There was little else they could do, for every attempt at other -kindness was repelled with a proud indifference which forbade further -overtures. So she had gone her way, walking in the shadow which -darkened and deepened as she grew older, until at last she stood upon -the threshold of womanhood. - -It was at this period of her life that the incidents we have related -occurred. Small as they were, they proved a crisis in the girl's life. -Too much a child to be capable of forming a definite resolve, or -rather, perhaps, of putting it into form and deliberately setting about -its fulfilment, still the sensitive nature had received an impression, -which became a most puissant influence in shaping her life. - -A change came over her, so great as to have escaped no interested eyes; -but interested eyes were few. - -Her teachers, more than any others, marked the change. There was more -care of her person and dress, and the raillery of her school-mates was -met by an indifference which, however hard its assumption may have -been, at once disarmed and puzzled them. - -Now and then, the low and unprovoked taunts of her boyish tormentors -roused her to an outburst of the old spirit, but for the most part they -were met only with a flash of the steel-gray eyes, and a curl of the -full red lips. - -One Sunday, too, to the amazement of pupils and the embarrassment of -teachers, Lilly O'Connell, neatly attired and quite self-possessed, -walked into the Sunday-school, from which she had angrily departed, -stung by some childish slight, two years before. The minister went to -her, welcomed her pleasantly, and gave her a seat in a class of girls -of her own age, who, awed by the mingled dignity and determination of -his manner, swallowed their indignation, and moved along--a trifle more -than was necessary--to give her room. - -The little tremor of excitement soon subsided, and Lilly's quickness -and attentiveness won for her an outward show, at least, of -consideration and kindness, which extended outside of school limits, -and gradually, all demonstrations of an unpleasant nature ceased. - -When she was about sixteen her father died. This event, which left -her a homeless orphan, was turned by the practical kindness of Parson -Townsend--the good old minister who had stood between her and a -thousand annoyances and wrongs--into the most fortunate event of her -life. He, not without some previous domestic controversy, took the girl -into his own family, and there, under kind and Christian influences, -she lived for a number of years. - -At eighteen her school-life terminated, and, by the advice of Parson -Townsend, she applied for a position as teacher of the primary school. - -The spirit with which her application was met was a revelation and a -shock to her. The outward kindness and tolerance which of late years -had been manifested toward her, had led her into a fictitious state of -content and confidence. - -"I was foolish enough," she said to herself, with bitterness, "to think -that because the boys do not hoot after me in the street, people had -forgotten, or did not care." - -The feeling of ostracism stung, but could not degrade, a nature like -hers. She withdrew more and more into herself, turned her hands to such -work as she could find to do, and went her way again, stifling as best -she might the anguished cry which sometimes would rise to her lips: - -"What does God mean by it?" - -Few saw the beauty of those deep, clear eyes and pathetic lips, or the -splendor of her burnished hair, or the fine curves of her tall, upright -figure. She was only odd, and "queer looking"--only Lilly O'Connell; -very pleasant of speech, and quick at her needle, and useful at picnics -and church fairs, and in case of sickness or emergencies of any -kind,--but Lilly O'Connell still,--or "Tiger-Lily," for the old name -had never been altogether laid aside. - - * * * * * - -Ten years passed by. The good people of Ridgemont were fond of alluding -to the remarkable progress and development made by their picturesque -little town during the past decade, but in reality the change was not -so great. A few new dwellings, built in the modern efflorescent style, -had sprung up, to the discomfiture of the prim, square houses, with -dingy white paint and dingier green blinds, which belonged to another -epoch; a brick block, of almost metropolitan splendor, cast its shadow -across the crooked village street, and a soldiers' monument, an object -of special pride and reverence, adorned the centre of the small common, -opposite the Hide and Leather Bank and the post-office. - -Beside these, a circulating library, a teacher of china-painting and a -colored barber were casually mentioned to strangers, as proofs of the -slightness of difference in the importance of Ridgemont and some other -towns of much more pretension. - -Over the old Horton homestead hardly a shadow of change had passed. -It presented the same appearance of prosperous middle age. The great -elms about it looked not a day older; the hydrangeas on the door-step -flowered as exuberantly; the old-fashioned roses bloomed as red, and -white, and yellow, against the mossy brick walls; the flower-plots were -as trim, and the rustic baskets of moneywort flourished as green, as in -the days when Mrs. Horton walked among them, and tended them with her -own hands. She had lain with her busy hands folded these five years, -in the shadow of the Horton monument, between the grave of Dr. Jared -Horton and a row of lessening mounds which had been filled many, many -years--the graves of the children who were born--and had died--before -Roger's birth. - -A great quiet had hung about the place for several years. The blinds -upon the front side had seldom been seen to open, except for weekly -airings or semi-annual cleanings. - -But one day in mid-summer the parlor windows are seen wide open, the -front door swung back, and several trunks, covered with labels of all -colors, and in several languages, are standing in the large hall. - -An unwonted stir about the kitchen and stable, a lively rattling of -silver and china in the dining room, attest to some unusual cause for -excitement. The cause is at once manifest as the door at the end of the -hall opens, and Roger Horton appears, against a background composed of -mahogany side-board and the erect and vigilant figure of Nancy Swift, -the faithful old housekeeper of his mother's time. - -The handsome, manly lad had fulfilled the promise of his boyhood. He -was tall and full-chested; a trifle thin, perhaps, and his fine face, -now bronzed with travel, grave and thoughtful for his years, but -capable of breaking into a smile like a sudden transition from a minor -to a major key in music. - -He looked more than thoughtful at this moment. He had hardly tasted the -food prepared by Nancy with a keen eye to his youthful predilections, -and in the firm conviction that he must have suffered terrible -deprivations during his foreign travels. - -Truly, this coming home was not like the comings-home of other days, -when two dear faces, one gray-bearded and genial, the other pale and -gentle-eyed, had smiled upon him across the comfortable board. The -sense of loss was almost more than he could bear; the sound of his own -footsteps in the cool, empty hall smote heavily upon his heart. - -The door of the parlor stood ajar, and he pushed it open and stepped -into the room. Everything was as it had always been ever since he could -remember--furniture, carpets, curtains, everything. Just opposite the -door hung the portraits of his parents, invested by the dim half-light -with a life-like air which the unknown artist had vainly tried to -impart. - -Roger had not entered the room since his mother's funeral, which -followed close upon that of his father, and just before the close of -his collegiate course. - -Something in the room brought those scenes of bitter grief too vividly -before him. It might have been the closeness of the air, or, more -probably, the odor rising from a basket of flowers which stood upon the -centre-table. He remembered now that Nancy had mentioned its arrival -while he was going through the ceremony of taking tea, and he went up -to the table and bent over it. Upon a snowy oval of choicest flowers, -surrounded by a scarlet border, the word "Welcome" was wrought in -purple violets. - -The young man smiled as he read the name upon the card attached. He -took up one of the white carnations and began fastening it to the -lapel of his coat, but put it back at length, and with a glance at the -painted faces, whose eyes seemed following his every motion, he took -his hat and went out of the house. - -His progress through the streets of his native village took the form of -an ovation. Nearly every one he met was an old acquaintance or friend. -It warmed his heart, and took away the sting of loneliness which he -had felt before, to see how cordial were the greetings. Strong, manly -grips, kind, womanly hand-pressures, and shy, blushing greetings from -full-fledged village beauties, whom he vaguely remembered as lank, -sun-burned little girls, met him at every step. - -He noticed, and was duly impressed by, the ornate new dwellings, the -soldiers' monument, and the tonsorial establishment of Professor -Commeraw. But beyond these boasted improvements, it might have been -yesterday, instead of four years ago, that he passed along the same -street on his way to the station. Even Deacon White's sorrel mare was -hitched before the leading grocery-store in precisely the same spot, -and blinking dejectedly at precisely the same post, he could have taken -his oath, where she had stood and blinked on that morning. - -Before the tumble-down structure where, in connection with the -sale of petrified candy, withered oranges, fly-specked literature, -and gingerpop, the post-office was carried on, sat that genial old -reprobate, the post-master, relating for the hundredth time to a sleepy -and indifferent audience, his personal exploits in the late war; -pausing, however, long enough to bestow upon Horton a greeting worthy -of the occasion. - -"Welcome home!" said Mr. Doolittle, with an oratorical flourish, as -became a politician and a post-master; "welcome back to the land of the -free and the home of the brave!" - -Whereupon he carefully seated himself on the precarious chair which -served him as rostrum, and resumed his gory narrative. - -A little further on, another village worthy, Fred Hanniford, cobbler, -vocalist, and wit, sat pegging away in the door of his shop, making the -welkin ring with the inspiring strains of "The Sword of Bunker Hill," -just as in the old days. True, the brilliancy of his tones was somewhat -marred by the presence of an ounce or so of shoe-pegs in his left -cheek, but this fact had no dampening effect upon the enthusiasm of a -select, peanut-consuming audience of small boys on the steps. - -He, too, suspended work and song to nod familiarly to his somewhat -foreignized young townsman, and watched him turn the corner, fixing -curious and jealous eyes upon the receding feet. - -"Who made your boots?" he remarked _sotto voce_, as their firm rap -upon the plank sidewalk grew indistinct, which profound sarcasm having -extracted the expected meed of laughter from his juvenile audience, -Mr. Hanniford resumed his hammer, and burst forth with a high G of -astounding volume. - -As young Horton came in sight of Mrs. Fairfield's residence, he -involuntarily quickened his steps. As a matter of course, he had met -in his wanderings many pretty and agreeable girls, and, being an -attractive young man, it is safe to say that eyes of every hue had -looked upon him with more or less favor. It would be imprudent to -venture the assertion that the young man had remained quite indifferent -to all this, but Horton's nature was more tender than passionate; -early associations held him very closely, and his boyish fancy for -the widow's pretty daughter had never quite faded. A rather fitful -correspondence had been kept up, and photographs exchanged, and he felt -himself justified in believing that the welcome the purple violets had -spoken would speak to him still more eloquently from a pair of violet -eyes. - -He scanned the pretty lawn with a pleased, expectant glance. Flowers -were massed in red, white and purple against the vivid green; the -fountain was scattering its spray; hammocks were slung in tempting -nooks, and fanciful wicker chairs, interwoven with blue and scarlet -ribbons, stood about the vine-draped piazza. He half expected a girlish -figure to run down the walk to meet him, in the old childish way, -and as a fold of white muslin swept out of the open window his heart -leaped; but it was only the curtain after all, and just as he saw this -with a little pang of disappointment, a girl's figure did appear, and -came down the walk toward him. It was a tall figure, in a simple dark -dress. As it came nearer, he saw a colorless, oval face, with downcast -eyes, and a mass of ruddy hair, burnished like gold, gathered in a coil -under the small black hat. There was something proud, yet shrinking, -in the face and in the carriage of the whole figure. As the latch fell -from his hand the girl looked up, and encountered his eyes, pleased, -friendly and a trifle astonished, fixed full upon her. - -She stopped, and a beautiful color swept into her cheeks, a sudden -unleaping flame filled the luminous eyes, and her lips parted. - -"Why, it is Lilly O'Connell!" the young man said, cordially, extending -his hand. - -The girl's hand was half extended to meet his, but with a quick glance -toward the house she drew it back into the folds of her black dress, -bowing instead. - -Horton let his hand fall, a little flush showing itself upon his -forehead. - -"Are you not going to speak to me, Miss O'Connell?" he said, in his -frank, pleasant way. "Are you not going to say you are glad to see me -back, like all the rest?" - -The color had all faded from the girl's cheeks and neck. She returned -his smiling glance with an earnest look, hesitating before she spoke. - -"I am very glad, Mr. Horton," she said, at last, and, passing him, went -swiftly out of sight. - -The young man stood a moment with his hand upon the gate, looking -after her; then turned and went up the walk to the door, and rang the -bell. A smiling maid admitted him, and showed him into a very pretty -drawing-room. - -He had not waited long when Florence, preceded by her mother, came -in. She had been a pretty school-girl, but he was hardly prepared -to see so beautiful a young woman, or one so self-possessed, and so -free from provincialism in dress and manner. She was a blonde beauty, -of the delicate, porcelain-tinted type, small, but so well-made and -well-dressed as to appear much taller than she really was. She was -lovely to-night in a filmy white dress, so richly trimmed with lace as -to leave the delicate flesh-tints of shoulders and arms visible through -the fine meshes. - -She had always cared for Roger, and, being full of delight at his -return and his distinguished appearance, let her delight appear -undisguisedly. Although a good deal of a coquette, with Roger coquetry -seemed out of place. His own simple, sincere manners were contagious, -and Florence had never been more charming. - -"Tell us all about the pictures and artists and singers you have seen -and heard," she said, in the course of their lively interchange of -experiences. - -"I am afraid I can talk better about hospitals and surgeons," said -Horton. "You know I am not a bit ćsthetic, and I have been studying -very closely." - -"You are determined, then, to practise medicine?" Mrs. Fairfield said, -with rather more anxiety in her tones than the occasion seemed to -demand. - -"I think I am better fitted for that profession than any other," Horton -answered. - -"Y-yes," assented Mrs. Fairfield, doubtfully, looking at her daughter. - -"I should never choose it, if I were a man," said Florence, decidedly. - -"It seems to have chosen me," Horton said. "I have not the slightest -bent in any other direction." - -"It is such a hard life," said Florence. "A doctor must be a perfect -hero." - -"You used to be enthusiastic over heroes," said Horton, smiling. - -"I am now," said Florence, "but----" - -"Not the kind who ride in buggies instead of on foaming chargers -and wield lancets instead of lances," laughed Horton, looking into -the slightly vexed but lovely face opposite, with a great deal of -expression in his dark eyes. - -"Of course you would not think of settling in Ridgemont," remarked Mrs. -Fairfield, blandly, "after all you have studied." - -"I don't see why not," he answered. - -"But for an ambitious young man," began Mrs. Fairfield. - -"I'm afraid I am not an ambitious young man," said Horton. "There is a -good opening here, and the old home is very dear to me." - -Florence was silently studying the toe of one small sandalled foot. - -"Well, to be sure," said Mrs. Fairfield, who always endeavored to fill -up pauses in conversation,--"to be sure, Ridgemont _is_ improving. -Don't you find it changed a good deal?" - -"Why, not very much," Horton answered. "Places don't change so much -in a few years as people. I met Lilly O'Connell as I came into your -grounds. _She_ has changed--wonderfully." - -"Y-yes," said Mrs. Fairfield, rather stiffly. "She _has_ improved. -Since her father died, she has lived in Parson Townsend's family. She -is a very respectable girl, and an excellent seamstress." - -Florence had gone to the window, and was looking out. - -"She was very good at her books, I remember," he went on. "I used to -think she would make something more than a seamstress." - -"I only remember her dreadful temper," said Florence, in a tone meant -to sound careless. "We called her 'Tiger-Lily,' you know." - -"I never wondered at her temper," said Horton. "She had a great deal to -vex her. I suppose things are not much better now." - -"Oh, she is treated well enough," said Mrs. Fairfield. "The best -families in the place employ her. I don't know what more she can -expect, considering that she is--a----" - -"Off color," suggested Horton. "No. She cannot expect much more. But it -is terrible--isn't it?--that stigma for no fault of hers. It must be -hard for a girl like her--like what she seems to have become." - -"Oh, as to that," said Florence, going to the piano and drumming -lightly, without sitting down, "she is very independent. She asserts -herself quite enough." - -"Why, yes," broke in her mother, hastily. "She actually had the -impudence to apply for a position as teacher of the primary school, and -Parson Townsend, and Hickson of the School Board, were determined she -should have it. The 'Gazette' took it up, and for awhile Lilly was the -heroine of the day. But of course she did not succeed. It would have -ruined the school. A colored teacher! Dreadful!" - -"Dreadful, indeed," said Horton. He rose and joined Florence at the -piano, and a moment later Mrs. Fairfield was contentedly drumming upon -the table, in the worst possible time, to her daughter's performance of -a brilliant waltz. - -The evening terminated pleasantly. After Horton had gone, mother and -daughter had a long confidential talk upon the piazza, which it is -needless to repeat. But at its close, as Mrs. Fairfield was closing the -doors for the night, she might have been heard to say: - -"You could spend your _winters_ in Boston, you know." - -To which Florence returned a dreamy "Yes." - -The tranquillity of Ridgemont was this summer disturbed by several -events of unusual local interest. Two, of a melancholy nature, were the -deaths of good old Parson Townsend and of Dr. Brown, one of the only -two regular physicians of whom the town could boast. The latter event -had the effect to bring about the beginning of young Dr. Horton's -professional career. The road now lay fair and open before him. His -father had been widely known and liked, and people were not slow in -showing their allegiance to the honored son of an honored father. - -Of course this event, being one of common interest, was duly discussed -and commented upon, and nowhere so loudly and freely as in the -post-office and cobbler's shop, where, surrounded by their disciples -and adherents, the respective proprietors dispensed wit and wisdom in -quantities suitable to the occasion. - -"He's young," remarked the worthy post-master, with a wave of his clay -pipe, "an' he's brought home a lot o' new-fangled machines an' furrin -notions, but he's got a good stock of Yankee common-sense to back it -all, an' I opine he'll _do_." - -And such was the general verdict. - -His popularity was further increased by the rumor of his engagement to -Miss Florence Fairfield. Miss Fairfield being a native of the town, and -the most elegant and accomplished young woman it had so far produced, -was regarded with much the same feeling as the brick block and the -soldiers' monument; and as she drove through the village streets in her -pretty pony phaeton, she received a great deal of homage in a quiet -way, particularly from the masculine portion of the community. - -"A tip-top match for the young doctor," said one. "She's putty as -a picter an' smart as lightnin', an' what's more, she's got 'the -needful.'" - -"Well, as to that," said another, "Horton ain't no need to look for -that. He's got property enough." - -To which must be added Mr. Hanniford's comments, delivered amidst a -rapid expectoration of shoe-pegs. - -"She's got the littlest foot of any girl in town, an' I ought to know, -for I made her shoes from the time she was knee-high to a grasshopper -till she got sot on them French heels, which is a thing I ain't agoin' -to countenance. She was always very fond o' my singin', too. Says -she,'You'd ought to have your voice cultivated, Mr. Hanniford,' says -she, 'it's equal, if not superior, to Waktel's or Campyneeny's, any -time o' day.' Though," he added, musingly, "as to _cultivatin'_, I've -been to more'n eight or ten singin'-schools, an' I guess there ain't -much more to learn." - -The death of Parson Townsend brought about another crisis in the life -of Lilly O'Connell. It had been his express wish that she should remain -an inmate of his family, which consisted now of a married son and his -wife and children. But, with her quick intuition, Lilly saw, before -a week had passed, that her presence was not desired by young Mrs. -Townsend, and her resolution was at once taken. - -Through all these years she had had one true friend and -helper--Priscilla Bullins, milliner and dress-maker. - -Miss Bullins was a queer little frizzed and ruffled creature, with -watery blue eyes, and a skin like yellow crackle-ware. There was -always a good deal of rice-powder visible in her scant eyebrows, and -a frost-bitten bloom upon her cheeks which, from its intermittent -character, was sadly open to suspicion, but a warm heart beat under -the tight-laced bodice, and it was to her, after some hours of mental -conflict, that Lilly went with her new trouble. Miss Bullins listened -with her soul in arms. - -"You'll come and stay with _me_; that's just what you'll do, Lilly, -and Jim Townsend's wife had ought to be ashamed of herself, and she a -professor! I've got a nice little room you can have all to yourself. -It's next to mine, and you're welcome to it till you can do better. I -shall be glad of your company, for, between you and me," dropping her -voice to a confidential whisper, "I ain't so young as I was, and, bein' -subject to spells in the night, I ain't so fond of livin' alone as I -used to be." - -So Lilly moved her small possessions into Miss Bullin's spare bedroom, -and went to work in the dingy back shop, rounding out her life with -such pleasure as could be found in a walk about the burying-ground on -Sundays, in the circulating library, and in the weekly prayer-meeting, -where her mellow voice revelled in the sweet melodies of the hymns, -whose promises brought such comfort to her lonely young heart. - -From the window where she sat when at work she could look out over -fields and orchards, and follow the winding of the river in and out -the willow-fringed banks. Just opposite the window, a small island -separated it into two deep channels, which met at the lower point with -a glad rush and tumult, to flow on again united in a deeper, smoother -current than before. - -Along the river bank, the road ran to the covered bridge, and across -it into the woods beyond. And often, as Lilly sat at her work, she -saw Miss Fairfield's pony phaeton rolling leisurely along under the -overhanging willows, so near that the voices of the occupants, for -Miss Fairfield was never alone, now, came up to her with the cool -river-breeze and the scent of the pines on the island. Once, Roger -Horton happened to look up, and recognized her with one of those grave -smiles which always brought back her childhood and the barren pasture -where the tiger-lilies grew; and she drew back into the shadow of the -curtain again. - -Doctor Horton saw Lilly O'Connell often; he met her flitting through -the twilight with bulky parcels, at the bedsides of sick women and -children, and even at the various festivals which enlivened the -tedium of the summer (where, indeed, her place was among the workers -only), and he would have been glad to speak to her a friendly word -now and then, but she gave him little chance. There was a look in her -face which haunted him, and the sound of her voice, rising fervid and -mournful above the others at church or conference-meeting, thrilled him -to the heart with its pathos. Once, as he drove along the river-side -after dark, the voice came floating out from the unlighted window of -the shop where he so often saw her at work, and it seemed to him like -the note of the wood-thrush, singing in the solitude of some deep -forest. - -Before the summer was over, something occurred to heighten the interest -which the sight of this solitary maiden figure, moving so unheeded -across the dull background of village life, had inspired. - -It was at a lawn party held upon Mrs. Fairfield's grounds, for the -benefit of the church of which she was a prominent member. There was -the usual display of bunting, Chinese lanterns, decorated booths, -and pretty girls in white. A good many people were present, and the -Ridgemont brass band was discoursing familiar strains. Doctor Horton, -dropping in, in the course of the evening, gravitated naturally -toward an imposing structure, denominated on the bills the "Temple of -Flora," where Miss Fairfield and attendant nymphs were disposing of -iced lemonade and button-hole bouquets in the cause of religion. The -place before the booth was occupied by a group of young men, who were -flinging away small coin with that reckless disregard of consequences -peculiar to very youthful men on such occasions. All were adorned with -_boutonničres_ at every possible point, and were laughing in a manner -so exuberant as might, under other circumstances, have led to the -suspicion that the beverage sold as lemonade contained something of a -more intoxicating nature. - -Miss Fairfield was standing outside the booth, one bare white arm -extended across the green garlands which covered the frame-work. She -looked bored and tired, and was gazing absently over the shoulder of -the delighted youth _vis-ŕ-vis_. - -Her face brightened as Doctor Horton was seen making his way toward the -place. - -"We were laughing," said the young man who had been talking with her, -after greetings had been exchanged,--"we were laughing over the latest -news. Heard it, Doctor?" - -Dr. Horton signified his ignorance. - -He was abstractedly studying the effect of a bunch of red columbine -nodding at a white throat just before him. He had secured those flowers -himself, with some trouble, that very day, during a morning drive, and -he alone knew the sweetness of the reward which had been his. - -"A marriage, Doctor," went on the youth, jocosely. "Marriage in high -life. Professor Samuel Commeraw to Miss Lilly O'Connell, both of -Ridgemont." - -Horton looked up quickly. - -"From whom did you get your information?" he asked, coolly regarding -the young fellow. - -"From Commeraw himself," he answered, with some hesitation. - -"Ah!" Dr. Horton returned, indifferently. "I thought it very likely." - -"I don't find it so incredible," said Miss Fairfield, in her fine, -clear voice. "He is the only one of her own color in the town. It seems -to me very natural." - -Dr. Horton looked into the fair face. Was it the flickering light of -the Chinese lanterns which gave the delicate features so hard and cold -a look? - -He turned his eyes away, and as he did so he saw that Lilly O'Connell, -with three or four children clinging about her, had approached, and, -impeded by the crowd, had stopped very near the floral temple. A -glance at her face showed that she had heard all which had been said -concerning her. - -The old fiery spirit shone from her dilated eyes as they swept over -the insignificant face of the youth who had spoken her name. Her lips -were contracted, and her hand, resting on the curly head of one of the -children, trembled violently. - -She seemed about to speak, but as her eyes met those of Doctor Horton, -she turned suddenly, and, forcing a passage through the crowd, -disappeared. - -Dr. Horton lingered about the flower-booth until the increasing crowd -compelled Miss Fairfield to to resume her duties, when he slipped -away, and wandered aimlessly about the grounds. At last, near the -musicians' stand, he saw Lilly O'Connell leaning against a tree, while -the children whom she had in charge devoured ice-cream and the music -with equal satisfaction. Her whole attitude expressed weariness and -dejection. Her face was pale, her eyes downcast, her lips drawn like a -child's who longs to weep, yet dares not. - -Not far away he saw, hanging upon the edge of the crowd, the tall form -of Commeraw, his eyes, alert and swift of glance as those of a lynx, -furtively watching the girl, who seemed quite unconscious of any one's -observation. - -Some one took Horton's attention for a moment, and when he looked again -both Lilly, with her young charge, and Commeraw were no longer to be -seen. He moved away from the spot, vaguely troubled and perplexed. - -The brazen music clashed in his ears the strains of "Sweet -Bye-and-Bye," people persisted in talking to him, and at last, in sheer -desperation, he turned his steps toward the temple of Flora. It was -almost deserted. The band had ceased playing, people were dispersing, -the flowers had wilted, and the pretty girls had dropped off one by -one with their respective cavaliers. The reigning goddess herself was -leaning against a green pillar, looking, it must be confessed, a little -dishevelled and a good deal out of humor, but very lovely still. - -"You must have found things very entertaining," she remarked, -languidly. "You have been gone an hour at least." - -"I have been discussing sanitary drainage with Dr. Starkey," Horton -answered, taking advantage of the wavering light to possess himself of -one of the goddess's warm white hands, and the explanation was, in a -measure, quite true. - -Miss Fairfield made no other reply than to withdraw her hand, under -the pretext of gathering up her muslin flounces for the walk across -the lawn. Horton drew her white wrap over the bare arms and throat, -and walked in silence by her side to the hall door. Even then he did -not speak at once, feeling that the young lady was in no mood for -conversation, but at last he drew the little white figure toward him, -and said: - -"You are tired, little girl. These church fairs and festivals are a -great nuisance. I will not come in to-night, but I will drive round in -the morning to see how you have slept." - -To his surprise, the girl turned upon him suddenly, repulsing his arm. - -"Why," she began, hurriedly, "why are you always defending Lilly -O'Connell?" - -She shot the question at him with a force which took away his breath. -She had always seemed to him gentleness itself. He hardly recognized -her, as she faced him with white cheeks and blazing eyes. - -"It was always so," she went on, impetuously, "ever since I can -remember. You have always been defending her. No one must speak of her -as if she were anything but a lady. I cannot understand it, Roger! I -want to know what it means--the interest you show, and always have -shown, in that--that girl!" - -Horton had recovered himself by this time. He looked into the angry -face with a quiet, almost stern, gaze. The girl shrank a little before -it, and this, and the quiver of her voice toward the close of her last -sentence, softened the resentment which had tingled through his veins. -Shame, humiliation, not for himself, but for her, his affianced wife, -burned on his cheeks. - -"What interest, Florence?" he said, repeating her words. "Just that -interest which every honest man, or woman, feels in a fellow-creature -who suffers wrongfully. Just that--and nothing more." - -Her lips parted as if to retort, but the steadiness of her lover's gaze -disconcerted her. He was very gentle, but she felt, as she had once or -twice before, the quiet mastery of his stronger nature, and the eyes -fell. He took both her hands and held them awhile without removing his -eyes from her face. - -"Good-night, Florence," he said, at last, almost with sadness. - -She would have liked to let him see that she was sorry for her -ill-temper, or rather for the manifestation of it, but she was only -overawed, not penitent, and bent her head to his parting kiss without a -word. - - * * * * * - -Two or three evenings later, Doctor Horton received an urgent summons -from one of his patients, who lived at the end of a new and almost -uninhabited street. A lamp at the corner of the main street lighted it -for a short distance, beyond which the darkness was intense. When just -opposite the lamp, and about to cross over, he observed a woman pass -swiftly across the lighted space in the direction toward which he was -himself going. There was no mistaking the erect figure and graceful -gait--it was Lilly O'Connell. After an instant of wondering what could -have brought her there at such an hour, for it was late, according to -village customs, he changed his intention as to crossing, and kept down -the other side. - -The sight of this girl brought back afresh that brief, unpleasant scene -with Florence, which he had tried to forget, but which had recurred -to him very often, and always with a keen sting of pain and shame. His -faith in the woman he loved was so perfect! Should hers be less in him? -For him there was no happiness without repose. To doubt, to be doubted, -would end all. He walked on in the darkness, lost in such thoughts, and -quite forgetting where he was, but all at once he became aware of other -footsteps behind him, and involuntarily looking back, he saw, just on -the edge of the lamp-lit space, the figure of a man--a tall figure, -with a certain panther-like grace of movement. There was but one such -in the town, that of Commeraw, the mulatto. - -The sight gave him a disagreeable shock. That he was following Lilly -O'Connell he had no doubt. Could it be true, then, the rumor to which -he had given so little credence? He remembered, now, that he had seen -this fellow hanging about at various times and places when she was -present. Might it not have been pretence--her proud indifference and -scornful evasion of his advances? He asked himself, with a hot flush -of mortification, the same question which Florence had put to him. -It was true that he had many times openly defended her. He had been -forced to do so by that quality of his nature which moved him always to -espouse the cause of the weak. Perhaps he had elevated this girl to a -higher plane than she deserved to occupy. After all, it would not be -strange if her heart, in its longing for sympathy, had turned toward -this man of her dead mother's race. Then her face, so sensitive, so -overshadowed with sadness, came before him, and he could not think of -it in juxtaposition with the brutal face of Commeraw. He banished the -thought with disgust. - -In the meantime, the man could be seen creeping along, a black shadow -thrown into faint relief against the white sand of the overhanging -bank. There was something furtive and stealthy in his actions which -excited Horton's fears. He saw that he had at last overtaken the girl, -and he quickened his own pace until he was so near that the sound of -their voices came over to him. - -"There is no other answer possible," she was saying. "You must never -speak to me in this way again." - -She would have gone on, but the man placed himself before her. There -was a deliberation in the way he did so which showed his consciousness -of power. - -"This is a lonesome place," he said, with a short, cruel laugh. - -She made no answer. - -The man muttered an imprecation. - -"You are not going to leave me so," he said. "Curse it! why do you -treat me so, as if I were a dog? What are you more than I am? Are you -so proud because you have a few more drops of their cursed white blood -in your veins than I have? What will that help you? Do you imagine it -will get you a white husband?" - -"Let me pass!" interrupted the girl, coldly. "You can kill me if you -like. I would rather die than give you any other answer. Will you let -me pass?" and she made another swift motion to go by him. - -A savage cry came from his lips. He sprang toward her. She made no -outcry. The two shadows struggled for a moment in deadly silence, but -it was only for a moment. Quick as thought, Horton flung himself upon -the man, who, taken thus by surprise, loosened his hold upon the girl, -shook himself free, and, with a fierce oath, fled. - -Lilly staggered back against the bank. - -"Do not be afraid," said Horton, panting. "The fellow will not come -back." - -"Doctor Horton!" she said, faintly. - -"Yes, it is Doctor Horton. Where were you going? I will see you in -safety." - -"I was on my way to watch with Mrs. Lapham," she answered, in firmer -tones. - -"I am going there too," said Horton. "If you feel able, go on, I will -follow after awhile. Or will you go home?" - -She came forward, walking a little slowly. - -"I will go on; she expects me." - -And in a few moments she had disappeared from sight. - -Horton remained where she had left him for perhaps a quarter of an -hour. Then he proceeded on his way. An old woman admitted him to the -house, and he went into the sick-room. Lilly O'Connell was sitting -by the cradle of the youngest child, which lay across her lap. She -greeted him with a bow, and averted her head, but the glimpse he had -of her face showed him that it was not only pale, but drawn as if with -physical pain. - -As he was about to leave his patient's side he looked toward her again, -and his eyes fell upon the arm which supported the child's head. About -the sleeve, a handkerchief, stained with blood, was tightly bound. - -He went over to the corner where she was sitting. - -"Will you come into the next room?" he said. "I would like to give you -some directions about the medicine." - -She gave him a quick, upward glance, arose, laid the baby in the arms -of the old woman, and followed him mutely into the adjoining room, -where a light was burning on the table, and stood before him, waiting -for him to speak. - -"You are hurt," he said, taking the bandaged arm in his hand. "That -fellow has wounded you." - -"I suppose he meant to kill me," she answered, leaning with the -disengaged arm against the table. - -Horton unbound the handkerchief. The blood was oozing from a deep flesh -cut below the elbow. With skilful fingers, he ripped open the sleeve -and turned it back from the fair round arm. Then, with the appliances -the country doctor has always at hand, he dressed the wound. When he -had finished, Lilly drew the sleeve down and fastened it over the -bandage. - -Horton looked into her face. She was deadly pale, and her hands, which -had touched his once or twice during the operation, were like ice. - -"You are weak and unstrung. You have lost a great deal of blood. Sit -down, Miss O'Connell." - -She did so, and there was a little silence. The young man's nerves were -still thrilling with the excitement of the last hour. For the moment, -this girl--sitting there before him, this fair girl with her hard, -cruel destiny--filled him completely. - -"What are you going to do?" he asked, at length. - -"Do?" she repeated. "Nothing." - -"You will let this villain escape justice?" he said. "You will take no -measures to protect yourself?" - -Lilly raised her head. A look of intense bitterness swept across her -face. - -"I shall not do anything," she said. "Doctor Horton, you have always -been good to me. As far back as I can remember, you have been my -friend. I want you to promise me not to speak of what has happened -to-night." - -Horton bit his lips in perplexity. - -"I do not think I have any right to make such a promise," he said, -after a little pause. "This was an attempt at murder." - -She rose and came close up to him. - -"You _must_ promise me. Do you not see?" she went on, passionately. "If -I were any one else, it would be different--do you not understand? To -have my name dragged before the public--I could not bear it! I would -rather he killed me outright!" - -Doctor Horton walked the floor excitedly. - -"It is a terrible thing," he said. "I cannot blame you, but it does not -seem right. Think the matter over. Perhaps you will feel differently. -In the meantime, I will do nothing without your consent." - -"Thank you, Doctor Horton," she said. - -A feeble call came from the sick-room, and she turned away. Soon after, -Doctor Horton left the house. - -The next day Commeraw's shop remained closed, and it was discovered -that he had fled the town. Numerous debts and embarrassments which -came to light sufficiently accounted for his departure, and were also -ample guarantee against his return. In this way, the question which had -vexed Doctor Horton's mind was unexpectedly settled. - -He did not see Lilly O'Connell for several days, but met her at last on -the street in such a way that she could not well avoid him. - -"It goes against my sense of justice that that scoundrel should escape -so easily," he said, after having made professional inquiries after the -wounded arm, "but at least you will now be safe," and, touching his hat -respectfully, he turned to leave her. At that instant, Miss Fairfield's -phaeton dashed around the corner. The occupant drew the reins slightly -and regarded the two with a flash of the turquoise eyes; then, bowing -coldly, she gave her horse a touch of the whip and dashed on again. - -When Horton appeared at Mrs. Fairfield's that evening, however, -Florence received him with unusual sweetness, and when chided playfully -for the coldness of her greeting on the street, replied only with a -light laugh. - -The next morning rain was falling steadily, but it did not prevent -Miss Fairfield from appearing in Miss Bullins's shop, taut and trim -in her blue flannel suit, the yellow hair and delicate rose-tinted -face finely relieved against the black velvet lining of her hat. She -found Lilly O'Connell in attendance and the shop otherwise unoccupied, -as she had expected. She was very gracious. She brought with her a -parcel containing costly linen and laces, which she wished made into -mysterious garments after the imported models inclosed. - -"My dresses will be made in Boston," she explained, with a conscious -blush, "but I want these things made under my own supervision--and I -want _you_ to make them." - -What was it in her crisp, clear tones which gave the common words so -subtle an effect? The two girls looked each other full in the face for -a moment. Miss Fairfield was the first to look away. - -"You do your work so beautifully, you know," she added, with a very -sweet smile. - -There was nothing more to say, yet she sauntered about the shop awhile, -looking at the goods displayed, or out into the rainy street. - -"I'm sorry to see you looking so badly," she said, at last, turning -her eyes suddenly upon the pale face behind the counter. "But I don't -wonder, either. It is natural you should take it hard." - -Again the gray eyes met the blue in that mute encounter. - -"I don't think I know what you mean," said Lilly, her fingers -tightening upon the laces she was folding. - -Miss Fairfield raised her eyebrows. - -"Oh, of course," she went on, sympathetically, "of course, you don't -like to talk about it, but I'm sure _you_ are not in the least to -blame. It was shameful of Commeraw to go off the way he did. I am -really sorry for you. _Good_-morning!" - -A moment later, when she was well outside, a little laugh broke from -her lips. It had been very well done--even better than she had meant to -do it. - -The new minister, a susceptible young man, meeting her at this moment, -thought he had never seen his fair parishioner looking so charming. - -Just after, he was equally struck by another face, framed in -reddish-golden hair, which was gazing out from the milliner's window at -the murky sky. Its set, hopeless expression startled him. - -"What a remarkable face!" he reflected. "It is that girl whose voice -I noticed the other evening." And, being a well-meaning young man, he -mentally added, "I really must speak with her, next conference-meeting." - -Summer passed tranquilly away, autumn ran its brief course; and -in November, when the days were getting toward their shortest and -dreariest, something happened which startled quiet Ridgemont out of the -even tenor of its way. The small-pox broke out among the operatives -in the paper-mill, and spread so rapidly during the first days as to -produce a universal panic. The streets were almost deserted; houses -were darkened, as if by closed shutters one might shut out the fatal -guest. Those who were compelled to go about, or whose social instinct -overcame their fear, walked the streets with a subdued and stealthy -air, as if on the lookout for an ambushed foe. - -The village loafers were fewer in number, and their hilarity was forced -and spasmodic. Jokes of a personal nature still circulated feebly, -but seemed to have lost their point and savor, and the laughter which -followed had a hollow ring. Mr. Hanniford was visibly depressed, and -the sallies which his position as local humorist compelled him to utter -were of a ghastly description. He still endeavored to enliven his -labors with his favorite ditty, but it had lost perceptibly in force -and spirit. - -Mr. Doolittle, the post-master, bore himself with a dignified composure -truly admirable, going fishing more persistently and smoking more -incessantly than ever. - -"What you want, boys," he remarked, with great earnestness, to the -few faithful retainers whom the potent spell of gingerpop rendered -insensible to other considerations,--"what you want is to take -plenty of exercise in the open air, and smoke freely. Tobacco is a -great--a--prophylactic." - -Meetings of citizens were held, and all the usual sanitary means -adopted and put in execution. An uninhabited farm-house, whose -rightful owner was in some unknown part of the world, was chosen for -hospital uses, and thither all victims of the disease were carried at -once. From the beginning, Dr. Horton had been most prompt and active -in suggesting prudential measures, and in seeing them carried out. -By universal consent, he was invested with full powers. Dr. Starkey, -the only other physician, on the ground of failing health, willingly -submitted to the situation. The young physician's entire energies -were aroused. He worked indefatigably, sparing neither strength nor -pocket; for among the victims were several heads of families, whose -sickness--and, in a few cases, whose death--left want and misery behind -them. - -One of the greatest obstacles encountered was the scarcity of nurses, -most of those responding to the call becoming themselves victims in a -few days. Two men only--veteran soldiers--were equal to the occasion, -and acted in multifarious capacities--as drivers of the ambulance, -housekeepers, cooks, nurses, undertakers, and grave-diggers. - -On the evening when the certainty of the outbreak was established, -Dr. Horton, after a day of excessive labor, went around to Mrs. -Fairfield's. It was a dark, rainy evening, and the house seemed -strangely cheerless and silent. A faint light shone from one upper -window, and he fancied, as he reached the steps, that he saw a girlish -figure leaning against the window-sash. The housemaid who admitted him, -after a second ring, did so with a hesitating and constrained air, eyed -him askance as she set her lamp upon the parlor table, and retreated -hastily. - -He was kept waiting, too, as it seemed to him, an unnecessarily long -time. He was tired and a little unstrung. He was in that mood when -the touch of a warm, tender hand is balm and cordial at once, and the -delay fretted him. He could hear muffled footfalls over his head, and -the murmur of voices, as he wandered about the room, taking up various -small articles in a listless way, to throw them down impatiently again; -pulling about the loose sheets of music on the piano, and wondering -why so lovely a creature as Florence need to be so scrupulously -exact about her toilet, with an impatient lover chafing and fretting -not twenty paces away. But at last there was a sound of descending -footsteps, a rustling of skirts, and the door opened to admit--Mrs. -Fairfield. She, at all events, had not been spending the precious -moments at her toilet-table. Something must have thrown her off her -guard. She was negligent in her attire, and certain nameless signs of -the blighting touch of Time were allowed to appear, it may be safely -asserted for the first time, to the eyes of mortal man. She was also -flustered in manner, and, after giving Dr. Horton the tips of her cold -fingers, retreated to the remotest corner of the room, and sank into -an easy-chair. He noticed as she swept by him that her person exhaled -camphor like a furrier's shop. - -"It's dreadful, isn't it?" she murmured, plaintively, holding a -handkerchief saturated with that drug before her face. "Perfectly -dreadful!" - -Dr. Horton was at first puzzled, and then, as the meaning of her remark -came to him, a good deal amused. He had not felt like laughing, all -day; but now he was obliged to smile, in the palm of his hand, at the -small, agitated countenance of his future mother-in-law, seen for the -first time without "war-paint or feathers." - -"It is certainly a misfortune," he said, reassuringly; "but it is not -wise to become excited. The disease is confined at present to the lower -part of the town, and, with the precautions which are to be taken, it -will hardly spread beyond it." - -Mrs. Fairfield shook her head incredulously. - -"There's no telling," she murmured, sniffing at her handkerchief with a -mournful air. - -"I have only a few moments to stay," the young man said, after a slight -pause. "I have to attend a citizens' meeting. Is not Florence well?" - -"Y-yes, she is well," came in hesitating and muffled accents from -behind the handkerchief. "She is not _ill_, but she is terribly upset -by the state of things, poor child! She has _such_ a horror of -disease! Why, she can't bear to come near me when I have one of my sick -headaches. So sensitive, you know. So----" - -A light had gradually been breaking upon Horton's mind. He colored, and -stepped forward a little. He had not been asked to sit down, and was -still in overcoat and gloves. - -"I think," he said, slowly, looking Mrs. Fairfield full in the -face,--"I _suppose_ I know what you mean. Florence will not come down. -She is afraid to--to see me." - -Mrs. Fairfield fidgeted in her chair, and a red spot burned in her -sallow cheek. - -"You must not think strange of it, Roger," she began, volubly. "You -know how delicately organized Florence is. So nervous and excitable. -And it would be _such_ a misfortune--with her complexion!" - -Dr. Horton took one or two turns across the room. He was not apt to -speak on impulse, and he waited now. He stopped before a portrait of -Florence, which hung over the piano. The tender face looked out upon -him with the soft, beguiling smile about the small, curved lips, which -had become so dear to him. Above it was a bunch of gorgeous sumac, -which he had gathered for her one heavenly day, not long ago; and -on the piano-rack stood the song she had taught him to believe the -sweetest song in all the world: - - "Du bist wie eine Blume, - So schön, so hold, so rein." - -He looked at the face again. She _was_ "like a flower." How could he -have found it in his heart to blame her, even by the remotest thought? - -"I'm sure," came the plaintive voice again, "you ought not to blame -her. I think it's perfectly natural." - -Dr. Horton turned toward her, with a cheerful smile. - -"Yes, it is quite natural. Of course I have taken every precaution; but -it was wrong of me to come without finding out how she felt. Tell her -I will not come again until"--he paused, with an unpleasant feeling in -his throat--"until she wishes me to come." - -"Well, I am sure," said Mrs. Fairfield, rising with an alacrity which -betrayed how great was her relief, "you must know what a trial it is to -her, Roger. The poor girl feels _so_ badly. You are not angry?" giving -her hand, but holding the camphorated handkerchief between them. - -"No," Dr. Horton said, taking the reluctant fingers a moment, "not at -all angry." - -He went away into the outer darkness, walking a little heavily. The -house-door shut behind him with a harsh, inhospitable clang, and as he -went down the steps the wind blew a naked, dripping woodbine-spray -sharply against his cheek, giving him a curiously unpleasant thrill. - -When he was part way down the walk, he looked back. At the upper window -the girlish figure was still visible, the face still pressed against -the pane. His heart bounded at the sight, and then sank with a sense -of remoteness and loss for which, a moment later, he chided himself -bitterly. - -Mrs. Fairfield waited only until she believed Roger was off the -grounds, when she threw open all the windows in the room, sprinkled -everything liberally with carbolic acid, and went up-stairs to her -daughter. - -She found Florence standing at the window where she had left her. - -"What did he say?" she asked, without looking around. - -"Oh, he was very reasonable," Mrs. Fairfield answered, seizing the -camphor-bottle from the bureau, "very, indeed. He said it was wrong in -him to have come under such circumstances, and he would not come again -until the danger was over. Roger always was so sensible." - -Tears rolled from the girl's eyes down over her blue cashmere wrapper, -and she bit her lips to keep back the sobs which threatened to break -out. - -"Hannah says three more cases were reported to-night," said her mother, -re-entering, after a short absence. - -An exclamation escaped the girl's lips, and she wrung her fingers -nervously. - -"We'd better go, hadn't we?" said Mrs. Fairfield. - -"No!" cried the girl. "Yes! Oh, I don't know! I don't know!" and she -threw herself upon the bed, crying hysterically. - -The evil news being corroborated by the milkman next morning, led to -another conference between mother and daughter, the result of which -was that the following notes awaited Dr. Horton on his return from an -exhausting day's work: - - "MY DEAREST ROGER: Do not be _too_ much hurt or shocked to hear - that mother and I have left town on the 3.30 train. We think it - best. It is hard, of course; but the separation will be easier - than if we were in the same place. I assure you, dear Roger, it - pains me to go, _dreadfully_; but I cannot bear such a strain - upon my nerves. Do, dearest, take care of yourself--though, of - course, you won't take the disease. Doctors never do, I believe. - I don't see why, I'm sure. - - "Oh, how I wish you had settled in Boston, or some large place, - where your practice would have been among first-class people - only. Those low mill people are always breaking out with some - horrid thing or other. It is too bad. We are going to stay with - Aunt Kitty, in Boston. She has been wanting me to spend the - winter with her. She is very gay, but of course, dearest, I - shall have no interest in _anything_. Of course you will write. - - "Your own, as ever, - - "F. F." - -Doctor Horton read this letter twice before opening the other, which -was from Mrs. Fairfield herself, and ran as follows: - - "MY DEAR ROGER: I am sure you will not blame me for taking our - darling Flossie out of harm's way, nor her for going. As I told - her last night, you always were so sensible. The poor child has - been in such a state, you've no idea! We feel real anxious about - you. Do take every precaution, for Flossie's sake, though they - say doctors never take diseases. Do wear a camphor-bag somewhere - about you. I always did wish you had chosen the law--it is so - much nicer. Of course Flossie will expect letters, but don't you - think you had better soak the paper and envelopes in carbolic - acid beforehand? They say it's very efficacious. - - "Yours, affectionately, - - "A. FAIRFIELD. - - "P. S.--You have no idea how the darling child's spirits have - risen since we began packing. She is quite another creature. - - "A. F." - -Doctor Horton smiled as he read, but as he put both notes away in his -desk, his face became grave and sad again. - -"It is perfectly natural," he said to himself, as he went down to his -lonely tea. "Perfectly so, and I am glad she has gone. But----" - - * * * * * - -The terrible disease whose presence had sent such a thrill of horror -through the quiet little town had been raging for two weeks, and though -the inevitable rebound from the first pressure of dread was making -itself universally felt, as a topic of conversation it had lost none of -its charms. - -On a wild, wet afternoon, Lilly O'Connell sat in the stuffy work-room -sacred to the mysteries of making and trying on the wonderful -productions of Miss Bullins's scissors and needle. She was sewing the -folds upon a dress of cheap mourning, while Miss Bullins sat opposite -with lap-board and scissors, her nimble tongue outrunning the latter by -long odds. - -"What's friends _for_," she was saying, "if they aint goin' to stand -by you when the pinch comes? Folks that's got husbands and lovers -and friends a plenty don't realize their blessin's. As for Florence -Fairfield, it makes me ashamed of bein' a woman--the way that girl did! -They say she wouldn't even see Roger Horton to bid him good-by. I never -heard the like!" - -Lilly turned her head toward the window, perhaps because the dress in -her hands was black, and the light dull. - -"They say he's workin' himself to death for all them poor people, and -he aint got nobody--no sister nor mother--to nurse him up when he -comes home all tuckered out; though Nancy Swift thinks a sight of him, -and she'll do her duty by him, I make no doubt. He's just like his -father, and he _was_ a good man. Florence Fairfield don't deserve her -privileges, I'm afeard." - -The street door opened, and with a gust of cold wind entered Widow -Gatchell, the village "Sairey Gamp." She was an elderly woman, tall, -stiff and dry as a last year's mullein-stalk. Her dark, wrinkled -face was fixed and inexpressive, but the small black eyes were full -of life. She was clothed in rusty garments, and carried a seedy -carpet-sack in her hand. - -"How d'ye do?" she said, in a dry voice, dropping on to the edge of a -chair. "I jest come in to tell ye, if ye was _drove_, 'taint no matter -about my bunnit. I sha'n't want it right away." - -"Why not?" said Miss Bullins, looking up. - -"I'm goin' to the pest-house nussin' to-morrow," returned the old -woman, in the same quiet tone. - -"Good land! Sarah Gatchell!" cried Miss Bullins, upsetting her -lap-board. "Aint you 'most afraid?" - -A quaint smile flitted across the widow's face. - -"What'd I be afeared of," she said, "'s old 'n' homely 's I be? The -small-pox aint agoin' to touch _me_. I'd 'a' gone a week ago, but -I couldn't leave Mis' Merrill, an' her baby not a week old. I've -jess been a-talkin' with Dr. Horton," she went on. "He says they're -sufferin' for help. They's three sick women an' two children, an' not -a woman in the house to do a thing for 'em. They've been expectin' two -nusses from the city, but they aint come. Seems to me 'taint jest right -fur men-folks to be fussin' 'round sick women an' childern." - -"Oh my, it's awful!" sighed Miss Bullins, pinning her pattern crooked -in her distress. - -"Not a woman there?" said Lilly O'Connell, who had been listening with -her hands idle in her lap. - -"There'll _be_ one there in the mornin'," said the widow, rising to go. -"I'd 'a' gone to-night, but I couldn't be o' much use till I'd gone -'round the house by daylight, an' got the hang o' things." - -"Wall, you've got good grit, Sarah," said the milliner, with -enthusiasm. "You're as good as half a dozen common women. I declare, -I'd go myself, but I shouldn't be a bit o' use. I should catch it in a -day. I was always a great one for catchin' diseases." - -"Aint ye well?" said Mrs. Gatchell, turning suddenly toward Lilly. "Ye -look kind o' peakčd. I guess ye set still too much." - -"I am perfectly well," said Lilly. - -"Ye be? Wall, sewin' _is_ confinin'. Good-by." - -Lilly had no appetite for her tea, and immediately after she put on her -cloak and hat, and went out. The wind had gone down as the sun set, the -rain had ceased, and a few pale stars were struggling through the thin, -vapory clouds. - -The streets were very quiet, and she met but few people. The choir in -the Orthodox Church were rehearsing, their voices ringing out clear and -not inharmonious in a favorite hymn. She stopped, and bowing her head -upon one of the square wooden posts, waited until the hymn closed. Then -she went on her way. It was quite dark when she reached the end of her -walk--the residence of Dr. Starkey. She seized the brass knocker with a -firm hand, and was shown into the office. In a few moments Dr. Starkey -entered. - -He was an old-school physician, and an old-school gentleman as well. -He would have considered it indecent to appear before the world in -any other garb than a broadcloth swallow-tail coat of ancient date, -and with his long neck wrapped in white lawn nearly to the point of -suffocation. He entered the room, and bowed with courtly gallantry on -seeing a feminine figure standing by the table; but, as Lilly looked up -and the lamp-light fell upon her face and hair, there was a perceptible -congealing of his manner. - -"Miss--a----" he began. - -"I am Lilly O'Connell," she said, simply. - -"Oh--a--yes! Miss O'Connell. Hm! Sit down, Miss O'Connell,--sit down!" -he added, observing her closely from under his shaggy brows. - -The girl remained standing, but the doctor seated himself before the -glowing grate, and placed himself in an attitude of professional -attention. - -"You are--indisposed?" he asked, presently, as she remained silent. - -"No; I am quite well," she answered; and then, after a little pause, -during which her color mounted and faded, she continued: "I have heard -that there is need of more help at the hospital, and I came to ask you -to take me as nurse, or anything you most need." - -Her voice trembled a little, and her eyes were fixed eagerly upon the -doctor's face. - -He turned square about, the withered, purple-veined hands clutching the -arms of his chair tightly, a kind of choking sound issuing from his -bandaged throat. - -"Will you say that again?" he asked abruptly, staring with raised -eyebrows at the pale, earnest face. - -Lilly repeated what she had said, more firmly. - -"Good heavens!" ejaculated the old man, measuring the girl from head to -foot slowly. - -"Child," he said, after a pause, "do you know what you are talking -about?" - -"I think so," the girl answered, quietly. - -"No, you do not!" the old man said, almost brusquely. "It is a place to -try the nerves of the strongest man, to say nothing of a woman's. It is -no place for a girl--no place." - -"I am not afraid," the girl said, her voice breaking. "They say I -am good in sickness, and I will do any kind of work. It is dreadful -to think of those poor little children and women, with no one to do -anything for them but men. Oh, do not refuse!" she cried, coming nearer -and holding out her hands entreatingly. - -The doctor had fidgeted in his chair, uttering a variety of curious, -inarticulate exclamations while she was speaking. - -"But, child," he repeated, earnestly, "it would be as much as your life -is worth to enter the house. You would come down in a week. You might -die!" - -Lilly looked up into the mottled old face, and smiled sadly. - -"I am not afraid," she said again, "and there is no one to care very -much. Even if I should die, it would not matter." - -Dr. Starkey reflected, rubbing one shrivelled finger up and down the -bridge of his nose. He knew how woman's help was needed in that abode -of pestilence and death. He looked at the white, supple hands clasped -over the gray cloak before him, and thought of the work which they -would be required to perform, then shook his head slowly, and rose. - -"No," he said, "I cannot consent." - -Lilly made a motion as if to speak, but he raised his hand -deprecatingly. - -"It would be as bad as murder," he went on. "I respect your -motive, Miss O'Connell, I do, indeed; but you are too young and -too--a--delicate for the undertaking. Don't think of it any more." - -He took one of the hands which dropped at her side and held it in -his glazed palm, looking kindly into the downcast face. He knew the -girl's whole history. He had been one of the fiercest opponents of -her application for a teacher's place, and from conscientious motives -solely, as he believed; but he remembered it now with sharp regret. -There was nothing in this fair and womanly figure to inspire antipathy, -surely. For the first time, a realizing sense of her solitary life came -to him, and he was pained and sorry. He wanted to be very kind to her, -but felt strangely unable to express himself. - -"Don't say no one would care what befell you," he began, his gruff -voice softening. "A young woman of your--a--attractions should have -many friends. Consider _me_ one, Miss O'Connell," he continued, with -a blending of the sincere and the grandiose in his manner,--"consider -_me_ a friend from this day, and let me thank you again for your offer. -It was very praiseworthy of you, very." - -Lilly bowed--she could not trust herself to speak--and went away. - -Dr. Starkey walked up and down his office several times, raised and -lowered the flame of the lamp, poked the fire, looked out into the -starlit night, and, with a fervent "Bless my soul! how extraordinary!" -settled himself for his customary nap over the Boston paper. - -Lilly hurried home through the silent streets. Miss Bullins's shop -was empty of customers, and she herself, her hair bristling with -crimping-pins and curl-papers, was putting things in order for the -night. She studied Lilly's face with watchful anxiety, as she joined in -her labors. - -"I hope to gracious she aint comin' down sick!" she reflected. "You -aint got backache and pains in your limbs, have you?" she inquired, -with thinly veiled anxiety. - -Lilly laughed. - -"No, Miss Bullins; nothing of the kind." - -"I thought you looked kind o' _queer_," said the good creature, -coloring. - -"I am only a little tired; not sick." - -She came and stood by the old maid's chair, as she sat warming her feet -at the stove, and laid her hand on the thin gray hair. - -"Good-night, Miss Bullins." - -"Good-night, dear. Hadn't you better drink a cup of pepper-tea before -you go to bed?" - -"No, thank you; I am only tired." - -She sat by the window of her little bedroom over the shop a long time -before lighting her lamp. Dim and dark, the river wound along, its -surface gleaming here and there faintly through the leafless branches -of the willows. Overhead, the solemn stars shone coldly. The houses -along its banks were already dark and silent. At some involuntary -movement, her hand fell upon a soft white mass of needle-work which -strewed the table near her, and the contact seemed to rouse her. She -rose, lit the lamp, folded the dainty, lace-trimmed garment, and made -it into a parcel with some others which she took from a drawer, and -went to bed. It was long before she slept, but the early morning found -her asleep, with a peaceful smile upon her face. - -The next day, being Saturday, was a busy one, for let Death stalk as he -will, people must have their Sunday gear. The little shop was full at -times, and feminine tongues and fingers flew without cessation, mixing -millinery and misery in strange confusion. - -"You don't say that's Mis' Belden's bonnet, with all them flowers on -it? Well, I never! And she a member!" - -"Why, you're a member, too, ain't you, Mis' Allen?" says another, with -a glance at the first speaker's head, where feathers of various hues -waved majestically. - -"Oh, you mean my feathers?" was the spirited answer. "Feathers an' -_flowers_ is different things. You must draw the line somewhere, an' I -draw it at feathers." - -"They say one o' the women died up to the pest-house yesterday," said -one woman, in the midst of an earnest discussion as to the comparative -becomingness of blue roses and crimson pansies. - -"Dear me!" said Miss Bullins, compassionately, "an' not a woman there -to lay her out! Sarah Gatchell didn't go up till to-day." - -"They don't lay 'em out," remarked the other, unconcernedly, holding a -brilliant pansy against her bilious countenance. "They roll 'em up in -the sheet they die on, and bury 'em in the pasture." - -Lilly's hands trembled over the bonnet she was lining. - -"Well, good-day, Miss Bullins. I guess I'd better take the roses. I'm -most too old for red. Get it done if you can. Good-day." - -It went on so all day. At one time there was a rush for the window. - -"It's Doctor Horton!" cried a pretty girl. "Oh my! Ain't he sweet? He's -handsomer than ever, since he got so pale. I don't see how in the world -Flossie Fairfield could do as she did. They say she's afraid to have -him write to her." - -"She loves her good looks more'n she does him, I guess," said another. - -"And they to be married in the spring," said Miss Bullins, -pathetically. "Lilly, here, was making her underclo'se, and they're a -sight to see,--all hand-made, and so much lace in 'em that it ain't -modest, I do declare!" - -"If she got her deserts she wouldn't have no use for weddin' clo'se," -said another, with acerbity; "not if _I_ was Roger Horton." - -"Wall, you ain't," said her companion, drily, "an' he ain't no -different from other men, I guess." - -Lilly worked on with feverish haste. About four o'clock she rose and -went out, pausing an instant at the door, and looking back. Miss -Bullins, intent upon some button-holes for which every moment of -daylight was needed, did not look up. Lilly closed the door, and went -up to her room. - -It was small and simple, but it was the best she had known. There were -some innocent efforts at decoration, a daintiness about the bed, a few -books on hanging shelves, and a pretty drapery at the one window. She -looked around with a sinking heart. There was a small writing-desk upon -the table, and she went to it and wrote a few lines, which she sealed -and directed. She packed a few articles in a satchel, put on her cloak -and hat, and stole down the stairs. - -Choosing the quietest street, she walked rapidly through the village -until the last house was passed, and the open country lay before her, -bare and brown and desolate, except for the blue hills in the distance, -which, summer or winter, never lost their beauty. - -Two or three farmers, jogging homeward with their week's supplies, -passed her, and one offered her a lift as far as she was going, which -she declined. - -A mile from the village, a road turned off to the left, winding -through barren fields, until lost in the pine woods. As she turned into -this, a man driving toward the village reined in and called to her, -warningly: - -"The pest-house is up yonder!" - -She merely bowed and kept on. The man stared a moment, and whipped up -his horse again. It was dark in the woods, and chilly, but she felt no -fear, not even when the sere bushes by the way-side rustled, or twigs -snapped as if beneath the tread of some living creature. - -As she came out into comparative light she saw a buggy driven rapidly -toward her. She recognized its occupant at once, and with a quick -heart-throb sprang behind a clump of young pines, and dropped upon her -knees. - -Dr. Horton drove by, his face turned toward her place of concealment. -He did not know that any human eye was upon him, and the heaviness of -his spirit appeared unrepressed in every feature. His eyes followed -listlessly the irregular outline of the way-side walls and bushes, -but it was evident that his thoughts were not of surrounding things, -otherwise he must have seen the crouching figure and the white face -pressed against the rough bark of the tree whose trunk she clasped. - -The girl's eyes followed him until he was lost to sight in the woods. -Then she came out and pursued her way. - -A curve in the road brought her in sight of the house now devoted -to hospital uses. It was a two-story farm-house, black with age, -shutterless and forsaken-looking. Over it hung the cloud of a hideous -crime. A few years before, the owner, led on by an insane passion, -had murdered his aged wife in her bed. The sequel had been a man's -life ended in prison, a girl's name blasted, a dishonored family, a -forsaken homestead,--for the son, to whom the property had fallen, had -gone away, leaving no trace behind him. It had stood for years as the -murderer had left it; its contents had been untouched by human hands; -the hay had rotted in the barn; the fields were running waste. The very -road itself was avoided, and the old wheel-ruts were almost effaced -by grass and weeds. Swallows had possessed themselves of the cold, -smokeless chimneys and sunken, mossy eaves; vagrant cats prowled about -the moldering mows and empty mangers. The old well-sweep pointed like -a gaunt, rigid finger toward heaven. The little strips of flower-beds -beneath the front windows were choked with grass, but the red roses -and pinks and columbines which the old woman had loved, still grew -and bloomed in their season, and cast their petals about the sunken -door-stone, and over the crooked path and neglected grass. - -There were no flowers now,--only drifting masses of wet brown leaves. -The setting sun had just turned the windows into sheets of blood, and -down in the pasture could be seen the rough clods of several new-made -graves. The silence was absolute. Faint columns of smoke, rising from -the crumbling chimneys, were the only signs of human presence. - -A tremor shook the girl from head to foot, and she ceased walking. -After all, she was young and strong, and the world was wide; life might -hold something of sweetness for her yet. It was not too late. She -half turned,--but it was only for a moment, and her feet were on the -door-step, and her hand on the latch. - -She turned a last look upon the outer world,--the bare fields, the -leafless woods, the blue hills, the fading sky. A desperate yearning -toward it all made her stretch out her hands as if to draw it nearer -for a last farewell. Then from within came the piteous cry of a sick -child, and she raised the latch softly and entered the house. The -air of the hall smote her like a heavy hand, coming as she did from -the cool outer air; but guided by the cry, which still continued, -she groped her way up the bare, worn stairs, pushed open a door, and -entered. - -The child's voice covered the sound of her entrance and, sickened by -the foul air, she had leaned for some moments against the wall before -Widow Gatchell, who was holding the child across her knee, turned and -saw her. The old woman's hard, brown features stiffened with surprise, -her lips parted without sound. - -"I have come to help you," said Lilly, putting down her satchel and -coming forward. - -"Who sent ye?" the widow asked, shortly. - -"Nobody. I offered my services, but Dr. Starkey refused to let me come. -I knew you would not send me away if I once got here, and so I came." - -"What was folks thinkin' of to _let_ ye come?" asked the old woman -again. - -"Nobody knew it," Lilly answered. - -"Wall," the widow said, "ye had no sort o' business to come, though the -Lord knows they's need enough of help." - -"Perhaps _He_ sent me, Sarah," the girl said, gently. "Oh, the poor, -poor baby! Let me take it." - -Widow Gatchell's keen eyes swept the girl's compassionate face with a -searching gaze. She rose stiffly and laid the child in her arms. - -"There!" she said, drawing a long breath. "You're in for it now, Lilly -O'Connell, and may the Lord have mercy on ye!" - -When Dr. Horton entered the pest-house in the morning, the first person -he encountered was Lilly O'Connell, coming through the hall with a tray -in her hands. In her closely fitting print dress and wide apron, the -sleeves turned back from her smooth, strong arms, her face earnest, yet -cheerful, she was the embodiment of womanly charity and sweetness. He -started as though he saw a spectre. - -"Good heavens!" he said; "how came you here? Who--who permitted you to -come here?" - -"No one," said Lilly, supporting the waiter on the post at the foot of -the stairs. "I just came. I asked Dr. Starkey to take me as nurse, but -he refused." - -"I know, I know," said the young man. He stepped back and opened the -door, letting in the crisp morning air. "But why did you come? It is a -terrible place for you." - -"I came to be of use," she answered, smiling. "I hope I am useful. Ask -Mrs. Gatchell. She will tell you that I am useful, I am sure." - -Horton's face expressed pain and perplexity. - -"It is wrong--all wrong," he said. "Where were your friends? Was there -no one who cared for you, no one that you care for, enough to keep you -from this wild step?" - -She looked up into his face, and, for one brief moment, something in -her deep, luminous eyes chained his gaze. A soft red spread itself over -her cheeks and neck. She shook her head slowly, and taking up the tray, -went on up the stairs. - -Miss Bullins found the little note which Lilly had left for her, when, -as no response came to her repeated summons to tea, she mounted the -stairs to see what had happened. - -She read the hastily written lines with gathering tears. - - "You can get plenty of milliners and seamstresses; but those - poor women and children are suffering for some one to take care - of them. Forgive me for going this way, but it seemed the only - way I _could_ go. May be I shall be sick; but if I do, there is - no beauty to lose, you know, and if I die, there is nobody to - break their heart about it. _You_ will be sorry, I know. I thank - you, oh so much, for all your kindness to me, and I do love you - dearly. May God bless you for all your goodness. If I should - die, what I leave is for you to do what you please with. - - "Your grateful and loving - - "LILLY." - -The good little woman's tears fell faster as she looked about the empty -room. - -"I never was so beat in my life," she confided to a dozen of her -intimate friends many times over during the next week. "You could have -knocked me down with a feather." - -Dr. Starkey's amazement surpassed Miss Bullins's, if possible. He first -heard of the step Lilly had taken from Dr. Horton. He saw her himself a -day or two later, on making his tri-weekly visit to the hospital, and -commended her bravery and self-sacrificing spirit in phrases something -less stilted than usual. - -He could not entirely banish an uneasy feeling when he looked at the -fresh young face, but he became tolerably reconciled to the situation -when he saw what her energy and tenderness, in cooperation with Widow -Gatchell's skill and experience, were accomplishing. - -As for the girl herself, the days and nights passed so rapidly, making -such demands upon body and mind, as to leave no time for regret. The -scenes she witnessed effaced the past entirely for the time. In the -midst of all the pain, and loathsomeness, and delirium, and death, she -moved about, strong, gentle and self-contained, so self-contained that -the vigilant eyes of the old nurse followed her in mute surprise. - -"I never see nothin' like it," she said to Dr. Horton one day. "I've -known her since she was little, an' I never would 'a' believed it, -though I knew she'd changed. Why, she used to be so high-strung an' -techy, like, an' now she's like a lamb." - -On the tenth day after her coming, Dr. Horton in making his round -entered an upper chamber, where Lilly was standing by one of the three -beds it contained. She had just drawn the sheet over the faces of two -who had died that morning--mother and child. - -The dead woman was the deserted wife of a man who had left her a year -before, young, weak and ignorant, to certain want and degradation. - -"I cannot feel sorry," Lilly said. "It is so much better for them than -what was left for them here." - -Dr. Horton hardly seemed to hear her words. He was leaning wearily -against a chair behind him; his eyes were dull, and his forehead -contracted as if with physical suffering. - -"You are ill!" she said, with a startled gesture. - -"No, only getting a little tired out. I hope the worst is over now, and -I think I shall hold out." - -He went about from room to room, and from bed to bed, attentive and -sympathetic as ever, and then left the house. A half hour later, one -of the men came into the kitchen where Mrs. Gatchell was stirring -something over the fire. - -"Got a spare bed?" he asked, laconically. - -The widow looked up. - -"'Cause we've got another patient." - -"Who is it?" she asked, quickly. - -"Come and see." - -She followed the man to the rear of the house, where, upon a stone -which had fallen from the wall, Dr. Horton was sitting, his head bent -in slumber. She listened a moment to his heavy breathing, laid her hand -upon his forehead, and turned silently away. - -A bed was made ready, and the young doctor, still wrapped in the heavy -sleep of disease, was laid upon it, and one of the men was sent for -Dr. Starkey. - -In the delirium which marks the first stages of the disease, young -Horton would allow no one but Lilly O'Connell to minister to him. -Sometimes he imagined himself a boy, and called her "mother," clinging -to her hand, and moaning if she made the least effort to withdraw. At -other times, another face haunted him, and another name, coupled with -endearing words or tender reproaches, fell from the half-unconscious -lips. - -Who but a woman can comprehend the history of those days and nights of -watching and waiting? Each morning found her more marble-pale; purple -rings formed themselves about the large eyes, but a deep, steady light, -which was not born of pain and suffering, shone in their clear depths. - -At last, one night, the crisis, whose result no human judgment could -foretell, was at hand. No delirium, no restlessness now--only a deep -sleep, in which the tense muscles relaxed and the breath came as softly -as a child's. - -Widow Gatchell shared the young girl's watch, but the strain of the -last month had told upon her, and toward morning she fell asleep, and -Lilly kept her vigil alone. Only the ticking of the old clock in the -hall and the breathing of the sleepers broke the deep silence which -filled the house. The lamp threw weird shadows across the ceiling and -over the disfigured face upon the pillow. Of all manly beauty, only -the close-clustering chestnut hair remained, and the symmetrical hands -which lay nerveless and pale, but unmarred, upon the spread. - -Statue-like, the young girl sat by the bed-side, her whole soul -concentrated in the unwavering gaze which rested upon the sleeper's -face. A faint--ever so faint--murmur came at last from the hot, swollen -lips, and one languid hand groped weakly, as if seeking something. She -took it gently and held it between her own soft palms. It seemed to her -fine touch that a light moisture was discernible upon it. She rose and -bent over the pillow with eager eyes. A storm of raptured feeling shook -her. She sank upon her knees by the bed, and pressed the hand she held -close against her breast, whispering over it wild words which no ear -might hear. - -All at once, the fingers which had lain so inert and passive in her -grasp seemed to her to thrill with conscious life, to return faintly -the pressure of her own. She started back. - -A ray of dawning light crept under the window-shade and lay across the -sick man's face. His eyes were open, and regarding her with a look of -perfect intelligence. - -The girl rose with a smothered cry, and laid the drooping hand upon the -bed. The dark, gentle eyes followed her beseechingly. It seemed as if -he would have spoken, but the parched lips had lost their power. - -She went to the sleeping woman and touched her shoulder. - -"Sarah, I think he is better," she said, her voice trembling. - -Instantly, the old nurse was on the alert. She went to the bed, and -laid her hand upon the sick man's forehead and wrist, then turned -toward Lilly, with a smile. - -"Go and take some rest," she said in a whisper. "The crisis has passed. -He will live." - -Dr. Horton's recovery was not rapid, but it was sure. - -From the hour of his return to consciousness, Lilly O'Connell had not -entered his room. - -When a week had passed, he ventured to question his faithful attendant, -Widow Gatchell, in regard to her. For twenty-four hours he had missed -the step and voice he had believed to be hers, passing and repassing -the hall outside his door. The old woman turned her back abruptly and -began stirring the already cheerful fire. - -"She ain't quite so well to-day," she answered, in a constrained voice. - -The young man raised his head. - -"Do you mean that she is sick?" he asked hastily. - -"She was took down last night," the widow answered, hesitating, and -would have left the room; but the young man beckoned her, and she went -to his side. - -"Let everything possible be done for her," he said. "You -understand--everything that _can_ be done. Let Mason attend to me." - -"I'll do _my_ part," the old nurse answered, in the peculiarly dry tone -with which she was accustomed to veil her emotions. - -Dr. Starkey, who, since the young doctor's illness, had been, perforce, -in daily attendance, was closely questioned. His answers, however, -being of that reserved and non-committal nature characteristic of the -profession, gave little satisfaction, and Horton fell into a way of -noticing and interpreting, with the acute sense of the convalescent, -each look of his attendant, each sound which came to him, keeping -himself in a state of nervous tension which did much toward retarding -his recovery. - -Three or four days had passed in this way, when one morning, just at -daybreak, Dr. Horton was roused from his light sleep by sounds in the -hall outside his door--hushed voices, shuffling footsteps, and the -sound of some object striking with a heavy thud against the balusters -and wall. He raised himself, his heart beating fast, and listened -intently. The shuffling steps moved on, down the creaking stairs and -across the bare floor below. A door opened and shut, and deep silence -filled the house again. He sank back upon his pillow, faint and -bewildered, but still listening, and after some moments, another sound -reached his ears faintly from a distance--the click of metal against -stones and frozen mold. - -He had already been able, with some assistance, to reach his chair once -or twice a day; now he rose unaided, and without consciousness of pain -or weakness, found his way to the window, and pushed aside the paper -shade with a shaking hand. - -It was a dull, gray morning, and a light snow was falling, but through -the thin veil he could see the vague outlines of two men in the pasture -opposite, and could follow their stiff, slow motions. They were filling -in a grave. - -He went to his bed and lay back upon it with closed eyes. When he -opened them, Widow Gatchell was standing by him with his breakfast on a -tray. - -Her swarthy face was haggard, but her eyes were tearless, and her lips -set tightly together. He put his hand out and touched hers. - -"I know," he said, softly. - -The woman put the tray on the table, and sank upon a chair. She cleared -her throat several times before speaking. - -"Yes," she said, at last, in her dry, monotonous voice. "She is gone. -We did all we could for her, but 'twarn't no use. She was all wore out -when she was took. Just afore she died she started up and seized hold -o' my hand, her eyes all soft an' shinin', an' her mouth a-smilin'. -'Sarah,' says she, 'I shall know the meaning of it now!' The good Lord -only knows what she meant--her mind was wanderin', most likely--but -them was her last words, 'I shall know the meanin' of it now, Sarah!'" - -The old woman sat a while in silence, with the strange repressed look -which watching by so many death-beds had fixed upon her face; then, -arranging the breakfast upon the stand, went out again. - -It snowed persistently all day. From the chair by the window, Doctor -Horton watched it falling silently, making everything beautiful as it -fell,--rude wall, and gnarled tree, and scraggy, leafless bush,--and -covering those low, unsightly mounds with a rich and snowy pall. He -watched it until night fell and shut it from his sight. - -Lilly O'Connell's was the last case. The disease seemed meantime to -have spent its force, and in a few weeks the unbroken silence of -midwinter rested over the drear and forlorn spot. - -Doctor Horton was again at home. He was thin, and his face showed some -traces of the disease from which he had just recovered, but they were -slight, and such as would pass away in time. The pleasant chamber where -he was sitting was filled with evidences of care and attention, for -every woman in Ridgemont, old or young, desired to show in some way her -admiration and esteem for the young physician. Fruit and jellies and -flowers and books filled every available place. - -He was seated before a cheerful fire. Upon the table by his side lay -many papers and letters, the accumulation of several weeks. One letter, -of a recent date, was open in his hand. A portion of it ran thus: - - "* * * It has been very gay here this season, and mother and - Aunt Kitty have insisted upon my going out a great deal. But I - have had no heart in it, dearest, especially since I knew that - you were ill. I assure you, I was almost ill myself when I heard - of it. How thankful I am that you are convalescent. I long to - see you so much, but Aunt Kitty does not think I ought to - return before spring. Oh Roger, _do_ you think you are much - changed? * * *" - -Shading his eyes with his thin hand, he sat a long time in deep -thought. At last, rousing himself, he went to his desk and wrote as -follows: - - "MY DEAR FLORENCE: I _am_ changed; so much that you would not - know me; so much that I hardly know myself; so much, indeed, - that it is better we do not meet at present. - - R. H." - -With a smile so bitter that it quite transformed his genial, handsome -face, he read and re-read these lines. - -"Yes," he said aloud, "it is the right way, the only way," and he -sealed and directed the letter, and went back to his reverie by the -fire. - -Lilly O'Connell's death made a deep impression in the village. That -which her life, with all its pain and humiliation and loneliness, its -heroic struggles, its quiet, hard-won victories, had failed to do, -the simple story of her death accomplished. It was made the subject -of at least two eloquent discourses, and for a time her name was on -every tongue. But it was only for a time, for when, in the course of -years, the graves in the pasture were opened, and the poor remains of -mortality removed by surviving friends to sacred ground, her grave -remained undisturbed. - -It was not forgotten, however. One day in June, when the happy, teeming -earth was at her fairest, Dr. Horton drove out of the village, and -turning into the grass-grown, untraversed road, went on to the scene -of the past winter's tragedy of suffering and death. The old house was -no longer in existence. By consent of the owner (whose whereabouts had -been discovered), and by order of the selectmen of the town, it had -been burned to the ground. Where it had stood, two crumbling chimneys -rose from the mass of blackened bricks and charred timbers which -filled the cellar, the whole draped and matted with luxuriant woodbine -and clinging shrubs. Birds brooded over their nests in every nook -and cranny of the ruin, and red roses flaunted in the sunshine and -sprinkled the gray door-stone with splashes of color. The air was as -sweet about it, the sky as blue above it, as if crime and plague were -things which had no existence. - -Dr. Horton left his horse to browse on the tender leaves of the young -birches which grew along the wall, and went down into the pasture. The -sod above the graves was green, and starred with small white flowers. -There were fifteen graves in all, distinguished only by a number rudely -cut upon rough stakes driven into the ground at their heads. - -He went slowly among them until he came to one a little apart from the -others, in the shadow of the woods which bordered the field. A slender -young aspen grew beside it, its quivering leaves shining in the sun. -Soft winds blew out from the fragrant woods, and far off in their green -depths echoed the exquisite, melancholy note of the wood-thrush. At the -foot of the grave, where the grass, nourished by some hidden spring, -grew long and lush, a single tiger-lily spread its glowing chalice. - -The young man stood there with uncovered head a long, long time. Then, -laying his hand reverently upon the sod for one instant, he went away. - -Several years have passed since these events. Dr. Horton is still -unmarried. This is a source of great regret in the community with which -he has become so closely allied, and by which he is held in universal -regard and honor. There are some prematurely whitened locks upon his -temples, and two or three fine straight lines just above his warm, -steadfast eyes, but he is neither a morose nor a melancholy man, and -there are those who confidently hope that the many untenanted rooms in -the old homestead may yet open to the sunshine of a wife's smile, and -echo to the music of childish voices. - -It was two years before he met Miss Fairfield, she having spent that -time in Europe with her mother and "Aunt Kitty." It was a chance -meeting, upon Tremont Street, in Boston. He was in the act of leaving -a store as she entered, accompanied by her mother. He recognized them -with a friendly and courteous bow, and passed on. - -Miss Fairfield leaned against the counter with a face white as snow. - -"He is not--changed--so very much," she whispered to her mother. - -Mrs. Fairfield, who had had her own ideas all along, kept a discreet -silence. - -The Fairfields spend a part of their time in Ridgemont, and the elegant -little phaeton and the doctor's buggy often pass each other on the -street; the occupants exchange greetings, and that is all. - -Miss Fairfield is Miss Fairfield still. Always elegant and artistic in -her dress, she is not quite the same, however. The porcelain tints -have faded, and there is a sharpness about the delicate features, and -a peevishness about the small pink lips. She is devoted to art. She -paints industriously, and with fair result. Her tea-sets are much -sought after, and she "spends her winters in Boston." - - - - - THIRZA. - - -She stood by the window, looking out over the dreary landscape, a woman -of some twenty-five years, with an earnest, even melancholy face, in -which the wistful brown eyes were undoubtedly the redeeming feature. -Jones' Hill, taken at its best, in full parade uniform of summer green, -was not renowned for beauty or picturesqueness, and now, in fatigue -dress of sodden brown stubble, with occasional patches of dingy white -in ditches and hollows and along the edges of the dark pine woods, -was even less calculated to inspire the beholder with enthusiasm. -Still, that would hardly account for the shadow which rested upon -Thirza Bradford's face. She ought, in fact, to have worn a cheerful -countenance. One week before she had been a poor girl, dependent -upon the labor of her hand for her daily bread; to-day she was sole -possessor of a farm of considerable extent, the comfortable old house -at one of whose windows she was now standing, and all that house's -contents. - -One week before she had been called to the bed-side of her aunt, -Abigail Leavitt. She had arrived none too soon, for the stern, sad old -woman had received her summons, and before another morning dawned had -passed away. - -To her great surprise, Thirza found that her aunt had left her sole -heiress of all she had possessed. Why she should have been surprised -would be difficult to explain. Aunt Abigail's two boys had gone to the -war and never returned, her husband had been dead for many years, and -Thirza was her only sister's only child, and sole surviving relative. -Nothing, therefore, was more natural than this event, but Thirza had -simply never thought of it. She had listened, half in wonder, half in -indifference, to the reading of the will, and had accepted mechanically -the grudgingly tendered congratulations of the assembled farmers and -their wives. - -She had been supported in arranging and carrying out the gloomy details -of the funeral by Jane Withers, a spinster of a type peculiar to New -England; one of those persons who, scorning to demean themselves by -"hiring out," go about, nevertheless, from family to family, rendering -reluctant service, "just to accommodate" (accepting a weekly stipend -in the same spirit of accommodation, it is to be supposed). With this -person's assistance, Thirza had prepared the repast to which, according -to custom, the mourners from a distance were invited on their return -from the burying-ground. Aunt Abigail had been stricken down at the -close of a Saturday's baking, leaving a goodly array upon the pantry -shelves, a fact upon which Jane congratulated herself without any -attempt at concealment, observing, in fact, that the melancholy event -"couldn't have happened handier." In vain had Thirza protested--Jane -was inflexible--and she had looked on with silent horror, while the -funeral guests devoured with great relish the pies and ginger-bread -which the dead woman's hand had prepared. - -"Mis' Leavitt were a master hand at pie-crust," remarked one toothless -dame, mumbling at the flaky paste, "a _master_ hand at pie-crust, but -she never were much at bread!" whereupon the whole feminine conclave -launched out into a prolonged and noisy discussion of the relative -merits of salt-risin's, milk-emptin's, and potato yeast. - -That was three or four days ago, and Thirza had remained in the old -house with Jane, who had kindly proffered her services and the solace -of her companionship. There had been little to do in the house, and -that little was soon done, and now the question of what she was to do -with her new acquisition was looming up before her, and assuming truly -colossal proportions. She was thinking of it now as she stood there -with the wistful look upon her face, almost wishing that Aunt Abigail -had left the farm to old Jabez Higgins, a fourth or fifth cousin by -marriage, who had dutifully appeared at the funeral, with a look as if -he had that within which passed showing, and doubtless he had, for he -turned green and blue when the will was read, and drove off soon after -at a tearing pace. - -Jane, having condescended to perform the operation of washing up the -two plates, cups, etc., which their evening meal had brought into -requisition, entered presently, knitting in hand, and seated herself -with much emphasis in a low wooden chair near the window. She was an -erect and angular person, with an aggressive air of independence about -her, a kind of "just-as-good-as-you-are" expression, which seemed to -challenge the observer to dispute it at his peril. She took up the -first stitch on her needle, fixed her sharp eyes upon Thirza, and, as -if in answer to her thoughts, opened on her as follows: - -"Ye haint made up yer mind what ye're a-goin' ter dew, hev ye?" - -Thirza slowly shook her head, without looking around. - -"It's kind o' queer now how things does work a-round. There you was -a-workin' an' a-slavin' in that old mill, day in an' day out, only a -week ago, an' now you can jest settle right down on yer own place an' -take things easy." - -Thirza vaguely wondered why Aunt Abigail had never "taken things easy." - -"I shouldn't wonder a mite," went on Jane, with increasing animation, -"I shouldn't wonder a single mite if you should git a husband, after -all!" - -Thirza's pale face flushed, and she made an involuntary gesture of -impatience with one shoulder. - -"Oh, ye needn't twist around so," said the undaunted spinster, dryly. -"Ye ain't no chicken, laws knows, but ye needn't give up all hopes. -Ye're twenty-five if ye're a day, but that ain't nothin' when a woman's -got a farm worth three thousand dollars." - -Three thousand dollars! For the first time her inheritance assumed -its monetary value before Thirza's eyes. Hitherto she had regarded it -merely as an indefinite extent of pastures, woods, and swamps--but -three thousand dollars! It sounded like a deal of money to her, who -had never owned a hundred dollars at one time in her life, and her -imagination immediately wandered off into fascinating vistas, which -Jane's prosaic words had thrown open before her. She heard, as in a -dream, the nasal, incisive voice as it went on with the catalogue of -her possessions. - -"Yes, it's worth three thousand dollars, if it's worth a cent! I heerd -Squire Brooks a-tellin' Orthaniel Stebbins so at the funeral. An' then, -here's the house. There ain't no comfortabler one on Joneses' Hill, nor -one that has more good furnitoor an' fixin's in it. Then there's Aunt -Abigail's clo'es an' things. Why, ter my _sartain_ knowledge there's -no less'n five real good dresses a-hangin' in the fore-chamber closet, -ter say nothin' of the bureau full of under-clo'es an' beddin'." Jane -did not think it necessary to explain by what means this "sartain -knowledge" had been achieved, but continued: "There's a silk warp -alpacky now, a-hangin' up there, why--it's e'en-a-most as good as new! -The creases ain't out on't." (Unsophisticated Jane! not to know that -the creases never _do_ go out of alpaca.) "I don't see what in the -name o' sense ye're a-goin' ter dew with all them dresses. It'll take -ye a life-time ter wear 'em out. If _I_ hed that silk warp alpacky -now,"--she continued musingly, yet raising her voice so suddenly that -Thirza started; "if _I_ hed that are dress, I should take out two of -the back breadths for an over-skirt--yes--an' _gore_ the others!" This -climax was delivered in triumphant tone. Then lowering her voice she -continued, reflectively: "Aunt Abigail was jest about my build." - -Thirza caught the import of the last words. - -"Jane," said she, languidly, with an undertone of impatience in her -voice (it was hard to be recalled from her pleasant wanderings by a -silk warp alpaca!), "Jane, you can have it." - -"Wh--what d'ye say?" inquired Jane, incredulously. - -"I said you could have that dress; I don't want it," repeated Thirza. - -Jane sat a moment in silence before she trusted herself to speak. Her -heart was beating with delight, but she would not allow the smallest -evidence of joy or gratitude to escape in word or look. - -"Wall," she remarked, coolly, after a fitting pause, "ef you haint got -no use for it, I might take it, I s'pose. Not that I'm put tew it for -clo'es, but I allers did think a sight of Aunt Abigail----" - -Her remarks were interrupted by an exclamation from Thirza. The -front gate opened with a squeak and closed with a rattle and bang, -and the tall form of Orthaniel Stebbins was seen coming up the path. -Orthaniel was a mature youth of thirty. For length and leanness of -body, prominence of elbow and knee joints, size and knobbiness of -extremities, and vacuity of expression, Orthaniel would have been hard -to match. He was attired in a well-preserved black cloth suit, with -all the usual accessories of a rustic toilet. His garments seemed to -have been designed by his tailor for the utmost possible display of -the joints above mentioned, and would have suggested the human form -with equal clearness, if buttoned around one of the sprawling stumps -which were so prominent a feature in the surrounding landscape. On -this particular occasion there was an air of importance, almost of -solemnity, about his person, which, added to a complacent simper, born -of a sense of the delicate nature of his present errand, produced in -his usually blank countenance something almost amounting to expression. - -At first sight of this not unfamiliar apparition, Thirza had -incontinently fled, but Jane received the visitor with becoming -impressiveness. - -"Good-evenin', Mr. Stebbins. Walk right into the fore-room," she -remarked, throwing open the door of that apartment of state. - -"No need o' puttin' yourself out, marm; the settin'-room's good enough -for me," graciously responded the gentleman. - -"Walk right in," repeated Jane, throwing open one shutter, and letting -in a dim light upon the scene--a veritable chamber of horrors, with its -hideous carpet, hair-cloth chairs and sofa, the nameless abominations -on its walls, and its general air of protest against the spirit of -beauty and all that goes to make up human comfort. - -Mr. Stebbins paused on the threshold. There was something unusually -repellent about the room, a lingering funereal atmosphere, which -reached even his dull senses. He would have infinitely preferred the -sitting-room; but a latent sense of something in his errand which -required the utmost dignity in his surroundings prevailed, and he -therefore entered and seated himself on one of the prickly chairs, -which creaked expostulatingly beneath him. - -"I--ahem! Is Miss Bradford in?" - -This question was, of course, a mere form,--a _ruse de guerre_, as -it were,--and Mr. Stebbins chuckled inwardly over his remarkable -diplomacy. He had seen Thirza at the window, and witnessed her sudden -flight; but, so far from feeling affronted by the act, it had rather -pleased him. It indicated maiden shyness, and he accepted it as a -flattering tribute to his powers of fascination. "She's gone to fix up -her hair, or somethin'," he reflected. - -When Jane came to summon her, she found Thirza sitting by the window of -the fore-chamber, gazing thoughtfully out into the twilight again. - -"Thirzy!" whispered the spinster, as mysteriously as if Mr. Stebbins -was within possible earshot, "Orthaniel Stebbins wants ter see yer. Go -right down!" - -"Jane, I--sha'n't!" answered Thirza, shortly. - -Jane started, and opened her small gray eyes their very widest. - -"Wh-at?" she stammered. - -"I mean I don't want to go down," said Thirza, more politely. "I don't -wish to see him." - -"Wall, if that don't beat the master!" exclaimed Jane, coming nearer. -"Why, he's got on his Sunday clo'es! 'S likely 's not he's a-goin' ter -propose ter ye!" - -"You had better send him away, then," said Thirza. - -"Ye don't mean to say ye wouldn't hev him!" gasped Jane, with a look of -incredulous amazement which, catching Thirza's eye, caused her to burst -into a laugh. - -"I suppose I must go down," she said at last, rising. "If I don't, I -shall have all Jones' Hill down upon me. Oh dear!" - -Mr. Stebbins would have been surprised to see that she passed the -mirror without even one glance. - -"Hadn't ye better take off yer apron, an' put on a pink bow, or -somethin'?" suggested Jane; "ye look real plain." - -Thirza did not deign to reply, but walked indifferently away. - -"Wall!" ejaculated the bewildered spinster, "I hope I may never!" And -then, being a person who believed in improving one's opportunities, -she proceeded at once to a careful re-examination of the "silk-warp -alpacky," which hung in straight, solemn folds from a nail in the -closet; it had hung precisely the same upon Aunt Abigail's lathy form. - -Thirza went into the gloomy fore-room. It struck a chill to her heart, -and she went straight past Mr. Stebbins, with merely a nod and a -"good-evening," and threw open another shutter, before seating herself -so far from him, and in such a position, that he could only see her -face by an extraordinary muscular feat. Mr. Stebbins felt that his -reception was not an encouraging one. He hemmed and hawed, and at last -managed to utter: - -"Pleasant evenin', Miss Bradford." - -"Very," responded Thirza. It was particularly cold and disagreeable -outside, even for a New England April. - -"I guess we kin begin plantin' by next week," continued the gentleman. - -"Do you really think so?" responded Thirza, in an absent sort of way. - -It was not much; but it was a question, and in so far helped on the -conversation. Mr. Stebbins was re-assured. - -"Yes," he resumed, in an animated manner, "I actooally dew! Ye see, -Miss Bradford, ye haint said nothin' tew me about the farm, so I -thought I'd come 'roun' an' find out what yer plans is." - -"I haven't made any," said Thirza, as he paused. - -"Oh--ye haint? Well, ye know I've been a-workin' on't on shares fur -yer aunt Abigail, goin' on five year, an' I'm ready ter dew the same -fur _you_; that is----" and here Mr. Stebbins hitched a little nearer, -while a smile, which displayed not only all his teeth, but no little -gum as well, spread itself over his bucolic features, "that is, if we -can't make no other arrangements more pleasin'." - -There was no mistaking his intentions now; they spoke from every -feature of his shrewdly smiling countenance, from his agitated knees -and elbows, and from the uneasy hands and feet which seemed struggling -to detach themselves from their lank continuations and abscond then and -there. - -Thirza looked her wooer calmly in the face. Her imperturbability -embarrassed but did not dishearten him. - -"Thar ain't no use in foolin' round the stump!" he continued. "I -might jest as well come out with it, plain an' squar! I'm ready an' -willin' to take the _hull_ farm off yer hands if you're agreeable. You -jest marry me, Thirzy, an' that settles the hull question slick as a -whistle!" and Mr. Stebbins settled back in his chair with a look as if -he had just elucidated a long-mooted problem in social science. - -Thirza rose: there was a little red spot on each cheek, and an unwonted -sparkle in her soft eyes; but her manner was otherwise unruffled as she -answered: - -"You are really very kind, Mr. Stebbins, but I think I shall find some -other way out of the dilemma. I couldn't think of troubling _you_." - -"Oh----" he stammered, "'tain't--no trouble--at all!" - -But Thirza was gone. - -For a moment Mr. Stebbins doubted his identity. He stared blankly -at the open door awhile, and then his eyes wandered vacantly over -the carpet and wall, finally coming to rest upon the toes of his -substantial boots. He sat for some time thus, repeating Thirza's words -as nearly as he could recall them, endeavoring to extract the pith -of meaning from the surrounding fibres of polite language. Had she -actually refused him? Mr. Stebbins, by a long and circuitous mental -process, arrived at length at the conclusion that she _had_, and -accordingly rose, walked out of the front door and down the narrow -path, in a state of mind best known to rejected suitors. As he closed -the gate he cast one sheepish look toward the house. - -"I'll be darned!" he muttered, "I'll be darned if I hain't got -the mitten!" and, discomfited and sore, the Adonis of Jones' Hill -disappeared in the evening shadows. - -Jane was watching his departure from behind the curtain of the -sitting-room window. In all probability her gentle bosom had never been -the scene of such a struggle as was now going on beneath the chaste -folds of her striped calico gown. She could not doubt the object of Mr. -Stebbins's visit, nor its obvious result. Astonishment, incredulity, -curiosity, in turn possessed her. - -"Waal!" she soliloquized, as the curtain fell from her trembling -fingers, "the way some folks fly in the face of Providence doos beat -the master!" - -Thirza, too, had observed her suitor as he strode away, with an -expression of scorn upon her face which finally gave way to one of -amusement, ending in a laugh--a curious hysterical laugh. A moment -later she had thrown herself upon the bed, and Jane, who in a state of -curiosity bordering on asphyxia, came up to the door soon after, heard -a sound of sobbing, and considerately went away. - -Thirza had her cry out; every woman knows what that means, and knows, -too, the mingled sense of relief and exhaustion which follows. It was -fully an hour later when she arose and groped her way down into the -sitting-room where Jane sat knitting zealously by the light of a small -lamp. That person's internal struggles commenced afresh, and a feeling -of indignation quite comprehensible burnt in her much-vexed bosom as -Thirza, after lighting another lamp, bade her "good-night," and went -out of the room, leaving her cravings for fuller information unassuaged. - -Once more in her room, Thirza seated herself before the glass and began -to loosen the heavy dark braids of her hair. Upon the bureau lay an -open letter, and leaving the soft tresses half undone, she took it up -and re-read it. When she had finished she let it fall upon her lap -and fell to thinking. The letter was from her cousin Sue, and bore a -foreign post-mark, and from thinking over its contents Thirza fell into -reflections upon the diversity of human fate, particularly her own and -Sue's. They had commenced life under very similar circumstances. Both -had been born about the same time, and in the town of Millburn. Both -were "only" children, the fathers of both were mechanics of the better -class, and the girls were closely associated up to their fourteenth -year, as play-fellows and school-mates. Sue was an ordinary sort of -a girl, with a rather pretty blonde face; Thirza, a bright, original -creature, with a mobile, dark face, which almost every one turned to -take a second look at; a girl who, with a book, almost any book, became -oblivious of all else. Her father was a man of more than ordinary -intelligence, of a dreamy, speculative turn of mind, and subject to -periods of intense depression. When she was about fourteen years old, -Thirza went one evening to the barn to call her father to supper. -Receiving no answer to her call, she entered, and there, in a dim -corner, she saw _something_ suspended from a beam,--something she could -never efface from her memory. A shaft of sunlight full of dancing motes -fell athwart the distorted face, whose smile she must now forever miss, -and across the rigid hands which would never again stroke her hair -in the old fond, proud way. In that moment the child became a woman. -She went to the nearest neighbor, and without scream or sob told what -she had seen--then she went to her mother. Soon after, the young girl -whose school-life was thus early ended took her place at a loom in one -of the great cotton-mills, and there she remained for more than ten -years, the sole support and comfort of her weak, complaining mother, -who from the dreadful day that made her a widow, sank into hopeless -invalidism. One year previously to the commencement of this story she -had been laid to rest. In the meantime Sue had grown up, and married a -"smart fellow," who after a few years of successful business life in -New York, had been sent by some great firm to take charge of a branch -establishment in Paris. - -Thirza was thinking of these things now, as she sat with Sue's gossipy -letter on her lap--thinking of them wearily, and even with some -bitterness. It seemed to her hard and strange that Sue should have -everything, and she only her lonely, toilsome life, and her dreams. -These indeed remained; no one could forbid them to her--no amount of -toil and constant contact with sordid natures could despoil her of her -one priceless treasure, the power to live, in imagination, brief but -exquisite phases of existence which no one around her ever suspected. -Books furnished the innocent hasheesh, which transported her out of the -stale atmosphere of her boarding-house into realms of ever new delight. - -But to-night she could not dream. The interview with Mr. Stebbins had -been a rude shock, a bitter humiliation to her. She had held herself -so proudly aloof from the men of her acquaintance that none had ever -before ventured to cross the fine line of reserve she had drawn about -her; and now, this uncouth, mercenary clown had dared pull down the -barrier, and trample under foot the delicate flowers of sentiment she -had cherished with such secrecy and care. Her first wooer! Not thus, in -the idle dreams which come to every maiden's heart, had Thirza pictured -him. That other rose before her now, and strangely enough, it took on -the semblance, as it often had of late, of one she had almost daily -seen--a handsome face, a true and good one, too; and yet the hot blood -surged into her cheeks, and she tried to banish the image from her -mind. It would not go at her bidding, however, and, as if to hide from -her own eyes in the darkness, Thirza arose and put out the light. - -There was no time for dreaming after this, for the question of her -inheritance must be settled. So, after a day or two of reflection, -Thirza drove into town and held a long consultation with Squire Brooks, -the result of which was that the farm was announced for sale. It was -not long before a purchaser appeared, and in due course of time Thirza -found herself, for the first time in her life, in possession of a -bank-book! - -She returned to her place in the mill, notwithstanding, and was -secretly edified in observing the effect which her re-appearance -produced upon the operatives. The women watched her askance, curiously -and enviously, indulging in furtive remarks upon her unchanged -appearance. As an heiress something had evidently been expected of -her in the way of increased elegance in dress, and its non-appearance -excited comment. On the part of the men there was a slight increase -of respect in their mode of salutation, and in one or two instances, -an endeavor to cultivate a nearer acquaintance, an endeavor, it is -needless to say, without success. - -But if there was no outer change in Thirza, there was an inner change -going on, which became at length a feverish restlessness, which -disturbed her night and day. She found herself continually taking down -from her shelves certain fascinating books, treating of foreign scenes -and people; reading and re-reading them, and laying them aside with -strange reluctance. Then she fell into a habit of taking her little -bank-book, and figuring assiduously upon the covers. Three thousand -dollars! Enough, she bitterly reflected, to keep her from the almshouse -when her hands became too feeble to tend the loom, but a paltry sum, -after all! Many persons, even in Millburn, spent far more than that -yearly. - -All at once a thought flashed upon her, a thought which took away her -breath and set her brain to whirling. And yet it was not an absolutely -new thought. It had haunted her under various disguises from the -moment when Jane Withers, by a few words, had transmuted the barren -pastures and piney woods of her farm into actual dollars; and now, -after hovering about all this time, it had found a moment,--when some -fascinating book had thrown her off her guard,--to spring upon and -overpower her. For a moment she was stunned and overwhelmed--then she -calmly closed the little bank-book, and said: "I will do it!" - -In one week the whole town knew that Thirza Bradford was going to -travel, and all former discussions of her affairs sank into nothing -in comparison with the importance they now assumed. Among her -immediate acquaintances there was considerable excitement, and their -opinions were freely, if not elegantly, expressed. The men, almost -without exception, pronounced her "a fool," as did the elder women, -whose illusions, if they had ever entertained any, had long since -been dispelled. But among the younger women there was a more or -less repressed feeling of sympathy, amounting to envy. Poor girls! -they, too, no doubt, indulged in secret longings which their prosaic -work-a-day world failed to satisfy; and doubtless those who had -themselves "aunt Abigails," or any other "expectations" of a like -nature, were led into wild and wicked speculations upon the tenure -of human life, for which, it is to be hoped, Thirza will not be held -accountable. - -It is the fashion of the day to ascribe our more objectionable -peculiarities and predilections to "hereditary taint," and there is -something so comforting and satisfactory in this theory, that it has -attracted many adherents not otherwise of a scientific turn of mind. -Millburn was not scientific; but even Millburn fell into the same way -of theorizing. - -"Bill Bradford," said public opinion, "was an oneasy sort of a chap,--a -half crazy, extravagant critter,--and Thirzy is a chip o' the old -block." - -When the news reached Jones' Hill,--which it shortly did by the -never-failing means of Jane Withers, who was accommodatingly helping -Orthaniel's mother through a course of "soap-bilin',"--the comments -were severe. Orthaniel received the tidings as he was about starting -for the cow-yard, with a milk-pail in each hand. He listened, with -fallen jaw, unto the bitter end. Then, giving his blue overalls an -expressive hitch, he remarked ungallantly: - -"That gal hain't got no more sense 'n a yaller dog!"--and he, at least, -may be pardoned for so thinking. - -As for Thirza, her decision once made, she troubled herself little -about the "speech of people." From the moment when she had closed -her little bank-book with the words "I will do it," she became, not -another woman, but her real self. She went serenely about her simple -preparations for her departure in a state of quiet exultation which -lent a new charm to her dark face and a new grace to her step. - -Squire Brooks arranged her money affairs for her,--not without -remonstrance, however. It seemed to the close-fisted, elderly man -a wild and wanton thing to do; but there was something in the -half-repressed enthusiasm of the girl which caused the wise, prudential -words to die upon his lips. When she left his office, on the evening -before her departure, he watched the light-stepping figure out of -sight, and then walked up to the dingy office mirror and surveyed his -wrinkled visage on all sides. Carefully brushing up the sparse gray -locks which had been ordered to the front, as it were, to fill the gaps -created by Time's onslaughts, he shook his head deprecatingly, and with -a sigh walked away from the glass, humming softly "Mary of Argyle." - -As Thirza, absorbed in thought, turned into the long, shaded street -which led down to her boarding-house, she was startled out of her -reverie by the sound of her own name, pronounced in a friendly tone. -Looking up, she saw a gentleman approaching. Her heart gave a quick -leap as she recognized Warren Madison, son of the richest manufacturer -of Millburn. He was no recent acquaintance. In her school days, when -social distinctions weighed but little, there had been a childish -intimacy and fondness between them. Time and separation, and the -wide difference in their position,--which she, at least, felt most -keenly,--had estranged them. Since the young man's return, after years -of study and travel, to become his father's partner, she had met him -very often, both in the mill and outside of it, and he had constantly -shown a disposition to renew their former friendship. But poor, proud -Thirza had rejected all his advances. Even now, although her cheeks -tingled and her hands trembled nervously, she would have passed him -with a simple nod; but somehow, before she realized it, young Madison -had secured her hand and a smile, too; and, to her surprise, she found -herself walking by his side, talking with something of the familiarity -of the old school days. - -"I have been absent for some time, and only heard to-day that you are -going away," he said. - -"Yes," responded Thirza. "I am going away--to Europe." - -"To seek your fortune?" said he, with a smile. - -"No--to spend it," said Thirza, in the same manner. "I suppose that -you, like Parson Smythers and the rest of Millburn, consider it an -'ex_try-or_dinary proceeding,'"--this with a fair imitation of the -reverend gentleman's peculiar drawl. - -Madison smiled. - -"Don't count me among your judges, I beg of you, Thirza," he responded, -more gravely. "Perhaps I understand you better than you think." - -She glanced quickly up into his face,--a handsome face, frank and noble -in its expression. - -"Understand me?" she repeated; "I don't think any one understands me. -Not that they are to blame--I am hardly worth the trouble, I suppose. I -know," she continued, moved by an impulse to unburden her heart to some -one, "I know that people are discussing and condemning me, and it does -not trouble me at all to know it; but I don't mind saying this much -_to you_." She caught the last two words back between her lips, but -not before they had reached the young man's ears. He glanced quickly -into her downcast face, with a look full of eager questioning; but this -Thirza did not see, for she had turned her eyes away in confusion. "You -know what my life has been," she went on impetuously. "I have never -had any youth. Ever since I was a child, I have toiled to keep body -and soul together. I have succeeded in feeding the one; but the other -has starved. I have weighed everything in the balance. I am all alone -in the world--all I had to live for is--up there." She pointed over -her shoulder toward the old burying-ground. "I may be foolish,--even -selfish and wicked,--but I can't help it! I am going to leave -everything behind me, all the work and all the worry, and give myself a -holiday. For one whole year I am going to _live_--really _live_! After -that, I can bear the old life better--perhaps!" - -The girl was almost beautiful as she spoke, with the soft fire in her -eyes and her cheeks aglow. Her voice was sweet and full, and vibrated -like a harp-string. The young man beside her did not look at her. He -walked steadily forward, gazing straight down into the dusty road, and -striking out almost savagely with his cane at the innocent heads of the -white clover which crowded up to the road-side. - -"I think I know how you feel," he said, after a while. "Why, do you -know, I have often had such thoughts myself. Better one year of real -life, as you say, than a century of dull routine!" - -By this time they had reached the door of Thirza's boarding-house. -There were faces at almost every window of the much-windowed -establishment, to say nothing of those of the neighboring houses; but -neither Thirza nor her companion was aware of this. - -They stood on the steps a moment in silence; then he held out his hand. -As she placed her own within it, she felt it tremble. Their eyes met, -too, with a swift recognition, and a sharp, sweet pain went through her -heart. She forced herself to turn her eyes away, and to say quietly: - -"Good-evening and good-bye, Mr. Madison." - -The young man dropped her hand and drew a quick breath. - -"Good-bye, Thirza," he said; "may you find it all that you anticipate. -Good-bye." - -And the score or more pairs of inquisitive eyes at the surrounding -windows saw young Mr. Madison walk calmly away, and Miss Bradford, with -equal calmness, enter her boarding-house. - -The next morning Thirza went away, and, the nine days' wonder being -over, she was dropped almost as completely out of the thoughts and -conversation of the people of Millburn as if she had never existed. - -We will not accompany her on her travels. There was a time when -we might have done so; but alas, for the story-writer of to-day! -Picture-galleries, palaces, and châlets, noble, peasant, and brigand, -gondolas, volcanoes, and glaciers,--all are as common and familiar to -the reader of the period as bonbons. It is enough to say that Thirza -wandered now in reality, as she had so often in fancy, through the -storied scenes which had so charmed her imagination; often doubting if -it were indeed herself, or if what she saw were not the baseless fabric -of a vision, which the clanging of the factory bell might demolish at -any moment. - -Sue's astonishment when Thirza, after two months in England and -Scotland, walked one day into her apartment in Paris, quite -unannounced, can be imagined. She wondered and conjectured, but, as her -unexpected guest was neither awkward nor badly dressed, accepted the -situation gracefully, and ended by really enjoying it. After delightful -Paris days, came Italy, Germany, and Switzerland, and then more of -Paris, and at last came a time when inexorable figures showed Thirza -plainly that she must think of returning to America. - -"Thirza," protested Sue, "you really _mustn't_ go." - -For answer Thirza held up to view a travel-stained porte-monnaie. - -"Perhaps we can arrange it somehow," persisted her cousin, vaguely. -"You might take a situation as governess, you know;" these words were -uttered doubtfully, and with a deprecating glance at the face opposite. - -"Thank you!" responded Thirza. "I don't feel a call in that direction. -I think, on the whole, I'd prefer weaving cotton." - -"You'll find it unendurable!" groaned Sue. - -"Well, _que voulez-vous_?" responded her cousin, lightly; a quick ear -would have noted the slight tremor in her voice. "I have had a glorious -holiday." - -"But the going back will be simply dreadful," persisted Sue. "I wish I -were rich--then you shouldn't go!" - -"I hardly think that would make any difference, my dear cousin. I don't -think I am eminently fitted to become a parasite," laughed Thirza. - -"Do you know what you _are_ eminently fitted for?" cried Sue, -energetically. - -"Sue!" cried Thirza, warningly. - -"I don't care," Sue continued, daringly; "you are so set on going back -to America that I half suspect----" - -"Don't, Sue, please!" interrupted Thirza, with such evident signs of -genuine displeasure, that Sue, who stood somewhat in awe of her cousin, -ceased to banter, mentally vowing that she was "the queerest girl she -had ever met with." - -Thirza arose and went out into the flower-adorned balcony. She sought -distraction, but somehow the surging, chattering crowd in the street -below, the brilliant illumination, the far-off strains of music, did -not bring her what she sought. - -"If only Sue wouldn't!" she reflected, and then, between her and the -sea of heads, and the lights and the flowers rose a face--the face -that had troubled her meditations on Jones' Hill, that had followed -her in all her wanderings, the noble face, with its blue eyes bent -upon her so earnestly, so eloquently. Had she read aright, even if too -late, the meaning of those eyes as they met hers at parting? The same -sweet, sharp pain that was not all pain, shot through her heart, and a -consciousness of something blindly missed, something perversely thrown -away, came over her. Sighing, she arose, and in response to Sue's call, -went in and dressed for a gay party, in which, in her present mood, she -felt neither pleasure nor interest. "If people here knew what a pitiful -fraud I am--what a despicable part I am acting!" she said to herself, -as, well-dressed and handsome, she entered the brilliant _salon_. - -It was all over in a few days, and Thirza was sailing homeward as fast -as wind and wave and steam could carry her. The year that had passed -had brought little outward change in the girl. She looked fairer and -fresher, perhaps, and certain little rusticities of dress and speech -and manner had disappeared--worn off, as had the marks of toil from -the palms of her slender hands. But to all intents and purposes, the -tall figure in its close-fitting brown suit, which during the homeward -voyage sat for the most part in the vessel's stern, gazing back over -the foaming path, was the same which had watched a year before with -equal steadiness from the steamer's bow. The very same, and yet--the -girl often wondered if she were indeed the same, and lost herself in -speculations as to how the old life at Millburn would seem to her now. -She recalled with inflexible accuracy the details of her existence -there, and tried to look her future undauntedly in the face. But all -her philosophy failed her when in imagination she found herself upon -the threshold of the old mill. There, indeed, she faltered weakly, and -turned back. - -When at last, one evening in June, she stepped out of the train at the -little station of Millburn, a crowd of bitter thoughts came rushing -upon her, as if they had been lying in wait there to welcome her. -She had informed no one of her coming, and it was not strange that -no friendly face greeted her, and yet, as she pursued her way alone -through the silent, unlighted streets, her heart grew faint within her. -How poor and meagre everything seemed! The unpaved streets, the plank -sidewalks, the wooden houses, and yonder, across the river, the great -mills, looming grim and shapeless through the dusk! The long, glorious -holiday was over--there lay her future. - -Weary and sick at heart she entered her boarding-house. The old -familiar aroma saluted her, the hard-featured landlady welcomed her -with a feeble smile, the unwashed children with noisy demonstrations. - -Her room was at her disposal, and under the plea of fatigue she kept -out of sight the whole of the succeeding day, which happened to be -Sunday. She lay the greater part of the day upon the old lounge, -looking round upon the well-known furnishings with a weary gaze. How -small and shabby the room, how hideous the wall paper, how mean and -prosaic everything, and the very canaries in their cage had forgotten -her, and screamed shrilly at her approach! - -That was a long day--the longest of her life, she thought. But the girl -was made of good stuff; she made a brave fight, and this time came off -conqueror. When Monday morning came, she arose and dressed herself in -the old gray working suit, smiling back encouragement to her reflection -in the glass as if it had been that of another person. There was no -use in putting off the evil day, she said to herself, it would only -make it harder; and so, when the great bells clanged out their harsh -summons, she went out into the beautiful June morning, joined the crowd -which streamed across the bridge, and before the last brazen tone had -died away, preliminaries were arranged, and Thirza was in her old place -again. - -All through the long summer days Thirza labored on at the old work, -with aching limbs and throbbing pulses. The unceasing din and jar, -the invisible flying filaments, the hot, oily atmosphere, the coarse -chatter of the operatives, wearied and sickened her as never before. -Every evening she left the mill with a slower step; deep lines began -to show themselves in her face, heavy shadows to settle beneath her -dark, sad eyes. Poor girl! it was all so much harder than she had -anticipated. The latent forces in her nature, which, through all -those years of toil, had never been called into action, were now, -since her plunge into another phase of life, fully aroused, and -asserted themselves in ceaseless clamor against surroundings. Besides -this,--smother it, fight it, ignore it, as she might,--she was living -in a state of tremulous expectancy. Again and again her heart had -leaped at the sight of a figure in the distance, only to sink again -into a dull throb of disappointment. - -The fourth Sunday after her return, Thirza went to church for the first -time. It was early when she arrived and people were just beginning to -assemble. Many greeted her warmly and proffered her a seat, but she -refused all, taking one far back, and at one side where she could see -all who entered. The seats gradually filled, but it was not until the -last strains of the voluntary were dying away that Madison, senior, the -great manufacturer, and his large complacent-looking wife came in, and -with an air of filling the whole edifice, marched down to their pew in -the front row. The music ceased. There was a rustling of silk which was -audible in every part of the little church, and Warren Madison entered, -accompanied by a stately blonde girl, elegantly attired. Queen-like -she swept along, and Thirza saw, as if in a dream, the smile which -she bestowed upon her escort as he stood aside to allow her to enter -the pew, and she saw also his face, looking handsomer and manlier -than ever. Then they were seated, and only the backs of their heads -were visible. Thirza's heart stood still for a moment, and then began -beating so wildly that she almost feared those around her might hear -it. She went through mechanically with the simple forms the service -required. She even tried to follow the thread of the Rev. Mr. Smyther's -labored discourse, but there, between her and the pulpit, were the -nodding white plumes and the yellow braid, and the brown shapely head -and broad shoulders, and oh! so near together! Interminable as the -service seemed, it came to an end at last, and before the amen of the -benediction had died upon the air, Thirza was in the street, hastening -homeward. - -The next day she stood at her loom, listlessly watching the shifting -cloud-pictures in the midsummer sky, the glittering river, and the -distant meadows and woods, and wishing herself away from the noise and -the close air, and alone in some deep nook, where she could hide her -face and think. A loud, confused mingling of voices, among which a -high-pitched, girlish one was most conspicuous, rose above the clatter -of the machinery, and drew her attention. She turned involuntarily -toward the sound, and as quickly back again. That one glance had -sufficed to show her Warren Madison, escorting a party of ladies -through the mill. The blonde girl was there, looking, in her white -dress, like a freshly-gathered lily. The party passed near her. She -heard young Madison's voice warning the ladies to keep their draperies -from the machinery; she heard the girlish voice in laughing answer, -and, as they passed by, the same voice exclaiming, "Why, Warren, what -a nice girl, for a mill-girl! The dark one, I mean, by the window." -Then there came a little whiff of violet perfume, and they had gone--he -had gone! And, even in the midst of her humiliation and anger and -self-pity, she could not but be thankful that he had thus passed her -by, without a word. She could not have borne it--there. - -The machinery roared and clattered and groaned, the air grew closer and -hotter, the silvery clouds grew denser and blacker, and little puffs -of wind blew in and fanned her feverish temples; and at last the bell -sounded, and she could go. Away! no matter where, so that she were out -of sight of everything and everybody, so that she could be alone with -her own torn, wrathful, tortured soul. Straight through the town she -went, up the hill beyond, and into the old burying-ground, where her -parents rested. It was the only place, alas! where she was sure of -being left alone; for there is no place so given over to loneliness -and solitude as a country grave-yard. Here, among the quiet sleepers, -where the grass and brier-roses grew rank and tall, and undisturbed, -except now and then to make room for a new-comer,--here she dared -look herself in the face. And oh, the shame and scorn and loathing -which that self-inspection produced! She threw herself down by the -graves,--her graves,--and buried her face upon her arms. She lay -there until shadows gathered about her, so still that the small brown -sparrows hopped fearlessly across the folds of her dress and nestled -in the grass beside her. At last she started up, and pressed her hands -against her temples. - -"I cannot bear it!" she cried aloud. "I thought I could; but I cannot! -I must leave this place--this hateful, dreadful place----" - -Was there a footstep near her in the dry grass, and was some one -standing there in the dusk? She sprang to her feet and would have fled; -but the figure came rapidly toward her. It was Warren Madison. - -"You must pardon my following you, Thirza," he said. "I went to the -house, and they told me you had come up this way. I came after you, -because I have something I must say to you." - -It was light enough for Thirza to see that he was very pale, and that -his eyes were fixed eagerly upon her face. Trembling, bewildered, she -made another attempt to pass him; but he seized her wrist and detained -her. - -"Thirza," he cried, "do not run away from me until you have heard what -I have to say. Let me look in your face, and see if I can find what I -thought I saw there when we parted that evening, more than a year ago." - -He drew her toward him, and compelled her to meet his gaze. She tried -to meet it with coldness and scorn; but she was weak and unnerved, and -there was such pleading tenderness in his voice! She trembled, and -sought feebly to withdraw her hand. - -"Thirza, won't you listen? I love you! I have loved you so long--I -never knew it until you went away; I never knew how much until I saw -you to-day. I did not even know you had returned. Oh, Thirza, I could -not have spoken a word to you before those people for worlds; but how I -longed to snatch you up in my arms! If you had only looked at me, proud -little statue in a gray dress!" - -He compelled her to turn her face toward him. - -"Thirza, was I mistaken? No, I was not!" and his voice was full of -exultation. "I see the same look in your eyes again. You love me, my -darling! There!" he cried, releasing her hands, "proud, cruel little -woman, go! Leave me! Run away from me! I do not keep you; but, Thirza, -you are mine, for all that!" - -Hardly conscious of herself, Thirza stood before him, making no use of -her liberty. - -"Come, Thirza," said the shaking, passionate voice, "leave all the work -and all the worry--your own words, darling; how often I have thought of -them! Leave it all behind, and come here, to me!" - -The clouds had parted, and the stars flamed out, one after another; -and, as they were going home together through the starlight, the young -man said: - -"And did you live the 'real life' you anticipated, Thirza?" - -She raised her shining face to his. - -"It has just begun," she said. - - - - - MOLLY. - - -A small clearing on a hillside, sloping up from the little-traversed -mountain-road to the forest, upon whose edge, in the midst of stunted -oaks and scraggy pines stood a rude cabin, such as one comes upon here -and there in the remote wilds of West Virginia. The sun, pausing just -above the sharp summit of Pinnacle Mountain, threw slant rays across -the rugged landscape, which spring was touching up with a thousand -soft tints. A great swelling expanse of green, broken at intervals by -frowning ledges, rolled off to the low-lying purple mountain ranges, -whose summits still swam in sunset light, while their bases were lost -in deepest shadow. Over all, a universal hush, the hush which thrills -one with a sense of utter isolation and loneliness. - -The man and woman who were seated before the cabin door hardly -perceived these things. What their eyes saw, doubtless, was the fair -promise of the corn-field which stretched along the road for some -distance, the white cow with her spotted calf, and the litter of lively -pigs which occupied inclosures near the cabin, and--the tiny baby, who -lay, blinking and clutching at nothing, across the woman's lap. She -was looking down upon the child with a smile upon her face. It was a -young and handsome face, but there were shadows in the dark eyes and -around the drooping lids, which the smile could not chase away--traces -of intense suffering, strange to see in a face so young. - -The man, a young and stalwart fellow, shaggy of hair and long of limb, -had placed himself upon a log which lay beside the door-step, and was -lost in contemplation of the small atom of embryo manhood upon which -his deep-set blue eyes were fixed. He had been grappling for three -weeks with the overpowering fact of this child's existence, and had -hardly compassed it yet. - -"Lord! Molly," he exclaimed, his face broadening into a smile, "jess -look at him now! Look at them thar eyes! People says as babies don't -know nuthin'. Durned ef thet thar young un don't look knowin'er 'n old -Jedge Wessminster hisself. Why, I'm mos' afeared on him sometimes, the -way he eyes me, ez cunnin' like, ez much ez ter say 'I'm hyar, dad, an' -I'm agoin' ter stay, an' you's jess got ter knuckle right down tew it, -dad!' Lord! look at thet thar now!" And the happy sire took one of the -baby's small wrinkled paws and laid it across the horny palm of his own -big left hand. - -"Jess look, Molly! Now you ain't agoin' to tell me ez thet thar hand is -ever agoin' to handle a ax or a gun, or--or--" pausing for a climax, -"sling down a glass o' whiskey? 'Tain't possible!" - -At this juncture, an inquisitive fly lit upon the small eminence in -the centre of the child's visage destined to do duty as a nose. Hardly -had the venturesome insect settled when, without moving a muscle of -his solemn countenance, that astonishing infant, with one erratic, -back-handed gesture, brushed him away. The enraptured father burst into -a roar of laughter. - -"I tole ye so, Molly! I tole ye so! Babies is jess a-puttin' on. They -knows a heap more'n they gits credit fur, you bet!" - -Something like a smile here distended the child's uncertain mouth, -and something which might be construed into a wink contracted for an -instant his small right eye, whereupon the ecstatic father made the -welkin ring with loud haw-haws of appreciative mirth. - -Molly laughed too, this time. - -"What a man you are, Sandy! I'm glad you feel so happy, though," -she continued, softly, while a flush rose to her cheek and quickly -subsided. "I ain't been much comp'ny for ye, but I reckon it'll -be different now. Since baby come I feel better, every way, an' I -reckon----" - -She stopped abruptly and bent low over the child. - -Sandy had ceased his contemplation of the boy, and had listened to -his wife's words with a look of incredulous delight upon his rough but -not uncomely face. It was evidently a new thing for her to speak so -plainly, and her husband was not unmindful of the effort it must have -cost her, nor ungrateful for the result. - -"Don't say no more about it, Molly," he responded, in evident -embarrassment. "Them days is past an' gone an' furgotten. Leastways, -_I_ ain't agoin' to think no more about 'em. Women is women, an' hez -ter be 'lowed fur. I don't know ez 'twas more'n I cud expect; you -a-bein' so porely, an' the old folks a-dyin', an' you a-takin' on it -so hard. I don't go fur ter say ez I ain't been outed more'n wunst, -but thet's over'n gone; an' now, Molly," he continued cheerfully, -"things is a-lookin' up. Ez soon ez you're strong ag'in, I reckon -ye'll be all right. The little un'll keep ye from gittin' lonesome an' -down-sperited; now won't he, Molly?" - -"Yes, Sandy," said the woman earnestly, "I begin to feel as if I could -be happy--happier than I ever thought of bein'. I'm goin' to begin a -new life, Sandy. I'm goin' to be a better wife to ye than--I _have_ -been." - -Her voice trembled, and she stopped suddenly again, turning her face -away. - -She was a strangely beautiful creature to be the wife of this brawny -mountaineer. There was a softness in her voice in striking contrast -to his own rough tones, and although the mountain accent was plainly -observable, it was greatly modified. He, himself, ignorant and -unsophisticated, full of the half-savage impulses and rude virtues of -the region, was quite conscious of the incongruity, and regarded his -wife with something of awe mingled with his undemonstrative but ardent -passion. He sat thus looking at her now, in a kind of adoring wonder. - -"Waal!" he exclaimed at last, "blest ef I kin see how I ever spunked -up enough fur ter ax ye, anyhow! Ye see, Molly, I'd allers liked -ye--allers; long afore ye ever thought o' goin' down to Richmon'." - -The woman moved uneasily, and turned her eyes away from his eager face; -but Sandy failed to notice this, and went on, with increasing ardor: - -"After ye'd gone I missed ye powerful! I used ter go over the mounting -ter ax after ye whenever I cud git away, an' when they tole me how ye -war enjoyin' yerself down thar, a-arnin' heaps o' money an' livin' so -fine, it mos' set me wild. I war _allers_ expectin' ter hear ez how -ye'd got merried, an' I kep' a-tellin' myself 'twa'n't no use; but the -more I tole myself, the wuss I got. An' when you come home, Molly, -a-lookin' so white an' mizzable like, an' everybody said ye'd die, -it--why, it most killed me out, Molly, 'deed it did, I sw'ar!" - -Sandy did not often speak of those days of his probation; but, finding -Molly in a softened mood,--Molly, who had always been so cold and -reticent, so full of moods and fancies,--he felt emboldened to proceed. - -"Lord, Molly, I didn't hev no rest night _nor_ day! Bob'll tell ye -how I hung around, an' hung around; an' when ye got a little better -an' come out, a-lookin' so white an' peakčd, I war all of a trimble. -I don't know now how I ever up an' axed ye. I reckon I never _would_ -a-done it ef it hadn't been fur Bob. He put me up tew it. Sez Bob, -'Marm's afeard as Molly'll go back to Richmon' ag'in,' an' that war -more'n I _could_ stand; an' so I axed ye, Molly." - -Sandy's face was not one adapted to the expression of tender emotion, -but there was a perceptible mellowing of the irregular features and -rough voice as he went on. - -"I axed ye, Molly, and ye said 'Yes'; an' I ain't never hed no call to -be sorry ez I axed ye, an' I hope you ain't, nuther--say, Molly?" and -the great hand was laid tenderly on her arm. - -"No, Sandy," said she, "I ain't had no call to be sorry. You've been -good to me; a heap better'n I have been to you." - -Truly, Molly _was_ softening. Sandy could hardly credit his own -happiness. He ran his fingers through the tawny fringe of his beard -awhile before he answered. - -"Thet's all right, Molly. I laid out to be good to ye, an' I've tried -to be. Say, Molly," he continued, with a kind of pleading earnestness -in his voice, "ye've done hankerin' arter the city, ain't ye? Kind o' -gittin' used to the mountings ag'in, ain't ye, Molly?" - -It was quite dark on the little hillside now, and Molly could turn her -face boldly toward her husband. - -"What makes ye keep a-harpin' on that, Sandy? I ain't hankered after -the city--not for a long time," and a slight shudder ran over her. -"Just put that idea out of your head, Sandy. Nothin' could ever tempt -_me_ to go to the city again. I _hate_ it!" - -She spoke with fierce emphasis, and rose to go in. Sandy, somewhat -puzzled by her manner, but re-assured by her words, heaved a sigh and -rose also. - -The stars were out, and from a little patch of swamp at the foot -of the hill came the shrill piping of innumerable frogs, and a -whip-poor-will's wild, sad cry pierced the silence. The baby had long -since fallen asleep. The mother laid him in his cradle, and night and -rest settled down over the little cabin. - - * * * * * - -Spring had brightened into summer, and summer was already on the -wane; an August morning had dawned over the mountains. Although the -sun shone warmly down upon the dew-drenched earth, the air was still -deliciously cool and fresh. - -Molly stood in the door-way, holding in her arms the baby, whose -look of preternatural wisdom had merged itself into one of infantile -softness and benignity. She was holding him up for the benefit of -Sandy, who, as he went down the red, dusty road, driving the white cow -before him, turned now and then to bestow a grimace upon his son and -heir. That small personage's existence, while perhaps less a matter of -astonishment to his father than formerly, had lost none of the charms -of novelty. He was a fine, robust little man, and cooed and chuckled -rapturously in his mother's arms, stretching out his hands toward the -scarlet blossoms of the trumpet-vine which climbed around the door-way. -Mother and child made a fair picture in the twining green frame touched -up with flame-like clusters of bloom--a picture which was not lost upon -Sandy, who, as he passed out of sight of the cabin, shook his head, and -said to himself again, as he had many and many a time before: - -"Blest ef I see how I ever got up spunk enough to ax her!" - -Molly watched her husband out of sight, and then let her eyes wander -over the summer landscape. There was a look of deep content in her -face, which was no longer pale and worn. The traces of struggle and -suffering had disappeared. The past may have had its anguish, and its -sins perhaps, but the present must have seemed peaceful and secure, for -she turned from the door-way with a song upon her lips,--a song which -lingered all the morning as she went in and out about her household -tasks, trying to make more trim and bright that which was already the -perfection of trimness and brightness. When she had finished her work -the morning was far advanced and the sun glared hotly in at the door -and window. - -She had rocked the baby to sleep, and came out of the inner room with -the happy mother-look upon her face. She turned to look back, to see, -perhaps, if the fly-net were drawn carefully enough over the little -sleeper. As she stood thus she was conscious of a human shadow which -fell through the outer door and blotted out the square of sunshine -which lay across the floor, and a deep voice said: - -"I'd thank you for a drink of water, ma'am." - -Molly turned quickly and the eyes of the two met. Over the man's face -came a look of utter amazement which ended in an evil smile. - -Over the woman's face came a change so sudden, so terrible, that the -new-comer, base and hardened as he looked, seemed struck by it, and the -cruel smile subsided a little as he exclaimed: - -"Molly Craigie, by all that's holy!" - -The woman did not seem to hear him. She stood staring at him with wild -incredulous eyes and parted lips, from which came in a husky whisper -the words: - -"Dick Staples!" - -Then she struck the palms of her hands together, and with a sharp cry -sank into a chair. The man stepped across the threshold, and stood in -the centre of the room looking curiously about him. He was a large, -powerfully built fellow, and, in a certain way, a handsome one. He -was attired in a kind of hunting costume which he wore with a jaunty, -theatrical air. - -"I swear!" he exclaimed, with a brutal laugh, as his eyes took in the -details of the neat little kitchen, and came at last to rest upon the -woman's white face. "I swear! I do believe Molly's married!" - -The idea seemed to strike him as a peculiarly novel and amusing one. - -"Molly Craigie married and settled down! Well, if that _ain't_ a good -one!" and he burst into another cruel laugh. His mocking words seemed -at last to sting the woman, who had sat smitten mute before him, into -action. She rose and faced him, trembling, but defiant. - -"Dick Staples, what _brought_ ye here only God knows, but ye mus'n't -_stay_ here. Ye must go 'way this minute, d'ye hear? _Ye must go 'way!_" - -She spoke hurriedly, glancing down the road as she did so. The man -stared blankly at her a moment. - -"Well, now, if that ain't a nice way to treat an old friend! Why, -Molly, you ain't going back on Dick you ain't seen for so long, are -you? I'd no idea of ever seeing _you_ again, but now I've found you, -you don't get rid of me so easy. I'm going to make myself at home, -Molly, see if I don't." And the man seated himself and crossed his legs -comfortably, looking about him with a mocking air of geniality and -friendliness. "Why, d----n it!" he continued, "I'm going to stay to -dinner, and be introduced to your husband!" - -Molly went nearer to him; the defiance in her manner had disappeared, -and a look of almost abject terror and appeal had taken its place. - -"Dick," she cried, imploringly, "oh, Dick, for God's sake hear me! If -ye want to see me, to speak with me, I won't refuse ye, only not here, -Dick,--for God's sake _not_ here!" and she glanced desperately around. -"What brought ye here, Dick? Tell me that, and where are ye stayin'?" - -"Well, then," he answered surlily, "I ran up for a little shooting, and -I'm staying at Digby's." - -"At Digby's! That's three miles below here." She spoke eagerly. "Dick, -you noticed the little meetin'-house just below here in the hollow?" - -The man nodded. - -"If ye'll go away now, Dick, right away, I'll meet ye in the woods. -Follow the path that leads up behind the meetin'-house to-morrow -mornin' between ten and eleven an' I'll meet ye there, but oh, Dick, -for God's sake go away now, before--before _he_ comes!" - -The desperation in her voice and looks produced some effect upon the -man apparently, for he rose and said: - -"Well, Molly, as you're so particular, I'll do as you say; but mind -now, don't you play me no tricks. If you ain't _there_, punctual, I'll -be _here_; now see if I don't, my beauty." He would have flung his arms -about her, but she started back with flaming eyes. - -"None o' that, Dick Staples!" she cried, fiercely. - -"Spunky as ever, and twice as handsome, I swear!" exclaimed the fellow, -gazing admiringly at her. - -"_Are ye goin'?_" - -There was something in her voice and mien which compelled obedience, -and the man prepared to go. Outside the door he slung his rifle over -his shoulder, and looking back, said: - -"Remember now, Molly, 'Meet me in the willow glen,' you know. -Punctual's the word!" and with a meaning smile he sauntered down the -slope, humming a popular melody as he went. - -The woman stood for a time as he had left her, her arms hanging by her -side, her eyes fixed upon the door-way. The baby slept peacefully on, -and outside the birds were twittering and calling, and the breeze -tossed the vine-tendrils in at the door and window, throwing graceful, -dancing shadows over the floor and across her white face and nerveless -hands. A whistle, clear and cheery, came piping through the sultry -noontide stillness. It pierced her deadened senses, and she started, -passing her hand across her eyes. - -"God!" - -That was all she said. Then she began laying the table and preparing -the midday meal. When Sandy reached the cabin she was moving about with -nervous haste, her eyes gleaming strangely and a red spot on either -cheek. Her husband's eyes followed her wonderingly. The child awoke and -she went to bring him. - -"I wonder what's up now?" he muttered, combing his beard with his -fingers, as he was wont to do when perplexed or embarrassed. "Women -_is_ cur'us! They's no two ways about it, they _is_ cur'us! They's no -'countin' fur 'em no how, 'deed they ain't!" - -At this point the baby appeared, and after his usual frolic with him, -during which he did not cease his furtive study of Molly's face, Sandy -shouldered his hoe and started for the field. As he reached the door he -turned and said: - -"O Molly, I seen a man agoin' across the road down by the crick; one o' -them city fellers, rigged out in huntin' traps. Did ye see him?" - -Molly was standing with her back toward her husband putting away the -remains of the meal. - -"A man like that came to the door an' asked for a drink," she answered, -quietly. - -"He warn't sassy nor nothin'?" inquired Sandy, anxiously. - -"No--he wasn't sassy," was the answer. - -Sandy breathed a sigh of relief. - -"Them city fellers is mighty apt to be sassy, and this time o' year -they'se allers prowlin' 'round," and bestowing another rough caress on -the baby he went his way. - - * * * * * - -That evening as they sat together before the door Sandy said: - -"O Molly, I'm agoin' over ter Jim Barker's by sun-up ter-morrer, ter -help him out with his hoein'. Ye won't be lonesome nor nothin'?" - -"No--I reckon not," replied his wife. "'Twon't be the first time I've -been here alone." - -Involuntarily the eyes of the husband and wife met, in his furtive -questioning look which she met with a steady gaze. In the dusky -twilight her face showed pale as marble and her throat pulsated -strangely. The man turned his eyes away; there was something in that -face which he could not bear. - -And at "sun-up" Sandy departed. - -Molly went about her work as usual. Nothing was forgotten, nothing -neglected. The two small rooms shone with neatness and comfort, and at -last the child slept. - -The hour for her meeting with Staples had arrived, and Molly came out -and closed the cabin door behind her--but here her feet faltered, and -she paused. With her hands pressed tightly on her heart she stood there -for a moment with the bright August sunshine falling over her; then she -turned and re-entered the cabin, went noiselessly into the bedroom and -knelt down by the sleeping child. One warm, languid little hand drooped -over the cradle's edge. As her eyes fell upon it a quiver passed over -the woman's white face, and she laid her cheek softly against it, her -lips moving the while. - -Then she arose and went away. Down the dusty road, with rapid, -unfaltering steps and eyes that looked straight before her, she passed -and disappeared in the shadow of the forest. - - * * * * * - -When Sandy came home at night he found his wife standing in the -door-way, her dark braids falling over her shoulders, her cheeks -burning, her eyes full of a fire which kindled his own slow, but -ardent, nature. He had never seen her looking so beautiful, and he came -on toward her with quickened steps and a glad look in his face. - -"Here, Molly," said he, holding up to her face a bunch of dazzling -cardinal-flowers, "I pulled these fur ye, down in the gorge." - -She shrank from the vivid, blood-red blossoms as if he had struck her, -and her face turned ashy white. - -"In the gorge!" she repeated hoarsely--"in the gorge! Throw them away! -throw them away!" and she cowered down upon the door-stone, hiding -her face upon her knees. Her husband stared at her a moment, hurt and -bewildered; then, throwing the flowers far down the slope, he went past -her into the house. - -"Molly's gittin on her spells ag'in," he muttered. "Lord, Lord, I war -in hopes ez she war over 'em fur good!" - -Experience having taught him to leave her to herself at such times, he -said nothing now, but sat with the child upon his lap, looking at her -from time to time with a patient, wistful look. At last the gloom and -silence were more than he could bear. - -"Molly," said he softly, "what ails ye?" - -At the sound of his voice she started and rose. Going to him, she took -the child and went out of the room. As she did so, Sandy noticed that -a portion of her dress was torn away. He remarked it with wonder, as -well as her disordered hair. It was not like Molly at all; but he -said nothing, putting this unusual negligence down to that general -"cur'usness" of womankind which was past finding out. - -The next day and the next passed away. Sandy went in and out, silent -and unobtrusive, but with his heart full of sickening fears. A -half-formed doubt of his wife's sanity--a doubt which her strange, -fitful conduct during these days, and her wild and haggard looks only -served to confirm--haunted him persistently. He could not work, but -wandered about, restless and unhappy beyond measure. - -On the third day, as he sat, moody and wretched, upon the fence of -the corn-field, Jim Barker, his neighbor from the other side of -the mountain, came along, and asked Sandy to join him on a hunting -excursion. He snatched at the idea, hoping to escape for a time from -the insupportable thoughts he could not banish, and went up to the -cabin for his gun. As he took it down, Molly's eyes followed him. - -"Where are ye goin', Sandy?" she asked. - -"With Jim, fur a little shootin'," was the answer; "ye don't mind, -Molly?" - -She came to him and laid her head upon his shoulder, and, as he looked -down upon her face, he was newly startled at its pinched and sunken -aspect. - -"No, Sandy, I don't mind," she said, with the old gentleness in her -tones. She returned his caress, clinging to his neck, and with -reluctance letting him go. He remembered this in after times, and even -now it moved him strangely, and he turned more than once to look back -upon the slender figure, which stood watching him until he joined his -companion and passed out of sight. - -An impulse she could not resist compelled her gaze to follow them--to -leap beyond them, till it rested upon the Devil's Ledge, a huge mass of -rocks which frowned above the gorge. Along these rocks, at intervals, -towered great pines, weather-beaten, lightning-stricken, stretching -out giant arms, which seemed to beckon, and point down the sheer sides -of the precipice into the abyss at its foot, where a flock of buzzards -wheeled slowly and heavily about. The woman's very lips grew white as -she looked, and she turned shuddering away, only to return, again and -again, as the slow hours lagged and lingered. The sunshine crept across -the floor never so slowly, and passed at length away; and, just as -the sun was setting, Sandy's tall form appeared, coming up the slope. -Against the red sky his face stood out, white, rigid, terrible. It was -not her husband; it was Fate, advancing. The woman tried to smile. Poor -mockery of a smile, it died upon her lips. The whole landscape--the -green forests, purple hills and gray rocks--swam before her eyes in a -lurid mist; only the face of her husband--that was distinct with an -awful distinctness. On he came, and stood before her. He leaned his gun -against the side of the cabin, and placed the hand which had held it -upon the lintel over her head; the other was in his breast. There was -a terrible deliberation in all his movements, and he breathed heavily -and painfully. It seemed to her an eternity that he stood thus, looking -down upon her. Then he spoke. - -"Thar's a dead man--over thar--under the ledge!" - -The woman neither moved nor spoke. He drew his hand from his breast and -held something toward her; it was the missing fragment torn from her -dress. - -"This yer war in his hand----" - -With a wild cry the woman threw herself forward, and wound her arms -about her husband's knees. - -"I didn't go for to do it!" she gasped; "'fore God I didn't!" - -Sandy tore himself away from her clinging arms, and she fell prostrate. -He looked at her fiercely and coldly. - -"Take your hands off me!" he cried. "Don't tech me! Thar's thet ez mus' -be made cl'ar between you an' me, woman,--cl'ar ez daylight. Ye've -deceived me an' lied to me all along, but ye won't lie to me _now_. -'Tain't the dead man ez troubles me," he went on grimly, setting his -teeth, "'tain't him ez troubles me. I'd 'a' hed to kill him myself -afore I'd done with him mos' likely--ef _you_ hadn't. 'Tain't that ez -troubles me--_it's what went afore_! D'ye hear? Thet's what I want ter -know an' all I want ter know." - -He lifted her up and seated himself before her, a look of savage -determination on his face. - -"Will ye tell me?" - -The woman buried her face upon her arms and rocked backward and forward. - -"How _can_ I tell ye,--O Sandy, how _can_ I?" she moaned. - -"Ye kin tell me in one word," said her husband. "When ye come back from -Richmon' thar wuz them ez tole tales on ye. I hearn 'em, but I didn't -believe 'em--I _wouldn't_ believe 'em! Now ye've only ter answer me one -question--wur what they said _true_?" - -He strove to speak calmly, but the passion within him burst all bounds; -the words ended in a cry of rage, and he seized her arm with a grip of -iron. - -"Answer me, answer me!" he cried, tightening his hold upon her arm. - -"It _was_ true, oh my God, it _was_ true!" - -He loosened his grasp and she fell insensible at his feet. - -There was neither tenderness nor pity in his face as he raised her, -and carrying her in, laid her upon the bed. Without a glance at the -sleeping child he went out again into the gathering darkness. - -Far into the night he was still sitting there unconscious of the -passing hours or the chilliness of the air. His mind wandered in a wild -chaos. Over and over again he rehearsed the circumstances attending -the finding of the dead man beneath the ledge, and the discovery of -the fragment of a woman's dress in the rigid fingers; his horror when -he recognized the man as the one he had seen crossing the road near -the cabin, and the fragment as a part of Molly's dress. He had secured -this and secreted it in his bosom before his companion, summoned by -his shouts, had come up. He knew the pattern too well--he had selected -it himself after much consideration. True, another might have worn the -same, but the recollection of Molly's torn dress arose to banish every -doubt. There was mystery and crime and horror, and Molly was behind it -all--Molly, the wife he had trusted, the mother of his child! - -It must have been long past midnight when a hand was laid upon his -shoulder and his wife's voice broke the stillness. - -"Sandy," said she, "I've come--to tell ye all. Ye _won't_ refuse to -listen?" - -He shivered beneath her touch but did not answer, and there in the -merciful darkness which hid their faces from each other, Molly told her -story from beginning to end, told it in a torrent of passionate words, -broken by sobs and groans which shook her from head to foot. - -"I met him in the woods," she went on. "I took him to the ledge, -because I knew nobody would see us there, an' then I told him -everything. I went down on my _knees_ to him an' begged of him to go -away an' leave me; for I couldn't bear to--to give ye up, an' I knew -'twould come to that! I begged an' I prayed an' he wouldn't hear; an' -then--an' then--" she sobbed, "he threatened me, Sandy, he threatened -to go an' tell you all. He put his wicked face close up to mine, I -pushed him away an' he fell--he fell, Sandy, but God knows I didn't go -fur to do it." - -She stopped, her voice utterly choked with agonizing sobs, but the man -before her did not move or speak. She threw herself down and clasped -her arms about him. - -"Sandy! husband!" she cried. "Do what ye please with me--drive -me away--_kill_ me, but remember this--I _did_ love ye true an' -faithful--say ye believe that!" - -The man freed himself roughly from her arms. - -"I do believe ye," he answered. - -There was something horrible in his fierce repulsion of her touch, -in the harsh coldness of his voice, and the woman shrank back and -crouched at his feet, and neither spoke nor moved again until with -the first twitter of the birds, the baby's voice mingling, the mother -rose instinctively to answer the feeble summons. She was chilled to the -marrow, and her hair and garments were wet with the heavy dew. Sandy -sat with averted head buried in his hands. She longed to go to him, -but she dared not, and she went in to the child. Weak and unnerved as -she was, the heat of the room overcame her, and sitting there with the -baby on her lap she fell into a deep, death-like slumber. She returned -to consciousness to find herself lying upon the bed with the child by -her side. Some one had laid her there, and drawn the green shade close -to shut out the bright light. She started up and listened; there was -no sound but the whir of insects and the warbling of birds. She arose, -stiff and bewildered, and staggered to the door. Sandy was gone. - - * * * * * - -The day dragged its mournful length along and as night fell steps were -heard approaching. Molly's heart gave a great leap, but it was not her -husband's step--it was that of Bob, her brother, who came slowly up the -path, a serious expression on his boyish face. She would have flown to -meet him, but she could not stir. Her eyes fastened themselves upon him -with a look that demanded everything. - -The young fellow came close up to his sister before speaking. - -"How d'ye, Molly, how d'ye?" he said, seating himself beside her and -glancing curiously at her white, desperate face. - -"What is it, Bob?" she gasped; "what is it? Ye can tell me--I can bear -it." - -"I ain't got nothin' much to tell," he answered with a troubled air. "I -war thinkin' ez you mought hev somethin' ter tell me. Sandy he come by -an' said as how he mus' go down ter Gordonsville, he an' Jim Barker, on -account o' the man ez fell over the ledge." - -The shudder which passed through the woman's frame escaped Bob's -notice, and he continued: - -"He said ez how he mus' stay till th' inquist war over, an' moughtn't -be back for a day or two, an' axed me fur ter keep ye comp'ny till he -comes back." - -"Till he comes back!" she repeated in a whisper. - -She hid her face in her hands, and Bob, who, like Sandy, was used to -Molly's strange ways, did not question her further. - -Days, weeks and months passed away, and Sandy King had not returned. -Jim Barker, who had seen him last, knew only that he had expressed an -intention to remain a few days longer in the town, and all further -inquiries revealed nothing more. - -Bob remained with his sister, and, after the first few weeks of -excitement, settled quietly down in charge of the little farm,--"until -Sandy gits back," as he always took pains to declare. - -This stoutly maintained contingency was regarded by the scattered -inhabitants of that region with doubt and disbelief. Sandy's mysterious -disappearance excited much comment, and gave rise to endless rumors and -conjectures. The current belief, however, was, that being himself a man -of peaceable habits, he had found his wife's temper too "cantankerous," -and had gone in search of the peace denied him beneath his own roof, -such an event having occurred more than once within the memory of the -oldest inhabitant. - -Molly knew nothing of all this. She never left her own door from the -day of her husband's departure, and Bob,--warm-hearted fellow,--had -stood valiantly between his sister and the prying eyes and sharp -tongues which sought to pluck out the heart of her mystery, or apply -venom to her bleeding wounds. - -That something very serious had occurred, he, more than any other, had -cause to suspect, but he respected his sister's reticence, and watched -with secret pain and anxiety her increasing pallor and weakness. The -hopes he had at first cherished of Sandy's return died slowly out, but -he hardly confessed it, even to himself. - -Autumn passed into winter, and winter into spring, and in the meantime, -as Molly faded, the little boy thrived and waxed strong. He could now -toddle about on his sturdy legs, and his prattle and laughter filled -the lonely cabin. His mother watched his development eagerly. - -"See, Bob!" she would say, "see how he walks, an' how plain he can -talk! What'll Sandy say when he sees him?" - -Then she would hold up before the round baby-eyes a distorted, shaggy -likeness of Sandy, which he had once exhibited with great pride on his -return from Gordonsville, and try to teach the baby lips to pronounce -"Dad-dy." - -"He'll know him when he comes, Bob, see if he don't. He'll know his own -daddy, won't he, precious man? An' he'll be here by corn-plantin', Bob, -sure!" - -And Bob, who always entered with a great assumption of cheerfulness -into all her plans, would turn away with a sinking heart. - -"Ef he's ever a-comin'," he would say to himself, "he'd better come -mighty soon, or----" and then something would rise in his throat, and -he could never finish the sentence. - -The gray-brown woods had changed to tender green and purple, the air -teemed with the sounds, and the earth with the tints, of early spring. -The corn was not only planted, but was already sending up sharp -yellow-green spikes out of the soft red loam, and yet Sandy had not -returned. - -A strange woman had taken Molly's place in the household, for Molly -could no longer go about--could hardly sit at the window, looking down -the lonely road or over the distant hills with her eager, hollow eyes. -She had never complained, and up to this time had refused to see a -physician. And now when one was summoned, he only shook his head in -response to Bob's questions, and hinted vaguely at mental causes beyond -his reach. - -She lay for the most part with closed eyes, and but for the heaving of -her breast, one might have believed her no longer of the living, so -white and shadow-like had she become. She seldom spoke, but not a night -fell, that she did not call Bob to her side and whisper, with upturned, -anxious eyes: - -"I reckon he'll come to-morrow, don't you?" - -One evening, after a restless, feverish day, she woke from a brief nap. -Her brother was seated by her side, looking sadly into her waxen face. -She started up with a strange glitter in her eyes, and seized his arm. - -"Bob," she whispered, "he's comin'! He's most here! Go and meet him -quick, Bob, an' tell him to hurry, to _hurry_, mind, or I sha'n't be -here!" - -The wildness in her face and voice deepened. - -"Go, I tell you! Quick! He's comin'!" and she would have sprung from -the bed. - -"There, there, Molly," said her brother, soothingly, "jess lay right -down an' be quiet, an' I'll go." - -She lay upon the pillow as he placed her, panting and trembling, and he -went hastily out, pausing, as he went through the kitchen, to say a few -words to the woman who sat at the table, feeding the little boy. - -"She's a heap wusser," he said, "an' out of her head. Keep a watch over -her while I go for the doctor." - -He ran quickly down the slope toward the field where the horse was -tethered. As he reached the road he saw a tall form advancing through -the dusk with rapid strides. Something in the gait and outline set his -heart to throbbing; he stopped and waited. The man came nearer. - -"Bob!" - -"Sandy!" - -The two men clasped hands. - -"Molly?" said her husband, brokenly. For answer Bob pointed silently -toward the cabin, and Sandy passed up the slope before him. As he -entered the little kitchen the child stopped eating and stared with -wide-open eyes at the stranger. - -"Dad-dy! dad-dy!" he babbled. - -Sandy saw and heard nothing, but went blindly on into the inner room. - -There was a glad cry, and Molly was in her husband's arms. - -"I knew ye'd come!" she said. - -"Yes, darlin', I've come, an' I'll never----" The words died upon his -lips, for something in the face upon his breast told him that Molly was -listening to another voice than his. - - - - - A SUMMER'S DIVERSION. - - -"For one, _I_ don't trust them yaller-haired, smooth-spoke women! I -never see one on 'em yet that wa'n't full o' Satan." - -It was Mrs. Rhoda Squires who uttered the above words; and she -uttered them with considerable unnecessary clatter of the dishes she -was engaged in washing. Abby Ann, a lank, dyspeptic-looking girl of -fifteen or sixteen, was wiping the same, while the farmer himself -was putting the finishing touches to his evening toilet. That toilet -consisted, as usual, of a good wash at the pump, the turning down of -his shirt-sleeves, and a brief application of the family comb, which -occupied a convenient wall-pocket at one side of the small kitchen -mirror--after which the worthy farmer considered himself in full dress, -and ready for any social emergency likely to occur at Higgins' Four -Corners. - -"No," said Abby Ann, in response to her mother's remark, "she ain't -no beauty, but her clo'es does fit elegant. I wish I hed the pattern -o' that white polonay o' hern, but I wouldn't _ask_ her for it--no, -not to save her!" she added, in praiseworthy emulation of the maternal -spirit. - -"Oh, you women folks!" interposed the farmer. "You're as full of envy -'n' backbitin' as a beechnut's full o' meat. Beauty! Ye don't know -what beauty means. I tell you she _is_ a beauty,--a real high-steppin' -out-an'-out beauty!" - -"She's as old as I be, every bit!" snapped Mrs. Squires. "An' she -hain't got a speck o' color in her cheeks--an' she's a widder at that!" - -Farmer Squires turned slowly around and deliberately surveyed the wiry, -stooping figure of his wife from the small, rusty "pug" which adorned -the back of her aggressive little head, and the sharp, energetically -moving elbows, down to the hem of her stiffly starched calico gown. - -"Look-a-here, Rhody," said he, a quizzical look on his shrewd, freckled -countenance, "you've seen Gil Simmonses thorough-bred? Wall--that mare -is nigh onto two year older'n our old Sal, but I swanny----" - -Undoubtedly the red signal which flamed from Mrs. Squires's sallow -cheeks warned her husband that he had said more than enough, for he -came to a sudden pause, seized upon a pair of colossal cowhide shoes, -upon which he had just bestowed an unusual degree of attention in the -way of polish, and disappeared in the direction of the barn. - -"He's jist as big a fool as ever!" she ejaculated. "The Lord knows _I_ -didn't want no city folks a-wearin' out _my_ carpets, an' a drinkin' up -_my_ cream, an' a-turnin' up their noses at _me_! But no--ever sence -he heared that Deacon Fogg made nigh onto a hundred dollars last year -a-keepin' summer-boarders, his fingers has been a-itchin' an' his mouth -a-waterin', an' nothin' for't but I must slave myself to death the -whole summer for a pack o' stuck-up----" - -She paused--for a soft rustle of garments and a faint perfume filled -the kitchen, and turning, Mrs. Squires beheld the object of her -vituperation standing before her. - -She was certainly yellow-haired, and though not "every bit as old" -as her hostess, a woman whose first youth was past; yet so far as -delicately turned outlines, and pearly fairness of skin go, she might -have been twenty. The eyes which met Mrs. Squires's own pale orbs -were of an intense, yet soft, black, heavy-lidded and languid, and -looked out from beneath their golden fringes with a calm, slow gaze, -as if it were hardly worth their while to look at all. A smile, purely -conventional, yet sweet with the graciousness of good breeding, parted -the fine, soft lips. - -Her mere presence made the room seem small and mean, and Mrs. Squires, -into whose soured and jealous nature the aspect of beauty and grace ate -like a sharp acid, smarted under a freshly awakened sense of her own -physical insignificance. - -She received her guest with a kind of defiant insolence, which could -not, however, conceal her evident embarrassment, while Abby Ann -retreated ignominiously behind the pantry door. - -"I came to ask if Mr. Squires succeeded in finding some one to take us -about," said the lady. "He thought he could." - -Her voice was deep-toned and sweet, her manner conciliatory. - -"I believe he did," replied Mrs. Squires, curtly. "Abby Ann, go tell -your father Mis' Jerome wants him." - -Abby Ann obeyed, and the lady passed out into the front hall, and to -the open door. A cascade of filmy lace and muslin floated from her -shoulders and trailed across the shiny oil-cloth. As the last frill -swept across the threshold, Mrs. Squires closed the door upon it with a -sharp report. - -Before the door a little girl was playing on the green slope, while an -elderly woman with a grave, kindly face sat looking on. - -Farmer Squires, summoned by his daughter, came round the corner of the -house. He touched his straw hat awkwardly. - -"They's a young feller," he said, "that lives a mile or so up the -river, that has a tip-top team--a kivered kerridge an' a fust-rate -young hoss. His folks has seen better days, the Grangers has, an' Rob -is proud as Lucifer, but they's a big mortgage on the farm, an' he's -'mazin' ambitious ter pay it off. So when I told him about you, he said -he'd see about it. He wouldn't let no woman drive his hoss, but he -thought mebbe he'd drive ye round hisself. Shouldn't wonder if he was -up to-night." - -"I wish he might come," said the lady. "My physician said I must ride -every day, and I am too cowardly to drive if the horse were ever so -gentle." - -"No--I guess you couldn't hold in Rob's colt with them wrists," said -he, glancing admiringly at the slender, jewelled hands. "I shouldn't -wonder if that was Rob now." - -At this moment wheels were heard rapidly approaching, and a carriage -appeared in sight. A young man was driving. He held the reins with firm -hand, keeping his eyes fixed upon the fine-stepping animal, turned -dexterously up the slope, brought the horse to a stand-still before the -door, and sprang lightly to the ground. - -He was a remarkable-looking young fellow, tall above the average, -and finely proportioned. Hair and mustache were dark, eyes of an -indescribable gray, and shaded by thick, black brows. A proud yet frank -smile rested on his handsome face. - -"Hello, Rob," said Farmer Squires. "Here's the lady that wanted ter -see ye. Mister Granger, Mis' Jerome." - -The lady bowed, with a trace of hauteur in her manner at first, but she -looked with one of her slow glances into the young man's face, and then -extended her hand, and the white fingers rested for an instant in his -brown palm. Granger returned her greeting with a bow far from awkward, -while a rich color surged into his sun-browned face. - -"That is a magnificent horse of yours, Mr. Granger," said Mrs. Jerome. -"I hope he is tractable. I was nearly killed in a runaway once, and -since then I am very timid." - -"Oh, he is very gentle," said Granger, caressing the fiery creature's -beautiful head. "If you like, I will take you for a drive now--if it is -not too late." - -"Certainly, I would like it very much. Nettie," she said, turning to -the woman, "bring my hat and Lill's, and some wraps." - -The woman obeyed, and in a few moments Mrs. Jerome and her child were -whirling over the lovely country road. Their departure was witnessed by -the entire Squires family, including an obese dog of somnolent habits, -and old Sal, the gray mare, who thrust her serious face over the stone -wall opposite, and gazed contemplatively down the road after the -retreating carriage. - -"Do you think you will be afraid?" asked Granger, as he helped Mrs. -Jerome to alight. - -"Oh no," she answered, with a very charming smile. "The horse is as -docile as he is fiery. I shall enjoy the riding immensely. Do you think -you can come every day?" - -"I shall try to--at least for the present." - -Mrs. Jerome watched the carriage out of sight. - -"How very interesting!" she was thinking. "Who would dream of finding -such a face here! And yet--I don't know--one would hardly find such -a face out in the world. Perhaps it will not be so dull after all. I -thought they were all like Squires!" - - * * * * * - -For several succeeding weeks there was seldom a day when the fiery -black horse and comfortable old carriage did not appear before the -farm-house door, and but few of those days when Mrs. Jerome did not -avail herself of the opportunity, sometimes accompanied by the child -and Nettie, oftener by the child alone. - -The interest and curiosity with which young Granger had inspired -Mrs. Jerome in the beginning, deepened continually. A true son of -the soil, descendant of a long line of farmers, whence came this -remarkable physical beauty, this refined, almost poetic, temperament, -making it impossible for him, in spite of the unconventionally of his -manner, to do a rude or ungraceful act? It was against tradition, she -thought,--against precedent. It puzzled and fascinated her. She found -it impossible to treat him as an inferior, notwithstanding the relation -in which he stood to her. Indeed, she soon ceased to think of that at -all. The books which she took with her upon their protracted drives -were seldom opened. She found it pleasanter to lie back in the corner -of the carriage, and watch the shifting panorama of hill and forest and -lake through which they were driving. That the handsome head with its -clustering locks and clear-cut profile, which was always between her -and the landscape, proved a serious obstruction to the view, and that -her eyes quite as often occupied themselves with studying the play of -those mobile lips, and the nervous tension of those sun-browned hands -upon the reins, was, perhaps, natural and unavoidable. - -She talked with him a great deal, too, in her careless, fluent way, -or rather to him, for the conversation on Granger's part was limited -to an occasional eager question, a flash of his fine eyes, or an -appreciative smile at some witty turn. She talked of many things, but -with delicate tact avoided such themes as might prove embarrassing to -an unsophisticated mind--including books. - -It was, therefore, with a little shock of surprise that she one day -found him buried in the pages of Tennyson, a volume of whose poems -she had left upon the carriage seat while she and Lill explored a -neighboring pasture for raspberries. - -He was lying at full length in the sweet-fern, one arm beneath his -head, his face eager and absorbed. He did not notice her approach, and -she had been standing near him for some moments before he became aware -of her presence. Then, closing the book, he sprang to his feet. - -"So you read poetry, Mr. Granger?" she said, arching her straight brows -slightly. - -"Sometimes," he answered. "I have read a good many of the old poets. My -grandfather left a small library, which came into my possession." - -"Then you have read Shakspere----" began the lady. - -"Yes," interrupted Granger, "Shakspere, and Milton, and Pope, and -Burns. Is it so strange?" he asked, turning upon her one of his swift -glances. "If one plowman may write poetry another plowman may read it, -I suppose." - -He spoke with bitterness, a deep flush rising to his temples. - -"And have you read modern authors too?" - -"Very little. There is no opportunity here. There is nothing -here--nothing!" he answered, flinging aside a handful of leaves he had -unwittingly gathered. - -"Why do you stay here, then?" - -The question sprang, almost without volition, from her lips. She would -gladly have recalled it the next moment. - -Granger gave her another swift glance, and it seemed to her that he -repressed the answer which was already upon his tongue. A strange, -bitter smile came to his lips. - -"Let the shoemaker stick to his last," he said, turning toward the -carriage, "and the farmer to his plow." - -During the homeward ride he was even more taciturn than usual. At the -door, Mrs. Jerome offered him the volume of Tennyson. He accepted it, -with but few words. - -When he returned it, a few days later, it opened of itself, and between -the leaves lay a small cluster of wild roses, and some lines were -faintly marked. They were these: - - "When she made pause, I knew not for delight; - Because with sudden motion from the ground - She raised her piercing orbs and filled with light - The interval of sound." - -"Cleopatra!" Mrs. Jerome repeated softly, "and like her, I thought -there were 'no men to govern in this wood.' Poor fellow!" - -It was a few days, perhaps a week, later, when Mrs. Jerome, who to the -mystification of her host and hostess had received no letters, and, -to the best of their knowledge, had written none, up to this time, -followed a sudden impulse, and wrote the following epistle: - - "MY DEAR FRIEND AND PHYSICIAN:--You advised, no, commanded me, - to eschew the world for a season, utterly and completely. I - have obeyed you to the letter. I will spare you details--enough - that I am gaining rapidly, and, wonderful to say, I am not in - the least _ennuyée_. On the contrary. The cream is delicious, - the spring water exquisite, the scenery lovely. Even the people - interest me. I am your debtor, as never before, and beg leave to - sign myself, - - Your grateful friend and patient, - - HELEN JEROME. - - "P. S.--It would amuse me to know what the world says of my - disappearance. Keep my secret, on your very soul. - - H. J." - -Midsummer came, and passed, and Mrs. Jerome still lingered. In her -pursuit for health she had been indefatigable. There was hardly a road -throughout the region which had been left untried, hardly a forest path -unexplored, or a mountain spring untasted. - -"For a woman that sets up for delicate," remarked Mrs. Squires, as from -her point of observation behind the window-blinds she watched Mrs. -Jerome spring with a girl's elastic grace from the carriage, "for a -woman that sets up for delicate, she can stan' more ridin' around, an' -scramblin' up mountains, than any woman I ever see. _I_ couldn't do -it--that's sure an' sartain!" - -"It's sperrit, Rhody, sperrit. Them's the kind o' women that'll go -through fire and flood to git what they're after." - -"Yes, an' drag everybody along with 'em," added Mrs. Squires, meaningly. - - * * * * * - -There was one place to which they rode which held a peculiar charm for -Mrs. Jerome,--a small lake, deep set among the hills and lying always -in the shadow. Great pines grew down to its brink and hung far out over -its surface, which was almost hidden by thickly growing reeds and the -broad leaves and shining cups of water-lilies. Dragonflies darted over -it, and a dreamy silence invested it. A boat lay moored at the foot -of the tangled path which led from the road, and they often left the -carriage, and rowed and floated about until night-fall among the reeds -and lilies. - -They were floating in this way, near the close of a sultry August -afternoon. Lill lay coiled upon a shawl in the bottom of the boat, her -arms full of lilies whose lithe stems she was twining together, talking -to herself, meanwhile, in a pretty fashion of her own. - -Granger was seated in the bow of the boat, with folded arms, and eyes -fixed upon the dark water. His face was pale and moody. It had worn -that expression often of late, and he had fallen into a habit of long -intervals of silence and abstraction. - -The beautiful woman who sat opposite him, idly trailing one hand, -whiter and rosier than the lily it held, in the water, seemed also -under some unusual influence. She had not spoken for some time. Now and -then she would raise the white lids of her wonderful eyes, and let them -sweep slowly over the downcast face of Granger. - -The dusky water lay around them still as death, reflecting in black -masses the overhanging pines. The air was warm and full of heavy odors -and drowsy sounds, through which a bird's brief song rang out, now and -then, thrillingly sweet. - -The atmosphere seemed to Mrs. Jerome to become every moment more -oppressive. A singular agitation began to stir in her breast, which -showed itself in a faint streak of red upon either cheek. At last this -feeling became unendurable, and she started with a sudden motion which -caused the boat to rock perilously. - -Granger, roused by this movement, seized the oars, and with a skilful -stroke brought the boat again to rest. - -"Will you row across to the other side?" the lady said. "I saw some -rare orchids there which must be in bloom by this time." - -Granger took up the oars again and rowed as directed. When the orchids -had been found and gathered, at Mrs. Jerome's request he spread her a -shawl beneath a tree, and seated himself near her. - -"How beautiful it is here!" she said, after a pause. "I would like to -stay and see the moon rise over those pines. It rises early to-night. -You don't mind staying?" she added, looking at Granger. - -"No--" he answered, slowly, "I don't mind it in the least." - -"How different it must look here in winter!" she said, presently. - -"Yes; as different as life and death." - -"I cannot bear to think I shall never see it again," she said, after -another and longer pause, "and yet I must leave it so soon!" - -"Soon!" Granger echoed, with a start. "You are going away soon, then?" -he asked, in a husky voice. - -"Yes--very soon--in two weeks, I think." - -Granger made no reply. He bent his head and began searching among the -leaves and moss. His eyes fell upon one of the lady's hands, which lay -carelessly by her side, all its perfections and the splendor of its -jewels relieved against the crimson background of the shawl. - -He could not look away from it, but bent lower and lower, until his -hair and his quick breath swept across the fair fingers. - -At the touch a wonderful change passed over the woman. She started -and trembled violently--her face grew soft and tender. She raised the -hand which was upon her lap, bent forward and laid it, hesitatingly, -tremblingly, upon the bowed, boyish head. - -"Robert! Robert!" she whispered. - -Granger raised his head. For a moment, which seemed an age, the two -looked into each other's face. Hers was full of yearning tenderness and -suffused with blushes--his, rigid and incredulous, yet lighted up with -a wild joy. A hoarse cry broke from his lips--he thrust aside the hand -which lingered upon his head, sprang to his feet, and went away. - -The color faded from Mrs. Jerome's face. She sat, for a moment, as if -turned to stone, her eyes, dilated and flashing, fixed upon Granger's -retreating figure. Then, with an impetuous gesture, she rose and went -to look for Lill. A scream from the little girl fell upon her ears at -the same moment. She had strayed out upon a log which extended far into -the water, and stood poised, like a bird, upon its extreme end. Round -her darted a blue-mailed dragon-fly, against which the little arms were -beating in terror. Another instant, and she would be in the water. Mrs. -Jerome sprang toward her, but Granger was already there. As he gave the -frightened child into her mother's arms, he looked into her face. She -returned his gaze with a haughty glance, and walked swiftly toward the -boat. He took his seat in the bow and rowed across the lake in silence. -Lill buried her scared little face in her mother's lap, and no one -spoke. As they landed, a great, dark bird rose suddenly out of the -bushes, and with a hideous, mocking cry, like the laugh of a maniac, -swept across the water. The woman started and drew the child closer to -her breast. - -They drove along in silence until within a mile of the Squires' farm, -when, without a word, Granger turned into a road over which their -drives had never before extended. It was evidently a by-way, and little -used, for grass grew thickly between the ruts. On the brow of a hill he -halted. - -Below, in the valley, far back from the road-side, stood an old, square -mansion, of a style unusual in that region. It must have been a place -of consequence in its day and generation. The roof was hipped, and -broken by dormer windows, and a carved lintel crowned the door-way. -An air of age and decay hung about it and the huge, black barns with -sunken roofs, and the orchard, full of gnarled and barren trees, -which flanked it. A broad, grass-grown avenue, stiffly bordered by -dishevelled-looking Lombardy poplars, led up to the door. - -Granger turned slowly, and looked full into Mrs. Jerome's face. His own -was terribly agitated. Doubt, questioning, passionate appeal, spoke -from every feature. - -"That is the old Granger place," he said, in a strange, choked voice, -with a gesture toward the house, "and that"--as a woman appeared for -an instant in the door-way--"that woman----is _my wife_!" - -The desperate look in his face intensified. His eyes seemed endeavoring -to pierce into her inmost soul. His lips moved as if to speak again, -but speech failed him. A quick breath escaped the lady's parted lips, -and she gave him a swift, startled glance. - -It was but a passing ripple on the surface of her high-bred calm. -However, a smile, the slow, sweet, slightly scornful smile he knew -so well, came to her lips again the next instant. She raised her -eye-glasses and glanced carelessly over the scene. - -"Nice old place!" she said, in her soft, indifferent way. "Quite an air -about it, really!" - -Granger turned and lashed the horse into a gallop. His teeth were -set--his blue-gray eyes flashed. - -When the door was reached he lifted the woman and her child from the -carriage, and drove madly away, the impact of the wheels with the rocky -road sending out fierce sparks as they whirled along. - -Mrs. Jerome gathered her lilies into her arms and went slowly up to her -room. - - * * * * * - -Several days passed, and Robert Granger did not appear. The harvest -was now at its height, and the farmers prolonged their labors until -sunset, and often later. This was the ostensible reason for his -remaining away. During these days Mrs. Jerome was in a restless -mood. She wandered continually about the woods and fields near the -farm-house, remaining out far into the bright, dewless nights. One -evening she complained of headache, and remained in-doors, sitting -in _négligé_ by the window, looking listlessly out over the orchard. -Nettie came in from a stroll with Lill, and gave her mistress a letter. - -"We met Mr. Granger, and he gave me this, madam," she said, -respectfully, but her glance rested with some curiosity upon the face -of Mrs. Jerome as she spoke. - -The letter remained unopened upon her lap long after Nettie had gone -with the child to her room. Finally, she tore the envelope open and -read: - - "What is the use of struggling any longer? You have seen, from - the first day, that I was entirely at your mercy. There have - been times when I thought you were coldly and deliberately - trying your power over me; and there have been other times - when I thought you were laughing at me, and I did not care, - so long as I could see your face and hear your voice. I never - allowed myself to think of the end. Now all is changed. What - has happened? I am too miserable--and too madly happy--to think - clearly; but, unless I am quite insane, I have heard your voice - speaking my name, and I have seen in your face a look which - meant--no, I _cannot_ write it! It was something I have never - dared dream of, and I cannot believe it, even now; and yet, I - _cannot_ forget that moment! If it is a sin to write this--if - it is a wrong to you--I swear I have never meant to sin, and - I would have kept silent forever but for that moment. Then, - too, it flashed upon me for the first time that you did not - know I was not free to love you. It _must_ be that you did not - know--the doubt is an insult to your womanhood--and yet, when I - tried to make sure of this, how you baffled me! But still _that - moment_ remains unforgotten. What does it all mean? I must have - an answer! I shall come to-morrow, at the usual time. If you - refuse to see me, I shall understand. If not--what then? - - "R. G." - -The letter fell to the floor, and Helen Jerome sat for a while with -heaving breast and hands clasped tightly over her face. Then she rose -and paced up and down the chamber, pausing at length before one of the -photographs with which she had adorned the bare walls. Through sombre, -lurid vapors swept the figures of two lovers, with wild, wan faces, -clasped in an eternal embrace of anguish. She looked at the picture a -long time with a brooding face. In the dusk the floating figures seemed -to expand into living forms, their lips to utter audible cries of -despair. - -"Even at that price?" - -She shuddered as the words escaped her lips, and turned away. There was -a tap at the door, and, before she could speak, a woman entered,--a -spare, plain-featured woman, dressed in a dark cotton gown and coarse -straw hat. There was something gentle, yet resolute, in her manner, as -she came toward Mrs. Jerome, her eyes full of repressed, yet eager, -scrutiny. - -"Good evenin', ma'am," she said, extending a vinaigrette of filigree -and crystal. "I was comin' up this way an' I thought I'd bring ye your -bottle. Leastways, I s'pose it's yourn. It fell out o' Rob's pocket." - -She let her eyes wander while she was speaking over the falling golden -hair, the rich _robe-de-chambre_, and back to the beautiful proud face. - -"Thank you, it _is_ mine," said Mrs. Jerome. "Are you Robert Granger's -mother?" - -"No, ma'am. I am his wife's mother. My name is Mary Rogers." - -Mrs. Jerome went to the window and seated herself. The hem of her dress -brushed against the letter, and she stooped and picked it up, crushing -it in her hand. The visitor did not offer to go. She had even removed -her hat, and stood nervously twisting its ribbons in her hard, brown -fingers. - -"Will you sit down, Mrs. Rogers?" - -The woman sank upon a chair without speaking. She was visibly -embarrassed, moving her hands and feet restlessly about, and then -bursting into sudden speech. - -"I've got somethin' I want to say to ye, Mis' Jerome. It's kind o' hard -to begin--harder'n I thought 'twould be." - -She spoke in a strained, trembling voice, with many pauses. - -"It's something that ought to be said, an' there's nobody to say it -but me. Perhaps--you don't know--that folks round here is a-talkin' -about--about you an' Rob." - -Mrs. Jerome smiled--a scornful smile which showed her beautiful teeth. -The woman saw it, and her swarthy face flushed. - -"I don't suppose it matters to you, ma'am, if they be," she said, -bitterly, "an' it ain't on your account I come. It's on Ruby's account. -Ruby's my darter. Oh, Mis' Jerome,"--she dropped her indignant tone, -and spoke pleadingly,--"you don't look a bit like a wicked woman, only -proud, an' used to havin' men praise ye, an' I'm sure if you could see -Ruby you'd pity her, ma'am. She's a-worryin' an' breakin' her heart -over Rob's neglectin' of her so, but she don't know what folks is -a-sayin'. I've kep' it from her so far, but I'm afeard I can't keep it -much longer, for folks keeps a throwin' out 'n' hintin' round, and if -Ruby should find it out--the way she is now--it'd _kill_ her!" - -She stopped, rocking herself to and fro, until she could control her -shaking voice. - -"I never wanted her to _hev_ Rob Granger," she began again, speaking -hurriedly, "an' I tried to hender it all I could. But 'twa'n't no -use. I knew 'twould come to this, sooner or later. 'Twas in his -father, an' it's in him. The Grangers was all of 'em alike--proud an' -high-sperrited, an' never knowin' their own minds two days at a time. -It's in the blood, an' readin' po'try an' sich don't make it no better. -I knowed Ruby wa'n't no match for Rob; she's gentle an' quiet, an' -ain't got much book-larnin'. But her heart was sot on him, poor gal!" - -And again she paused, sobbing gently now, and wiping her eyes on her -apron. Mrs. Jerome rose and went over to her. A wonderful change had -passed over her. Every trace of pride and scorn had faded from her -face. She was gentle, almost timid, in manner, as she stood before the -weeping woman. - -"Mrs. Rogers," she said, kindly, "I cannot tell you how sorry I am. It -is all unnecessary, I assure you. It is very foolish of people to talk. -I shall see that you have no more trouble on my--on this account. If I -had known"--she hesitated, stammering. "You see, Mrs. Rogers, I did not -even know that Robert Granger was married. If I had, perhaps----" - -The woman looked up incredulously. The blood tingled hot through Mrs. -Jerome's veins as she answered, with a sting of humiliation at her -position. - -"It may seem strange--it _is_ strange, but no one has ever mentioned it -to me until--a few days ago. Besides, as I tell you, there is no need -for talk. There _shall_ be none. You can go home in perfect confidence -that you will have no further cause for trouble--that I can prevent." - -Mrs. Rogers rose and took the lady's soft hand in hers. - -"God bless ye, ma'am. Ye'll do what's right, I know. You must forgive -me for thinking wrong of ye, but you see----" - -She broke off in confusion. - -"It is no matter," said Mrs. Jerome. "You did not know me, of course. -Good-night." - -When the door had closed upon her visitor, she stood for a while -motionless, leaning her head wearily against the window-frame. - -"Strange," she said to herself, "that she should have reminded me -of--mother! It must have been her voice." - -A breeze strayed in at the window, and brought up to her face the -scent of the lilies which stood in a dish upon the bureau. She seized -the bowl with a hasty gesture, and threw the flowers far out into the -orchard. - -Mrs. Jerome arose very early the next morning and went down for a -breath of the fresh, sweet air. Early as it was, the farmer had been to -the village to distribute his milk, and came rattling up the road with -his wagon full of empty cans. He drove up to the door, and, with an air -of importance, handed the lady a letter, staring inquisitively at her -haggard face as he did so. The letter was merely a friendly one from -her physician, in answer to her own, and said, among other things: - - "Van Cassalear is in town. All my ingenuity was called into - action in the effort to answer his persistent inquiries in - regard to you. As glad as I am that you are so content, and - inured to human suffering as I am supposed to be, I could not - but feel a pang of sympathy for him. His state is a melancholy - one. The world has long since ceased conjecturing as to your - whereabouts. You are one of those privileged beings who are at - liberty to do and dare. Your mysterious disappearance is put - down with your other eccentricities." - -Although, under ordinary circumstances, not a woman to care for a -pretext for anything she chose to do, she allowed the reception of this -letter to serve in the present instance as an excuse for her immediate -departure--for she had resolved to go away at once. - -The surprise of Mr. Squires when her intention was made known to him -was great, and tinged with melancholy--a melancholy which his wife by -no means shared. But his feelings were considerably assuaged by the -check handed him by Nettie, for an amount far greater than he had any -reason to expect. - -"I might 'a' got Rob to take 'em down to the station, if I'd a-known -it sooner," he remarked to his wife, in Mrs. Jerome's hearing, "but I -seen him an hour ago drivin' like thunder down toward Hingham, an' he -won't be back in time. I guess old Sal can drag the folks down to the -station, an' I'll see if I can get Tim Higgins to take the things. -Time I's about it, too. Train goes at one." - -Mrs. Jerome went to her room and dressed herself in travelling attire. -Leaving Nettie to finish packing, she took her hat and went out and -down the road, walking very rapidly. All along the road-side August was -flaunting her gay banners. Silvery clematis and crimsoning blackberry -vines draped the rough stone walls; hard-hack, both pink and white, -asters and golden-rod, and many a humble, nameless flower and shrub, -filled all the intervening spaces; yellow birds swung airily upon the -purple tufts of the giant thistles, and great red butterflies hovered -across her pathway. She passed on, unheeding, until the grassy by-road -was reached, into which she turned, and stood for a moment on the -summit of the hill, looking down upon the Granger homestead. A woman -came out as she looked, and leaned over the flowers which bloomed in -little beds on each side of the door-way. Mrs. Jerome half turned, as -if to retrace her steps, and then walked resolutely down the hill and -up the avenue. The woman saw her coming, stared shyly from beneath her -hand in rustic fashion for a moment, and then ran into the house, where -she could be seen peeping from between the half-closed window-blinds. - -As she came nearer the house, Mrs. Jerome slackened her steps. Her -limbs trembled, she panted slightly, and a feeling of faintness came -over her. The woman she had seen came again to the door, and stood -there silently as if waiting for the stranger to speak--a timid, -delicate young creature, with great innocent blue eyes and apple-bloom -complexion. The lady looked into the shy face a moment and came -forward, holding out her gloved hand. - -"Are you Mrs. Granger?" - -The little woman nodded, and the apple-bloom color spread to her -blue-veined temples. - -"I am Mrs. Jerome," she continued. "You must have heard your--husband -speak of me." - -"Yes," answered Mrs. Granger, simply, "I've heard tell of you." - -Meantime she was studying her guest with innocent curiosity--the lovely -proud face, the supple figure, the quiet elegance of the toilet, with -all its subtle perfection of detail. It did not irritate her as it did -Mrs. Squires; it only filled her with gentle wonder and enthusiasm. She -tried at length to shake off the timidity which possessed her. - -"You must be real tired," she said gently. "It's a long walk. Won't you -come in?" - -"Thank you," said the lady. "I think I _am_ very tired. If you would be -so kind as to give me a chair, I would sit here in the shade awhile." - -She sank into the chair which Mrs. Granger brought, and drank eagerly -the cool water which she proffered. - -"Thank you," she said. "It is pleasant, here, very. How lovely your -flowers are." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Granger, with a show of pride, "I love flowers, -and they always bloom well for me." She went to the beds and began -gathering some of the choicest. At the same moment, Mrs. Rogers came -through the hall. As she saw the visitor, her face flushed, and she -glanced suspiciously, resentfully, from Mrs. Jerome to her daughter. - -The lady rose. - -"It's Mis' Jerome, mother," said Ruby, simply, "the lady that stays at -Squireses." - -Mrs. Jerome bowed, and a look of full understanding passed between the -two. Ruby, gathering her flowers, saw nothing of it. - -"I am going away, Mrs. Granger," said the lady. "Circumstances require -my immediate return to the city. I came to leave a message with you -for--your husband, as he is not at home. Tell him I thank him for the -pleasure he has given me this summer." - -"I'm real sorry you took the trouble to come down," said Mrs. Granger. -"It's a long walk, an' Squires could 'a' told Rob to-night." - -"Yes, I know," said the lady, consulting her watch, "but I wanted a -last walk." - -She held the little woman's hand at parting, and looked long into the -shy face. Then, stooping, she lightly kissed her forehead, and, with -the flowers in her hand, went down the grassy avenue, up the hill, and -out of sight. - -Robert Granger came home late in the afternoon. He drove directly into -the barn, and proceeded to unharness and care for the jaded beast, -which was covered with foam and dust. He himself was haggard and -wild-eyed, and he moved about with feverish haste. When he had made -the tired creature comfortable in his stall, he went to the splendid -animal in the one adjoining and began to bestow similar attentions -upon him. While he was thus engaged, Mrs. Rogers came into the stable. -Her son-in-law hardly raised his eyes. She watched him sharply for a -moment, and came nearer. - -"Ain't ye comin' in to get somethin' to eat, Rob?" - -"I have been to dinner," was the answer. - -"Rob," said the woman, quietly, "ye might as well let that go--ye won't -need Dick to-day." - -Granger started, almost dropping the card he was using. - -"What do you mean?" he asked, with an effort at indifference, resuming -his work on Dick's shining mane. - -"The lady's gone away," said Mrs. Rogers, steadily watching him. - -"What!" cried Granger, glaring fiercely across Dick's back. "What did -you say? Who's gone away?" - -"The lady--Mis' Jerome," repeated the woman. "She come down herself to -leave word for ye, seein' that you wa'n't at home. She was called away -onexpected. Said she'd enjoyed herself first-rate this summer--an' was -much obleeged to ye for your kindness." - -Granger continued his labor, stooping so low that his mother-in-law -could only see his shoulders and the jetty curls which clustered at his -neck. She smiled as she looked--a somewhat bitter smile. She was a good -and gentle creature, but Ruby was her daughter--her only child. After a -moment or two she went away. - -When she was out of hearing, Granger rose. He was pale as death, and -his forehead was covered with heavy drops. He leaned weakly against -Dick, who turned his fine eyes lovingly on his master and rubbed his -head against his sleeve. - -Granger hid his face upon his arms. - -"My God!" he cried, "is that the answer?" - -It _was_ the answer. It was all the answer Granger ever received. -He did not kill himself. He did not attempt to follow or even write -to her. Why should he? She had come and had gone,--a beautiful, -bewildering, maddening vision. - -Neither did he try the old remedy of dissipation, as a meaner -nature might have done; but he could not bear the quiet meaning of -Mrs. Rogers' looks, nor the mute, reproachful face of his wife, -and he fell into a habit of wandering with dog and gun through the -mountains, coming home with empty game-bag, late at night, exhausted -and dishevelled, to throw himself upon his bed and sleep long, heavy -slumbers. Without knowing it, he had taken his sore heart to the surest -and purest counsellor; and little by little those solitary communings -with nature had their healing effect. - -"Let him be, Ruby," her mother would say, as Ruby mourned and wondered. -"Let him be. The Grangers was all of 'em queer. Rob'll come round all -right in course of time." - -Weeks and months went by in this way, and one morning, after a night -of desperate pain and danger, Robert Granger's first-born was laid in -his arms. Then he buried his face in the pillow by pale, smiling Ruby, -and sent up a prayer for forgiveness and strength. True, only God and -attending angels heard it, but Ruby Granger was a happier woman from -that day. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Van Cassalear was passing along the city street, leaning upon -her husband's arm. It was midsummer. "Everybody" was out of town, and -the Van Cassalears were only there for a day, _en passant_. They were -walking rapidly, the lady's delicate drapery gathered in one hand, a -look of proud indifference upon her face. - -"Pond-lilies! Pond-lilies!" - -She paused. Upon a street-corner stood a sun-burned, bare-foot boy, -in scant linen suit and coarse farmer's hat. His hands were full of -lilies, which he was offering for sale. - -Mrs. Van Cassalear dropped her husband's arm and the white draperies -fell unheeded to the pavement. She almost snatched the lilies from the -boy's hands, and bowed her face over them. - -The city sights and sounds faded away. Before her spread a deep, dark -lake, its surface flecked with lilies. Tall pines bent over it, and in -their shadow drifted a boat, and an impassioned, boyish face looked at -her from the boat's prow.... - -"Six for five cents, lady, please!" - -"Do you want the things, Helen?" said Van Cassalear, the least trace of -impatience in his voice. "If you do, let me pay the boy and we'll go -on. People are staring." - -The lady raised her eyes and drew a deep breath. - -"No," she said, "I will not have them." - -She returned the lilies, with a piece of money, to the astonished boy, -gathered her drapery again into her hand, and swept on. - - - - - MY FRIEND MRS. ANGEL. - - A WASHINGTON SKETCH. - - -My acquaintance with Mrs. Angel dates from the hour she called upon -me, in response to my application at a ladies' furnishing store for a -seamstress; and the growth of the acquaintance, as well as the somewhat -peculiar character which it assumed, was doubtless due to the interest -I betrayed in the history of her early life, as related to me at -different times, frankly and with unconscious pathos and humor. - -Her parents were of the "poor white" class and lived in some remote -Virginian wild, whose precise locality, owing to the narrator's vague -geographical knowledge, I could never ascertain. She was the oldest -of fifteen children, all of whom were brought up without the first -rudiments of an education, and ruled over with brutal tyranny by a -father whose sole object in life was to vie with his neighbors in -the consumption of "black jack" and corn whiskey, and to extract the -maximum of labor from his numerous progeny,--his paternal affection -finding vent in the oft-repeated phrase, "Durn 'em, I wish I could -sell some on 'em!" The boys, as they became old enough to realize -the situation, ran away in regular succession;--the girls, in the -forlorn hope of exchanging a cruel master for one less so, drifted -into matrimony at the earliest possible age. Mrs. Angel, at the age of -sixteen, married a man of her own class, who found his way in course of -time to Washington and became a day-laborer in the Navy Yard. - -It would be interesting, if practicable, to trace the subtle laws by -which this woman became possessed of a beauty of feature and form, -and color, which a youth spent in field-work, twenty subsequent years -of maternity and domestic labor, and a life-long diet of the coarsest -description, have not succeeded in obliterating. Blue, heavily fringed -eyes, wanting only intelligence to make them really beautiful; dark, -wavy hair, delicately formed ears, taper fingers, and a fair, though -faded complexion, tell of a youth whose beauty must have been striking. - -She seldom alluded to her husband at all, and never by name, the brief -pronoun "he" answering all purposes, and this invariably uttered in -a tone of resentment and contempt, which the story of his wooing -sufficiently accounts for. - -"His folks lived over t'other side the mount'n," she related, "an' he -was dead sot an' _de_-termined he'd have me. I never did see a man so -sot! The Lord knows why! He used ter foller me 'round an' set an' set, -day in an' day out. I kep' a-tellin' of him I couldn't a-bear him, an' -when I said it, he'd jess look at me an' kind o' grin like, an' never -say nothin', but keep on a-settin' 'roun'. Mother _she_ didn't dare say -a word, 'cause she knowed father 'lowed I should have him whether or -no. ''Taint no use, Calline,' she'd say, 'ye might as well give up fust -as last.' Then he got ter comin' every day, an' he an' father jess sot -an' smoked, an' drunk whiskey, an' _he_ a-starin' at me all the time as -if he was crazy, like. Bimeby I took ter hidin' when he come. Sometimes -I hid in the cow-shed, an' sometimes in the woods, an' waited till he'd -cl'ared out, an' then when I come in the house, father he'd out with -his cowhide, an' whip me. 'I'll teach ye,' he'd say, swearin' awful, -'I'll teach ye ter honor yer father an' mother, as brought ye inter the -world, ye hussy!' An' after a while, what with that, an' seein' mother -a-cryin' 'roun', I begun ter git enough of it, an' at last I got so I -didn't keer. So I stood up an' let him marry me; but," she added, with -smouldering fire in her faded blue eyes, "I 'lowed I'd make him sorry -fur it, an' I reckon I _hev_! But he won't let on. Ketch him!" - -This, and her subsequent history, her valorous struggle with poverty, -her industry and tidiness, her intense, though blindly foolish, love -for her numerous offspring, and a general soft-heartedness toward -all the world, except "niggers" and the father of her children, -interested me in the woman to an extent which has proved disastrous -to my comfort--and pocket. I cannot tell how it came about, but at an -early period of our acquaintance Mrs. Angel began to take a lively -interest in my wardrobe, not only promptly securing such articles as -I had already condemned as being too shabby, even for the wear of an -elderly Government employé, but going to the length of suggesting the -laying aside of others which I had modestly deemed capable of longer -service. From this, it was but a step to placing a species of lien upon -all newly purchased garments, upon which she freely commented, with a -view to their ultimate destination. It is not pleasant to go through -the world with the feeling of being mortgaged as to one's apparel, but -though there have been moments when I have meditated rebellion, I have -never been able to decide upon any practicable course of action. - -I cannot recall the time when Mrs. Angel left my room without a package -of some description. She carries with her always a black satchel, -possessing the capacity and insatiability of a conjurer's bag, but, -unlike that article, while almost anything may be gotten into it, -nothing ever comes out of it. - -Her power of absorption was simply marvellous. Fortunately, however, -the demon of desire which possesses her may be appeased, all other -means failing, with such trifles as a row of pins, a few needles, or -even stale newspapers. - -"He reads 'em," she explained, concerning the last, "an' then I dresses -my pantry shelves with 'em." - -"It is a wonder your husband never taught _you_ to read," I said once, -seeing how wistfully she was turning the pages of a "Harper's Weekly." - -The look of concentrated hate flashed into her face again. - -"He 'lows a woman ain't got no call ter read," she answered, bitterly. -"I allers laid off to larn, jess ter spite him, but I ain't never got -to it yit." - -I came home from my office one day late in autumn, to find Mrs. Angel -sitting by the fire in my room, which, as I board with friends, is -never locked. Her customary trappings of woe were enhanced by a -new veil of cheap crape which swept the floor, and her round, rosy -visage wore an expression of deep, unmitigated grief. A patch of -_poudre de riz_ ornamented her tip-tilted nose, a delicate aroma of -Farina cologne-water pervaded the atmosphere, and the handle of my -ivory-backed hair-brush protruded significantly from one of the drawers -of my dressing-bureau. - -I glanced at her apprehensively. My first thought was that the -somewhat mythical personage known as "he" had finally shuffled himself -out of existence. I approached her respectfully. - -"Good-evenin'," she murmured. "Pretty day!" - -"How do you do, Mrs. Angel?" I responded, sympathetically. "You seem to -be in trouble. What has happened?" - -"A heap!" was the dismal answer. "Old Mr. Lawson's dead!" - -"Ah! Was he a near relative of yours?" I inquired. - -"Well," she answered,--somewhat dubiously, I thought,--"not _so_ nigh. -He wasn't rightly _no kin_. His fust wife's sister married my oldest -sister's husband's brother--but we's allers _knowed_ him, an' he was -allers a-comin' an' a-goin' amongst us _like_ one o' the family. An' if -ever they _was_ a saint he was one!" - -Here she wiped away a furtive tear with a new black-bordered kerchief. -I was silent, feeling any expression of sympathy on my part inadequate -to the occasion. - -"He was _prepared_," she resumed, presently, "ef ever a man was. He got -religion about forty year ago--that time all the stars fell down, ye -know. He'd been ter see his gal, an' was goin' home late, and the stars -was a-fallin', and he was took then. He went into a barn, an' begun -prayin', an' he ain't never stopped sence." - -Again the black-bordered handkerchief was brought into requisition. - -"How are the children?" I ventured, after a pause. - -"Po'ly!" was the discouraging answer. "Jinny an' Rosy an' John Henry -has all had the croup. I've been a-rubbin' of 'em with Radway's Relief -an' British ile, an' a-givin' on it to 'em internal, fur two days an' -nights runnin'. Both bottles is empty now, and the Lord knows where the -next is ter come from, fur we ain't got no credit at the 'pothecary's. -_He's_ out o' work ag'in, an' they ain't a stick o' wood in the shed, -an' the grocer-man says he wants some money putty soon. Ef my _hens_ -would only lay----" - -"It was unfortunate," I could not help saying, with a glance at the -veil and handkerchief, "that you felt obliged to purchase additional -mourning just when things were looking so badly." - -She gave me a sharp glance, a glow of something like resentment crept -into her face. - -"All our family puts on black fur kin, ef it _ain't_ so nigh!" she -remarked with dignity. - -A lineal descendant of an English earl could not have uttered the words -"our family" with more hauteur. I felt the rebuke. - -"Besides," she added, naďvely, "the store-keeper _trusted_ me fur 'em." - -"If only Phenie could git work," she resumed, presently, giving me -a peculiar side-glance with which custom had rendered me familiar, -it being the invariable precursor of a request, or a sly suggestion. -"She's only fifteen, an' she ain't over 'n' above _strong_, but she's -got learnin'. She only left off school a year ago come spring, an' -she can do right smart. There's Sam Weaver's gal, as lives nex' do' -to us, _she's_ got a place in the printin'-office where she 'arns her -twenty-five dollars a month, an' she never seen the day as she could -read like Phenie, an' she's ugly as sin, too." - -It occurred to me just here that I had heard of an additional force -being temporarily required in the Printing Bureau. I resolved to -use what influence I possessed with a prominent official, a friend -of "better days," to obtain employment for "Phenie," for, with all -the poor woman's faults and weaknesses, I knew that her distress was -genuine. - -"I will see if I can find some employment for your daughter," I said, -after reflecting a few moments. "Come here Saturday evening, and I will -let you know the result." - -I knew, by the sudden animation visible in Mrs. Angel's face, that this -was what she had hoped for and expected. - - * * * * * - -When I came from the office on Saturday evening, I found Mrs. Angel -and her daughter awaiting me. She had often alluded to Phenie with -maternal pride, as a "good-lookin' gal," but I was entirely unprepared -for such a vision as, at her mother's bidding, advanced to greet me. It -occurred to me that Mrs. Angel herself must have once looked somewhat -as Phenie did now, except as to the eyes. That much-contemned "he" must -have been responsible for the large, velvety black eyes which met mine -with such a timid, deprecating glance. - -She was small and perfectly shaped, and there was enough of vivid -coloring and graceful curve about her to have furnished a dozen -ordinary society belles. Her hair fell loosely to her waist in the then -prevailing fashion, a silken, wavy, chestnut mass. A shabby little -hat was perched on one side her pretty head, and the tightly fitting -basque of her dress of cheap faded blue exposed her white throat almost -too freely. I was glad that I could answer the anxious pleading of -those eyes in a manner not disappointing. The girl's joy was a pretty -thing to witness as I told her mother that my application had been -successful, and that Phenie would be assigned work on Monday. - -"_He_ 'lowed she wouldn't git in," remarked Mrs. Angel, triumphantly, -"an' as fur Columbus, _he_ didn't want her to git in no how." - -"Oh _maw_!" interrupted Phenie, blushing like a June rose. - -"Oh, what's the use!" continued her mother. "Columbus says he wouldn't -'low it nohow ef he'd got a good stan'. He says as soon as ever he gits -inter business fur hisself----" - -"Oh _maw_!" interposed Phenie again, going to the window to hide her -blushes. - -"Columbus is a butcher by trade," went on Mrs. Angel, in a confidential -whisper, "an' Phenie, she don't like the idee of it. I tell her -she's foolish, but she don't like it. I reckon it's readin' them -story-papers, all about counts, an' lords, an' sich, as has set her -agin' butcherin'. But Columbus, he jess loves the groun' she walks on, -an' he's a-goin' ter hucksterin' as soon as ever he can git a good -stan'." - -I expressed a deep interest in the success of Columbus, and rescued -Phenie from her agony of confusion by some remarks upon other themes of -a less personal nature. Soon after, mother and daughter departed. - -Eight o'clock Monday morning brought Phenie, looking elated yet -nervous. She wore the faded blue dress, but a smart "butterfly-bow" -of rose-pink was perched in her shining hair, and another was at her -throat. As we entered the Treasury building, I saw that she turned pale -and trembled as if with awe, and as we passed on through the lofty, -resounding corridors, and up the great flight of steps, she panted like -a hunted rabbit. - -At the Bureau I presented the appointment-card I had received. The -superintendent gave it a glance, scrutinized Phenie closely, beckoned -to a minor power, and in a moment the new employé was conducted from my -sight. Just as she disappeared behind the door leading into the grimy, -noisy world of printing-presses, Phenie gave me a glance over her -shoulder. Such a trembling, scared sort of a glance! I felt as if I had -just turned a young lamb into a den of ravening wolves. - -Curiously enough, from this day the fortunes of the house of Angel -began to mend. "He" was reinstated in "the Yard," the oldest boy -began a thriving business in the paper-selling line, and Mrs. Angel -herself being plentifully supplied with plain sewing, the family were -suddenly plunged into a state of affluence which might well have upset -a stronger intellect than that of its maternal head. Her lunacy took -the mild and customary form of "shopping." Her trips to the Avenue -(by which Pennsylvania Avenue is presupposed) and to Seventh Street -became of semi-weekly occurrence. She generally dropped in to see me -on her way home, in quite a friendly and informal manner (her changed -circumstances had not made her proud), and with high glee exhibited -to me her purchases. They savored strongly of Hebraic influences, and -included almost every superfluous article of dress known to modern -times. She also supplied herself with lace curtains of marvellous -design, and informed me that she had bought a magnificent "bristles" -carpet at auction, for a mere song. - -"The _bristles_ is wore off in some places," she acknowledged, "but -it's most as good as new." - -Her grief for the lamented Mr. Lawson found new expression in -"mourning" jewelry of a massive and sombre character, including -ear-rings of a size which threatened destruction to the lobes of her -small ears. Her fledgelings were liberally provided with new garments -of a showy and fragile nature, and even her feelings toward "him" -became sufficiently softened to allow the purchase of a purple necktie -and an embroidered shirt-bosom for his adornment. - -"He ain't not ter say _so_ ugly, of a Sunday, when he gits the smudge -washed off," she remarked, in connection with the above. - -"It must have been a great satisfaction to you," I suggested (not -without a slight tinge of malice), "to be able to pay off the grocer -and the dry-goods merchant." - -Mrs. Angel's spirits were visibly dampened by this unfeeling allusion. -Her beaming face darkened. - -"They has to take their resks," she remarked, sententiously, after a -long pause, fingering her hard-rubber bracelets, and avoiding my gaze. - -Once I met her on the Avenue. She was issuing from a popular -restaurant, followed by four or five young Angels, all in high spirits -and beaming with the consciousness of well-filled stomachs, and the -possession of divers promising-looking paper bags. She greeted me with -an effusiveness which drew upon me the attention of the passers-by. - -"We've done had _oyshters_!" remarked John Henry. - -"'N' ice-cream 'n' cakes!" supplemented Rosy. - -The fond mother exhibited, with natural pride, their "tin-types," taken -individually and collectively, sitting and standing, with hats and -without. The artist had spared neither carmine nor gilt-foil, and the -effect was unique and dazzling. - -"I've ben layin' off ter have 'em took these two year," she loudly -exclaimed, "an' I've done it! He'll be mad as a hornet, but I don't -keer! _He_ don't pay fur 'em!" - -A vision of the long-suffering grocer and merchant rose between me and -those triumphs of the limner's art, but then, as Mrs. Angel herself had -philosophically remarked, "they has to take their resks." - - * * * * * - -Phenie, too, in the beginning, was a frequent visitor, and I was -pleased to note that her painful shyness was wearing off a little, -and to see a marked improvement in her dress. There was, with all -her childishness, a little trace of coquetry about her,--the innocent -coquetry of a bird preening its feathers in the sunshine. She was -simply a soft-hearted, ignorant little beauty, whose great, appealing -eyes seemed always asking for something, and in a way one might find it -hard to refuse. - -In spite of her rich color, I saw that the girl was frail, and knowing -that she had a long walk after leaving the cars, I arranged for her to -stay with me overnight when the weather was severe, and she often did -so, sleeping on the lounge in my sitting-room. - -At first I exerted myself to entertain my young guest,--youth and -beauty have great charms for me,--but beyond some curiosity at the -sight of pictures, I met with no encouragement. The girl's mind was a -vacuum. She spent the hours before retiring in caressing and romping -with my kitten, in whose company she generally curled up on the hearth -rug and went to sleep, looking, with her disarranged curly hair and -round, flushed cheeks, like a child kept up after its bed-time. - -But after a few weeks she came less frequently, and finally not at all. -I heard of her occasionally through her mother, however, who reported -favorably, dilating most fervidly upon the exemplary punctuality with -which Phenie placed her earnings in the maternal hand. - -It happened one evening in mid-winter that I was hastening along -Pennsylvania Avenue at an early hour, when, as I was passing a certain -restaurant, the door of the ladies' entrance was pushed noisily -open, and a party of three came out. The first of these was a man, -middle-aged, well-dressed, and of a jaunty and gallant air, the second -a large, high-colored young woman, the third--Phenie. She looked -flushed and excited, and was laughing in her pretty, foolish way at -something her male companion was saying to her. My heart stood still; -but, as I watched the trio from the obscurity of a convenient door-way, -I saw the man hail a Navy Yard car, assist Phenie to enter it, and -return to his friend upon the pavement. - -I was ill at ease. I felt a certain degree of responsibility concerning -Phenie, and the next day, therefore, I waited for her at the great iron -gate through which the employés of the Bureau must pass out, determined -to have a few words with the child in private. Among the first to -appear was Phenie, and with her, as I had feared, the high-colored -young woman. In spite of that person's insolent looks, I drew Phenie's -little hand unresistingly through my arm, and led her away. - -Outside the building, as I had half-expected, loitered the man in -whose company I had seen her on the previous evening. Daylight -showed him to be a type familiar to Washington eyes--large, florid, -scrupulously attired, and carrying himself with a mingled air of -military distinction and senatorial dignity well calculated to deceive -an unsophisticated observer. - -He greeted Phenie with a courtly bow, and a smile, which changed -quickly to a dark look as his eyes met mine, and turned away with a -sudden assumption of lofty indifference and abstraction. - -Phenie accompanied me to my room without a word, where I busied myself -in preparing some work for her mother, chatting meanwhile of various -trifling matters. - -I could see that the girl looked puzzled, astonished, even a little -angry. She kept one of her small, dimpled hands hidden under the -folds of her water-proof, too, and her eyes followed me wistfully and -questioningly. - -"Who were those people I saw you with last evening, coming from H----'s -saloon?" I suddenly asked. - -Phenie gave me a startled glance; her face grew pale. - -"Her name," she stammered, "is Nettie Mullin." - -"And the gentleman?" I asked again, with an irony which I fear was -entirely thrown away. - -The girl's color came back with a rush. - -"His name is O'Brien, General O'Brien," she faltered. "He--he's a great -man!" she added, with a pitiful little show of pride. - -"Ah! Did he tell you so?" I asked. - -"Nettie told me," the girl answered, simply. "She's known him a long -time. He's rich and has a great deal of--of influence, and he's -promised to get us promoted. He's a great friend of Nettie's, and -he--he's a perfect gentleman." - -She looked so innocent and confused as she sat rubbing the toe of one -small boot across a figure of the carpet, that I had not the heart to -question her further. In her agitation she had withdrawn the hand she -had kept hitherto concealed beneath her cape, and was turning around -and around the showy ring which adorned one finger. - -"I am certain, Phenie," I said, "that your friend General O'Brien is no -more a general and no more a gentleman than that ring you are wearing -is genuine gold and diamonds." - -She gave me a half-laughing, half-resentful look, colored painfully, -but said nothing, and went away at length, with the puzzled, hurt look -still on her face. - -For several days following I went every day to the gate of the Bureau, -and saw Phenie on her homeward way. For two or three days "General -O'Brien" continued to loiter about the door-way, but as he ceased at -length to appear, and as the system I had adopted entailed upon me -much fatigue and loss of time, I decided finally to leave Phenie again -to her own devices; not, however, without some words of advice and -warning. She received them silently, but her large, soft eyes looked -into mine with the pathetic, wondering look of a baby, who cannot -comprehend why it shall not put its hand into the blaze of the lamp. - -I did not see her for some time after this, but having ascertained -from her mother that she was in the habit of coming home regularly, my -anxiety was in a measure quieted. - -"She don't seem nateral, Phenie don't," Mrs. Angel said one day. "She's -kind o' quiet, like, as ef she was studyin' about something, an' she -used to be everlastin' singin' an' laughin'. Columbus, he's a-gittin' -kind o' oneasy an' jealous, like. Says he, 'Mrs. Angel,' says he, 'ef -Phenie should go back on me after all, an' me a-scrapin', an' a-savin', -an' a-goin' out o' butcherin' along o' her not favorin' it,' says he, -'why I reckon I wouldn't never git over it,' says he. Ye see him an' -her's ben a-keepin' comp'ny sence Phenie was twelve year old. I tells -him he ain't no call ter feel oneasy, though, not as _I_ knows on." - -Something urged me here to speak of what I knew as to Phenie's recent -associates, but other motives--a regard for the girl's feelings, and -reliance upon certain promises she had made me, mingled with a want of -confidence in her mother's wisdom and discretion--kept me silent. - - * * * * * - -One evening--it was in March, and a little blustering--I was sitting -comfortably by my fire, trying to decide between the attractions of a -new magazine and the calls of duty which required my attendance at a -certain "Ladies' Committee-meeting," when a muffled, unhandy sort of a -knock upon my door disturbed my train of thought. I uttered an indolent -"Come in!" - -There was a hesitating turn of the knob, the door opened, and I rose to -be confronted by a tall, broad-chested young man, of ruddy complexion -and undecided features; a young man who, not at all abashed, bowed in a -friendly manner, while his mild, blue eyes wandered about the apartment -with undisguised eagerness. He wore a new suit of invisible plaid, an -extremely low-necked shirt, a green necktie, and a celluloid pin in -the form of a shapely feminine leg. Furthermore, the little finger of -the hand which held his felt hat was gracefully crooked in a manner -admitting the display of a seal ring of a peculiarly striking style, -and an agreeable odor of bergamot, suggestive of the barber's chair, -emanated from his person. It flashed over me at once that this was -Phenie Angel's lover, a suspicion which his first words verified. - -"Ain't Miss Angel here?" he asked, in a voice full of surprise and -disappointment. - -"No, she is not," I answered. "You are her friend, Columbus----" - -"Columbus Dockett, ma'am," he responded. "Yes, ma'am. Ain't Phenie been -here this evenin'?" - -"No. Did you expect to find her here?" - -Mr. Dockett's frank face clouded perceptibly, and he pushed his hair -back and forth on his forehead uneasily, as he answered: - -"I did, indeed, ma'am. I--you see, ma'am, she ain't been comin' home -reg'lar of late, Phenie ain't, an' I ain't had no good chance to speak -to her for right smart of a while. I laid off to see her to-night for -certain. I've got somethin' _partic'lar_ to say to her, to-night. -You see, ma'am," he added, becoming somewhat confused, "me an' -her--we--I--me an' her----" - -He stopped, evidently feeling his inability to express himself with the -delicacy the subject required. - -"I understand, Mr. Dockett," I said, smilingly, "you and Phenie are----" - -"That's it!" interposed Mr. Dockett, much relieved. "Yes, ma'am, that's -how the matter stan's! I made sure of findin' Phenie here. Her ma says -as that's where she's been a-stayin' nights lately." - -I started. I had not seen Phenie for two or three weeks. - -"I dare say she has gone home with one of the girls from the Bureau," I -said, reassuringly. - -I had been studying the young man's face in the meantime, and had -decided that Mr. Dockett was a very good sort of a fellow. There was -good material in him. It might be in a raw state, but it was very good -material, indeed. He might be a butcher by trade, but surely he was -the "mildest-mannered man" that ever felled an ox. His voice had a -pleasant, sincere ring, and altogether he looked like a man with whom -it might be dangerous to trifle, but who might be trusted to handle a -sick baby, or wait upon a helpless woman with unlimited devotion. - -"You don't have no idea who the girl might be?" he asked, gazing -dejectedly into the crown of his hat. "'Tain't so late. I might find -Phenie yit." - -It happened, by the merest chance, that I did know where Nettie Mullin, -in whose company I feared Phenie might again be found, boarded. That -is to say, I knew the house but not its number, and standing as it did -at a point where several streets and avenues intersect, its situation -was one not easily imparted to another. I saw, by the look of hopeless -bewilderment on Mr. Dockett's face, that he could have discovered the -North-west Passage with equal facility. - -I reflected, hesitated, formed a hasty resolution, and said: - -"I am going out to attend a meeting, and I will show you where one of -the girls, with whom I have seen Phenie, lives. You may find her there -now." - -The young man's face brightened a little. He expressed his thanks, and -waited for me on the landing. - -The house where Miss Mullin boarded was only a few squares away. It was -one of a row of discouraged-looking houses, which had started out with -the intention of being genteel but had long ago given up the idea. - -It was lighted up cheerfully, however, we saw on approaching, and a -hack stood before the door. I indicated to my companion that this was -the house, and would have turned away, but at that moment the door -opened, and two girls came out and descended the steps. The light from -the hall, as well as that of a street-lamp, fell full upon them. There -was no mistaking Miss Mullin, and her companion was Phenie,--in a gay -little hat set saucily back from her face, the foolish, pretty laugh -ringing from her lips. - -The two girls tripped lightly across the pavement toward the carriage. -As they did so, the door was opened from within (the occupant, for -reasons best known to himself, preferring not to alight), and a -well-clad, masculine arm was gallantly extended. Miss Mullin, giggling -effusively, was about to enter, followed close by Phenie, when, with a -smothered cry, Dockett darted forward and placed himself between them -and the carriage. - -"Phenie," he said, his voice shaking a little. "Phenie, where was you -a-goin'?" - -The young girl started back, confused. - -"Law, Columbus!" she faltered, in a scared, faint voice. - -In the meantime, the man in the carriage put his face out of the door, -and eyed the intruder, for an instant, arrogantly. Then, affecting to -ignore his presence altogether, he turned toward the two girls with a -slightly impatient air, saying, in an indescribably offensive tone: - -"Come, ladies, come. What are you stopping for?" - -Dockett, who had been holding Phenie's little hand speechlessly, let it -fall, and turned toward the carriage excitedly. - -"Miss Angel is stoppin' to speak to _me_, sir," he said. "Have you got -anything to say ag'inst it?" - -The occupant of the carriage stared haughtily at him, broke into a -short laugh, and turned again toward the girls. - -Dockett, pushing his hat down upon his head, took a step nearer. The -gentleman, after another glance, drew back discreetly, saying, in a -nonchalant manner: - -"Come, Miss Nettie. We shall be late." - -"I suppose you're not going with us, then, Miss Angel?" said Miss -Mullin, with a toss of her plumed hat. - -Dockett turned, and looked Phenie steadily in the face. - -"_Be_ you goin' with them?" he asked, in a low voice. - -"N--no!" the girl faltered, faintly. "I'll go with you, Columbus." - -A muffled remark of a profane nature was heard to proceed from the -carriage, the door was violently closed, and the vehicle rolled rapidly -away. - -I had kept discreetly aloof, although an interested spectator of the -scene. Phenie, after one swift glance in my direction, had not raised -her eyes again. - -"We'll go with you where you're goin', ma'am," said Dockett, as the -carriage disappeared, but I would not permit this. - -"Well, good evenin', ma'am," he said; "I'm a thousand times obliged to -you--good evenin'." - -With an indescribable look into Phenie's pale, down-cast face,--a look -made up of pain, tenderness and reproach,--he put her hand through his -arm, and they went away. - -As might have been expected, Phenie avoided me, after this, more -carefully than ever. I was glad that she did so. I was also glad when, -a week or two later, Mrs. Angel presented herself, in a towering state -of indignation, to inform me that Phenie had received her discharge. -In vain I reminded her that Phenie's position had been, from the -beginning, a temporary one. - -"I don't keer!" she persisted. "I'd like ter know what difference -it would 'a' made to the Government--jess that little bit o' money! -An' me a-needin' of it so! Why couldn't they have discharged some o' -them women as sets all day on them velvet carpets an' cheers, a-doin' -nothin' but readin' story-papers? Phenie's seen 'em a-doin' of it, time -an' ag'in--an' she a-workin' at a old greasy machine!" - -In vain I endeavored to prove that no injustice had been done. Mrs. -Angel's attitude toward the United States Government remains, to this -day, inflexibly hostile. - -"Ef Columbus had let alone interferin' between Phenie an' them that was -intendin' well by her, I reckon she'd 'a' been settin' on one o' them -velvet cheers herself by this time," she remarked, mysteriously, "or -a-doin' better still." - -I looked at her sharply. - -"They's a gentleman," she went on, with a foolish smile, "a gineral, as -is all taken up with Phenie. He's a great friend o' the President's, -you know, an' they's no knowin' what he _might_ do for the gal, ef -Columbus'd let alone interferin'." - -"Then Phenie has told you of her new acquaintance?" I said, much -relieved. - -Mrs. Angel looked at me blankly. - -"Lord, no!" she answered, "_she_ never let on! No, indeed! But I knowed -it--I knowed it all along. Sam Weaver's gal, _she_ told me about it. I -knowed she was keepin' company with him, kind o'." - -"And you said nothing to Phenie?" - -"Lord, no! Gals is bashful, Mis' Lawrence. No, indeed!" - -"Nor say a word of all this to Columbus?" I asked again. - -"What fur?" said Mrs. Angel, imperturbably. - -He ain't got no call ter interfere, ef she kin do better." - -I was silent a moment in sheer despair. - -"Do you imagine, for one moment," I said, finally, "that if this -general, as he calls himself, is really what he pretends to be, a -gentleman and a friend of the President's, that he means honestly by -Phenie?" - -Mrs. Angel regarded me with a fixed stare, in which I discerned wonder -at my incredulity, and indignation at the implied disparagement of her -daughter. - -"Why not?" she asked, with some heat. "Phenie was a-readin' me a story, -not so long ago, about a man, a lord or somethin' like, as married a -miller's daughter. The name was 'The Secrit Marriage,' or thereabouts. -I'd like to know ef she ain't as good as a _miller's_ daughter, any -time o' day?" - -I said no more. "Against stupidity even the gods strive in vain." - - * * * * * - -A month later, perhaps, Mrs. Angel, whom I had not seen since the -interview just related, came toiling up the stairs with her arms -piled high with suggestive-looking packages, and beamingly and -unceremoniously entered my sitting-room. With rather more than her -customary ease of manner, she deposited herself and parcels upon the -lounge, and exclaimed, pantingly: - -"Wall! Phenie an' Columbus is goin' ter be married Sunday week!" - -"Ah!" I responded, with a sympathetic thrill, "so they have made it up -again?" - -"Yes, indeed!" she answered, "they've done made it up. They _was_ one -time I was most afeard Columbus was goin' to back out, though. 'Twas -after that time when he come down here after Phenie, an' found her -a-goin' out 'long o' that Bureau gal an' that man as called hisself a -gineral!" - -"So you found out the character of Phenie's friend at last?" I said. - -"Columbus, _he_ found it out. I'll tell ye how 'twas. Ye see, him an' -Phenie was a-havin' of it that night after they got home. They was in -the front room, but they's right smart of a crack 'roun' the do', an' -you kin hear right smart ef you sets up clos't enough," she explained, -naďvely. - -"'Phenie,' says Columbus, kind o' humble like, 'I don't want no wife as -don't like me better 'n ary other man in the world. Ef you likes that -man, an' he's a good man, an' means right by ye, I ain't one ter stan' -in your way; but,' says he, 'I don't believe he's no good. I've seen -them kind befo', an' I don't have no confidence into him.' - -"'Columbus,' says Phenie, kind o' spirited, fur _her_, 'you ain't got -no call to talk agin' him. He's a gentleman, he is!' - -"'All right!' says Columbus, chokin' up, 'all right. Mebbe he is--but I -don't like this meetin' of him unbeknownst, Phenie. It ain't the thing. -Now I want you ter promise me not to meet him any more _unbeknownst_ -till you knows more about him, an' you give me leave ter find out all -about him, an' see ef I don't.' - -"'I won't listen to no lies,' says Phenie, kind o' fiery. - -"'I won't tell ye no lies, Phenie,' he says. 'I never has, an' I ain't -goin' ter begin now.' - -"Then he got up an' shoved his cheer back, and I had ter go 'way from -the crack. - -"Wall, Phenie looked real white an' sick after that, an' I felt right -down sorry fur the gal, but I didn't let on I knew anything, 'cause -'twaren't _my_ place ter speak _fust_, ye know! Wall, she dragged -'round fur three, four days,--that was after she was discharged, you -see,--an' one evenin' Columbus he come in all tremblin' an' stirred up, -an' him an' her went inter the room, an' I sat up ter the crack. An' -Columbus he begun. - -"'Phenie,' says he, his voice all hoarse an' shaky, 'Phenie, what would -you say ef I was ter tell ye your fine gineral _wasn't_ no gineral, an' -was a married man at that?' - -"'Prove it!' says Phenie. - -"I had ter laugh ter hear her speak up so peart, like. I didn't think -'twas in her, and she not much more'n a child. - -"'Wall,' says Columbus, 'ef _I_ can't prove it, I knows them as kin.' - -"'Wall,' says Phenie, 'when he tells me so hisself, I'll believe it, -an' not befo'!' - -"Then Columbus went away, an' I could see he was all worked up an' mad. -His face was white as cotton. Phenie, she went to bed, an' I heerd -her a-cryin' an' a-snubbin' all night. She couldn't eat no breakfast, -nuther, though I made griddle-cakes, extry for her; an' she dressed -herself an' went off somewheres--I didn't ask her, but I reckon she -went down ter the city ter find out about that man. Wall, towards night -she come home, an' I never see a gal look so--kind o' wild, like, an' -her eyes a-shinin' an' her cheeks as red as pinies. She sot an' looked -out o' the winder, an' looked, an' bimeby Columbus he come in, an' -they went into the room. I couldn't hear rightly what they said, the -chill'en was makin' sich a noise, but I heared Phenie bust out a-cryin' -fit to break her heart, an' then Columbus, he--wall, Lord! I never did -see sich a feller! He jess loves the groun' that gal's feet walks on!" - -"He must be very forgiving," I said. "Phenie has used him badly." - -"Wall, I do' know," she replied, with perfect simplicity. "I do' know -as she was beholden to Columbus ef she could a-done better. The child -didn't mean no harm." - -Although aware of the impracticability of trying to render Mrs. Angel's -comprehension of maternal duty clearer, I could not help saying: - -"But why didn't you, as the girl's own mother and nearest friend, have -a talk with Phenie in the beginning? You might have spared her a great -deal of trouble." - -Mrs. Angel's eyes dilated with surprise. - -"Lord! Mis' Lawrence!" she exclaimed, "you do' know! Why, gals is that -bashful! They couldn't tell their _mothers_ sich things. Why, I'd 'a' -died 'fore I'd 'a' told mine anything about--love-matters! Lord!" - -"Well," I sighed, "I'm glad Phenie is going to marry so good a fellow -as Columbus." - -"Y--yes," she answered, condescendingly, "he's a good feller, Columbus -is. He don't drink or smoke, an' he's mighty savin'." - -I remarked here, as on other occasions, that Mrs. Angel regarded this -being "savin'" as a purely masculine virtue. - -"He's give Phenie most a hundred dollars a'ready," she continued, -complacently. "They ain't no gal 'round as 'll have nicer things 'n -Phenie." - -A fortnight later the newly wedded pair called upon me. Phenie -looked very sweet in her bridal finery, but there was something in -her face which I did not like. It meant neither peace nor happiness. -She looked older. There were some hard lines around her lips, and -the childish expression of her lovely eyes had given place to a -restless, absent look. Her husband was serenely unconscious of anything -wanting--unconscious, indeed, of everything but his absolute bliss, -and his new shiny hat. He wore a lavender necktie, now, and gloves of -the same shade, which were painfully tight, and, with the hat, would -have made life a burden to any but the bridegroom of a week's standing. -Phenie had little to say, but Columbus was jubilantly loquacious. - -"I've gone out o' butcherin' fur good an' all," he declared, -emphatically. "Phenie didn't like it, an' no more do I. Hucksterin' is -more to my mind, ma'am. It's _cleaner_ an'--an' more genteel, ma'am. -I've got a _good_ stan', an' I mean to keep Phenie like a _lady_, -ma'am!" - - * * * * * - -She lived but a year after this. She and her baby were buried in one -grave. That was five years ago. Columbus still wears a very wide -hat-band of crape, and mourns her sincerely. - -Her death was a heavy blow to her mother, whose grief is borne with -constant repining and unreasoning reflections. The fountains of her -eyes overflow at the mere utterance of the girl's name. - -"The doctors 'lowed 'twas consumption as ailed her," she often repeats, -"but I ain't never got red o' thinkin' 'twas trouble as killed her. I -used ter think, Mis' Lawrence," she says, with lowered voice, "that she -hadn't never got over thinkin' of that man as fooled her so! I wish I -could see him oncet! Says she ter me, time an' agin', 'Ma,' says she, -'I reckon I ain't a-goin' ter live long. I'm right young ter die, but I -do' know as I keer!' says she." - -"Did her husband ever suspect that she was unhappy?" I asked. - -"Lord no, ma'am! Or ef he did he never let on! An' I never seen sich a -man! There wasn't _nothin'_ he didn't git her while she was sick, an' -her coffin was a sight! An' he goes to her grave, rain or shine, as -reg'lar as Sunday comes." - -As I have said, several years have passed since Phenie's death, but -Mrs. Angel's visits have never ceased. The lapse of time has left -hardly any traces upon her comely exterior. In times of plenty, her -soul expands gleefully and the brown-paper parcels multiply. In times -of dearth, she sits, an elderly Niobe, and weeps out her woes upon -my hearth-stone. The black satchel, too, by some occult power, has -resisted the wear and tear of years and exposure to the elements, -and continues to swallow up my substance insatiably as of yore. -Occasionally, as I have said, something within me rises in arms against -her quiet, yet persistent encroachments, but this is a transitory mood. -Her next visit puts my resolutions to flight. - - - - - Standard Works of Fiction, - - PUBLISHED BY - - CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. - - - - - MRS. 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